#she is a noodle and shaped like a noodle

[rxttenfish]

tbh when it comes to the redesign, if the other ROs can have scars, they ABSOLUTELY have some pretty gnarly scars from miranda.

not even because of her being particularly aggressive either! when she came up to land and began to first realize she can actually get close to people and be affectionate with them for the first time in her life, she had no context on how careful she had to be with landfolk or how rough she couldnt be. adding onto that was that her experience with merfolk were restricted to bellanda too, and she had a habit of just... accidentally grabbing too hard or using her claws or teeth carelessly or just moving without fully checking where everyones limbs are. its just the issue that a playbite for merfolk can be serious lacerations in someone else, and it took... a bit.

which is why now miranda is so constantly careful and hyperaware of how delicately she has to touch everything, because she realized Very Abruptly that she was not like all of her new friends.

(honestly the other ROs who did get bit or clawed are basically over it at this point too. like, it was years ago, and even if they were upset in the moment its hard not to see that miranda clearly didnt want to do that when it happened and has since gotten better about it. hence, why none of them are particularly plussed about when miranda does things that freak other people out, like putting their head in her jaws. yeah yeah, theyve been here, theyve done that, if miranda wanted to hurt them she wouldve done it already, nbd.)

(this is also something that didnt actually happen with the others... scott still can get overexcited and needs to be reminded to pay attention to himself, but also he was already well aware of how to control himself and what was safe by virtue of always having lived around a bunch of different monsters. damien too also figured out pretty early on other peoples limits, as hell is much more open to contacting other people than the merkingdom is. vera had the experience of being raised by the squishier people to begin with.)

[selfspinninglies]

My favorite totally canon jjk character that i def did not make up

[quirkle2]

as a huge spyro year of the dragon fan i Hate the reignited trilogy they took all the charm and nostalgia out of it BUT ... spyro's walking/running animation ? they perfected that.

[cowsabungus]

Art Hacks for Physical Disabilities!!

I know art can be inaccessible to physically disabled people for a lot of reasons, and I think art should be accessible to everyone, so here’s a couple of the things I found to help for a few different issues you may face that stop you participating!

I have a link to all these items (UK) in my link tree!!

IMAGE DESCRIPTION

Slide one: illustration of a white woman with pink hair, wearing a pink outfit, sitting in a power wheelchair, looking at the viewer with thumbs up. Text Reese “hacks to make art more accessible”

Slide two: illustration of three different kinds, using three different types of pencil grips. One hand uses a circular grip. 100 is a large, rectangular grip. Another uses a grip that is ergonomic and fit into the hand. Main text reads “Paul, grip, strength and dexterity”. Subtext reads “there are loads of different types of pencil, grips or design for different disabilities and conditions. Increasing the width of the pencil can give more texture for a better grip using a pencil with a thicker with also reduces the amounts of pressure needed to hold a pencil you can make your own using items like pool noodles. KT tape an air dry clay. You can also put these groups on things like paint brushes.“

Slide three: illustration of a hand using a tool that looks like a wrist support with a paintbrush connected to it text next to it reads “this talk next a paintbrush to your hand in a way that means you don’t need to hold the paintbrush with your fingers and you will need to move your arm around“ on the bottom right hand corner is in photograph of a guided hand device. Text read “regarded hand as a tool designed to reduce the need for moving your hands and fingers and relies on the movement of your shoulder and upper arms and can be used with different materials like paintbrushes, pencils, pens and styluses.

Slide four: main header reads “when in bed“. Illustration of an iPad pillow with a iPad in it is next to text that reads “iPad pillows, put your tablet at an easier to access level when sitting or lying down“. In the bottom left hand corner is an illustration of a girl sitting in bed in her pyjamas with a pillow behind her and a bed table as she is drawing. On the left hand side is a photograph of a bed table with the text reading “bed tables are used to give you a flat tire up surface while in bed, and are often height adjustable”. In the bottom right hand side is a bedsit, a pillow with the text underneath, reading “ bedsitters of specially shaped pillows that you put behind you in bed to help you set up and give you a soft surface to lean back on”.

Slide five: maisie had a read out “at a desk left”. On the left hand side is a photograph of the document holder with the text “document holders put your paper at an angle to help prevent crane in your neck down”. On the right hand, middle side is an illustration of someone using a armrest and on the bottom left hand side is a photograph of the armrest. Text next to them reads “economic arm rests clip onto your table or desk and give you a surface you lean you’re forearms or elbows on. This can be used to steady your arm and reduce pain and fatigue while sitting at a desk”.

Slide six: maisie reads “foot and mouth painters” . on the right hand side is an photograph of swapping Augustine, an Indian woman with no arms, wearing a sari painting with her left foot. In the bottom left hand corner is an illustration of a woman with green hair painting using her mouth. Text reads “foot and mouth painting is a technique used by artists who do not have, or cannot use their arms so hold the paintbrush in their mouth or using their foot. Swapna Augustine is a foot painter who has painted with her feet and participated in multiple exhibitions of foot and mouth painters. Her art is stunning and I would definitely recommend checking some of help work out.“

Slide seven: main text reeds “art without brushes and pens”. On the left-hand side is a photograph of a spin art device. Text next to read it reads “spin out involves using bottles of ink and squirting them onto a spinning piece of paper to create spiral art. On the middle right hand side is a illustration of a laptop with coding art written on the screen. Text me next to it reads “coding art involves making programs that design and create art pieces digitally. This could be used in conjunction with an eye tracking software.“ On the bottom left hand side is a photograph of a child in a power wheelchair with paint on their wheels painting onto a large piece of paper. Next to this is text reading “wheelchair painting involves putting paint on your wheelchair wheels and moving around and large piece of paper. Sometimes you can connect a roller to create more marks.“

Slide eight: text reads “what do you do to make art accessible for you?”

End of ID.

[ghostprinceiii]

As soon as I get home I am never leaving my house again.

[botanicsoul]

DARE

Bakugou Katsuki x (fem) Reader

─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·· · ─ ·𖥸· ─

The night had started harmless enough.

The girls were gathered in Mina’s room — junk food scattered everywhere, a stupid Truth or Dare game spiraling out of control. You should’ve known something was up when they all kept sneaking glances at you.

Especially Mina.

Mina leaned forward, mischievous glint in her eye. “Alright, Y/N, truth or dare?”

You hesitated. “…Dare?” you said cautiously.

Bad choice.

“I dare you to sneak into Bakugou’s room and put on his hero costume,” she said, grinning like the devil himself.

“You’re insane,” you said immediately, sitting up. “He’ll actually kill me. Like, dead-dead.”

“Come on! You know he’s soft for you,” Uraraka giggled behind her hand. “He won’t even be mad.”

“Yeah, he might even like it— we all know he wants you babe,” Mina wiggled her eyebrows. “Besides, if you do it… I’ll buy you those shoes you’ve been whining about for weeks.”

You froze.

Those perfect, gorgeous sneakers you couldn’t afford.

Damn her.

“…Fine,” you groaned. “But when he blows up the building, I’m blaming you.”

Mina and the girls erupted in quiet cheers, practically shoving you toward the boys’ dorm wing like you were being sent to your execution.

——

Moments later, you were standing inside Bakugou’s room, your heart thundering in your chest.

The room smelled like him — burnt caramel, gunpowder, and something warm underneath it all. His gear was scattered around; shirts tossed over a chair, gym bag half-zipped, boots by the door. Typical.

“Okay, just grab it and go,” you whispered.

You spotted his hero suit neatly folded on his desk chair — black, orange, and rugged as hell. You hesitated for half a second before snatching it up and shimmying into it.

“Whoever is up there please don’t let me die,” you muttered to yourself, grabbing it.

You started stripping from your clothes and wrestled into the top first — the fabric huge, sleeves dangling past your hands. You tucked it into the pants, which, unfortunately, fit suspiciously well around your hips.

You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror.

You looked ridiculous.

“Oh my god, I look like a fan at a con,” you groaned, cheeks burning.

And then you spotted the gauntlets.

Those massive grenade-shaped wrist-cannons Bakugou wore like they weighed nothing.

You hesitated.

“How heavy can they be?” you muttered, reaching for one.

Answer: Fucking. HEAVY.

As soon as you tried to lift it, your wrist sank like a stone. You barely managed to drag it up to your elbow. You grunted, using both hands, nearly toppling over.

“Holy shit, what is this, like seventy pounds?!” you gasped, wobbling around like a baby deer.

You tried lifting both gauntlets — a mistake.

The second one yanked you down so hard you dropped onto your knees with a loud thud.

“KILL ME NOW,” you whispered dramatically, struggling to even stay upright.

You were panting, red-faced, arms trembling like a noodle trying to balance the absurd weight.

And that’s when you heard heavy footsteps outside the door.

You were mid-struggle — sweating, cursing under your breath — when you heard the faintest creak in the hallway.

Your blood ran cold.

Outside, Bakugou was stomping toward his room — still pissed off from a shitty sparring session. All he wanted was a shower and his bed.

But when he reached his door and noticed it slightly ajar, his instincts screamed at him.

Someone was inside.

Without hesitation, he kicked the door open, the wood slamming into the wall with a loud crack.

“WHAT. THE. FUCK” he started. Because there you were. Standing in his room. Wearing his goddamn hero suit.

Struggling to lift one of his heavy-ass grenade gauntlets while looking like you were about to cry.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

You blinked at him, caught like a deer in headlights. The sleeves hung off your arms, the fabric clinging to the curve of your waist and hips, the belt loose around you — and those gauntlets, way too big for you, dragging along the floor.

Bakugou’s red eyes darkened — not with anger, but something hotter. Something hungry.

“The hell do you think you’re doing?” he growled, low and rough.

Your face flushed deep red. “I-it’s not what it looks like…well I mean kinda but—”

“Looks like you’re trying real hard to make me lose my goddamn mind,” he cut you off, stepping inside, the door swinging shut behind him with a heavy click.

You stumbled back instinctively, bumping against the desk, heart hammering.

Bakugou stalked closer, the heat from his body practically rolling off him.

“You break into my room,” he muttered, voice dropping dangerously low, “Wearin’ my gear,” — he leaned in, caging you between his arms, his palms slamming flat against the desk on either side of you — “dress up like some fuckin’ fantasy — and think you’re just gonna walk away?”

You whined as one gauntlet slipped off your wrist, almost tipping you over. “I-it was a dare! Mina—”

Bakugou huffed a humorless laugh.

Without effort, he reached down and easily grabbed both massive gauntlets from you like they were pillows. You stared in shock as he tossed them aside with a heavy clang.

His turned back down at you with a smirk, almost cocky, predatory. “You look like shit,” he said bluntly. “But… you also look kinda fuckin’ hot wearin’ my colors.”

Your breath hitched.

He was so close now — you could see the golden flecks in his furious crimson eyes, the way his jaw clenched tightly, the tension practically crackling off him.

“It was a dare I swear…” you whispered weakly.

“Don’t care,” Bakugou muttered.

You swallowed hard, chest heaving.

His gaze dropped down your body, dragging slowly over every inch of you — the oversized top slipping off your shoulder, the snugness of the pants on your hips.

When his eyes flicked back up to yours, they were molten.

“Bet you’d look even better outta ’em,” he murmured, his voice like honey.

You whimpered — actually whimpered — and immediately cursed yourself for it.

Bakugou grinned — slow, wolfish — like he’d just found his favorite new toy.

Your knees wobbled. “Suki…i’m sor—” you whispered.

He didn’t give you a chance to finish.

Without warning, he grabbed you by the belt loops, yanked you against him, and crushed his mouth onto yours.

The kiss was hungry, punishing — all teeth and tongue and pent-up frustration.

You gasped, clutching his shirt, letting him devour you, dizzy from the heat pouring off his body.

When he finally pulled back, he was panting, forehead pressed against yours.

