robot!character cautiously opening their panels after you mentioned a curiosity to see inside them. your fingers probing around motors and metal plates to brush delicately along colourful tangles of wires. murmuring, "you need better cable management," as a joke and tugging on a bright red one. expecting to hear their usual laugh in response but instead comes a harsh, broken moan smeared in static as though your fingers are interfering with their ability to even think.
gojo loooves pouting around you, especially when you’re not giving him enough attention
Satoru is bored out of his mind.
Tangling with the harsh scribble of chalk on a blackboard, Yaga's monotonous drone goes in one ear and right out the other. Hair raises on Satoru's arms at the unpleasant scrape of another diagram he can't be bothered to glance at, and he gave up on even pretending he's listening to the old man about thirty minutes ago. Not that Yaga seems to care, if his uninterrupted stream of consciousness is anything to go by.
And yet, for some inane reason, you seem to be actually paying attention.
Not feigning the act of a good student—not nodding along while you play some puzzle game under the desk like Satoru can see Shoko doing right now—but genuinely noting down whatever useless bullshit Yaga is spouting (read: teaching) this afternoon.
Sure, some of Yaga's lessons are valuable. Most notably, the ones he conducts in the field—you know, time where they get to use their techniques and splatter some unfortunate curse's insides across concrete. But these long days of academic prison aren't Satoru's ideal. Which isn't to say they're not his forte, because they are, and he can do anything he puts his mind to—which is exactly why he doesn't put his mind to just anything. It's just... there's only so far theory is going to get you in the world of sorcerers.
So Satoru cannot fathom why you are hunched over your notebook, all shrimp-like and annoyingly focused, nor why Satoru can't look away. Through the classroom windows, streams of sunlight slice the room into warm segments, and one of them curls around your cheek with enough devotion that Satoru finds himself glaring at electromagnetic radiation, of all the fucking things to turn his ire to.
Case in point: Yaga is still goddamned talking.
A segment of hair slips free from your tie, over your jaw and in front of your eyes like a curtain. You huff, clearly noticing but too focused on Yaga's words for it to register as real annoyance, and blow upwards. It sways, before falling back into your vision.
There's a heartbeat where Satoru thinks you may ignore it, your hand flying across your page to keep up with the old man's ramblings. Then, you're dropping your pen, tucking the hair behind your ear, and pinching your nose bridge—the slow beginnings of a headache forming, Satoru knows, because you always do that. Rub at the spot between your eyebrows as though it will dissuade the oncoming pain long enough to finish class and lie down.
Like you sense Satoru's attention, you shoot him a sideways glance, fingers still massaging your forehead. You raise an eyebrow.
"What?" you mouth silently.
Satoru doesn't straighten from where he's strewn over his desk; cheek smushed against his bicep, one arm crossed, the other splayed so far out his long fingers dangle in the air. You take his lazy posture in with a small roll of your eyes, and Satoru finds himself preening, especially when you pair the action with a quirk of your lips.
"Pay attention," Satoru mouths back, delighting in your outraged expression as you gesture violently to him.
There are very few things Satoru takes such pleasure in as seeing the angry spark of indignation in your sun-kissed eyes. Most people find it difficult to meet his piercing blue gaze, but his shades have slipped down his nose and you find no qualm in glaring at him head-on. It's something Satoru has always respected you for. Not that he'd ever say that to you, of course.
Then, as though you know obeying his word will be what truly annoys him, you do. Turning back to face Yaga, a hand picks up your pen and resumes your frantic note-taking. Satoru's lips purse while he watches your mind quickly sink back into the lesson, like Satoru's disturbance is already forgotten.
Is he truly so forgettable?
Surely not.
But he does turn the idea over in his head, chewing on his bottom lip while the sun dips behind a cloud and the warm touch slips from your cheek. It's a curious concept, the bearer of Six Eyes being someone so easily ignored.
Yet, some part of you must still notice Satoru, because without pausing the motions of your pen, you kick his shin lightly. A warning, and Satoru knows a harsher kick will follow in a beat if he doesn't stop staring at you. Sure, he could turn on Infinity, but what's the fun in that? Plus, you'll only glare when your foot meets nothing, like being denied the petty action is worse than anything else Satoru could do.
So all in all, it isn't worth it.
