honestlywrites

[honestlywrites]

University is interrupting my obsession with Jack Abbot

[honestlywrites]

hey. how funny would it be if my years long writing hiatus was broken because of 50 year old men on a medical drama.

[honestlywrites]

𝐚𝐧 𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨'𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

you and miguel have different definitions of the same word. he finally gives in to temptation —featuring a cranky but lovesick miguel and a flirty, head-in-the-clouds spider-girl. pre across the spider-verse but contains spoilers. requested here. fem!reader, 3k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

This has to be your favourite song in the whole world. 

You sit in the hall beside the entrance to Miguel's office (this week, you're thinking you might call it The Bedroom, on account of all the magic happening inside), headphones on, a bottle of lemonade beside you. 

Today has the makings of a great day. You're at the Spider Society headquarters and not at home, for starters, and one of the Peter Parkers you'd made friends with in the med-wing saw you this morning and recognised you, which is brilliant because he looked super similar to every other Peter Parker you've met. He offered to help you fix your rinky-dink headphones, and now they're working again and loud enough to cover the sound of Spider Chatter, even with your enhanced senses. 

What's more, Miguel has finally emerged from his dormitory, and he's walking toward you looking confused. That's a step up from unhappy. 

He asks you something. 

"What? I can't hear you." 

He says something else. You shake your head, music too loud to catch even a hint of what he's saying, and Miguel eventually crouches down to push your headphones around your neck. He's surprisingly gentle. 

"What are you doing?" he asks. 

"Waiting for you, what did you think I was doing?" 

"Why are you sitting on the ground?" He gestures backward to a red-lit control panel. "Chair right there." 

"I think that's someone's desk." 

"It's really not." 

Miguel stands up and doesn't hesitate to grab your arms and help you up too. It means more to you than it should, because it's not necessary and a few months ago he wouldn't have bothered. Which isn't to imply that Miguel is a mean guy, Lyla says he used to be a loser (code for sweetheart), and you get flashes of it every now and then in chivalry and kind smiles. 

He's not mean, he's cranky. 

"Don't sit on the floor," he says. "Just– just go inside if I'm not here." 

"Well, The Bedroom doesn't come when I call." 

Miguel's lips part in confusion for a second. Lyla appears at his shoulder, and says, "She can't get the platform to come down without you, genius." 

"Put her name on the command list," Miguel says. 

Your eyes widen. Lyla flashes to his other side, closer to you, and smiles playfully. "Done." 

"Stop sitting on the floor," Miguel says, turning around. He walks a few steps and pauses when he realises you're not following. "Are you coming with me?" 

You jog to catch up with him. Music plays against your collar, a slinking, indie sound that makes Miguel wrinkle his nose. You turn it up a little bit and smile when he glares at you. 

You enter the atrium that houses The Bedroom. Miguel hops up onto the platform because he's too tall to see sense while you struggle, but you're pleased when he takes your hand and pulls you up properly. All these familiar touches today, anyone might think Miguel liked you. 

He definitely does. 

You sit down in the spinning chair near what you've decided is your desk but certainly isn't, again pleased beyond words when you find your sketchbook from last time still there, cleaned away carefully, pencils in a pot and a brand new pencil sharpener by the side of it. It matches your spider suit. You look over your shoulder, your face lit up with thanks, and Miguel swiftly looks away from you. 

"It's electric. Tell me when the battery's dead, I'll charge it." 

"Thank you," you say, flipping your sketchbook open to the last entry. 

You aren't Picasso, but most members of the Spider Society are somewhat artistically inclined, considering the suit-making rite of passage they must all endure —if you don't know how to sew before you start, you will by the end. 

Or like Miguel, you could cheat and make the suit out of nanotechnology. 

You haven't really been designing any suits lately. Spidering is tiring, you need to relax, and your reluctant friends are the easiest subjects, though Miguel's face is painstakingly difficult to get right. He's very angular, high cheekbones with that divot that needs kissing stat, and his nose… He's really pretty, but you almost wish he wasn't so your sketches of him held a better likeness. 

He's the only one of the regular crew that stands still long enough to be drawn. Jessica doesn't like you (or maybe she does, it's hard to tell, but she hasn't forgiven you for asking if her baby was like a maraca bead when she fights) so she doesn't let you draw her. Lyla will stand very still if you request it, but after a few portraits she got bored and started changing her hair or glasses, and after a few more she gave up. Margo is hard to focus on because her blue light makes everything else seem super orange, though she does stand in one place usually. She takes up a lot of pages, but it's Miguel you've drawn most of all. 

You go around the Spider Society sometimes asking people if they'll sit for you, but again your skills aren't impressive, so it's awkward when they want to see how you've done. There are drawings of all kinds of Spiders, including yourself, between Miguel, and Miguel, and Miguel. 

His back, the side of his face, his hands ungloved. His pointy bottom teeth mid fight. The naked stretch of his arm and his Rapture injector positioned over it. He might not appreciate that one. You rip it out and toss it in the waste paper basket under your desk, where it incinerates, paper smoke curling up toward the extractor fan on the atrium ceiling. 

"What are you doing?" he asks without looking at you, his gaze on one of his marigold coloured monitors. 

"Drawing." You're not drawing so much as sitting there with a coloured pencil in hand, trying to think of conversation starters. "What are you upto?" 

"According to the program, there are no Canon events today at risk of disruption," Lyla chimes in, "so Miguel's doing chores." 

"What, not one bad thing is gonna happen today?" you ask. 

"Nothing we can predict," Miguel says. 

You swap your pencil for your drink, unscrewing the lid of your lemonade to sip at it leisurely. Today is your favourite kind of day. No fighting, lots of time with Miguel, and music to go with it. You're so happy you could melt. 

Miguel turns to you and sees your stickying smile. 

"What?" 

"Nothing. Just happy to be here with you," you say.

"Don't say stuff like that," he says, turning back to his screen. 

"Scared you'll actually experience sincerity?" Lyla asks. 

"Lyla," he warns, as though Lyla might be afraid of any consequence he had the power to inflict. 

"Sorry," you say, not very sorry, but not wanting him to be uncomfortable, "it's just nice, being friends with you."

"We aren't friends." 

