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blackdragon-selfships · 2 years

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Summary: After moving in to a new house, a young girl writes letters to herself that she hides in a hole in her bedroom wall. One day after a particularly grim letter to herself, she returns to the hole to find one she did not write in its place. This leads to a tentative but growing friendship with the mysterious recipient which helps them both with their feelings of hopelessness and loneliness together.

Warnings: Mention of family issues and mention of threatened acts of violence, also lots of fluff and soft times.

Letters to No One

The house I grew up in was old. Not a foreboding mansion or something falling apart as we speak. Just old. I lived there with my parents and two younger siblings. It had three stories; The main floor where the household utilities and living room were set up, the bedrooms and bathrooms, and the attic. No one has been up there yet. All we knew was that it was there and that there was a staircase leading to it, but nothing more than that.

There was nothing very extraordinary about the house (if you don’t count the mysteriousness of that attic) either. While it was old and there are places work needed to be done, there weren’t any interesting secret compartments or places to explore. Except for a small hole in my bedroom’s wall, near the foot of my small bed. It was large enough that, when I was a child, I could stick my hand through it if I wanted. Though that was strongly discouraged.

My parents would say rats probably made that hole. Who knew what creatures lived there in there? I was forbidden from sticking my hand in it and to avoid temptation, a poster was plastered over the hole so I couldn’t access it. For a long while I obeyed, being a compliant child at that age. Then one day the hole in the wall couldn’t be ignored.

“I hadn’t meant to do it!” I would tell you back then. I had only been pulling lightly at the bottom of the poster because I was curious. It wasn’t my fault it ripped. It didn’t change the fact that the poster did rip. The bottom corners were pulled loose. The laminated paper would flutter just slightly from even the smallest gust of wind.

Now it couldn’t be ignored, and I had to do something with that hole. By now I was too nervous about all the creatures my parents guessed were inside to stick my hand in. Maybe I could stick something else in instead. Recently, about that time, at school I had learned about Time Capsules. Wouldn’t it be fun to use this hole as a Time Capsule?

Looking around my room, I found a piece of paper and grabbed a crayon (it was all I had on me at the time) before beginning to write. I wasn’t sure, at the time, what I wanted to write. I ended up with a letter to myself in the future filled with interesting things about my life at that time:

Dear future-me,

This is you from the past. This hole has been here since I moved in so I chose to use it as a Time Capsul. I’m not sure what else to write but today at school I played with Jacob. We pretended to be Pokémon Trainers and my Charizard kept escaping! Also on the way home from school I pet the cat that lives nearby.

I don’t know what else to say, so bye!

Not the most grammatically correct or exciting start to my new hobby, but I was young. After that, I made a habit to write a letter to myself daily then stick the letter in the hole. I would then cover it and my parents were none-the-wiser to my antics. Eventually the letters turned into a diary of sort, my daily updates becoming more detailed and at times quite personal. I never thought much about if someone other than a future-me would read them.

One day, however, I wrote the most personal letter yet. I was in middle school, and while it wasn’t always easy, I didn’t have a horrible time there. It was at home where things went wrong. Specifically with my younger sister.

Got in another fight with her today…she wanted me to give her one of my games and I told her no. We argued and she threatened to hurt me. Mom got between us, but I know I’m in trouble now. She will do something to get back at me. I know she will… I wish I could do something about it…

When I was finished, I shakily folded and pushed the letter into the hole with the others. If I was in a better state of mind in that time, I would have noticed something odd about that hole. I had been writing every day, shoving those same letters to myself inside since I was much younger…but the wall was not full. At the time, however, I didn’t notice or care. All that mattered to me was that I felt better after that, and after covering the hole again I put it out of my mind as I returned downstairs for dinner.

I didn’t write again for a while after. Growing busy with one thing or another as I got older, or simply forgetting. The next time I lifted the poster flap to hide one of my letters, however, something caught my eye. There was a rolled-up scroll of some kind just inside the hole. Somehow, I knew I had not put that there in all my time stuffing letters inside. That was not one of my letters.