“Mine,” he growled against your lips, nipping sharply at your lower lip, making you gasp again. “You got that, princess? You wanna wear my shit, fine — but you better fuckin’ know you belong to me.”

You nodded shakily, dazed, drunk off the taste of him. Bakugou pulled back slightly — just enough to glare at you, his hands still gripping your waist, thumbs sliding dangerously low toward the hem of the pants.

“Next time you wanna play dress-up,” he rasped, smirking wickedly, “ask me first and I’ll even help you out of em’.”

The look in his eyes promised a lot more than just help and you — flushed, panting, brain short-circuiting — could only whisper, “Okay…”

Bakugou chuckled darkly, pressing one more bruising kiss to your mouth before leaning back.

“Good,” he said, tugging the belt around your waist tight with a hard snap, making you squeak. “Now get ready, princess. You started this shit — you’re not walking outta here anytime soon.”

——

The next afternoon, you sat cross-legged on Mina’s bed, surrounded by the girls, trying very hard to act normal.

Your new sneakers — the ones Mina had bribed you with — sat unopened in the box on your lap.

“Come on, open it already!” Mina whined, bouncing beside you.

You shifted awkwardly, biting back a grimace. Your thighs ached. Your hips ached. Hell, even your neck was a little sore.

Turns out, Bakugou was very, very thorough about claiming what was “his” last night.

You coughed, sitting up straighter, ignoring the smug way Mina was side-eyeing you.

“I’m fine,” you muttered defensively, opening the box.

Inside were the sneakers you’d been dreaming about — sleek, perfect, untouched.

You gasped. “Holy shit… they’re even prettier in person!”

Mina clapped excitedly. “See? Totally worth it!”

You snorted. “Yeah, tell that to my back.”

Mina laughed. “You’re welcome. Besides, don’t pretend you didn’t have a good night.”

You flushed from head to toe. “Mina!” you hissed, smacking her with a pillow.

The other girls burst out laughing.

Before you could defend yourself, your phone buzzed in your lap.

——

Explosion boy <3 :

5:35pm - Come to my dorm later.

5:36pm - Or do you need help gettin’ here, princess?

5:36pm - Bet you’re fuckin’ sore.

5:37pm - Want me to come kiss it better?

——

You squeaked audibly and immediately dropped your phone like it burned you.

“Who’s that?” Mina teased, leaning over.

“N-Nobody!” you yelped, clutching the sneakers like they were a lifeline.

But your red face said it all.

Across the room, Mina smirked like she’d just won the lottery.

“Told you,” she whispered to Uraraka. “Soft spot. Huge.”

And maybe…

just maybe…

you weren’t totally mad about it.

[dior-luxury]

how would bllk react to reader making them lunch for their practice?? would love to see it <3

Making Them Lunch For Practice

( ✧ ) ────── boyfriend stories . fluff - she/her .

- [𝐜𝐡.] bllk 11 . isagi . rin . nagi . bachira . reo . barou . yukimiya . otoya . karasu . niko . aryu . chigiri . gagamaru . raichi . hiori . nanase .

- [𝐩:𝐬] long writing . cute headcanons . boyfriend blue lock >>>>

Note: These stories came out much cuter than I had expected 😭Also I LOVE the idea of giving the boys food before/after practice. And they honestly deserve it so much too!!

Isagi Yoichi

The morning sunlight poured through the kitchen window in soft golden rays as you packed up the final touches of Isagi’s lunch. The bento box was filled with all his favorites—grilled teriyaki chicken with sesame seeds, a neat pile of tamagoyaki, sticky white rice shaped into little soccer balls with nori patterns, and even a tiny corner for strawberries you’d carved into roses. You’d woken up extra early to get it all just right.

The moment he shuffled into the kitchen, hair still messy from sleep, your heart gave that little flutter it always did when he looked at you like you were his whole world.

"Good morning, Yoichi!" you chirped, hiding the bento behind your back.

He blinked blearily, then smiled when he saw you. “Morning, babe. You’re up early... whatcha hiding?” His tone was playful, suspicious.

You pulled the bento out like a magician revealing their final trick. "Ta-da! Lunch for my star striker."

His eyes widened, then softened into the kind of expression that made you melt—a warm, slightly crooked smile, the kind he wore only when he was overflowing with affection.

“No way,” he whispered, stepping closer. “You made that… for me?”

You nodded. “You’ve been working so hard lately. I wanted to make sure you had something homemade today. Fuel for the future World Cup hero.”

He looked at the bento, then at you. Then again at the bento. “This looks… insane. It’s so perfect I almost don’t wanna eat it. Almost.”

You handed it to him, and he cradled it like it was something precious. He leaned in, kissed your forehead, then your cheek. “You’re the best, you know that? I’m gonna score today with this energy. For you.”

Later that afternoon, when the team took a break, Isagi sat down, popped open the lid, and was immediately the target of jealous stares.

“No way—Isagi, that’s homemade?” Bachira peered over his shoulder like a curious raccoon. “Can I marry them too?”

Isagi shielded the lunch protectively, cheeks red but proud. “Back off. This is power-up food. You don’t mess with power-up food.”

As he ate, he took slow, thoughtful bites, tasting every little effort you'd poured into it. In that quiet moment, surrounded by teammates yelling and the distant thud of soccer balls, he felt grounded, loved. Reinvigorated. Every bite reminded him what he was fighting for.

That night, he sent you a selfie with a thumbs up and grass in his hair.

“Scored twice today. Guess who I was thinking about every time I aimed?”

Rin Itoshi

Rin wasn’t the kind of boyfriend who asked for much. He was quiet, intense, and fully immersed in his obsession with becoming the best striker in the world. But you saw the cracks in the armor—the subtle signs of stress, the dark circles under his eyes, the way his jaw clenched after practice when he thought no one was watching.

So, today, you decided to do something for him.

You made his bento with a quiet kind of love. Rin liked clean, balanced flavors—nothing too heavy. So you cooked salmon with lemon and herbs, roasted vegetables on the side, and soba noodles with a light sesame dressing. You added two little onigiri with umeboshi, shaped into tiny hearts. He would roll his eyes at that… but not really. Deep down, he’d like it.

You made your way to the training facility just as the sun started to climb. The field was already buzzing with movement. You found Rin stretching on the sidelines, alone, headphones in, brows drawn tight. Even in the chaos, he always seemed a little apart—untouchable.

You approached slowly and tapped his shoulder.

He turned, pulling out an earbud, and his expression shifted instantly from stern focus to a more relaxed surprise. “What are you doing here?”

You smiled, holding up the lunch bag. “Thought I’d drop something off before practice.”

His eyes flicked to the bag, then back to you. “You made that?”

You nodded. “Didn’t want you running on vending machine sandwiches again.”

He reached out for the lunch, fingers brushing yours just slightly longer than necessary. His voice was low. “Thanks. You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” you said. “But I wanted to.”

For a second, Rin didn’t say anything. He just looked at you, the corners of his eyes softening. He wasn't good with words, but this was one of those moments where the silence between you both said everything.

At break time, when he sat down alone near the bench and opened the bento, he actually paused.

Heart-shaped onigiri.

He gave the tiniest huff of a laugh, barely audible. Anyone else would’ve thought he was annoyed. But he wasn’t. It made his chest feel warm in a way that almost hurt.

He ate in peace, thinking about you. Thinking about how much steadier he felt today. How the food reminded him of something he didn’t often let himself dwell on: comfort, and care, and a sense of home. You were becoming all of that to him.

Later, when he got back to his apartment, you were already there, curled up on the couch.

He placed the empty bento box beside you and sat wordlessly next to you, his arm sliding around your waist.

After a while, he said quietly, “You made me feel... full today. Not just the food.”

You rested your head against his shoulder. “Good. That was the point.”

And in the rare warmth of his post-practice peace, Rin didn’t need to say he loved you. It was in the way he leaned into your touch, relaxed for once, just breathing you in.

Nagi Seishiro

Practice was brutal today. The sun loomed high, scorching the field, and sweat clung to every player's skin like a second layer. Nagi was sprawled lazily across the grass during break, one arm slung over his eyes to block out the light.

Everything felt like such a hassle — running drills, playing scrimmages, even standing up felt like climbing a mountain.

Until he heard the soft crunch of shoes against the grass nearby.

Peeking from under his arm, he saw you, standing there awkwardly, a shy smile on your face and a small, neatly packed bento box cradled in your hands. You knelt down next to him, the scent of something warm and savory immediately teasing his senses.

“Sei… I made you lunch for practice,” you murmured, holding it out toward him.

For a second, he just stared. His silver hair clung slightly to his forehead, and his golden eyes widened — not dramatically, but enough that you caught the rare flicker of surprise there.

"You made this... for me?" he said, voice low and lazy as always, but laced with something different — a softness that made your heart flip.

He sat up slowly, as if in a daze, and accepted the box from your hands. His fingers brushed yours — clumsy, warm, and lingering longer than necessary.

He opened the lid and blinked.

Inside, it wasn’t anything fancy: rice shaped into little onigiri, some grilled chicken, rolled omelet slices, and even a few heart-shaped carrot pieces tucked carefully at the side.

"...Such a hassle," he muttered under his breath — but there was no bite to it. None at all.

In fact, he looked at the lunch as if it was the most amazing thing he’d ever seen.

Nagi leaned back against the grass, pulling you with him so you sat between his legs. He rested his chin lazily on your shoulder, poking at the food with his chopsticks.

"You're... really nice to me," he mumbled, a bit drowsily, "Too nice."

He fed himself a bite, and his eyes closed immediately as he savored it. A low, pleased hum rumbled from his throat, like a cat curling into sunlight.

“Mm… tastes better ‘cause it’s from you.”

He tilted his head against yours, letting his heavy body lean almost completely on you, as if he trusted you to hold him up.

Nagi didn't need grand words. His affection lived in small things — the way he fed you a bite next, murmuring "open," or the way he let you steal his water bottle later, pretending not to notice how his cheeks turned the faintest shade of pink.

That lunch break, you weren't just his s/o.

You were his comfort, his peace, his favorite kind of "not a hassle."

And he made sure you knew it, even if it was only through the lazy way his hand never left yours for the rest of the day.

Bachira Meguru

The training grounds buzzed with energy — players laughing, balls thudding against nets, coaches barking instructions. Bachira was, as always, a chaotic blur, weaving between players during scrimmage with that wild, fearless grin that made him seem half-dream, half-nightmare to anyone trying to block him.

When the break whistle finally sounded, he jogged toward the benches, sweat sticking his messy hair to his forehead. He looked around immediately, almost instinctively searching for you.

When he spotted you standing there — lunch bag dangling from your fingers, eyes bright and excited — his face lit up instantly.

"Y/N!!!" he called, waving his arms dramatically over his head as he sprinted toward you, practically knocking over a cone on the way. A few of his teammates chuckled at his antics.

You barely had time to brace yourself before Bachira threw his arms around you, spinning you in a little circle before setting you down, laughing.

"You brought me something??" he asked, eyes gleaming with pure childlike wonder.

"Yeah," you said, a little breathless from his enthusiasm. You held out the bag. "I thought you might need some fuel!"

Bachira gasped as if you'd handed him a treasure chest.

"You’re the best! The BEST best!!" he sang, bouncing on his toes as he grabbed the bag. He dropped to the grass immediately, cross-legged, unpacking it with all the care of a kid opening presents on Christmas morning.

Inside was a box packed with fun, colorful foods — little sandwiches with funny faces drawn on them with seaweed, mini skewers of fruit, tiny octopus-shaped sausages. A lunch full of surprises, just like him.

"Woaaah!! Look!! They’re smiling!!!" he giggled, showing off one of the sandwich faces to his teammate as if it were a trophy. "Y/N made it!!!"

He grabbed a sandwich, took a huge bite, and immediately threw his head back with a loud, delighted groan.

"SO GOOD!!! IT'S Y/N-FLAVORED!!!" he shouted.

