highlights!
⇢ this should be an idiots to lovers au bc y/n girl, c'mon
⇢ satoru is just as dumb tho so it fits
author's note!
⇢ omg a daily update? love to see it lol
꒰ 𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 ꒱
↳ as a rising star in the tumultuous world of hollywood, you're handed a golden opportunity to boost your career – a fake relationship. what your manager forgot to mention? your leading man is none other than satoru gojo, hollywood's notorious fuckboy. easy? well, not exactly.
┊.˚🪩 ༘┊͙ 𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 ;
↳ as a rising star in the tumultuous world of hollywood, you're handed a golden opportunity to boost your career – a fake relationship. what your manager forgot to mention? your leading man is none other than satoru gojo, hollywood's notorious fuckboy. easy? well, not exactly.
pairing: fem!reader x satoru gojo
tags: smau/partially written; actor/actress!au, fuckboy!gojo, jjk is a live-action show in this au, fluff/angst/humor/eventual smutlength: 1/??
note: AAAAAAAAA im a sucker for fake dating, actor au trope. enjoy besties! <3
[disclaimer: the way the reader is portrayed is just for the reason of style/posing! this is not what the reader looks like (she should look like however you’d like her to!) just wanted to clarify!! <3]
the fact that i'm no longer the same age as the protagonists of novels and films i once connected to is so heartbreaking. there was a time when I looked forward to turning their age. i did. and i also outgrew them. i continue to age, but they don't; never will. the immortality of fiction is beautiful, but cruel.
Warning ⚠️: I guess…I can’t actually call it a fic. It’s literally just rambling I threw together as a warmup for something else I’m working on *wink wink* but it was fun so *throws it at your heads*
Walking down the hall to the Vice-Admiral's office, there was no telling what awaited you after a shaken recruit had come to collect you. Garp was on edge, and when he was on edge, everyone else was ready to jump from the cliff. He had been in a mood since Luffy stole the map of the Grand Line. Honestly, you hadn't seen him so worked up in ages. The only bright side was that you were no longer the one at his beck and call. No. His favor now shined on the young pink-haired one called Koby. The youngster showed great promise, and with Garp's guidance, he would be a fine marine. That thought made you smile as you rounded the corner and froze at the sight of your Vice-Admiral's domain. Sharp gold eyes met yours as a smirk twitched at the corners of his lips.
“How did you get in here!?”
“Is that any way to greet your husband?”
Hii again! I was the one who asked about commissions so, like you said, I'll just send it to you in an ask as a request! I was wondering if you could write a little something with Mihawk where reader (if it's okay, she/her pronouns or gn!) pretends that Mihawk is her boyfriend to get rid of a creep? She doesn't know who Mihawk is, etc! Could be in headcannon format or whatever you want!
mentions of a creepy guy, one curse word. i kinda got carried away lol. *. js mihawk being hot n mysterious + flirty banter. kinda wanna do a pt two mayhaps
“Need another, honey?”
You nod bashfully, sliding your empty glass across the counter to Makino, and she laughs over the loud singing in the pub. “Must’ve been a rough day then.”
Partys Bar is a little slow today, except for the incoming group of Shanks and the rest of his ragtag crew. You, however, find pleasure rather than discomfort in their off-key singing for tonight. Your friends, not that you’d ever call them that to their face, had a way with setting the ambience in this little old town.
“Oh, you have no idea.” You shake your head at Makino who stalks off to get you another pint of beer from the special barrel in the back. ‘Don’t tell Shanks n’ em.’ she’d always say. Afterall, you were her favorite customer, visiting occasionally during your lunch break or after a perilous night shift like this one.
When Makino returns with your beer, Yasopp is the first to steal the drink from your hands before you take a swig. “Hey— c’mon!”
“That’s not how you treat a lady.” Shanks, bellowing a fit of laughter, swipes the drink from Yasopp just as he tightens his fist around the handle. And just as you’re about to thank your hopeless red haired friend for returning your drink from your other hopeless fiend of a friend, he turns the glass to his head, gulping down at least half of your pint of beer.