I stared at it, unsure how it had gotten there but very curious all the same. I had to know what that scroll was, so I did the one thing I was told not to do: I stuck my hand inside the hole.

After a moment of anticipation, nothing happened. An animal of some kind didn’t lunge forward and bite my hand, and it didn’t get cut off either like I once feared it would. All that met me was cool air and then the touch of parchment before I pulled it out.

I examined the scroll now, looking it over curiously. I had never seen parchment before outside of movies. It looked quite old, though only a bit dusty for some reason. How long was it in that hole? Who put it there? …and what happened to mine?

Slightly panicked now, I looked inside the hole again. Only to find there weren’t any letters inside. It hadn’t been that long! Where did they go? Did someone take them?

My first thought was my parents found out about the letters and took them. Though that didn’t make sense. Why would they only take the letters but not fill in the hole like they had wanted? Unless they were hoping to get their hands on more personal writing of mine, which wasn’t like them, so it didn’t make sense. Not to mention, why would they use parchment?

I looked down at the scroll in my hand. There was only one way to find out what it was. So, I opened it. Immediately upon doing so, discovering that it was not from my parents. The scrawl was small, neat, and elegant but not in cursive. The words were calmly placed, and oddly it was in purple-colored ink as well. The message inside was what I focused on most, however:

I know that your situation appears grim right now…but it will not be forever. Have patience and courage, young one, for you will see the clear skies again. Do not lose hope.

I stared at the message, reading, and rereading it again with building confusion. Who wrote this and how did they get into my room to put it in that hole? I should have been more concerned, even reported this to my parents. For reasons I still don’t fully understand to this day, however, I didn’t. Instead, I held onto the parchment for a while. Then, whenever I had a bad day, I would pull it out and read the message again. It provided comfort, somehow, and helped with several difficult days as I grew older.

Until one day in my later years of high school, I returned to the hole in the wall. This time with another secret message to hide inside, but less detailed now in case someone found and read it like last time:

My parents had another fight with my sister today…there was a lot of yelling, and I was afraid that at one point someone would pull a weapon on the other. Her more likely than my parents…I don’t know what to do.

I’m scared.

I slipped the letter into the hole in the wall and hid in my room the rest of the evening. Even long after the yelling had stopped, and the front door was slammed (telling me she was gone for at least a few hours) I stayed where I was. Mom called me down for dinner, but I didn’t eat much. Neither of them brought up the fight and neither did my brother or me.

The next morning another scroll was in the wall. I pulled it out and read it:

Do not lose hope, young one. You have been strong thus far; you can weather through this as well. Do not let her break you.

Short and to the point as the last one was. Giving words of encouragement like before. Who was sending them, though? How were they getting in? It was time, I decided, to get to the bottom of that mystery.

That night I set up the video camera on my phone. Writing another letter, but this time to the mysterious recipient:

I know you have been reading my letters to myself and I have caught you on film this time. Don’t you know how rude it is to read someone’s private mail?

I meant it to sound angry, even though my mood did not reflect this somehow. I hoped to scare them before I would turn them in to the police for breaking and entering once I saw what they looked like. Though a part of me was somehow reluctant to do this since I would no longer receive letters now from the recipient. Still, I went through with it, slipping the paper into the hole and going to bed.

The next morning, I checked under the poster and with a jolt I found another scroll of parchment inside. My letter was also gone. I hurried to my phone next, checking the footage…but there was nothing. Just hours of me sleeping through the night, undisturbed by a mysterious stranger sneaking in to take my note and replace it with their own. So how were these scrolls appearing?

Annoyed and confused (and perhaps a bit scared now) I unrolled the parchment to find a reply:

My apologies, young one. I was not aware you were upset by my responses. If you wish for them to stop, I will do so.