You nearly choked on your own spit. "That's not — that’s not how you say it—!"

But Bachira just laughed and patted the grass next to him until you sat down too.

As he ate, he kept sneaking glances at you, eyes soft and glittering, lips curled into the most genuine, easy smile. Every few bites, he'd lean against your shoulder, humming happily.

After he finished nearly the whole box in record time, he turned to you, sandwich crumbs still stuck to his cheek.

"You know," he said, voice softer now, "when you do stuff like this... it makes my monster real happy."

You blinked. "Your monster?"

He nodded seriously, tapping his chest. "The part of me that wants to play, that wants to keep moving forward — it gets even louder when you're around. 'Cause you're my favorite person. You're the one who sees me."

You didn't even have time to respond before he tackled you into a messy hug, knocking you both into the grass, laughing.

The afternoon sun burned golden above you. And in that moment, in Bachira’s arms, hearing his laughter rumble through your back, you realized something:

You hadn’t just given him food.

You’d given him joy. You'd become part of the very thing that made him run so fearlessly across the field.

Reo Mikage

At first, Reo hadn’t even noticed you arriving. He was too busy — barking plays at teammates, that sharp glint in his eye, moving with a natural grace that made it clear: Reo Mikage didn’t just play soccer, he commanded it.

But when his gaze swept across the field mid-break and landed on you — standing there in casual clothes, holding a sleek, pastel-colored lunch box in your hands — everything else faded into static.

He immediately jogged over, ignoring the coach's call for a quick team huddle, towel slung over his neck, sweat shining on his forehead. His violet hair was messy, sticking to his skin in a way that made him look both devastatingly handsome and ridiculously approachable at the same time.

"You... came?" he said, breathless, a tiny, rare note of uncertainty in his voice.

"I made you lunch," you said simply, lifting the box.

Reo stared at it, blinking once. Twice.

"You made it yourself?"

You nodded, a little shy. "Yeah. Thought it might help you out."

He exhaled a low, almost disbelieving laugh — like he couldn’t believe someone would choose to do something so earnest for him.

“God, you’re incredible,” he murmured under his breath, before taking the box from your hands like it was made of glass.

He led you to a bench in the shade, wiping his hands with his towel before peeling open the lid. His eyes widened — you had packed everything meticulously: truffle rice balls (you remembered he liked a little luxury), grilled teriyaki chicken, pickled vegetables, and a few tiny sweets tucked into the corner for afters.

"You… remembered all my favorites," he said, voice thick with something heavier than gratitude. "You’re gonna spoil me."

He picked up a bite with his chopsticks, chewing thoughtfully. As the flavors melted on his tongue, his head tilted back slightly, and he let out the softest, most genuine sound you’d ever heard from him — a sound of complete bliss.

Then he turned that dazzling, megawatt grin on you.

"You’re dangerous," he said, resting his elbow on his knee and leaning toward you with lazy, flirtatious ease. "If you keep doing stuff like this, I’ll have to marry you."

He was joking — kind of. But you caught the way his cheeks flushed slightly pink under the midday sun.

Before you could answer, Reo leaned in, kissed your forehead, and whispered:

“Thank you, princess. I’ll make it up to you after practice.”

Later that night, he sent you dozens of texts planning your next date, determined to outdo your thoughtfulness with something that would leave you speechless instead.

Because Mikage Reo didn’t just receive love. He matched it, multiplied it, and sent it back tenfold.

Barou Shoei

Barou was the picture of intensity on the field — a storm wrapped in a man’s body, every move sharp and decisive. His presence was so overwhelming, sometimes people flinched just trying to meet his gaze.

You stood at the edge of the practice grounds, lunch bag clutched to your chest, heart hammering. How would he react? Would he even accept it?

When break was called, Barou stalked toward the sidelines, towel over his shoulder, glaring at the ground as if daring it to challenge him. He barely noticed you at first — until he caught your familiar scent carried on the breeze.

He stopped dead in his tracks, lifting his head.

You stepped forward nervously. "Shouei... I made you lunch."

The entire world seemed to go silent.

He stared. His red eyes locked onto yours — intense, unblinking — and for one terrifying moment, you thought you’d made a mistake.

Then, wordlessly, he closed the distance between you.

His hand — big, calloused, and impossibly gentle — took the lunch bag from yours.

He opened it without a word, revealing a sturdy bento box filled with hearty food: thick-cut beef with rice, roasted vegetables, a miso soup flask on the side, and a small, clumsy hand-written note tucked between the layers.

"Eat up, King. You deserve it."

Barou’s brows twitched. He picked up the note, holding it like it was made of precious metal.

He cleared his throat, glancing around to make sure no one was paying too much attention, before sitting heavily on the bench nearby. You hesitated, but he shot you a glare — not a mean one, but the kind that said: Don’t even think about leaving.

He dug into the food without fanfare, biting into the beef first.

A beat of silence.

Then a low, pleased rumble vibrated from deep in his chest, almost like a growl.

"This is... good," he muttered gruffly, eyes lowered like he didn’t want you to see the way they softened.

You smiled, cheeks burning.

Barou ate quickly, efficiently, every so often glancing at you like he still couldn’t believe you had taken the time to do this for him. When he finished, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, stood up, and loomed over you.

"You got guts, bringin’ somethin’ like this to me," he said, tone rough. But you could hear the pride underneath. "Good guts."

Then, awkwardly — very awkwardly — he ruffled your hair, so clumsily it almost knocked you backward.

"You’re mine," he said bluntly. "You got that?"

And before you could answer, Barou stalked off toward practice again, chest puffed out, moving like he had just scored a hat-trick — because deep down, he knew: no victory on the field could ever compare to winning your heart.

Yukimiya Kenyu

The sharp click of cleats on pavement echoed across the training center as Yukimiya wiped the sweat from his brow. Everything he did, he did with precision — from the clean dribble of his feet to the way he tied his hair up neatly after a scrimmage.

He moved with that serious, almost elegant grace that always made you want to watch him a little longer than you should.

And today, he was extra focused — his practices had been getting longer and harder, and you knew better than anyone that he pushed himself beyond exhaustion sometimes. That’s why you stood near the benches, holding a slim, stylish bento box — something you knew he would appreciate.

When Yukimiya spotted you, his steps faltered. His sharp, almost guarded eyes softened in an instant.

He approached, towel slung around his neck, posture still straight even as exhaustion weighed on him. His voice was low, a little surprised:

"You came all this way?"

You smiled and held out the bento.

"I made you something. Thought you could use a little break... and a little love."

The tips of Yukimiya’s ears turned pink — a detail so small, so fleeting, you might’ve missed it if you weren’t watching closely.

He accepted the box with a kind of reverence, like it was something priceless. Sitting down gracefully on the bench, he opened it carefully.

Inside, you had packed it beautifully: fresh salads with vinaigrette on the side, grilled fish, brown rice, slices of colorful fruit arranged like a painting. It looked healthy, but still indulgent — exactly what you knew he'd prefer.

Yukimiya set his chopsticks down for a moment, simply staring at it.

"You're... incredible," he said quietly, almost like he was speaking to himself. "Even the presentation is beautiful."

You sat beside him, a little shy.

Without a word, he picked up a piece of melon and held it up toward you.

"Say ah," he murmured, his lips curving in a soft, rare smile.

You blinked, heat rushing to your face, but you obeyed — and he laughed under his breath, his shoulders relaxing in a way that rarely happened during the tense, grueling days of training.

As he ate, he never once took his eyes off you — as if he was reminding himself that you were real, that this moment was real.

Between bites, he said softly:

"You're the only one who sees me like this... not as a player, not as a product... just me."

And when practice ended later, Yukimiya didn’t rush to leave. Instead, he pulled you gently into a hug, resting his forehead against yours, whispering:

"Stay close to me... okay?"

Because to him, you weren't just a break from reality. You were the only part of it he wanted to keep forever.

Otoya Eita

Otoya had been flirting shamelessly with his teammates during practice again — smirking, teasing, tossing careless winks like candy. It was part of his charm: that smooth, effortless charisma that could melt through defenses faster than any soccer tactic.

But the moment he caught sight of you standing near the fence, a small lunch bag in your hand, that playful mask slipped.

For just a heartbeat, his smile softened into something real.

He jogged over, running a hand through his tousled hair, his black earrings glinting under the sun.

"Yo, babe~" he drawled, flashing you that signature lazy grin. "Did you come just to watch me show off?"

You rolled your eyes, heart fluttering anyway.

"No, Eita," you said, holding up the bag. "I made you lunch."

That caught him off guard. His eyebrows shot up, a genuine, boyish surprise lighting up his whole face.

"For me?"

You nodded, pushing it into his hands. "Yeah. Thought you might need a little extra energy."

He stared at the bag, as if unsure he deserved it.

Otoya quickly masked the flicker of emotion with a smirk, but you saw it — the way his fingers clutched the handles tighter, how his gaze lingered on you with a rare intensity.

He pulled you into a quick, sneaky hug, murmuring into your hair:

"You're way too good to me, you know that?"

Otoya dragged you to sit with him on the grass, unwrapping the lunch like a kid unwrapping a birthday gift.

Inside, you had packed a bunch of fun, easy-to-eat foods: sandwiches cut into triangles, juicy karaage chicken bites, spicy mayo dip, and a few cookies you'd decorated sloppily with little hearts.

He laughed — this big, beautiful, real laugh — when he saw the cookies.

"You made these for me?" he said, mock-offended. "What if I get cavities, huh? Gonna pay my dental bills?"

But he popped one into his mouth without hesitation, chewing happily.

You sat next to him, basking in the late afternoon sun, the noise of practice fading into background static.

After a few bites, he leaned in close, bumping his forehead against yours.

"You're dangerous, babe," he whispered, lips brushing your ear. "Make me start thinking about things that aren't soccer."

His voice dropped lower, only for you to hear:

"Like how good you'd look sitting in my kitchen, making me breakfast in the morning."

You laughed, pushing him away playfully, cheeks burning — and he laughed too, catching your hand mid-air and bringing it to his lips for a quick, teasing kiss.

But behind all the flirting, you knew something real was blooming there — something a little scary, a little thrilling.

Because Otoya Eita was used to running.

And somehow, you were the one person he was sprinting toward.

Karasu Tabito

Training had been relentless today. Karasu’s shirt clung to him, black hair messy and sticking to his forehead, dark eyes sharp as ever as he lazily dribbled the ball between his feet even during breaks.

He was sharp, cocky — the kind of guy whose whole aura screamed "I don’t need anyone." And yet, the second he caught sight of you waiting by the benches, arms behind your back and a little nervous bounce to your step, something in him faltered.

He kicked the ball aside with casual precision and started walking toward you, every step slow, deliberate — the smirk playing at his lips giving nothing away.

"Yo," he said, voice low, almost teasing. "Came to see me break ankles, sweetheart?"

You rolled your eyes and held up a sleek black lunch box, matching his aesthetic a little too perfectly.

"I brought you lunch. Thought you could use it... since you're out here pretending you're invincible or whatever."

For a split second — and it was so fast you almost missed it — Karasu's cocky front slipped. His eyes widened, blinking once. Then he chuckled under his breath, that deep, rough sound you loved so much.

"You're dangerous," he muttered, more to himself than to you.

He sat down right there on the grass, patting the spot beside him without a word. When you sat, he immediately pulled the box open.

Inside, you'd packed some high-protein onigiri, grilled chicken, pickled sides, and a few extra things you knew he liked — even tucked in a mini dessert. Nothing too flashy, but thoughtful. Personal.

Karasu stared at the food, silent.

Then he said, quietly:

"You know me too well."

He ate slowly at first, savoring it — and every once in a while, he'd glance sideways at you, like he couldn't believe you were real.

"You didn't have to do this," he murmured between bites. "I mean... I can take care of myself."

You shrugged, trying to play it off. "Maybe I want to take care of you sometimes."

That shut him up fast.