“Shanks!” You, Makino and Yasopp scream in unison.
He hiccups and wipes his mouth with his sleeve. “Wanna dance, or?”
Half a pint later, you’re excusing yourself from a mini crowd of bar goers and the world’s dumbest pirates, throat a little hoarse from singing along to some song Shanks made up a few minutes ago, rocking to the beat and laughing with tears wetting the corner of your eyes.
With a harsh inhale, you wipe a trickle of sweat from your brow as you make your way to a vacant corner to get some air, having exhausted all your energy.
“Shanks, get off my table!” Makino screams over the singing and you chuckle, taking a seat as you watch the antics from afar, a hand propped against your jaw with a dopey little smile.
“You one of the Red Haired’s girls?”
You turn your head to the source of the question, eyebrow raised. A man, who you assume is just a bar patron, hair soiled and grinning, leans against the window a few feet away from you.
One of the Red Haired’s girls?
“Excuse me?”
He chuckles, and shakes his head, which you assume is his washed up version of an apology for being so crass. “Just sayin’, don’t want no pirate tryna kick my ass over ya.”
“I’m not anyone’s property.” You quip, bored. He’s got some nerve, you think.
Despite this, he pushes himself off the wall and walks over to where you’re seated.
“You’ve got a smart mouth on ya.” He says, and you glance to the side for a moment, immediately perturbed.
“I like that. Think I could put it to use?” He grins at you, and you think you’ll just stand up and punch him yourself. You roll your eyes and push your seat back to stand up—
“I have a boyfriend, sorry for the inconvenience.”
You look at the man up and down and inwardly gag. He doesn’t seem to get the memo though as he remains planted in front of you, practically refusing to move out of your way.
“Boyfriend? I don’t see him anywhere.”
He almost wants to laugh at you. A pretty girl like you with no boyfriend?
You panic. Immediately you take a look around. Shanks and the Red Haired’s are still partying up a storm. You don’t see Makino behind the counter.
“My boyfriend’s over there.” You blurt out, outstretching an arm, index finger pointing accusingly into the mini crowd to your left, out of your field of vision. “Oh really?” The man scoffs, turning his head in the direction of your finger.
You don’t know why, but the man’s mouth falls agape.
“Uh huh.” You reaffirm, standing tall. Whatever it was, it was working. “And he’s got a temper on him too, so I suggest you—”
“That’s not your boyfriend.” He grabs at your wrist, calling your bluff and your index folds into your fist. You’re going to kick his ass yourself then. “Now be a doll and—”
“Are you stupid?” A voice echoes behind you.
The man in front of you looks over your shoulder at the intrusion, and his eyes squint to slits to make out whoever just spoke in the dark. “The fuck did you just say to me?”
“I asked if you were stupid.” The man who interrupted steps between you and the other man. His height obstructs your view of anything in front of him. “But clearly you’re deaf too.”
A white East Blue dress shirt, long sleeved, unbuttoned. You can see his shoulder blades flex in the dim light if you squint just right. From here, you think he’s impossibly structured.
Who even is this guy?
“She your girl or somethin’?” The scum steps up, yanking away his grip on your wrist. The force of it almost sends you flying into him.
“So you are deaf.” Moonlight streams through the window, and you catch a glimpse of yellow, almost tinged vermillion eyes narrowing. “Choose your next words—” He speaks, head tilted to the side almost mockingly, and though it’s your assailant on the receiving end, you feel your knees almost buckle. "—very carefully."
“Y-You're—” The man’s eyes go wide and he’s already scrambling back on shaky legs, sputtering unintelligible apologies. “My bad, I didn’t— ain’t know she was your girl, man.”
“Leave.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice.
A breath of silence sits once the creep is gone, and the man who came to your rescue stalks forward to walk away, his job complete. But you stop him.
