#seratopia writes ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ���₊˚ ⋅

[seratopia]

vi x reader (fluff) - modern au ; around the house

→ she/her pronouns!

self-indulgent, personal headcannons i have for VI! suggestive and pervy! you've been warned!

an absolute BEAST if she sees you around the house in your loungewear. you won't be able to walk by the kitchen, do laundry, ANYTHING without her hand somewhere on your ass.

she especially loves when you wear just an oversized tee and underwear; goes apeshit if the shirt lifts and she catches a glimpse of your butt while you're doing something mundane like reach for a mug on a shelf.

It's a lazy Sunday at Vi's apartment, meaning that the both of you have most likely haphazardly thrown on each other's clothes as a slim effort at modesty.

Vi has on a raggedy black wifebeater, no bra of course, and some random pair of plaid boxers. You've thrown on a shirt you found on the floor, which you didn't know said, "BIG DICK IS BACK IN TOWN" until you looked in the mirror. Oh well.

Suspecting that Vi would probably be playing Call of Duty in her room or something, you frolick off to the kitchen, thinking you can just make yourself lunch and binge a Netflix show.

You were very wrong. She already started getting bored as soon as she entered the lobby, thinking too much about how she should be with you since you're at her flat anyway.

Discarding her headset to the side, Vi leaps off of her desk chair, excitedly wandering around the apartment to see if she could find you. And she does, finding you reaching up on a shelf for a bowl.

Her eyes aren't on you though, moreso on the literal SLIVER of ass that shows as the t-shirt lifts. You're standing on your tippy-toes too, since Vi purposefully puts the bowls on the top shelf for this exact reason.

Whilst stirring your ramen, you feel a rough palm slide up against where your thighs and ass meet, giving you a good squeeze. It's almost ignorable at this point, since she does it so often. Vi's all up on you, gently pinching your butt before sliding her palms up onto your waist. She pulls you into her as you stir up your ramen, aligning up her front to your back.

A kiss is pressed to your nape, before she leans her cheek on your shoulder. A whiny groan escapes her lips, where she squeezes your waist tight.

"Mmph, you're so cute... you know that?" She murmurs into your ear, like she can't handle it.

The airy giggle that escapes your lips almost has Vi's head spinning, in which she rests her chin on your shoulder to see what's on the stove.

"What'cha making?" She asks, and you affectionately place your hand on top of hers.

"Shin. You wanna share?" You answer, turning the stove off as steam starts to wafe from the pot.

You feel a nod against your shoulder. "Mhm."

౨ৎ ――

has these strangeeee cravings/struggle meals, mannerisms too. she grew up in prison for most of her teenage-to-adult life, so she had to get creative when it came to food she wanted to eat.

sometimes she'd crush up dry ramen noodles and sprinkle the flavoring packet as a snack, or dip plain bread in applesauce

she will eat ANYTHING, no complaints, she's seen the worst, probably has a stomach of steel

she eats so fast too, so quickly. like those reels about the girl taking her time to eat and the boyfriend finishing his meal in 20 seconds.

i reckon she eats alot too, either fast metabolism, or just that she burns alot of calories in general from being so active.

her body runs warm

DUDE she'll look at people weird too; i feel like she has a staring problem sometimes. if you're at a sephora or something she'll give you some space, but then stare at you from afar like some creep

(i dont know anything about prison)

Over the years of dating Vi, you're noticed the 'prison' behavior that never really washed out of her. She's opened up a lot to you about her experience in jail; what she was in for, how she felt, the types of thing she's had to do to get by. You treat the subject with upmost gentleness, something that Vi's never really used to as someone who's been traumatized her entire life.

You've started to see reoccurring comfort meals that she eats sometimes. Once, you asked Vi if she wanted anything from the supermarket while you out. She texted you; can u get me cheese ritz crackers.

It's almost like you knew Vi was up to something silly; when you came home with the crackers, she did a little, "oooh, yay!" before pressing a wet kiss to your cheek.

"Why'd you want these?" You asked, kicking off your shoes at the door.

She grabbed the packet from your hand, in which you notice a tender, nostalgic expression on her face as she peered at the packaging.

"Mac & cheese." She just said with a cheeky grin, heading over to the kitchen.

You watch as she would scrape the cheese filling off the crackers, put them into a bowl, and melt them down in the microwave with a bit of butter and milk. While that's happening, she'd boil a packet of instant noodles, and then dump the noodles into the 'sauce' and stir it up.

"Y'know, I made this a lot in jail. It's my favorite." She'd explain to you with a full mouth, groaning with every bite she took.

And now, sometimes you make it, just to make Vi happy.

౨ৎ ――

your first christmas with Vi was super cute. though Vi used to celebrate christmas in early childhood, she doesn't really remember it. christmas time during jail was just receiving small goody bags from charities; nothing heartfelt or meaningful.

vi almost doesn't know what to do with herself during christmas, especially when you're feeling all festive and making gentle decorations around the apartment.

she used to not care about holidays, but now she does, because you do <3

Knelt on the soft, carpeted floor of your apartment, you sit across from Vi. She has on these silly Christmas-themed pajama pants on that you gifted her mid-December, along with the hoodie she likes to sleep in the most. You're bundled up in warm pajamas, complete with a silly Santa hat on top of your head.

Reaching underneath the decorated tree, you pull out a wrapped parcel, handing it to your girlfriend with a warm, excited smile. The way she looks at the present is so confused, so awkwardly cute. Hesitantly, she takes it in her hand.

"Is this for me?"

"Duh! Yes, you can open it." You say with a smile.

You watch as Vi peels back the layers of colorful wrapping paper with a tiny smile on her face, fighting the urge to pull your phone out and start recording like a proud parent.

A little gasp escapes your breath when Vi finally reveals the present; a black, cat-eared beanie you crocheted for her in secret weeks prior. The way her face utterly lights up has your heart melting inside. You realize how big this might be for her; one of her first real Christmases, one of her first real handmade gifts.

She peers up at you, with the beanie in her lap. "Did you make this?"

You nod. "Yeah, you wear beanies a lot so, I thought a kitty-cat one would be cute."

You watch as Vi's face starts to twist whilst looking down at the beanie, her eyebrows loosening while her chin starts to wrinkle just a little bit. She quickly sinks her head low, using the sleeve of her hoodie to wipe away at fat tears that dribble down her cheek.

At first you don't know how to handle it, until you shuffle closer to her on your knees, placing your hand on her knee. After sniffling a few times, she looks to you with reddened eyes, a quivering lip.

Setting the beanie aside onto the carpet, Vi hoists you closer to her with two palms by your sides. She wraps you up in a warm, tight bear hug, digging her cheek into the side of your neck with sniffles against your ear. Vi practically rings all the air out of you with her strong arms, but you tolerate it anyway because you know it's all love.

Smiling, you soothe her with a pat on her shoulder, trying your best to match her level of hug-strength. You then feel muffled words against your shoulder, before Vi sits up.

You can barely ask what she said before Vi tenderly pulls you into her with arms around your shoulders, pressing up her soft lips against yours. The tears on her cheek smear onto your face as Vi pokes and prods at your mouth with her lips, kissing you sweetly with the tiniest sobs in between.

When finished, she hugs you tight again, almost knocking you over onto the carpet.

"I love you." *sniffle* "I'll keep it forever."

౨ৎ ――

she's a thighs girl, through and through. you literally have to watch when you wear shorts or a skirt because she'll go apeshit like a pubescent teenaged boy.

does dumb in the head when you sit and your thighs squish up against the chair, ESPECIALLY if you sit on her lap.

likes to grope em up with her hands, or rest her head on them

sucking hickeys on them is fun too ;)))))))

"Vi, you really gotta stop doing this in public."

You say with as much of a serious tone as possible, crossing your arms whilst looking up at her. You're both towards the back of the Sephora, amidst searching for a specific perfume that you wanted to try.

Vi only replies with a cheeky smirk, crossing her own arms before trailing her eyes back down towards your thighs. She's insufferable.

"Doing whaaat?" She slyly asks, shifting her weight onto one side.

"Feeling me up like a perv, that's what!" You exclaim in fake annoyance, walking away from her and quickly busying yourself with one of the isles of lipgloss.

Vi makes light grabby hands as she chases after you, playfully whining while you test out a gloss color on the back of your hand.

"But you're so soffttttt-"

Your glare is enough to silence her, walking away like a kicked puppy to make odd mixtures with the makeup testers.

౨ৎ ――

she's such a goofy goober at heart <333

it's the small silly things that make you giggle the most; putting something odd on her head, staring at you with funny faces, mewing at you, tickling your sides; kid-like stuff.

and when you playfully roll your eyes, she'll just respond with the cheekiest, cat-got-the-cream kind of smile.

she'll go to great, weird lengths to hear you chuckle or laugh.

cackling with her is rare, but literal gold like i'm talking tears coming out the eyes, flip flopping like a fish while laughing, lightly hitting eachother on the arm, scream laughing.

Your girlfriend practically beckons you over to the Spencer's with a spring in her step. Letting her wave you over like an excited puppy, you step into the dark store, whilst Vi eagerly heads over to the t-shirt section. She has a thing for gag-gifts, like odd mugs or silly socks.

You let Vi loose like a child into a park, while you stare at the odd cups and lanyards. Browsing through the very extensive belt collection towards the back of the store, you notice a familiar head of pink hair out the corner of your eye.

"Babes, look!"

If she had a tail it'd be wagging right now, holding a wad of dark grey cloth in between both of her silver-ringed hands. With a sly smile on her face, unraveling the ball of cloth in her hand to put up a large shirt.

It says "two-seater" in the middle, one arrow pointing to the neck of the shirt, while the other points to the bottom of it.

You short, your eyes flickering from the big shirt to Vi's smug face.

"It's perfect for you." You say, and she eagerly nods, folding it over her forearm. She then gives you this silly look, like fluttering her lashes and peering at you with oddly pursed lips. She looks half like a baby that ate a lemon, half like a peasant begging for food.

She steps closer to you, holding the shirt and tugging on your sleeve.

"Can I wear it while you sit on my-"

You harshly hit her on the arm, in which Vi rubs where you hit with fake hurt.

"Shhh, people will hear!"

She stops you before you turn away towards the belts with a hand on your arm, goofily fluttering her eyelashes at you like it's actually going to work. She does that thing you like, ghosting her hand onto your side with a little squeeze.

"...."

The cashier gives you both a look when Vi hands them a few dollar bills, placing the shirt into a paper bag while scroll through your phone.

౨ৎ ――

extras:

knows how to do that thing where she presses her palm onto your lower tummy while finger-fucking you to make you cum faster

i see her at-home outfit as a band/silly tshirt with the sleeves torn off, plaid boxers, and mismatched fandom socks

sends you godawful memes when you text

never learned to spell properly; sometimes gets certain words wrong too and its a little funny

takes up the whole damn bed, snores, it's like she's having a seizure once she shuts eyes

your first impressions of her are flirty, nonchalant-ish???, and overall genuine. once your relationship gets deep, you start seeing how silly she is, her smaller flaws, how she actually acts around people she loves

© 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒑𝒊𝒂.

