Do check this out people. I had manually switched all the gemini nonsense off months ago, but when I went and checked just now it was all switched back on.
warnings: super fluffy yay / neteyam is a pro kisser!
when Neteyam learned how to kiss, he got greedy. it's not like he'd never kissed before, but it wasn't a kiss kiss, they were pecks. just little, innocent pecks.
on his path to becoming Olo'eyktan, he met you, and only then did those pecks truly become insufficient. it's not like they don't kiss in Na'vi culture, but no one really teaches this kind of thing. you only learn kissing by kissing.
at first, he found it so confusing and so wet, it was weird, he didn't really know what to do with his tongue, it was funny. but later, everything he thought was strange became factors that made the experience even better. you guys had plenty of time to practice under his silly excuse of perfecting the technique — of course, you knew he was just looking for a way to keep his lips and tongue glued to yours.
"can i try again? i think i could improve that ending…" Neteyam gestures with his hands like a reboot signal, you can't hold back your laugh when you notice the implied desperation in his words. he barely waited for you to say yes before attacking your mouth again.
sometimes you'd lose track of time, your kisses becoming a very fun pastime for both parties. your lips would go numb and burn from the friction, and then you knew it was time for a break. which doesn't mean he wouldn't be kissing other parts of your body in the meantime.
"bro, it's like… magic!" he opens his hands mimicking an explosion, a goofy laugh escaping while Lo'ak makes a disgusted face, backing away from Neteyam while covering his ears. "bro… bro, you don't get it. this is life-changing, like, it changed my life, bro. kissing changed my life, i'm very emotional…"
"bro, shut up, for Eywa's sake." a whine betrays just how uninterested Lo'ak was in this conversation and in the kisses Neteyam gave you.
sometimes it became a real problem. Neteyam was a man with a man's responsibilities; sometimes he needed to detach from your mouth to do manly activities.
"i’m gonna miss you…" he says, a super-dramatic pout forming on the mighty warrior's lips. you smile and give his shoulder a pat. "oh, i'm not talking about you, i’m talking about them!" he leans into your lips and your smile quickly disappears, giving way to an incredulous scowl. "i'm kidding, ma’yawne. i’m gonna miss you very much too." he kisses your forehead, and your lips once more, his big hands squeezing your cheeks until your mouth turns into a pout and he kisses you again.
Neteyam turns around and leaves your tent, leaving you with a warm heart and swollen lips after yet another kissing session.
"okay, just one more…" he rushes back in, throwing himself over you while your laughter echoes loudly, your mouth being kissed once again. "…the last one, the last one." one more kiss, his lips shiny with saliva when he pulls away, giving you the most sincere smile you've ever seen. Eywa, greed will be the death of this Na'vi.
hi!!! ik u have ur list up rnnn but i kinda really NEED to hear ur takes/ hc on casual dominance with neteyam 🎀 please please please
*kisses forehead to incentivize u* 😙 <33
is this life with neteyam too much to ask for??? i don’t think it is. thanks for the request!!
pairing ; neteyam x fem!reader
synopsis ; casual dominance headcannons with neteyam <33
themes ; fluff, fluff & fluff
• Neteyam wraps his tail around you without even thinking.
• Around your waist while walking, around your leg while sitting, or gently curling around your wrist during ceremonies.
• It’s instinctual — not possessive, just his way of keeping you grounded, connected, close.
• Especially in crowds.
• Even though you’re capable, sometimes your stride is just a little shorter, your steps a bit slower — and he notices.
• So when you’re lagging or tired, he scoops you up and carries you like it’s his right.
• His arms around your shoulders, your legs looped around his waist.
• “No point in making you tire yourself, let me take care of you.”
• Whether it’s fruit from the trees or meat cooked over flame, Neteyam feeds you.
• Hand to your lips, thumb brushing against your bottom lip after.
• He watches you eat like it’s a ritual — like you’re a goddess who deserves to be worshipped every day.
• (You are.)
• Neteyam loves to make you things.
• Beaded chestpieces woven with your favorite colors, necklaces with meaning in every shell and tooth, arm cuffs that match his.
L When you wear something he made, it’s not just a gift — it’s a claim.
• “You look good in my work,” he says with a grin, pressing his forehead to yours. “You look good with me.”
• You’re strong, you’re skilled, but he still hates when you put yourself in danger.
• If there’s a scouting mission, a risky hunt — he insists on going instead, or at least going with you.
• “I know you can handle it, but I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you.”
• No one else hears the songs Neteyam writes about you — but you do.
• They’re softly whispered in your ear under the trees, or hummed while you lay curled in his lap.
• Some are full of longing — others, fierce devotion.
• Even when you’re mad at each other, Neteyam never lets you walk away without a kiss, a forehead press, or at least a soft “be safe.”
• “No going to bed angry, we’re stronger than that.”
• He likes the way you fit against him when you’re both riding.
• His arms around you, your braid tucked safely against his shoulder, his voice low in your ear giving directions or simply whispering your name.
• It’s not just about flight — it’s about trust.
• Fingers brushing your side as you walk, a hand resting on the small of your back, his tail curling possessively around your thigh at rest, a hand tilting your chin up before a kiss.
• His touch says, I see you. I choose you. You’re mine.
• When Neteyam says “come here,” your body moves before your mind catches up.