You're not quick to take offence with Miguel. He can be cruel. He's hurting, he's unhappy, he has a lot on his plate. Oftentimes he's so tense with apprehension his neck locks up and you hear it clicking as he turns one way or another, or if he isn't apprehensive he's disappointed, furious, upset. You give him the benefit of the doubt because you know him, but you don't know the tone of voice he uses now. It's like he's offended at the insinuation. Like he would never, ever be friends with you. 

You put your lemonade on the desk and don't know what to do. His insipid floating platform is too high now to leave without causing a scene. Maybe when he's busy you can web down and go home. All you know is that you desperately don't want to be near him. But home sucks, and the dormitories are worse. You're stuck. 

"You can be so mean," you say softly, turning back to your sketchbook and pencils. 

You're thinking you might draw him with a bunch of bee stings, or find a previous sketch and cross his eyes out.

"What?" he asks. 

Your hackles rise. "You're mean. Don't talk to me." 

"What?" Miguel stands very still. "Y/N, what?" 

"What do you mean, what? I said something nice and you said something cruel. I get it, okay, we aren't friends, so don't talk to me." 

"I've upset you." 

You stare at your blank page. "It doesn't matter." 

"No, I've said the wrong thing." 

"Miguel, don't bother. What else could you mean by that?" You laugh with little humour. Crestfallen doesn't begin to describe how you feel. "I'll be quiet. I just don't want to be at home." 

"What's wrong with home?" 

"Is there ever much right?" 

"Did something happen?"

"We aren't friends, so why ask me?" 

You bite the inside of your lip as Miguel approaches, his footfall hushed over the lightweight metal flooring. You turn to him in your chair, head tilted back to meet his eyes, arms crossed over your stomach defensively. 

"That's not what I meant when I said that." He speaks slowly, firmly, to avoid any misunderstanding. "What's wrong with home, mi cielo?" 

You tap his ankle with your shoe, looking away from his gaze. You don't want to tell him, and if he keeps looking at you like that, you will.

"¿Qué pasó?" He bends at the waist slightly, bringing his face closer to yours, dark hair falling into his eyes.

"I don't know what that means," you murmur.

"Did something happen?" he asks.

"Nothing happened, it's just– it's lonely there," you say, squirming under the weight of his gaze, his sudden caring. "What's with you? One minute you're not my friend, the next you're worrying about me? You're giving me whiplash." 

He stands up, and his face falls back into a more typical emotionlessness. He's clearly feeling something, but he's wiping the slate clean. 

"When I said we aren't friends, it didn't mean–" He grunts, crossing his arms over his chest. "I thought you were staying in the women's dormitory?" he asks, frustrated.  

"I am, but I'm useless, and they don't really respect me because I'm–" 

"Eccentric?" 

"–not as experienced," you finish, eyes flaring. 

"Oh, my god," Lyla says, appearing in front of him to make sure he sees her delight at his slip up. 

Miguel bats her hologram with an annoyed grunt. She disappears again, her tinkling laughter cut short.

"It's a good thing," Miguel says quickly.

You stand up. "It's not the point." 

"You should feel at home in the dormitory, and if you don't, I'll find you somewhere else to stay here, you don't have to be in there if you don't feel welcome."

"Miguel, you're sounding awfully friendly right now." 

"We aren't friends," he says again, stepping closer to you. "What's so hard to understand about that?" 

"But we spend time together. We have fun. You like me, Miguel, you do, you tell me jokes sometimes, you make me things for me. You… you do like me, right?" 

"You know that I do," he says, his eyebrows pinching together. 

"You like me, like, you want me," you say, just to make sure.

His fist clenches hard enough to make an audible sound. Miguel's voice is fraught, and through barely parted lips, "If you know that, what's the problem?" 

You don't know. Maybe it was silly to worry about how he sees you, because you do know that Miguel likes you, but you also know he hadn't wanted to like you. His attraction to you was reluctant, you're not stupid enough to miss that, and it was important to you that whatever tension sexual or otherwise lingering between you had bloomed into mutual affection. 

"I want us to be friends, too," you say. 

"I thought we were more than that." 

It's such a quiet admission. He isn't afraid to say it, and he isn't reluctant like you feared. 

"Miguel," you say. "I want you to like me. I know I can be off-putting, I know I tease too much, but I don't want you to like me despite those things, I just want you to like me. So, when you say we aren't friends…" 

"I've never heard you say three serious sentences in a row," Miguel says, reaching out for your hand. He pulls you toward him slowly, his fingertips gliding up the length of your arm. "Then again, it's the same nonsense as usual." 

"Miguel–" 

"Of course I like you. How else do you need me to say it? I like you and I want to kiss you, I like you and I like that you're irregular. You want us to be friends? Then let's be friends." Miguel's hand closes around your bicep. His thumb presses against soft fat and muscle alike. "But not just friends." 

Relieved, you sigh. "So you're saying we really weren't friends?" 

Miguel leans down until his face is the only thing you can see. His smooth skin, his dark eyes, their darker flush of too-long lashes; it's unfair how pretty his eyelashes are, how they curl, how they bunch in triangles you have to fight to resist touching. His eyebrows so often slightly set, giving him an unhappy expression even now. 

He brings the hand that isn't clasped at your bicep to the hill of your waist. It's hot as a brand, and it pulls you closer, your neck craning with every inch he steals from between you. 

"We can be friends," he says. 

His fingers twitch against your arm, and his hand begins to climb. It's not as slow as it feels, conquering the curve of your shoulder, your neck. His hand is big, his thumb pressing into the column of your throat gently.

He looks at you for a measured lapse of time, and you know, finally, that you're on the same page. 

"What you said before, 'mi cielo?'" You hold his elbow. "What does that mean?" 

"My sky," he says. "My… my heavens. It's saccharine. It's something teenagers say, when they're," —his voice dips, the hand at your waist squeezing tight like you might slip through his hold—  "infatuated." 

"Just teenagers say that?" you ask.

"No," he allows. "I always thought it was too much." 

"But you–" 

"Yeah. I did." 

The first kiss is surprisingly sweet. On the tail end of words, Miguel presses his lips half-parted to yours, slowly, softly, like the brush of a downy feather. He lingers, and it's your own movement that spurs him on —you shudder up into his lips and he loses control. 

The sound he makes is a shock. You try to pull back to check he isn't hurting, and he lets you until he realises why it is you're pulling away. "It's fine, it's okay," he says quickly. 