[seratopia]

miguel o'hara x reader (fluff) - intoxicated → she/her pronouns!

modern ceo au! what happens when miguel is drunk

It's extremely rare when Miguel goes out to drink with coworkers, it's rare enough when Miguel gets out to go anywhere in general. He's either cooped up in his office, glued to his work, or glued to you at home.

You suggested to Miguel earlier this week about getting out to a bar, along with a few of the other higher-ups of the company. It's healthy to get out, you said, even if all he's going to be doing is drinking alcohol and eating meat.

Miguel's only good with people in a more professional sense; he's not the best at being all buddy-buddy with people he usually works with. He's quiet the entire time he's at the bar, occasionally taking a bored nibble at a bowl of loaded fries.

He kind of regrets this; surrounded by loud music, loud people, TV's with sports games playing in the background. He just misses you, he wants to come home and make food with you.

One of his coworkers, nudged him in the side a bit, obviously gesturing towards the wide array of various drinks and juices.

"Might as well have a drink while you're at it." He says, and Miguel is just stone-faced the entire time. The man walks away towards the remaining group of coworkers, possibly to either go dance, or to stare at girls from afar.

Considerably, it's been a while since he's had a drink. One or two wouldn't hurt, especially as a last minute scrounge for enjoyment in this god-awful bar.

Slowly, Miguel nurses on a drink provided by a suspiciously sleek bartender, leaning his cheek into his palm whilst taking a couple sips. He can feel the wolfish eyes of various women & men staring at him, feeling somehow exposed in his tight white button-up and simple pants. If only you were here, to sit in his lap and run your little hands against his chest.

The thought makes his head spin, a violent hot warmth running up his cheeks, his mind being blurred like a smudge on someone's reading glasses. The room's almost tilting sideways, the thoughts in his head dissolving away. (miguelito is a lightweight because i say so)

Miguel's drunk, for the first time in literal years.

He doesn't like it; he feels out of control of his body, unable to think or function correctly. He feels like a different person entirely, his eyes replaced with jelly and the tips of his ears turning scarlet.

The drink tasted good and all, but Miguel's thoughts on you feel magnified, every feature, every action you do running through his head like a cassette tape. He misses you more, and he really wants to see you.

Cleverly, he pulls out his phone, sighing to himself on the counter. It takes him a moment to put in his phone password correctly, fingers drunkenly tapping on the screen until he can find your contact.

. . .

You receive a text notification at about 9:43. Expectedly, you knew Miguel probably wouldn't make it through the whole night, but you're proud of him for trying. You open up your phone, amidst watching a show in bed.

miguelito💞💓: My love, I am intoxicated.

The text makes you giggle a little, imagining him all red-faced and tripping over himself with his coworkers.

Conveniently, you receive another text, one from the person you asked to keep an eye on Miguel.

It's a picture of Miguel with his head leaned against the counter, lovingly zooming in on a picture of your face with his phone. His ears are red, and there's a half-drunken drink beside him.

james q: he says he misses you. want me to take him home? you: it's okay, thanks tho. i'll be there in 10 to get him. james q: 👍

Assuming Miguel's still on his phone, you shoot him a text.

you: i see u looking at me

You giggle to yourself, and Miguel is visibly both shocked and excited, peering left to right as if you were magically in the bar.

miguelito💞💓: Please pick me up. I hate it here. you: ok sweetie, be there in 10

. . .

Despite the hour, the bar is bustling as ever, populated with underage girls wearing slip dresses and drunk frat boys. You worm through the building, searching left and right for your husband through the cacophonous bar.

Finally, you spot him where the counter is, big head tucked into crossed arms.

Gently, you slip your hand onto his shoulder, warmly rubbing him awake. At first he flinches, staring at you as if you were a stranger. He relaxes a few seconds later, lovingly and drunkenly fixating on you.

"Hey hun, I'm here to take you home." You say, and Miguel feels so warm, so comforted in contrast to the rash environment of the pub. He wants to kiss you, but he's too drunk to focus.

Without a word, Miguel rises from his bar stool, arms and hands immediately inching around your shoulders. He doesn't realize it, but he's pressing more of his body weight onto you, leaning on top of you like a slug.

Seeing you roll away the finest, sexiest piece of man as if it were nothing makes the party around you fume, their thoughts of asking for a number shattered within a minute or two.

Miguel trails after you, gluing himself to your back as you maneuver yourself out of the stuffy bar. Finally, you're out in the cool air of the dark, muffled edm music booming from the block's other counterparts.

The sidewalk is somewhat barren, scattered with a few people smoking or walking.

"I missed you, s'much." Miguel slurs, seeing the outline of your car in the dark parking lot.

"I know you did, baby. Now you get to come home with me and we can do whatever you want, like we promised." You say, unlocking your car with the press of your key.

He smiles just a teensy bit, his heart warming at the thought of snuggling up to you in bed, or cooking a late-night meal of sorts with you while a show plays in the background.

Miguel's the passenger princess tonight, adjusting the seat backwards so he can actually sit. He stares at you the entire time through bleary eyes, watching you start the car as if it were the most artistic and most beautiful thing ever.

"I love you." Miguel says, and you can feel the gratuity in his voice.

"I love you too."

© 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒑𝒊𝒂.

[seratopia]

miguel o'hara x reader (fluff) - please? → she/her pronouns!

miguel begs you not to get out of bed

By far the highest blessing you could receive in the morning is Miguel O'Hara's morning voice.

Deep, gravelly, and sparse, Miguel's morning voice always manages to send chills down your spine, especially when you're nothing but a hair's width apart from his chest.

You can feel his heart slowly beat against your cheek, his chest rising and falling to the sound of his breathing. Waking up to a face full of chest has been unexpectedly, one of the numerous highlights of your day.

Slowly, your eyes flutter open, and it takes you a moment to come to your senses. He smells nice, a reminder of the shower gel you keep in your bathroom for when he visits.

Miguel's almost too big for your bed; he takes up your space, barely fits the comforter, but you love him anyway. You really don't know how, or why Miguel chooses to sleep with you in your tiny little bed, but you don't complain.

"Amor."

His wording rumbles from the deepest parts of his throat, and you can feel the vibration of his voice against your ear. You squirm a little, tiny noises escaping your mouth as you make yourself just a little more comfortable.

"Mmmph... what time is it?" You murmur into his skin, savoring the warmth he omits.

Miguel lazily rests his heavy arm over you, running his abnormally large hand over your back. He presses a darling kiss into your hair, humming. It's only you who gets to see him like this, all sleepy-eyed and touchy beyond repair. You try to savor this version of Miguel as possible, knowing that he has to be someone else when he's at work.

Miguel keeps a single arm on you while you try to bend your arm in impossible ways, twisting and turning your limb to try to reach your phone on the bedside table. Eventually it works, and you manage to slip your phone into your fingers before you dislocate your arm.

"It's 9:23..." You breathe, sighing before turning your phone back off and placing it next to your pillow.

Miguel's pulling you in like a magnet, snuggling you like a puppy would a teddy bear. He's just too cute like this, hands and legs roaming around your body for something to squeeze. As much as you absolutely hate to let go of him, duty calls.

"Miguel... we have to go to work."

He can hear the distaste in your voice, reminded of the agonizingly long spread of cleanup, the idea of people bothering him, the mediocre food at the cafeteria. (Except for the empanadas, lmao)

Miguel doesn't want to go to work today, and he doesn't think you do either. Wearing a skin-tight supersuit just wasn't it today.

"Noo...." Miguel whines, strengthening his arms around you. You have to tap on his arm, just so enough air can find it's way back to your lungs again.

"Miguel, we have a job to do." You say, rubbing the sleep away from your eyes. You hear him groan into your hair, your mind practically going blank at the sound of his intense morning voice.

We mUST stay focused brothers, we must stay focused!!!

Almost like every morning, you begin your wrestle for freedom, pushing at his forearms wrapped tight over you. It's almost like you forget that Miguel's a superhuman Spider-Man. Stubbornly, he keeps his lazy stance, ignoring your tiny pushes and shoves.

"Oh my gosh, Miguel. Let me go. If you don't go to work, I will." You curse, squirming and kicking yourself in all sorts of directions.

He shakes his head again, eyes closed shut and nose still in your hair.

It was only a matter of time before you'd tire yourself out.

And you did.

Miguel's got the shittiest, most satisfied grin on his face, and all you can do is scowl at him. Still, he hasn't let go of you, and now you're convinced he wont let you go until the end of the day.

As much as Miguel was stubborn, you were too. You have a final ace up your sleeve, and hopefully it'll save both Jessica and the kids from disarray in the office today.

Miguel's face starts to melt down a little when you flutter your eyelashes at him, shoving your face into his chest and pressing a sweet little kiss between his pectorals.

It's like the satisfaction from Miguel transferred over to you, and Miguel is left speechless as you trail your way up to his clavicle, nipping and kissing at the surface of his skin.

"Let me go, please?" You ask, specifically in the tone of voice that you know Miguel loses his shit over.

His voice is hitched in his throat, ears turning scarlet as his grip around you starts to loosen.

"I... honey-"

The moment you reach his neck, Miguel know's he's done for, a chill running down his neck and back. It makes him all hot, his mind being wiped clean like a whiteboard. Just for the funsies, you kiss his pulse point a little, wrapping your own arms around his neck.

Utterly, Miguel melts, the sweetest, poutiest expression on his face like he doesn't know what to.

You win.

While you still can, you slip out of Miguel's grip, your feet finally meeting the carpeted floor. Miguel realizes your little act, grumbling and pouting to himself as he relishes the disappearance of your warmth.

"If you come to work, we can do more..." You tease, trotting off to your bathroom with a chuckle.

Reluctantly, the man rises from your bed, the boards creaking under his weight. (One day, he's gonna break your bed, somehow.) He follows after you, running his hand through his messy bedhead.

"Coming, sweetie."

© 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒑𝒊𝒂.

[seratopia]

vi x reader - get up

→ she/her pronouns!

vi thinks of you during the fight with sevika **note: you both loved eachother, back in the lanes. vi thinks you're dead. the last time she saw you was when you were both 17.

The slightest bit of dread starts to fill Vi's stomach when she sees Sevika's bubbling-hot blade pierce through the rickety pool table. The red from the blade is angry, glowing with melted residue dripping off of it. Vi quickly backs away from the table, throwing up her hands as to guard herself from the violent slashes of the sword.

Sevika slices through the table with ease, chopping up a triangle-shaped opening through the wood. As Sevika emerges from the burning-hot opening, she lazily throws her arm at Vi, sending a streak of hot light through the air.

Vi raises her gloves up, ducking her head down. With a smirk, Sevika mercilessly throws fiery slashes towards Vi, each of them growing larger by the second. Sevika marches straight into Vi, slamming down the scarlet blade down directly onto Vi's mech gloves. The gloves falter under the pressure, sending Vi's skin to bubble and blister from the heat.