• Not because he’s demanding — but because his voice makes you feel safe.
• You know he’ll never lead you wrong.
• He stands back and watches you spar, but his eyes never leave you.
• He offers quiet critiques, soft praise.
• “Your stance was perfect.”
• “Almost got me that time.”
• And when you impress him? That smirk, that pride in his voice, it lights you up.
• When another hunter gets too close, he doesn’t argue.
• He just steps in, loops an arm around your waist, kisses your temple slowly — eyes locked on the other guy the whole time.
• “I’ll meet you at the river, yawne (beloved),” he says, deliberately. “Don’t be late.”
• “You’re so easy to love.”
• “I see the whole world when I look at you.”
• “You follow so well — you trust me.”
• His voice is reverent. His words, sacred.
• His dominance isn’t about control — it’s about honoring your surrender.
• He doesn’t stop you from doing things, he just makes sure you never have to.
• He’ll carry it, he’ll fix it, he’ll take the lead when you’re tired.
• “You’ve done enough,” he tells you softly. “Let me take it from here.”
• He weaves tiny, shared details into your hair — small beads, threads, symbols only you two recognize.
• When others ask, you both just smile.
• It’s private. Sacred.
• A quiet way of saying, we are one.
• Even across the clan fire, Neteyam finds your gaze.
• He doesn’t say anything — he just looks.
• That lingering stare, the slight tilt of his head, the little smirk.
• It’s not a warning, it’s a promise — and it makes your knees weak every time.
My favorite thing about the bats is that… they are gothamites. And sure they scare the shit out of people… but they are in Gotham. Superman is loved by his people, Flash is adored, people pray to Wonder Woman, Green Arrow is feared. But the Bats? The Bats are like all of Gotham's weird older brothers/sisters/parents. Superman and Green Lantern are visiting Batman in Gotham and all of a sudden he gets smacked in the face by a banana and they turn and find a group of teens skateboarding away and one kid calls over his shoulder ‘eat the fucking potassium you absolute brick.’ and Batman doesn't even do anything. Barry is chilling with Nightwing when a girl runs beneath the building they are sitting on and screams “Nice ass Night! But get it the fuck down here, my cats stuck in a tree.” And Nightwing does a flip off the building and just?? helps her?? Wonder Woman and Black Canary are passing through Crime Alley on their way to the Batcave and spot Red Hood standing in an alley, being lectured by a woman who is half his size and she ends the lecture by throwing two sandwiches at his face and walking away. Red Hood just takes his hood off and starts eating. Superboy is helping Red Robin defeat Scarecrow and while they’re hiding, waiting for him to walk into their trap, RR is casually conversing with a Gothamite about Hogwarts Houses, and when he says the Gothamite looks like a Gryfindor he pops his head out and screams “Yo scarecrow hes right fucking here!” J’onn is heading to the Manor to discuss League business with Bruce when he spots Robin(Damian) fighting Riddler all alone and is about to intervene when three teenagers show up and just fucking deck him instead. Damian doesn't thank them, just glowers, and one of the guys goes “you're welcome you fucking brat.” And the girl even smacks the back of his head and goes “manners.” Clark is sent to go find Tim and Steph and Damian and finds them at this girls birthday party, in full costume, eating cupcakes and drinking punch, jumping on the bouncy house and is like “errr, B-Batman needs you home.” And as one the entire birthday party group went “Fuck Batman.” Spoiler was spotted painting these guys nails, Black Bat was seen teaching calculus to a group of teenagers, Batgirl(Babs) was running after a group of kids screaming “Give me back my laptop you fucks!” Just- just the batfamily and Gothamites being annoying to each other and appreciative yet bitches.
Bus driver: stop getting thrown at my fucking bus, i got places to be and my insurance only covers so many shatter windshields and person sized dents
Batman: I don't really control where I get thrown
Bus Driver: well you better fucking start otherwise theres gonna be another fucking villain on these streets *drives away and almost runs him over*
Superman: *gaping* yo-you're just gonna let him do that?
Batman: *shrugs* Gotham insurance aint what its cracked up to be
Superman: *staring dumbly*
When you sneeze in public, strangers will say “bless you”, even though they don’t know you.
When you ask for directions on the street someone will show you the way, even though they have nothing to gain from it.
People squeeze their legs against the chair so you don’t have to hop over them on your way to your seat in the theatre, and make funny faces to make babies laugh, and purposefully step on leaves to hear them scrunch, and hold the door open for someone leaving behind them, and ask what floor you’re heading to when you enter the elevator, and send others photos of things that reminded them of them, and recommend each other songs, and ask if anyone else wants a coffee because they’re getting one, and make videos teaching how to sew a button, and wish on shooting stars, and share fun facts, and listen to others rant about things they don’t even understand, and let you cross the street first, and give a bit of their food to others, and laugh at jokes they don’t find funny to make you feel good, and listen to kids talk for hours about nonsense, and let you know your keys fell from your pocket, and they may be strangers, but with every little gesture they’re saying “I love you, I love you, I love you”.
satoru freezes mid–lego stack, the bright blue block dangling between his fingers. his six–eyed gaze snaps to the tiny girl sitting cross–legged beside him, happily bouncing her doll around like she hasn’t just detonated a bomb.
“you— you what?”