Assuaged of your concern, he pulls you back in and he kisses you, he kisses you, his hand squeezing too tight and his nose bridge sliding up against yours from the force of it all. Your chest feels like a pit and you need Miguel closer if you're ever going to fill it, your hands snapping up to his face like magnets. There's no need to pull him down to you, he's already wading in, not wading —crashing, kissing you so hard your lips burn. 

You make a sound that says, hopefully, This is really fun, but don't give me a bruise.

His tongue is a heat at the seam of your lips. Your weight bends, your chest leaning into his front. He doesn't hesitate to ease his hand behind your back and prop you up against him as things get heady, and the only thing you can feel is him. 

All those times he almost kissed you, all those times he couldn't cross the gap. He poked and prodded and provoked you into getting into his space and each time you called his bluff. You wanted Miguel to give in, and now he has, it's the meltiest, most stickying warmth you've ever felt. 

Voices sound far away, off the platform and down the hall. Jessica and someone else, approaching fast. 

Something sharp snags your bottom lip as Miguel pulls away. You press your finger to your sore lip. When you pull it away, blood spots your skin. 

Miguel takes your face into his hand and angles your face to a glowing screen carefully, in total juxtaposition of the grip he'd had on your waist. 

"Sorry," he mumbles, the tip of his fangs catching the light. His adrenaline must be high. 

"Excited?" you ask him breathily. 

He wipes your lip with his thumb. The other hand pet's your cheek. You feel suddenly and smotheringly adored, all his attention on your pinprick wound. 

"Everything okay up there?" Jessica calls. 

Miguel drops your face like he's remembered himself. You turn to your newfound company, Jessica Drew and an unhappy looking Gwen Stacy. This high up, there's no way they can see the state of either of you, mussed hair and Miguel's blushy cheeks, but they'll see you eventually. And Miguel might like you, might want you, might be your more-than-friend, but he's a stickler for appearances, and being found kissing your subordinate dizzy when you're supposed to be working would mortify him.

"I cut my lip on a lemonade bottle," you call cheerily, waving at grumpy Gwen. Her lips perk up. "Miguel's trying to tell me it's my fault. Is lemonade usually sharp?" 

His hand flattens subtly at the small of your pack. 

"Thanks," he murmurs. 

"Welcome, handsome. Is it bad?" you ask, turning back to hip with your lip pouted. 

His eyes visibly soften at the sight of you. "Not that bad." 

"Alright, good. You'll have to let the platform down, I need to go." 

"What? Where are you going?" he asks. 

"If we're friends now," you say, lilting, performing a half spin in front of him just to watch his eyes narrow, "I'm going to have to make us bracelets. Friendship bracelets." He clearly doesn't like the idea of being friends still, so you amend with a softer tone, "Friends and whatever that was. Come on, you'll love it. I'll make it match your suit." 

He rubs the space between his eyebrows. 

"Will you bring your stuff here?" he asks, the platform beginning to lower under your feet. 

"Duh. I need to take lots of measurements. I'll be in your hair all day, you'll hate it." 

He nods like he agrees. "I'll hate it," he says, deadpan. When he's sure Jessica and Gwen aren't looking, he gives you a smile you've never seen before. 

You and I have a secret, it says. 

Lyla appears by your shoulder to instantly tell him otherwise. It goes without saying that she's mildly disgusted and extremely smug. "Don't match it to his suit, Y/N. Mr. Heartthrob here needs something soft. How about some baby pinks, hm?" 

Miguel sighs, but you barely hear him over your excited gasp. "Yes! Pink and white, for sure, that would be so nice." 

"Great," Miguel says. "Perfect. Thanks for that, Lyla."

"You're so welcome!" 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed :D please reblog if you have the time ♡

[honestlywrites]

But the idea of tending to Miguel’s wounds after he comes back from a fight – he’s sitting on the couch while you’re straddling his thigh, knees sinking into the cushions; in hindsight, it was, reasonably, the closest look you could get at the fresh cut right above his eyebrow. He’s got a hand settled on your waist, his way of wordlessly apologizing to you, even though he doesn’t actually feel sorry. Miguel’s tipping his damn head back – won’t keep it forward so you have to lean in and dab at it with a towel drenched in antiseptic.

Your lips are pressed in a thin line, thoroughly unamused. ❝ This is the last time O’Hara. Don’t bother showing up after your next fight. I’m done. Got me dragging myself out of bed at two in the morning again—knock all you want, bleed all over my welcome mat. Go ahead. I’m not answering the door anymore. ❞

The corner of his mouth tugs up into something that’s not quite a smile, but comes pretty damn close considering his typical scowling and general broodiness. ❝ Don’t kid yourself. We both know you’ll let me in. You always do. ❞

[honestlywrites]

surprise! i finished the hat. my hands are a bit raw but whatever. in other news—i finished writing about half of the miguel x filo! reader involving my bestie mayday so look out for that! 🫡

what to expect:

- mayday

- baby fever

- a little bit of angst (im actually really bad at writing it)

- puto

just wanted to give y’all a little update :))

[honestlywrites]

MIGUEL O’HARA BF HEADCANNONS! ✦✦

content: mild cursing, gender neutral reader

i tried to proofread but i did rush to write this at 2am so !!

miguel o’hara as your boyfriend would:

₊ ˚ ๑

be territorial. always has to let those around know that you’re his and only his. there’s always a hand on your waist or lower back. if he’s feeling even friskier, a hand on your ass for sure. his grip must always find a subtle way to tell the world you’re his. he’s professional and serious, however those hands seek to be the opposite, especially in front of others, which has costs your bashfulness every time.

miguel o’hara as your boyfriend would:

₊ ˚ ๑

love physical touch. speaking of his hands, they can’t be off of you for a single minute! for sure when others are around, he carries this whole tough boss guy persona and his hand must be on his partner to let everybody know they’re his, however when it’s just you two in the office, he’s a tough boss guy who must embrace you from behind with lips ever so slightly grazing your neck and looks as smitten as ever while doing it.

he especially loves it when you sit on his lap while he taps away at the holograms. he gets to take care of business all while having his arms tightly wrapped around you.

miguel o’hara as your boyfriend would:

₊ ˚ ๑

always call you “mi tesoro” [my treasure] or “mi vida” [my life]. no matter what mood he’s in, he’ll always have the heart to show you the affection you deserve. you love the way the terms of endearment roll off his tongue and he adores how flustered you get every time.

peck on the cheek, “te amo, mi vida” before leaving for a mission. or, “hola, mi tesoro” as his lips curl into a smile before sharing another welcoming passionate kiss with you.

miguel o’hara as your boyfriend would:

₊ ˚ ๑

find the time to fry you fresh empanadas for lunch. just once probably because he’s a very busy man who must take on the burden of saving every multipleverse—yaddah yaddah yaddah. he brought up that he knew how to make them once and ever since then you wouldn’t stop pestering him until he gave in and took the time to make you your favorite things for lunch.

so, you’re with him at your shared apartment as he fries you a batch of the very anticipated miguel empanadas in a silly pink apron—that’s two sizes too small for him—you made him wear. your teasing him the entire time and he’s muttering endlessly in spanish under his breath. he promised to make you the food if gave him a massage everyday for the rest of the week, but you set your foot and said you’d do it only under the condition he wear the silly apron.

they were surprisingly delicious, i mean not that you expected they would taste like shit, but wow your boyfriend can actually cook!

[honestlywrites]

Omg if you write a Miguel x filo!reader I’d actually die. Like AKSHWGWBEIDODHW

Whenever I see a filo!reader fic I am INSTANTLY pulled in and just want more, but they can be hard to find sometimes. :(

I’m begging you please give us something, but take your time no rush. <3

also I am living for all the other anon suggestions and scenarios, can’t wait to see what you come up with!!! Muah 💛💛

AWWW IM SO GLAD OTHERS ARE EXCITED TOO! there’s def a fic on the way :)) i have it outlined in my notes app and have been doing research :)) thanks for all the support!!! <333

[honestlywrites]

STOOOP LITERALLY ME TOO I QUIT ART AND PERSONAL WRITING FOR SO LONG AND TELL ME WHY I SUDDENLY WHIPPED A SPIDERSONA BACKSTORY IN A DAY ??? 😭 the movies are so so good raaah

and OMG CROCHET !! ive always wanted to learn hehe i hope the hat turns out well !! update meee omg /nf

i will :)) 10/10 recommend and mayday’s hat isn’t too hard!! (i’d practice a little bit before diving in but i believe!!!!)

[honestlywrites]

WIHEOGKGLG HELP TELL ME WHY WE BOTH GOT THE SAME IDEA 😭 I FR STARTED DRAFTING OUT A SILLY BLURB FOR MIGUEL AFTER TALKING TO YOU

omg the power the spiderverse movies have……

NO LITERALLY IVE NOT BEEN CREATIVE FOR A MONTH AND IN A SINGLE DAY I BOUGHT A SKETCHBOOK, MORE YARN (to crochet mayday’s hat obvi), AND STARTED WRITING AGAIN AFTER ALMOST A YEAR

art is powerful. i love this movie.

[honestlywrites]

RAAAAH I AM GLAD THAT YOURE FED I MUST SPREAD THE MIGUEL AGENDA. ! !!!! tbh take your time !!!! <3 hehe even little gushes abt miguel like this have me so entertained LMAO

…mayday is the best character i love her sm. i would literally let her get away with ANYTHINGGGG 😭 it’s so bad !!! the angry phrases are so real LMAO i’m fluent in taglish and taglish only 💀 my parents supply all of my vocab and most of the time it’s just cuss words LOL

omg stahp i love you too /p i luv gushing abt miguel it’s a problem LOOOOOL

but yeas yeas take your time !!! excited for wtv you come up with, no matter what it is ! :]]

you’ve got me. i’m got. i’m outlining as i speak.

[honestlywrites]

same anon here again 🙊 LMAOOO DW the puto idea is still always smthn i will eat up every time LOL

and RAAAH the mayday idea is so cute 😭 omg imagine reader babysitting for peter and they kinda just let mayday swing around everywhere (causing mischief giggles) and lyla snitches to miguel (like hey lmao theyre tearing up the lobby) AND MIGUEL IS JUST STANDING THERE LIKE WTF ….

calls them both in and a silly little argument happens AHAHA perhaps mayday is just in the bg swinging everywhere the entire time and miguel has to monitor her while arguing.. after all that peter enters the room to pick mayday up and just slowly walks out with her after seeing the tension like… uhmmm i’ll give you two some privacy…… mayb… they confess after giggles

BUT AAA YES miguel miguel miguel brainrot…..

i love you anon you’re feeding me i’m fed—you’re inspiring me i’m INSPIRED,,, maybe this week i’ll cook a little something up we’ll see heheheheh

that little baby’s got me i absolutely adore mayday—and i was watching a tiktok abt angry tagalog phrases hm hm hm we’ll see (i can work with those bc i’ve heard them from my parents 😭)

also anon you’re slaying like you’re my first “interactive” anon i love you

[honestlywrites]

hiiii !! just popping in bc i saw your miguel fic ideas and i am GOTKGOSKGOJFOSJDKFKDK so intrigued. i’ve been looking for filo fics for miguel and whenever i find one i get so excited aaaaa

as for the spidey/alchemax reader uhm pls sigh me up ill go crazy for both of them LMAO like yes i want to be a silly spider that hangs out with mayday omg <//3 and i luv luvvv science too so im like … omg… theyre all perfect ideas

BUT YEAH AAAH SORRY FOR RAMBLE if you do ever make any of those ideas, id be so so excited to read them LOL

omg but imagine filo reader saying smthn that miguel kinda recognizes but the meaning is sooorta different

spider reader is talking to the younger spiders (gwen/miles them) and she’s like damnnn maglamyerda ka na naman (you guys are going out again 😭???) and miguel overhears and just goes 😧 …… bc i think (correct me if i’m wrong !!!) that la mierda in spanish is shit 😭😭😭😭

YEAHHHHHH omg shout out my filipinos 🫡🫡🫡 but yes 100% i was thinking about the puto tiktok but ik that’s already been done and idk a lot of tagalog (filam sue me) but we’ll see hehehe maybe the reader plays with mayday and miguel gets all cranky and acts mean and they have some WORDS that leads to a confession 🫢🫢 y’all are so creative im living

[honestlywrites]

its been a long, long, time. but i desperately want to write for miguel. there’s something about this damn movie that has all my creative juices flowing.

ideas:

- miguel x spider! reader (reader absolutely adores mayday and is the one who makes her little hat and miguel falls head over heels—and gets a little baby fever if you know what i mean)

- miguel x alchemax! reader (i’m a sucker for science my guy so maybe something having to doing with his like injections or formulating or something—biochemistry for the win)

- anything tbh i’m madly, deeply, forever in love with this man (i have a soft spot for filipinx! reader because of the language similarities/differences)

feel free to chime in! <3 ✨

[honestlywrites]

omg i’m honored! i’ll definitely have to work on part 3! <33

​Ducks Fic Rec List: Stranger Things

This is my list of favorite fics (so far) for Stranger Things! If you have any suggestions to add or would like to to be removed from the list let me know. Most of these fics are ns/fw so heed the tags on each fic!

