I see you are asking for oneshot requests! Might I offer; truth serum but Jekyll isn't drunk this time, and the Lodgers have to deal with the guilt of their founder actively panicking as he spills his secrets. (Bonus: Jekyll trans reveal + Ito loudly stating her support of him/him reconciling with the Lodgers)
!!!!! I am DEFINTIELY Rusty and realized now that I am finished that I could have probably moved this in a different direction, but I hope the wait was worth it and that you'll enjoy this oneshot!! :D
also pls tell me if there are any mistakes because I've been trying to read through this a million times and I've forgotten how to post fics- help-
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Title name: Secrets To Be Found
Wordcount: 4989
Summary: As Virginia Ito tries to keep her mentor calm during a day of anxiety, Dr. Ranjit Helsby and Mr. Seward Griffin decide that it is time to get some truths out of their founder.
Relationships: Robert x Jekyll (mentioned), Morcant x Jekyll (mentioned)
CW: Unconsenting drug use, internalized transphobia, transphobia
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Helsby was up to something.
The man was a gossip, and by extension, he was always in someone else’s business, trying to find out more and more in an almost deliberate attempt to get his curiosity killed. Dr. Jekyll had never liked it, never liked it when the older man would smirk and grin, like he knew something you didn’t, which he often did. It was uncanny already, but this time... He did not like what his gut feeling was telling him.
He had tried to wave it all off, when it first started happening earlier this week. When Helsby would throw smug glances towards Griffin, as if silently communicating. He did not have any capacity to care much about either of them, he would not have cared if Griffin was the target of Helsby’s plot, yet he knew that that wasn’t the case. Griffin was a recluse even among the Lodgers, his temper and chronic migraines often kept him from forming any sort of positive connection with any of them, and so his sudden friendship with Helsby was... Concerning. His own suspicion was not quelled when a handful of days passed and their dubious behaviour only seemed to get worse.
Safe to say, Dr. Henry Jekyll was nervous.
He forced himself to ignore this -probably imaginary- plot, and yet he had woken up with a horrible feeling within his very bones. He wasn’t really sure what it was, something within him was just... Jittery. Something was crawling inside of him but it was nothing he could put a finger on. He was almost certain that it wasn’t Hyde, as he had, in his own way, been quite calm and genuine the last few days, at least not seeming like he knew what was up with Jekyll or their body. He was not a stranger to anxiety, of course; but his anxiety normally came from something, it hadn’t come up without a reason in years, and that thought alone almost made him more nervous. Perhaps there was a reason, but really, why would he be nervous if Helsby and Griffin simply had a little prank planned? He could almost be certain he would not be at the receiving end, and yet...
The anxiety had only worsened during the day, perhaps solidified by a familiar, nauseating feeling within his body; a dysphoria in which everything within and regarding his body felt wrong, no matter what he changed or how much he had convinced those around him that he was a perfectly normal man. Deep down, he felt- or perhaps knew- that he wasn’t. His jaw was not angled enough, his waist was too thin, his hips were too wide and his hair was too long- otherwise obscure details to his appearance which now felt like tell-tale signs of his biological sex. Perhaps that was what had caused the anxiety; the very fear that someone, at some point, would find out, and especially so when he knew- or assumed- that Helsby and Griffin were sniffing for vulnerable secrets. It wasn’t like he only had one skeleton in his closet, either. There were a myriad of things which someone could find out about him, which would inevitably ruin his life, and his imperfect body was merely one of those.
Regardless, the physical signs of his illness had manifested quite early and throughout the entire day. By breakfast, his hands had been shaking, and his cup of tea had slipped right out of his grasp and shattered onto the floor, making him jump as his heart practically galloped out of his chest. Before noon, another one of Luckett’s fires had gotten a bit too close to the chemistry lab, and while it had been nothing but a minor explosion, with minimal harm to equipment and no harm done to any of the Lodgers, it had still been enough to scare the doctor out of his boots and leave the anxiety in a thick lump in his throat. After noon, yet another bill came, another one that would be put in the “overdue” pile before the end of the week. Safe to say, Jekyll couldn’t wait for this day to be over.
It was evening now. The Lodgers had clearly noticed their founder’s jumpiness. They had asked, of course, but Jekyll didn’t have answers. He didn’t know why he was like this today, all he knew was that he had slept and he had not consumed anything out of the ordinary, he did not drink anything remotely caffeinated and so he could not have made himself into a pile shaking bones through overconsumption. Whether or not the Lodgers believed that was an entirely different question. He was just happy that Robert was not here to see him like this. He was not necessarily ashamed of his irrational nervosity, but he knew that Robert would worry and, quite frankly, not leave his side until he had gotten him to calm down.
...
Perhaps that would have been a good thing, actually.
But it was too late now. Ito seemed to have sensed his nervosity, regardless. She was often a quite strict and stoic lady, but she could never help but to worry for her mentor, she seemed to sense his distrust and paranoia and had stayed close for most of the day, after the little explosion in the chemistry lab. Jekyll could get no work done today, and Virginia could not focus on her own work when her worry clouded her brain, and so they had spent the majority of the afternoon in Jekyll’s office. He laid down on his couch, one arm covering his eyes to block out the light in an attempt to rest, while Virginia stayed by his desk and looked through some of his old notes. Notes which he knew were safe, notes that she would be studying, as his junior. But it was getting late now, and Ito knew that Jekyll’s anxiety would not be made any better on an empty stomach. He had been reluctant, of course; he felt safer in his office, but Virginia did not want him to eat alone and there wasn’t enough space for the two of them to dine in here, so Virginia helped him up and linked their arms together as they left the office in search of the dining hall, where Rachel would have prepared today’s dinner. Jekyll could not help but look around in every corridor, as if afraid that someone was watching, or that something more would go wrong when he least expected it. He, of course, told Ito that it was just his nerves, and it was. It was not a lie, she knew it wasn’t a lie, but it sure as hell did not make her any less nervous.
They came right by rush hour. The dining hall was filled with chattering Lodgers, all behaving perfectly normal and no one seeming out of the ordinary. Mrs. Cantilupe and Miss Lavender met them with sympathetic ‘how are you feeling’s, and Luckett once more apologised for the day's mishap. The alchemists sat down by their own table, a bit further away from the rest.
Jekyll didn’t have an appetite. How could he, when his stomach was riddled with knots? The mere sight and smell of the food got him to feel full, but Ito had none of it, and left the table to get them both something to eat. She knew what her mentor liked and what would be good for him, after all, and she would make sure that he ate what he could.
But then again, this also meant that she left Jekyll alone.
His hands rested on the table. One grabbed the wrist of the other, thumb against his veins where he managed to feel his own rapid heartbeat, and he continued to look around. As he was turned away, he soon felt the chair next to him move, and as he looked back, he was met with the grinning face of none other than Dr. Ranjit Helsby- possibly the last person Jekyll wanted to see today.