Vi shrieks from the searing pain of the burn, just before Sevika pulls the knife away and throws a harsh punch to her face. With her vision slightly delayed from the blow, Vi throws a punch to Sevika. The woman sinks her metal fingers into Vi's arm, activating her blade to pierce straight through the mech glove.

Sparking and sputtering with HexTech electricity, the glove deactivates, thumping to the ground and bringing Vi with it. With Vi's hand still stuck in the heavy glove, Sevika takes the chance to hurl a hard punch to her face. Vi practically stumbles on the tips of her feet, the heaviness of the glove sending her face-first into the other side of the bar.

Sevika's arm conveniently starts to falter from so much heat, the bright purple glow beginning to flicker as she takes a few heavy breaths. Vi slumps to the ground, her face smushed into a mixture of bar floor and her own blood. Her brain is almost cloudy, where she could only hear the sound of her light breathing as she tries to refocus her vision.

There's the faintest flicker of you, a ghost of your glowing-white silhouette as her heavy eyelids begin to fall.

Almost, just almost, does Vi flutter her eyes closed, ready to give up.

"That was a real one." She hears you mutter, with a giggle at the end. Vi lets out a ghost of a chuckle.

A gentle, kind warmth fills her to her toes, drifting in blurred memories of you. Ones that are faded, altered, and distant. She's almost forgotten your face over the years, the sound of your cackle, how your skin feels against hers.

Vi hears the airy chuckle that she used to adore, picturing the way you used to laugh when she'd tease you back in the lanes. Your sweet, sugary voice practically pulls her mind awake, cracking open her eyes just the tiniest bit.

You're sat up top the counter, lightly swinging your legs up and down as you peer down at Vi with a tiny smile. She doesn't see you, but feels you nearby.

"I wish I could be there too, y'know?" You start, pausing your leg-swinging. "I'm sorry, Vi. I know it's hard." You almost whisper.

Vi sighs in response, tempted to twist her neck up in forbidden ways just to catch of glimpse of you. Are you really there? Did you come back from the dead? Did you miss her like she misses you?

You then step down from your seat at the counter, making no sound as you lightly kneel closer to her, placing your hands on the floor. She sees a hint of your hand at most, glowing pure white, unreal. You tenderly swipe away a lock of her pink hair away from her bloodied face, laying your cheek against your knee as you peer down at Vi.

For a moment, she forgets all about Sevika, basking in the warmth of your touch.

"She needs you... We need you. So, how about it, hm?" You say, bending down further so she can hear your quiet voice.

A light ignites in her silver eyes, slowly feeling her strength return to her. With a sigh, Vi squeezes her eyes shut. Despite all the pain, the deep ache in her arms, the gravity pulling her down to the floor, Vi pushes herself up with a groan. She spits out a gummy molar from her mouth, letting thick red blood drip from her nose.

Straining her arms to push herself up, Vi slowly raises her head, her eyes traveling from your knees, all the way up to your face. It doesn't seem real for a moment, seeing your smiling self as clear as day. Vi gazes into your eyes with an awed expression, her brows softened and her lips slightly parted.

You're beautiful, as young as the day she lost you.

With your eyes half-lidded, you slowly press your body forward, taking Vi's chin in your hand and pressing a tender kiss to her lips. Vi savors the feeling of your lips against hers; she forgets to move. Her eyes almost flutter shut again.

The kiss ends as soon as it starts, before you step back up to your full height. Vi peers up at you, and you give her a small nod, gesturing with a flick of your hand.

Her legs shake, her arms twitch, but Vi rises, pulling the heavy weight of the gloves with her. With a roll of her right shoulder, Vi stands back to her full height. She savors your appearance in front of her, wondering how long it'll be before you're gone again. She doesn't want you to go, whether you're real or not.

Giving you one last faithful look, you salute to her a goodbye. She slowly turns back towards Sevika.

Vi drops the broken glove onto the ground with a loud thud. Sevika's face twists into shock when she sees Vi, who spits out onto the floor and returns to her guard position.

"Go get 'em, Vi."

© 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒑𝒊𝒂.

[seratopia]

vi x reader (fluff) - modern au pt. 2 → she/her pronouns!

in honor of season 2 being announced, the feminine urges told me to FINALLY finish this draft read part 1 here!

It isn't until about 3 pm in the afternoon when you finally awake from your spot on Vi's couch. The few times Vi came in to check if you were awake, you lay there like a corpse, spiking concern of whether or not you were alive.

But eventually, you wake up, drool pooling by your head and your legs tensed up. Your mouth is dry, eyes crusty, and the remnants of a headache appearing late. The events of yesterday fly completely past your head, and you peer around, confusedly rubbing the sleep from your eyes with your fist.

By now, Vi's completed nearly half a day of errands; her daily gym visit, checking in on Powder, getting work done. Coming home to you still sleeping on the couch was a (pleasant) surprise; she suspected that you might've packed your things and fled the scene. The idea of it reminds her of herself.

Fast-forward to now, you're finally awake. Needless to say, waking up from a 10-hour sleep on a couch that isn't your own is concerning. Your throat already feels scratchy, lips chapped and your hair practically up into a giant knot.

The sunlight from the window is too bright for your liking, kindling a warm headache at the back of your brain. The heavy blanket on your body; you catch how it smells, your dilemma slowly fizzling back to your memory. The living room is deathly silent, leaving you alone with your own thoughts as you assess the living room.

Vi doesn't seem to be around; you assume she has work or something to be at. You remember how gentle she was with you; calling you pretty and practically saving you from assault. Should you leave? Should you just wait to pay your thanks?

Folding your forearm over your eyes, you sigh, already feeling terribly overwhelmed on what to do next. You figure you should sit up; maybe an ice water will wash away half of your headache and dry throat. You need to pee too, like really bad.

Treating yourself like an old woman, you take it easy on yourself. There's no rush, so you sit yourself up onto the couch, eyeing the half-empty glass of water on the coffee table. After rubbing your eyes a bit, you take a few sips. You were right; the water did make you feel a little better.

For a moment, you gaze emptily at the wall, your mind revolving back to the night before. You swear you could still hear the vibrations of loud house music in your ears.

You'd hate for this meeting with Vi to be your last. Something lonely inside you hopes that she's single, that she would read your mind and magically ask you on a date to sweep you off your feet.

Your urge to pee lulls you from your thoughts, until you realize you're still still sat on the couch. Like a giraffe taking it's first steps, you slowly rise up from the couch, sending vertigo to cloud your eyes. Once your eyes clear and you manage to stand up completely straight, you hobble your way towards what you hope is a hallway.

It takes you a few peeks into random rooms, but you finally make it to the restroom, where you close to the door to do your business. Just as you switch the light on, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Standing to meet eyes with yourself, you sigh. As suspected, you look like utter shit.

In her bedroom, sat by her PC, Vi hears the ghost of a door closing amidst the background music of her videogame. Pulling off her headset, Vi pauses her game for the moment, listening in to see if you were awake or not. She figured it'd be best if you just slept as much as you needed.

An excited smile forms on Vi's face when she hears shuffling from across her hallway. Placing her headphones on her desk, Vi leaps off her desk chair, kicking on her slides.

She hears the sound of her sink being turned on as she steps out of her bedroom, noticing the light turned on from the crack just below the bathroom door. Vi catches herself smiling more than she really should, before leaning herself against the doorframe.

Just as you finish washing your hands, you creak the door open with a rub of your eyes. Vi chuckles when she sees your current state, messy hair, water drops on your shirt, your posture sunken like a candycane.

"Morning, pretty."

A hoarse shriek forces it's way out of your throat, reacting with a full-body flinch at the sight of a familiar head of pink hair. Like you've been doused in ice-cold water, it's like your vision instantly clears at the sight of her.

For a moment, you're left to ogle at her around-the-house attire; a black tank paired with a pair of loose plaid boxers. You admire the tattoos littered across her strong arms, finally noticing how tall she is compared to you.

"I- um- hi Vi." You stutter, tripping over your words.

Her smile is enough to make you melt, an attractive chuckle spilling from her lips as she leans against the wall. You try to hide the warmth on your cheeks, swiping back your messy hair to try to tame it as best as possible.

"Did you sleep well? You were out for like, 12 hours."

Your mouth runs agape, until you close it back shut. You're probably like a homeless person to her, overstaying your welcome and ruining your chances of ever getting her number. Your cheeks flush in embarrassment.

"I'm so sorry! I-I'll be out of your place in 10 minutes I sw-"

Vi then steps forward, placing her big, warm hands onto your shoulders. She keeps you steady, instantly silencing you with a tiny chuckle. The way her hand gently smooths over your shoulder sends shivers down your spine, her head leaning in to meet you in the eye with a knowing gaze.

"It's nothing, sweets. You can stay for as long as you'd like." She says, with a small smile.

Your mouth left agape for a few seconds, letting her sultry voice lull you. She's so much closer now, so firm with her words. One of her hands slides down to the small of your back, tugging you closer to the warmth of her body. Your mind blanks out for a moment, allowing yourself to be palmed by her however she pleases.

"I really can't thank you enough for letting me stay..." You mumble, only leaving Vi to lean in so she could hear you better. With a frown, you realize what day it is; Monday. You have class on Tuesday, meaning you'd have to get home by today or so to drive to class.

"I'd love to stay more, Vi, I really do. But, I think I have class soon. This week. I'm so sorry."

You pray she takes your words as genuine, and not like you're trying to make an excuse to leave and never see her again. You're only met with a smirk.

"Jeez, hate me that much?" She asks.

You immediately shake your head no. "No, no! It's not like th-"

Vi chuckles again, this time more vibrantly than before. It brings a genuine smile to your face.

"Shhhh... sweets, I was just messin' with you."

You let out a sigh of relief, giving her a teasing shake of your head.

"What time do you have class, hm?" She asks you, sending butterflies to your stomach. You feel her thumb smooth over your lower back, in which you place your hands on her inked forearms.

"Uh, Tuesdays and Thursdays at 11. Why?"

You mourn the loss of Vi's touch as she releases you from her firm grip, her hands trailing to fiddle with your hands. She takes a step back, her head slightly cocking to the side.

"How about this... you stay at my flat for the rest of the day... and in exchange for that," Her hands interlock with yours. "I'll drive you to class tomorrow?"

You sense the slightest bit of nervousness in her voice, her expression seeming hopeful as she peers down at you. You didn't know that people like Vi could ever get nervous.

Joy overtakes you for a few seconds. She wants to hang with you! At her flat, no less. You fight ever urge to squeal like a little girl, instead opting to bounce a little on your feet. Vi giggles at your happy outburst.

"Mhm! I'd like that. I mean, if you're fine with driving me- I don't know how far campus is from here." You shyly admit, fiddling with your fingers.

Vi simply shrugs. "Doesn't matter... but anyways, it's settled?"

You eagerly nod. "Mhm!"

Vi then turns around towards her bedroom, craning her neck past the door to peer at the clock on her wall. All the while, she keeps her hand glued to yours.

