#hannah writes

[the-one-who-lambs]

Lambert comes home from a crusade. They're expecting to see Narinder, but the one they know has been replaced with someone else who wears his skin and bears his name.

I took part in the lambswap trend with @aveloka-draws but I did my part in fic form c: This oneshot was so much fun! I hope you enjoy!

[alessiasfreckles]

fantasies (alessia russo x reader)

inspired by this ask i got ages ago about lessi's favourite way to get off and her go to content - it's not quite that but hopefully it's close enough x

warnings: SMUT 18+, masturbation, facetime sex, praise kink, top!lessi, bottom!reader

------

Alessia had never been one for porn. Yeah, she’d watched it here and there in particularly, ahem, dry periods, but it just didn’t really do it for her. No, what she preferred was, well… it was you. 

Before you two started dating, she’d feel guilty sometimes, the way you popped into her head when she was getting off. The first few times, she’d freeze in place, willing her brain to picture something other than you in the changing room before practice, what you’d look like in the shower, or underneath her in bed. 

“Fuck,” she’d whisper to herself, face red. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Y/N doesn’t- she isn’t- fuck.”

Those first few times, she was too frustrated and embarrassed to keep going. But then you just kept appearing, the next time and the next, and after the way you’d giggled at her joke and smiled at her that day she couldn’t help but keep going, despite the guilt she felt about it.

She told you about it when you were in bed one night, a month or so after you’d started seeing each other.

“I- I have a confession,” she said, voice unusually shy. 

You rolled over from your position as the little spoon to look at her in surprise. “Yeah?”

She nodded. Even in the dim light, you could see the flush rising to her cheeks. 

“I, um, ithinkaboutyouwhenigetoffsometimes. Most times,” the words fell from her mouth in one quick breath, as if they’d been pushed out.

You let out a laugh, and she frowned slightly. “Lessi, babe, I’m not going to lie, I have no idea what you just said. One more time, a little slower?”

The blonde bit her lip. “Okay, I, I think about you, um, when I get off sometimes, well, most times.”

“Oh!” you exclaimed. This was what she was so worried about telling you? “I mean, I kinda hoped so? I’m not giving you all this for nothing,” you winked, shaking your hips with a grin. 

“No, I mean- I already used to think about you. Before we…” she ducked her head, not wanting to look you in the eye.

“Oh,” you said again, softer this time. “You did?”

She nodded again. “I’m sorry, I know it’s weird, I just-”

“Hey, no, it’s okay! I promise.” you sat up in bed and reached out, your hand soft against her cheek, encouraging her to look at you. “It’s not weird. It’s normal to fantasise about people.”

“I know, I- it just felt different this time. With you,” Alessia admitted. “But you- you don’t mind?”

“No!” you quickly reassured her. “No, not at all. God, if anything, I’m going to be riding this ego boost for months.”

She smiled at that, and you breathed a small sigh of relief at the sight. 

With a sly smile, you nudged her. “Well, now I want to hear more about these fantasies of yours. Maybe we can even recreate one or two of them, what do you think?”

Her demeanour changed as she smirked, pushing you down so she could hover above you, her hands pinning yours to the mattress. “Sounds good to me, baby.”

-----

These days, Alessia had absolutely no qualms about fantasising about you (though she much preferred the real thing). She liked to tell you about it, teasing you when she had a day off but you didn’t, sending you messages when she knew you were in the gym. She liked knowing that she was riling you up, that by the time you got home, you’d be desperate for her touch, wasting no time in taking your clothes off for her. 

And because you were never far, she would usually wait to actually get off until you were there. It just wasn’t as good as touching you, tasting you, seeing you. 

Well, you usually weren’t far. 

Until now. 

[Lessi]: Miss you x

[Y/N]: i miss you too baby x

You were away for a few days, a company that sponsored you had flown you out to Paris for a photo and video shoot with some other athletes. They’d put you up in a nice hotel, but there was a game at the weekend and Alessia had to stay behind. You’d been so busy all day that you’d barely had time to check your phone. Still, you were rarely apart for this long, and part of you ached at the empty space by your side.

Alessia knew you were busy. It was only mid-afternoon, and you’d told her the shoot was supposed to go on until evening. She knew she could message you, tease you, but you were working and she didn’t want to distract you - not too much, at least. Plus, teasing you wasn’t anywhere near as fun when she couldn’t see the effects of her teasing when you got home.

Her leg bounced as she sat on the sofa, the TV playing in the background. Her phone buzzed in her hand with an alert from Instagram, saying that you’d uploaded something to your close friends story. She smiled when she opened it - it was a mirror selfie, you in a crop top and shorts, with the caption ‘do you think they’ll notice if i just take these home with me?’. Her eyes lingered on your bare stomach, your thighs, your hips. The shorts weren’t particularly tight or revealing, but she knew what you looked like underneath. 

She shifted in place, warmth pooling in her stomach. With a sigh, she closed Instagram and opened her gallery, scrolling down to the hidden folder at the bottom. She wanted you, wanted to touch you, feel you, but… this would do, for now. 

She opened the folder to dozens, if not hundreds, of pictures. Pictures you’d sent her, pictures she’d taken of you, pictures of both of you. At first, she wasn’t even looking for anything specific, just wanted to look at you.

Stopping on a picture you’d sent her early on, her breath caught in her throat. You were just so pretty, in the lingerie you’d bought just to wear for her, the fabric hugging your body, the dark red complementing your soft skin. She bit her lip, hand slipping below the waistline of her joggers as her eyes traced the curve of your body, idly stroking herself over her underwear.

She kept scrolling, this time stopping on a picture she’d taken of you on holiday a few months ago. It was you, in bed, from the hips up, with Alessia’s thighs just visible on either side of your waist. The light was low, but she could still see the bite marks and bruises she’d left along your neck and your bare chest. You were smiling at the camera- no, you were smiling at her, your eyes looking just above the camera, and she felt an overwhelming rush of love flood through her. 

She could feel that she was getting wet, a damp patch forming on her underwear, and as she pushed the fabric aside, her phone buzzed.

[Meado]: Want to come over for dinner? Viv’s convinced you’re just sat at home moping because Y/N isn’t there

[Meado]: Wait I bet you are just sat around moping aren’t you

[Meado]: Gay

Alessia rolled her eyes, pulling her hand out of her joggers. 

[Lessi]: Am not

[Lessi]: Fine but only because I want to see Myle and Viv

[Lessi]: Be there in 20

-----

By the time you got back to the hotel, it was dark outside. The shoot was fun but tiring, and you felt out of your comfort zone, especially since you didn’t really know any of the other athletes there. 

You sent Alessia a quick selfie as you brushed your teeth and got ready for bed, wondering what the blonde was up to. The hotel bed was comfy, but it felt so empty alone, and you sat in silence for a minute, not sure what to do with yourself.

The quiet was broken by your phone vibrating obnoxiously on the bedside table, the harsh sound making you jump. You smiled when you saw the name on the facetime request, picking up immediately.

“Hi!” you said, half-whispering.

“Hey, baby,” Alessia grinned. She was in bed too, and you felt a pang of homesickness at the sight. “Why are you whispering?”

“Oh,” you laughed. “I dunno. I didn’t even realise.”

She let out a soft laugh at that, smiling fondly. “How are you? How was the shoot? I miss you.”

“I miss you, too,” you sighed. “I’m okay, just tired. The shoot was good, we did all the photos today and then we’re filming any video content tomorrow. Some promo videos and some group questions and games, I think.”

She whistled, raising an eyebrow. “My girl, the model,” she smirked. “I liked the picture you posted earlier. You looked good.”

You blushed. “How are you? What did you get up to today?”

“I’m okay,” she shrugged. “Training, obviously, then I hung out at home for a bit and then went to Beth’s and Viv’s for dinner. Apparently, Viv thought I’d just be sat at home alone, moping.”

“And, were you?” you asked with a grin.

“Well…” the blonde looked smug. “I wasn’t moping.”

“No?”

“No, I was having a little more fun than that,” she said, smiling wolfishly. 

“Oh,” you stammered, feeling blood rise to your cheeks and warmth pooling in your core. “Yeah?”

“Mhm,” she nodded. “I was looking at pictures of you. You in that red lingerie, remember those?”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak.

“You look so pretty in those pictures, baby. In that lingerie, like a present, waiting for me to take off the wrapping paper,” Alessia’s voice was low, teasing, as she waited for your response.

“I- um, I-,” you were too flustered to form a sentence. It wasn’t that it was unusual for Alessia to talk to you like this, far from it, but you hadn’t really done it like this before, on the phone or on a video call. 

“You wanna hear more?” she asked, laughing when you started nodding before she’d even finished the question. “Then I was looking at the pictures I took of you a couple months ago, when we went to Greece, remember? From that one night, after we’d been at the beach all day and gone to that tiny bar in the evening, when you’d been teasing me, wearing that skimpy bikini, and that dress, the sheer one. Remember that night, baby? When I made you come, what, six times, I think?”

You swallowed. “Uh-huh,” you said softly. You remembered the way her fingers had pressed into your hips when she pushed you to the bed, the hunger in her eyes as she took off your dress. The feeling of her mouth on your clit, her fingers sliding inside you, filling you up, making you gasp and moan and beg. Your first orgasm that night crashing through you, the sound of Alessia’s voice as she gently told you ‘Just one more, for me? You can take another, can’t you baby?’.

Even through the slightly pixelated video, you could see Alessia’s eyes watching you, dark with lust, and you knew she was thinking about the same things.

Shifting in place, increasingly aware of the warmth between your legs, you let out a small whine. “Lessi, this isn’t fair.”

“Aw, why not, baby?” she asked, voice nonchalant, and you whined again.

“Because- because I want you to touch me, and you’re there and I’m here!” you sputtered, frustrated. 

“Hmm,” she hummed, then sighed. “Guess we better just go to bed then.”

“Wha- no! That’s not what I meant!” you insisted, unable to ignore the way your clit was throbbing, aching to be touched.

“No?” she asked, smirking.

“No,” you huffed.

“Well, since I can’t touch you, I guess you’ll just have to do it yourself, won’t you?” the blonde said with a shrug. “Do you wanna do that for me, baby?”

You felt your face flush even more but nodded, biting your lip. 

Alessia felt a flutter of relief in her chest. Even though she knew you’d agree to the idea, a small part of her had still been nervous about asking. You couldn’t see it on the call, but her hand had worked its way down her body, easily sliding beneath her underwear, one finger lazily circling her clit.

Unknowingly, you mirrored her actions, and the gasp you let out when you touched the arousal pooled between your legs alerted her to what you were doing.

“Can you tell me what you’re doing, baby?” she asked softly.

“I- um, I’m touching myself,” you said, voice shy and quiet. 

“Yeah? Can you tell me how?”

“I’m touching my clit,” you told her. “It, it feels good.” 

“Good girl,” she said, letting out a sigh. You realised that she was touching herself too, the way you were. It sent a jolt to your core, and you had to bite back a moan at the thought, imagining her lying there, touching herself to the thought of you.

“Fuck,” you whispered. “What- what are you thinking about?”

“I thought I was the one leading this,” she grinned, but laid back, her eyes fluttering closed. “I’m thinking about you, baby. Thinking about what I’d do if you were here, how I’d touch you. How pretty you’d look between my legs.”

You couldn’t help but let out a soft moan, rubbing your clit faster. You almost wished you’d brought some toys with you, but you hadn’t expected your trip to go like this. Alessia’s fingers slipped further, dipping between her legs, her breath catching, and you watched her throat bob as she swallowed. When you moaned, her eyes opened, raking over your flushed face, your bottom lip red from how hard you’d been biting it to try and stay quiet.

“I want you to touch yourself how I touch you,” she said, her voice quiet but confident. “The way I fuck you. Imagine it’s my fingers inside you.”

Whimpering, you did as she asked, two fingers easily sliding inside your throbbing core. Your back arched at the sensation, head falling back, and Alessia let out a moan as she watched. 

“You’re doin’ so well for me, baby,” she murmured. “Wish I was there with you, wish I could touch you, feel how wet you are. Bet you’re takin’ those fingers so easily, aren’t you, baby?”

You nodded, eyes closed as you pictured Alessia touching you. She watched as your brow furrowed slightly, a telltale sign that you were getting close. She was getting close too, the circles on her clit getting faster as she watched you get yourself off to the thought of her.

“I bet you’d let me do anything I wanted to you right now,” her voice was breathy as she tried not to give away how close she was getting, wanting to focus on you. “Let me fuck you however I wanted, as long as you get to come at the end, isn’t that right, pretty girl? I think you should add another finger.”

You let out a broken moan as you fucked yourself, the third finger sliding in just as easily as the other two. Your fingers didn’t feel as good as hers - hers were longer, made you feel more full - but they’d do. The way you stretched around your fingers felt so good you could cry, and as you got closer to the edge you propped your phone up against the other pillow, using the hand that had been holding the phone to rub your clit.

“Fuck, you look so good, doing whatever I ask you to,” she moaned, biting back a whine of her own as she tried to fight off her rapidly approaching orgasm. She wanted you to come first, wanted to see you unravel, watch the tension leave your face. “You close, baby?”