Reading this, I was even less informed than I was before on who was doing this. But I had an out now. If they were true to their word, I could end this and move on with my life. Grabbing my notebook on my desk, I started to write my response.

Yes! I would like you to stop immediately! Whoever you are, this is a serious invasion of privacy. It’s illegal, I’m sure!

I started to rip it out afterward, then shove it into the hole. But I stopped. In truth, I didn’t really want this exchange to stop, as crazy as that sounded. The replies to my letters were comforting and while it was selfish, I didn’t want to lose that. So, I flipped the page and instead wrote:

No…I just want to know who you are and how you keep getting in. How are you getting my letters?

Not sure what else to do, I placed this one in the hole as well and went downstairs for breakfast. When I returned from school that day, I checked the hole and there was another scroll. This one longer than any of the others so far:

I am no one of importance, but know that I cannot harm you from where I reside if that is your concern. I simply found your letters one day in my home, through a hole in my wall…I began to read them and when I received your message of distress the first time, I could no longer remain silent.

A hole in the wall of his (her?) home? I looked at the poster hiding the hole in my wall, suddenly nervous again. Was someone living in the wall of my home? That was unsettling to think about. I looked back down at the scroll, biting my lip. Should I respond? Even at my age I knew how unsettling this was…but my curiosity was stronger than my fear.

No one of importance? That doesn’t sound ominous at all…

I included what I thought was an amused smile before continuing.

Where are you then? Because I’ve been putting these letters to myself in a hole in the wall in my home.

I didn’t know when I would get a reply, so once done I retreated to do something else for a while. When I returned, there was another scroll.

This will sound more ominous, but I am afraid I don’t know where I am. I call this place home because it is all I have to refer to as such. You needn’t concern yourself with it, though.

I read this, then I responded.

Considering a stranger is writing to me through a hole in the wall, I am a bit concerned. I won’t lie. Is there a name I can call you by?

I sent it through. Returning later, I found his response.

I have gone by many titles, all useless now. Most common of them, I was once known as the Midnight Star. Does this satisfy you?

“Not really?” I wanted to respond with, a bit incredulous. Who talked like that?

Midnight Star, huh? That’s a pretty cool name…but I think just Midnight fits better, don’t you? Less of a mouthful.

When I got my reply, I don’t know how, but I knew he had found my suggestion amusing.

JUST “Midnight,” you say? Yes…though a bit lazy, it still seems suitable. Very well. And what might I call you then, young one?

I smiled at that, then pondered this question. I didn’t have any grand nicknames like he seemed to, so I said that:

You can call me whatever (as long as it isn’t “young one,” it makes me feel like a kid.) I don’t have any nicknames or anything.

He got back to me quicker this time.in shorter time.

Oh, my apologies. I was unaware I was not speaking with a child. (I couldn’t shake the feeling he was mocking me there.) Very well, I will do my best in future.

Thank you for your consideration.

I put another drawing to show my tone. To my surprise, he sent a smirking face back. I still had my reservations on this decision of mine, but so far, I was not regretting it too much.

* * *

I would try to write my new, mysterious pen-pal daily. Responding before school each morning, then again, each night when I returned home. In that time Midnight (yes, I really started calling him that) had cycled through more than a few generic names to call me by (my dear, madam, my lady, among others I teased him on being straight out of the Victorian era.) That wasn’t all we talked about either. We talked about our days (mine were often more eventful) and our hobbies.

Occasionally he let slip something about his past, which in turn I would share a harmless story or piece of information about my home life. As time went on, however, I became more eager to return home to read his replies and write back. He was fast becoming a secret friend. One I could share my problems and my accomplishments with. One that cared about what I had to say and even encouraged it further. Things weren’t so lonely anymore.

Something he shared that sentiment on.

It is quite funny, really…we do not know what the other looks like, and perhaps we never will, yet having you here through our exchange of writing…it has been a comfort in this silence.