For once, Karasu didn't have a smartass comment ready. He just stared at you, mouth slightly open, chopsticks frozen mid-air.

Finally, he set them down, turned fully toward you, and leaned in — not smirking, not teasing — just... looking at you with this rare, intense sincerity.

"You’re lucky I’m crazy about you," he said, voice low, rough around the edges. "Otherwise, I'd never let anyone see me this soft."

And when practice resumed, Karasu played sharper, faster — like he had something more precious to protect now. Because he did. He had you.

Niko Ikki

Niko wasn't flashy. Where others shouted, flexed, and demanded attention, he operated like a ghost on the field — quiet, tactical, always watching.

Which made him pretty good at noticing things others missed. Like you, standing by the fence, nervously adjusting the strap of the small cooler bag you brought.

His green eyes caught yours almost instantly. He hesitated, brushing the hair from his face awkwardly, then jogged over, wiping his hands on his shorts.

"Y/N?" he asked, voice soft, a little breathless.

You held up the bag, heart hammering. "I... made you lunch. For after practice. If you want it."

Niko froze. Like, actually froze.

You could see the gears turning in his head, short-circuiting. Was this some dream? A prank? Did he accidentally hit his head during drills?

"You made this... for me?"

You nodded.

Slowly — so slowly, it was almost shy — Niko reached out and took the bag from your hands. His fingers brushed yours, and his ears immediately turned a vivid pink.

He led you over to the edge of the field, sitting on the grass cross-legged, handling the bag like it was fragile.

Opening it carefully, he found a simple, cozy meal: Tamago (egg) sandwiches, some homemade rice crackers, a few veggie sticks, and a neatly wrapped banana muffin for dessert. Nothing extravagant — but every part of it screamed "I know you."

Niko stared at the food. Then at you. Then back at the food.

You watched him, worried.

"Is it okay? I didn't know what you usually eat for practice days, so I kinda guessed—"

"It's perfect," he interrupted, voice so soft it almost got swallowed by the breeze.

He took a small, careful bite of the sandwich, chewing slowly.

And then — The tiniest smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Barely there. Fleeting. But real.

"This... feels like a dream," he muttered, half to himself. "No one's ever done something like this for me before."

You blinked. "Really?"

He shook his head, still smiling that barely-there smile that made your chest ache a little.

"...You're special," he said simply. "You always make me feel like I'm worth noticing."

And as the other players called him back to drills, Niko stood slowly, setting the box aside for later, but not before gently — awkwardly — patting your head in thanks.

He jogged back onto the field with a little more spring in his step. Like somehow, your lunch had fueled more than just his body. It had fueled his heart.

Aryu Jyubei

Even in the middle of grueling practice, Aryu was… well, Aryu. Perfect posture. Every movement clean, elegant, as if he were modeling instead of sprinting drills.

You stood off to the side, nervously holding a gorgeous, ribbon-wrapped bento box you had painstakingly designed to look good — because you knew, with Aryu, it was always about beauty.

When he finally caught sight of you, his silver hair catching the sunlight like a halo, his entire demeanor shifted.

He slowed down, almost like he was gliding across the field rather than walking.

When he reached you, he smiled — dazzling, flawless — brushing imaginary dust off his jersey before he spoke.

"My lovely," he said smoothly, voice like honey. "Is this a gift for me?"

You nodded, a little breathless, and held out the lunchbox.

"I made you lunch. I tried to make it... you know... aesthetically pleasing, too."

Aryu's lavender eyes widened ever so slightly — a flicker of real surprise. He took the box from your hands with exaggerated care, like it was an ancient artifact, holding it delicately between long fingers.

"You tailored it... for my beauty standards," he said softly, his voice dropping a few octaves. "You're too perfect."

He moved to a shaded bench and beckoned you to join him with a graceful tilt of his head. Sitting with one leg elegantly crossed over the other, he opened the box slowly.

Inside? You had arranged everything meticulously: — Color-coordinated vegetables, — Heart-shaped tamagoyaki, — Rice balls with edible flower petals pressed into them, — Grilled salmon cut into neat, symmetrical strips.

It looked like something out of a high-end magazine shoot.

Aryu's lips parted slightly in amazement.

"This..." he whispered. "This is art."

You sat down beside him, heart hammering.

He took a bite, still poised and elegant — and then he actually closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the taste. When he opened them again, his gaze locked onto you with something deeper than gratitude — something raw, real.

"You nourish my soul," he said seriously, resting a hand lightly over his heart. "You nourish my beauty."

Then — and you swear your heart actually stopped — Aryu reached out and gently, so gently, tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

"Perfect," he murmured under his breath, almost like he was talking to himself.

From that day on, he posted about your lunches online (with your permission) — captioning them with things like, "True beauty is made with love. #Blessed #LunchGoals."

And every time he practiced, he pushed himself a little harder — because how could he not? The most beautiful thing in his life was already cheering for him.

Chigiri Hyoma

Chigiri Hyoma was a storm bottled inside a porcelain frame. Fast, sharp, and achingly beautiful — like something that wasn’t meant for this world.

You stood near the track where he was finishing his sprints, heart pounding, clutching the small thermos and bento box you'd packed just for him.

His long crimson hair streamed behind him like a banner as he raced past — so fast it took your breath away.

And then — As if sensing your gaze — Chigiri skidded to a graceful stop, turning his head slightly, strands of hair framing his delicate, sharp-edged face.

When he saw you, something subtle shifted in his expression — a softening that few ever got to witness.

He jogged over, light on his feet, wiping sweat off his brow.

"Hey," he said, voice low and a little surprised. "You’re here?"

You nodded, shy but determined, holding out the food.

"I made you lunch. For after practice."

Chigiri blinked. His gaze flickered from your face to the lunch, and back to your face again.

For a moment, he didn’t move.

You saw it — the walls he kept so carefully built up wobbling ever so slightly.

"You made this for me?" he asked, voice dropping even softer, like he was almost afraid to say it too loud and scare the moment away.

"Yeah," you said, smiling. "I figured you'd need something good after training so hard."

Slowly — hesitantly — Chigiri reached out and took the bento box from you. His fingers brushed yours, and you felt how slightly his hand was trembling.

He led you over to a quiet corner where he could open it away from the others. Sitting on the grass, he peeled open the lid — and his eyes widened slightly.

You had packed light but hearty food — udon noodles with fresh vegetables, marinated tofu, slices of sweet rolled omelet, and fresh strawberries, knowing he loved them. It wasn’t extravagant, but it was everything he needed.

He looked at it. Then at you.

"...You know me better than anyone," he said quietly.

He took a bite, chewing slowly — and for the first time in a long time, you saw it: The way his entire body relaxed, the way his shoulders dropped from their usual tense coil.

When he finished eating, Chigiri set the box aside and leaned back on his hands, face tilted toward the sky, crimson hair catching the breeze.

Then, in a voice so soft you almost missed it, he said:

"You're my favorite reason to run."

And when he looked at you, eyes shining like rubies, you knew: He wasn’t just running for himself anymore.

He was running toward you.

Gagamaru Gin

Practice was brutal today — the kind where even the air feels heavy, and the turf sticks stubbornly to the soles of your shoes. Gagamaru had thrown himself at every shot, dove at impossible angles, muscles aching in ways he didn't even realize possible. The coach finally blew the whistle for a break, and the players scattered to catch their breath.

Gagamaru wiped the sweat from his forehead with the hem of his shirt and wandered toward the benches, his mind already halfway gone to food — anything, at this point. Maybe the vending machines still had something halfway edible.

But then he saw you.

Standing awkwardly near the sidelines, clutching a lunchbox like it was some kind of sacred artifact, you waved the moment he noticed you. His eyes lit up instantly — not in a loud, dramatic way, but in that quiet, stunned Gagamaru way, like a puppy realizing its favorite person was in the room.

He jogged over to you, hair bouncing slightly with each step, a rare grin spreading across his flushed face.

"You… made me lunch?" he asked, voice rough from shouting during drills, but so, so soft when speaking to you.

You nodded shyly, handing it over. It wasn't anything crazy — just simple food you knew he liked: grilled onigiri, karaage, some tamagoyaki, and fresh fruits tucked in the corners like tiny bursts of color. You had even slipped a tiny handwritten note between the compartments ("Eat well, dummy! ❤️").

Gagamaru took the box in both hands like he was afraid he'd crush it if he wasn't careful. He dropped onto the bench right there and ripped off the lid with boyish excitement, inhaling the scent.

"Whoa... it smells so good," he mumbled, practically bouncing on his seat. Without hesitation, he popped a rice ball into his mouth, his eyes going wide mid-bite.

"Thish ish... amazhing," he said, voice muffled through a full mouth.

You laughed, sitting beside him. He offered you a bite like it was instinct — holding out a piece of chicken with his chopsticks toward your mouth, utterly earnest.

"Eat with me," he said, grinning in that slightly dopey, infinitely sweet way only Gagamaru could.

And for the rest of the break, the two of you sat side by side, sharing bites, his knee bumping against yours every so often. He kept sneaking glances at you, a quiet, contented look on his face that said more than words ever could: Thank you. Thank you for thinking of me. Thank you for caring.

He even insisted on carrying the empty box himself after, carefully tucking it into his duffel like it was treasure.

Before jogging back to practice, he paused, turned, and with a sudden rush of boldness pressed a quick, clumsy kiss against your temple.

"I’ll score one for you today," he promised, eyes bright with the kind of simple, fierce devotion only Gagamaru knew how to give.

Raichi Jingo

The locker room still smelled like sweat and metal, even with half the windows cracked open. Raichi Jingo slammed his locker shut, his foot tapping out a restless rhythm against the tile floor.

Today’s drills had been intense — too many scrimmages, too many chances for him to lose his temper at some idiot who didn't pass when they should’ve. He was on edge, frustration bubbling under his skin, needing an outlet.

So when he stepped outside and saw you waiting by the field gates — holding a lunch bag, looking nervous but hopeful — it almost didn't register at first. He blinked, a scowl still half-formed on his face, until it clicked.

You. Lunch. For him.

He stomped over, face flushing a deep red not from the heat, but from the unfamiliar cocktail of emotions tangling in his chest.

"W-what the hell are you doing here?!" he barked instinctively — too loud, too harsh. But then he caught the slight falter in your smile and cursed himself mentally.

You lifted the bag toward him. "I, um… thought you might want something homemade before the next scrimmage?"

He stood there for a second, hands balled into fists at his sides, glaring at the ground like it had personally offended him. Then, wordlessly, he grabbed the bag from you — not roughly, but like he didn’t trust himself to be gentler.

He turned his back for a second, breathing out hard, before plopping down right on the grass. He cracked open the bag and froze.

Inside was his favorite: katsudon, hot and fragrant, with the egg perfectly runny and the pork golden-crispy. You had even packed a side of miso soup in a thermos, and a small pudding cup (with a stupid little smiley face sticker on the lid).

Raichi swallowed hard. His throat felt too tight for some reason.

"You're... really trying to kill me, huh," he muttered, not looking at you. But when you laughed — that soft, genuine laugh — he peeked up, ears red, and finally cracked a small, crooked smile.

He ate like he was starving, shoving spoonfuls into his mouth, muttering how "this was the only good thing that happened today" under his breath. Every now and then he’d glance sideways at you, trying to be subtle but failing miserably, cheeks tinted pink.

After finishing, he set the empty container down carefully. He didn't say thank you — not in words — but he shifted closer to you, bumped his shoulder into yours roughly, like a kid asking for attention.

"Tch. Next time... bring two portions," he grumbled. "You barely get any if you just sit there watching me, dumbass."

It wasn’t the smoothest thanks. It wasn’t even close. But from the way Raichi sat a little closer after that, from the way he picked at the grass nervously while sneaking glances at you — it was clear:

He was grateful. So, so much more grateful than he could ever put into words.