“My good fellow!” he greeted, “how’s it going?”
Jekyll blinked, confusion already evident.
“I... I’m sorry, did you need something?”
Helsby waved him off. He grabbed the teacup that was neatly placed by Jekyll, pulled a teapot into view from vaguely under the table and poured tea for the other doctor, before giving him back the cup.
“Nothing at all! I just wanted to see how you were feeling, good sir.”
Jekyll squinted. Helsby -sarcastic, dramatic or not- never called Jekyll “Good” or “Sir”, and certainly not both in succession. Helsby was not quiet about his general dislike for Jekyll, or perhaps dislike was a strong word. He often thought that he was a toff, and he very clearly did not like the direction to which Jekyll was moving the Society, but that didn’t have to mean that he actively disliked him. Still, Henry did not trust his newfound politeness, and yet he also knew that it would only be terribly rude of him to dismiss the diplomacy which was now offered. He noticed that Helsby already had a cup of tea for himself, and as the other doctor raised his in a silent ‘cheers’, Jekyll had no choice but to smile politely and do the same, before taking a sip. As the liquid went over his tongue, he winced, doing his best to not cough up the metallic fluid right afterwards- what on earth was this abomination of a tea? He tried not to gag, really- it was absolutely foul-... He recognised it, he recognised the metallic taste and the sour smell- but from where?
He felt someone moving towards his right, soon Griffin slammed the palms of his hands against the table quite aggressively, making Jekyll jump and successfully gaining the attention of the Lodgers by the nearby tables.
“Well well, Jekyll,” He said, smugness evident, “You would not mind telling us a few things, right?”
His grin left little to the imagination, less like a human smile and more like baring teeth, more like a threat. Jekyll almost sank back into his chair, his heart beating and beating like it was about to crack through his ribs. Still, he tried to act calm, and pressed out a forced smile.
“Whatever do you mean?”
By this rate, or perhaps by Griffin’s loud movements, the rest of the hall had fallen silent and the Lodgers’ attention was now on the three men. Virginia, who was just on her way back, quickly placed the plates with food down at the nearest table and rushed towards her mentor. It was in this moment that Jekyll recognised the liquid which had practically been forced upon him, and he felt the panic take hold of his body.
Truth serum.
But it was too late.
“Jekyll, what are your biggest secrets?”
Something within Jekyll stirred, an involuntary feeling which was not unlike the one which rose when Hyde took over control- his tongue began to move, and the words began to spill from his lips faster than he could process what he was doing.
“I was born a woman.”
The men’s expressions were unreadable, yet Jekyll continued, spellbound.
“I’m bisexual and I’ve been in love with Robert Lanyon for over 15 years.” the words practically tumbled out of his mouth, he barely processed what he had said as the next confession slipped out, “I was in an unhealthy relationship with an ancient werewolf named Morcant.” His heart continued to thrum, he could feel how his breathing quickened, “I don’t think I’m good enough for anything and I fantasise about throwing myself off of the cliffs of Dover but I’m way too busy to even entertain such a thought” He attempted to struggle, to shut up, but he was as paralyzed in his chair, until his last confession finally came out, “I’ve been hallucinating my minds most horrifying creatures for weeks and I am Edward Hyde.”
…
Silence.
He was hyperventilating, now. Jekyll’s mind was an absolute mess, trying to process what had just happened- and yet the Lodgers around him just stared, mouths agape. He tried desperately to speak once more- any explanation, hell- any anger which he could throw towards the perpetrators- and yet he couldn’t. His vision- he hoped it was just panic- started to blur, and before he knew it, he had already pushed the chair away from the table, as he quickly got up and just ran, out of the room, into the corridors.
He heard yelling behind him. He heard rapid footsteps of Lodgers who tried to follow him. He was not sure where he was going, but he would rather be anywhere but near the Lodgers- his dear Lodgers to which he had split all his secrets, and Griffin and Helsby, who had drugged him and forced him into this. He had been drugged- just like that- His heart pounded within his chest, like a hare with a heart attack. Before he knew it, he was back in his office, slamming the door closed behind him and locking it from the inside, before the exhaustion took hold. His legs gave in, and he sank back against the door. He could barely process the footsteps that ran after him now stopping in front of the very office he hid in.
“Jekyll? Henry! Henry- Please, open the door!”
It was Virginia, banging on the door in hopes that he would, in fact, open up for her. He heard more footsteps as more Lodgers arrived, he could hear their various voices through the door. He pulled his knees up to his chest, attempting to hide his face despite there being no one to see him.
“You BASTARDS!”
Virginia seemed to turn her attention away from the door. He could hear shuffling and high-pitched yelps.
“How DARE you do this to him?! WHAT IN THE BLOODY HELLS WERE YOU THINKING?!”
“We didn’t think he- or she- or- whatever- was going to have THAT many secrets!”
“HE. Don’t you DARE call him by any different-”
“Hello? Did NO ONE hear that he confessed to BEING Hyde!?”
As the third voice spoke, the commotion stopped, briefly, like they all started to properly think about the things he had said. Soon more Lodgers began to speak.
“...Well- he also said that he is a bisexual!”
“Yeah, but is anyone even surprised by that?”
“Should we not focus on the fact that he said he wanted himself DEAD?-”
“Fantasising about jumping off cliffs is not the same!”
“Then what the HELL is it?”
Oh, God...
He could try to escape. He could take the HJ7 and jump out of the window like he usually did, escape into the night and not come back- well... Not come back until he thought the Lodgers had calmed down, that is. At the same time, he felt paralyzed. To think that he had freely and openly admitted his deepest regrets to the Lodgers- Lodgers, who were now arguing about the severity of what he had said. At the same time, his mind was only filled with the shame of his very first and last confessions; he had not been a woman in multiple decades- if he ever was- but his body was itching by a need to practically pull off his own skin in an attempt to rid himself of what made him unmanly and a monster, of what made him the abomination he is, the horrid thing which the Lodgers now knew about. That was to not even mention that he had just told them everything- from his shameful love for Robert and his horrid affair with Morcant- he had told them that he created Edward Hyde. Why could he not have simply been allowed to forget it all? Why did they have to dredge up the past- could they not have let him keep his secrets? They had no right, yet they had taken that liberty, unaware or uncaring about the damage they had done.
His mind was a mess, still trying to grasp what had happened. He couldn’t help it when a sob broke free. He could barely hear the Lodgers outside quieting down, destroying any hope that they weren’t hearing his anguish.
“Henry... Please, open the door. Griffin and Helsby are gone, we just want to help you.”
He didn’t believe it. He knew Virginia just wanted to help, but he did not believe for a second that the rest of the Lodgers wanted to. The others... He could barely imagine what they thought. Were they going to mock him? Or were they upset over the lies he had led them to believe? Would they blame this on him? Or perhaps some were already on their way to tell Frankenstein about what they had heard?