“Y- yeah, ‘m close, I- fuck, Lessi, baby, please,” you babbled, too far gone to think straight, desperate for relief. 

“Okay, darling, since you asked so nicely, can you come for me?” she asked, and watched, enraptured, as you came, back arching, mouth open in a silent gasp as your core clenched around your fingers. She swore under her breath, and you opened your eyes just in time to see her sink into the bed, her body tensing then relaxing as she came, and you couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride that she’d gotten off watching you, thinking about you.

“Fuck,” you said, voice hoarse. “That was… fuck.”

“Yeah,” she nodded, a satisfied smile on her face. 

“Not as good as the real thing, though,” you giggled, and she grinned.

“No, definitely not. Guess we’ll just have to have round two when you get home, eh?”

[daddy-kinard]

“You ever wonder…” Tommy trails off, shaking his head a little dismissively.

“Wonder what?”

“Nothing, nothing. It’s just,“ he shrugs, kinda sheepishly, he knows it’s a stupid thing to waste time thinking about what ifs, “you ever think about how different things would be if Chim hadn’t called me up with that collective death wish? If we’d never even met that night.”

But Evan just smiles.

“Nah.”

“Nah?”

“We’d’ve found each other some other way.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. We’ve been circling closer and closer for years, Tommy - the 118, the calls we now know we both responded to, even that night when I met Red instead of noticing the hottest guy on the planet at the other end of the bar - we would have found each other some other way, eventually.”

Tommy snorts, partly at the hottest guy on the planet comment, and partly at how sure Evan sounds about it. As though it was fate bringing them together.

“You really believe that?”

“I really do. I don’t believe there’s a single universe where I never get to meet my soulmate.”

Soulmate.

It’s possibly - no, who is he kidding - it is definitely the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to Tommy. Maybe the most romantic thing someone ever will. It sounds like a line lifted straight out of one of his most re-watched romcoms, something that people don’t just come out with in real life, and certainly not in Tommy’s real life. His thoughts drift to the small box hidden in the lower compartment of his toolbox, if Evan’s casually pulling out shit like this as they lounge on the couch waiting for Eddie and Chim to arrive with pizza and beers, Tommy’s suddenly not sure he’s going to survive the wedding vows he hopes are in their future.

He doesn’t say that, obviously, he wants to maintain some element of surprise when he asks. Instead it’s -

“Didn’t have you down for the soulmates type.” Because, sure, he knows Evan is superstitious in the way a lot of firefighters are, but he didn’t think that extended to his love life. He loves love, that is true, but every conversation they’ve had since that second do-over of a date, about being willing to put in the work, to communicate, to learn how to show up for each other, it doesn’t scream letting the universe just do it’s thing.

“I’m not. Or, I wasn’t. And then you came along. Tommy, I didn’t even know I liked guys,” he stresses, “but I wanted to be with you. More than I knew how to deal with. And then, you gave me a second chance that I probably didn’t deserve, and I just…this isn’t me saying I’m taking it for granted okay? I know that we’re not magically perfect for each other or whatever, I just, part of me just knows that it was always meant to be you, y’know?”

Which, Tommy supposes, is kinda what he was getting at in the first place. He slots his fingers in between Evan’s and squeezes, thumb rubbing a familiar pattern across the back of his hand.

“I do.” He smiles.

a silly little something for my only contribution to @bucktommypositivityweek, written in my notes app on my commute home

[sp1rit-realm]

༻¨*:· 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐓 ·:*¨༺

༻¨*:· summary ·:*¨༺ you hate remus lupin, and he hates you. what happens when you get stuck in a lift together?

༻¨*:· notes ·:*¨༺ 𖦹 WEDDING!!!!! 𖦹 enemies to ?? 𖦹 fem!reader 𖦹 oh. em. gee. 𖦹 i did not proofread this bc i'm lazy ⎝(ˊᗜˋ)⎠

༻¨*:· word count ·:*¨༺ 𖦹 1.7k

prologue / IOU << pt. 11 -- wedding >> epilogue

༻¨*:· 𝐖𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 ·:*¨༺

Your hands are flittering around, messing with your hair for the fifth time in the past three minutes, and you sigh. It just won't look nice, you decide. Then, there's a knock on your door, and you frantically grab everything you need and stuff it into your purse. You open the door to see Remus in a suit. He looks beautiful, and you watch him blush as you tell him. 

"Well, I think you look positively lovely today." He says, now watching as you get flustered.

"What are you? A proper lad?" You deflect.

"Your hair looks nice."

"Really? I've been fussing with it this whole morning," You huff, "I feel like whenever I need it to behave, it never does."

"It looks beautiful."

"Thank you," You gleam.

. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Harry is the ring bearer. He doesn't understand what's happening as he walks down the aisle playing with the ring, but he's happy when everybody claps for him��giggling and hiding his face in his hands.

Marlene and Dorcas say their vows, and you feel like crying. 

"They're so in love," You whisper to Remus, who looks at you and smiles. 

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

You nod.

. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

You get a little tipsy at the reception, laughing so much that you snort at Remus's bad jokes.

Amongst your laughing, he becomes quiet, staring at you with adoration.

"Would you like to dance with me?"

His hands are holding onto your waist, and your feet are stumbling and tripping all over his.

"You're bad at this," Remus mumbles.

"I'm drunk," You mumble back.

"I'm positive you'd be just as bad sober."

You laugh for the umpteenth time that night.

. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

You can't quite recall what Remus has said as you stumble into the lift, but you giggle like it's the funniest thing you've ever heard.

"Y'know," You mumble, hiding your face in his arm, "I don't think I'd mind getting stuck with you in this lift again."

His face flushes a bright red, "Yeah?"

"I like you lots, Remus."

"I like you lots, too." He whispers.

You wobble as you walk to your door, and your dreams come true when Remus steadies you—holding you around your waist—pulling you closer to him.

. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

"Remus!" You whine, looking at him with those sad eyes—bottom lip jutted out.

"Yes, m'love?" He murmurs.

"Can't take my shoes off," You look down at your strappy heels, then back to him, "Will you do it?"

He gets down on one knee, and your mind flashes through hundreds of different scenarios, all ending with you in his arms.

You shake your head, hoping that will rid the thoughts. He just looks up at you and smiles—it doesn't help.

"C'mon, love," He whispers, guiding you to the bathroom.

"Where are we going?" You slur.

"Bathroom, to take your makeup off."

"You're so sweet," You give him a dopey smile with tired eyes.

"Anything for my favorite girl."

You hum.

Favorite girl. The words ring in your ears over and over until Remus calls your name.

"Hm?"

He lets out a breathy laugh, "I asked where your makeup remover is."

You instruct him on how to remove your makeup, eyes flickering down to his lips every now and then—his are doing the same.

. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

"What clothes do you wear to bed?" He asks in the bedroom.

"Bed clothes, duh." You smile, all giddy and lovely, and Remus can't take it.

"Yeah? And which clothes would that be?"

"Y'know," You put your arms around his neck, mimicking the dancing from earlier in the night, "The ones I sleep in," You bite your bottom lip, trying to hide your smile. It doesn't work.

He holds your waist, "M'love," His forehead touches yours, "You need to tell me which clothes you wear to bed."

You ignore his pleading, "You have nice lips," You mumble.

"Yeah? So do you."

You hide your face in his shoulder—cheeks getting warmer by the second.

"C'mon, pretty girl," He whispers, "Look at me."

You shake your head, ruffling your hair in the process.

"Why not, baby?"

Your whole body goes hot, "Why should I?"

"Can I kiss you?" His voice is soft and low and needy.

You look at him, "Please."

"You're so pretty," He mumbles so closely that you can feel his breath on your lips.

"You're prettier," You whisper back.

"Not possible." And then his lips are on yours, and it's dizzying and electrifying; it's everything you've ever wanted.

You feel him smile, and you smile back—teeth hitting teeth, and you laugh, pulling away from him. 

"I like you so much, Remus." You whisper.

"I like you so much, too." He whispers back, "Now, which clothes are your bed clothes?"

You laugh, "I'll get them."

"Don't fall on your way there."

"Ha! I won't," But you almost trip on the pile of clothes in front of your dresser, and you can hear Remus let out a breathy laugh from the doorway.

"Shut up!"

"I literally said nothing."

"You laughed at me," You whine, making your way to the bathroom to change.

"I did no such thing," He denies.

"Sure." You emphasize the 'u' as you stumble around, trying to put your bottoms on.

"Be careful in there!" He calls with a smile on his face.

. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

"Stay?" You ask Remus as he leaves.

He laughs a little, "Love, the couch is too small for me." 

"You can," You slightly shrug, "Stay in my bed with me. If you want."

"I don't have any clothes to wear," He frowns.

"Just sleep like this." You answer like the solution is right in front of him.

"Baby, I'm wearing slacks."

"Then take them off," You shrug, "Easy peasy."

"I'd just be in my boxers. Plus, I have this shirt on."

"It seems like you're looking for plenty of reasons to leave. You don't have to stay." The remark comes off as soft and wounded rather than snarky, like you intended. 

"No, I can stay, pretty girl."

"You keep calling me that," You whisper, "Do you really think I'm pretty?"

"I wouldn't lie about something like that, my lovely girl."

He's drunk on the smile you give him, and he can't help but kiss you again.

As he strips, you can't help but watch how the silver cast of the moon reflects on his scars. They gleam, and you find it twisted that he has them—that the moon causes them but makes them so beautiful.

He stands up, now only in his boxers, "Take a picture. It'll last longer." 

Your face gets warm, "Sorry."

"I was only joking. No need to feel bad, m'love."

"You're just so pretty."

"Did I ever tell you flattery works on me?" He smiles, leaning down to kiss you once again.

"No, but I just had a feeling," You smile like a little kid on Christmas day. All giddy and full of excitement.

You roll onto the bed in a fit of giggles. Remus watches in amusement; he's never seen you so joyful.

After you're done rolling over to your side of your bed, you're tangled up in your blanket—neither of you are quite sure how it happened. Helping you unravel yourself, Remus tucks you in before laying on the other side of the bed.

You snuggle into his chest, "G'night, Remus." You mutter.

"Goodnight, my love. Sweet dreams," He whispers back.

. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

When you wake up, you and Remus are entangled in one another. Your legs are sandwiched together. His hand has slid up your arm—his other is going numb as it lies under your weight. One of your hands is wrapped around his torso, and your second one has found the nape of his head—fingers interlaced in his hair.

"Remus," You whisper against his neck, "Remus, wake up."

His response is a soft snore; you can't help but think this is domestic bliss. You and your lover waking up on a lazy Sunday morning, and you would kiss up his neck, lips finding his jaw. 

"Remus," You try a little louder this time.

"Mmm," He mumbles, "Y/n?"

His eyes slowly open, sandman dust clinging to his lovely lashes.

"'Tis me," You whisper.

"We should get up."

"I don't want to," You whine.

"C'mon, love. Let's get up." He begins to detangle himself from you, and you immediately miss his warmth.

"Why?"

Remus leans down and kisses the pout right off your lips, "'Cos," He mutters, "It's time for breakfast."

"Breakfast?" You gleam.

"Mhm," He smiles.

"Where?"

"That diner you like."

You gasp, "Tina's diner?"

"That one." He smiles.

You walk to the lift, hand in hand with Remus.

He kisses you once you enter, and you can't help but smile.

"Remus?"

"Y/n?"

You get shy, looking at the ground, "Will you... be my boyfriend?" You shrug a little like the question's a casual one. And in some ways, it is. His heart has been yours since the start, and he's no longer scared to admit it.

"Yes. I will."

You and Remus decide not to tell anybody right now. Marlene and Dorcas have just been hitched, after all. It wouldn't be right to take away their spotlight.

You walk into the diner with him, and it's not suspicious for the two of you to be arriving together—you live in the same building. So the group has grown accustomed to you walking in with Remus, smiles on both of your faces as you reminisce about something stupid one of you has said on the way over.

But this time, there's something different. Everyone can sense the shift in the atmosphere. You're a little too close to Remus, and you're glowing. There's no stupid laughter to accompany a stupid joke that Remus never ends up telling.

Marlene smiles, leaning back in her chair, "How's the happy couple?"

You stop dead in your tracks, "Hm?"

"My lovely wife asked how the happy couple was," Dorcas speaks up.

"Shouldn't we be asking you that?" Remus asks with a quirked brow as he helps you into your seat.

"You two are dating!" Sirius yells—he couldn't hold it in any longer. 

"Dating!" James sings, "You two are dating!"

Lily can't help but participate in the childish fun as she sings, "Remus and y/n sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G."

Remus is stark red, but you're laughing, and you look so carefree that Remus can't help but laugh.

"We're dating!" You confirm.

"We're dating." You repeat, softer.