“i kissed a boy.” she repeats innocently, blinking up at him with the exact same mischievous spark that used to get him in trouble. “i like him. he always shares his crayons with me. and his cookies.”
satoru’s jaw drops. “cookies— you mean my little girl kissed some… crumb–bribing hooligan?”
“daddy,” she sighs, annoyance already coloring her tone. “he’s nice. he said my pigtails are pretty.”
satoru dramatically clutches his chest. “so what, now you’re in love? do i need to transfer you to a new kindergarten? change your name? fake our deaths—”
“satoru,” you cut in from the couch, laughter bubbling in your voice, “she’s four.”
“she’s mine!” he whines, scooping the giggling girl into his lap and smothering her with kisses of his own. “no boys allowed. ever. you hear me, princess?”
his daughter glares at him with all the sass a preschooler can muster. "daddy, you can’t tell me what to do. i like him. he shares."
satoru gasps like she just betrayed him personally. "you like me too, don’t you? i share my candy with you all the time!"
"but you eat half of it first," she shoots back instantly, folding her little arms.
satoru freezes again, staring at her like she’s cursed him. then he turns to you, pleading. “sweetheart. my love. the light of my life, please tell her she’s not allowed to like him.”
but you only smirk, enjoying the show. “i think she inherited the stubborn gene from someone i know. it's a losing battle.”
defeated by your logic, satoru crawls closer to his daughter, lowering his voice like he’s letting her in on state secrets. “sweetheart, listen to me. boys don’t just share cookies without ulterior motives. he’s trying to steal you from me.”
but she just rolls her eyes again, an annoyed huff spilling through her tiny lips. “daddy, you’re being dramatic. he’s my friend. i like him.”
satoru gasps like she just stabbed him in the heart. “i’m your friend! your best friend!”
“no,” she says firmly, adjusting her bunny’s ears. “you’re just daddy.”
satoru groans, burying his face in his daughter’s hair. “why is the universe punishing me?”
you lose it, laughter spilling out as satoru flops onto the floor like he’s been mortally wounded. he mutters something about betrayal and needing to “transfer her to an all-girls kindergarten,” while his daughter happily hums and keeps playing.
“kento, my love,” you try to hold back a laugh, resting your hand delicately on his shoulder. you really do try.
nanami has been on edge ever since Satoru Gojo's eldest son, saviri, stepped foot onto your patio.
not because he doesn't like the kid—if anything, kento's been weirdly tolerant of saviri over the years. maybe even more than he tolerates gojo himself. but that tolerance went up in flames the second saviri sat next to your daughter on a pool lounger and casually rested his hand on her knee.
kento hasn't blinked since.
he had been inventing excuses to walk past them every five minutes like some sunburned, poolside secret agent. at one point, he tripped over the garden hose just to interrupt their conversation.
and everyone was laughing at kento like he was crazy.
but the truth is : he did not invite the gojo family to his daughter's 17 birthday bash just to witness that insufferably shirtless boy flirt with his precious girl.
“she's a grown girl now,” you say gently, hopping up onto the kitchen counter next to his abandoned beer. His forearms are flexing where they grip the edge—eyes locked on the pool, laser-focused on saviri.
“she's not,” he snaps, a vein flexing along his jaw. “she's my little baby.”
you hum, biting back another smile as you steal a sip of his beer.
the thing is, kento had been fine with her adolescent chaos. he took it like a champ—the loud music, the mismatched hair colors, the time she said she wanted a nipple piercing. hell, he even nodded like it was normal when she came home with a tiny tattoo just above her hip.
“i'm going to kill him.” nanami's eye twitch.
“no you're not,” you reply sweetly, a little lovesick by how protective he is. “you're going to smile, pretend you're fine, and then maybe glare at him slightly less murderously when we cut the cake.”
“i should've invited yuji. yuji wouldn't flirt with her.”
“you paid yuji to stop calling you ‘dad’ every time he walks in the door.”
he doesn't answer. only hums darkly and gives your upper thigh a little squeeze. “mission one : in progress," he mutters under his breath. "see you later, love.”
before you can even ask, he's already marching across the patio, preparing himself as if he's about to fight some upper class S-grade curses.. except, this time, the enemy is 21-year-old with floppy hair and six-pack.
as nanami approaches, he hears a glimpse of their conversation. “—I don't know,” saviri's saying with a low chuckle, “I always liked how you wear your hair up like that. shows off your—”
“saviri,” your husband's voice is pleasant, too pleasant, when he slides onto the lounge chair beside them. the way a normal man absolutely would not. “you look warm. do you need a towel?”
“uh-oh, no, i'm good, thanks… nanami-san.”
“hmm.” nanami reaches over and with the softest, most fatherly gesture in human history, gently lifts saviri's hand off his daughter's leg and sets it aside.
“dad,” she says slowly, squinting at him. “we're literally just talking.”
saviri leans back on his elbows, his skin tanner than his dad could ever be—earning this from his mom. “so, nanami-san,” he says with the exact same annoyingly charming smile satoru has. “do you work out, or is that just all residual cursed energy stress?”
nanami stays as rigid as a statue, arms crossed and sunglasses pushing his blond strands back. “do you want to be buried in the shallow end or the deep end?”
your daughter groans, dragging her hands down her face. “daaaaad”
saviri only laughs as nanami's legs stretch out slightly—a clear boundary line between his daughter and him. “i'm just saying you look good for your age. i hope i'm that fit when i'm, what, fifty?”