He felt something push against the door, and then the sound of something sliding down. On the other side, Virginia mirrored his position.
“Henry, I’m not leaving until you open the door. I can stay here all night if I need to.”
Through his tears, he couldn’t help but snort. As a Lodger, he only believed that she was staying to force more truth out of him, to shake out every last secret until he was nothing more than a sack of skin, but as his junior… Deep down, he could perhaps believe that she did care. It was confusing, yet a pleasant thought. He had no doubt that she would stay, she had always been stubborn, he couldn’t deny that. Whatever her true intentions were would, seemingly, not be revealed until he opened the door, but he was sure she wouldn’t stay that long...
...
He wasn’t sure how long they had stayed like this, now.
It was darker outside. He was certain it had been at least a few hours since the mishap in the dining hall, the serum should have worn off by now. He had not dared to show himself since, he had not moved from his paralyzed place against the door, but he was quite sure Virginia hadn’t either.
It was stupid, all of this.
He began to wonder if he had overreacted. Or perhaps underreacted. Griffin and Helsby had violated him in a way few could have managed… But he had no real choice, now. It was getting late, he had to open the door eventually and until then, he would be barricaded in his office, alone with nothing but his thoughts. He just wanted all of this to be over, even if it hurt.
He took a deep breath, and with shaky legs, he stood up and unlocked the door.
The sound of the lock and the push against the mahogany seemed to be enough to get Virginia to jump up and get away from the door, making Jekyll able to actually open it. She was ruffled, but she had indeed not left. He barely managed to fully open the door before she threw her arms around him.
“Oh, Henry.” She murmured, her arms going tightly around his neck. She was not much shorter than him, but she still had to stand on her toes to be fully able to reach him. He could not help but melt against her, his own arms going around her waist as he buried his face in her shoulder. They did not often hug- he was her mentor, after all, and she did not like people touching her, but this felt... Nice.
After what felt simultaneously like too little and too much time, they parted, and Virginia placed her hands on Henry’s cheeks. Behind her, he could see the faces of various other Lodgers, who also had stayed, although he wasn’t necessarily sure why.
“You don’t have to talk about anything, if you do not want to, but please, do not run away from us again.”
She didn’t necessarily sound heartbroken, but he knew her well enough to know that she most likely was. He couldn’t help but feel incredibly guilty.
“I’m... I’m sorry. Please, forgive me- for everything.”
She scoffed, shaking her own head in a gesture that seemed to only be aimed at herself. “I don’t think you have anything to apologise for”, she said. Her hands moved to straighten Jekyll’s cravat and waistcoat, equally ruffled from his stay on the floor. “What is important is that you are fine. Yes, there might be things that need some explaining, but that can wait. I have no doubt that you have good explanations for everything. ”
Jekyll took a deep breath, and looked around at the group of Lodgers- his Lodgers, who had waited for him. He wasn’t really sure how to feel about it, truly. He was not sure of their intentions, but today’s constant panic had left him... Indifferent, stoic. Like every emotion had been squeezed out of him. Yet, as he looked over the gentle faces of his Lodgers, he couldn’t help but furrow his eyebrows.
“...What happened to Griffin and Helsby?”
He glanced back at his apprentice, and watched as her expression hardened. Her eyebrows furrowed, but she forced herself to not get aggravated once more.
“I made sure they are now at the mercy of Rachel, after what they did to you.”
Jekyll winced.
“Good god.”
“Mmhm. Serves them right.”
The other Lodgers seemed to nod in agreement. They seemed unanimous that what the two men had done in the dining hall was violating and horrid, no matter if it just so happened to be Jekyll and not one of them. It was… Surprising, and yet comforting, almost. But he sighed, moved forward a little, before closing the door to his office behind him. Mirroring his previous actions, he sank back down to the floor, expecting this conversation to take a while.
“I... Guess you’d like some explanations.” He said, exhaustion and hesitance clear.
“You don’t have to.”
“I do. You all already know and I... I want to be able to explain.”
Virginia didn’t seem convinced, but accepted his stance. She sat down next to him, and the other Lodgers resumed their positions on the floor.
He began to explain Hyde; presumably his darkest secret. He did not want to dwell on it, he did not want to confess to the deprecation he had found himself in which had led him to Hyde’s creation, but he had to. And so, he explained, to the best of his ability; He is Hyde, but they are not the same. Hyde was everything that Jekyll thought wrong or imperfect with himself personified, yet he was his own person, with his own desires. He reiterated that they were separate multiple times, so none of them would think that they had been secretly talking with Jekyll, when they thought they were talking with Hyde. He stuttered and paused and had to regain himself multiple times, and through it all, the Lodgers just... Listened. Patiently. They simply let him finish his explanation on his own terms, without being forced.
Finally, as he quieted down, the silence remained for a few seconds. They understood, of course; what Jekyll had been feeling back then couldn’t have been easy, and while they were not entirely convinced of his reasonings for not telling them, they accepted it, and told him as such. They could especially comprehend his hesitance now, as they had not been particularly understanding of him and his situation lately, having been too busy admiring Frankenstein’s every word... At least Jekyll could feel happy that he did not have to dwell more on the fact that he didn’t feel like he was good enough, or the fact that he wanted to throw himself off of cliffs, as they seemed to have grasped that from his monologue about Hyde.
After a few seconds, Miss Lavender spoke.
“Wait- did you not also say that you have been hallucinating? Was that also Hyde?” she asked, confusion evident. Jekyll grimaced.
“Ah- well... Yes and no.” he started, scratching his neck a bit awkwardly, “after Moreau, Hyde and I fought, and, well... I wouldn’t necessarily say that he created the hallucinations, but he certainly kicked them out the door. It was mainly because I hadn’t slept in almost a week, though. They disappeared soon after I actually did so.”
“Was that why you looked constantly terrified a little while ago?”
“... Was it that obvious?”
“Well, yes, we thought you were suddenly terrified of everything and everyone- even Ito and Lanyon!”
Jekyll winced, although he tried to get out an apologetic smile. He desperately hoped that this was all of it, that he was done with explanations and could be satisfied with a neutral reaction from the Lodgers. He took yet another deep breath.
“Any-” he coughed, “any other questions?”
The Lodgers looked between themselves, then shook their heads.
“Nah, we already know that you like men, and we don’t mind if you happened to have been born a woman” one of them said, making Jekyll’s cheeks burn red as he realised what he had missed. “Although, like- are you and Lanyon dating or..?”
Jekyll attempted to cough out the ball in his throat, to no avail. He felt himself sinking down further against the door as he attempted to hide his face, clearly wishing to escape the conversation.
“I... We never... Dated, so to speak. We had a... A fling when we went to university, but he broke it off. And... I guess I haven’t moved on as well as I thought.”
He removed his hand and watched as the Lodger grimaced, Jekyll wasn’t sure if it was out of sympathy or because they thought he was pathetic, at this point it very well could be both.