"Mm, it's like 3:40-ish." She mumbles.

Turning to the side, Vi steps towards the living room area, before looking back and giving you a small nod. You quickly follow suit, trailing behind her like a puppy.

"I'm starving, I'll make us something."

anyways um, this fic will kinda be like sunshine/puppy-coded yn

© 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒑𝒊𝒂.

[seratopia]

katsuki is definitely a "get my wife's name out'cha fuckin' mouth!!!!" kinda guy LMAOOO

You're mad, really mad. No doubt that your husband would be banned, not just from the Hero Gala, but as well as future important events for what happened.

The car ride back to the hotel was completely silent, your head tilted towards the window to gaze out into the dark city.

Finally, when you're both undressed and ready for bed, you talk.

"Why'd you do that?" You start, arms crossed whilst you lean on the soft headboard of the bed.

Katsuki averts eye contact, subtly appearing like a child being scolded for misbehaving (which angers you even more). There's a lengthy period of silence, before his face reverts back to his usual scowl.

"He was makin' fun o'you." He says, and you sigh.

"I know, Kats." You start, shuffling deeper into the covers. "There's people that are going to make fun of me no matter what, you know that. Didn't mean you had to go make a scene."

He lets your words sink into his skin for a moment, peering down at the white duvet.

"Can't fuckin' stand when people talk about you like that." He remarks, but you can sense the true passion in his voice. Even when he knows he shouldn't, Katuski inches his hand towards yours. Still, the pout on your face is evident.

"You could've handled it better, Kats."

There's a twinge of anger that sparks in his gut, one that reminds him of his teenage days. It tumbles immediately to his throat, born from his tendency to be angry. You can see his eyebrow crinkle, his mouth curling further into a frown. What was he not enough of?

Right as your husband goes to open his mouth, to release a string of curses, he stops. It closes, and you watch as he takes a dramatic sigh. His hand tenses around yours.

"M'sorry. Couldn't control myself around that shithead. Shouldn'tve slapped him, 'specially at a big gala." He mumbles. Something in your heart sparkles when you sense the sincerity in his tone.

You pat his knuckles, gently tracing the veins that run along them. "I really don't want to scold you like your mom, Kats. I'm just worried for your job... What if you get blacklisted from other events."

You're right, and he knows. "P.R. can help me fix it. Find a way to minimize damage or whatever."

Satisfied, you allow yourself to sink down into the soft covers of the bed, shuffling and worming around until you're comfortable. Katsuki expectantly staring at you for an answer.

"Spit it out."

He slides deeper into the covers next to you, slithering a thick arm over your midsection. You're warm, almost warm enough for him to forget about the events of earlier.

"You're the one striving for #1, not me." You mutter.

He takes it as permission to snuggle closer, slotting his chin up top your head.

"Damn right."

[seratopia]

hobie brown x reader (fluff) - eyeliner → she/her pronouns!

hobie loves asking you to do eye makeup for him

"Sweets! C'mere for a sec!"

Your ears perk up when you hear Hobie from the other room, amidst slathering on a moisturizer onto your face.

"Hold on! I'm doing skincare!" You exclaim, hoping he heard you.

"C'mon already!" Hobie yells, and you fight every urge to roll your eyes as you rub in the last bit of your face lotion.

"Okay, okay!"

Hobie smirks when you dip into his bedroom, reaching out his hands to beckon you closer. The fluffy lounge set you're in makes him want to handle you more, his fingers subconsciously drawing in towards you.

You stick out like a sore thumb against the different shades of black in his room, studded belts and punk magazines scattered on the ground. Lazily, he's seated on the edge of his bed, his worn-out guitar sprawled across his charcoal-black sheets.

Those silver-ringed hands slip onto the curves of your waist, snaking their way up your back to tug you closer to him. You almost shiver at the feeling of so much metal. Cockily, he stares at your face, cheekily dragging you so that his face his a hair close to your chest.

"What is it, Hobie?" You ask, smoothing your fingers through his kinky hair. Hobie likes it when you trace your thumb over all of his piercings.

Seemingly out of nowhere, Hobie pulls out an eyeliner pen, flipping it smoothly through his fingers. Hobie chuckles a little, squeezing at the fat of your sides. There's a glint in his eye; excitement.

"Y'always talk about puttin' makeup on me, so I'm givin' you a try."

Hobie's smirk widens when he sees you light up in excitement, allowing you to slip the eyeliner pen from his fingers.

"Right now?" You ask, and Hobie squeezes you. He nods, shoving his face right up at you to emphasize.

"Do an edgy look for me, yeah? Don't be afraid t'smudge it a li'l."

So, while Hobie sits at the edge of his bed, he indulgently allows himself to wrap his arms around you, tilting his head upwards so you can paint on the makeup properly. You're parked right in the gap between his legs, closing in the little distance you have with Hobie to perfect the look.

While you stand there, bracing Hobie's face with one hand, he just takes it upon himself to stare at your concentrated expression. He hates to admit but he loves the close proximity.

"Hobie, you gotta close your eyes for me to do it."

The boy shuts his eyes closed, flinching just the tiniest bit when the tip of the pen first meets his skin. You build up a fine line at the outer corner of his eyelid, making it an effort to upturn the wing just the slightest bit.

For the last part, you draw a somewhat messy line underneath his lower lash line, smearing black onto only the outer side. Taking your finger, you smudge the black while its still wet, blurring out the line until whats left under his eye looks like black shadow.

Hobie resists every urge to open his eyes, every nerve screaming at him to keep them shut. For now, he makes due with what he can, squishing a little too close to your butt, or running his thumbs over where your rib cage is.

"I finished the first eye, wanna see?" You ask.

He opens his eyes back up, relishing the sigh of you until he has to close them again. You step away elsewhere to search for a good-sized mirror, and Hobie reluctantly lets go.

You come back with a hand mirror, and Hobie feels his eye itch just a little, probably from the eyeliner. You hand him the mirror, and it makes you a little nervous. At the end of the day, you just want him to like it.

You watch as Hobie examines the first eye, tilting his face from side to side with a smile forming on his mouth.

"Wow, y'did a nice job. I like the smudging right 'ere." Hobie explains, pointing his finger up to his under eye.

You smile, taking the mirror from his hand so you could continue the other eye.

"Y'know... I think I might ask'ya to do this more often." Hobie says, mindlessly tapping his fingers against your back. The way you handle his face almost makes him melt.

"You're good at makeup."

You chuckle a little, swiping the pen away to press a gentle kiss to Hobie's forehead. The way he smiles is so cute, how you can feel his cheeks warm under your fingertips.

"If you wanted to be with me, you could'a just asked, Hobie." You giggle, gently poking the corner of his other eyelid with the pen.

"I'm serious!" Hobie laughs, his eyes still closed. "I look like Cooper, y'know who Cooper is?"

"The guy that gave you a spare guitar string?" You ask.

"Yeah, he's a good man, had this really wicked eyeliner on."

With a final swoop of your wrist you finish his other eye, your vision ping-ponging between the two wings to make sure they're symmetrical.

"Done!" And you hand Hobie the mirror again, intently watching his expressions. Again, he tilts his head from side to side, an impressed smile on his face. It looks really good on him, perfect for one of his shows.

"Wow, sweets, this is really sick. Bet I'd give Cooper a run for his money, yeah?" Hobie says, standing up from his bed. You giggle into his chest when he pulls you in, repaying you for the earlier kiss with one on the crown of your head.

"You think so?" You ask, and Hobie nods.

"Get dressed and I can take us to The Crown, bet Cooper's there havin' a drink or two." He cockily states, making you playfully roll your eyes. You're expecting him to show up Cooper, pridefully pointing to his eyes to say, "Yeah, my girl did that."

"I'd like that." You say, untangling yourself from Hobie to search for something on the floor to wear. You leave some of your clothes in his room anyway. He lets go of you, watching you skim through his wardrobe.

"How 'bout that l'il dress, the short one you always like? We can match." Hobie suggests, placing his hands underneath his head and leaning back into his bed.

"It's all the way over at my flat." You reply, and Hobie springs back up, already pulling his spider mask out of his worn-out vest pocket.

"I can go get it, if you want."

"I think you want it more than I do, Hobie." You shrug, Hobie already a third of his way out the window.

"Be back in a sec!"

© 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒑𝒊𝒂.

[seratopia]

miguel o'hara x reader (fluff) - soft → she/her pronouns!

the first time miguel says "i love you." based off this beautiful artwork

A feeling in Miguel's chest has been welling up like a dam on the verge of overflowing. His heart feels so full lately, almost bursting at the seams with a sensation so sweetly saccharine and warm at the same time.

Yet, it's familiar.

It's been so long since he's felt this. Like a starved man in front of a platter of food, Miguel wants nothing more to spoil himself with your affections. Now, whenever he thinks about you, it's in a lens of adoration and infatuation, so bright and almost tinted with pink.

He thinks he loves you, the way he always wonders how you feel, the way butterflies always flutter around his heart when you kiss him, the way his hands were always meant to be on your skin.

Ever since Miguel realized that he loves you, he didn't know what to do with himself. He wants to tell you so bad, to show you how much you mean to him. Every time he tries to vocalize his feelings, he's left with his mouth agape with no voice in his throat. He's utterly speechless, clueless on how to say it.

"My love, are you okay?" You always ask him, trailing your little hand over his chest.

He coughs a little, blinking his eyes a bit. "Yeah honey, I'm fine."

He doesn't know who to ask, or if he should ask at all on what to do. Miguel despises being lost, he hates not knowing things that seem so simple and casual.

Normally, the person he'd ask for anything would he you, but obviously he couldn't do that without spilling his heart out onto the floor for you. You've made him too opaque with love.

What he does know though, is that an "I love you." should come out naturally.

It happens when Miguel least expects; a call.

He got a little lonely, left all alone to do ugly work and missions at the office while you got to lounge on your off day. He misses you a little too much; the ghost of your touch and scent lingering nearby as if you were actually there.

Everything he could be doing right now could be with you, but Miguel pouts. You should be spending time with him instead, letting him touch you and kiss you and feed you. Instead, you're out on your off-day, out into Nueva York enjoying yourself.

At first, he thinks about just waiting until you come back to work so that he can take you home. But, then he remembers that you'll be, "gone until 7" so that plan was out the window.

Your off-days to him were both a blessing and a curse; you get the break you rightfully deserve, but Miguel has to go a whole day without you. (How tragic.)

It's moments like these that really make Miguel realize that he loves you. He longs for you, even when you'll only be gone for less than a day.

If the plan to wait is out the window, then Miguel thinks that the best he can do is just call you. Hearing your voice through a low-quality mic is enough to send him miles, or at least until you come back.

He leans his arms against his desk for a moment, gazing at the watch on his wrist as if it'll give him an answer to whether or not he should call you. Is he being too clingy? Did you want some time alone?

Miguel supposes, that a short call would suffice. He'll call you quickly to say hi, and then he'll leave you to your devices. You won't even have to worry about tending to him.