WE'RE DATING AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHEBDFIHSBFAJBNEFK

[starions]

i didn't find my love, but i still made it this far without it.

pairing ; miguel o'hara x gn!spider!reader

words ; 1432

summary ; in every dimension you are loved dearly by all, and in every dimension, miguel gets you killed.

tags ; angst, mentions of death (reader dies... a lot), miguel is a stalker (with good intentions), allusions to comic!miguel, mentions of cheating, y/n isn't used, gender neutral pronouns

han's note ; i wrote this with my self-insert spidersona spiderette in mind lol but i tried to make reader as vague as possible <3 also i haven't written in a while and it shows. title is an ethel cain lyric. stream preacher's daughter.

;

The first time he had seen you, you were wearing a lab coat and helping him with his genetic tests at the Alchemax headquarters; the second time, your face was broadcasted on an “in memoriam” video on New York’s biggest news channel; and the third was you in your Spider suit, swinging around NYC. He never thought he’d see that face again.

The glow of orange screens burned into his vision, the beginnings of a migraine brewing behind his eyes. Miguel’s eyes narrowed at the screen, watching as you take down a villain in your dimension. You moved with grace, tying the villain up in your webs with ease, before turning them into the police. He mentally noted some skills that you could work on, like becoming more aware of the blindspot you had on your left side or cutting back on the quick quips that riled up the villain even more. Nevertheless, he hummed in approval, clicking off the video. He was in view of another window this time; you as you exited your apartment’s back window in your Spider suit. He gritted his teeth; you treated your job as Earth-799’s Spider-Person with such carelessness, such negligence. Yes, you had a good skill set that could become great with more work, more practice, but the indifference you had about concealing your identity irked him. Your mask only covered half your face, for God’s sake, and your hair wasn’t covered at all. Was this a game to you?

“You’re going to tear a chunk of that desk off again,” Lyla said, flickering above his shoulder. He grunted, looking down to see the talons extended from the pads of his fingers sinking into the material of the desk. He quickly yanked his hands off the desk, crossing his arms over his chest. Lyla looked him up and down, grinning mischievously. “You should just let them join already, instead of stalking them.”

“I’m not stalking them,” he retorted, closing out the window.

“Right right right,” Lyla responded. “What’s this then?” She snapped her fingers, and videos and videos of you pop into view; you shaking hands with Captain Stacy; you swinging around your Earth’s New York City; you enjoying your morning coffee on your balcony; you. You. You— 

“You have a problem dude.”

“It’s not like that,” Miguel said, a growl seeping into his words. “I’m just… making sure they are safe.”

“You could make them safer if you just let them join~”

“No.” Miguel rubbed his temples, glancing up to stare at you on the monitor.

Lyla tsked, checking her nails as if she was in dire need of a manicure. “How could I forget you had this self-loathing, cynical nature about you. Shielding them from yourself is just going to drive the both of us insane.”

“Lyla,” Miguel said, “activate ‘do not disturb’ mode.”

“Whatever, stalker.” With a roll of her eyes, Lyla flickered out of view, leaving Miguel alone. With only you.

His eyes are drawn to an advertisement in the background of one of the videos. You, in your Spider suit, advertising some energy drink on a giant screen in the middle of Times Square. Another screen showed you advertising some sort of athletic wear, and he could see someone dressed in your suit down below, taking pictures with tourists. Sure, Spider-People in almost every dimension take on advertisements, sell merchandise, and sign autographs. But everyone loved you, everyone wanted to get close to you. You even got J. Jonah Jameson to soften up to you with your cushy job as editor of The Daily Bugle.

In every dimension, everyone admired you, adored you, even. You were cherished by all.

And in every dimension, Miguel was the cause of your death.

Miguel gritted his teeth, a fang threatening to break the skin of his lip. The flood of incoming memories was doing nothing to dull the pain behind his eyes, and he slammed a fist into one of the monitors, watching as it flickered once, and all of the orange screens turned to black.

He held his head in his hand, mind drifting to the first dimension he had found you in. His dimension.

Absolutely intelligent, hard-working, ambitious, you joined Alchemax as an intern with the goal of being a top geneticist, like himself. As you moved up in the ranks, you became a member of Miguel’s team, tracked to design a serum that could allow anyone to gain superpowers. Miguel viewed you as a vital member of his team; obedient without needing to be, kind and optimistic despite the workload assigned to them all, and one to watch. With your brains and work ethic, you would have been at the top of Alchemax in no time.

Would have. It all went wrong, and it was his fault. You and him were both against using felons as test subjects for the serums, but it was out of both of your hands. You were only supposed to take the blood of the man they had injected with the serum, with Miguel monitoring the screen from outside the room. It happened instantaneously. The man in the hospital bed reacted negatively to the serum, growing the legs of a spider in seconds and grabbing you by the throat. Miguel watched in horror as the man wrapped his spider legs around your neck, slamming you over and over again against the cool tile walls.

The next thing he remembered was security gunning the man down, and him cradling you in his arms.

That was the first of the tragedies that plagued his life. When he decided to abandon his dimension for another one, one where he wasn’t afflicted by the role of Spider-Man, he was not expecting to find a dimension where he and you had a family together. For a split second, he imagined a world where he had taken you up on the offer of having a drink after work, if he answered those silly pictures you sent him more often. A world where the two of you had a family, and he didn’t have to take one over.

That thought collapsed when he saw what became of you in this new world. Miguel—this version of himself—didn’t love you. Not like he should have. After years of marriage, you discovered his lies, his deceit, his cheating. You seperated from him immediately, moving into your sister’s place as you began divorce and custody proceedings. Then, one night, while you were driving to your old apartment to pick up Gabriella, you were struck by a drunk driver.

You, this dimension’s favored meteorologist, were mourned for weeks. News channels across New York showed your face and aired your best segments in memoriam. New York City’s treasured weather forecaster, dead at the hands of a drunk driver, leaving behind a devastated husband and daughter. Even in this dimension, you were loved by all.

Miguel had killed you twice, and didn’t even know the second time. If that version of him hadn’t been so despicable, hadn’t thrown away something so precious, then you wouldn’t have been driving that night. It was his fault.

So when he saw that dimension’s Miguel be gunned down, what was he to do? Leave Gabriella to be an orphan? He couldn’t do that. Not to you. She’d be loved by a regretful father, and your memory would be kept alive until he died.

How naive he was.

“Earth to Miguel,” a voice chimed. Miguel stopped his self-inflicted mental torture to glare at Lyla.

“I thought I put you on ‘do not disturb’.”

“Have you not seen your watch blinking? Anomaly detected on Earth-799. Jess needs backup.”

His breath hitched, eyes trailing down to his Gizmo where he found several missed calls from Jess. “Send Hobie,” he said, voice lacking emotion. The thought of seeing you face to face made his stomach churn.

“He’s not available,” Lyla replied, pushing her heart shaped sunglasses up.

“Then send Peter B.,” he said, annoyance seeping into his voice.

“He’s in a ‘Daddy and Me’ class; he sent pictures, wanna see?” Lyla asked, pulling out her phone.

“No!” Miguel snapped, rubbing his forehead. “Send Ben, send Lego Peter, send Pav! Send anyone but me.”

Lyla tutted, shaking her head. “No one is available. Jess needs you, Miguel.”

Miguel cursed under his breath, his holographic mask suddenly covering his face. He tapped a few buttons on his Gizmo, eyes squinting at the brightness of the portal that opened next to his workstation. He took a step into the portal, praying that this time would be different.

[hannahmanderr]

WHOO HOO ECTO-IMPLOSION!! I was honored to get to step in to write for the incredible artwork done by @praetoring! They're such a talented artist, and their art was truly inspiring!! I'll be reblogging it myself, but definitely go check it out here and share the love with them!! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“This would be so much easier if you opened up, Daniel.”

Danny huffs and scrapes the heel of his scruffy shoe on the thin carpet. “It’s Danny. And I told you before. There’s nothing to open up about.”

Dr. Bell leans forward and laces his fingers underneath his chin. Danny’s seen the critical glint in his eye before, in the other psychiatrists who have come before him. He wonders if it’s something they teach in medical school. Maybe they make it a graduation requirement.

“I’m here to help you. We all are,” Dr. Bell says, his honey brown eyes trained on Danny. “You’re here because you have people who care about you. They want to see you get better.”

“Well, I hate to disappoint, but there’s nothing to get better from.”

Dr. Bell’s eyes crease into a sad sort of smile. “There’s a term for that, you know. When a patient believes their problems aren’t a problem. ‘Ego-syntonic’ is what we call it.”

“Why would I care what it’s called?”

“Thought you might like to know.” The doctor shrugs. “You seem like the inquisitive type.”

A silence befalls the two, broken only by the gentle ticking of the antique cuckoo clock on the wall. Danny scrapes his heel on the ground again.

He doesn’t like the quiet. It leaves room for too much to sneak through. Too many chances for something to slip through the cracks. 

But he doesn’t speak.

It’s a lose-lose situation, really. He can stay quiet and run that risk, or he can talk and have to deal with all this. Again.

He shuffles and crosses his arms.

Dr. Bell sighs. “You do know why you’re here right now, yes?”

Danny doesn’t answer at first. His gaze is focused out the window now, at a point on the horizon. The sun is glaring down, melting the slushy snow and causing the air to shimmer. It’s a mesmerizing sight, he decides.

“Daniel. Danny. Look at me.”

Danny grits his teeth, but obeys. Still, his eyes continue to drift back outside. 

There’s another look in Dr. Bell’s eyes. One that Danny also knows well. The same reproachful, pitying look given to him by the students in the halls at school, the cashiers at the grocery store, the dozens of professionals he’s been forced to talk to. The same look accompanied by low whispers and unrelenting rumors.

Danny knows he should be used to them by now, but he still can’t help but lash out at them. Every time. Even if it’s in his own head. 

Dr. Bell tilts his head thoughtfully. “Why did you throw those meds away, Danny?”

Danny bristles. He can still hear the flushing toilet and his sister’s shouts of disbelief. The angry lecture from his parents. It’s not pretty.

Somehow, he’d never thought about the consequences of getting caught.

“Maybe if you listened to me,” he snaps, “you’d understand that they’re useless.”

“If we need to adjust the dosage, or if we need to try anoth-”

“No, just - I don’t need them!” His heart is beginning to race. He’s getting himself worked up again, and he knows it can only lead to disaster, but he can’t really help it. “I don’t need them, because nothing’s wrong!”

Dr. Bell’s brow furrows. “How long have you been tossing them?”

“Does it matter? I don’t need them, end of story.”

“Danny.” His name is spoken with a sort of sternness really only matched by his English teacher. It’s enough to make him shut his mouth and slowly sit back in his seat. Had he even realized he’d started to lean forward?

His heart doesn’t quiet, though. It pounds away in his chest, faster and faster. Something tingles in the back of his head.

He scrapes his heel again.

The doctor finally looks away and pinches the bridge of his nose. It pushes his glasses askew. “This is serious. You can’t simply decide to stop taking these meds because you think you don’t need them. That’s dangerous… to you.”

Danny doesn’t need to be a genius to hear the unspoken message in Dr. Bell’s words. Dangerous to you and the people around you.

Jazz would scold him for jumping to that conclusion. He can imagine just what she’d say. People with psychotic disorders are more likely to be the victims of violence than the perpetrators of it, she’d say in that presumptuous, know-it-all voice she dons any time she gets to talking about psychology. 

Danny knows better though. Statistics might say one thing. They don’t change what people think, though.

Another shimmer outside the window catches his eye. He hones in on it immediately. 

This one is different. He knows it. He can feel it.

Shit.

Dr. Bell is still speaking. “Please, Danny. You don’t want to end up back in the hospital again. You’ve been managing your symptoms for a while now. You don’t want to throw that all away.”

But Danny isn’t hearing him. Not even the thinly veiled threat of the hospital breaks his concentration. 

(Somewhere in the back of his mind, though, he wonders if psychiatrists are supposed to be this blunt. All of the others before this one always danced around the issue so delicately.)

(He sort of appreciates the bluntness, for once. It’s a refreshing change.)

No, his focus is devoted to that point on the horizon, where the shimmer is waving precariously in the air, taking on a new shape and growing stronger. 

Really, he wishes it had waited until this appointment was over.

Then again, he’s really the one to blame for it, isn’t he?

“We can only do so much. Myself, your parents, your teachers… I know it’s difficult, and I know you’ve been through a lot, but we can’t do all the work for you. You have to be willing to step up and take care of yourself.”

Danny’s heart is throbbing painfully now. He can feel the potent hum of something buzzing just under his skin, making his leg bounce and his fingers dig into his torn jeans. His eyes remain stubbornly trained out the window.

But this time he’s heard Dr. Bell’s words. Specifically that last bit. And he has some words of his own. 

It’s perfect timing, thankfully. 

He stands up abruptly, so forcefully it knocks over his chair. “Thanks, but no thanks, doc. You may think I’m just throwing away my life or whatever, but I know myself better than you do. And for the record, I am taking care of myself. I’m taking care of more than myself, actually. So - and I’ll only say this once - kindly go to hell.”

Before Dr. Bell has the chance to respond, Danny sweeps out of the office.

No one sees him exit the building.

____________________________________________________________

One year, seven months, twenty-one days, and forty-six minutes.

That’s how long it’s been since the first crack.