“And the werewolf?” Sinnett spoke up, and promptly got nudged by Luckett.
“... Once, back in university still, I went on a vacation with Lanyon, to his family’s cottage. We came upon an injured werewolf and I insisted on nursing her back to health... I- I was young, and easily manipulated. I don’t... Like to talk about it.”
Sinnett looked apologetic, and Ito began to rub her hand against Jekyll’s arm in an attempt to comfort him. God, he was exhausted. Considering it must be past midnight by now, it certainly wasn’t hard to understand why.
“Well...” Ito began, “I think I can speak for all of us when I say that we are... Sorry. We did not know about Griffin’s and Helsby’s plan, we were definitely not in on it- and at the very least I am sorry for what you have been through, then and now.”
Jekyll closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the door. Still, he smiled gently.
“I know. I’m sorry you all had to bear witness to this.”
“I... I’m also sorry for... The Frankenstein situation,” Miss Lavender continued, “I didn’t know you were hurting so much.”
Jekyll opened his eyes, and watched as the group of Lodgers nodded in agreement. He normally would have simply snorted, it was awfully convenient that they were so sorry after he had a break about it, it really was. Water under the bridge, sweep it under the rug, whatever they wished to call it- but he was too tired to think about how genuine they were, or how convenient it was for them now. He just wanted all of this to be over.
“I accept your apologies.” he said simply. God, he just wanted to go to bed...
He wondered, for a moment, if the perpetrators would apologise, later. Or if they would double down and state that they didn’t see what was so wrong with what they did. It was wrong, so incredibly wrong and violating, they had to know that, too. But whatever would become of them would be the topic of another day, for now, Dr. Henry Jekyll was absolutely drained. If he was lucky, he could end the day and tomorrow would be perfectly normal, no one would mention or talk about the fact that he had spilt the contents of his heart and soul for them, unwillingly at that. He doubted that that would be the case, but he could always hope.
A soft sigh escaped his lips. He was just about to stand up and state that he would be turning in for whatever remained of the night, when he heard his own stomach grumble. He felt how his cheeks once more flared up in embarrassment.
“How about we see if Rachel has any food left in the kitchen, eh, Henry?” Ito suggested, “then you can sleep- and I will make sure you get no disturbances tomorrow.”
He thought about it for a second, but was interrupted by yet another grumble. He couldn’t help but crack a sheepish smile at his dear apprentice. “You’ve convinced me.”
And so Ito grinned, as she helped Henry stand up. The various Lodgers parted, some deciding to tuck in and others deciding to come with them for a late-night snack. It felt oddly anti-climatic for all of them, Henry especially, yet he was almost relieved. At least he could only be happy that his secrets had been... Accepted. Perhaps it all had just been his paranoia. Or perhaps it was fate, divine intervention- no, of course not. But his truths were told and his soul was bared, perhaps this was the beginning of a stronger foundation within his relationships with his Lodgers. At the same time, he couldn’t help but be curious. Of course he knew that he had been the target of Helsby’s and Griffin’s little plan, in some way he was glad that he was, so no other Lodger would have been at the receiving end of this treatment...
And yet.. he couldn’t help but wonder; if it had been someone else, what would they have said?
After all, who knew what secrets you might find, if you only knew where to look?
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The Grump & The Drunk | Miguel O'Hara
》 PAIRING: miguel o'hara x spider-woman!reader
》 TROPE/GENRE: grumpy x (drunk) sunshine, fluff, humor
》 SUMMARY: You were clingy, feisty with no filter when you're drunk. Miguel had front row seat of it—literally. You're lucky he didn't mind. In fact, he was glad it was him and not anyone else. The thought made him seethe in jealousy even though you technically were not his girl. But he wasn't sure if that still rang true after tonight's drunken confession (or that make-out session).
》 WARNINGS: alcohol consumption, soft!miguel (also emotionally constipated!miguel but what's new), r calls him miggy to tease him, height difference (he's 6'9" he's an effin giant), r thirsts over him in front of his face lol, some innuendos, brief argument about feelings, overall very cute and fluffy.
》 WORD COUNT: 6.1k+
A/N: can anyone guess what movie i watched recently. is anyone surprised that i liked the grump with a side of trauma lmao. ANYWAY. this is the first time i'm writing miguel so pls be nice. wrote this fairly quickly too and it's barely proofread sooo. but i hope you still enjoy it!
📍 BLOG NAVIGATION ✩ MAIN MASTERLIST ✩
⊱ ─────.⋅♚ *。・゚.★. *。・゚✫*.
It was late.
Quiet.
Well, for now, at least.
Moments like these were rare to come by, where there wasn't much to do except to let things happen. The multiverse was stable enough not to need any intervention.
It usually was the epitome of the calm before the storm.
Nevertheless, everyone—well, those left at HQ and weren't on stakeout—in the Spider Society took advantage of it.
There was always some sort of activity going on during these types of days. Most of it were small get-togethers in the cafeteria, or perhaps a low-key karaoke in the cinema room. Other times it was much more on the nose.
Right now, there was a party held on the rooftop.
The music was blaring—muffled for him, thanks to his soundproofing—as it jumped from genre to genre depending on who successfully bribed the DJ.
It was rowdy—that he was sure of. What, with the modified alcohol strong enough to affect any Spider-Person as if they weren't enhanced, how could it not be?
Miguel wasn't one for festivities. Not to mention, strobe lights always gave him bad migraines. So after showing face for about ten minutes—he wouldn't have shown up at all but was begged to go by someone he couldn't say no to—he decided to call it a night.
Well, back to his…Spider-Cave.
He was sure there would be copyright issues if that was made official.
But it was dubbed by you so it simply stuck.
You, with bright eyes and a sweet smile as you pleaded for him to come with you to the rooftop even if it was "just a couple minutes, please?"
You, who wore a simple yet gorgeous black dress as you all but dragged him into the elevator, bouncing with excitement because it was going to be your first party here at HQ.
You, who enthusiastically sipped on your Pink Señorita—a margarita with pink lemonade—giddy to feel the buzz of the alcohol after years of being unable to.
You, who was so joyful and uncaring as you danced to your heart's content when your favorite song came on, right in the middle of the floor, shining as bright as the sun as the others revolved around you.
Miguel only watched from the sidelines, his chest aching with longing. So close but out of reach because he couldn't.
He'd only put a damper on your light.
It wasn't a matter of if, it was a matter of when.
He couldn't do that to you.
Soft spot.
Miguel had very few of those.
Anyone who dared to give their opinion on his life with the bravery to say it right to his face said one was occupied by you.
Some would even imply that you held the biggest one.
And sure, the first time Lyla scouted you and suggested for you to be recruited into the Spider Society he might've said yes far too quickly than he should've. But that was only because he saw the way you took down a sector of the Maggia all on your own. He was thoroughly impressed.