“Thankyou—” you blurt out, and he stops mid-walk, as if he knows you have more you want to say. “Sorry about roping you into that silly little lie…” your words trail off, hesitant.
Why are you so nervous?
“You shouldn’t apologize for scum like him.” He says, back still turned to you.
God, you wish he’d turn around.
“Your wrist—” he begins, turning his head to look over his shoulder at you, and you freeze. “How is it?” His gaze feels like it’s cutting you in half.
You take a small step forward, considerable space between you both. “I’ll live.” You say, rotating your wrist a few times for him to see, a shy smile reaching your lips. “Who–”
“Does it matter—" He finishes, answering your question before you even get the chance to ask. If even possible, your curiosity grows. "—who I am?"
“You kind of helped me out of a rough spot there.” You reason, and he shakes his head.
"You didn’t need me.” He replies.
In the dim lighting of the bar you can make out the angle of his jaw, the apex of his throat, and most noticeably, the wide brimmed fedora sitting atop his head, almost elegantly.
“It was a courtesy.” He turns to face you, and despite yourself, you persist.
He gazes down at you, posture straight, gold plated belt held by crimson thread, beard angled in a perfect line, mustache the same. He seems bored, like he’s lived a thousand lives before. You want him to tell you about each one.
“Tell me your name.”
He makes a noise in the back of his throat that you can’t hear too well from here. “Don’t people ask for things they want?” You assume he found you funny. The thought of a man like him laughing makes your stomach do a flip.
“Can’t I want to know your name?” You hum, eyes meeting his. It’s a struggle to meet his gaze. “Don’t do that.” He urges, eyes narrowing, as if he’s considering you.
“Do what?”
“Act unassuming. You could’ve easily gotten rid of him yourself.” He says, and you gape at him for a moment, then smile even wider. “And what makes you say that?”
You eye the golden crucifix hung around his neck, the cross rising then hitting his chest softly as he takes a step towards you. “You thought about it. I saw it in your eyes.”
You laugh, just a little bit, and he’s not in any way offended, rather, he’s intrigued by you.
“So you’ll tell me that but not your name?”
“You’re inquisitive.”
“You’re enabling.”
Across the room, Shanks leaps from a table, causing a ruckus, both of you avert your eyes for a moment at the noise. When he looks back, you’re already staring at him. That alone makes him raise an eyebrow at you.
“Why did you help me then?” You ask.
“I told you, it was a courtesy.” He replies, almost as if he’s holding something back. With a grunt beneath his breath, which you assume is a curt farewell, he prepares himself to leave.
But for some reason, he waits.
You look up at him with a childish grin. “What?”
He turns away, almost bashfully, “Mihawk,” he murmurs. “Dracule Mihawk.”
You’re ready to chide him about giving in so easily, but he's already turned to leave.
“Will I see you again sometime, Mihawk?” you ask, and he slows his steps, the softest twitch of a smirk on his lips.
“Maybe, if you need a pretend boyfriend again.”
Oh, you’ll see him again.
BONUS :
"YOU MET MIHAWK??"
“You know him?”
Shanks is folded over a table after listening to your story, drunk off his ass. He can barely talk without hiccuping.
“They're friends of sort…” Yasopp grumbles, slouched on the floor, sobering up slowly.
Omg, could I please request a zoro and mihawk headcannons with a fem!reader proposing the idea of having a family with them in the future? Just some teeth rooting fluff
he never really thought about having a family — or children for that matter, because in his mind, you're his family, that's enough for him.
but something def changes in this man after perona and zoro's stay (especially perona)
he doesn't admit it out loud but he secretly dotes on perona as if she's his own flesh and blood, and views zoro as the extension of a new generation of swordsmen (something he always wanted - to teach someone all he's learnt)
the way his secret comes to light is way funnier than you imagined though
"he's not going to be a pirate forever."
you huff a laugh in the crook of his neck, curled up on his lap while he sips his wine, eyebrows knitted, clearly perturbed but trying to hide it. "he'll follow that boy til the day he dies, i'm sure of it."
mihawk grunts, and you can't help but pull away to laugh at him, straight to his face.
who told you it was a good idea to say zoro wouldn't come back to kuraigana island?