And when he got up to head back to practice, he ruffled your hair — quick, rough, affectionate — before stomping off, barking at his teammates like usual. But his voice had a little more warmth to it now. And every now and then, he’d shoot a cocky, almost-boyish grin back at you from across the field.

Hiori Yo

The sun barely peeked through the heavy gray clouds overhead. It felt like the whole world was weighed down, sluggish and quiet — matching the mood inside Hiori Yo’s chest.

Practice today was grueling, but it wasn’t just the drills that exhausted him. It was the constant gnawing voice in the back of his mind, whispering that he wasn’t good enough, wasn’t moving fast enough, wasn’t shining the way he should. He hated that voice. He hated that it still had power over him sometimes.

As he trudged off the field toward the benches, his head low, he saw a small figure waiting for him. You. Standing there, shifting your weight nervously from foot to foot, holding a lunch bag decorated with little blue stars — the color you knew he liked.

At first, Hiori thought he was hallucinating out of exhaustion. But when you lifted the bag shyly and waved at him, he stopped dead in his tracks.

"You... came here for me?" he asked quietly, disbelief plain in his voice.

You nodded, smiling a little, though your hands trembled just enough for him to notice. "I thought… maybe you could use a break. A good one."

For a long moment, Hiori just stared, his usually guarded expression slipping away. And then — like a dam breaking — the softest smile curled onto his lips. A real one. The kind that was rare, precious, like sunlight after a long rain.

He walked over, taking the bag almost reverently from your hands.

Sitting beside you on the bench, he opened it carefully — and when he saw the neat little arrangement inside, his throat tightened. You had packed everything he loved without being over-the-top: a homemade sandwich with fresh, crisp veggies and chicken, his favorite kind of potato salad, and even a tiny matcha-flavored sweet tucked in the corner.

You even remembered to include a tiny packet of hand wipes — because you knew how meticulous he was about not feeling "sticky" when he ate.

"You…" he started, then stopped. His voice cracked embarrassingly.

Instead, he set the lunch down, leaned toward you, and pressed his forehead gently against your shoulder.

"Thank you," he whispered, so soft you almost missed it under the breeze.

He ate slowly, savoring every bite, and he kept glancing at you — like he couldn’t believe you were real, sitting there next to him, just for him. When he finished, he carefully tucked everything back into the bag, his movements almost tender.

Then, without warning, he turned to you fully, his ocean-blue eyes clear and steady.

"When I’m on the field today," he said, voice steady, "I’ll remember this feeling. I’ll remember that someone believes in me."

And he said it like a promise — not just to you, but to himself.

Before heading back to practice, he surprised you by reaching out and taking your hand — fingers sliding between yours, gentle but sure — and giving it a small, grateful squeeze.

Nanase Nijiro

The energy on the field was electric today — shouts, laughter, the slap of cleats against the turf. Nanase Nijiro was everywhere, darting around like a bright bolt of energy, even as sweat soaked through his practice jersey.

Still, there was a tiredness under his smile. The kind you only saw if you knew him well — the kind where he pushed himself harder than he should, afraid of falling behind.

As the whistle blew for a break, he wiped his forehead with his sleeve, heart hammering in his chest. He was about to make a beeline for his water bottle when he saw you standing just beyond the field.

The moment his eyes landed on you, his whole face lit up.

"(Y/N)!!" he shouted, waving both arms above his head like an overexcited kid. He sprinted toward you, practically skidding to a stop in front of you, his grin so wide it almost hurt to look at.

"What’re you doing here?!" he beamed. Then he noticed the lunch bag in your hands.

His eyes widened comically. "Wait. Is that... is that for me??"

You laughed, handing it to him. "Yeah. Thought you might be hungry."

"Hungry?? I'm starving!" he groaned dramatically, clutching the bag to his chest like it was a lifeline.

Without any hesitation — like it was the most natural thing in the world — he plopped down cross-legged right there on the grass, pulling you down beside him with a happy tug on your wrist.

He opened the bag with the kind of reverence most people reserved for opening presents on Christmas morning. Inside was a bento box you had carefully arranged: fluffy rice topped with sesame seeds, grilled fish, sautéed vegetables, and a few carefully cut fruit slices in the shape of little hearts. You had even tucked in a tiny note that said, "For my favorite striker!" with a doodle of a tiny soccer ball.

Nanase stared at it for a second, then looked up at you, his green eyes wide and glassy.

"You made this? Like, actually??" he said, voice cracking slightly.

When you nodded, he clutched the bento to his chest again dramatically. "This is... the greatest day of my life," he announced solemnly, making you burst into laughter.

He dug in with the enthusiasm of someone who hadn't eaten in days — humming happily at every bite, practically bouncing in place. Every now and then he would pause, shove a piece of fruit toward your mouth, insisting you eat too.

"This is insane," he said between bites. "You're insane. You're amazing. I'm gonna score a hat trick today, I swear on this lunch."

After he finished (and licked the lid of the bento clean, because Nanase was nothing if not shameless when it came to food you made), he turned to you, practically vibrating with energy.

"Stay and watch, okay?" he pleaded, cheeks flushing. "I’m gonna play my heart out. For you."

He looked so earnest, so absolutely bright, you couldn't help but promise you would.

And when he ran back onto the field, he turned around once — just once — to shoot you a grin so dazzling it could’ve powered the floodlights on its own.

[pukefactory]

Could I ask for some headcanons about salesperson ena X reader who starts off disliking her, but gradually ends up with a crush on her?

•☽────✧˖°˖ GEOMETRIC WAVES ˖°˖✧────☾•

★ Summary: A Compilation of Headcannons Featuring Salesperson Ena X Reader Who Slowly Develops A Crush On Her

★ Character(s): Salesperson Ena (Ena: Dream BBQ)

★ Genre: Headcanons, SFW

★ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

★ Image Credits: @JoelG

☆ You hated her from the moment she handed you a business card shaped like a broken tooth. “Let’s make pain a product,” she beamed, red-side twinkling with a salesman sparkle, “and sell it to GØD!” It wasn’t the pitch that got to you. It was the way she said it like you should already be convinced.

☆ Every encounter with her felt like slipping on a banana peel and falling into a marketing seminar. Her voice echoed in your skull: “Do you feel fulfilled? No? Good! That means you’re ripe for transformation!” She didn’t blink—she rebranded.

☆ The Meanie side spat insults like she was allergic to your presence. “OF COURSE you’re a skeptic! You’ve got ‘wet blanket’ written on your resume!” You almost walked away. Almost. But she switched back to her Salesperson persona and caught your wrist and whispered: “Let’s turn that blanket into a comfort item, hm?”

☆ You caught her making PowerPoint slides with no projector. No audience. No context. Just her in a broom closet, clicker in hand, speaking to a stack of noodles. “Slide seven is about your emotional repression.” You couldn’t help but peek over her shoulder.

☆ You tried to avoid her. Which is hard when she skates past on a filing cabinet screaming, “PITCH ME YOUR TRAUMA IN 10 SECONDS OR LESS!” Even harder when you realize your dreams now feature her face as the LinkedIn logo.

☆ One day, you snapped. “Why are you like this?!” She only smiled. “It’s a business model, sweetheart. You’ll invest eventually.”

☆ The pivot point wasn’t romantic. It was when she defended you at a staff meeting you weren’t invited to. “THIS ENTITY IS NOT A LIABILITY!” she declared, standing on the table. “THEY’RE A RAW RESOURCE!” You found yourself flustered. She called you valuable. Not nice. Not pretty. Valuable.

☆ She started showing up during your breaks. Not to flirt. To pitch you things. “Would you like a tiny coffin for your secrets? It’s leakproof!” You bought one. You didn’t know why.

☆ The more she ranted, the more it made sense. Her nonsense wasn’t nonsense. It was code. “I’m inefficient at expressing care,” translated into: I watch you eat lunch alone and it makes me want to set fire to the break room out of concern.

☆ You fell for her halfway through a monologue about toothbrush capitalism. She paused, flickering from red to yellow, yellow to red. “Wait. Are you listening or… blushing?” You tried to lie. The Salesperson laughed. The Meanie hissed, “YOU’RE GONNA RUIN THE DYNAMIC!” You ruined it anyway by smiling. She rebooted.

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ the "dying" wolverine ]❜

ft. logan howlett x gn! reader — xmen, marvel

╰₊✧ taking care of logan when he’s sick┊0.8k words

setting: deadpool & wolverine (2024) worst! logan contains: fluff, established relationship

➤ author's note: i’m feeling like shit so i’m making him suffer with me

what part of regenerative healing don’t you understand? it’s impossible for him to get sick in any capacity as his immune system is stronger than the adamantium in his body, so feel free to read any of the other logan fics written by all the amazing writers on this platform!!

but let’s say that he somehow contracted a special bug that managed to get past all that and managed to make him fall ill, requiring you to take care of him while wade goes on a mission to figure out what’s wrong with him…

this headstrong two-hundred-year mutant who can take stab wounds without flinching and is an invincible tank in battles will be the whinest son of the bitch. he always lets his guard down around you, but he’s the most vulnerable and immature that he’ll ever allow himself to be around anyone since he can’t remember the last time (or if he has ever in his life) felt so shitty. shivering despite being feverish and covered up in blankets which just made him sweaty and uncomfortable, an itchy nose that wouldn’t sneeze when he needed it to, coughing his lungs out every two minutes— it’s so alien to him.

when you finally show up to look after him, he’ll have uncharacteristically big puppy eyes as you gently place your hand on his forehead to gauge how bad it is. “how are you feeling, lo?”

“i feel like i’m going to fucking die.” there are several discarded tissues and water bottles overfilling the nearby trashcan, but it was clear that he had no idea how he was supposed to make himself feel better and suffering.

“i can tell,” you chuckle at how dramatic he sounds and it makes him frown, but he’s just so thankful that you’re here to take care of him (he doesn’t exactly trust al to do it, that woman is a bit too mysterious and cryptic for him, and the medicine she offered smelled funny even to his dulled senses). “let me go make you some soup.”

he doesn’t want you to leave at first because your cold skin feels so good against him, but he’ll lightly doze off for a bit now that he’s more comfortable and feels safer. don’t expect him to stay asleep for long though, he’ll get up from his little while you’re in the middle of cooking chicken vegetable soup to wrap his arms around you and rest his head on top of yours until you finish.

“why are there barely any vegetables in the fridge? i could only find half a carrot and wilted celery.”

“i don’t think anyone here eats that stuff.”

“logan, you need to eat your greens— all you guys do, how are all three of you in such good shape then?!”

“eh.”

he can’t make anything more complicated than butter noodles, wade sets nearly everything on fire, he feels slightly guilty eating the food made by an elderly blind lady when he’s already freeloading at the moment, and constantly ordering take-out becomes expensive. you’ve given some food in tupperware for him to eat up, but it isn’t quite the same. as if being sick didn’t make him miserable enough, he’s so fucking pissed that he couldn’t properly taste your freshly-cooked food and will make it known.

you scoff that it’s just soup and pour it out in a bowl for him to eat, but you’ll quickly find yourself spoon-feeding him. yes, his hands still work with perfectly fine motor functions. no, you’re not passing up the opportunity to baby him while he rolls his eyes (he’ll grunt at most and doesn’t say a word of protest, claiming that he’s merely allowing it since he’s too tired to fight with you over it and very glad no one could see it happening).

“here comes the airplane~”

“i’m a grown-ass man, don’t be ridiculous.”

“a grown-ass man without an ounce of whimsy in his life, open your fucking mouth and eat.”

this is one of the lower points in his life where he doesn’t quite understand why this is happening to him yet, so you obviously have give him as much affection as possible! keeping a cold glass of water nearby and a wet rag to dab on his face, he rests his head upon your thighs and you swear that you can hear him purring like a kitten. there’s not better pillow than his lover, soft, warm, and full of love as you hum a song to lull him to sleep.