“i'm forty-five.”
“oh, wow. and you're not even grumpy !”
nanami exhales slowly. “saviri,” he says carefully, “are you flirting with me?”
saviri smirks, tilting his head innocently. “i mean… your daughter says i’m too flirty, so i thought i’d diversify.”
you can hear gojo wheezing in the distance. nanami’s knuckles go white on the armrest.
“i’m going to get more drinks,” your daughter mutters, standing abruptly, grabbing her towel. her cheeks are a little pink “saviri, come with me—”
“oh no,” your husband cuts in, voice sharp but still polite, the way one talks to an aggressive raccoon. “he’s fine here.”
“dad.”
“sweetheart.”
there's a deadly beat of eye contact. she throws him a look that promises revenge in the form of emotional manipulation, then stomps off toward the cooler with an exaggerated sigh.
“hypothetically speaking…” saviri says, turning his head casually. “how old would she need to be before you stop trying to assassinate me with your eyes?”
“hypothetically?”
“mm-hmmm”
“dead you'd have to be dead.”
saviri nods thoughtfully, still smirking. and kento doesn't miss how is blue vivid eyes follow your daughter's steps. “cool, cool. just gauging the timeline.”
nanami rubs the bridge of his nose like he's aged ten years in ten minutes before looking at gojo's son.
not because he’s stressed or there’s an early meeting or some pressing deadline.
just because you told him—half-asleep and pouty with your arms around his middle one night—that you missed him when he’s gone all day.
“i know you’re working. but… i still miss you.”
that’s all it took.
now he stirs at 6:03 instead of 6:30. quietly, carefully, just to watch you sleep for a minute—peaceful and warm in the tangle of the sheets, your cheek squished against his pillow. your lips parted slightly. your lashes casting shadows on your face.
sometimes, you’re already curled into his chest, breathing slow and even. sometimes you’re a little further, flipped onto your stomach, drooling into the edge of the mattress.
he adores you in both states.
he doesn’t say much in the mornings. he doesn’t really want to, because the world is still soft then, not fully awake, and he wants to preserve the quiet. he doesn’t want to break it with anything unnecessary.
instead, he gently kisses you. everywhere.
your forehead first, then your nose. your cheek. your lips, soft and unhurried. then your shoulder. the bend of your elbow if it’s peeking out from the covers. he kisses wherever he can reach.
your brows knit slightly, even in sleep. but your body reacts the way it always does—melting into him like sugar in tea.
“kenny?” you mumble, voice hoarse and heavy with sleep. your hand reaches blindly for him under the blanket. he finds it, laces your fingers together.
“it’s still early,” he says softly, brushing your hair from your eyes. “go back to sleep.”
“you’re warm,” you murmur, eyes still closed, tucking yourself closer to him. “don’t go yet.”
he doesn’t, not immediately. not until the last possible minute.
he lets you lie on top of him, heavy and limp like a sleepy cat, while he strokes your back and memorizes how you feel in his arms. he presses another kiss into your temple.
“i know you miss me,” he whispers against your skin. “but if i kiss you enough… maybe you’ll miss me a little less.”
“not possible, baby,” you grumble, even as your cheek nudges into his collarbone. “but… this helps.”
he chuckles, low, affectionate.
when the alarm finally rings, he kisses you one last time. and then again, when you pout and try to drag him back under the covers. he kisses you until you’re too relaxed and boneless to whine, murmuring that you’ll be right here when he comes home.
“i’ll miss you too,” he says, smoothing your hair.
you’re half-asleep again when he leaves, a soft smile still on your face.
and that’s why nanami kento wakes up twenty-five minutes earlier than he needs to. every day.
because he knows you’ll miss him and he’ll miss you just as much and if a few kisses and a quiet hug can make your day a little easier… then he’ll do it for the rest of his life.
the slap echoes louder in your heart than on your cheek. your baby’s tiny palm had connected with your face with all the might of a god in training—soft, pudgy fingers, yes, but wielded with the strength only an infant could mysteriously summon.
“ow—!” you blink, more startled than hurt.
satoru freezes, blue eyes widening as if he just watched a tragedy unfold before him. “did… did you just hit my wife?” he gasps, tone horrified.
your baby—his baby, his precious little bundle of love—just gurgles, waving those dangerous little fists around again.
satoru clutches his chest like he’s been betrayed. “unbelievable. the one woman who carried you for nine months, who feeds you, rocks you, sacrifices sleep for you—and this is how you repay her?!”
you’re laughing now, but he isn’t. he takes the baby from your arms, holding them up eye-level like a man about to deliver a stern lecture. “listen here, kid. i don’t care if you’ve got my genes—especially because you’ve got my genes—you should know better. that’s my wife. my sugarplum, my sweetheart, my absolute angel. nobody lays a hand on her, not even you, my own flesh and blood.”
the baby just blinks, then drools.
you snort. “satoru, they don’t even understand words yet.”
“oh, they understand,” he insists gravely, bouncing the baby slightly. “they understand fear of consequences. i’ll tickle you silly if you ever dare raise your hand at your mama again.”
the baby squeals—half from delight, half from the gentle onslaught of his long fingers wiggling against their belly.
and you, still rubbing your cheek, can’t stop smiling. “sometimes i wonder who the real baby is.”