"he'll come back." he affirms, setting his wine glass down, a palm pressed against your waist. "when he gets weak again."
"you made him strong," you say, a chaste kiss pressed to your jawline as you speak, beard tickling your neck. "he made himself stronger — that won't happen."
he considers your words, leans his lips to press against your collarbone. "children." he groans, "what a nuisance."
a snort escapes you, your palm pressed against his bare chest steadies your weight on his lap. a soft silence lingers after.
"we could try." he murmurs against your jugular. you're quiet, waiting for him to continue. "having them i mean."
"i thought children were a nuisance." you grin, wide.
"not ours — never ours."
you have a feeling he's not just talking about the ones you haven't had yet.
zoro :
please he can barely take care of himself have you seen him?
but he's always been surprisingly great with kids and they take a liking to him really quickly, maybe it's the cool scars and swords
he's thought about it before though, having a mini you running around. god forbid, a mini him
he's never said anything because let's be honest, the lives you both lead are not suited for children, chopper is the closest you'll ever get to that right now
but....
"what're you staring so much for?"
you roll your eyes, swaying your feet in the river. wano at sunset was beautiful beyond measure — yet, zoro half naked in the crystalline waters was somehow more beautiful. "just thinking."
he's staring at you, waist deep in water, a few droplets race each other down the jagged scar on his chest. "bout what?"
"what we'll do — after it's all over."
"eat, drink—" he counts of on each of his fingers, good eye fluttering closed in dramatic consideration. "have a couple brats n' live — just live."
you hum, and think, that's a very zoro answer. eat, drink, live—
wait.
"kids?" you inquire. "you want kids with me?"
he stills for a moment, sucks his teeth. "don't ask me stuff like that, woman." he's embarrassed.
admittedly, he's thought about it, albeit drunkenly. but still, he's thought about it. maybe years from now — you and him'll settle down somewhere, have kids, all that sappy shit — a long time from now, when it's quieter in the world.
"ofcourse i want em with you." he huffs, turning his back to you, cupping handfulls pf water. "who else would i want em with?"
you smile, and you think again, that's a very zoro answer. soft.
he looks at his reflection in the water, and he wonders what it'd be like, with you, being just roronoa zoro. everyday, for the rest of his life.
he can put up with a few brats. just for you.
notes ; i hope this was done well it was a lilll bit rushed in between doing uni applications 😔🩷
— god, was his touches something else. the feel of him and the feel of you. miguel finally gets to have you. and would you look at that…you’ve all formed a little plan to get rid of the masked men once and for all.
contains: SMUT; blood kink??; female oral; he’s got fangs and claws, im sure theres a kink for that (biting etc); a lil bit of web play (basically instead of rope or cuffs); dominant/top miguel (for the most part hehe); praising; first time; unprotected (but imagine that for some reason you are on birth control); fluff; for the serum stuff that Miguel takes I am totally making the reason why he takes it up (coz there was so many different variables); slight violence + mentions of small injuries
“Mm.” Miguel hums to himself, eyeing your laid out body, before he’s lifting a fraction of your shirt.
Warnings: smut, headlock🤤, unprotected sex, creampie, a bit of fluff at the end
A/n: as promised, as soon as I came out of the cinema I started working on this! It’s not as nasty as I wanted it to be, but I’ll work on that🩷
Your bedroom smelled strongly of sex and sweat, loud moans along with praise mixed with degrading were bouncing off the tall walls, surely gaining the two of you a few noise complaints the next day. You were splayed in the middle of your huge queen-sized bed, head pressed into soft pillows and ass high up in the air as your boyfriend was dogging the shit out of you, making sure that your pussy was raw and thoroughly fucked.