It takes him a moment, but eventually, he presses that call button. Once the dial starts to ring, Miguel's heart rate rises. He almost doesn't know why he gets so nervous around you, but he knows you wouldn't mind.

"Hi hun. You need something?" You greet, and Miguel nearly bites down a sigh from how heavenly your voice sounds.

I need you. Miguel thinks, but he just can't bring himself to say it.

You can recognize the specific way Miguel's voice gets when he talks with you; gentler and airier. It's sweet.

"Hi, sweetie..." Miguel sighs, his cheek against his arm as he starts into the watch. "...I just miss you, that's all."

The way you chuckle is delightful, Miguel subconsciously smiling to himself. It makes him giddy, and something in his heart starts to grow.

"Awww, Miguelito. I miss you too." You say, warmth blooming on Miguel's face.

"Where are you?"

"I'm in line getting dinner right now, at Anton's. Do you want anything? I know you like the fried plantains they have."

Miguel gets excited, happily dreaming about sitting down at home to eat with you, just so he could stare at you the entire time.

"Can we share?" Miguel asks. "Get the plantains too."

"Of course, honey."

It sounds like you're listing your order the way he could still hear your voice, muffled and faraway from the mic. He waits the whole time, hearing your polite laughs and thanks from afar.

Miguel thinks back to the first time you went to Anton's together, after you had recommended it to him. Comforting food with his most favorite person was a memory imprinted in his mind, fluffy and raw with love.

He hears a bit more shuffling from the other end, and it appears as though you've taken a seat somewhere to wait.

"I'm back-"

"I think I love you."

Miguel's mind almost goes blank, sheer emotion guiding his voice to spill those sacred words.

"..."

A deadly chill runs up Miguel's spine, his heartbeat quickening and his face blanching when all he can hear from the other end is silence. It extends for only a few seconds, but to Miguel, it's more of three years long.

Instantly, Miguel starts to regret it, a choking, terrible feeling soaking his mind like water traveling up a napkin. He was too forward, too ubrupt-

"Really?"

Miguel virtually chokes on thin air when he hears your voice, hesitant yet hopeful.

"Yeah." Is all he can really say in the moment. He's walking on eggshells with you, near bending over backwards so that he can preserve what love he has left from you.

There's a moment of suspenseful silence, and Miguel almost starts to sweat from how on edge he is.

"Well, I love you too, Miguel."

The biggest, fattest weight is thrown off Miguel's chest, like a dam being burst open. Adoration swells in Miguel's eyes, and a smile creeps up onto his face. You love him!

Though, something in Miguel tells him that he always knew.

"Can you... say it again?" Miguel mutters, still a little embarrassed from the whole ordeal.

His request makes you smile. He's such a boy.

"I love you, Miguelito."

Miguel wants to scream when you finally tell him, resisting every urge to just flip his desk over right then and there. There's an angry blush on his face, and his heart skips a few beats. You're perfect.

"Oh my god, honey, say it again. Please." Miguel sighs, tucking his face into his forearm.

You giggle a little. "Miguel, I have to pick up the food! I'll tell you all you want when I get back, m'kay?"

"...M'kay." Miguel pouts, excitement already building up at the thought of being able to hear your love for him in person. It makes him nervous, a little light to the head at the thought.

"Love you, bye."

Before Miguel has a chance to say anything, you hang up the call, and he's left alone. He's speechless.

Reality slowly starts to trickle in, and Miguel realizes his adorable accomplishment. After nearly a month of holding back his feelings, he finally was able to tell you in person.

It feels amazing, almost like he broke a barrier in your relationship. With Miguel at the peak of the mountain, it's all downhill from here.

He promises to himself that he'll practice telling you how he feels, now that he knows you feel the exact same way. It should get easier over time, he thinks, fantasized about the sweetness, the domesticity of it all.

He's never been more excited to get you back home, eager to smother you with his hands and eat sweet plantains with you.

Miguel's aware he doesn't know how to share his feelings as easily as you do...

but he's working on it.

if anyone is wondering, yes, i switched accounts from my old one, @cosmosis, all of my writings will continue on this blog

© 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒑𝒊𝒂.

[seratopia]

vi x reader blurb - boba (crack, no effort) → no specific pronouns

"honey, do y'wanna try boba?"

her nose crinkles just a little. "boba?"

"yeah! it's like chewy tapioca balls in a sweet drink." you explain, pointing to the cute shop just down the way. she squints at the various visuals of colorful drinks on the window.

before vi could open her mouth, you interfere. "how about i get my order, then you can have a few sips to see if you like it?" you ask, subtly fluttering your eyelashes and tilting you head to the side. how could she say no to that?

you get something simple that you enjoy, in hopes that vi would like it; a taro milk with boba, 75% sweetness.

she said she liked it, so you got her a beginner's boba; just a brown sugar milk tea with pearls (you also sweetened it less because vi doesn't have that much of a sweet tooth)

while you guys were walking down the shopping strip, she kept on swallowing the tapioca pearls whole because she didn't know you were supposed to chew on them LMAOOO

"vi, baby-" you start with a slight side-eye, in which she just turns to you with a naive, cutesy face. "have you been swallowing them whole this whole time?" you ask. she slowly nods, before swallowing another that was in her mouth.

vi watches with genuine confusion as you double over in laughter, wheezing between each breath you let out. there's tears beading at the corner of your eyes, while your girlfriend just confusedly watches you, her gaze peering at the drink.

"you chew the pearls, honey." you explain, and her jaw drops just a little.

"i didn't know!" she exclaims, taking another sip of her drink and thoroughly chewing the boba this time. you playfully elbow her in the side, and she pokes you back.

anyways, i think vi's preference on boba would gravitate towards simplicity. nothing too over-the-top; ngl i feel like she just wouldn't care that much, yk?

imo, she'd get like some kind of fruit-flavored slushie with boba pearls. that's it. maybe a matcha latte to spice things up, but she'd most likely get a boba just because you decided you wanted some yourself you both share drinks at this point, just randomly taking sips out of eachother's whenever you feel like it.

she's just happy to be there with you; she does like egg pudding because i said so

© 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒑𝒊𝒂.

[seratopia]

satoru gojo x reader (smut) → she/her pronouns!

cunnilingus, fingering, squirting (clingy) gojo eats your pussy out on a desk chair until you squirt this is my 1st smut guys don't kill me ; sorry if this is short

In one of Satoru's old tees and a pair of panties, you're cross-legged on top of your swivel desk chair, clacking and tapping at your fancy keyboard. With his long legs spread out across the majority of your little bed, Gojo folds his hands behind his head as he lays down, watching as you tend to a few work things on the monitor.

The way you sit on chairs is peculiar to Satoru; your feet never touch the ground. The entire room is just filled with sounds of your keyboard, the occasional mouse click or scroll here and there.

Satoru pouts, gazing at you intently to see if you'd read his mind. How could you sit there on that desk chair, looking all pretty while doing work? He's right here, needy and eager for the attention you pump him full with. Part of him wants to annoy you; but he wants you to come to him, not the other way around.

In his mind, it's almost like a game, like a contest to see who can ignore each other the longest. You aren't even ignoring him, just paying attention to your monitor screen. Satoru only lasts about 21 minutes before finally deciding to beckon for your attention.

"(Naaaaaaaaame), c'monnn! We should do something!" He whines, dramatically shuffling around in the sheets like a dilapidated shrimp.

"Like whaaaat?" You ask, mimicking his wording. Your face is still glued to the screen, and Satoru pouts. One click, he waits.

He rises from his laying position, crossing his legs and intently glaring at you. "I could take you out! We could pick up daifuku or that taro boba you always like?"

Within your moment of contemplation, Satoru peers at you with a hopeful little smile on his face. You aren't even looking at him. He tries his best to bat his lashes at you, as if that'd persuade you to say yes. As much as you'd like to go out; your calendar has been backed up with too many tasks.

"M'sorry hun, not today. There's stuff I need to do." You admit, tilting your chair just a little bit to meet eye with your boyfriend. The displeased frown on his face is as clear as day, his lips puckered to sulk.

Before you could turn back to your desk, Satoru hysterically flops onto the floor, crawling his way to you in an indescribable manner. You can hear his groans as he makes his way to you, shuffling on his knees until he reaches your chair. He grabs the armrest of your chair, swiveling you around until you look down onto him. His slender fingers trail onto your calves, Satoru boldly resting his head onto one of your legs.

He's lucky he's that pretty.

A few of Satoru's words are muffled by the flesh of your leg; you can feel his mouth move as incoherent messages are spouted to you. With an amused smile on your face, you run your fingers through his silken hair. You're always amazing how pale and crystalline it is.

"What is it?"

He sighs, peering up at you. "I'm just so boreddddughh-"

Satoru moves to nuzzle your calves at first, indulgently nipping at them as you pet his hair. It's borderline satisfactory, but you're just adding fuel to the fire.

He hums, a sentiment of boldness slowly persuading him to do more. As he makes his way up your leg, he starts getting more eager. The warmth of his breath on your skin gets hotter, and you can sense a sudden change in the air.

"I gotta work, Satoru-" You can't believe how it easy it was for him to tease you like this. Satoru notices the wet patch growing on the cloth of your panties, knowingly peering to meet your eye.

For once, he peers upward, meeting eye with you from where he kneels on the ground. There's a hunger you can see in his gaze, and you wonder how his sense of boredom disappeared so quickly. One minute he's whining about mochi and the next, he's trying to suck on your thigh.

A rather brash bite snaps you out of your thinking, the work on your screen soon being forgotten to your boyfriend. You see the indent of his teeth on your inner thigh, where you frown at him. He meets you with a cheeky smile on his face, like a cat that got the cream.

"Can I, please? Please, honey?" Satoru begs, dragging a singular finger across your leg. It sends a little shiver to your spine, tipping you just over the edge. With your work literally behind you, your concern is pulled onto Satoru.

Satoru looks at you, innocently, as if he's already won his reward.

"Fine." You mutter, peering down at him with half-lidded eyes.

With a satisfactory purr, he slips his fingers under the elastic band of your underwear, eagerly sliding them off in the same way he would unwrap a treat. Carelessly, he flings them to the ground. At least he didn't rip them, this time.

You take it upon yourself to give him easier access, lifting your (his) baggy shirt over your lower tummy. You part your legs as far as the chair will allow, giving Satoru a proper viewing of your cunt. Satoru looks a little too excited when you finally grant him permission, immediately rushing in to take an experimental lick.

"Hold on." You mumble, quickly shoving him away by his forehead. Satoru whines, disappointingly trying to make another dive towards your folds. You push his head back again, scooting yourself up on the chair. A bit of slick slowly drips onto the chair cushion as you maneuver your calves upward, allowing yourself to rest each calf onto their respective armrests. You're all ready, presenting your wet cunt to him.

Now, Satoru can finally dig in.