“no, i’m the best husband in the world,” he corrects smugly, leaning down to kiss your cheek right where the baby had slapped. “and i’ll protect you from anyone. even this tiny traitor i helped make.”
he likes the quiet ones || satoru gojo x f!reader, jjk drabbles, pure fluff, 401 words (◡̀_◡́)ᕤ
so we all know how clingy satoru is... but imagine him having a crush on the quiet student—who he swears is the girl of his dreams.
you're the complete opposite of him; calm, composed, and rarely speaking unless necessary. you intrigued him. he just didn't know when that curiosity turned into something more intimate.
"ah—there you are!" he grins, shamelessly wrapping his arms around you from behind, chin resting against your shoulder—clinging to you like some sort of leech, "did you just return from a mission? you should've taken me along! i wanted to see my cutie in action~"
you quietly hum, unfazed by his touchy nature, "hi gojo-san..."
he immediately pouts, "i thought i told ya' to drop the 'san' part—it's too frickin' formal! matter of fact, just call me satoru!"
you slowly nod. he smiles, hesitantly letting go, but only to walk in front of you, continuing to chat your ear off, all while walking backwards, "you should've saw me today—i'm this close to perfecting my technique! maybe now we can finally do a mission together! oh and why don't we stop for some boba tea after?! don't worry your pretty little head, my treat!"
the boy leans closer, icy blue orbs boring into your own. he smirks, now acting more coy, "are you swooning for me yet—" he halts, the words getting caught in his throat as he notices the sympathetic look in your eyes.
his breath hitches as you slowly reach out, in a rare turn of events, gently patting his head, fingers combing through his white locks of hair to offer him some comfort.
a feeling he never knew he craved... up til now that is.
you smile softly, shockingly enough to him, "you must be tired then—just don't overdo it... satoru."
his eyes briefly widened, heart rate spiking up at his name exiting your mouth. god damn it. he was the one who suggested it—so why does he always get so tongue tied when it comes to you? how lame...
he's blushing, ivory skin tinted with pink as he slowly leans into your touch, embarrassingly avoiding your gaze; only yearning for more, more and more of your affection, "yeah... i know."
he peeks at you from behind his glasses, taking your kind gesture as a green light to continue, "so about that date..."
you slowly blink, tilting your head with confusion—what’s this about a date?
the first time it happens, sukuna doesn't even react.
your daughter, a tiny little thing with a head full of wild hair that looks just like his but with your color, storms up to him while he's adjusting his tie. she's got a determined look on her face, a plastic figurine clutched in her tiny hands—a sonny angel doll, of all things.
"papa, hold," she demands, her chubby fingers working to shove it into the breast pocket of his pristine, custom-made suit. he looks down at her, red eyes blinking slowly. then he looks at you, standing off to the side, barely holding back your laughter.
"what is this?" he asks flatly.
"sonny angel," your daughter says like it's obvious. "he's cute. for you."
you make a choked noise behind your hand, and sukuna exhales through his nose. his baby girl, his tiny menace, is standing there with all the confidence of someone who has never been told 'no' in her life. because, well. she hasn't. so what does he do? he lets her shove the damn thing in his pocket. adjusts it a little so it's sitting neatly, because if he's going to have a tiny cherub-faced baby figurine sticking out of his suit, it's at least going to look intentional.
"happy?" he asks.
his daughter beams at him, gives his pant leg a firm pat like he's done a good job, then scurries off to continue whatever other toddler nonsense she was up to before this. you’re wheezing in the corner.
"don't say a word," he warns, fixing his cuffs.
you grin. "i didn't say anything."
cut to his meeting later that day. sukuna walks in like he owns the place (because he does), radiating his usual aura of dominance and unrelenting authority. his executives are already seated, tense and ready, knowing full well that sukuna does not entertain idiocy. but today? today there is something new. today, nestled neatly in the breast pocket of his three-piece suit, is a tiny, plastic baby figurine wearing a duck hat.
the entire room freezes.
one poor soul, likely new and unaware of how the corporate hierarchy works under sukuna, makes the grave mistake of letting out the faintest, almost imperceptible snort.
sukuna turns his head very slowly.
"who the fuck just laughed?"
silence. absolute, suffocating silence. the man looks down at his notes as if they might save him from impending doom.
sukuna leans back in his chair, tapping a clawed finger against the conference table.
"anyone else got something to say about my sonny angel?"
no one breathes.
good.
he conducts the rest of the meeting as if nothing is out of place, occasionally adjusting the little doll in his pocket like it's just another part of his attire.
by the end of the week, rumors have spread. no one dares to question the sonny angel. entire powerpoint presentations are given with the utmost professionalism while a tiny, smiling cherub peeks out of sukuna’s suit.
by the end of the month, it becomes an unofficial rule of the office. mock the sonny angel? fired. make a comment? fired. even looking at it for too long earns you a pointed glare.
and by the end of the quarter, the entire upper management team has started discreetly wearing their own sonny angels in solidarity. your daughter, completely oblivious to the corporate chaos she has caused, simply continues her toddler life, happy and content in the knowledge that her papa always carries her gift with him.