There were also times when he let you get away with annoying him scot-free. Whether that was teasing, various nicknames, talking his ear out for hours as you refused to leave him alone to do work, and sometimes even pranks. If it were any other person doing the same things you would've done, they would be leaving the premises at least fearing their life.
He also let you spend time around his magic carpet—as you so unoriginally named it. You were constantly testing those copyright issues—quite often to the point that some of your stuff had migrated the space. There were little trinkets scattered around, evidence that you'd been here.
Miguel finally bought a desk chair perfectly suited for his big and tall stature all because you complained about not having anywhere to sit while you were up here with him.
It was more your chair than it was his, to be honest, since you definitely sat on it far more than he had.
Sure, he could've bought an extra one for you but he didn't want to encourage the teasing—that had been nonstop since you waltzed into his life—that he was playing favorites.
He preferred to stand while he worked, anyway.
Fine.
He could kinda see why many people would say he had a soft spot for you.
Speaking of…
Miguel could hear you before he could even see you.
You were giggling to yourself, followed by poor attempts at whispered apologies when you knocked over something or bumped against something else.
It made him worry a little.
Sure, you were too enthusiastic for his liking, all optimism and sunshine despite everything that you had gone through—it harshly contrasted with his personality.
But he wouldn't particularly classify you as clumsy.
He waited for you to call for him, anticipating which way you'd say it this time around. Your most recent one was: "O'Hara, O'Hara, let down your floating chair."
You thought you were really funny with that one.
But silence.
No cheeky way of asking him to let you come up.
Where'd you go?
Suddenly, he heard a very annoyed and frustrated groan, prolonged and all dramatic.
Then, that familiar thwip rang in the air.
You couldn't have been more impatient.
He was aware of exactly where you were, shooting your webs in random directions so long as you hit a column that took you higher and higher. But even if he didn't have his enhanced senses, your constant giggling would give you away.
Yet as loud as you had already been, your shriek was even louder.
Miguel didn't hesitate to jump off the platform.
His heart was pounding as he clocked your falling figure, adrenaline and fear all at once.
You looked dazed in your freefall, unable to comprehend that your cartridges were empty as you kept trying to shoot your webs.
In the nick of time, he caught you by the waist—upside down.
He let out a huge sigh of relief at the same time you turned into heaps of giggles.
"This isn't how I imagined us getting into this position," you snorted as if you weren't dangling a couple of feet above the ground, feet in the air, arms limp and swaying. "Wow…your thigh is bigger than my head!"
Miguel's whole body warmed, not only from your comments but also because you were still in your dress.
Thank fuck it wasn't a loose skirt.
Not that he would ever look. He might be a bit of a grump—temperamental at times, he'll admit—but he was still a gentleman.
Though he was glad you couldn't see the obvious fluster on his face given your current upside-down predicament.
He'd never hear the end of it.
"I'm flipping you around," he said.
"Like a pancake?"
He didn't answer. He simply tossed you into the air, your squeal echoing off the walls. He caught you again but the right way up this time—your hands clinging onto his shoulders, legs around his waist.
Miguel tried not to dwell on your closeness as he shot a web and pulled you both back up.
"You flipped me like a pancake!" you giggled, stumbling onto the platform once you reached it.
What on earth is going on with you?
One look in your eyes, his unspoken question was swiftly answered.
"Widely irresponsible to swing while drunk," he reprimanded, arms crossed over his chest.
You blew a raspberry, waving your hand dismissively. "Am not drunk."
"Then why did I have to save you from falling head-first into the ground?"
"I slipped!"
"You could've just called me to let the platform down."
"And have it take so fucking long?"
Miguel blinked.
Oh you were so drunk.
"I know it's an intimidating tactic or whatever the fuck it is you're doing. Either way, it's a choice, but it doesn't have to be so damn slow, Miggy!"
"I told you to stop calling me that," he said, no heat in his tone. He simply couldn't stand the way his heart did a funny thing whenever he'd hear that nickname slip past your lips.
"Sorry, sir," you said, sarcasm lacing each letter.
Miguel took a deep breath.
"Don't call me that, either," he said, voice an octave deeper.
You rolled your eyes, completely oblivious to the effect you had on him. "Someone's extra grumpy today."
"Night."
"What?"
"It's night."
"Pfft, you know, you should loosen up your suit," you said, waving at all of him. "Maybe the tightness is making you grumpier somehow, suffocating your muscles and everything."
"The tightness of my suit has nothing to do with my mood."
"Could've fooled me," you scoffed, glaring at him from head to toe. "You're probably chafing in weird places and it's making you irritable. I bet—no, I know you're naked underneath because even though I haven't seen you naked I can still see…stuff, many stuff, big stuff, you know, imagination and not leaving any and shit."
"Dios mío," he grumbled in disbelief, rubbing a palm over his warm face. "How drunk are you?"
"Zero percent-o, Miguelito."
He bit back a smile.
"Could've fooled me," he said, raising a brow at you.
"Don't you dare throw my words back at me," you warned, attempting to appear threatening with your chest puffed out, chin raised as you got all up in his face. You slumped with a pout a second later. "You are so fucking tall!"
"And you are so drunk."
"M'not!"
"Uh-huh, sure," he hummed, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Oh I am very sure—Miguel, can you sit down," you complained, brows deeply furrowed as you tried grabbing onto his shoulders, urging him to settle on the chair.
He decided to mess with you a little, planting his feet firmly so you weren't able to budge him even with your enhanced strength.
Your inebriated state wasn't helping your case.
It was the first time he ever got to see you annoyed and he actually found it cute. What, with your brows deeply furrowed and that pout in full play, huffing and puffing as you pushed at his chest with your full body strength, how could he not?
"Miggy sit the fuck down!" you growled.
He resisted the urge to laugh, throwing his hands up as he obliged, "Okay, okay, I'm sitting."
Now, he was the one looking up at you.
Yet you still looked frustrated.
"Is that not any better?" he asked, confused.
"No," you mumbled, glaring down at him, pout still prominent.
The next thing he knew, you were already grabbing onto his shoulders, pushing yourself up the chair.
You sat right on his lap.
Miguel was rarely surprised these days, considering what he did for a living.
But he sure as hell wasn't prepared to have you on top of him.
He could almost feel his brain short-circuit, taking a bit more time and effort for it to get its bearings back into place.
But then, you turned shy, eyes blinking at him all wide with shock as if you didn't know that climbing onto his lap resulted in him and you being so close.
"Hi," you whispered.
"Hello," he murmured, fingers twitching to hold you. He gripped the armrest instead. "Can I ask what exactly it is you're doing?"
"What…was I doing?" you questioned, almost to yourself, scanning the nearly non-existent space between you both before your face lit up. "Oh! I'm trying to talk to you without spraining my neck, genius."
"Is that so?"
"Yeah! You try talking to a six-foot-nine Adonis of a man and see if your neck doesn't hurt after a while."