That was not the first time he alluded to his whereabouts. Last time he did so, it was to tell me it was only him in the unknown place he was in. When I pressed for details, he was vague, though I could tell it was out of fear. He only kept what he was afraid of being intercepted, somehow, out of his replies.

I know what you mean… Well, not exactly, since I do have people around…but usually I’m ignored in favor of focusing on the ticking time bomb.

He knew who I referred to. She had gotten worse as she got older, and my parents were no closer to controlling her outbursts and aggression than I was. Midnight once said she was desperate for control, knowing that using fear was effective. Especially after it was proven through the reactions from myself and the rest of the family.

Yes…which I do not want to envy, but I would take the screaming of a poorly disciplined child over this forced silence I have endured…

I wish there was something I could do about that…

Your letters have helped greatly, Starlight. I would not ask any more of you.

That made me pause.

Starlight?

Do you not like that one? I thought it was fitting.

No…I don’t dislike it. It’s just… I didn’t know how to finish the reply so sent it as it was.

Why did I use it? I would think it obvious…but I won’t give you the opportunity to make absurd guesses. I chose the name because it is what you have become to me. A light in my dark existence, like a distant star. Out of reach, but still a beacon in the night.

…sometimes I hate how clever you are with words. I really don’t know what to say to that…

I do hope whatever you say is positive. It took me quite some time to perfect the name.

I’m sure it did. I rolled my eyes as I wrote, but there was also a smile on my lips. Well, be put at ease, my friend…I do like it.

I am indeed put at ease then! I could practically see him grinning when he wrote that. It put a smile on my own face.

* * *

I had graduated High School and I was ready for college, at least according to my parents. I was of the age I should apply and find my niche. I was not as thrilled, almost entirely because I would be moving out in the process. Which would not be a problem, if not for the fact I would leave my friend alone again. I expressed this to him one night, but his response surprised me.

You should go. The sooner you have secured your future, the sooner you will escape your home situation.

But what about you? I argued, a bit hurt at how readily he agreed with my parents. I won’t be able to write to you while I’m away.

I was alone long before you sent your first letter, Starlight. Longer than you would believe…I will be alright left like this a bit longer. You will return for your holidays, after all, yes?

This was true…and I confirmed it.

Go face your future. I will be here when you return.

I was still reluctant to agree, but my arguments were weak, and I didn’t have the courage to go against what my parents wanted. Not to mention, I was not sorry to leave aside from the detail Midnight would be alone again. The fighting with my sister had gotten worse as I had gotten closer to graduating high school.

In the end I applied to one of the universities my parents suggested and was arranged to move into the dorm room assigned to me at the end of August. Knowing this, I tried to make the most of what time I had left with Midnight. We wrote almost constantly in that time, but as the departure date drew closer, I knew I couldn’t leave him without doing something to help with his loneliness. Especially after all he did for me in mine.

A plan came to me shortly after making that decision. The next day, I started on the project while responding occasionally to my pen-pal when he did. It wasn’t until the day before I had to leave that I revealed what I had been working on.

I’m leaving tomorrow, you know…

Yes, I remember…

I wish I could still talk to you while I’m there.

As do I, but perhaps it is for the best if you don’t. I wouldn’t want to distract you from your studies.

True…you would be distracting. I replied, rolling my eyes (but with a smile) as I did. But…with that said…I made something for you. So, you aren’t as lonely while I’m gone. I’m going to send them through, but don’t open them. The last one I send you, you can open though.

How mysterious. Very well.

I smiled, then carefully pushed through three stacks of letters. Envelopes this time, all tied together in their bundles. Then I pushed through the one explaining what they were:

Since I won’t be able to write to you every day while I’m away, I came up with an alternative. In those stacks are letters for you to read each day while I’m gone. Only open one per day so it lasts…then I’ll be back before you know it!