and sukuna? well. if having a tiny plastic baby in his pocket means seeing his little girl’s delighted grin every morning, then so be it.
sylus, zayne, rafayel, xavier, & caleb x gn!reader
how each of the love and deepspace men react to an s/o that bites them as a way of showing their love.
content: affectionate biting (non-sexual)
sylus loves when you bite him. the first time you did it, he hadn't even batted an eye. simply smiled and moved his bicep closer for you to chomp down to your heart's content.
you tend to use your teeth when you're forced to sit quietly beside him, likely when he's doing something related to onichynus or a business deal he needs to finish up before he gives you his undivided attention for the night. you'll sit either in his lap, curled up in his shoulder, or just next to him under his arm. he doesn't mind if you ramble, but you know better than to expect him to answer all of your hypotheticals while he's focusing.
instead, when you've had your fill of talking to mostly yourself, you'll lower your head against his shoulder and bite down. you don't latch on very hard, but it's enough for sylus to know you're using your teeth.
"am i boring you, kitten?" he asks, setting his pen down in favor of cradling the back of your head. you dislodge yourself at the sensation, allowing him to pull your face up to look at him. he's got that knowing smirk on his face, his other hand tightly wrapped around your hips to keep you from falling as he shifts you to straddle his thighs.
“no,” you hum, tilting your head to nip at his wrist. he laughs, the sound vibrating through your body.
“no? just being… frisky?” a hand slides up under the bottom hem of your shirt to rest on the small of your back. you nod, biting a bit harder when you reach the base of his palm. he hisses.
“are you almost done with your work, sy?” you whisper. you gently kiss the indents your teeth had left.
“i’m all yours, sweetie.”
zayne doesn't really comment on it. after the first few incidents, and the round of questions that had followed, he knows you don't mean any harm by it. rather, he knows it's a way for you to express yourself to him when words seem to elude you.
it always seems to happen when zayne’s already settled down for the evening. unlike when you’re trying to lure him away from his work—when you use lingering touches and gentle kisses to pull his attention toward you—zayne always seems to find you biting him when he’s already got his sights set on you.
the two of you will be spread out on the couch, you sat between his thighs with your back to his chest and his arms around your shoulders, when your teeth latch into his forearm. he doesn’t move, doesn’t shift, just smiles softly with a kiss to your temple as he continues to watch the move you’d put on.
“react,” you huff, biting a bit harder near the junction of his elbow.
“what would you like for me to say, darling?” he says, the ghost of a laugh seeping out of him. you shrug, snuggling back further into him with your lips pressed against his bicep.
“i’m bored,” you huff.
“i can tell,” he says softly. his hand slides down your arm to intertwine your fingers together, bringing the pair up to his mouth to kiss the back of your hand. “would you like to do something else?”
“no,” you say, shaking your head. your tongue peeks out to swipe across a recently bitten patch of skin. you always tended to bite him more when there was more skin at your disposal, he’d noticed, leading him to wear short sleeves around the house.
“alright, then,” he says. he settles back down into the cushions and tightens his hold on you. when you latch down on his arm again, all he says is, “i love you, too, darling.”
rafayel pretends to hate it. he'll get all whiny and pouty each time you do it, threatening to kick you out of his studio for abusing him, but he secretly revels in it. he gets this pretty pink flush on his cheeks whenever your teeth make contact with his skin, despite whatever nonsense spews from his lips.
“hey! meanie,” he huffs, yanking his arm out of reach from your mouth. he cradles it to his chest, running his thumb gently over the barely-there indent your teeth had made in his skin. it’s the most offended you’d seen him. almost.
you continue to do it, though, a lot gentler, until one day his protestations actually manage to break through to you.
he fully rolled away from you, turning so that his back was facing you. when you attempted to warm up to him again, placing your face into the crook of his neck and sliding your hands around his waist, he swatted at your fingers until you pulled away. you could hear him pouting, the dramatic sighs and whines.
after that, and after you’d made it up to him the following morning with plenty of kisses, you stopped biting him. rafayel had assumed it was only for the day, making only a comment or two about how he was “bite mark free” for the first time, but when you withheld your teeth from him for a week and a half, he started to get whiny again.
at first, it’d been silent gestures. holding his arm close to your face when you cuddled, making sure you were angled toward his shoulder when you watched something.
then, “why don’t you bite me anymore?”
“you don’t like it,” you say, turning your head slightly to look at him. he’s sitting on the couch beside you, a sketch pad laid open over his lap. it’d stayed blank for the last thirty minutes.
“i never said that,” he says.
“yes, you did,” you laugh. “you called me a meanie and didn’t talk to me for a day.”
“are you sure about that? i probably just called you cutie like i always do and then got… laryngitis or something,” he huffs, his bottom lip protruding out. he drops the sketch pad onto the coffee table before he scoots closer to you. “will you just bite me again, cutie?”
“you want me to?”
if he had any reservations before—which he didn’t— the way your face lit up at the idea was enough to erase them completely. he nods, holding his hand up to your lips, allowing you to nibble as you pleased.
xavier is confused by it, but lets you do as you please. his brows will knit together and he’ll stare at you with those big eyes he always gives you, but he never protests or gives you any indication that he wants you to stop.
the first time you did it, he thought it was an accident. he flinched slightly, but didn’t make a comment besides that. once it started becoming a regular thing, he began to have more and more questions about your motivations.