Slotting his palms onto the backs of your thighs, Satoru starts out with a brief kiss to your clit. His cock twitches when he feels you flinch against his lips, teasing you once again by lewdly swiping his tongue across your most sensitive parts.

Your boyfriend shamelessly moans into your cunt, his boxers growing to feel too tight around his crotch as he slips his tongue deep inside you. You see the imprint of his dick on his thigh. You let out a slight pant of embarrassment as Satoru practically uses your wetness as lip gloss, carelessly smearing across the majority of his mouth.

"Y'taste-" He lets out a tiny gasp. "-really good. Oh-"

You like to think that's a lie whenever you hear it, but the muffled moans you hear from below are telling you otherwise. It's hard to believe you taste like anything other than sweets to Satoru when all he's doing is slurping you up like there's no tomorrow.

You can tell when Satoru starts to pump his cock as soon as he releases his grip from one of your thighs, trailing down his abdomen to fish his hand into his boxers. He licks you up in a rhythmic pattern, moving between your clit and your inner walls with ease.

You sigh in relief as Satoru eventually stops to take a break, watching strings of your juices drip down his lower face. With your cunt sensitive, you squeal in surprise when your boyfriend swipes a hand over your folds, using your wetness as lube to start pumping his cock.

Immediately after, Satoru returns to your clit, swirling the tip of his tongue around it until you start pulsating again. Seconds progress, and his muffled little groans get louder and louder, sending a lingering warmth to your cheeks. Past Satoru's head, you could see the patch of spit and slick growing on the chair cushion. One particular lick from him has you squealing, frantically trying to close your legs as you pulsate around Satoru's tongue.

You can barely register when your boyfriend slips his tongue out of your little cunt, removing his hand from his cock. The finger he abruptly slides into you forces a mewl out of your mouth, your boyfriend slowly beginning to pump more of his fingers in and out of you with ease.

"So loose for me, hm? You like that? Yeah?" Satoru pants, giggling when he hears another moan from you. You can only nod in response.

It seems as though Satoru knows exactly where your g-spot is with the way the tips of his fingers seem to curl and twist when he reaches your deepest parts. Something inside you starts to twist, forming a knot in your lower tummy.

Just when it couldn't get better, Satoru leans down to your cunt once more, making rounds of licks against your slit whilst pumping his fingers deep inside you. The double stimulation is euphoric, sending a new wave of tension to your lower stomach.

Your boyfriend smiles when he starts to hear your moans becoming more frantic, more loud. Your head tilts back a little, your body subconsciously trying to thrust harder onto his fingers as your toes curl in on themselves. You're about to cum; he can tell.

Satoru thankfully speeds up as your climax starts to build, shoving more fingers in and out of our as his cock desperately twitches for your attention. His slurps and licks start to become messier, blurring out your mind of any thought. You can't even imagine how the chair looks anymore.

"Satoru, I think m'gonna cum- m'gonna cum!" You squeal, slightly arching your back and gripping the back of his head tighter as Satoru frantically laps up your cunt.

The one deep, final curl of his fingers into your sweet spot has you pushed just over the edge. All at once, your release sends you squirting out onto the chair, high moans spilling from your lips as you drench Satoru's face with your insides. Your g-spot is almost like a button to press, your boyfriend rubbing and pressing at the gummiest spot of your walls just to make you squirt harder.

Your eyes practically roll to the back of your head as you moan, the high pleasure of your climax sending your pussy pulsing and twitching from the friction.

"No more, no more! Please!" You wail.

"Hm? What's that? You want more, honey?"

Satoru is such a tease, nibbling where your clit is the most sensitive as you ride out your orgasm on his fingers. Your cunt twitches, borderline reaching the brink between pain and pleasure. The look on your face is priceless, the way your jaw hangs open and your eyes stay closed. Satoru can never get enough; that's his most favorite face on you.

After a few moments slumped against the chair, your finally open your eyes, seeing your boyfriend's dazed expression. There's this permanent smile on his face, his eyes lewd with satisfaction like a really smug cat. He looks waaay too pleased with himself, slick smeared over the lower half of his face.

The chair is a mess, the biggest puddle of slick, spit, and sweat left behind where your hips lay rested against the spongy cushion.

"What about you?" You ask. "You didn't cum, did you?"

Satoru shakes his head. "No. Came on my shorts a few times."

"A few?"

He nods.

You slowly position your calves off of each armrest, a shudder rolling through your thighs as your bare pussy presses against the chair. You sit on it like a normal person would, inspecting the aftermath of the action. The chair is ruined anyways.

Satoru wasn't lying when he said 'a few times'; his cock's laid limp against his thigh, dribbles of cum sprayed across his abs and clothed thighs. It's good to know that he (really) enjoyed himself.

"You liked it that much, huh?" You ask, and Satoru presses a kiss to your inner thigh.

"Mhm; loved it."

You can feel the warmth of his cheeks on top of your thighs, the slightest flutter of his long eyelashes as he hums with satisfaction. You slide your fingers through his snowy hair, glowing after your climax. However, your hand comes to a pause when you feel a warm lick across your upper thigh.

"Lemme clean you up, honey. Can't let all this go to waste, hm?"

© 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒑𝒊𝒂.

[seratopia]

miguel o'hara x reader (fluff) - nerdy college miguelito → she/her pronouns!

inspired by this image of him! glasses = smart

He's the sexiest mf with glasses because i said so

So intelligent! As per usual, I see him in an engineering or biochem major. Maybe statistics, or computer science minor. He's a bit of a nerd, the type that is just naturally brilliant; always asking creative questions in class. Babbles to you about his topics as a form of studying/affection; get good grades and keep his partner company.

He seems like the type that can easily learn and reteach information to you. He's a rare case where study dates actually work; you guys get so much work done.

Does that thing where he scrunches his nose to adjust his glasses. "Miguel, you're gonna get wrinkles if you do that." You remark, finishing the last of your Humanities discussion post. "So you do care for me?" Miguel smirks, tapping his pen against the table. "Just saying, you'll look 40 by the time you reach 30."

His Google Calendar is a crowded mess; at least four tasks per day, constant due dates to keep up with, he tries to save time for weekends.

Let's talk fashion! The sweatshirt he has on in the drawing has me on my knees. I'd love him in sweatshirts, straight leg jeans, big black puffer jacket, THOSE HALF-ZIP SWEATSHIRTS SO YOU CAN SEE A LITTLE BIT OF COLLARBONE, compression shirts on lucky days, possibly cargo pants??? Sometimes you guys match fits! If you dress up, he'll understand the assignment.

Carries around a black backpack, just with a laptop and an extra notebook. Hydrates with a HUGE water bottle. Keeps hairties, lip balm, and pain meds around in case you need them. (You do, often.)

College Miggy doesn't seem like the type to participate in Greek Life; he's there to get his education, start a step ahead in his career. Plus, he's too tired to go partying anyway.

It'd be super cute if y'all lived together; a dorm-to-apartment kind of thing. After your relationship's been serious for a while, you move in, sharing a room with Miguel just so you guys can split costs.

Miguel takes early morning classes, I can tell. Greets you on most days with a palm to your stomach, little kisses from behind. He latches onto you for warmth on chillier days, groaning and whining about not wanting to get up in the morning. "Mig, just go to class-" "Mmph, no." Miguel groans, ghosting his lips to the shell of your ear. He shuffles around in the bed, smothering and stealing your body of warmth. "M'cold!" You whine, Miguel's hands sneaking up your shirt.

YOU ARE the passenger princess in this AU, m'kay? (I can't drive-) Miguel, if he is available, will drive you anywhere! Class, mall, farmers market, coffee shop, etc. Ends up just tagging along with you most of the time. You think he's sexy when he's driving (because he is), slots his hand to your upper thigh like it's his birthright.

Most of the time, y'all are in your own little world; no participation in drama, celebrating each other's successes with a trip to a restaurant. Nothing else really matters when you're got both grades and each other to worry about.

Within the rare occasion that you guys share a class, y'all are on the same page. Working together, filling each other in on missing gaps, quizzing each other on tests; its great. Of course, you receive a high A. I feel like he'd be the type to randomly quiz or test you on something in the class. "Prophase vs. Anaphase? You playfully roll your eyes, continuing to stir your coffee.

Where do y'all think he'd work? I'd say paid internship or somewhere tech-y ykwim? He wouldn't really work at a cafe or campus store.

Oh my gosh what if he was rich!!!!! What if he spoils you with good food and well-thought out date nights? Elevating your relationship as a couple <333 WHAT IF HE PAYS YOUR TUITION!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Ugh best man best man

© 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒑𝒊𝒂.

[seratopia]

miguel o'hara x reader (fluff) - needles

modern au!

→ she/her pronouns!

miguel needs to hold your hand while getting a flu shot anti-vaxxers beware! this cup of tea isn't yours to drink

It has come to your attention that Miguel doesn't regularly go to the doctor.

Are you surprised? No. Your husband is unfortunately infamous for have zero sense of self care, staying in his office for literal days at a time, eating the bare minimum on some occasions, etc.

Although you aren't his mom in any way, you wouldn't be a good wifey if you didn't at least care for him. You try your best to remind him to take breaks, bringing him a hefty platter of food from the cafeteria whenever you're off.

Miguel always appreciates it, though your presence seems to be more healing than the gestures themselves. You always find him greeting you with a big hand rubbing circles into your back, or a quick kiss to the forehead.

It wasn't until Miguel told you he hasn't been to the doctor in about four years that you decided to take full action. After bribing him with kisses and date night at your place, Miguel reluctantly agreed for you to take him to the doctor.

Miguel seemed a little tense in the office, you think the scent of rubbing alcohol was unusual to him. The two of you joked around here and there while waiting, though most of it was just you teasing him for his lack of doctor's visits.

The actual checkup was short-lived; as you suspected, Miguel was mostly healthy (physically). He keeps on muscle, does cardio almost everyday, and you make sure to keep vegetables and proteins on his plates.

"Sir, have you gotten this year's flu shot?"

The question makes your husband freeze in place, and you think he tenses up more than necessary.

"No."

You peer at him questionably, noticing his frozen state.

"Well, would you like to now? We have the shots available, all you need is to sign paperwork."

Words seems to want to spill out of Miguel's mouth, but he seems too flabbergasted to speak. Quickly, you place your hand on his arm, smoothing it down.

"Can we discuss this together in private? We'll have an answer when you come back." You say, and the doctor nods, grabbing their stack of papers and stepping out of the small room.

As soon as the door shuts, you turn to Miguel, who stares shyly off to the side. There's the faintest hint of pink on his cheeks, which you fight the urge to chuckle at.

"What's wrong, Mig?" You ask, taking his hand.

Miguel scratches the back of his neck, running an awkward hair through his chestnut hair. You spot him lick his lips a few times.

"Amor, I'm embarrassed to say..."

You raise an eyebrow, and Miguel sighs, peering to the ground.

"I'm scared of needles."

You can't help but let out the biggest sigh of relief, thankful that your husband wasn't against vaccines or anything like that. (why not talk about these things before getting married, hm?)