“let’s get married one day…” he not sure how that slipped past his lips, it might be the fever talking for him, or the fact that he’s completely relaxed without any tension in his muscles and feeling himself falling in love all over again when you smile so sweetly at him

“okay, but you need to sleep and get better first.” you place a gentle kiss on his forehead until his eyes slowly drift shut, “i love you, logan.”

[venomvalley]

FESTIVAL FUN

sevika x fem!reader | 2.3k words

SUMMARY: You love celebrating Valentine's Day. On the other hand, Sevika hates it, but she goes along with your plans anyway—so why not show her some appreciation for her efforts? Yes, you have steamy sex in a photo booth.

TAGS: 18+ only! modern zaun, girlfriends being cute and in love, semi-public sex, oral (sev!receiving), fingering (r!receiving), scent kink if you squint

NOTES: HAPPY VALENTINES DAY BESTIES!!! barely got this out in time but i STILL DID IT!! this was based off a request that i tweaked to fit vday cause it was way too perfect

-> READ ON AO3

It's Valentine's Day, the most loving day of the year. The lower streets of Zaun gleam with gaudy pink and red neon lights, buildings bathed in streamers and ribbons—decorations put up by the local teenagers (that technically count as vandalism without the approval of the city). Coincidentally the only demographic truly excited for the holiday.

Well. Teenagers and you.

Sevika couldn't give a damn, but she loves you enough to let you drag her through the streets to soak up the atmosphere of the recently-renovated Lanes. A local festival came to the area two days ago in honor of the holiday—your true destination, but you can't resist a detour through the market to sniff out the best-looking goods. Heart-shaped sweetbread, heart-shaped cookies, noodle bowls topped with heart-shaped mystery meat. Food served in pink and red ceramic, heart-patterned wrapping paper, topped with pretty bows.

Midway through your apple tart, you glance over at her as she takes a seat beside you on the stoop of the shop's entrance. The crowd passes in a blur, laughing and yelling and celebrating the advent of the weekend. Grumpy as always, she schools her expression into something a bit more chipper (if you can call the awkward stretch of her lips chipper) when she catches your eye.

"I know what you're gonna say," you begin, nudging her with your shoulder as you unwrap more of your food. "I'm a little too old to be excited about shit like this."

She shrugs, head turning to survey the crowd. "As long as you like it, honey."

Sacrificing her own wants just to see you happy? Yeah, that's the purest form of love you can think of. The kind of love you expect from her—actions over words, meaningful in the most discreet of ways. Never possessed a flair for the dramatics for the entirety of your relationship, no extravagant gifts or public displays.

She loves from the shadows. A quiet, tender thing to behold.

You take another bite, the heat of spice-cinnamon prickling your tongue. "How sweet of you."

"I could be sweeter if we actually made it to the festival before nightfall."

"I wasn't aware we were on a schedule."

"Do you know who you're talking to?"

You pause for a moment, brows ticking up as you finish your last bite. "That's a good point, actually."

So after you throw away your wrapper, you set off for the festival with a relieved Sevika in tow, and you absolutely don't get distracted a single time. She definitely doesn't have to steer you back on track when you reach the cute display of Valentine's Day jewelry, or the expensive flower booth with bouquets imported from Piltover.

The festival grounds themselves adapt to the tightly-packed streets of Zaun, rides delegated to one main road, then food stalls on another, then local merchants lining a nearby intersection. A beautiful, lively sight to behold. Unbearably loud with the whirring of mechanisms and the screaming children. The air thickens with the smell of grease and fried food, churning your stomach as you pass through the crowd to check out the rides.

And then you spot it. A photo booth tucked into the corner, painted in streaky pink, two young girls stumbling out of it on your approach. It's a bulky thing made of metal, the door flimsy when you pop it open. You slot a few cogs into the machine, directly beneath a PAY HERE sign beside the entrance, and the inside hums to life with a white glow.

"What are you doing?" Sevika calls from a few feet away, hands outstretched in confusion.

You turn to her, stepping into the booth. "When was the last time we took pictures together?"

"Never."

"Exactly, so get your ass in here."

The space was already a tight fit before she squeezed herself inside, and now the both of you brush elbows as the screen in front of you mirrors the scene. A large reflective lens directly above it blinks a steady blue light.

"This is stupid," she grumbles, knocking into you when she crosses her arms.

"It's romantic."

"I'm already sweating."

"You'll live."

She turns to you with a furrow-browed pout just as a countdown begins on the screen. You jump to attention, smoothing down your shirt and fixing her bob of dark hair.

"Okay," you say, "let's do this."

5…

You lean into her and flash a toothy smile at the camera, arms curling around her waist.

4…

In the preview screen, she looks down at you with a wrinkled brow, refusing to move.

3…

"Smile, Sevika," you hiss through grit teeth, jostling her body with your own.

2…

A set of fingers suddenly dig into your side, wriggling at your most sensitive patch of skin—

1…

You collapse against her in a fit of laughter just as the shutter snaps in a beam of blinding white light, and you reach for her hand with a mirthy squeal.

She releases you after a moment, the space too tight for her to sidestep your irritated swat to her ass (a lot less punishing from your leftover giggles). "We paid money for these pictures, Sev! The first one's gonna be awful!"

"Isn't the whole point of this shit to have fun?" A roll of her eyes as she pulls you close yet again. "Relax."

The countdown begins once more, and a wandering hand cups the swell of your ass. You jolt, hips twisting to escape her reach, but the small space leaves you little room to maneuver.

"I swear to Janna, I'm gonna kill you—"

She cuts you off with a rough kiss pressed to your lips, chuckling against your mouth, an arm curling around your back to glue your chest to hers. The shutter of the camera paints the booth in bright light for a split second, and she pulls away with a smug grin. Grey eyes crinkled at the outer corners, sweat beading on the bridge of her nose, unbelievably proud of herself.

"You weren't kidding about the sweat, huh?" you ask, tone tinged with a teasing edge as you wipe a thumb down her nose.

The mirth fades from her face as her expression falls then morphs into a comically deep frown. "Not funny."

Her shenanigans continue through two more pictures, with you joining in. For the third, you bite the arm she throws over your shoulder, hard enough for her to recoil away. For the fourth, you're locked in a standing wrestling match that she, of course, wins.

With a metallic whine, the pictures slowly print out of a slot below the screen, which flashes with a cheesy thank you message surrounded by popping hearts. Each photo is filled with smiles—smug grins, gummy laughs, love stamped onto a laminated page. So much better than the stiff poses you tried to go for.

"So. Did I ruin it?" she asks, chin hooked over your shoulder, hand soft on your waist.

"Okay, I admit I was wrong." A thumb traces around the pink border. "I love them." You turn in her hold and pull her down for a soft, tender kiss. "Thank you."

Her lips twitch into a smile, then she pulls you closer as your arms curl around her neck. "You owe me."

"Do I?"

"Mhm," she hums against your jaw, nipping her teeth over your pulse. "We'll be here the rest of the night. No time to actually celebrate."

Her libido is nothing to scoff at, and it's been this way since you've known the woman. Not like you'd ever complain. At times, you probably beat her out (no, you definitely do. she's told you on multiple occasions that another round might actually kill her).

"This is the celebration."

"Not for me."

You roll your eyes, but arch your back into the hand currently unbuttoning your shirt. The air inside the booth blisters your skin, long-since thickened from shared body heat, and the removal of your clothing gives you little relief. She tugs up your bra then latches onto a flat nipple as you work to unclasp the toggles of her top. A difficult task given the wet heat of her mouth, tongue swirling around the hardening bud.

You trap a moan behind clenched-shut teeth and shove the shirt from her shoulders. Whisper, "Fuck—Sev—okay—" to redirect her attention away from your sensitive tits.

She pulls away with a soft pop then catches your lips with hers. Licks into your mouth as you press your bodies together, tacky with a sheen of sweat, skin soft and unbearably warm. She seeks to devour you, a pent-up need that she never even voiced finally rising to the surface. Your back clangs against the metal wall with a dull thud, and shaking hands make quick work of the buttons on your pants.

The first touch of her fingers against your pussy—thick and calloused and deliciously agile—leaves your jaw dropping, and she moves her kisses to trail along your thumping pulse. Circles a fingertip around the bud of your clit, and your knees would give out if not for the way you cling to her shoulders, arms tight over her back.

You know you have to be quick and quiet, and that pressure lingers in the back of your mind even as the heat in your gut begins to coil.

"Relax," she whispers, breath ghosting hot over the shell of your ear. "It's just us."

She knows you too well. Noticed the roadblock in your brain, felt the tension in your muscles when the thought first popped up, and she soothes it away with a few calming words and a grounding kiss.

Gods, how did you get so lucky?

Everything is heat. Broiling, visceral heat—between your legs, her slick cheek against yours, the muscled planes of her stomach that you smooth a palm over. She smells like sweat and smoke and something so Sevika that it makes you dizzy.

Staying quiet gets harder when she runs two fingers over the entrance of your pussy, noisy and wet, and she huffs a laugh against your cheek. Slides a slicked-up finger inside you, and you almost jump clear to the ceiling in celebration. Just what you needed, a thick, long solution to the emptiness, and you reach down to play with your clit.

"Another," you say, tilting your hips forward in a silent plea.

When she adds a second, it doesn't take long for you to cum, insides clenching tight and rhythmic around her, teeth a heavy bite on her shoulder to muffle your moans.

You pull away from each other when your body sags against the wall, both of you breathing heavy, bathed in a fresh sheen of sweat. (So much damn sweat.)

"Fuck, it's hot in here," you huff, barely taking the time to recover before you turn her around and press her against the wall.

"You'll live," she says with a grin, and yeah—you deserve that.

The space is small, but just large enough for you to fall to your knees without feeling cramped. You work on undoing the clasps of her pants before tugging them down her thick thighs, a task made harder by the wet slip of her skin. Out of nowhere, she fits her fingers between your teeth, musky with the taste of you, a string of slick connecting them that you immediately lap up.

You run your fingers down the curls of fur on her mound then tease your thumb over the hood of her puffy clit, spit pooling on your tongue as her fingertips tease the sheathe of your throat. Searing eye contact as you push her wrist away then dive into her pussy, so wet you can't help but moan, the sound muffled by her flesh.

Her hand presses to the back of your head, trapping you in place with a shaky exhale as you wriggle your tongue against the entrance of her pussy. You love eating her out. Can't get enough of her smell and taste, the way she clings to you all needy from overwhelm. Always so wet for you, slick enough to drown in.

Above everything, she makes you feel wanted. Pretty.

You flatten your tongue then lick over her clit, adjusting your rhythm to the subconscious rocking of her hips. With hands curled around the back of her thighs, you brace yourself, tugging her closer, the sudden clench of her cunt punching a whine from your chest.

She cums on your face with a sharp hiss, body curling toward your head, muscles twitching beneath your hands. Your shoulder aches from the sudden force of her grip, and then she's pushing you away with a heavy exhale. You suck in a lung-filling breath as she soothes a hand over yours, the lower half of your face soaked from nose to chin. Best part of eating her out, in your opinion.

"Shit," she says, eyes bleary and lidded, utterly spent after her orgasm. "I need a second."

You can't help but smile in triumph, reaching for your shirt on the floor to wipe your face with (that'll need an immediate wash when you get home). For a moment, you consider the consequences of walking around the Lanes smelling like a brothel, then remember that it's the Lanes—much worse smells permeate this part of the city than sex.

At her request, you help with her shirt, fingers a bit more shaky than expected. You smooth down each other's hair, fix your clothes, and after one final, long kiss, you're ready to leave.

With an awkward clear of your throat, you open the door and step out of the booth, glancing around the crowd to make sure nobody catches your eye. Luckily, everyone busies themselves with the festivities, too tunnel-visioned to take note of their surroundings. Thank Janna. You might collapse and die of humiliation if a family of four stood right outside, subject to the suspicious rocking of the booth.