Eddie Munson

glasses & one scoop for two @loveronlineee​

play pretend part 1  part 2 @webslinger-holland​

jealousy, jealousy + right to be hellish @theoreticslut​

please don’t judas me @hawkinshighdropout​

sex on fire @eddieslvt​

dark matter @luveline​

guts & please don’t go @spiderrrling​

make-up sex @munsonmunchies​

love letters / head over heels / just getting started @creme-bruhlee​

contentment @hellfiremovieclub

eddie munson masterlist + small talk @muertawrites

summer storm @lewisyellowhelmet

make up sex with eddie @indouloureux

good boy @peterthepark

I can’t carry it for you, but I can carry you & tell me we’ll never get used to it @the-wild-wolves-around-you

chicken & talkative @bippot

just put your sweet lips on my lips @edens-pen

rainy day with eddie & after glow @siempre-bucky

guitar pick @yourfavouriterival

peanut butter cookies

rainbow in the dark @inklore

I’ll make it up to you @stranger-nightmare

I was made for lovin’ you @milkiane

eddie munson masterlist @galaxy-siren

pom-poms and pseudodragons @honestlywrites

wild side / still of the night / love bites @mypoisonedvine

family video & eddie’s campaign @sunflowersteves

check out everything from @eddiemunsonbrxinrot and @prettyboyeddiemunson

Jim Hopper

a warm cabin @imamotherfuckingstar-lord

do not touch @flamehairedwritings

early bird @hausofobsession

jim hopper masterlist (yes all of it) @letterfromvienna

needle on the record @twistnet

ride home @empresskylo

[honestlywrites]

Pom-Poms and Pseudodragons | Eddie Munson x Reader (Part Two)

Summary: After realizing you don’t have dice, Eddie comes knocking on your window and takes you on an adventure. There, you begin to realize that your feelings for Eddie may extend past platonic. The rest of the week passes and you finally get to play D&D with Hellfire Club, but they may not be as welcoming as Eddie insists. 

T/W: References to drugs. Slight bullying. No spoilers for Season 4. Reader is gender neutral. 

A/N: I did it! On my break between work--hope you enjoy! Shoutout to my beta reader @blackjeanbabyy Crossposted on AO3!

Part One | Masterlist

With everything squared away and your first D&D session a week away, your weekend was pretty much spent working on homework and enjoying time away from school. That is until you hear a knock on your window on a lovely Sunday afternoon. You write it off as nothing, perhaps the wind or another natural factor–until it happens three more times. Now, you live in a two-story house in the affluent suburbs of Hawkins so to look out and see Eddie Munson with pebbles in hand is quite a sight.

Pushing up the window, you stick your body out, leaning on the window's ledge.

“What are you doing here?” you were lucky that your parents were out having lunch with some friends, but it was still a bit nerve-wracking for him to have shown up out of nowhere.

“I realized that you don’t have dice!” he calls out from below, a hand cupped around his mouth to amplify his voice. 

“Yeah, I know! I just assumed that I’d borrow some from you or one of the boys,” you state, looking down at him. He’s wearing a Metallica shirt today and just the leather jacket. His hair is as messy as ever, but it looks a little better–almost like he raked his fingers through just to look a little more put together. 

“You can’t! It’s forbidden,” he insists. “But I can drive you to the game store and we can pick some out.”

“No, it’s not forbidden. I literally just used your big ass bag of dice to roll my character stats,” you roll your eyes, wondering why he drove all the way up just to tell you to buy dice. Though, it was a little endearing to think that he thought of you and decided to make the trek rather than just letting you fall victim to superstition.

“It’s different! You need dice because it’s your first character, and your first character is special,” he huffs, seeming more and more impatient by the second.

“I feel like there’s a joke in there, I just can’t find it,” you state and smile cheekily.

“You know what? I’m coming up there,” he marches forward through the grass and instantly begins to climb up the side of your house with the aid of the downspout. It creaks under his weight and you wince at the idea of him falling off and damaging both the house and himself. 

“Eddie, get down! You’ll break your leg,” you shout, hearing him huff and puff as he crests over the side of the roofing, digging his ring-covered fingers into shingles. You watch him pull himself up with determination, his tongue sticking out in concentration. 

“I can’t get down, sweetheart. You’ve forced my hand,” he grunts out and pulls himself over the side, getting a foot down and standing up right in front of your window. “Now, you have to come to the game store with me and get dice. It’s only right that your first time is perfect.”

He winks and you can’t help but flush at his choice of words.

“You’re so lucky my parents aren’t here or they would have made a racket,” you mutter, standing back from the window to allow him to crawl through. He sticks his legs through and slides in, grunting when he hits the carpeted floor. Your room is nothing special, with a couple of medals hanging and a hefty amount of band posters. Most notably, Fleetwood Mac and Metallica. 

“I haven’t done that in a long time,” he huffs, looking around at your room from his seat on the floor. “Seafoam green?”

“It was a phase, okay. And I still haven’t said yes to the game store. It just seems so unnecessary, I mean, what if I hate playing and I never play again?” you ask, plopping down on your bed and crossing your arms. You refused to give in, mostly because you didn’t want him to win. Or perhaps you didn’t want him to leave just yet. He was in your room, it was like a teen’s wet dream but also simultaneously the most embarrassing thing to have someone in your childhood bedroom. 