The corner of his mouth twitched. "Adonis, huh?"
"Not like that," you quickly said, voice shyer. "I mean like…huge, muscular, a-and plump."
"Plump?"
"Yeah!" You nodded enthusiastically, pressing your palms right on top his chest, one on each pec. "You've got plump boobs and ass."
He almost choked on air.
"What has gotten into you?" he asked, thoroughly amused.
"You, hopefully."
"Diosito, ayúdame," he muttered, resisting the temptation to take your word for it. You were drunk. You had no idea what you were saying.
Miguel shook his head when you stared at him confused, still slow on your Spanish. Then again, he'd only ever taught you a few phrases so far.
"How many lemonades did you have?" he asked instead.
"Why are you asking me so many questions!" you groaned, head thrown back as dramatically as you could. "It's my turn to ask questions!"
"Fine," he sighed, ignoring the urge to nip at your exposed skin. He heavily disregarded the thoughts that brewed in his head from the way you were innocently squirming on him, trying to get more comfortable, your skirt hiking up in the process.
He was good at keeping his composure, mastered it after years. He could do it for a couple of minutes more.
"Why'd you disappear?" you sighed.
"Too bright. Too loud."
"Why didn't you tell me you were leaving?"
"You were having fun. Didn't want to spoil your mood," he stated the obvious. "Besides, my absence didn't affect anything."
"But it did," you insisted, bottom lip jutting out. "Was gonna ask you to dance."
His brow rose at that. "And what made you think I'll say yes?"
"You always say yes," you said, shrugging as if it was a known fact to the universe.
If it was you asking? Maybe.
He honestly felt a little glad he left the party early. He wouldn't even dare to imagine the outcome if he was seen out on the dance floor with you.
He would much prefer it with no audience—just you and him.
"I don't always say yes."
You narrowed your eyes, obviously not believing him by one bit.
But you didn't bother to argue.
Instead, you plopped forward, arms wrapping around his shoulders, face pressed against his neck.
Miguel froze.
He honestly didn't know what to do with himself.
Well, he wanted to do so many things at once, he just didn't know if he should—too many boundaries, too dangerous to cross.
A battle between logic and emotions.
You chose for him, though.
"Will you just—" You pulled his arms off the armrest, wrapping it around you instead. "Want cuddles, please."
How could he say no?
And for the first time in a long while, Miguel finally let himself go.
Body relaxing into the seat, he pulled you a little closer, palms rubbing soft patterns on your back as he pressed his cheek against the side of your head.
It had been so long since he'd cuddled with someone, so maybe his judgment was a little skewed. But still, he didn't remember it feeling this lovely—not until now.
Or maybe because it was you.
And if he didn't know any better, he'd say you were purring.
"Comfortable?" he hummed, rubbing the tip of his nose against your crown.
You nodded, taking a deep breath, humming soon after, "I've always wondered just how nice you smell up close."
He couldn't stop the flush that crept up his face.
"You're warm," you whispered, rubbing your face against his neck like a cat.
It made him wonder if you'd been hanging around Spider-Cat too much—or Meows Morales.
He'd rather not think about it.
Instead, he commanded his suit to uncover his hands, one less barrier between his palm and your skin. The fabric of your dress did very little to conceal your warmth as he continued giving you comforting rubs.
It made you bury yourself deeper into his arms as if you could go any further.
"This feels nice," you murmured, voice muffled against him.
He hummed in agreement.
You both settled into a comfortable silence after that.
But if he listened closely, the steady thump of your heartbeat was soft against his ears. He found the sound relaxing, and the minuscule romantic part of him imagined it was syncing with his own.
A peaceful rhythm.
Your soft breaths tickled his skin as you snuggled closer, his smile unabashedly painted on his face.
No one was here to see it, anyway.
After a few more moments of calmness, he assumed you'd already fallen asleep. He was already preparing himself to carry you across universes and back home when you suddenly spoke up,
"Can I touch your fangs?"
He blinked.
"What?"
You shifted, pulling back a little so that you could meet his eyes, face so close your noses almost touched.
"Your fangs," you repeated.
Before he could even respond, your hands were already on his face, one thumb lifting the corner of his lip while your other hand found his chin, holding him still.
"Wanna feel how sharp they are," you muttered, opting to use both hands now to pull his lips and expose his canines.
"Very sharp and dangerous," he chuckled despite himself, gently grabbing your wrists to stop your prodding. "Just take my word for it."
"You're pretty when you smile," you said, beaming and proud as if seeing his fangs was an accomplishment.
He rolled his eyes, unable to stop himself from grinning.
You smiled wider in return.
Holding your hands between you both, he absentmindedly started stroking your palms with his thumb.
It guided your gaze toward it.
"Your hands are naked!" you gasped, grabbing his wrists and bringing his fingers up to your face, wonder and awe in your eyes as if it was the first time you'd seen them without cover—it wasn't.
You'd seen him in casual clothes before.
Miguel couldn't stop his laugh from escaping even if he tried.
"I didn't know you could do that!" you said, fully amazed before your brows furrowed, pout coming back. "Why can't my suit do that? I have to get all naked just to feel my fingers."
He didn't dwell on that picture.
"I'll tweak it for you if you'd like," he said instead.
Your whole face brightened.
"Really? You'd do that?" you giddily gasped, bringing his hands up to press your palms against his like a double high five. The way your hand was much smaller than his made his heart warm.
He interlaced your fingers together. "Really."
"We're going to make a suit together!" you laughed, lovely and sweet. "That's a big big step."
He chuckled, gaze carefully tracing your beautiful features, each curve and divot glowing with happiness. He felt tempted to count every perfectly imperfect mark that littered your skin, wanting to know if it was there naturally, or if there was a story behind it.
It was supposed to be a swift glance.
He didn't mean to settle too long on your lips.
Nor did he plan to get caught.
"Stop staring," you whispered shyly.
"You're right in front of my face," he deflected, eyes back on yours.
"I know but…" You trailed off, shifting slightly, the tips of your noses brushing in the process.
"But?" he softly prodded.
"You're looking at me weird."
"How so?"
"Like…" you started, voice dropping into a whisper as if you were disclosing a secret. "You want to kiss me."
He couldn't even bother to deny the truth.
"I'll stop staring," he hummed, words holding no weight as he never removed his eyes from you.
"No!" you protested, turning flustered a second later, shyer when he smirked.
"I thought it was weird?" he teased.
"'Weird' was the wrong word," you said, scrunching your nose in thought. Adorable. "I meant different."
"How different?"
"I don't know," you admitted, leaning a little closer. "But I like it."
"Oh, do you, now?"
"Yeah," you breathed out, hands finding their way to gently cup his cheeks.
Miguel leaned into your touch with a soft smile. "Now who's staring?"
"It's because I want to kiss you," you admitted shamelessly. Your fingers traced the outline of his lips, your eyes following their path.