I waited by the hole for the scroll of parchment to appear with his response. It didn’t come for a while, worrying me a bit. I almost grabbed my notebook to send another when slowly the scroll appeared within reach in the hole. I took and unrolled it like always.

Forgive my delay…but I could not find the words to respond properly with. You have been…far too kind to me, Starlight. Much kinder than I probably deserve… Thank you, for the letters and for the many years of friendship. You do not truly know me, but you have treated me as though you do. I will follow your instructions carefully. You have my word…and my eternal gratitude. For everything.

Heat rose to my cheeks reading his response. Now I wasn’t sure how to answer.

It’s not a problem…you’ve been just as kind and generous to me. I would have probably gone crazy without being able to share everything with you.

His next response was shorter but no less sincere sounding. I had to change the subject before my face got any warmer.

* * *

I sent my last reply before departure. It was meant to be a temporary, “good-bye” and a few last words before leaving, but his response was not one I wanted right before going away for an extended period:

Starlight,

Forgive me for waiting until the last moment, but I cannot let you go without this. I want you to know who I am, who I truly am. Where I am from and my forgotten name…I am a coward for waiting until this moment, but I would not forgive myself if I did not do this now. With this final message from me I have enclosed in a second scroll everything. My past, my present, my future, and everything about the world I came from, as well as my true name.

Please, do not forget my name when you have learned it. You may be the only one that will have it now.

I want you to know the good and the bad. I will let you decide what to think and feel when you have read it but understand I could not leave things without doing so. If you still wish to speak with me when you return, I will wait for your letter.

-Yours, Midnight (Star)

True to his word another scroll pushed through the hole. I took it, finding it was also sealed with wax in the shape of six diamonds surrounding something that looked like a dragon. I was about to open it when there was a knock at the door to my bedroom. My mother was calling from behind it. Asking if I was ready to go. I confirmed I was, then decided to put the scroll in my backpack for the time being. Once I settled in at the dorm I would open it, I decided.

* * *

College life, it turned out, was time-consuming to say the least. I forgot all about the scroll in favor of focusing on my classes, my dorm friends, and other college life activities. I didn’t forget Midnight in that time, but when I returned home for the winter holidays, the unspeakable had happened. I hurried upstairs to my bedroom with the excuse of unpacking and resting for a few hours before dinner, secretly eager to write to my friend, but when I opened the door to my room, I froze in horror at what I found.

The room itself was untouched. My bed and desk were still there, so were my closet and small bookcase. Nothing out of place…except for one thing. The hole in the wall had been sealed.

I dropped my backpack and hurried back downstairs. I confronted my mother, asking her why the hole was gone. She looked at me, confused, then explained she and my father had been waiting until I left for college to fill it in. They didn’t want to have to find somewhere else for me to sleep while it was being done, so it worked out well that way.

I didn’t respond. I simply turned and returned to my room after nodding silently. She was satisfied with that response, letting me retreat without issue. I returned to my old bedroom then faced the wall where the hole was. I was numb with shock, placing my palm to the plaster where the sealing and new coat of paint were located. I pushed, but nothing happened. It was gone.

He was gone.

The last scroll of parchment he ever sent remained sealed in my backpack. Forgotten.

—

This was written for my Creative a writing class in college, and I finally feel up to posting it. The only rule was we had to write a work of fiction, but I kept the characters ambiguous on purpose since my classmates would be reading it as well as my teacher.

To spoil the obvious, though, “Me” is myself/Meg and “Midnight” is Aaravos.

#Meg posts #selfship #selfshipping #fanfiction #writing #megavos #written in the stars

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feyhunter78 · 11 months

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Description: Single dad Miguel who replaced himself in a new universe meets his daughter's favorite teacher, you, who just happens to have a shitty boyfriend and doesn't yet know how much the O'Hara family wants you to stick around

Pt 2

I cracked y'all, and I blame TikTok

“Ms. Y/N, watch me, watch me!” Gabi calls, waving her arms in the air to catch your attention.