“starlight?” he asks softly, not moving save for the slightest tilt of his head. your teeth are still latched into his shoulder. you hum in reply, nipping your way across his shoulder and down to his arm. “did i do something?”
“no? why do you ask?”
“you’re biting me,” he replies.
“yeah? i always do that,” you hum, mixing in a couple kisses with your bites before you pull back. you shift so that you’re facing him more. “do you want me to stop?”
he grabs your wrist when you start to pull further away. “no. you can keep doing it.”
“yeah?” you ask, immediately leaning in to bite down on his cheek. his face scrunches, a soft pink hue dusting over the skin beneath your lips.
he's not entirely sure of why you bite, but you never bite down enough to hurt him, and you always seem so happy after you've done it, so who is he to prevent you from latching down every once in a while?
caleb bites you back. he takes it as a challenge. you always bit him when you were kids when you were angry, or, god forbid, he was holding you down for any reason. if he was tickling you, or tackling you, your first instinct was to sink your teeth into the closest body part you could find. he went to school one day with a huge mark on his ankle once, and you never heard the end of it.
now, when you do it, he's prepared. it's almost as if he goads you into it, knowing he'll be able to do it back.
he'll wander around your apartment with a sleeveless shirt on, practically lording his arms in your face, and you have no choice but to chomp down on his bicep.
the moment you sneak behind him, your arms linking around his hips, he's on guard. he knows all your tactics. despite the otherwise gentle touches, he knows the minute your lips wander anywhere close to his arms, he's going to be feeling more than your lips.
he says your name in warning moments before it occurs. within a second of you latching down, he's spinning you in his grasp and attacking your skin with nips and bites of his own. he starts at your neck before traveling down to your shoulder and biting down with the same intensity you'd used on him.
"caleb!" you squeal, pushing his face away despite the stream of giggles leaving your lips.
"what?" he asks, softening his movments. "i'm just giving you a taste of your own medicine."
"only i'm allowed to bite," you counter.
"is that so?" he asks, lifting his head up to look you in the eye again. you nod as he leans forward to rest his forehead against yours. within a second, though, he's sliding back down to bite down at your shoulder. "i don't think so, pipsqueak."
caleb is 10 when he realizes that he's a physical touch fiend. the rush he gets when his hand lingers on top of your skin after playing with you is like no other. when he presses into your side while you're reading, his thoughts always circle around one topic: you, you, you. when you would run into his room after a nightmare, caleb was ready to swoop you in his arms and hold you until you fell asleep. every response towards you was involuntary.
caleb is 15 when he realizes that teasing 13-year-old you becomes irresistible. when he holds up your book, pencil, or some other item in the air, he watches as you jump up and down to try and grab it back. he's grown a lot in three years; if he had to estimate, he's a whole head taller than you now—20cm at least.
when you throw yourself onto him in an attempt to get your stuff back, he falters. you're laying against him on the couch, shuffling and moving up and down over his body, and caleb's breath hitches. you're so close and right there.
he's going insane. you can't even stand up for five seconds before caleb pulls you down against him once more, saying something about retaliation or revenge while tickling you to death.
caleb is 20 when he's about to leave for the DAA. there's an air of silence around the house. you've trapped yourself in your room more often, stressing over your senior finals. at least, that's what you've been telling him.
"i'm sorry caleb, i really need to study for this test."
"oh! i totally forgot about that project i had due tonight. shit, i'm sorry caleb. we'll have another movie night soon, okay?"
he doesn't know if you're actually this busy or if you're actually ignoring him. all he does know is that he misses you. he wonders about how he could miss someone who was in the room across from him. you were so close, but so far.
when you found out he was leaving—though you had a grin on your face while congratulating him—caleb knew you were devastated. he wondered if you were secretly mad at him for leaving.
two weeks before his departure, he practically forces you to be around him. he laid down next to you like before. he stroked your hair while you napped on the couch. he teased you and picked you up so you could hit him and grab him like you used to. he always chose to put his arm around you during a movie. he dragged you by the hand all around the neighborhood. he needed to all of that again, a thousand times more.
but at 24, it seems like there may have been a wedge between the two of you. calls are more and more infrequent.
"sorry, space signal sucks," he'd type.
"sorry, i was busy with training!" you'd reply, 2 days later.
he thinks that he would do anything to go back to before. he hasn't felt you in months. he sees you only twice a year.
it's hard. it was excruciating during the first few weeks. not only was he dealing with bootcamp, but he always found himself looking to his side, thinking you'd be there with him. at night, you were there, right next to him in bed.
he imagined that you would whisper words of reassurance in his ear. you'd hold onto him like you used to, when you had nightmares, and wrap your legs between his. there were days where we stroked his necklace, wishing that it was your hand instead. what he would give to have you next to him.
all he wants is to be able to feel you again. he chastises his 10-year-old self for taking you for granted back then. he wants to feel the apples of your cheeks when he caresses your face. once,—when he was 13 (you, 11)—he did that, and he thought you had a fever the way you warmed up. if he could, caleb would build a time machine to go back to that.
caleb is 25 when he is out of your life.