Miguel kissed your fingertips.
You leaned down and kissed him.
He gasped, eyes wide in shock.
A split second, they fluttered shut, head tilting, whole body melting as he kissed you back.
He spent countless amounts of time daydreaming about this moment, different scenarios, wondering what you tasted like, how it'd make him feel. But fuck—nothing could ever compare to the real thing.
It was so many things all at once.
Relief, hunger, satisfaction, desperation, fondness, fear, mind stopping, heart beating faster, soft lips, warm skin, so lovely, so sweet, so fucking addicting.
Now that he'd gotten a taste, he couldn't get enough.
Miguel cupped the back of your neck, arm snaking around your waist to keep you steady, close.
Your hand held onto his shoulder, the other finding its way into his hair, your fingers combing through the strands.
He lost any sense of control when you pulled.
Gripping your hips, he teased his tongue against the seam of your lips, slipping it in the second you opened up for him.
He groaned at your taste.
You whimpered in response.
The sound made him want to devour you.
But then you started moving your hips.
It was awakening, in more ways than one.
But the rational part of him prevailed because it was for your sake.
He pulled away, gently grabbing your chin, when you tried going back in.
"Slow down," he rasped, holding your waist and keeping you still. "Estás borracho, corazón."
"You know I don't understand," you breathed out, chest heaving, lips all plump and tempting.
"You're drunk, sweetheart," he clarified.
"I don't care," you whined, squirming.
He cupped your face in both hands.
"I do."
You pouted.
"Don't do that."
"I'm not doing anything."
"Don't pout," he sighed.
"I'm not pouting," you denied.
"You are," he said, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip.
Your pout only turned more prominent.
The beep of the clock broke him out of his trance.
It was midnight.
Miguel stood up, taking you with him before gently urging you to stand on your own two feet.
"It’s late. You should go," he said monotonously and stepped back.
You frowned.
He looked away.
"Why do you always do this?"
You were frustrated—no, you were getting angry.
He turned his back on you, eyes on the holograms even though there was nothing worth looking at.
"Do what?" he said, acting oblivious.
"Confuse the fuck out of me," you said, loud with frustration. "You act cold and distant one minute and then you're being nice and sweet the next. You keep your distance but then call me all these cute nicknames sometimes—and yes, you say them in Spanish but I asked Lyla about it once and she told me what they meant."
Traitor—thrown under the bus by his own invention.
"But then sometimes you give in and we get closer but the second I chip your walls you push me away," you continued, getting angrier by the second. "I thought things were getting better between us. But now, you won't even fucking look at me even after we just kissed—"
"You kissed me."
"You kissed me back!" you screamed.
It took him by surprise.
You had never raised your voice, much less yelled at anyone.
But honestly? There was no one else who deserved it more than him.
Slowly turning around, his heart sank when he met your tear-filled eyes.
By instinct, he reached out to try and comfort you.
It only made you angrier.
"You're doing it again!" you growled and stepped back, hands balled into fists.
Miguel stopped, hands up in surrender.
"I'm just trying to protect you," he softly said.
"Protect me?" you scoffed. "Or protect yourself?"
"I'm doing what's best for you," he reasoned, wanting nothing more than to wipe your tears away and kick his own ass for making you cry in the first place.
"You don't know that!"
"Maybe," he said, hands dropping to his sides, dejected. "But I know myself.
"Someone like me shouldn't be with someone as pure and as bright as you."
"No one gets to decide who I should and shouldn't be with," you gritted, taking long strides until you were squaring up to him. "No one but me. That's my choice."
Despite your boiling anger, despite the fact that you were glaring at him in a way that should scare him, despite the absolute animosity that lingered in your voice, your next words couldn't have brought the most opposite reaction from him.
"And I want to be with you."
Happiness, warmth, euphoria—the few things that made his heart burst at the seams.
But Miguel shook his head, eyes dropping to the ground, quickly stomping down emotions.
"I'm only going to end up hurting you," he sighed, pacing back and forth as he rubbed a frustrated hand over his warm face.
"I trust you that you won't."
"Well, you shouldn't," he insisted, eyes filled with longing, wanting to pull you close and taste your lips again despite his words saying otherwise. "You deserve so much better."
"If you believe that so fucking much then be better."
With that, you turned on your heel.
So many things flashed before his eyes, one of which was if he let you walk away now, he was going to lose you, for good.
He fucking panicked.
So much so that he jumped—right over your head.
You squeaked in shock when he landed in front of you.
Miguel didn't waste a second.
He grabbed your face and kissed you senseless.
You stumbled back, Miguel quickly webbing the chair, pulling it just in time for you to land on the cushion.
Not once did his lips leave yours.
He was bending over, hands grabbing the backrest, trapping you against it. You cupped his face, a shiver running down his spine when you trailed your hands down his chest.
But then you gently pushed him back.
He ignored the ache in his heart as he pulled away.
Miguel dropped to his knees in front of you, taking your hands in his, placing a kiss on each palm before he pressed it against his cheeks.
"I want to be with you so badly," he confessed, eyes never leaving yours so you could see it—all of him at your mercy.
"But I'm scared," he whispered, leaning into your touch. "I'm terrified that all I'll ever do is fail you, that I will never end up being the man that you deserve."
"How would you know if you won't try?" you said, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones with the sweetest smile. "And I know you think otherwise, but you deserve to be happy, too."
Miguel didn't know what to say.
So he didn't.
He kissed you instead.
It was slow, reassuring, a soft touch of your lips on his, but never less passionate.
He would've opted to deepen it a little more, but then you downright yawned between the kiss.
And here he thought you couldn't get cuter.
"You need sleep," he chuckled.
"I don't wanna go home," you grumbled, burying yourself into his chest. "It's too far."
"My room, then?" he offered.
You quickly nodded. He could almost feel you grinning against his suit.
He kissed your forehead. "Come on, let's get you to bed."
"Bed?" you gasped, emerging out of your hiding spot to wriggle your brows at him teasingly. "Gosh, take me out to dinner first."
"What am I going to do with you," he grumbled, shaking his head
"Many things, I hope."
He rolled his eyes, pressing the button to let the platform down.
"Miggy, can you give me a piggyback ride?" you asked, pouting for good measure. "I'm tired."
He sighed, turned around and crouched down.
"He doesn't always say yes he said," you giggled.
"Are you getting on or not?"
"Okay, okay, geez." You grabbed his shoulders and hoisted yourself on his back, arms around his neck, legs around his waist. Cheek pressed against his shoulder, you grinned. "Always eager to have me ride you, huh?"
His face warmed.
"I'll drop you if you won't stop."
"No you won't."
Miguel loosened his grip.
You yelped, quickly tightening your hold around him.
"You're so mean!"
He chuckled, turning his head as much as he could and puckering up his lips.