“I’m watching, go ahead.” You encourage her, smiling brightly when she does a successful cartwheel, her hair spilling from the loose braid one of her classmates had done for her during quiet reading.

You know teachers aren’t supposed to have favorite students, you tell each and every one of your students that you don’t have favorites, that you adore all of them equally. But Gabriella O’Hara holds a special place in your heart.

“Did you see, did you see?” She asks excitedly, running up to you, dark curls tumbling wildly around her shoulders.

You kneel down, and brush the hair back from her face, still smiling brightly. “I did, that was amazing, who taught you that?”

“My dad, he helped me practice.” She says, giving you a toothy grin, one front tooth missing from where she’d knocked it out eating an apple yesterday.

A tear-filled lunch that had been until you reminded her that now the Tooth Fairy would come visit her. The idea of a sparkly fairy leaving her money in exchange for her tooth dried her tears quickly, and soon enough she was proudly showing off her lost tooth (safely contained in a Ziploc bag) to anyone who would listen.

“Well, it seems like your dad is a very good teacher, then.” You say, giving her shoulder a quick squeeze before her friends dragged her back onto the playground.

You stood back up and rejoined the other first grade teachers.

“She’s adorable.” Janey says, nodding at Gabi who was playing tag with a few other girls.

Janey taught in the classroom next to yours. You started teaching at the same time, but she’d been hired at Steve Rodgers Elementary a year before you. Janey was the first friend you made when you got hired, and you soon became close friends inside and outside school.

“She’s so well-behaved, too; I wish I knew who her mom was, so I could thank her.” You say, a slight grimace on your face, when you watched two boys from your class begin to shove each other.

You called out to them, and they stopped, giving you guilty looks before running towards the swing sets.

“There’s no mom, she walked out on Gabi and her father after she was born.” Melissa says, her arms crossed over her chest as she watched her kids.

Melissa was a senior teacher at Rodgers Elementary. A tough love works the best teacher with the confidence of a god, and a nose for gossip like you couldn’t believe.

“Oh, that’s so sad.” You say, your heart hurting for the sweet little girl who always wanted to sit next to you during story time. Gabi had told you about her dad many times, but never mentioned her mom, you just assumed she was away for work often, or that they didn’t have many things in common.

You looked at Gabi, watching as she helped one of her friends tie their shoes. Sitting beside them and patiently demonstrating on her own sneakers. How could anyone walk away from her?

“It is, but her dad…he’s hot, I’ve seen him in the pickup line, he’s like a male model or something.” Melissa says, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

You gave her an incredulous look. “Melissa! That’s a parent you’re talking about.”

She shrugs. “Hey, I’m married, I’m not gonna do anything, but one of you could.”

Janey turns her head to hide her laughter, and you smack her arm. “Janey, hitting on a child’s parent is wildly inappropriate, besides I have Todd.”

Melissa snorts, and you bite the inside of your cheek. Todd was not a popular man around the school, especially after what he pulled on your birthday.

The bell rings signaling the end of recess and your kids begin to line up, ending your conversation as the three of you are pulled in different directions.

There’s a knock at your door, and you look up from grading papers, to see Janey. “Hey y/n, Gabi’s father is here to see you?”

You shoot her a look of confusion and begin to tidy up your desk, then stand, smoothing out the wrinkles in your baby pink dress. “Oh, yeah, sure, let him in.”

Janey disappears, and the space is filled by a giant of a man. He towers over the desks, making them look even tinier than they already were. His shoulders are massive, his biceps you swear are bigger than your thighs, though you could be exaggerating, but you’re honestly not sure, and when he fixes those dark brown eyes on you, and suddenly the floor beneath you feels unsteady.

“Mr. O’Hara, how can I help you?” You manage to get out, motioning for him to take a seat in front of his desk.