It shouldn’t have been possible. His parents said so themselves. With the portal destroyed, the veil between worlds was never torn. Reality remained intact, thus preventing any leakage. 

That’s what they thought anyway. 

But Danny knows the truth. He’s the only one that does. 

He was there when it happened, after all.

____________________________________________________________

The next morning has Jazz hovering over his shoulder, watching him like a hawk.

“Go on,” she says, nodding to the pills in his open hand. “Take them.”

Danny doesn’t answer. Instead, he stares at the pills with disdain. Mom had been sure to make certain that he’d have them for this morning. Pharmacies work much faster with an impassioned Fenton breathing down their necks.

Either that, or maybe they’ve heard the rumors about him too.

Jazz huffs and throws her hands in the air. “Honestly, Danny, I don’t understand what the big deal is. They’re not gonna kill you.”

Danny tilts his head. He could probably make a decent argument as to why yes, taking these pills could end up with him dead, but he holds his tongue.

He can feel his heart begin to pulse a little faster. His focus immediately redirects to his breathing. 

Inhale Io Europa Ganymede.

Exhale Callisto Amalthea Himalia.

Inhale Elara Pasiphae Sinope.

Exhale Lysithea Carme Ananke.

Jupiter has 95 moons. Danny knows all their names by heart. It became especially easy to memorize them when he discovered they make for a wonderful mantra to time his breathing to.

And Jazz wanted to accuse him of not paying attention in therapy.

Except she’s still staring at him with murder in her eyes. “You’re not going anywhere until you take those. And no, I will not vouch for you with Lancer if you make us late.”

His eyes flick up to hers for the briefest of moments. He doesn’t maintain the eye contact - it’s too hard to look at the disappointment in her eyes - but it’s long enough for him to spot something else within them. He can’t quite believe it, though.

Is that… helplessness?

Conflicting feelings war within him. On one hand, he wants to snap at her, tell her to mind her own business and quit worrying about him. She’s been on his back for the better part of the past year and a half. How has she not learned that no amount of nagging is going to “fix” him?

But on the other hand, his heart pangs for his sister. After all, she’s been dealing with the effects of his… condition for that year and a half now, whether she’s wanted to or not. He knows his problems are not self-contained; they inevitably twist their way into the lives of everyone he comes into contact with. No one has been in closer contact with him than Jazz.

In a way, he sort of hates himself for it. Or maybe he hates the universe for putting him into this position. Either way, he hates it.

Yet he still can’t take the pills. He doesn’t know what sort of effect they’ll have on him, but he’s not eager to find out, either. 

Danny sighs and his shoulders slump. “Fine,” he says, his voice clipped. “Whatever.”

He makes a show of tossing them in his mouth and taking a big gulp of water. Even after he swallows, Jazz still eyes him critically.

“Open up,” she demands, though her voice is gentler. Obediently, he opens and lifts his tongue to show her his empty mouth. 

She nods curtly, but Danny can see the tension drain from her face and body. The sight is somewhat strangely satisfying. “Thank you. Now was that so bad?”

Danny shakes his head.

“That’s what I thought. Now come on, I really don’t want to be late.”

“You go ahead,” he says. “Sam and Tucker wanted to walk with me today.”

Jazz raises an eyebrow. The gears are turning in her head, Danny knows, as she tries to pick the reason apart. Looks for a flaw. 

A year and a half of lying through his teeth has earned him such a lack of trust.

But he shrugs half-heartedly. He’s already taken the pills, hasn’t he?

Jazz seems to reach this conclusion. “Alright,” she says slowly. She bends down to pick up her bag, but her eyes stay glued to him. “But if you try anything funny…”

“What would I even try?”

“Just -” she cuts herself off and draws in a breath. “I’m not trying to be the bad guy, Danny. I just… I worry. You’re my little brother, you know?”

His heart pangs again. “I know.”

The hint of a smile graces the corners of her lips. She plants a kiss into his hair. There’s a weight to it though, one that holds the strain of all the heated arguments, all the angry and despaired tears, all the failed pleading and promising, everything that’s happened in the past year and a half.

Even if her melancholy hadn’t draped itself around his shoulders, he would’ve known.

Still, when she pulls away, he offers her his own small smile. She leaves the house without another word.

It’s only after he hears the door close behind her that he bolts to the bathroom.

____________________________________________________________

He had tried to explain what was happening to him, after the portal exploded on him. He tried to explain the strange feelings in his body, the impossible things he was seeing. 

The doctors (and his sister) immediately wrote off his complaints as residual trauma from the accident. You’re lucky to even be alive, they would tell him. It’s expected that you’d be having problems adjusting.

(Lucky to be alive. That’s what they said. That’s what everyone said.)

(If only he believed that statement was true.)

(And not about the “lucky” part.)

His parents, of course, had been intrigued at first. Perhaps it was because of some delirious hope after the destruction of their magnum opus, but they at least listened to him. There had been some skepticism, especially as it became clearer and clearer that there was no proof to Danny’s claims, but they stayed patient.

Until Jazz found out about the questions they were asking him. She had given them a lecture of her own for “encouraging his delusions” before “accidentally” dropping it to the therapist during a family counseling session.

His parents, disappointed as they had been, agreed to back off.

Leaving him alone to fix a problem no one believed was real.

____________________________________________________________

Danny’s head feels like dead weight as he lifts it from the toilet. He flushes it before he can look down and make himself sick all over again.

God, what has he come to?

The bitter taste of the half-digested pills burns at his tongue. Still, he chooses to fall back against the wall, breathing heavily and letting his eyes flutter closed.

His heart pounds in his chest. It had started even as he had been running to the bathroom. He silently berates himself for allowing it to happen. And although part of him has already resigned himself to the inevitable consequence, part of him still desperately latches onto the list of moons he knows so well.

Leda Thebe Adrastea.

Something potent and volatile pulses in the air. He can feel it seep through his skin and into his muscles and bones. It only makes his heart race faster, especially as the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and goosebumps coat his arms.

He’s had a year and a half to get used to the sensation, but it catches him off guard every time. Like something is tearing itself apart inside him. 

Or maybe like he’s being torn apart.

Metis, Themisto…

Danny curls in on himself. Pressure builds in his chest. Something he has no human words for storms inside him in a relentless whirlwind. He can feel the need for release, though whether that’s him begging for a reprieve or the force inside him demanding to be freed, he can never tell. Perhaps it’s both.

… Callirrhoe…

The sizzling snaps of something electric are audible in the air, concentrated somewhere behind the shower curtain. He holds his head in a death grip and his heart beats fast - impossibly fast.

So fast it might as well be stopped.

Something cold writhes its way into his throat, stirring his stomach into nausea all over again. He can’t swallow it down. He’s forced to open his mouth in a gasp and stare in dismay as pale, blue mist pours from his lips.

But he doesn’t have time to dwell on it. The demand from the force within has become intolerable. Like always, he’s left wondering if it’ll be too much for his tiny mortal body to handle.

Unfortunately for him, he knows he’ll be able to handle it.

With a guttural cry, the energy erupts in him.

He’s never sure what exactly happens next. He’s always been too overwhelmed by whatever it is to see or understand. All he knows is the thunderbolt of something electric, something powerful being unleashed into him. Or maybe it’s clawing its way out of him. 

Memories of blinding green light and an explosion that leaves his ears ringing rip through him.

That’s probably always the worst part.

And then, right as he’s sure he’ll disintegrate into nothing more than dust, it stops. In a single deafening clap, it stops.

Slowly, Danny peels his eyes open. The death grip loosens and his legs and arms begin to unfold. The tension, however, does not leave his body. Every human instinct of his whispers at him furiously to stay alert. Be prepared. Flee from the danger.

But a different set of instincts has clamored its way forward too. Instincts that are far from human. Instincts that draw him up from the floor and towards the bathtub.

A toxic green glow pulses behind the shower curtain.

____________________________________________________________ It hadn’t taken long for the rumors to start spreading. Amity Park is, after all, a sleepy little suburb. Its residents will take their drama where they can get it.

Did you hear about the ghost hunters’ son? they’d whisper. Did you hear about the crazy Fenton kid?

Speculations ranged far and wide. Even after the portal’s explosion became common knowledge, people would throw out wild theory after wild theory.

I heard he ate a bunch of ectoplasm and it’s poisoned him.

Well, I heard the radiation from all those experiments finally got to him.

Are you kidding? Those loony Fentons obviously started experimenting on him.

Comments like that last one always stung the worst.

If he’d been a social pariah before, he was even more of one after the accident.

And it definitely didn’t help that the accident left him with a slew of… “side effects.” Ones that really got everyone talking. 

____________________________________________________________

Danny nearly tears the curtain off the rod as he rips it to the side.

Sure enough, right in the middle of the bathtub, a rancid green crack shimmers in the air. 

“Go away,” he growls. There’s something ethereal about his voice now, something that makes it reverberate against the walls and fill the air with static. Something fueled by the anger and frustration in his bones.

Something - or someone - is trying to press their way through the crack. Even if it hadn’t been visibly apparent, Danny can feel it in his chest. It’s causing a distinct pressure that throbs out of sync with his heart. It’s uncomfortable, to say the least.

A different kind of static drifts through the portal. That would be the response, Danny gathers. Somehow, despite the lack of any English words - or any words, period - he knows exactly what’s being said. Or a rough idea, at least.

“No,” he snaps. A crack of electricity snaps in time with his voice. “You’re not coming through. Go away.”

He wishes the intruder would just leave him alone. The sooner he’s able to calm down, the sooner the crack will fade. That’s how it works. That’s how it’s always worked. 

This time, when static drifts through the portal, there are the low undertones of something that can maybe be interpreted as language. Danny listens closely.

“This is my world.” He’s attempting to make himself sound as threatening as possible, allowing the anger and the fierce instinct to possess to bubble over into his demeanor. His blood is running cold, and he knows if he were to look in the mirror right now, he’d be met with not his eyes, but an otherworldly glow that mimics the color of the crack down to a tee. “This is my haunt. You’re not welcome.”

He’s still not exactly sure what a haunt is, and he’s not sure why the thought of this being his haunt makes his stomach flutter with both anxiety and excitement, but he’s dealt with this problem long enough to know how to speak their language. 

“Let me through,” a voice hisses from inside the crack, muddied by the accompanying static. “I only wish to help you.”

Danny scoffs. “Yeah, right. Like any of you have ever actually wanted to help me before.” His eyes narrow, and now he can feel a cold crackle gathering behind them. “So you’d better leave now, because you won’t like it if I have to make you.”

“And just how do you intend to ‘make’ me leave, halfling?”

There’s that word again. The one that sends a buzz straight down Danny’s spine and causes something in his chest to leap. The one they’ve all been calling him for the past year and a half.

Halfling.

What exactly that means, he still doesn’t know.

“I’ve gotten rid of plenty of you before,” he says, low and dangerous. “I can just as easily get rid of you.”

The pressure in his chest increases sharply as a shadowy figure presses right up against the crack. Foggy bits of the figure begin to slip through the crack. “Perhaps you are as powerful as they say.” The voice becomes clearer. “Perhaps your words have merit. Somehow, I doubt that.”

Danny growls again, and his hands ball into fists. He swings madly at the little tendrils of fog. They dissipate under his touch, and the intruder hisses.

“You are making a grave mistake, child. It is not wise to reject my aid.”

“Sure. I’m sure your ‘aid’ involves all sorts of terrorizing and wreaking havoc and stuff. Exactly the kind of help I need.” He grunts as the intruder attempts to shove their way through again, and it feels like someone has thrown a cinderblock into his chest. Still, he stands his ground. “This place is mine, and if you think I’m just gonna let you come in and run rampant, then you have another thing coming.”

Despite his best efforts, more and more foggy bits leak through the crack. The static in the air pulses, and he gets the vague notion that he’s being laughed at. “Such strong words from such an insolent boy. This is the great halfling child I was told so much about?”

“You know, you’re not exactly doing much to help your case.”

“Hmm. Then maybe I’ll simply make you my offer.”

“Not. Interested.” His hands are tingling. Is it from coming into contact with the intruder? Or from something else? He can’t tell. “You can take your offer and -”

“I can teach you how to seal the rifts.”

Now that makes Danny falter.

____________________________________________________________

It only took about a month for Danny to realize it was him that was responsible for the cracks.

They didn’t start out as anything big. Barely shimmers or disturbances in the air, when he’d get worked up or nervous or upset. Nothing big enough for anything to fit through, of course.

But enough to get him to notice. 

In retrospect, it did make some sense. His parents’ portal had opened up on top of him. Or maybe even opened up in him. Of course, it was bound to leave some lasting metaphysical effects.

He just hadn’t expected to learn that he was the portal’s replacement.

It was sometime right then, a month or so after the accident, that Sam had campaigned and succeeded to revise the school lunch menu. The resulting argument between her and Tucker had gotten him so anxious that it resulted in his largest crack yet. One that was big enough to allow something through.

One that was big enough to allow one of the ghosts on the other side to slip through.

____________________________________________________________

The thought is tantalizing. It’s been so long, relying on his ability to rein in his anger and anxiety to force the cracks to fade. It’s a task much easier said than done.