(And if your attention comes in the form of a sneaker thumping against his calf thirty seconds later, and a small, satisfied smile on your face, then Satoru will take it until your eyes are back on his.)
hear me out…. a ruined orgasm + cockwarming with that deadpan look hitoshi has,,, you can’t sit still so it’s your fault unfortunately !
ohmygod ohmygod OHMYGODDDD
you're squirming so much on hitoshi's lap that he's given up on trying to stop you so long as you're not outright riding him. but you've been taking great delight in toeing the line—hips spasming back and forth, clit catching deliciously on the thatch of hair at the base of his dick, and every clench of your walls around him sends liquid arousal shooting through your veins.
when you do finally cum—a combination of the abysmal stimulation, what could be the five minutes or five hours you've been sat warming his cock, and the gentle way hitoshi murmured, "stop moving," in your ear—it is scarcely a relief.
there's a sharp slice of pleasure and then you're tossed out to sea, the pleasure vanishing like fog on a windy morning. so quickly you have no brain left to muffle the pitiful whine you let out.
"i know, baby," hitoshi coos quietly. big, warm palms petting over your sides. "i told y'to stop squirming, though. can't be good f'me and this is what y'get, hm?"
you tuck your face in hitoshi's neck and later, when you're warm and soothed and snoozing peacefully beneath his weight, you will vehemently deny the sob you bury there.
We are reaching the end of mermay. Quick, imagine mer!Vash with fangs or other sharp teefies. Now.....tell us your thoughts. 🤔📝
last day of may i'm cutting it close #procrastinationmoment but mer!vash with fangs............ i could never forget you 🤤
— mer!vash x reader
little human you sat on the big, flat rocks in the shallows of his home. vash's scarred tail swaying back and forth behind him where he's propped himself up at your feet—curiously prodding at the fleshy appendages. he makes these odd noises too, half-coo, half-gurgle and you're busy trying to decipher if they're a good or bad reaction when his lips peel back from his teeth.
"oh," you breath lowly at the rows of sharp teeth glinting in the low sunlight. you begin to gesture up at your own teeth. "are those..." vash's gaze flicks up to yours—wide, dark eyes so piercing you immediately trail off.
he doesn't speak, you've come to learn. whether by choice or by biology is still a mystery to you, but you've found you don't mind. not when he's this expressive—web ears twitching slightly as you hum another mindless noise when his wet fingers brush your ankle.
you just need to decode what his merman expressions mean and you'll be golden!
"by all means," you huff, vash's clawed fingers dragging dully over the top of your bare foot. "feel me up. weirdo."
your voice is embarrassingly affection, but it's not like vash knows that. hell, you don't even know his proper name—vash being the name of the cove below your house and you figured... well. you weren't thinking straight when you decided to name the merman who emerges from his shallows just to ogle your legs. you rarely are around vash.
sometimes it feels as though he understands you. other times, you may as well be talking to a fish.
quite literally.
vash veers forwards and water splashes up onto the rock you're sat on, his wide chest touching your feet. he peers at your shin with such intensity you can't help but laugh softly.
"must look weird to you, huh?" you wiggle your toes but vash doesn't startle. "i've been visiting you for months and you stare at my legs every time..." you laugh again. "you sure you're not bored yet?"
this time, however, vash leans forwards—teeth bared like a warning sign—towards the inside of your knee.
"vash what—" you try to jerk away from him but the hand on your foot suddenly tightens.
and for the first time since you started visited the cove, you feel fear. your gut swoops as those sharp teeth get closer and closer and oh god you really need your legs not like this please not like th—
oh.
it tickles. kind of.
the way vash drags only the tips of his teeth along the delicate skin. almost like he's tasting you—except there's no tongue involved to your great confusion.
he widens his jaw and the bottom teeth come into play. two sets of razor-sharp teeth scraping you so softly you would believe you're imagining it if not for the very real, very wet, very cold hand with an iron-clad grip on your foot.
you tug your bottom lip between your teeth.