“Then I will steal the dice from you and my collection grows ever larger, but I would never let that happen,” he gazes up at you with his big brown doe eyes and you feel your composure crack ever so slightly. “I’m gonna do my best to make sure that your first session is the best time you’ve ever had, even if it means kicking every one of those meat heads out of the room.” 

“That’s so unnecessary, I’d feel terrible and they’d all hate me!” 

“They’re going to be so distracted by the fact that you’re a hot cheerleader that they won’t even stop to care,” he says and you feel your heart quicken in your chest, your hands clasping to stop them from shaking ever so slightly.

“You think I’m hot?” you ask, raising your eyebrows to egg him on.

“I may have failed senior year twice, but I’m not blind,” Eddie remarks and leans against your bedroom wall, staring up at you in a way you’d never even imagined. There’s a thick cloud of silence as you make up your mind, turning to your piggy bank with some saved-up money. It was childish, perhaps, but it did the job

“How much should I bring?”

After you pull Eddie through your house, refusing to let him stare at any embarrassing photos of you, the two of you pile into his van and make your way to the closest game store. Unfortunately, or fortunately, for you, the closest game store happens to be thirty minutes away in Anderson so the car ride is full of loud metal music as the van crests down the highway. 

Once again, you find yourself in the passenger seat of his car, enveloped in the smell and feel of everything that made Eddie, Eddie. It was odd, how quickly he made a space for himself in your small circle of people, but then again you didn’t really have a circle. Every friendship before his had never felt truly whole because there was always a part that felt fake. And yet, Eddie is so entirely real and wholly true to himself. There’s not a moment when he makes fun of your interests or treats your newly budding relationship as transactional. It’s nice. 

After getting off at the first Anderson exit and driving down a slightly desolate road, you find yourself in front of a larger building with a sign that says ‘Game Kastle.’ It’s connected to an arcade that is absolutely full to the brim with teenagers, but Eddie strolls up to the glass door, holding it open for you.

“I am so glad this place is real otherwise I was sure you were going to murder me,” you state, looking forward at the rows and rows of games and gaming materials. “It smells like an armpit in here.”

“That’s the sweet smell of pure excitement,” he inhales deeply, causing you to grimace at his reaction. He’s completely unphased. 

“C’mon, the dice display is this way,” he leads you over to a glass case where there are rows and rows of dice on display in little boxes. It’s all illuminated like a prize counter at the arcade and you look over the varying designs. There are dice in every single color and you can’t help but press your nose to the glass in trying to get a better look. 

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Eddie whispers next to you and you can tell by the tone of this voice that he’s smirking at you victoriously.

“It’s something, alright,” you tell him, overwhelmed by the selection. “How do I know which one is the right one?” 

“I like to choose a color, usually. I haven’t played a character in so long, but the colors are a big one. Especially if you match the color to the outfit of your character, then it’s extra special,” he leans against the counter as you look over, your eyes wide. 

“Oh god, I didn’t even think about what they would wear,” you watch him tilt his head back and laugh, shaking his head.

“It’s a good thing you’re thinking about it now, then,” he states. You turn back and stare deeply down at the dice. After about ten minutes of deliberation and Eddie walking off to find something, you decide on a deep green set that was neutral enough but also fits in with the type of cleric you would be playing. 

The person behind the counter grabs it and rings it up for you as Eddie returns to your side, a couple of other things in hand.

“Did you figure out what your cleric would be wearing?” he asks, holding his loot behind his back.

“Yes, I settled on a deep green cloak that would match my forest green dice. My cleric also wears a lovely white shirt that is loose-fitting for fighting and some comfortable dark pants,” holding it out, Eddie inspects the dice in your hands and nods approvingly. You smile with pride, those hours at his trailer had to have paid off in some way

“Perfect, now can you go outside and start the van for me? I’ll be out in a second.”

He holds out his keys, waiting to drop them into your hand.

“Why?” you ask, narrowing your eyes.

“No reason,” he shrugs and shakes his head.

“You’re a terrible liar, Eddie Munson,” you state, standing your ground. 

“It’s a surprise, now run off before you ruin it. Or else I’ll kill your character,” he taunts, a smile growing on his face.

“You wouldn’t dare,” leaning in, the two of you engage in a pseudo-staring contest for a moment before someone interrupts the two of you.

“I’m sorry, you’re holding up the line,” the cashier says monotonously, staringat the two of you awkwardly. He breaks the facade, causing you and Eddie to separate quickly after you grab his keys.

“I’ll wait in the car,” you mumble, rushing out of the store and getting in the car. You take a moment to catch your breath and start up the car, taking comfort in the low hum of the van and the music playing loudly over the speakers.  You press your hands to your cheeks to cool them off, catching your breath and reveling in the vibrations of the music. It’s getting more complicated, your friendship with Eddie. There’s just a pull toward him that is magnetic, he has his own magnetic field. 

A couple of minutes later, Eddie is walking out triumphantly. He swings open the door and climbs into the van, placing his plastic bag off to the side. 

“Success,” he smiles and winks, bringing his hands up to the steering wheel. “Want to see what else Anderson has?”

“It’s your fault we drove all the way up here,” you comment as he begins to pull out of the parking spot. 

“Eh, I don’t mind. I got to spend more time with you didn’t I?” you look over at Eddie in slight awe at his choice of words. Yes, yes he did.  

The rest of the afternoon is spent getting milkshakes and checking out a music store where they sell cassettes. You pick out a few that you didn’t have, namely the newest Dio music while Eddie picks out some Motley Crue to play in his van. As the sun sets, the two of you drive with the windows down, wind in your hair as you arrive back in Hawkins. In an attempt to look less wind-swept, you press down the frizz and put yourself together so your mother doesn’t assume the worst. You always go out with Chrissy, it shouldnt’t be a big deal.

Eddie drops you off down the street to avoid your parents, but you swing around and say goodbye to him while he leans out his window.

“I’ll see you at school then?” you propose, your plastic bag snugly tucked under your arm.

“See you, definitely, but talk to you? Not until Friday,” he states dejectedly.

“That’s not too far away, Munson. I’m sure you can deal without me.”

“With those meat heads? Friday couldn’t come faster,” he huffs out and sits up. 

“I’ll see you on Friday,” you lean in and press a kiss to his cheek without realizing, quickly pulling back with wide eyes. The two of you exchange surprised looks before you march off down the street so as to not deal with the consequences of that just yet. It could wait until Friday. 