Or maybe you're a bit paranoid about being caught doing something naughty.

But Sevika doesn't give a shit. She steps up beside you with a sniffle and begins fanning her shirt with a hand. Says, "Hot as hell in there," before moving along.

All you can do is follow in awestruck adoration.

Ah, how you love the Day of Love.

[borathae]

Pink Ribbons

“Pink ribbons around his dainty wrists, his pretty hair a mess and drool covering his puffy lips. Your husband has never looked cuter.”

Pairing: CEO!Jungkook x f.Reader

Genre: married life!AU, Slice of Life Fluff, Smut

Warnings: sub!Jungkook, Mommy Dom!Reader, cozy BDSM, safe power play, a cute chicken & movie date, he is very snuggly and clingy <3, he is also very obedient and the goodest boy, praise, good boy kink, loving dirty talk, bondage with pink silk ribbons, she takes videos of him because he is the cutest, handjob as he sits on her lap, gentle movements with lots of love, lots of kisses and touches all over his pretty body, a lil bit of edging, he is in such a cozy & safe subspace, he cums all over himself, did i mention that this is incredibly soft & cozy?, did you know that this is cozy?

Wordcount: 4.9k

a/n: i love him so much!!!!! omfg i'm sobbing :( he is the cutest pookie ever 😭 this story made me feel very cozy as i was writing it, i hope you guys can feel cozy as well hehe 💗 did you know that this is cozy?

“Jungkook, Jungkook, Bunny, Bunny, Bunny”, you come running around the corner calling his name repeatedly.

Jungkook, who is in the middle of a relaxing yoga session next to the windows, lifts his head. 

“Yes?”

You plop down in front of him, holding your phone.

“I saw something.”

“Okay?” Jungkook sits back, knowing that he won’t be able to continue his exercises until you showed him whatever you saw.

“Do you have time? Is it okay?” you ask.

“Yes, show me”, he assures you, scooting closer to you so he can see better.

You recently downloaded some famous video app because your college friends all talk about it and you wanted to feel included. You told him that you are only doing it to be trendy and to actually know what the young people talk about, but Jungkook has a gist that you are finding a liking in the app yourself. Sometimes he catches you literally cackling at your phone because of something funny you saw on the app. Other times, like today, you come running to show him whatever delighted you.

“I just saw this and it’s so cute. Look.”

You flip the phone and show him the video. It is a video of a generally perceived as attractive man filmed in pink light. Jungkook’s heart tightens in jealousy, his stomach sinks.

“Isn’t it cute?” you ask him.

“Why do you think that other men are cute?” Jungkook throws back with a huge, massive, immense pout, crossing his arms in front of his chest, “hmpf.”

“What? No you stupid noodle, it’s about the ribbons. Look.” You repeat the video. “His girlfriend tied ribbons around his arms and his torso and his wrists. Isn’t that so cute? We could do that too.”

“Ooooooh” Jungkook’s lips form the perfect O-shape and his eyes widen, arms relaxing, “ooooh you mean thaaat.”

You slap his chest gently.

“Stupid noodle. Of course I do. He is not cute. You are.”

Jungkook grins, “course I am.”

You roll your eyes. He is such a jealous baby sometimes.

“Whatever, silly. What do you think of the idea? Should we play with ribbons?”

Jungkook doesn’t need to think for long.

“Yes, I love the idea”, he agrees, nodding his head. 

“Coolio as fuck.”

Jungkook laughs, “you don’t sound trendy when you talk like this. Just saying.”

“Whatever.” You stand up. “I’ll be going ribbon shopping. Should I get takeout?”

“Yes, god. I want chicken.”

“Alrighty right. I’m going now. See you later alligator.”

“My love, please stop talking like this”, Jungkook laughs.

You merely grin at him and then leave, telling him that you won’t take long and that you love him.

Jungkook returns to his yoga session, finding great relaxation this way. His week was very stressful and yoga always calms him down.

He already finished his session, now getting tomorrow’s outfit ready, when you come back home. It is not a work outfit, but a date outfit because tomorrow is date day. Jungkook has been looking forward to date day the entire week. It is your turn to plan the activities and you hinted at bowling. Jungkook really loves bowling. 

“My love, I’m home!”

“I’m upstairs!” 

You appear in the dressing room soon, carrying the bags of your shopping tour.

“I got the stuff”, you tell him, grinning proudly.

“Yeah? That’s so cool, my love.” 

“Wanna eat the chicken on the sofa?” 

“Wanna watch a movie as we do?”

“Yeah.”

“Sure, let’s do that then. I’m picking out an outfit for tomorrow.”

You smile at him, “very good. Make sure that you can move in it well.”

Jungkook giggles and nods his head obediently. He loves date day! 

“Good boy. Come downstairs once you’re done. I’m setting up the chicken.” 

“I understand. Thank you, Mommy.”

You sit on the floor, switching through your movie choices, when Jungkook joins you. He does so rather vigorously, plopping down next to you to wrap his limbs around you and pull you into the biggest cheek smooch ever.

“Mmmmmmwuah” he lets out, following the smooch with a nose nuzzle against your cheek. 

You chuckle fondly, caressing his lower arms, “you’re a cutie. Did you pick out a nice outfit?”

“Yes, you’ll like it a lot”, he says, resting his chin on your shoulder to gaze at you, “Mommy, you’re so pretty.”

You look at him, smile and kiss his forehead. 

“You’re feeling clingy tonight, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, really clingy.” Jungkook gives you a big squeeze and nuzzle. “It’s because tomorrow is date day. I love date days so much.”

“I love them too.” You say fondly. “Should we watch a horror movie or something romantic?”

“I want romantic. I feel too soft for horror tonight. Is that okay for you?” 

“Sure. Anything my soft Bunny wants. Should we watch this one?”

Jungkook, still snuggled against you, turns his head so he can look at the TV. A movie you both haven’t seen yet. You talked about watching it together.

“Yes, let’s do that. We haven’t seen that one yet.”

“I heard it’s great”, you say and press play. 

The movie starts, but you shift your attention to Jungkook. You put some distance so you could grab his sleeves and roll them up for him.

Jungkook lets you with a fluttering heart. His heart flutters even more when you put a paper bib around his neck so he wouldn’t get dirty. It came with the chicken and carries the restaurant’s logo. You finish the sweet gesture by pinching both his cheeks softly.

“There we go, now you’re proper”, you say, making him lift his shoulders shyly.

You turn to the front, rolling up your own sleeves and putting on a bib as well. You hand Jungkook a pair of plastic gloves, putting on your own. 

“I can’t wait to dig in”, you say, picking up the first chicken piece of many.

Jungkook needs a few moments before he can start eating. Moments like these are no big deal to you, but they are huge deals to him. Taking care of him comes so natural to you that he should already be used to it, but he truly isn’t. It always feels so special when you coddle him. 

He needs to hug you, even if you are already eating. 

“Hm?” you let out, eyes glued to the TV and mouth stuffed with delicious chicken.

“I love you, Mommy.”

“I love you too, Bunny. Now eat baby, before it gets cold.”

“Yes, okay”, Jungkook listens well, putting on his gloves to finally dig in. 

“Good boy. Do you like it? I went to your favourite place.”

“I love it so much. It’s so yummy”, Jungkook gushes, stuffing his mouth full of chicken.

“That’s good to hear. Eat as much as you want.”

You and he are silent as you eat, enjoying the movie fully. The chicken tastes delicious. You went for three different flavours. Natural in a crispy, crunchy breading. Honey soy garlic which tastes so rich and savoury. Spicy sweet chilly which is Jungkook’s favourite because he likes spicy food. You like it as well, but Jungkook seems to be truly obsessed with it tonight, so you let him have most of it while you stick to the other flavors. They are delicious as well and you want to see Jungkook happy. He is so adorable when he is happy from good food that you could never ever take this away from him, even if it meant missing out on your favourite chicken flavour. 

You clean up after finishing. Jungkook wanted to do it because you already did everything else but you told him to stay put. He listened very well. 

Tonight is a certain energy present between you and him. A sort of silent understanding that your roles are more prominent even in the mundane, domestic things. Granted, stuff like taking care of him and praising him, are your daily tasks, but tonight there is energy in them. Electric, warm energy. Jungkook gives you the same kind of energy back, letting you know that he is in a mild subspace just from the way he moves and talks around you. 

You return with chocolate cookies and cocoa as dessert. Jungkook is waiting for you on his knees and sitting on his crossed feet, hands folded on his lap. He stayed put. The position, he decided to do it in, is the last proof you needed to know that he feels the same energies you are feeling. This is a domestic, relaxing moment as much as it is also casual, soft power play. 

“I hope that you like cookies and cocoa for dessert. I was feeling cozy. Careful, the cup is hot.”

“Yes, this sounds yummy. Thank you for preparing it”, Jungkook says, accepting the cocoa with sweater paws. He blows on it to cool it down.

“Of course, anything for you.”

You sit down on the sofa and press play on the movie. There is still half an hour left. You bend forward and rake Jungkook’s hair gently. He shivers, tilting his head back and gazing at you. He sets the cup down on the table.

“Who’s my good boy?” you ask him.

“I am.” He lets out and exhales shakily, leaving his position so he could hug your legs and nuzzle his face into your lap. “I'm your good boy.”

“That’s right, my good boy”, you say, leaning back comfortably. You begin combing his hair with your fingers, scratching his scalp soothingly.

Jungkook stays seated by your feet, resting his cheek on your thigh. He watches the movie with heavy lids, tingling each time you scratch him behind his ear. Only when he takes a sip of the cocoa, he sits up for a vast moment. 

After around ten minutes you bend down again, kissing the side of his neck. Jungkook shivers, letting out a surprised gasp. 

“My good boy”, you says softly and straighten up, scratching his undercut gently. From the corners of your eyes, you watch how he is squirming. 

Another ten minutes pass and you both have finished the cocoa and cookies. Jungkook stays seated after setting his empty cup down, shimmying in discomfort. 

“What’s the matter?” 

“My butt hurts.”

“What? No way, come up here immediately.”

Jungkook leaves the floor, climbing onto the sofa with you. He lies down on his side, resting his head on your lap. Then he sighs, melting in relaxation.

“Is that better?” you ask him, rubbing his hip gently.

“Yeah, it’s so comfy.”

“That’s good.”

You slide your hand to his butt, eliciting a gasp from him. 

“Relax. I’m just gonna get rid of the ache, okay?” you assure him.

He giggles, wiggling his butt against your hand.

The rest of the movie is spent like this. By the end of it, Jungkook can barely keep his eyes open. He is so relaxed in your presence that the word stress doesn’t even exist in his mind anymore. Like most romance movies, it makes him cry when the couple is falling into each other’s arms happily.

You watch it happen fondly, providing him comfort by scratching his back slowly while he sniffles and whimpers in happy tears. You are so immensely in love with him. He brought out the real you, the you who is so happy to be soft and who loves to watch cheesy romance movies.

Jungkook lets out an especially loud sniffle, shoulders shaking. 

“Gosh Bunny, are you alright?” 

“Yes”, he is talking in a pout, “they’re so in love. I’m so happy”, he whines and sobs, hugging your legs to hide away in them. 

“You’re the cutest”, you coo, ruffling his hair. 

“They’re so in love. I love this movie so much.”

“Me too, Bunny. It’s a very cute ending.”

“Yes. So cute.” He flips over, looking up at you sniffly and teary eyed. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Bunny”, you say softly, wiping his tears. He always gets like this after a romantic movie. He cries in happiness, then needs to look at you and tell you his feelings. It is as if the love in the movie filled his heart with too many feelings of its own and the only remedy is the view of you. 

“I love you so much that, that if we were both bunnies and we were cuddling, I’d put one ear over you to keep you warm.”

Your heart flutters, bursting in giddiness. You let out a squeal of too much cuteness and drag him into a kiss by squishing both his cheeks. 