"is this some kind of... is this a greeting? am i supposed to bite you back?"
vash makes another gurgling noise, his other hand landing on your other foot like shackle. his teeth creep up past your knee. you fight the reflex reaction to jam vash's chin with the limb as he rises up out of the water.
he's huge.
a fact that, while easy to forget, is difficult to reconcile with when all eight-to-nine-foot-something of him is threatening to... well. nibble you to death?
vash's teeth creep past your mid thigh, and drift inwards, nipping at the soft skin as he gets nearer and nearer to your core. you shift awkwardly on the rock, unsure exactly when you're supposed to stop him and not quite confident he'll even let you.
god knows you can't force him to do anything. including making him stop this peculiar, almost-tasting of your legs.
his webbed hands squeeze your feet once, twice.
you feel a wet nose brush against the gusset of your bikini bottoms when his teeth reach the top of your thigh and muffle a startled, utterly mortified moan at the sensation.
then, he's gone. backing out of your space with all the grace of a lithe cat.
vash makes what seems like it could be meaningful eye contact with you for a few long seconds and your mouth opens and closes around a soundless noise of confusion.
all before he turns tail and slips back into the water without a sound. leaving you alone in his home—and with an embarrassing warmth lingering in your gut you hope doesn't translate between your species.
it was just a custom, you try to convince yourself. not... not whatever my brain thinks he was doing. do mermaids even know what sex is anyway? probably not, right.
you shake your head and shamefully, just once, squeeze your thighs together for some relief before you rise from the rock and head home.
mellll. i am plagued by visions of a human reader cuddling with neytiri 😔 she's got such long limbs to gather you up in. prob gets annoyed by your exopack, but keeps aggressively rubbing her scent on you anyway <3333
asjhgdjkaljdhgf YES !!! babe yessssss omfg. being completely swaddled in her arms, warm and cosy and unable to leave even if you want to (you don't) because you're quite literally tangled in her long limbs. a thick thigh in between yours, a heavy calf atop your ankle, an arm strewn around your waist and another wrapped protectively over your head.
a big palm smoothing up your ribcage, down your hips, teasingly pinching the meat of your ass. she smiles when you whine about it, and huffs a small chuckle when you try fruitlessly to wiggle away from her wandering fingers.
she rubs her cheek over the crown of your head to scent you while you doze, and knocks the bridge of her nose into the side of your exopack petulantly because she wants to brush her cheek against yours, but can't outside of the outpost :( so she settles for gently rubbing the inside of her wrists on every bit of skin she can reach to scent you, which is... a lot (long arms and no qualms about half-undressing you in the process lol).
and when you wake up from your nap—her glare at your exopack long since softened into contentedness now that you smell like her and only her—she preens when your tired, pretty eyes flutter open only to immediately seek out her own.
"yawntutsyìp," neytiri murmurs quietly down to you.
she tracks the traces of sleep clinging to your face—the smear of drool she wishes she could wipe were it not for your exopack, the bleariness of your gaze against the low light of evening—and brushes her wrist under your jaw for good measure.
"my love," comes your whispered reply as you tighten your little arms around her like you're urging her not to move just yet.
hello mel cowboy junkie tumblr user deltamel. do we have any thoughts on vampire katsuki cause IIIII DOOOOOOOOO (can't be insane about this on my own i Will truly lose my mind)
hi beautiful marcie tumblr user olivebowl (i am so sorry this is late, my drafts are like the room of requirement and that shit got LAWST in there forgive me)
i'm thinking about best friend!kat who offhandedly mentions that he hasn't fed in weeks. i'm thinking about you, his soft, sweet smelling human, tilting your head to the side as you offer yourself in worry. i'm thinking about kat helplessly zeroing in on the smooth plane on your neck and wondering if you did it on purpose. i'm thinking about kat needing to be coaxed into drinking your blood like a scared, wild animal who only knows a meal through violence. i'm think about you, who does not realise the intimate significance of a vampire feeding on your blood—a friend's blood. i'm thinking about kat, who never deigns to tell you before accepting your offer.
🩸
When Katsuki leans away from your neck, the first thing to catch your eye is the blood—your blood—dripping from his fangs like a melting icicle. Next is the flush, smattered high on his cheeks and across his nose bridge, as vibrant as stars in the sky. And finally, you notice the fog clouding his eyes. His gaze is on yours, but you get the sense that he's seeing straight through you. Almost like he's perceiving the blood thundering in your veins, pumping steadily beneath your epidermis.
Is that even possible?
You have no idea.
"Kat?" you murmur, the hand fitted around his nape sliding down to his pec. You tap your finger there. A mirror image of your own, his heart roars for freedom under your touch.