Wouldn’t it be nice to have an easier, more reliable way of closing them? Of keeping the ghosts out of his territory? Of stopping things before they could cause too many problems?

The intruder must sense his hesitation, because they give another forceful push. Danny, wrapped up in his own thoughts, is caught off guard by the move, and he gasps in shock as he squeezes his eyes shut and reels backwards.

It’s enough of an opening for the ghost to slide the rest of the way through.

Danny can feel its presence. There’s something… musty about it. Like the way it feels when he goes into the attic and sees all of his and Jazz’s old baby stuff packed away. Or when he’s forced to use one of the particularly “well-loved” copies of textbooks at school. He’s not sure whether to be put off by it or intrigued.

But it does feel foreign. More foreign than the presence of most other ghosts he’s encountered.

He opens his eyes.

Endless red eyes bore into his.

He reels again.

“Who the hell are you?” he hisses. Static crackles under his voice again.

The figure simply floats there, mostly hidden underneath a cloak. Those awful red eyes shine like beacons from the shadows created by the hood. Oddly enough, they make it harder to see the figure’s face. If they actually have one. Danny’s seen more than one faceless ghost before.

“Believe it or not, I do truly wish to help you,” the ghost says. Its voice is smooth and masculine, and when it speaks, Danny is flooded with a wave of that same musty energy. Something about it feels old. Timeless.

It’s not reassuring in the slightest.

The words themselves are not reassuring either. Faces supplant the shadow under the hood - his parents’, Dr. Bell’s, Jazz’s. The phrase is one that Danny is intimately familiar with, and he immediately bristles.

“I don’t need your help,” he says, folding his arms across his chest. “And I still don’t believe you actually want to help.”

Danny can’t see the figure’s face, of course, but somehow, he can tell that the ghost is smiling at him. The kind of smile adults give children who don’t know any better. “And why don’t you believe that?” the ghost asks, unperturbed by his petulance.

Danny throws his arms in the air before crossing them even tighter across his chest. “Because that’s all you ghosts do! You invade my home and start trying to stir up trouble, and then I have to chase you down and shove you back through before you hurt something. Or someone.”

“Such hasty conclusions to draw.” The ghost clucks its tongue disapprovingly. “That won’t do at all.”

Danny’s blood boils cold and the glow from his eyes is bright enough to reflect on the ghost in front of him. He raises his fists. “Go. Now.”

The ghost sighs, as if it’s bored of the conversation already. A hand thrusts out from underneath the cloak, aimed toward the crack. Danny’s eyes widen as a blue glow surrounds the ghost’s hand, then the crack. The crack shudders.

And it begins to mend itself.

Something inside Danny shifts as the crack seals itself. He feels like he can breathe a little easier, like his heart isn’t being pushed against as much. 

But the ghost is still there, in his bathroom. And now that the crack is gone, the full force of the ghost’s presence is surrounding Danny.

Danny sees the glint of sharp teeth as the ghost grins. “I don’t think I will go,” it says.

Danny’s not sure whether to be amazed, terrified, or infuriated. Or maybe some combination of the three. On one hand, this ghost just proved its ability to seal the cracks. Maybe even the ability to teach him how to do it himself. If Danny possesses that ability.

On the other hand, though, Danny doesn’t take too kindly to ghosts intruding in his world and asserting themselves.

He’s the boss here.

That instinct, the instinct to own and possess and keep his territory, wins out easily. It’s too overwhelming, and Danny doesn’t really have the energy to try and fight it. 

Besides, he figures, if he can get himself worked up enough, he can create another crack to shove this ghost back through.

So with a roar of anger, Danny lunges at the ghosts and swings his fists with all his might.

The moment he comes into contact with the ghost, something changes.

And green fire explodes to life around his hands.

____________________________________________________________

The cracks weren’t the only side effect of the portal’s explosion.

Danny never understood what was happening to him. In all honesty, he’s still not sure if he completely understands. What he knew and what he knows, though, is that something within him began to shift.

He began to shift.

Why did the cold winter air seem to embrace him? Why did the night sky whisper to him with offers of belonging? Why did he find himself seeing new colors and new lights out of the corners of his eyes?

He tried to explain it to his friends, his family, his doctors. The former took some interest, but lost it quickly with nothing to back it up. The latter only used it as evidence for his diagnosis.

It didn’t help when things got more serious, after Sam changed the lunch menu and he’d had to beat back the ghost he’d accidentally summoned. He found himself drawn to some of the most random places in town - behind the dumpsters at the Nasty Burger, the top of Lookout Hill, the architecture section in the public library. Why those places, he didn’t know. All he knew was that the air in those places felt… different. Thinner, maybe. Like he could poke through it if he found the right place.

He learned to start staying away from those places.

It was worse when he started to be drawn to places that had a much more sinister aura. Like the time when he found himself standing on the side of the road at the site of a bad car wreck, watching as EMTs soberly placed a sheet over a broken body. Or when he ended up standing in the doorway of the hospice center in town as a family with red eyes and tears aplenty quietly shuffled their way out.

It gave even more reason for people to stay away from him. He smells like death, they’d say. He figured they were probably close enough to being right.

And that wasn’t counting the other side effects.

____________________________________________________________

Danny screams.

In an instant, he’s pushed the ghost back from him and scampered away, staring in horror at his burning hands. Many things have happened to him in the past year and a half, but his hands spontaneously catching on fire has not been one of them.

“Interesting,” he can hear the ghost saying, but he doesn’t truly register it. His focus is entirely on the green fire. 

It’s only after a few seconds that he starts to wonder why it doesn’t hurt. 

He’s heard stories, of course. About how with serious burns, they can destroy nerves before you can register the pain. He himself still has a few destroyed nerves from the explosion. He wonders if that’s what’s happening to him now. It would explain why he’s in such shock, unable to do anything to actually put out the fire.

And then he finally processes three very important things.

One: the fire is green. Not normal fire by any means.

Two: he can’t see any damage to his hands, even as the fire burns. And it doesn’t move any farther than his wrists. 

Three: he can feel something. It’s not heat. His hands tingle, but not painfully. Rather, it feels like he’s dunked his hands into a bowl of ice water. Or like snow has wrapped around them.

His eyes snap up to the ghost. “What the hell did you do to me?” he shouts. His voice shakes with panic.

The ghost is as placid as ever. It holds a gloved hand up towards its chin. Danny hates feeling like the subject of some twisted experiment.

“That power has always been within you, young halfling,” it says. It could be Danny’s imagination, but he thinks he hears something akin to wonder in the ghost’s voice. “It would seem that my presence has simply accelerated your discovery of this power.”

Danny opens his mouth, but words escape him. His eyes drift back down to his hands, still lit up. 

He shouldn’t be quite so stunned. This isn’t the first time something distinctly supernatural has happened to his body. Memories of arms and legs glitching out of sight and feet slipping through the ground swarm him in a rush. 

He still doesn’t know why those things happen, or what they mean. 

They scare him.

But he’ll never admit it. Not that he can. These occurrences would be written off as delusions.

The ghost leans down and approaches Danny. Although he’s already pressed flush against the wall, he tries to sink further into it. “Stay away from me!” As he shouts, the fire around his hands flares brighter.

The ghost’s eyes briefly flick to the fire before settling back on Danny. “Relax,” it says. “You are overreacting.” It tilts its head, and Danny sees the glint of teeth again. “Are all humans this… emotionally fragile?”

“I’m about to show you fragile,” Danny growls.

“Hmm. There’s that attitude again.” The ghost sighs. “In all truthfulness, though, you do need to relax. You will never gain control if you are continually losing it, child.”

“That makes zero sense. And how am I supposed to relax when you’re invading my home?”

“Because you are foolish,” the ghost says plainly. Danny wants to throw another punch, but the idea of another freaky thing happening if he touches the ghost keeps his behavior under control. “You are too focused on the external. You must focus on the internal.”

“Well, maybe I could ‘focus on the internal’ if you’d just leave me alone!”

A rush of that musty energy presses Danny into the wall. “You would be wise to listen to me, halfling. I am one of the very few beings that truly does wish to help you. Without my aid, you will leave yourself vulnerable to every single one of the threats behind the veil.” The ghost pauses. “Yourself… and your haunt.”

Danny’s anger falters.

The ghost continues. “What you have seen thus far is but a taste of the threats that wait for you. Everything you have faced up until this point will seem like child’s play compared to what you will face. Your only hope to defend yourself is to listen to me.”

Danny wants to stay angry. He wants to stay feisty and impudent. This is just another intruder after all. One of the many he’s had to beat back to wherever they came from.

But as he stares helplessly into the ghost’s gaze, he can’t help but feel as though he is being pierced down to his very soul. Embedded within those deep red eyes is the afterimage of every star that’s burned itself to death, from the beginning of time to the end. The infinite void of eternity. The promise of planets yet to be created, cosmic dust yet to settle, things that will happen long after the Earth’s Sun has gone supernova and extinguished any trace of life.

Danny cries out. His head snaps backward, breaking the connection to the ghost’s eyes. He pants for breath he didn’t know he’d been lacking.

He gets the impression that perhaps this isn’t just another intruder.

“Who… are you?” he asks again, this time with caution.

The ghost blinks once. “I can be your greatest ally, or I can be your greatest enemy. I am prepared to be both. Whichever one I am rests in your hands.” He nods down to the green flames still licking Danny’s hands. 

Danny’s breath hitches. The way this ghost talks, the way it carries itself, he can tell the ghost knows far more than he does. Far more. He’s not sure if the threats of dangers yet to come are valid or not.

But while he asserts his ability to take care of anything thrown at him, he knows the fear in his gut says otherwise.

His fists clench. He grits his teeth. Tears pool in the corners of his eyes. Why do there have to be more threats? Why can’t these ghosts just leave him alone? Why him? Why did all this happen to him? Why must he face this alone?

The questions swarm him like angry hornets. They make it hard for him to think clearly. 

His heart begins to race.

“N-no, please,” he gasps. “Not again.”

“You must relax,” the ghost reiterates. “Your abilities are tied to your emotions, as are the abilities of all ghosts. In this case, if you wish to calm the ability, you must first calm yourself, halfling.”

Danny’s stomach turns at the ghost’s words. There’s a hidden implication within them, one that Danny can’t quite put his finger on. He’s sure he does not like it, though. 

“I can’t just… calm down,” he says. It’s the truth. Even a year and a half of intense therapy and psychiatric treatment hasn’t taught him how to simply shut off his emotions.

The ghost hums and puts a hand to its chin again. “How is it you humans deal with such strange matters?” He shakes his head before Danny can respond. “No matter. I can assist you by using my power to influence yours, but you must trust me to touch you again.”

Danny’s head whips back and forth wildly. “Because it went so well the last time I touched you?” he says. He hates the note of panic he can hear in his voice.

“That was, as you call it, a fluke. As I said, the power was always within you. My influence has simply brought forth that power early.”

“And how do you know it won’t happen again?”

Teeth flash underneath the hood of the cloak. “I have far more control over my abilities than you, boy. Rest assured I will be able to control something as simple as this.”

Danny’s heart thumps loudly. The ghost extends a hand towards him, and Danny instinctively flinches away from it. He can already feel the ghost’s presence beginning to press up against him again, and it only makes him more anxious.

But…

But.

There’s something different about it now.

Something that reminds him of his mother gently kissing his brow while putting a bandage on his scraped knee. Something that reminds him of his father’s bear hugs that wrap him up in a safe cocoon. Something that reminds him of the weighted blanket Jazz got him last year for Christmas, in an attempt to provide him with something to help with his leftover trauma from the accident.

“Stop it,” he says, but there’s no weight behind his words. “I didn’t… say you could… influence me.” Because as much as he hates to admit it, the ghost’s presence is affecting him. He can feel it in his heartbeat, in his breathing, as they both begin to slow.

He’s lucky he looks up in time to see the ghost’s eyes widen for the briefest of seconds. “You can already feel me?” it asks. Fascination dances behind its words, and Danny feels like he’s a being watched like a zoo animal again. 

“Yes, now can you please… stop it?” Danny chances looking into the ghost’s eyes again. “I-I’ll calm down or whatever, just… please…”

To his surprise, the pressure against his chest lessens, and the vague notions of safety dissipate. The ghost floats backward a foot or two. 

He feels like he can breathe again.

It’s strange, he thinks to himself. How he seems to calm much easier without the ghost’s… influence. Maybe it’s the feeling of regaining some control over the situation. Maybe it’s because he feels less like he has to defend his territory.

He looks up at the ghost. “Thank you,” he says quietly.

He’s surprised to realize he means it.

The flames die out.

____________________________________________________________

Once Danny figured out exactly what was happening within him to trigger the cracks, he tried desperately to keep it from happening at all costs.

Some tactics worked better than others. Timing his breath to the list of Jupiter’s moons was one. His therapist had been thrilled to hear that he’d taken her advice. 

He tried journaling, at the encouragement of another of his therapists and his sister. It worked a bit at first. It gave him a place to vent about the ghosts and everything happening with them without running the risk of being scolded for “giving into his delusions.” It quickly lost whatever effectiveness it had, though.