You giggled as you gave him a chaste kiss, pressing your cheek in between his shoulder blades with a deep sigh.
"Lyla, please send extra blankets and pillows to my quarters," he said, smiling to himself when you suddenly got heavier on his back.
He was sure you'd already fallen asleep.
Lyla appeared in front of him a second later, her grin far too wide for his liking.
"Not a single word about this to anyone," he interrupted whatever it was she was starting to say. "Please. Just…give us time to figure this out."
"Gotcha, boss," she said. "But for the record, I'm doing it for her."
"Good."
•••
You squinted at the bright glare that roused you from your sleep. You always close the curtains, it was part of your nightly routine. Why did you forget it this time?
Sitting up, you flopped back down with a deep groan.
Your head was pounding.
Hungover.
You didn't miss this part of drinking at all.
After a few moments, you slowly opened your eyes, the ceiling looking too unfamiliar.
Glancing down, the color of the sheets wasn't the sky blue you recently changed it into. As a matter of fact, that bed was much bigger than you were used to.
This wasn't your room.
In fact, this wasn't your world.
"What did I do?" you whispered, glancing at the nightstand. You saw the tall glass of water first, then the few pills of aspirin.
It was the framed picture that made you realize where you were.
This was Miguel's room.
Memories from last night came rushing in like a train, using your brain as railroad tracks which made your headache worse.
You quickly gulped down the water and meds, throwing the blankets off of you only to flush at the discovery.
Boxer shorts and a huge jacket—you were wearing his clothes.
Stumbling into the en suite, your heart warmed at the extra toothbrush that was already waiting for you.
You quickly made yourself as presentable as possible before making your way to the only place you knew he would be at this time of day.
First to clock in, last to clock out.
The platform was already down when you got there.
It was as if he was waiting for you.
"Morning, sleepy head," Miguel greeted without looking away from the screens.
"Good morning," you responded shyly. You picked at the hem of his jacket, second-guessing your choice of not changing out of it.
You honestly didn't know where to even begin.
As if sensing your discomfort, he turned his chair to face you.
Something flashed in his eyes for a brief moment, something primal as he regarded your figure. It was gone the next second you might as well have imagined it.
"Come here," he murmured, reaching out both hands for you to take.
Walking over to him, you slipped your hands into his, the platform beginning its ascend once you did.
You gasped in surprise when he suddenly pulled you onto his lap.
He placed your hands on his shoulders, his strong fingers curling around your waist.
You couldn't look him far too long in the eyes.
It felt like you'd combust if you did.
"What, now you're shy?" he teased, smirking freely. It was a good improvement, but you didn't know if your heart could take it having him smile at you like that. "You didn't seem to have a problem with this last night."
"Don't remind me," you groaned, hiding your face between your hands.
Miguel chuckled.
God this was so new.
It felt like you were drunk all over again—no sense of what was real and what was all in your head.
But with the soft squeeze on your waist, and the gentle fingers circling around your wrists, pulling your hands away from your face, you knew this was as real as it was going to get.
"What else do you remember?" he asked, thumbs drawing random shapes on the insides of your wrist.
You scrunched up your face. "Everything?"
He hummed, leaning a little closer to nudge the tip of your nose with his, urging you to keep your eyes on him.
"I have no idea how to do this…relationship thing. It's been a while," he started, a faint blush on his cheeks that made him so much more endearing. "But I'm willing to try this—with you."
Your heart grew ten times its size, you were sure of it.
"Yeah?"
He nodded, kissing your knuckles. "If you'll let me."
"We'll figure it out together," you said, holding his face in your hands with a smile.
"I'd like that," he whispered, grin turning cheeky. "On one condition."
"What?" Your brows furrowed.
"Morning kisses are mandatory."
You let out a hearty laugh, sound quick to turn into giggles when Miguel pressed his lips against yours.
It didn't take long for things to get heated.
You were picking up right where you left off last night, a little further given that alcohol wasn't in the equation anymore.
Yet with the way Miguel's hands were roaming your body, grabbing and groping whatever he could reach, tongue hot and heavy as it slipped past your lips, his deep groans vibrating against your palms as you rested it on his chest, his kisses moving their way onto the warm skin on your neck, softly nipping, tongue soothing—it was far more dizzying than any modified alcohol and then some.
It was a familiar voice that broke you off this time.
"Ahem! Uh, hello, I'm here!" It echoed from below. "The baby, too, by the way. So make sure you're…uhm, decent when you bring that thing down."
Miguel pulled away with an annoyed groan, eyes landing on the floating figure that appeared behind you.
If he could kill Lyla with one look—
"What?" she exclaimed. "I didn't say anything!"
"She didn't! You guys just weren't particularly…quiet," Peter B. defended on her behalf, chuckling. "And this place has the worst echo."
"Yeah, that's your fault," you whispered against his lips, pecking him one last time before getting off his lap.
He wasn't particularly happy about that either.
You pushed the button before he could say anything, the platform descending, smiling at him all innocent.
"I'm not done with you," he warned, voice deep with lust it made your whole body tingle.
"I'm counting on it." You winked, hopping off the platform before he could even respond.
Mayday landed in your arms before you could take a step.
"Hi, beautiful girl!" you greeted cheerfully, her chubby cheeks lifting as she giggled at you. "
"I wouldn't rush it," you heard Peter say.
"What?" Miguel gritted, still so annoyed.
"I know you're thinking about having a baby with her."
You bit back a laugh.
The utter silence from Miguel made it so much harder.
"You know nothing," he grumbled.
"Maybe," Peter chuckled, patting him on the back. "About time you made your move though."
Miguel grumbled something incoherent and turned back towards the screen.
Still, you caught the smile he was trying to hide.
It made you warm and fuzzy inside.
You walked over to him with Mayday in your arms. "Say hi to Uncle Miggy!"
Always your best accomplice, Mayday made grabby hands at him, blubbering, "Middy! Middy!"
Miguel sighed, carefully taking Mayday from you, before giving her a soft smile—the only other person he wasn't grumpy to. "Hello, peanut."
She giggled in response, climbing onto his shoulders, settling on them with her arms above his head. She always loved being so tall.
Miguel shot you a glare then, no heat to it at all. If anything, it was filled with pure fondness.
You grinned at him.
"You're a bad influence," he whispered to you.
"I don't think I am, Middy," you teased, standing on your tippy toes to place a kiss on his lips.
The way he suddenly turned flustered was adorable.
And when Mayday made a yucky sound, and Peter B. laughed, you knew your work of teasing him for the day was done.
"Come on, bub, let's go get you ice cream," you called, the little girl giggling in delight before jumping into your arms. You sent Miguel a wink before leaving him to deal with his beloved friend's teasing. Peter was practically waiting for this moment.
Many people regretted what they had done while drunk, especially when it involved something embarrassing.
Not you.
You regret nothing at all.
✫*。・゚.★. *。・゚♛ *.
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