"Mm?" Comes his reply, barely a whisper of his diaphragm.
Wary of his reticence, you flick on the dim lamp beside your bed and warm light floods the room. "You okay, big guy?"
Bakugou watches your lips move, but you're not confident he hears the words coming out of them. Only the sound of his heaving breathes can be heard as you wait for a reply you progressively doubt is ever going to arrive. Then, like the needle of a compass, his eyes draw down to his magnetic north: the two fresh piercings on your jugular where his sharp teeth have penetrated your skin and reached the vein, the wounds raw and tender. Still wet with a medley of his saliva and your own blood. Bakugou's lips twitch and his tongue flicks out to taste the air as though reminiscing.
"'S weird," you breathe, studying his muted presence. A presence that usually overtakes any space he occupies. Now, you're not even sure you'd notice he was here if you didn't have an aching bite mark on your neck to prove as much. "Almost like you're drunk..."
Bakugou shakes his head and veers forward to lean on the heels of his hands, placed just before your crossed legs as though afraid to cross a boundary he hasn't already erased when his teeth were in your neck—when your blood was pooled in his mouth and slipping down his throat.
"'M just..." Bakugou fishes around for the words in your gaze, his own darting between each of your eyes lazily. Beneath your hand, his heart thumps long enough that you've lost track of your conversation by the time he speaks again. "Just happy."
Furrowing your eyebrows, you tilt your head and stroke your thumb along the taut muscle of his chest, covered by the soft cotton of his t-shirt. "Happy?"
Bakugou nods loosely.
"You always this happy when you feed?" you ask curiously, holding your breath for a reason you can't place for the life of you.
Bakugou sways towards you once more, until he's barely a hair's breadth from your neck. His forehead comes to rest on the junction of your shoulder, tilting until his cheek presses into the bone there. Without warning, he exhales, and the warm air fluttering over your wound erupts goosebumps across your body.
You fight not to pull him closer—not to press his teeth back into your neck, simply to keep him this pliant and satisfied forever.
You think he might be able to tell.
"You're takin' advantage of me," he mumbles quietly.
"Maybe," you laugh. His head shifts with the movement of your shoulders. "Would that be such a bad thing?"
"No," he replies, taking barely a moment to ponder over the ethics of such a strange question. "I don't mind..." Bakugou tucks his face further into you and brushes his tongue over your bite. You inhale sharply, arousal curling in your core at the sharp spike of pleasure. "If it's you."
what about calling gojo daddy in the thick of it and he knows he has to be soft and careful about this now cause reader is lowkey ashamed of it and it just turns him into a soft dom
oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck. the way the corner of his mouth would instinctively creep upwards, a tease about the new title on his lips until he sees your fractured expression of horror as you realise what you just let slip. and then he's softening instantly, curling over you with a small, "yeah, daddy's got you, angel." because he can't have his girl feeling embarrassed about such a lovely accident. (muffled scream)
oh god, the concept of vash in bloom being so wonderfully feral but apologetic is such a treat because he’s so Baby Boy. Nai in bloom, HOWEVER haha in theory it sounds soooo hot but tbh can’t imagine coming outta that alive (whether it be intentional or on accident on Nai’s part). Death by snu snu n all that lmao
isn't it just!!! something about vash finally being less of a sweetheart while still retaining enough of his conscience to be apologetic about being less of a sweetheart is so sexy to me. OH MY GOD YOU ARE EVIL!!! death by snu snu is frying me but yeah i think you'd be a sweaty, sticky, very, very sore mess if left alive after nai was in bloom.
like you're 100% covered in bite marks—tinged red raw, edged in purpling bruises. and there's handprints branded on your hips, your ass, your thighs, that burn pleasantly where they brush against sheets, humming like you can still feel him touching you. and when you try to stand, you find your legs with no more structural integrity than jelly, pitching abruptly forward and landing across the broad expanse of nai's sleeping back.
you brace for a nasty, scornful word or a command to get the fuck out as he startles awake a second later, but instead you find yourself barely muffling a yelp, nai tugging your arm roughly to drag you back onto the bed beside him. holding your breath, you don't move when nai shuffles closer, sprawling his weight atop you without another word, and now you find you can't move anyway.
(nai gets super territorial post-bloom, a side effect you come to learn very well in subsequent blooms because, well... you're his now.)