You pat his arm, taking his bigger hand and pressing a kiss to his knuckle.

"It's okay, Mig. How long has it been since your last shot?"

"You'll be mad at me if I tell you." He mumbles, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles.

"Tell me."

After a moment of silence, Miguel spills. "Six years."

Your eyes immediately widen, your mouth gaping open. A gasp sputters out of you, and Miguel almost seems to curl more into his comically tinier seat.

"Honey- now you have to get those shots!" You whine.

"No lovie, please. I hate it..." Miguel groans, lightly shaking your hands for emphasis. "It scares me..." He seems to turn away like a pouty child, averting your gaze.

You sigh, leaning against your chair for some sort of divine plan with your lips pursed.

"We can do it together, y'know? I haven't gotten mine yet." You offer.

When your husband hears 'together' he whirls around in his seat, his chocolate eyes brightening only the slightest bit. You almost want to giggle at the sight of his excitement, seeing his back straighten.

"You can hold my hand, hug me, do whatever you'd like." You offer teasingly, just to sweeten the deal up. The things you do for your husbands health.

The clock on the wall seems to tick as you watch Miggy in his seat, thinking for a moment about the makeshift deal. His foot is tapping, but he still seems meek. You glimmer your best 'please get your vaccinations baby' face one, fluttering your eyelashes half-jokingly.

Reluctantly, Miguel says yes, but you think it's because you flirted with him a bit.

The doctor arrives 5 minutes later with paperwork to fill just in case, which you willingly fill out. Miguel, on the other hand; you can see his obvious unease in the way his back stiffens.

You try to comfort him with a few pats to his thigh. It's very rare to see Miguel like this, you feel like usually it's you who's nervous, which Miguel is the one who goes out of his way to comfort you. Today, you can feel what it's like to be in Miguel's shoes, and be able to return the favor in the slightest.

The needles are brought in on top of a crystalline plastic tray, along with alcohol wipes, band-aids, and cotton balls. The sight of the vaccines sends Miguel racing for you touch, gripping your hand as tight as a woman in labor.

As the nurse prepares for your turn, you roll your sleeve up, trying to appear as much of a role model as you can for your husband. Miguel can't help himself from sliding his hand onto your back; an instinct he can't restrain. (a reference to my earlier works hehehe)

With your relaxed arms, the shot is over as soon as it started. You were lucky to have a good nurse, they went through the procedure insanely quickly. It was funny for you to watch Miguel tense up for you, his hand jolting on your back.

"All done!" The nurse happily exclaims, already on the move for Miguel's turn. He frantically reaches for your hand, subconsciously pulling you into him. You giggle a little as Miguel hesitantly rolls up his polo shirt sleeve, all the while he pins himself to your side.

Miguel turns to you, whispering in your ear to lighten the mood of his obvious anxiety.

"I'm kinda scared, lovie." He mutters, squeezing your hand once.

You nod. "I know, Mickey. But, it'll be over really quickly."

"Are you sure? I have two."

You smooth your hand down the veins of his arm. "Yes, at the most, it'll be a little pinch. I think you've felt worse pain anyway."

He sighs. "Yeah, like the guy we had to kick out of the office."

You chuckle into your hand, squeezing his hand tighter.

"Pfft, I know. He was so mean."

For a split second, Miguel eyes the nurse, flickering his gaze back to you. He leans into your ear, making it clear that he has something to say privately.

"Does prep take this long?"

You can't keep yourself from smiling. "They're already done!"

Your husband's mouth runs agape, and his head swerves back to his shoulder, complete with two circular band-aids. The nurse is just there, peeling off their gloves onto the tray.

"I didn't even feel it." He says, half-shocked.

You both give your thanks to the nurse, who gives you the full clear to leave. You cheer, standing up to give yourself a quick stretch.

"You're supposed to rub it, y'know?" You say, Miguel opening the door for the both of you. His hand lingers on your nape, guiding you through the hallways of the doctor's office.

"Whad'you mean by rub?"

You start kneading your shoulder where the shot was, rubbing it in circles.

"You gotta rub it so it spreads the medicine around."

Your husband nods, placing his hand on your shoulder behind you. He starts gingerly rubbing your band-aid clad arm, rubbing it too gently in circles like he would your back. You aren't surprised when he presses a kiss to the top of your head, resting his chin up top your head as you walk to the car.

"Not me! You!" You exclaim, Miguel retracting away his hands with a frown.

© 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒑𝒊𝒂.

[seratopia]

hobie brown x reader (fluff) - uninvited → she/her pronouns!

hobie likes visiting you through your window

He likes to climb through your window unannounced; a very spiderman-esque entrance. Sometimes you keep that window locked, but after you found out that Hobie can just pick at it, you just decided to leave it open. A wordless invitation for him.

It happens too often, whether it'd be for you to patch him up, maybe to show you a song he's been working on, or just to cuddle up to you, Hobie enjoys your company. You scold him for it, but at the end of the day, he just kisses the top of your head, knowing you aren't actually mad.

As far as you know, Hobie's only revealed his true identity to you. Sometimes you see him sling through the city, guitar glued to his back and his iconic spikes on full display. Too many times he's sent you a wink, or he blows you a kiss midair.

Tumbling through your window, again, he yanks off this spider-mask, shaking his head back and forth to let his hair air out. You see the scratches on this favorite vest, the barely-visible bruise against his cheekbone. His posture's the slightest bit hunched over, a representative of his exhaustion.

His face says it all, purple eye bags and a disgruntled expression.

"I'll go get the stuff." You automatically say, rising from your squeaky swivel chair.

"No, no, stay with me, hun." Hobie begs, already reaching to stroke at your fingers.

"You sure?"

He nods once, gingerly guiding you towards him by your wrist, his heart rate's still up, part of him still panting a little from what you assume to be a fight.

"What do you want, then?" You ask, letting him touch you for the time being.

Hobie shrugs, his various spikes and pins clinking as he does. "I'm not allowed t'spend time with my babe?" He half asks, raising an eyebrow.

Hobie slings his guitar over his head, somewhat gently tossing onto the floor of your bedroom. Slyly, he stakes a few steps backwards, landing into your bed with a 'thump.' He slots his palms behind his head, shutting his eyes.

Awkwardly, you just stand in the middle of your room, confusedly gazing at him. There's an awkward silences before Hobie raises his head a little, peering back at you.

The teen blooms open arms to you, beckoning you closer with grabby hands.

"C'mere. Right on top." He mutters.

"Aren't you hurt, though?"

"S'fine, just want you here."

Reluctantly, you slot your knee onto the mattress of your bed, gingerly climbing onto him to the best of your ability. His hands press you down into his chest, snaking down to the small of your back.

You hear the tiniest pained groan from him, and you immediately recoil back, supporting some of your body weight with an arm on the bed. The boy adjusts his decorated vest away from his chest, so what's left is just the smooth fabric of his over-shirt.

Wordlessly, Hobie brings a ringed hand to the back of your head, pushing your cheek down onto his chest.

"Am I too heavy?" You mumble, and he tucks his chin onto the crown of your head. You can hear his heartbeat, now a little slower.

"No." He replies, indulgently rubbing circles into your back. Slightly, you feel the studs of his heavy belt over your hips, the dulled spikes of his cuffs across your back.

You've almost become accustomed to it, memorizing the layout of his various accessories on your body.

A moment of silences passes, where Hobie just rubs your back, and you can smell the city on him.

"Who was it this time?" You ask, gently adjusting your head up a bit. You rest your forearms across his chest, just so that you can take a good look at his structured face. Hobie sees the dull pain in your eyes when you gently run your fingers across his bruised cheekbone, raising an eyebrow.

"What do you mean?"

"It was a bad guy, right?"

A smile suddenly breaks into Hobie's face, and now you're confused.

"No, sweets. Had a concert today." He chuckles, petting your hair back.

"Then how'd you get those?" You ask, slotting your head back down onto his heartbeat.

"Did a stage dive."

"Oh."

Hobie chuckles, reminiscing the wild events of the concert; a stage dive, some screaming, even a bra being thrown at him. It was loud, but exhilarating, sent adrenaline through his body.

You've only heard word about Hobie's shows; he'd tell you about the people he'd meet, who he hates and loves, and occasionally his political motivations.

"Y'should come sometime... I'll introduce you to the rest of the crew" He mumbles, and your heart flutters just a little.

The idea of it swirls in your head like a burst of pixie dust; it'd be so sweet to watch him up on that stage. He'd drag you up there just to kiss you silly, lights flashing and punk rock falling to a blur as his hands divot into your lower back.

It makes you giddy just thinking about it, and Hobie can tell.

"You like that? Hm?" Hobie smirks. "How 'bout tomorrow? Wales?" He asks, a small smile on his face. He stares at you expectantly, and you trace small shapes onto his shirt.

"Sure. What's the dress code?"

"That cute top and those jeans, hm?" Hobie suggests into your hair and you playfully roll your eyes.

"I know you rolled your eyes just now." He says, pinching at your side.

You slap his hand away, yelping. "No I didn't."

"Yes y'did."

...to be continued

© 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒑𝒊𝒂.

[seratopia]

donatello x reader (fluff?) - random headcannons

this list has been piling up, these are more general

No matter how much y'all say it, I don't think his love language would be physical touch. Donnie seems too awkward to return hugs or kisses, but nonetheless still notices/appreciates them when you do it. Instead, I feel like he'd opt for acts of service instead. Like, fixing your glasses, showing you cool features on your laptop, creating a custom chat interface for you two.

He lets you borrow that purple hoodie

You hear "Erm akshually-" alot lmaooooo ; he often infodumps the most random shit to you, you've become accustomed to listening to him.

Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if he's slightly into LOA stuff (Law of Attraction). It's canon that he listens to positive self-affirmations while he sleeps, so maybe that's a thing for him idk

Steals your eyebrow pencil to fill in his brows for the day. It'd be cool to see him into makeup.

Plays SO MANY games holy shit, has tried everything on Steam.

Obviously he has Discord, no questions asked. Organizes his servers into neat, purple folders. He only uses dark mode, he hisses if he ever sees light mode. Also knows how to make and works servers very well; likes making embeds and such for fun.

^^ On top of this, he probably has a lot of online friends; he doesn't need to show his face or reveal his identity. I see him staying up really late, playing random games at 2 AM on a Discord call.

Very very techy; uses Linux, built his own PC, set up the lair's wifi router too. The brothers come to him all the time for help on their tech fixes, mainly on Nintendo Switch.

My boy is CHRONICALLY ONLINE, he definitely knows all those niche internet songs. He gives me weird kid vibes, like The Living Tombstone, Rat by Penelope Scott, dare I say a little bit of Miku?

He knows the FNAF lore

Secretly shops at Hot Topic from time to time. I'm seeing graphic tees, maybe a studded bracelet? He walks in and the employees are like, "Dude, nice cosplay."

CAFFEINE! Mostly relies on coffee, doesn't like Starbucks that much, and he has tried Monster before. Monster is like a last resort for him, like he's working on a project he MUST finish for his sanity.