You’ve been at it for hours - your sheets were wet with sweat and other bodily fluids, your ass felt hot from all the spanks Miguel generously delivered. Your throat felt sore from all the moaning and previous face-fucking, musky taste of Miguel’s cock still lingered on your tongue. You felt like a rag doll in your lover’s strong arms, too tired to move by yourself, but too greedy for pleasure to actually stop this sweet torture.
Miguel yanked your hips up higher, getting a firm grip on your waist; he shifted a bit, placing one foot on the mattress for better range of movements. A string of loud mewls along with shameless moans poured out of your kiss-swollen lips as brunette absolutely ravaged you - he pounded your poor dripping pussy with so much vigor that your body shifted forward with each thrust, heavy balls slapping against your clammy skin with loud smacking sounds. Miguel’s large hands moved to smack your pretty ass so it jiggled in his palms, relishing to grab and mold your pliable flesh afterwards.
- Just look at this greedy pussy, taking every inch of me like a cock-hungry slut. Bet you were thinking about it whole day long, huh? - Miguel rasped above you, his filthy words caused heat rising up to your cheeks as you buried your face even deeper into soft pillows, but they couldn’t hide your reddened ears form his sharp eyes.
Miguel leaned down, one massive arm sliding underneath your neck, so that your chin was tucked right in the hollow of his elbow; a few moments later your face was squished in between male’s bulking bicep and a thick forearm, trapped in a firm headlock. He put most of his body weight onto your small body, pounding your dripping cunt into the bouncy mattress, stretching you out on his mighty girth, making your eyes roll back in intense pleasure. You felt Miguel’s free hand slipping underneath your tummy, finding your throbbing needy clit in no time and massaging it brutally with rough fingertips, matching the roughness of his hips slamming into you from behind.
- Oh baby, you’re drooling, - Miguel tutted in feigned pity, his hot lips brushing the shell of your ear, making hairs on the back of your neck rise.
His words brought you out of heavy haze of pleasure, bringing some consciousness to your foggy mind. And, indeed, your chin felt cooler because of your drool covering it, some even dribbled down onto Miguel’s arm, getting in between your chin and his inner elbow. Your hands came to his arm around your neck, fingers digging into firm muscles, leaving crescent-shaped marks on scarred skin.
- Mig..uel, I’m-
- Shhh, my love. Don’t you worry, I’ll take good care of you, - Miguel shushed you softly, his hips slapping against your ass with even more vigor, making you momentarily forget whatever it was that you wanted to say.
He hissed as he felt your velvety walls clenching around him, the suckle of your pussy sent his hips bucking and forcing his cock impossibly deeper into your cunt. A familiar coil makes itself knows in the pit of your stomach - a telltale sign of your next orgasm approaching rapidly.
- Oh fuck bunny, fuck fuck fuck. Gonna fill that pussy with my cum, full and nice, yeah? You’d like that, wouldn’t you? - Miguel rambled next to your ear as his pace became faster and sloppier.
- Pl..ease. Fuck, need.. it. ‘m so close, - you managed to stutter through
Your body prickled with desire and heat, Miguel’s fingers worked diligently on your clit along with his massive cock spreading you open, thick cockhead mushing against all of your sweet spots - he very soon had you cumming all around him, wringing a mind-blowing orgasm out of your exhausted body, your release leaving a noticeable white ring on the base of his dick.
A string or curses and quiet whimpers reached your ears as Miguel’s snapped his hips into yours quickly before stilling completely. Strong shudder ran through male’s massive body and, with a final moan, he shoot his thick cum inside of your fluttering heat, flooding your insides with his warmth.
Miguel went slack against your back, his body mounding against yours as he laid atop of you, making you squeak quietly under his weight. He chuckled airily as he rolled off you to the side, sliding his softening cock out of your bruised pussy. You whined at the feeling of emptiness, warm sperm dripped out in a small dribble, staining your slit and sheets underneath you. Miguel scooped you up in his big arms and maneuvered you to lay on top of his heaving chest, thick fingers tangled in your messy hair, massaging your scalp lovingly.