he thinks about you every day. it reminds him of when he was in bootcamp five years ago. it takes him back to when he was fifteen; you were on top of him, and his brain was fried to a crisp. caleb wonders if he's always been this way, because he can recall that at ten, you were still the only thing consuming his mind.
even during his arm repairs, you're there throughout all the pain.
when you discover his metal arm, all of caleb's instincts point to the door. he's spent so long trying to hide it from you: it's the constant long-sleeves (even though they made him incredibly uncomfortable), or making sure to only touch you with his left-hand (even though he wanted to pull you in with both hands).
but he stays. because it's you.
you freeze momentarily, listening to his writhes and moans of pain. caleb only notices you're there when he feels your hands brush his shoulder. he jolts back in surprise, and he sees you looming over him.
he stammers something, not even sure of what he said because you're here. you see him. you see it.
caleb's wanted this for so long. he wanted to see you again, in a state where you were both vulnerable, like old times. however, that moment probably wouldn't have come if he doesn't confess about this, so he relays the details.
you listen attentively, eyes wide with shock as caleb goes on. your hands wrap around his metal one, and he feels nothing. it's agonizing. he sees you examine him so gently. your fingers trace over bolts and plates of metal, lightly stroking up and down his arm. and caleb feels nothing.
how often has he dreamed of this? for you to be touching him again, so intimately and softly? he's stayed up countless nights wishing for you to be here, just so he can put his arms around you in a crushing embrace, only to be incapable of feeling you on one side of his body.
you pull away from his arm, asking if the fleet was accountable. when he doesn't say anything, he feels your weight lift off the bed and go towards the door.
whatever happens next is involuntary. he uses his flesh arm to pull you back, caging you between his forearm and his chest. there's no thought to it, no rationalization. it's just you and him. and he's been deprived of this for so long.
he breathes into the crevice of your neck, and he has half a mind to place his entire face there. he wants to breathe you in after being away from you for so long. no conversations, no contact, no touching. the last time he was this close to you was years ago. he needs this, caleb thinks.
the feel of you against his bare chest is something he cannot seem to describe. it's like he's his teenage (or even kid) self again, where he seems to short-circuit whenever he comes in contact with you. you're still small compared to him, but you fit perfectly like you did a decade ago.
he lets you go after he feels you trembling. you don't hesitate to place your hands on his waist and tackle him onto the bed. you catch him off-guard as you pin him beneath you, looking straight into his eyes.
"hold me," you plead, "with your right hand."
caleb lets out a shaky breath. there are voltages of electricity flowing through him—literally and figuratively. his skin sparks alive when he feels you. will it be the same with the metal arm?
slowly, caleb raises his mechanical arm. he wraps it around you, and feels the movement of your back shift downwards. you released a breath you didn't know you were holding. caleb held his.
you wait patiently before caleb starts running his metal hand up and down your back. you watch him exhale as he continues. you press your forehead on his, and you breathe in tandem with him.
caleb is 25 when he discovers that he loves physical touch.
wow like i didn't expect this to get so long... but like here we are???
i think we need to start embracing touch-starved caleb in all of our fics. this man hasn't seen the love of his life in YEARS (infrequently, anyway) so i think once she touches him (like INTIMATELY) for the first time in years he goes a little cray.
also sorry the ending was rushed i wanted to get this over with bc i intented this to be like 500 words but obviously it got way longer than that. what can i say... this freak has dug into my brain.
pick your player! ft. streamer!Choso x fangirl!Reader
streamer!Choso who almost throws up when the prettiest girl he's ever seen starts walking towards him in the grocery store, a heavy basket hanging on the crook of your elbow as you tentatively meet his eyes and offer him a small smile
streamer!Choso who is pretty sure his heart flat-out stops when you murmur an awkward "hello" his way, glossy lips parting like you were struggling to find something else to say when all he could do was stare blankly back at you
streamer!Choso who thinks he might need to see a doctor and get his hearing checked because it almost sounded like you just said you were a fan of his, but no, you did, because now you were excitedly explaining how much you enjoyed his last stream
streamer!Choso who can only choke out a quiet "thanks" just to regret it once he sees how fast you deflate, apologizing to him in case you came across as weird or obsessive, oblivious to how hot his cheeks were burning beneath his pale skin, the buckets he was sweating under the thick fabric of his hoodie thanks to just a few compliments from you
streamer!Choso who stutters out something he hopes came out as real words, which he guessed he managed, considering the transparent relief flooding your face, the smile returning to your pretty lips when you went back to gushing about a game you hoped he'd play soon
streamer!Choso who never even heard of it but was immediately cancelling tonight's plans if it meant you'd be tuning back in to watch him
streamer!Choso who has to swallow the huge fucking lump in his throat to nod when you shyly ask for a picture with him, proof to show your friends later as if he was a celebrity instead of a streamer that only averaged a couple hundred views at best
streamer!Choso who's convinced you can probably hear how hard his heart is pounding against his ribcage when you stop a stranger to take the photo, his hand tense when he hesitantly places it around your waist, hovering over the too-thin shirt barely separating his fingers from your skin just for you to press your body against his anyway
streamer!Choso who doesn't want to watch you walk away after you thank him, your silhouette halfway down the candy aisle before he jogs to catch up to you
streamer!Choso who asks for your number so you can send him the photo, duh
streamer!Choso who calls Yuji in the checkout line to insist he just met his future wife