Eventually, he simply tried to shut his emotions off. He tried to become uncaring, unmoved. Tried not to let everyone’s harsh words get to him as much.

That failed miserably.

Then again, so did every other tactic he tried.

At some point, they all failed. The cracks were inevitable.

They always would be.

____________________________________________________________

The ghost, for what it’s worth, keeps true to its promise to teach him how to close the cracks. 

Ironically, though, it involves traveling through yet another crack.

It’s not Danny who opens it. The ghost waves its hand, and another hole in reality sparks to life inside his bathtub. The ghost’s crack is far neater than Danny’s - smoother, larger, not jagged like the forked branches of lightning. 

Danny watches, and he can’t help but be in awe. The simplicity with which the ghost opened it blows him away.

“Can it really be that easy?” he asks. The words tumble out of his mouth before he can stop himself. Immediately, he regrets it. His goal isn’t to learn how to create the things. He just needs to know how to stop them. 

At the same time, the idea of being able to open the cracks without devolving into near panic, without feeling like his body is being ripped in two…

It’s enticing.

“With patience and precision, yes.” The ghost tilts its head at Danny. “Two things you severely lack, halfling.”

Anger flares in Danny. Somehow, he manages to wrangle it down to a simmer.

“Let’s go,” the ghost says. If it felt Danny’s silent outburst, it does not indicate so. 

“Go where?” Danny asks. Realization hits him a moment later. “Through it?”

“Going above it or around it would hardly do us any good.”

Danny balks. “I - can’t you just show me here? Why do we have to go through?”

The ghost is silent for a long moment. It stares unblinking at Danny. “If you wish to stay here,” it says, low and dark, “the consequences of doing so will rest on your head.”

Danny doesn’t need his sister’s intelligence to understand what the ghost is getting at now. 

“Alright, fine, I get it, it might get messy,” he concedes. “But… do we really have to go through it still?”

“You’re fearful.” It’s not a question.

Danny reflexively puffs his chest up. “I’m not afraid,” he fires back. 

It’s a lie.

He wonders if the ghost knows it.

The ghost hums. “If it helps, this portal simply leads to another location here in your human world. You do not need to enter my world. Not yet.”

Danny’s head snaps towards the crack at hearing the last of the ghost’s words. “Not yet?”

He doesn’t like those implications.

“I grow weary of your refusal to cooperate, child,” the ghost says with a sigh. “You will enter this portal if you wish to learn how to close the cracks and defend yourself. If you do not, I can assure you of the hardships you will try and fail to face.”

“Okay! Okay. Just… stop being so… doomer. I get the idea already.”

“Then by all means…” The ghost sweeps an arm out towards the crack with a cheeky bow. 

Reluctantly, Danny steps into the bathtub to stand before the crack. It’s the same vibrant green as the one earlier, as all the ones that had come before it. He can’t see what lies on the other side through the swirling green void.

Slowly, he reaches out and puts his hand through.

The sensation is… surprisingly pleasant. His hand meets empty air on the other side, but at the thin point where his forearm is split between two locations, where the crack touches his skin, he’s met with energy.

It’s pure and it’s raw. It’s electric. It’s invigorating and nothing like Danny has ever felt before. Standing here, in the glow of the crack through reality, he feels like he’s finally on solid ground. Like he’s found the thing that sings to him and his heart, rather than brutalizes it. Fear flushes from his body.

It’s all in such stark contrast to everything the cracks have brought him thus far. For a year and a half, it’s been oppressive. Looming over his head. Threatening to seize his heart and his breath. 

But now?

He feels like he can do anything.

And that’s just with his arm partway through.

Without another thought, Danny leaps through the crack.

It’s every bit as exhilarating as he’d hoped.

____________________________________________________________

In the months after the explosion, Danny often found himself spiraling into existential trains of thought. One does not simply go through a near-death experience without having a bit of existentialism on the side.

His therapists took this to mean he had lost his sense of identity as part of his trauma. It’s okay to feel like you’ve lost yourself, they’d tell him. Like you don’t know who you are anymore.

They would sit him down and force him through exercise after exercise, trying to identify his sense of self, the traits he felt like he embodied, everything that made Danny, Danny.

Who am I?

It was the question the therapists challenged him to ponder, time after time. Only you can answer that question for yourself, Danny.

He wanted to scream every time he was made to fill out another chart. Or outline who he thought he was. Or draw up things to symbolize himself. The question of who he was wasn’t the cause of his existential spirals. He already knew who he was.

Mostly, anyway.

No, it was a different question that plagued him time after time. After every crack, every encounter with a ghost, every unexplainable sight or sound he came across.

What am I?

A year and a half later, he still doesn’t know.

____________________________________________________________

Danny trips over his feet as he exits the crack. 

He’s still breathless from the sheer euphoria from the experience. His body shakes from the overwhelming feeling of power coursing through his veins. He wants to laugh, or maybe cry. Maybe both. 

Where has this been for the past year and half? How could he have gone so long without experiencing something like this?

He turns around to face the crack. In an instant, he’s up against it once more, trying to savor any last dredges of the energy that he can. 

He realizes that this is the closest he’s ever been to one of the cracks. He’s stayed away from them like a plague, only getting close enough to shove ghosts back through. Their presence has always weighed heavily on him, but now Danny wonders if that’s really the case.

No, something heavy has always accompanied the cracks. But… are the cracks themselves responsible for the pressure in his chest?

For the first time, he’s starting to think he’s had it wrong.

There’s a tingle in his chest, then a push, then pressure. This is the feeling he’s far more familiar with. Knowing what it heralds, he steps to the side. A moment later, the cloaked ghost makes its way through the crack.

“There,” it says once fully on this side of it. “Was that so bad?”

Danny opens his mouth. His instinct is to gush about it, to tell the ghost that it was the farthest thing from “bad.”

Those haunting red eyes turn on him, and the words die on Danny’s tongue. 

He huffs and kicks at the ground. “It wasn’t terrible,” he mutters quietly.

They’re on a dirt road, somewhere rural. Fields dormant for the winter sprawl out on either side of the road. A lone set of electrical lines runs along the side of the road. He can’t see any buildings around.

“Wait, where are we?” he asks, trepidation in his voice. Belatedly, he wonders if blindly trusting a very powerful ghost was smart.

“Not far,” the ghost responds. It does not elaborate. Instead, it seals the crack they’ve just come through with a lazy wave of its hand.

The second time witnessing it is just as mesmerizing as the first.

“Why do we have to come all the way to the middle of nowhere to do this? Seriously, why couldn’t you just show me back home?”

The ghost hums. It stares at the horizon, unfocused. “There are things you have yet to understand, halfling. You will learn in time.”

Danny grits his teeth. “Listen, you said you wanted to help me. So quit being all creepy-cryptic and help me.”

“I do not take well to people making demands of me,” the ghost says sharply. A cold breeze rustles the dead leaves on the road and in the fields. “We will operate on my schedule. A halfling child will not dictate it to me.”

Though he doesn’t know why or how, Danny’s instincts scream at him to rise to meet the challenge. To tell the ghost that it may want to operate on its own schedule, but this is Danny’s territory. That it can’t simply wander in and out of his world as it pleases and act as though it is in charge.

It takes every ounce of self-control he can muster to tamper those instincts.

He’s none too eager for the ghost to get mad at him again.

“What do I do then?” he grumbles.

The ghost floats to Danny’s side. “To learn how to control the cracks, you must first learn to take notice of the world around you.” It sweeps its arm out. “Tell me what you see here.”

“What? I don’t… there’s nothing to notice. What does this have to do with anything?”

“If you do not notice anything by looking, then notice by seeing.”

“That literally makes zero sense!” 

The ghost ignores Danny’s outburst this time. “You can already see more than other humans,” it says tiredly. As though it’s explained this to him hundreds of times already. “But you ignore it. You ignore the world around you to maintain little more than an illusion.”

Danny’s stomach does a little ballet. The ghost… isn’t wrong. The glimpses of colors he has no human words for, the way his eyes are drawn to seemingly invisible movements, the dancing lights always in the corners of his eyes, they are all things he knows he can see that others can’t.

He hates it.

“Maybe ignoring it is better,” he retorts. There’s some fire in his words, but not much. 

“Better for who? For those around you? For you? The answer is neither. How can you wish to protect your haunt when you turn a blind eye to that which supposedly threatens it?”

“As long as it stays on their side of the crack, it’s fine.” Even as he speaks, Danny realizes he’s losing confidence in his words. It’s terrifying. 

“Naive child,” the ghost mutters. Disgust taints its words. Or is that…

… disappointment?

Danny doesn’t have time to figure it out. The ghost continues speaking.

“Nothing is ever black and white. There is never such a thing as two absolute sides.” It picks up a single dry leaf and twirls it in its hand. “Everything begins, and everything ends. What happens in between is in shades of gray.”

Danny’s head is beginning to spin. “In English please?”

The ghost sighs. “You expect life and death to remain two very distinct sides, never touching one another. This is shortsightedness.” It lets the leaf go. It drifts away on a breeze. “Life and death intermingle closer than you can ever imagine.”

Danny’s breath catches in his throat. “Life and… death?”

“Of course.” The ghost’s eyes turn on him. “What did you expect this to be about?”

“I… I don’t…” Danny’s tongue feels thick in his mouth suddenly. Words choke up in his throat, and he can’t get them out.

Before the portal accident, ghosts were a thing of fantasy. Simply his parents’ crackpot ravings. The accident proved those crackpot ravings to be real. As real as anything else. Despite the dozens of people telling him he’s hallucinating, or that he’s psychotic, he knows this is all real.

He can feel it, deep within him.

But for as real as he knows ghosts and their world are, he’s never had to consider why they exist. Where they truly come from.

Something flutters in his chest, and he can’t decide if it’s his heart or something else.

Human. Ghost.

Life. Death.

And him, somehow wrapped up in it all.

He thinks he might throw up for the second time that day.

The ghost is apparently unbothered by Danny’s newest existential crisis. “What you consider to be my world is in constant contact with what you consider to be yours. And yours is in constant contact with mine. They influence each other. They exist within one another. They are inseparable, woven into each other.”

It floats over to one of the electrical poles. There’s nothing remarkable about it. “You must be able to see this coalescence if you ever wish to understand the intricacies of things as complex as portals. So, halfling…” It pauses to run a hand down the pole. 

“Tell me what you see.”

Danny is at a loss. Maybe his brain is finally starting to catch up with everything that has happened in the last couple of hours. Maybe he’s finally becoming overwhelmed by all this. Ghosts wanting to help him, a strange awakening of powers slumbering inside him, everything traveling through the crack had fed him…

… talks of life and death…

He wants this to be a nightmare. He wants to wake up. He wants to go back to a few hours ago - no, yesterday - no, last month - no, a year and a half ago, and pretend this doesn’t exist.

His heart beats faster.

Io Europa Ganymede

“I don’t see anything,” Danny insists, even as inhuman colors and glowing lights creep into his vision.

“What do you see, halfling?”

“I think I’m done,” he tries. “I - I can’t…”

Can’t what? Can’t try? Can’t see?

Callisto, Almathea, Himalia

Can’t… breathe?

His heart races.

“You must see.”

“I don’t want to,” he gasps. Static is filling the air, and he doesn’t know if he can catch his breath. Why can’t he catch his breath? He should be able to catch his breath.

What am I?

The dirt road groans, and dust stirs. 

Elara… Pasiphae…

“Please…” His knees shake and the air around him sizzles and the glowing lights are looking at him. 

“You must see, halfling.”

He can feel the crack building inside him. It wants out. It pounds against his chest and strangles his heart.

Where is his pulse?

What am I?

The dirt road groans louder.

Sinope…

Even without a mirror, Danny can feel the cold burn in his eyes. Knows they are blazing toxic green. The same green as the lights staring at him. 

The… ghosts staring at him.

One of them prods at the pole the ghost floats beside. Like it’s pointing.

Carvings begin to appear on the pole, in the same inhuman colors he can’t name. They’re shoddy, messily carved, and clearly not English. Symbols of lines and swoops and dots.

Danny can read them.

“We see you,” they say.

“No…” he groans. Hands fly up to grip his head, and the glow from his eyes give the illusion of the fire that had consumed those hands not twenty minutes earlier.

He can’t feel his heart anymore.

What am I?

“You see now,” the ghost says. It is unblinking and stoic in the face of Danny’s crisis. 

In a last fit of desperation, as he claws for anything to pull him out of this, Danny latches on to the fleeting thrill of crossing through the crack. He tries to remember how it felt. How wonderful it was to feel empowered for once. How the energy seemed to embrace him, not work against him.

How he felt like he could do anything.

He latches on, expecting it to offer relief to his crying body. He wants it to bring him back down to Earth, ground him where cracks and seemingly invisible ghosts and strange words and life and death cannot get to him.

Much to his dismay, it seems to have the opposite effect. His body remembers how it felt to hold that energy. 

And now…

What am I?

… it wants more.

The ghost is in front of him once more. When did it get there?

Danny can’t scream as the ghost lifts a hand towards his chest. He’s long since lost the ability to breathe.