You took a deep breath, cuddling deeper into your lover’s neck, wrapping one arm around his broad shoulders. Your eyelids felt too heavy and Miguel felt too comfy to lay on, so you were fighting off sleep as much as you could.
- Go to sleep baby, I’ll clean everything up, - you heard a soft murmur, warm lips kissing your forehead in a comforting manner. You hummed in acknowledgment, getting more comfortable in Miguel’s arms.
- Love you, - you whispered tiredly, sleep heavy on your lids.
- Love you too angel
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request for miguel - he gets hurt somehow, maybe out on a mission or something, and spider-girl takes care of him and patches him back up, definitely puts a cute plaster on him which he hates but he loves her so he lets it slide :) <33 everyone makes fun of him for it
also hi ily hope you're having/had a fantastic day
thank you for your request!! grumpy lovesick miguel x sunshine spidergirl!reader
"And the salt builds up around their ankles," you're saying, sitting on Miguel's thigh, a bandaid in your shaking hands, "and the chick's feet get so heavy they can't keep up."
Miguel knows this already, he'd listened to you talk about flamingos for days after you watched that nature documentary, but he lets you tell him again for the very same reason he has you sitting on his thigh in front of everyone, and the same reason he doesn't care that the bandaid you're putting on his cheek has a smiley face in the middle. He scared you today, getting hurt. Even as his quickened regenerative abilities close his wounds and heal his contusions, he can feel you trembling in his lap.
He'd been out with the elite strike team, Spider-Woman on one side of him and Spider-Girl (not you) on the other. Jessica's more than capable of holding her own, and so together Miguel figured he'd been in neither danger nor trouble. But trouble doesn't always present itself as such, and the anomaly they'd been handling had turned out to be three anomalies. It's never happened before, and the shock startled him into bad decisions.
The cut on his cheek was wide, but it's nearly healed now. He barely felt it.
What he did feel was your gasp, like you'd been cut yourself, like he had the knife in his hand when you saw it. He supposes you've never witnessed him hurt before, and you're not as untouchable as you seem; you were worse than scared.
"Did you get it?" he asks.
You smooth your thumb along the edges of his bandaid carefully. "Got it. You'll be okay, don't worry."
You hide your own worry with his. He feeds into it. "Are you sure? What about the one on my arm, you haven't touched that one."
The one on his arm has been wrapped in gauze and bandages. You bring his arm to your chest, careful not to touch his wound. "Does it hurt?" you ask, your lashes twitching with the intensity of your concern.
"No, cariño," he says quietly, for your ears only.
"Get a room," Lyla pleads. For hers, too, it seems.
"Sorry," you say, trying to stand. Miguel strong arms you into staying on his thigh, arm like a seatbelt at your waist. "Miguel."
"You haven't finished," he insists.
"You look finished to me," Lyla says. "Or did you want another bandaid for the owy over your heart?"
He grits his teeth. He doesn't want another bandaid, he didn't want the first, but he wants you to be happy. If putting a giant pink heart-shaped plaster on his cheek is going to make you feel better, that's what has to be done. Miguel purses his lips to one side until he feels the adhesive of the bandaid pull away from his skin, and waits in the ridicule of his teammates for you to notice.
"Oh," you say, fingers poking at the peeled bandaid unhappily. "Sorry, I'm sorry, let me–" You pull the bandaid off achingly slowly. "I only have hearts left, I–"
"Just put it on," he says, with a feigned reluctance. His devious plan works, and you set a heart plaster over his cut. It's not big enough. You add a second.
"That is hilarious," Lyla says, her mink coat falling down her arm as she twists in the air and holds up a dramatically large cell phone. "Say cheese."
Miguel looks at you. You throw up a peace sign. The photo is proof of his indulgence in you, if nothing else. He doesn't care how ridiculous he might look on screen, you've finally stopped shaking.