When school started up on Friday, you resumed your life as a preppy cheerleader, trying not to make it so obvious that you wished to be talking to Eddie rather than hearing the grating voice of Stacey any longer. But, with all the festivities and a football game on Thursday, it went quickly. Though, the other cheerleaders knew something was up. Especially Chrissy, whom you felt closest to on the team. She pulled you aside during lunch on Thursday, out from the watchful eye of the crowd.

“Are you okay?” her brows come together in worry. She holds your hands in hers, not letting you make a quick escape. Out of everyone on the team, Chrissy always seemed the most genuine. Even as the Queen of Hawkins, she has a good head on her shoulders.

“Yeah, what’s up?” you ask, shaking your head. 

“You’re… off. Like you’ve been off this entire week,” she insists. “Is it your parents?”

“No! No, everything is fine,” she raises her eyebrows and slowly chips away at your barrier as guilt sinks in. “It’s nothing bad, I promise!”

“Are you sure? You haven’t started doing drugs have you? I saw you walk to Eddie Munson’s car after practice last week,” the color drains from your face as Chrissy speaks. “It’s okay if you are! I’m just worried.”

“I’m not doing drugs, I’m just–” you look around and pull Chrissy closer. “I’m learning how to play D&D.”

“Oh! Why didn’t you just say that?” she asks, the tension in her shoulders melting away. 

“I don’t know! I didn’t want you to think I was weird or something,” you shrug and Chrissy pulls you in tight for a hug. 

“You can tell me things, you know that. Just because I’m dating Jason doesn’t mean I’m completely oblivious to you. And, yes, Jason seems bad but I promise he’s just misunderstood!” Chrissy smiles and you laugh, shaking your head.

“I also may like Eddie,” you mumble, placing your head on her shoulder. “And I don’t know what to do.”

“You are a cheerleader! You know exactly what to do, you just need to turn on the charm,” she winks and smiles brightly, pulling back to adjust your uniform so that you show a little more skin. “When you walk in there, get me another fruit parfait and pass by his table. It’ll really rile him up.”

You stare back at her in awe, a nervous laugh bubbling up out of your chest. 

“You, Chrissy Cunningham, are incredible,” you pull her into a hug before the two of you scramble out of the empty classroom she pulled you into, making your way down the hall to the cafeteria. 

Just like Chrissy told you to, you strut past the Hellfire Club table and make your way to the lunch lady. Easily, you grab an extra parfait and turn back around to saunter back to the table. When you turn, you lock eyes with Eddie and see his gaze darken slightly as you give him a coy smile, walking back to Chrissy. His eyes seer into the back of your head as you pass and it’s good to feel noticed, even if you couldn’t reap the rewards of it instantly. 

“Thank you,” she says, smiling. You sit down and eat your lunch mindlessly, trying not to look over at his table. Light conversation is made and the urge to look is strong, but Chrissy’s training is even stronger.

“Don’t look, but he’s totally staring,” Chrissy tells you.

“Good. It’s going to make for a dramatic Hellfire Club,” you whisper to her just as the bell rings. Only one more day. 

The rest of your Thursday goes by quickly with the football game and then finally being able to fall into bed. You ensure to pack your folder with your character sheet as well as your dice into your bag, grabbing a small bag of candy to give to the rest of the club as a bribe. That night, sleep doesn’t come easy because of the excitement, but when you finally find rest, the next morning is already waiting for you. 

You dress like all the other Hellfire Club members do, sans the shirt. Eddie didn’t get you a shirt, just yet. Pulling the flannel on over your shirt, you look in the mirror and tilt your head, observing how you may fit in among the crowd. It was how you dressed normally, on any regular day when your cheer uniform wasn’t required, but you wanted to make sure the other club members would like you–especially Gareth and Jeff. 

In the morning, your mother drives you to school because she has to take the car to work so you get dropped off and eagerly make your way to class. It’s the class you TA for, the regular Senior English class where Eddie sits in the back of the classroom and hopes that he passes. You sit in the seat next to him, grading papers, but also because you hoped to get a word in for the game tonight.

“You ready?” he asks the second you’re seated.

“As I’ll ever be,” you tell him, finding his paper in the stack and seeing a seventy-three on it in bright red pen. “Look, you passed.”

“Yes!” he exclaims as quietly as possible, but it still wasn’t quite enough to evade Ms. O’Donnell. 

“Mr. Munson, do you have something to tell the class?” she asks. 

“Nope, just excited to learn about Jane Austen,” he smiles broadly, the sarcasm exuding off him in waves, but Ms. O’Donnell continues on. She’s dealt with him for three years. 

“You looked beautiful yesterday, by the way. I didn’t get to tell you,” he whispers as your cheeks burn bright. Once again, you place your hands on your cheeks as subtly as possible to hide the embarrassment, turning away from Eddie as to not show your hand. Additionally, you stay quiet, forcing Eddie to actually learn, but quickly after he whispers your name to get your attention.

“Be quiet and listen,” you tell him, glancing over.

“I will, just–” he pulls a piece of cloth out of his bag and shoves it into your lap. “For tonight.”

You look down at the cloth, unwrapping it to reveal your very own Hellfire Club shirt. Not to be worn just yet in public, but to show that you belonged and that Eddie himself wanted you to be there. Risking a glance over, he winks and smiles brightly, turning his attention to Pride and Prejudice.

Just like the rest of the week, the day goes by as fast as it usually does with you attending your electives and enjoying time at study hall to finish up some writing for college applications as best your can. School lets out and you help the cheer coach, Coach Madison, do some busy work in her office. As the sun begins to set, you bid her goodbye and make your way to the theater–not before stopping in the bathroom to pull on the shirt. It was a bit big, but comfortable and smelled a little bit like smoke. Did Eddie give you his shirt? Your heart pounds in your chest as it hits you. There wasn’t enough time to panic about it.

You rush down the hall, checking your watch. There would be a couple more minutes left before they got started, but it was so daunting to walk in by yourself. Squeezing your hands into fists and releasing, you take a deep breath and go to open the door when it opens for you.

“There you are,” Eddie’s smile is a silly grin that warms you from the inside out and your fluttering heart skips a beat. “What are you waiting for? C’mon in and meet the gang.”