“I’ll stand.” He says curtly. His voice is deep, settling in your bones, the faint whisper of an accent, and confidence behind his words makes you nervous for a moment, then you recognize the feeling, not nerves…something else, something much more inappropriate.

“Oh—okay, is there something you need, is Gabi okay?” You ask, realizing she isn’t in the classroom with him.

“She’s fine, just sitting outside with her book.” He explains, his eyes piercing straight through you.

“Margaret and Margarita, right? Your daughter an exceptional reader, in both English and Spanish, you should be very proud.” You say, giving him a smile, hoping the compliment will soften his expression and make it seem like he didn’t want to murder you.

Melissa was right, Mr. O’Hara was gorgeous. With a strong jawline, high cheekbones, a mess of thick dark hair, and perfectly formed lips, all tapering down to the body of an Adonis, clothed in a white button up that stretched across his broad chest, and black slacks that clung to his muscled legs like it was their job and rent was due next week. But his expression was flat, his eyes cold, his stance rigid.

“Why did you lie to my daughter?” He asks flatly, looking down at you, as if you were a bug on his windshield.

You blink up at him in confusion. “I’m sorry?”

“You should be.”

An indignant expression flashed across your face before you could stop it, and you saw Mr. O’Hara’s lip twitch. “I’m not apologizing, I’m asking for clarification.”

“You told Gabi that the Tooth Fairy was going to visit her, I wasn’t going to do the Tooth Fairy , she doesn’t need false hope.” He snaps, leaning forward slightly, towering over you.

The hair on your arms stands up, but you brush it off as a stab of guilt goes through you. He was a single dad, maybe he couldn’t afford such frivolous traditions. “Mr. O’Hara, if this is a financial issue, I am so sorry. I should’ve tried to comfort her another way, my sincerest apologizes.”

“This isn’t a financial issu—comfort her?” He stops midsentence, his brows furrowing.

“She was upset because she lost her teeth, it’s her first one, a ton of kids get a little scared, but the promise of a reward usually clears those tears right up.” You tell him, holding your hands up in a pacifying way as you talk.

His eyes dart down to your hands, then back to your eyes, lingering for a moment on your lips. “I didn’t—Gabi didn’t tell me she was scared.”

“She was probably a little embarrassed. She talks all the time about how brave you are and how she wants to be just like you when she grows up.”

His expression softens.

“I actually—”you turn to rifle through your desk until you find Gabi’s latest assignment—“have something for you.”

He takes the paper from you, and you can’t help but notice how his hands dwarf yours, his tanned skin is scattered with small scars, and his calloused fingertips brush against yours. “What is this?”

“I had the kids draw a picture of their hero and then write a few sentences about why that person is their hero. I think she was one of a few who didn’t draw Spiderman.” You laugh softly.

He cradles the paper and a soft smile spreads across his face as he reads her writing under his breath. “Porque mi papá lucha contra los monstruos en mi armario.”

“I had to look that one up, my Spanish is terrible.” You admit sheepishly, watching as he reads her words over and over again.

“Thank you, for this, and for comforting Gabi.” He says, folding the paper carefully and sliding it in his pocket.

“Of course, I love Gabi, she’s such a pleasure to have in class.”

He looks at you, really looks at you, and you’re struck by how similar he and Gabi are. They have the same nose, the same almost curls that frame their faces, and when he tilts his head ever so slightly to the side you almost burst out laughing. You can’t count how many times you’ve seen Gabi do that exact same thing.

“You know Gabi talks a lot about you, how pretty you are, she was right.” His voice is low, smooth, and sends a jolt through you. Then he takes his leave, with you standing there stunned, wondering what the hell just happened to you.

Eternal Tag list: @nyctophilic0vitnir

#meg's writing #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara fanfiction #across the spiderverse #As almost always ao3 saw it first and the second chapter is already posted there!!!!#If you don't want to wait for it to be posted here!#not a request just a thought i had #Miguel’s pastels #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel ohara #atsv miguel #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel o'hara scenarios

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