He squeezes the fat of your hip in his hand and sighs. What a fool, he thinks. He's not talking about you.
hello jade! you are so talented and i love how you handle Miguel, so here comes my request: miguel overworking himself and tinkering on stuff and fem!reader pretending a accident happened, just to lure him away and force him to rest, while someone else takes over
thank you!! and thank you for your request ♡ fem!reader x boyfriend!miguel
Miguel's eyes are the kind of dry where you can actually physically tell from the edge of the platform you've just yanked yourself onto. His undereye area is sunken and dark, and his lips are pressed together tightly as he breathes in. He has some strange technology in his hand, a screwdriver in the other. It's unusual to see him working with physical tech these days, and whatever it is has been keeping him busy.
"Hey, Miguel," you say finally, breaching the quiet. Margo looks up from her desk at the sound of your voice, and something in her gaze says, Oh, good, you're here. Fix him. You nod tightly. "Miguel?"
He looks up for a split-second, if that. "What?"
"What are you doing?"
"Calibration."
He doesn't explain the tech beyond that. You're a Spider, you should be able to guess what it is that he's working on. You've created web-shooters yourself with extremely complicated and delicate makings, but the longer you look at it the more confused you feel.
"Do you need anything? Water? Something from the cafeteria?" You edge into the room, footsteps measured. "A nap?"
"Nope."
You frown and approach his side. He's sitting down, so there's that. The most important thing is that he's resting in some capacity, but the second most important thing is that his hair is in hand's reach. You put your hand on his shoulder to test the waters. Miguel doesn't react. Pleased, you push your fingertips into his hair and scratch gently at his scalp. His hair is a little dirty. He isn't taking care of himself, and this deep into a project it's unlikely he will be anytime soon.
You decide it's morally okay to lie. "I need a favour," you say gently.
He looks up, finally noticing your hand in his hair. His head tips into your palm, his eyes softening, his crows feet wrinkles erased ever so slightly as he asks, "What do you need?"
"I smashed the window in my room, and it's really, really cold, and I can't find a vacuum," you say, setting a false shame into the line of your mouth and eyes, your brows pinching up at the starts. "I'm really sorry, I don't know what to do."
It's your apology that finally tugs him out of work mode. He lets the doohickey he'd been tinkering with plink flat onto his workbench, a rare but not uncharacteristic kindness in his voice. "Don't be sorry. We'll get it fixed. I know where everything is."
"I know where everything is," Lyla says.
"S'what I said," Miguel says. You know he laughs to make you feel more comfortable, and the guilt for lying to him festers.
That guilt quickly wanes on the walk to your room. He's yawning and blinking the entire trek, big hand over his mouth to hide it. The Spider Society is really shaping into something amazing, and more and more Spiders arrive everyday. They've started construction on a dormitory for worldly visitors and refugees, but you've been lucky enough to get your own room near Miguel's. It's hard work for him to undertake such a huge project. He doesn't realise he's not doing it alone.
"How'd you break your window, anyway?" he asks through another jaw-cracking yawn.
"You know me," you say, laughing nervously as you open your door and reveal a lack of both a broken window or smashed glass.
Miguel squints through tired eyes at the room's cleanliness. "The smashed window?" he asks.
"What do you mean?" you ask.
"You know what I mean, the– you smashed a window? You wanted a vacuum?"
"Did I?" you ask.
"She lied," Lyla says, blinking in and out of view.
"I gathered that, thanks."
"Okay, I'm sorry, I did lie. I just want you to take a break," you say, sitting at the top of your bed in what you hope is an enticing display, hand rubbing the empty space beside you. "Come and sleep, Miguel."
"I can't," he says gruffly, then less so, "I can't, I have things to do."
"Just for a bit," you say, eyes wide and pleading, your very best approximation of puppy dog's. "Please, baby. Just for an hour."