“And now, the final touch,” the ghost murmurs. It presses a single finger in the center of Danny’s chest.

And everything explodes in a blinding white light.

____________________________________________________________

At one of his follow-up appointments, shortly after the explosion, Danny finally worked up the courage to ask something that had been plaguing him since he’d woken up in the hospital.

How bad was it? he had asked the doctor. How close was I to…

The doctor had refused to look him in the eye. You’re a very lucky boy, Danny, was all she would say.

He never did find out how close he came to death’s door that day.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When the light clears, Danny opens his eyes.

Something has changed. Something is wrong.

Something is very, very wrong.

He clutches his chest, trying to feel his heart, but it feels as though a snowball has taken residence where it should be. It pulses, but not at a frequency he is familiar with. It’s almost as though he can hear it pulse rather than feel it.

It’s unnaturally bright. He looks down and chokes back a sob of surprise to see his body wrapped in a gentle glow. 

What am I?

Trembling, he raises his left arm. How he remembers that it’s that one, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t want to know.

He pulls back the sleeve of the black hoodie (why is it black, he’s never owned a black hoodie) and stares in silent horror at the grotesque display of lightning that runs up his arm and disappears back into the hoodie.

It’s when bangs of snow white fall in front of his eyes that he collapses to the ground.

“No,” he whimpers. His voice echoes with static stronger than it ever has. “Please, God, no.”

What am I?

“Astounding.”

Danny’s head snaps up to look at the ghost. He falters when he realizes he can see the ghost’s features now, clear as day even though its face remains partially shrouded in shadow. Those damning red eyes - one marred by a scar - twinkle at him with fascination.

“What did you do to me?” he croaks. “I can’t… I’m not…”

“As I told you, halfling,” the ghost says. Its gentle, knowing smile sends chills down Danny’s spine and sets alarm bells ringing in his head. “Life and death must meet somewhere.”

It bends down to Danny’s level. “As it would seem, you are that somewhere.”

A strangled sob escapes Danny’s throat.

“Congratulations, Danny.” It sweeps its arm out, a staff in hand. Another crack spirals into existence, accompanied by the haunting echoes of ticking clocks. “You have learned all you need to from me.”

Without another word, it disappears into the crack. The crack closes with the toll of a bell.

Tears prickle at Danny’s eyes. He can only turn and look down the dirt road, at the product of his creation.

A green crack splits the road in two, as far as Danny can see.

Danny falls against the ground and cries.

[lesliesknopes]

draw me like one of your french girls

Henry/Alex | teen | 5k ~ complete

for the @anywhere-with-you-event gift exchange (thank you so much for hosting it!!)

Let it be known that Alex hates Henry Fox.

From his stupid British accent to how his hair always sits perfectly, even when he arrives to class halfway through a thunderstorm.

But the biggest crime, that one that really gets under his skin, is how good Henry is at art.

OR the enemies-to-friends-to-lovers art class au

read more

[hannahstarshade]

You Are ~ Chapter 1

Auron x Rook | sub!Auron | 18+ Readers Only

A new project has consumed Auron. It hasn't escaped your notice how withdrawn he's become. Worrying will get you nowhere, so you devise a plan you know will help him relax.

I have had the urge to write smut for a looong time. I've also wanted to see Auron in a more submissive position. The stars have clearly aligned, and here is the result. Even though I planned for this to be a short story, it took me a few months to actually write the damn thing. Thank you to my dearest friend for being encouraging.

I haven't written a whole lot in a while, so comments are always welcomed. I'm also going to stick to a publishing schedule, so Chapter 2 should be out next Friday. Please enjoy!

Read the whole fic on AO3. Check out a short preview below:

One-on-one meetings led to dinner dates, which then led to nights cuddled close in a private booth or spent tangled in each other's sheets. Auron would lead, and you would follow. His hands firm as they gently guided your wrists into cuffs or when they made stinging contact with your ass. His watchful eyes dark with desire, ever vigilant as you touched, tasted, merged, your moans and pleas harmonizing. That's how those late nights often went. Occasionally the roles would reverse, and you had the pleasure of watching a powerful man sink to his knees at your will. Though rare, those moments were just as special and enjoyable. Back in the office, in the real world, you kept up appearances. Both of you hypervigilant until you were sure you were both alone. Only then could you breathe, Auron's harsh exterior melting away into something more genuine, more caring. More comfortable to admit his feelings about you, about himself. You treasure those moments. You craved the closeness now, to sink yourself into his skin and to simply be.

Lately, however, time spent together had become scarce. Auron had withdrawn himself from the daily office life, barricading himself in his office. Now more than ever, you found him in his office long after he would normally clock out. Something was occupying his time, and it had been taking an obvious toll on him. Dark circles had crept under his eyes, and there was a dullness to his remarks that told you just how much his mind was engrossed. Auron would only ever tell you it was a project, and that it was "none of your concern." Any attempts to discuss the matter were skillfully maneuvered, left by the wayside as the topic shifted to something more pleasant or mundane.

[lower-the-volume]

10.03 Soul Survivor

[wildfloweronwheels]

This one isn’t for the faint-of-heart it’s for the ones with the demons in their heads and the monsters in their beds. It’s for every person who has ever painted on a smile while parts of them died. The old Taylor may have long been ‘dead’ but this time it was close to true. Her lips had turned a violent blue underneath the glitter. Some noticed, some didn’t, we all still bought a ticket. Breakdown, rebound to the edge, this time actually jumping off the ledge. Only to land in a secret garden handbuilt, a healing done not by a saviour or by an angel (read: future traitor) but by the one who all along healed herself and came out strong.

Another extract from my review of 'The Tortured Poets Department' which you can read here

[simonsfish]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Young Royals (TV 2021) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Simon Eriksson/Wilhelm Characters: Simon Eriksson, Wilhelm (Young Royals) Additional Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Blindfolds, Rimming, Oral Sex, Hand Jobs, light cum play, Ass to Mouth, Kink Discovery Summary:

Wille puts on a blindfold and lets Simon do what he wants. Simon wants to use his tongue.

-- -- Day 14 & 15 of Kinktober in July: Rimming & Blindfolds

[the-one-who-lambs]

Well, it's been a full year since I rebooted my enemies-to-lovers narilamb fic, The Risen Lamb and the Fallen God.

Everyone who's left comments, kudos, shared their thoughts with me, drawn fanart, and gave encouragement. It's really kept me going during a difficult past few months.

Happy birthday Risen/Fallen. It's been an absolute joy to honor the contributions I've helped make to our once-small community in a way that I can feel proud of. It's strange and rewarding to have seen narilamb go from a ship that usually wasn't taken very seriously to now encompassing the wide variety of dynamics that artists and writers continue to bless the fandom with every day. I'm glad to have been a part of building that with all of you.

And to anyone who hasn't read it yet, I hope you'll come on the rest of this journey with me. I'm so excited to see how much further it can go with the ideas I have for the last few chapters.

[alessiasfreckles]

leah sighting at the game!

[daddy-kinard]

Tommy’s a weak man. When he gets the text - I presume the full gay experience I’m supposed to be having includes hate sex and you’re the only gay man I hate right now so….door’s open - he feels a familiar rush of blood. He sent it at a time he guessed - correctly - Tommy would be free, and fuck, he knows exactly what buttons to press. Knows that Tommy isn’t actually that strong, not really, not when it comes to resisting Evan.

He sort of figured the hate part of the hate sex invitation was mainly a ruse to get Tommy back in his bed one last time. He was wrong. Evan feels a lot, feels it fully and often loudly, but the angriest Tommy ever saw him, embodying all of the frustration and injustice at the existence of the Vincent Gerrard’s of the world, is nothing, nothing, in comparison to the fiery spitting rage that’s directed at him before he’s even closed the door behind him.

“You’re a selfish prick, you know that?”

Tommy’s a little taken aback, but recovers quickly enough to shrug off his jacket, hanging it on the hook by the door out of habit.

“God, fuck you, Tommy. Who the fuck do you think you are?”

And then Evan’s on him. Their teeth clash as they meet in a hungry, claiming, kiss, bodies drawn together by the same magnetism they’ve always had.

“Such a fucking asshole.” Evan spits as they part for air, Evan’s hand trailing down to cup his already hard cock.

Tommy doesn’t give as good as he gets, he can’t. He lets Evan’s fist grip too tightly in his hair, and his teeth scrape too sharply against his lips, his throat, and he - fuck - he enjoys it. Of course he does.

He expects Evan to push him down onto the mattress, to shove a little, to fuck him, rough, the way they had only figured out they liked it sometimes when there wasn’t enough time left. Instead he shakes his head, slapping a condom into Tommy’s chest with force.

“Make me feel it, one last time, you selfish bastard.”

“Buck,” he starts, but -

“Don’t you fucking dare. Not here, not like this.” There’s still anger, but for the first time tonight, Tommy hears the vulnerability in his voice too.

[sp1rit-realm]

༻¨*:· 𝐈’𝐌 𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐘 ·:*¨༺

༻¨*:· summary ·:*¨༺ you have feelings for remus, he's dating someone else

༻¨*:· notes ·:*¨༺ 𖦹 implied that reader has a period 𖦹 fem!reader (she/her pronouns) 𖦹 a-a-a-angst 𖦹 sad 𖦹 unrequited love 𖦹 im sorry 𖦹 BIG THANKS TO @ay0nha FOR HELPING ME WITH THIS CONCEPT 𖦹 i did not proofread this bc i'm lazy ⎝(ˊᗜˋ)⎠

༻¨*:· word count ·:*¨༺ 𖦹 736

Thalia giggles at something Remus said for the fifth time in ten minutes—that's one giggle every two minutes. You stare daggers at her as the sweet, sticky sound bubbles out her mouth like boiling water. Warm and soothing and everything your wheezing laughs weren't. 

Your eyes shoot to Sirius as he kicks your leg from beneath the table. "What?" You mouth with a harsh stare.

"You look like you're about to kill her," He mouths back with raised brows.

You only roll your eyes in return.

Somewhere between the seventh and the tenth giggle, you decide to leave. You can't bear seeing how Remus looks at her with such adoration.

. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

"What was yesterday about?" Sirius asks at breakfast.

You feign innocence, "What are you talking about?"

"You looked like you were about to choke out goldie locks. Jealous she's spending time with Remus?" He suggests.

"Ha!" You bark out, "Jealous. What a funny concept. You know, Sirius, you should consider a comedy career."

But Sirius is not laughing—he's looking at you with those eyes you've seen far too many times now. You saw them when he asked if you cheated on your charms test when you were twelve. You saw them when he asked if you were an animagus when you were fifteen. You saw them when he asked if your date with that boy from Ravenclaw went well. You've seen them every time you've lied to him. You see them now.

"Fuck you," You mutter—he catches it anyway.

"Tell him."

"There's nothing to tell, Sirius."

He only shakes his head in return.

. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

You feel a wave of sadness crash over you when you see Thalia at Remus's side once again. You're supposed to be there. That's your spot, you think.

Thalia looks to see who's entered the common room, and she flashes you a warm smile, waving her hand in a signal for you to sit with your friends.

You shake your head, and she raises an eyebrow in suspicion. You point to your stomach, "Period," You mouth. She nods in understanding.

Then, you catch Sirius's eye. He stares in disappointment as you walk away.

. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

"Has anyone seen y/n?" Remus asks at breakfast—you've been avoiding him.

"I just saw her in the halls on the way here," Frank speaks up, "She said she was going to the library."

"I'm going to look for her." He stands up, then turns to Thalia, "See you soon, love." James pretends to throw up when he kisses her cheek.

"I just saw you being sweet on Evans, mate. Don't act all high and mighty," Sirius chips in.

But you're not in the library, and you're not at any of your usual spots.

. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

It's been days since Remus has spoken to you, and he's only growing more restless.

"Every time I see her, she runs away," He sighs.

"I'm sorry, my love," Thalia frowns, rubbing Remus's back.

"I'm gonna go for a smoke," He stands up and leaves the common room.

Remus goes to the courtyard—it's your guys' smoking place. He finds you there, head in your hands.

"Y/n?" He asks, and you look at him with shocked eyes, like the idea of him talking to you—seeing you—was preposterous.

"You're avoiding me," Remus says, finally cornering you.

"No, I'm not." You deny, standing up.

"Oh, come on, y/n. Do you think me that daft? I can tell you're avoiding me. Why?"

You take a deep breath, willing tears not to fall, "Because of her."

"Who?" 

'You're clueless,' You think.

"Thalia."

"What about her? You don't like her?"

And you can hear the fear in his voice—the fear that his best friend doesn't approve of the one he loves.

"She's amazing, Remus." Your voice wavers, and then it dawns on Remus. His face falls, and you know it's over.

"I'm sorry," He rushes out, "I'm so sorry."

And that's when the tears fall, "Don't be sorry, Remus."

"I'm sorry," He repeats, and you catch on to the look in his eyes. 

"Don't pity me, Remus."

"I don't!" He argues, "I'm just... I'm sorry."

"I wish you could love me," You whisper, looking into his eyes, heart breaking even more as you see their unshed tears.

"I do love you," He insists, "Just not in the way you need me to."