Also, I feel like he has fucked up teeth idk. Like, how the hell would Splinter be able to afford dental care for not one, but four teens? Braces too, not only are they expensive, but inaccessible to mutants.

He needs glasses, just often refuses to wear them

Never, ever truly gets angry or mad. But when he does, its rare and it's kinda scary ngl

© 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒑𝒊𝒂.

[seratopia]

vi x reader (fluff) - modern au pt. 1 → she/her pronouns!

vi taking you home after you get drunk read part 2 here

Could someone have slipped something in your drink? Possibly.

Your head doesn't spin the way it does when you're usually drunk; your body feels weird, something in your gut bubbles and pulsates with discomfort as you drag yourself out of the bar.

Bile teases at your throat as the dim lights of the sign melt together, you can't seem to look straight. The door opens, and the chilly air rings you dry of any warmth; you shouldn't have worn that mini dress tonight.

As you miserably shiver, the churn in your stomach threatens to rise. Your tight dress doesn't help, adding to the heavy weight of discomfort. You barely make it around the corner of the bar before hurling your insides onto the pavement.

People say you feel better after you throw up; you don't. Sweat beads against your forehead, your vision starting to blur with the tears that prick at your eyes. You gag like a sick cat against the brick wall of the pub, but nothing seems to improve your feeling. Crouching, you unload your dinner to the ground.

When you come to the conclusion that someone spiked your drink, fear starts to settle to your mind. Through the warped lens of your thinking, you start to come up with scary hypothetical, praying there wouldn't be a man waiting just a few feet away for you to pass out.

You can't come home in this state, tripping and babbling in your heel-clad feet. It's too late to call for a friend to pick you up; your phone is dead anyway. You feel like the epitome of shit.

It takes everything in your power to keep your eyes open, drool trickling down your chin as you crouch to the ground. Your fingertips start to lose feeling, and you barely register the presence behind you. It could be a man, a man who could try to drug you. A man who could drag you to his house.

A shadow you can barely see from the corner of your eye. Delayed panic settles in, and you try your best to scoot away.

"You okay?"

The most gigantic, cold wave of relief washes over when you realize it's a woman, or at least, not a man. Your heart rate still beats heavily from the genuine fear you felt a few mere seconds ago, making you shake. Your feet ache from crouching for so long, the balls of your feet pulsating with a dull pain.

A big, warm hand kindly slides onto your back, soothing you down as you gag a few times into the ground. Their touch, slowly drags you back to reality, gentle and caring. Their voice, a kind contrast against the feelings churning in your gut.

You can barely even speak, instead you just shake your head. They rub circles into your back, crouching right beside you to treat you up close.

"You're shaking, sweets."

You are, shaken by the cold, the fear of a potential kidnapper. When she places a hand on your arm, you can feel another gag rise to your throat. This time, it's a dry heave. You think you've thrown up the remains of what you had to drink tonight.

Kindly, she drapes a jacket over your shoulders, and you notice her running off from the corner of your eye. Hopefully, you think, she'll come back soon. Strangely, the scent of her jacket lulls you to consciousness, almost like a transparent hug to your restless gut.

Your vomiting settles aside, and a few moments later you can hear rushed footsteps return to your side. Another hand on your back, she crouches beside you again, pushing a chilled bottle of water into your blurred line of vision.

You lick your bitter lips, mouth thirsting for the absolute best looking water you've ever seen in your life. She's a literal angel, you decide.

"You gotta take a few sips, yeah?" You hear her mutter, watching as she twists the cap open with those nice hands.

With a shaky hand, you try your best to aim the bottle towards your lips. She helps you, gently tipping the water so you could finally drink. Cold water rushes down your throat, almost cleansing your insides of whatever you choked down earlier. The water is healing; dragging an awareness of your surroundings back to earth.

You feet still hurt, you're still shaky, but nonetheless you feel almost ten times better than you did a few seconds ago.

"Better, right?" She asks, sweetly petting your back. You nod, throat scratchy and sore. Her jacket is warm, it soothes your nerves.

After taking a few coordinated breaths, you try your hardest to open your mouth to speak.

"Sorry. I think... I think someone put something in my drink...."

You sound like absolute death, you can only imagine how you look right now. You feel kind of bad, a random stranger witnessing you whilst you heave your late dinner onto the sidewalk.

"Shhh, it's okay. I won't let them take you." She mutters, a little closer to your ear than you expected. The pats on your back feel nice, you don't want her to stop.

You let out a shaky sigh. "I... I need to get back home. Phone's dead."

From your peripheral vision, you see her nod, before craning her back and forth.

"My place is closer, you can stay the night if you want. How about that, hm?"

She sounds so kind, so gentle you fight the urge to cry right there on the spot. You nod, your bottom lip quivering with relief. Tonight has been the worst, and this person just lifted two tons of worry off of your shoulders.

You nod, barely turning your head to meet your savior. "I'd like that."

In turn, she nods, and you're met with a blurry outline of pink hair. She slots her hand around your waist, slinging your own arm over her shoulders as she links her other hand to yours.

"Can you stand for me, sweets?"

Ugh, with that tone? You might as well run ten miles in your current state. You nod once more, trying your best to ignore the now pulsating pain in your ankles.

When you slowly stand, she does too, aligning her body with yours as you pull yourself to your feet. She has to crouch a little to meet your height, easily carrying a portion of your body weight with her shoulders. How she lifts you with ease sends butterflies (the good kind) to your stomach.

"Let's go home, I'll take care of you."

Her words lull you to a state of safety. The two of you slowly but surely limp towards the stranger's apartment, turning the corner to a complex nearby the bar.

When you finally arrive at her flat, she skillfully manages to unlock the door, keeping her hold on you as she kicks the door open with her boot. It's dark, you can barely make out what seems to be a kitchen, as well as a TV. As she flips on the light switch, warm light flickers into her living room, exposing a couch that catches your attention.

You have to blink a few times to adjust your vision to the light. Everything is far better than you'd anticipated. She doesn't seem like a creep; everything is clean and no sign of anything strange.

The woman eases you onto the couch, treating you with a tenderness you've never been met with before. It's literally the best couch ever, you sink into the cushions with a sigh.

Everything is just a blur, like a smudge on someone's glasses. The woman rushes off again, supposedly to her bedroom as you maneuver your hands onto yourself.

Eventually, she comes back, dressed into more comfortable clothing. You still have her jacket on, it smells just like her home. Just before you can convince yourself to fall asleep, she rubs you awake. On a small coffee table, lay Advil, a glass of ice water, and what appears to be some folded clothes.

"Take one." She says, kneeling to the floor to meet your eye. She hands you a pill, the glass of water in the other.

You finally get to see her properly for the first time, in lighting that illuminates her face. In a way, she looks exactly as her voice sounds, at least in your opinion. You notice the tiny tattoo underneath her eye, pink hair swooped to one side.

Weakly sitting yourself up, you first take the water, gulping down a few more sips to wash the bile out of your system. The Advil comes second, and you wash it down with more water for good measure.

At this point, you're just tired, ready to knock out on this heavenly couch with her jacket around your shoulders and heels still hanging on your feet.

"I've got some pajamas here." She says, patting a pair of plaid pants and a grey t-shirt. "Need help changing?"

"No." You mutter, already sliding her jacket off your body. You pray your little dress doesn't have any vomit on it, that'd be embarrassing. When your vision finally starts to stabilize, you sit up. Taking it easy, you politely pull your heels off your feet, biting down a sigh as your ankles get a chance to rest on the soft carpet.

"Clothes'll be here." She says, and she gets up to leave the living room, treating you to a moment of privacy. In the warm light, you gaze at her shoulders as she walks away, staring at the tattoos littering her arms.

When she's gone, you clumsily manage to pull the zipper off your dress, changing yourself into the stranger's clothes. Her PJ's are a size too large for you, but you find it hard to care when you're met with comfy clothes.

Though thankful, it feels weird for you to be in her apartment; allowing yourself to her couch, her clothes, her water. You wonder if she regularly does this; magically swooping drunk girls off the streets of Zaun.

Rubbing your eyes, she comes back with perfect timing, possessing a pack of baby wipes in one hand, a pack of dried cranberries in her other.

You can't resist from staring at her face, admiring how structured she seems. Your purse and dress on the floor, she peels open the baby wipe cover.

"I don't have makeup wipes, sorry. Don't keep them around since I don't need them."

The way she scratches the back of her neck feels sinfully attractive. Everything about her is attractive really; letting you into her house, being so considerate as to give you baby wipes for your crusty makeup.

"Thank you."

Your lids heavy, you take a baby wipe and close your eyes, smearing off your face to the best of your ability. It feels relieving in a way, wiping off potentially runny mascara or splotchy concealer.

With your face bare, you yawn, the woman crouching with a handful of cranberries.

"Eat some, sweets. It'll make the meds work faster."

She smiles when she tells you, lulling a handful to you. Shaking your head, you rub your eyes, letting out another huge yawn.

"I'm fine, I just... I just wanna sleep. Thank you though, I appreicate it."

"You sure?" She asks, and you nod with your lids half closed. She dumps the handful into her mouth, chewing as you lay back down.

Her legs crossed on the ground, she brushes your hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear with her finger.

"Never got to know your name, hm?" She mumbles, and you almost fall asleep on the spot.

"It's (name)."

"(name), cool. You can call me Vi." She mutters, smoothing her hand onto your arm.

After a lengthy pause, you crack your eyes open one last time.

"Thanks for letting me stay... Think I would've gotten into big trouble if you weren't there."

Her smile warms you from the heart. She shoves another handful of craisins into her mouth.

"Anything for a pretty girl."

You can't believe you find yourself getting flustered when you feel like you just got ran over by a truck. You close your eyes, ready to fall to bed.

"A pretty girl throwing her guts up at a bar." You correct, and she chuckles. You face melts down to a still, content expression, back finally settled to a state of rest.

After a while, you can't tell if she's by you anymore. You're too tired to find out, too tired to care if she's there anymore.

Vi doesn't leave the living room until you're knocked out cold, tiny breaths let out of your nose as you slumber on her couch. You're pretty, pretty even while you're experiencing the worst. Before she leaves, she gently slings a blanket over you, staring at your still face for a moment longer than she should.

Vi leaves the living room, switching the lights off to sleep in her bedroom.

to be continued...

© 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒑𝒊𝒂.

[seratopia]

miguel o'hara !%

→﹢oneshots

miguel calls because he misses you miguel gets jealous miguel likes rubbing your back (lmao) ”where’s my super-suit?“ (crack, no effort) you can’t sleep without miguel the first time miguel says he loves you miguel doesn't want you to get out of bed miguel is scared of needles nerdy, college boyfriend miguel

→﹢modern ceo au miguel

secretary wont let you through the building to visit miguel at work  miguel being so touchy that someone asks if he’s been assaulting you 💀💀 miguel sends you a text while drunk at a bar miguel needs to hold your hand while getting flu shots

© 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒑𝒊𝒂.