Miguel stares at you for a moment, his shoulders sagging, before he closes your bedroom door and wastes no time in lying down next to you. You're startled at his willingness to do as you asked, but then you notice his flushed cheeks, tanned skin darkened by a rosy blush.
You open your mouth to say something smug. He senses it, and says, "I can't sleep if you're talking."
Your lips snap closed.
Miguel lays motionless for a while. His breathing evens out. Sure he's asleep, you lay down beside him and dot a chaste kiss against his temple.
you and miguel accidentally move in together when the girls in the spider society dorms are mean to you —a ficlet featuring a reluctantly infatuated miguel and a carefree, ditzy spider-girl. pre across the spider-verse but contains spoilers. requested here. fem!reader, 1.5k
cw mature themes. mdni
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
You're laying in Miguel's bed when he gets back to his dorm room. Or, just his room. He'll be living here for the foreseeable future. It took him some time to calibrate to seeing you among his things, in his bed, but worst of all without your suit —it's like seeing you naked. It catches him off guard every time.
You look oddly quiet, though you aren't asleep. He knows that doesn't make any sense, that quiet isn't something you can see, but without your suit it's like stripping back a layer of chaos. In a pyjama pack from some Nueva York department store, you've little cartoon characters on your shorts, and a bigger one across your chest, the lilac purple background pretty against your skin. Your hand is tucked under your face, your phone in the other. You're swiping through a match three game with a small panda mascot that cheers, "Wā sāi!" every time you clear a line.
You smile and click another button. Miguel bites back his own, letting the door close with a metallic shushing.
"Hey," you say, without looking up. "Are you okay?"
"Why wouldn't I be okay?"
"I thought asking that would get me a better answer than, 'how are you?'"
"I'm fine."
You laugh under your breath as he makes a beeline for his closet. "See," you say, like it's very funny, "what a useless question."
Acts of service. When I tell you this man’s way of showing his love is acts of service, I’m telling you he shows it in no other way. Of course he praises you every now and then but his acts of service would be so grand—taking an entire day off just to tend to you when you literally only came down with a cold. Getting you an entire limo and a private resort and the biggest fucking bouquet of flowers you’ve ever seen in your life on valentine’s day.
as soon as satoru comes home, you can tell that something’s troubling him.
he greets the three of you quietly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head and telling you to start dinner without him.
when he turns away, you quickly catch his hand. “you haven’t eaten since lunch. just have a little—”
“i’m not hungry,” he excuses quickly, offering you a weak smile. “i’m just going to lie down for a bit.”
he gently pulls his hand from your grasp, heading toward the bedroom without another word.
“something’s wrong with him,” tsumiki murmurs, picking up her chopsticks as you and megumi watch him go.
“he’s just tired,” you assure her. “he’ll be okay.”
you hope they don’t notice the worry behind your easy expression. you know that satoru is strong and that he’s powerful beyond measure, but strength means nothing when you give someone a piece of your heart. the worry just never goes away.
genre .. warnings ↠ angst, violence, recurring mentions of death and murder, shapeshifter!reader, non-spiderperson reader, enemies to lovers esque, parenting!au, neighbor!au
summary ↠ six years ago, your ex-fiancé and the father of your baby was killed in a fatal incident involving the head of alchemax. ever since then, you’ve devoted yourself to a life of crime to take care of your daughter. by day, you fall deeper in love with your neighbor, and by night, you come face-to-face with spider-man.
word count ↠ 14.5k
a/n ↠ most of this is set in mc’s universe so anything’s canon here. this is a repost!!!! feedback is appreciated!!!!!!
if anybody asked, you would tell them that doing a crime lord's bidding was nothing to write home about. it was assignment after assignment to keep a roof over your head and putting up with a nineteen-year-old (at least you think he's nineteen) with a reckless mouth. his tongue had gotten him into unimaginable trouble, that was for sure. not just him, but you. curse you for being benevolent enough to not let the poor kid die.
but on the other hand, it could sometimes be rewarding. sometimes.
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