"Why?" You cry, "Why can't you just love me?"

"I— I wish I had a reason."

"It's okay, Remus."

"I'm sorry."

thank you so much for reading, lovely!

mutuals: @queerpumpkinnn @whenjasfallsinlove @woahlifehitsyahuh @ell0ra-br3kk3r @esperisdrunkinwonderland @remuslovebot @reysdriver @tired-of-lying-in-the-sunshine @thesunandstarss @inkluvs @prongsio @ay0nha @angry-little-frog @starlit-epiphany @starstruckwillows @starsval @whennyxfallsinlove @depressedbutartsy @dancinglikeaballerina @ghostlyfleur @hob1e-br0wn @justpjostufff @knaveism @lovers-tunnel @zvdvdlvr @vinniethepanini @vampieteeth @baker-coded @meredarling @maddipoof

[starions]

end of the line, we finally reached the edge after all this time.

pairing ; miguel o'hara x gn!spider!reader

words ; 2472

summary ; miguel finds himself face-to-face with you—or a dark, twisted version of you.

tags ; angst, reader has hypnosis powers, reader is described with hair long enough to pull, no use of y/n, gender neutral pronouns/use of second person, i kinda don't know how symbiotes work

han's note ; still written with my spidersona in mind but it is very vague still! i recommend reading part one "i didn't find my love, but i still made it this far without it" because it wont make much sense without it. title is still an ethel cain lyric <3

part one

;

As Miguel stepped outside of the portal, he was greeted by you. Not physically, but with your mask covered face plastered on every surface available. It seemed like this Earth—Earth-799—was on track to become similar to his own, with megacorporations feeding advertisements to consumers wherever they looked, influencing them to buy things out of indulgence and not necessity. He wondered, were you a pawn of these capitalists, or were you playing their game right alongside them? He looked around the city, trying to find Jess, but his vision was blocked by either electronic screens or holograms of you advertising some product.

This was his own personal nightmare.

“Jess,” he said to his Gizmo, “where are you?”

A tiny hologram of Jess appeared from his Gizmo, looking rightfully pissed off. “Why did it take you so long to show up?”

“Don't worry about it,” he said. “Where are you?”

“Meet me on top of Stark Coffee on Lexington and 3rd. I’ll fill you in when I see you.” With that, the call ended, and Miguel was left just alone with your smiling face at every angle.

In an instant, Miguel began swinging throughout your New York City, careful not to attract too much attention. The sun was beginning to set, and the twinkling lights of the buildings and advertisements were illuminated off his blue suit. He hoped this would go by quickly, smoothly. Catch the anomaly, return back home. He wouldn’t have to see your face in person, and he definitely wouldn’t have to set foot on this Earth centered around you again. Miguel considered himself rational, and logically, never meeting you again would be a guarantee that your life would continue on, unchanged. He flew with ease, managing to find the rooftop of Stark Coffee in no time at all. Jess stood, arms crossed and face with the beginning signs of bruises. He’d have to send her to the infirmary for a quick check up.

“Are you okay?” Miguel said, landing on his feet and walking over to Jess; he gave her a once over, noticing a few tears in her suit. Miguel tssked, shaking his head. “You need to be more careful.”

“Fine,” Jess said, annoyance in her tone. “Maybe next time, backup will come quicker.”

“Good,” he said, ignoring her quick remark and looking across the rooftop and to the streets below. “What are we looking at here? Where’s the anomaly?”

Jess taps onto her Gizmo, pulling up information about whatever she had been chasing prior to his arrival. “According to Lyla, it's a symbiote from Earth-901220; it’s attached itself to this Earth’s Spidey. They’re incredibly slippery, as you can tell.”

Miguel’s jaw clenched underneath his mask. So much for not seeing you face-to-face. How could this have possibly happened without him noticing? “How long has it been attached?”

“A little under 12 hours.”

“Good, should be easy to detach then, where did you—”

“You brought a friend!” Miguel’s head snapped to the sound of the voice that rang out in the air. He hadn’t heard that voice in person in a long, long time—yet, there was a darkness twisted into it, something chilling, an effect of the symbiote. Standing on the edge of the rooftop, you looked him up and down. Your once red and white Spider-Suit was now tainted black, absorbed by the symbiote. You tilted your head, smiling wildly and showing fangs that rivaled his, and the black mask covering only your eyes crinkled with your smile. “He looks scary,” you teased. “Sorry you had to call for backup,” you said to Jess, “your ego must be bruised.”

She sneered. “Listen, if you just come with us, we can get that thing off of you.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, laughing. “This thing has been the best thing to happen to me in such a long time,” you extend your arms out like wings and tilt your head back, feeling the breeze in your hair. “I haven’t felt this free in so, so long.”

“Enough of this,” Miguel snapped. “You’re coming with us. Now.”

Slowly, you moved your head back toward Miguel, staring at him with dark, unrecognizable eyes and resting your arms back on your sides. You hmmed, as if in deep contemplation. “No. I don’t think I will.” With that, you fell backwards off the roof.

Miguel rushed to the edge, looking around. You were nowhere to be seen. “God damn it!” He turned toward Jess. “Go after them on your bike, I’ll be in the air.”

Miguel leaped off the roof, talons digging into the brick roof for more momentum. He shot neon orange webs out of his forearms, eyes straining to catch a glimpse of your black suit against the illuminated lights of the inner city. Miguel held firmly onto the web-line as he glided across the city, finally catching a glimpse of you haphazardly webbing away, destroying the electronic screens with your face on them as you went.

Miguel followed the trail of destroyed advertisements, calling your name as he etched closer. “Stop!” He yelled, getting close enough to you to grab onto your loose hair.

You yelped from the pain, losing your momentum and falling on top of a taxi cab. “Asshole!” You cried out, back stinking momentarily as you got back to your feet. The driver of the cab jumped out of the cab, yelling profanities, and all you did was point to the blue-and-red suited man chasing after you. “His fault!”

You made a mad dash away from Miguel, running across hoods of cars and cabs as you shoot another web out of your wrist, gaining enough speed to make a pendulum out of yourself. Your web-line attaches onto a nearby billboard, and you propel yourself forward as you maneuver through the city streets. 

Miguel cursed to himself; you were incredibly limber, able to move through this labyrinth of skyscrapers. This is what Miguel hated about traveling to new dimensions—even though it was the same city as his own, the buildings were different; the landmarks were different; everything was different. You had a general sense of where you were going, him on the other hand, he had no idea.

What Miguel did know, however, were your weaknesses. All that time he spent, analyzing your skills and weaknesses, gave him leverage you did not have on him. Judging by what he was seeing now, the symbiote was amplifying your skills, not improving them. That must mean that the same skills you lack were ever present, and Miguel had plans on exploiting them. 

He watched as you landed on top of a rooftop to catch your breath, stopping midswing to land on the rooftop next to it. Hiding from your view, he watched as you wiped sweat from your forehead, looking around for signs of him or Jess. Miguel scoffed at your expression; you seemed disappointed. You liked this game of cat and mouse. Too bad he was about to end it.

As you were getting ready to launch your web again, Miguel leaped into action, taking advantage of the blindspot you had on your left side. You yelped as he grabbed onto your waist, rolling the two of you over a few times before finally pinning your wrists above your head.

“No fair,” you said, shifting in his grip. “I was having fun.”

Miguel ignored you. “Jess,” he said into his Gizmo, “I got them.”

“On it,” Jess replied, the roar of her bike engine in the back, “tracking your location.”

“You’re the boss, right?” You asked from underneath him.

He grunted, tightening the grip on your wrist. What he needed to do was sink his teeth in your neck, paralyzing you like any other anomaly; but he didn’t know the effect of his venom on another Spider-Person, and the thought of hurting you scared him.

“Can you take your mask off?” You asked. “I wanna see the man who captured me.”

“No.”

“Why?” You asked, tilting your head up at him. “Are you ugly?”

He scoffed. “Quite the opposite.”

“Ohh I see, you’re just a tease.” You grinned, a fang poking out of your lip. “Come on, you show me yours, I’ll show you mine. How’s that?”

Miguel hesitated. Everything in him was telling him to ignore them, to web them up and get them back to HQ as quickly as possible, but… he hadn’t seen your face in such a long time. If he could just humor you, once, he could see you in person again. Everything he wished against an hour before. The last image of your face was beaten to a bloody pulp, and he would like to erase that memory.

With a sigh, Miguel nodded, his holographic mask dissipating to reveal his face.

You ooo’d. “Handsome,” you said. “My turn.” In an instant, the symbiote acting as your mask crawled off your face and onto your suit below, uncovering your face to the man pinning you down.

His gaze softened as he took in your features. There was a new scar next to your eyebrow, the mole on your face was on the opposite side, and your eyes were a slightly different color, but it was you. The one he lost, all those years ago.

“Weird reaction,” you said with a quirked eyebrow. “I’ll keep that reaction in my back pocket for later, though.” You looked up at where his large hand still had your wrists pinned down. “This was fun and all, but I’m kinda over it, so…” You looked back at him, staring into his red eyes. “You’re going to let me go now.”

For some reason, Miguel couldn’t break eye contact with you. Your words flooded him with warmth, and all the signals in his brain were turning off one by one. “Let you… go?”

You nodded, smiling softly. “Let me go.”

He did what he was told, his hand released your wrists. As he climbed off you, he made no move to recapture you as he sat on the rooftop, dazed by your words.

“Bye boss man,” you said, as the symbiote mask crawled back on your face. “Tell the cute biker girl I said bye too!”

With that, you propelled yourself off the rooftop, and Miguel sat stumped, entirely confused. After a second, he regained his senses. What the fuck. What the fuck? He didn’t have time to question whether or not that was the symbiote or part of your Spider powers. He immediately called Jess. “Don’t look them in the eyes,” he said, swinging off the rooftop as his mask appeared back on his face. “They have some sort of hypnosis power.”

“I’m assuming they got away?” Jess said over the sound of traffic. “Because I’m looking at them right now.”

Miguel spotted Jess’ bike up ahead, swerving around traffic to get to the symbiote-ridden Spidey wreaking havoc across New York City. “Unintentionally,” he said, making his way toward the two of them.

“Right,” Jess said, as she sped up her bike. She used a nearby ramp to propel her bike upward enough to meet you at the lower height of your swing, hitting you with her bike. You stumbled in mid air, somersaulting before webbing yourself to the nearest building you could find. With a glare towards her, you shot your web at a traffic light, using all your strength to bring it down. In seconds, a collision of cars blocked her path toward you. “You should make sure no one is hurt! You are Spider-Woman, after all.” You called out to Jess, swinging away from the mess you created.

“You deal with that!” Miguel said into his Gizmo. “I got them this time.” He was sure of it too; he wasn’t going to let you make a fool of him again.

Miguel moved hastily, zipping past the waves of people filming the chase on their smartphones and watches. You swung from building from building, using your Spider-Sense to detect the best course to deter the masked man following behind you. You laughed maniacally, enjoying the thrill of being chased, doing spins and twirls as if you were playing some sort of game.

The laughing stopped and was replaced with a grunt of pain as you suddenly glitched, blocks of colors and shapes cutting your web-line mid swing, a reminder that the symbiote that had claimed you was not part of this dimension.

You came crashing down, smashing face first on an electronic billboard advertising some sort of cherry flavored vodka. You slowly slumped down on the catwalk, unmoving as Miguel landed next to you.

He paused, blood running cold. He hoped—prayed—that you would move, that he didn’t just kill you again. When he saw you stir, he felt himself let out a sigh of relief.

Meekly, you sat up, turning on your knees to face him. “I’m gonna feel that in the morning,” you said, rubbing your head. “I bet it will feel like a hangover,” you said, pointing to the billboard and laughing weakly. “Get it?”

“That’s funny,” Miguel said plainly, before using his webs to tie you up. He knelt down, holographic mask coming off so this time, he really could paralyze you. He couldn’t risk you using that power again. His hand found purchase in your hair, yanking your head to the side to expose your neck. His fangs sunk in, and his venom seeped in, ready to attack your veins.

Your eyes widened at the feeling of fangs piercing you, but your lids fluttered lowly as the venom enacted almost immediately. “Didn’t want this…” You said quietly. “Thought I could be… someone else. Not Spider…” You couldn’t finish your words, your head slumping down as your body went still.

Miguel caught you in his arms as you keeled over just as Jess landed on the railing.

“Told you they were slippery,” Jess said, shaking her head. “They gonna be okay?”

“Should be,” Miguel said, looking down at you. He recalled the last time he held you in his arms, right after you had been murdered. He shook the thought out of his head. “I didn’t use enough venom to cause any lasting effects, but that means it should wear off soon. Ready the portal, we’ll get this symbiote off somewhere safe.”

Jess looked at your unmoving body with concern, before tapping a few buttons on her Gizmo.

The yellow portal opened at once, and Miguel scooped you up. He looked down at your features one last time, a thousand questions and fears flooding his head at once. Now wasn’t the time to ponder, or question whether or not taking you with them would be bad for everyone. Right now, his focus was on saving your life. Without a second thought, Miguel stepped into the portal, reluctant to show you his world.