You step in and the conversation stops. It’s a beautiful setup they have, snacks on a stray table with a long one in the middle of the stage complete with a make-shift Dungeon Master screen and mini-figures littered around the battlefield. 

“This is Gareth, Jeff, Aiden, Mike, Dustin, and Lucas,” you wave awkwardly, a shy smile on your face. “Everyone, this is our new member.”

“They’re a cheerleader, what are they going to do? Cheer us along?” Aiden suggests and Eddie smacks him on the back of his head. 

“Shut up, you were just as clueless when I taught it to you,” he tells him and looks back apologetically.

“It’s okay,” you reach into your bag and pull out the candy. “I brought snacks.”

Apparently, that’s enough to win over the freshman boys that immediately come over, taking their share of the candy. They seat you in between them to help you out when the time comes and you welcome their hospitality, especially Dustin who calls Aiden a ‘shithead.’ Everyone sits in their respective places and you pull out your folder alongside your dice. It was daunting seeing all of them prepared with their chicken scratch notes and eagerness to role play. It was especially harrowing to think about finally introducing your character and describing them. The thought of saying something incorrectly haunted you, so you had spent the entire week practicing an introduction. 

“Before we start,” Eddie interrupts. “I would like to introduce you to Cel Evenstar.”

He pulls out a fully painted mini figure, fit with all the descriptions you had told him about at Game Kastle. It was a little thing, but painting it must have taken at least a couple of hours and the thought that Eddie wanted to make you feel welcomed was astounding. 

“That’s me!” you say and smile, the younger boys ‘ooh’ing and ‘ah’ing over the new mini. 

“A cleric, we needed one. Mike, here, keeps charging into battle without us just because he thinks he can take them as the Paladin,” Dustin insists.

“That’s because I can,” Mike states proudly.

“And so we begin,” Eddie starts and begins to weave together a beautiful tale.

It felt unlike anything you’d ever experienced before and was just as magical as you imagined. The party was in a city where individuals kept going missing, so they were hired to help find the source of the problem. They met you in the local tavern and you tagged along on their wild adventure, going around the streets and finding various clues–all of which led you down into the sewers. 

Down in the sewers held a cave that was carved out, not by humanoids, but by something otherworldly. As the party delved deeper into the caves, they encountered a beholder, a large creature that was essentially a large eyeball with small tentacles coming out of its head adorned with smaller eyeballs. Its mouth opened wide to reveal a horrific mouth full of razor-sharp teeth. The miniature was horrific and the second that Eddie slammed it down onto the tabletop–everyone was making bets about if they’d survive this one.

“I bet Cel’s going to die first,” Jeff says and laughs, nudging his friends to get them to laugh alongside him. 

Eddie is silent as he looks through his notes, looking up venomously at Jeff only when he finishes reading. 

“You take ten points of damage from Quaxel as he rushes forward and bites down on your arm, taking a large chunk of flesh out,” Eddie describes, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “‘Do not come into my lair with arrogance, expecting a grand welcome. You are but a single rat in this sewer.’”

Eddie’s voice is low and gravelly as he describes Jeff’s character’s gruesome first hit of the session. Once he finishes, he looks at you with a worried look, but you just smile reassuringly at him and nod in recognition.

The rest of the fight launches into action and in the end, only you and Jeff are left on the battlefield to face the, albeit injured, beholder. When your turn comes around, you know that Jeff only has so many hitpoints left. You have a small amount left as well, but in kindness, you decide to send a guiding bolt toward the beholder and with your bonus action, give Jeff a smidgeon of healing. It was an olive branch. An olive branch that succeeded as Jeff took damage but ultimately landed the killing blow. 

Everyone roars with joy as the beholder miniature is pushed over, the freshman boys offering you hugs in the celebration. Of course, you accept, they’ve been nothing but sweet and it’s nice to feel appreciated. 

Looking around at everyone, Jeff catches your eye and puts out his hand for a handshake. Apprehensively, you place your hand in his and shake on a game well done.

“Good game,” he begins. “I couldn't have done it without you.”

That was good enough for you. Looking back at Eddie, he smiles at you from his throne with the goofiest grin you’d ever seen. It warmed your heart to know that he was most proud of you. 

The game wraps up and the rest of the club members make their way out victoriously, you opting to wait behind and help Eddie pack up.

“So, how did it go? Besides Aiden and Jeff–I promise I’ll talk to them,” he insists and you shake your head.

“It’s okay, they were testing the waters. I showed them that I’m actually here to play, not just to be a part of the weirdo club,” you tell him, smiling as you pack away your folder and your dice. “But I think this is the best first time, ever.”

For the first time since the two of you had become friends, Eddie is the one who blushes slightly, and while it could be the excitement or the lights, he glances over shyly and quickly pulls you into a hug. He envelops you in his arms, wrapping around you almost too tightly. You hesitate for a moment before quickly wrapping your arms around him as well, burying your nose in his shirt. It’s comforting, the smokiness but also the clean scent of whatever cheap cologne he found. For the first time, you felt seen entirely–no barriers, just Eddie and you.

“What do you say we celebrate tomorrow at mine? Maybe you can even meet my uncle if you stay long enough,” he loosens his hold on you to look down but doesn’t let go, opting to keep his arms wrapped around your waist. 

“Sounds perfect–I’ll finally be able to drive myself because my mom’s not working,” you say and laugh as he feigns surprise.

“You know how to drive?” he releases you, placing a hand on his chest as he gasps dramatically. “The people of Hawkins better watch out, because I’ve never seen you drive.”

“I’m almost positive that I drive better than you,” you state, rolling your eyes and picking up your bag. 

“Well then, I guess you don’t need a ride home,” he pulls his bag over his shoulder and walks out without waiting for you. 

“Hey! You know it’s true,” running up to him, you nudge his shoulder and look over. “Thanks for the mini by the way. It was a good surprise.”

“I told you.”

Taglist: @givemethesleep @kissmyquill 

[honestlywrites]

Hi all! Wanted to tell you quickly—thank you so much for all the positive reception for Pom-Poms and Pseudodragons! I also wanted to let you know—I’m a working gworl this summer so I may not be able to churn out the next parts as fast as I would like! I’ll work on them though, I promise!

All my love. <3

[honestlywrites]

I often wonder what happened to authors of unfinished fanfictions.