He stumbles to his knees, ending up on your lap soon after with his hands on the nape of your neck and his flushed cheeks under your fingertips. 

You always get like this after a romantic movie. He tells you cute things and you get so overwhelmed by them that you need to kiss him until his head is foggy and his lips are tender. You are starving and the only taste you crave is his kiss. 

The hunger was especially unbearable tonight. The silent understanding of the power dynamic added craving to the starvation. Oh, you cannot get enough of him. 

Your fingers, once tasked with cradling his face, fall to his dainty waist. Jungkook gasps, breaking the kiss with parted lips.

“You’re mine”, you lull the words, eyes still closed. He is wearing an oversized jumper but when you hold him like this, it exposes the real size of his waist. It makes you a little crazy.

“Yes, Mommy. I am”, he whimpers, squirming in your possessive touch. 

“I’ll make you mine even more with the ribbons.”

He giggles, nodding his head.

“Yes, Mommy. You can do whatever you want to.”

“What if I wanna keep going until you made a mess?”

Jungkook exhales shakily, nodding his head. 

“Please…”

“Yes? You’d want that?” 

“Yes, Mommy.”

“Fuck, Bunny. I don’t know if I can control myself any longer.”

Jungkook rolls his hips on your lap, sighing his words, “don’t control yourself please.”

“But I have to. You’re so soft, I’d only break you.” 

Jungkook exhales shakily, falling around your neck. Your words are so strong. Your voice does the rest. Jungkook with his obvious and immense voice kink is broken.

“Please Mommy, please don’t hold back please”, he begs.

“You’re lucky that you’re so cute”, you say and stand up with him in your arms. Jungkook wraps his legs around, moaning happily because he thinks that you will carry him to bed. 

You, however, set him down on the sofa, keeping his eyes on you by guiding his head. 

“Can you stay put for me?” 

“Yes, Mommy. I can”, Jungkook promises, nodding his head obediently.

“Good boy. Be patient, I’ll be back soon”, you tell him, giving him one last forehead kiss before you leave him to prepare everything.

You clean the coffee table of the dessert and disappear upstairs to get the ribbons, jogging down with them.

Jungkook stayed put the entire time, sitting up straight and with his eyes focused on the wall before him. He turned the television off.

“Look at you.”

His eyes are instantly on you. 

“You’re such a good boy. You stayed put.”

He exhales shakily, following you with his eyes as you return to him. You stand in front of him, combing your fingers through his hair. His eyes fall closed, his lips part. He lets out a quiet moan, sounding so sweet. 

“You’re so handsome”, you speak softly and will continue to do so for the rest of this moment. It feels right to do. It is such a comfortable and healing moment, which can only be enjoyed when whispered.

Jungkook is in heaven because of it. There is nothing more comforting to him than being spoken to softly. He feels so safe in your presence. So incredibly safe.

“Keep your head like this”, you order him and because Jungkook has no ounce of brattiness in his bones, he listens well.

“Good boy.”

Your praise makes his entire body tingle. It is the main reason why he could never disobey you. Why would he, if the reward for being good is your praise in your voice? 

His eyes are still closed which means that the sudden soft ribbon around his neck surprises him. He opens his eyes, coming face to face with your features as you tie a loose bow around his neck. His heart flutters.

You give the ribbon a gentle tug once tied, making him sigh in bliss and tilt his head back to reveal more of his adorned neck. 

“What a pretty little present you are”, you say, caressing his chin before you move on to another part of his body.

Jungkook feels so warm in his chest. He swears that he could touch the stars right now. He is yours and he is it gladly.

The next ribbon you wrap around his chest, ending it with a surprise kiss on his lips because the position allows it. Jungkook scrunches his entire face in giddiness, gazing at you as he giggles. 

You giggle with him, caressing his cheeks because he deserves it. 

“It’s funny. I’m calling you a present but I’m wrapping you up instead of unwrapping you.” 

“It’s so nice”, he sighs, kicking his feet. 

“Yeah, it’s pretty epic. Now next. Arms.” 

Jungkook shifts them into the correct position all on his own, earning himself yet another praise. And yet again, it leaves him tingly. 

You decorate his left arm first, then his right, ending it by giving his arms gentle rub downs. Jungkook shivers, flexing his muscles for you.

“So strong. Have you been increasing the weights?”

“Yeah, I have.”

“I can really tell. What a strong Bunny you are.”

“Thanks, Mommy”, Jungkook croaks, voice trembling. Is it possible to orgasm from too much praise? Because if he gets praised any more, he might actually cum. 

“Now, wrists.”

He presents them proudly, palms facing up and next to each other. It is a given that you have to kiss each of them. It would be a crime if you didn’t. 

Afterwards, you guide them together, tying a ribbon around them. You make sure that they wouldn’t pinch or cut off blood flow but still keep him in place, finishing it with a pretty bow. 

“Wow, look at you”, you have to squeak because the view of him makes you so giddy. 

Jungkook giggles and shimmies on the couch, kicking his feet. 

“You are so fucking adorable. Gosh”, you cradle his face. “I could eat you.” 

He smiles dreamily, leaning into your touch. He gets kissed on his forehead and feels eternal. He loves you so very much.

“Now stay like this. I need to take a video like she did”, you say and pick up your phone. You scroll on it with two hands, scrunching your brows. 

Jungkook has to giggle, gazing up at you.

“What?” 

“Nothing. It’s just, when you’re using your phone like this, you’re really channeling your Mommy energy. You look like you never used a phone before.”

“Wow, rude”, you laugh, nudging his cheek, “it’s not my fault that new technology uses such tiny fonts. Oh here, found you camera app.”

Jungkook snickers and shifts back into position. His heart is racing so much. You make him so happy. 

“Now look the prettiest for me”, you say and press record. 

Jungkook does his very, very best to pose for you. He keeps his back straight, his wrist presented, he gives you puppy eyes and even does a little lip bite. If you want him looking the prettiest for the cameras, then he will look the prettiest.

“Wow, look at you”, you gush, replaying the video, “you’re so handsome.”

“Can I see too, please?” 

“Of course. Look.” 

You show him the video. Jungkook watches intently, having to squirm on the sofa. The ribbons look so good on his body, he looks so owned. 

“Aren’t you adorable?” 

“Yeah”, he gets out shakily, biting his lower lip afterwards.

You watch it happening, feeling tingly. You put the phone aside and sit down next to him, patting your lap.

“Come here. I’ve got one more ribbon I want to put on you.” 

Jungkook gladly obeys, climbing on your lap in a way so that he was facing you. He squirms at the feeling of your touch on his body, trying his hardest not to moan. It would be so embarrassing if he already moaned before you even as much as played with his cock. 

Judging by the hungry glimmer in your eyes, this is exactly what you are planning to do. And Jungkook can barely breathe because of it. He misses your touch so much. 

“Lift your butt.” 

He obeys. You hook your fingers in his sweats and tug them over his perky butt. 

“Wait. I can help.” 

“Do it.”

Jungkook stands up for the time being, letting you undress him. He steps out of his sweats and later his briefs, then climbs back on your lap. His oversized jumper still adorns his torso, looking so pretty. 

You tug it from his cock, letting it pool behind it. He is already hard, throbbing when the fabric brushes his tip. 

"Aw, look at you. Is someone really needy for my touch?” 

“Yes, so needy. Please.” 

“Mhm, soon. Just gotta get you pretty for me.”

Jungkook giggles. You are wrapping the last ribbon around the base of his cock. You snicker because hearing him laugh makes you want to join him.

“How’s that for a last place?”

“Sexy…oh god, I can feel it aahmm.”

You give it a gentle tug, then finish it off with a bow. Jungkook definitely feels the pressure, but it isn’t as intense as a cockring would be. He likes it so much that he is biting his lower lip again, furrowing his brows. 

“How’s the pressure?”

“Good. Gentle.”

“That’s good. Let me know if it gets uncomfortable.”

“I will.” He squirms. “Please. Can you touch me?” 

“How can I refuse you when you’re so polite?” 

You close your hand around his adorned base and dance it up to his tip.

“Ah, Mommy”, Jungkook moans loudly, arching his back and throwing his head back. 

You watch his reaction with a tingling stomach, having to chuckle. Jungkook hears it, rolling his head to the front to look at you nervously. Your hand is around his tip, motionless and driving him insane.

“Why are you laughing?” he asks quietly.

“It’s just that I literally only put my hand around your cock and you’re already moaning so much. It’s adorable.”

“Mommy, don’t tease me please. I can’t help it”, he whines, pouting.

“Aw, I’m sorry Bunny. Here, let me make it up to you”, you say and finally pick up a rhythm.

“Woah”, Jungkook gasps, eyes widening and cock twitching between your fingers. Next he bites his lower lip - again - and mewls, furrowing his brows. Lastly, he arches his back and drops his head. His mouth opens, his high-pitched moans escape.

“So good. Such a good boy”, you rasp, hand moving around his cock in a constant rhythm. Slow and dragged out because you want him aware of every single movement. “You sound so sweet for me.”

“Feels….so….good….aaahmmm.”

“It does, Bunny. I love touching your cock. You’re so pretty and perfect.” 

He twitches each time you praise him, tip glistening between your fingertips and shaft pulsating needily. You want to be everywhere at the same time. It is so addicting to touch his cock.

“Oh god, it feels so good”, he croaks and throws his head back, dropping his tied up hands against your chest. He is clutching whatever small amount of fabric his constricted hands can grasp, moaning your nickname like it is all that he can do. 

“There we go, hold onto me. Good boy.”

“Please, seriously, please don’t stop”, he begs, legs tightened around your thighs.

“Mhm, you must feel so good right now”, you whisper mindlessly.

He nods his head vigorously, hips shaking on your lap. He moans just for you, delighting you even more. He does. He feels so good right now. So, so good. Nobody, not even himself, could touch him like you are able to.  

“Of course you do. It would be a shame if I just…” you trail off, removing your hand from his cock.

“No please”, he whines, rolling his head to the front. He gives you the most lethal puppy eyes, pouting. “Please, Mommy. I-I was a good boy.”

“Yeah, that’s true. You were.” 

“Please?” 

He is so adorable. Pink ribbons around his dainty wrists, his pretty hair a mess and drool covering his puffy lips. Your husband has never looked cuter before. You can’t say no to him. You just can’t.

“Put your arms behind my head.”

He obeys.

“Good boy, now let me taste your moans.”

Jungkook moans, leaning in to kiss you. He instantly uses tongue, moaning louder when you wrap your hand around his cock again to pump it. He throbs between your fingers, leaking all over them. 

You pick it up and use it to increase the speed of your touch. He was such a good boy tonight and you want to make him feel good. No more teasing, he is supposed to feel in heaven from now on. 

And you know that he does. He moans and whimpers, breaking the kiss every now and then when he needs to gasp for air or be a little louder. You talk sweet words to him whenever he has to, playing with his hair or rubbing circles into his neck. 

It isn’t long after that Jungkook can’t kiss you back anymore, dropping his face into the crook of your neck.

“Mommy please”, he sobs, convulsing on your lap. His entire weight is on you right now, also pressing on your chest because he is currently squeezing himself against you. 

His arms are restless, tensing and flexing as his shaky hands try to break free from their constraints. He could easily break free, but you ruined him enough that his muscles feel weak. 

“Do you like this?”

“Like it. Ah” he sobs, “ahmmmm Mommy…”

“My sweet Bunny. Lean into me, that’s good.”

“I have to…soon… please can I?”

“Yes, my baby, you can. Just let me do it for you. Make a mess for me, baby”, you encourage him, pumping his weeping tip. 

His veins are bulging by now, his base is stretching the ribbon. He is so restless on your lap that he constantly rubs his balls on you as well. It feels so good. Jungkook is entirely and utterly in your hands.

Quite literally. 

And it only takes him three mores strokes to make a total mess of them.

He squeaks, tenses up and then you feel it. Warm, messy cum shoots from his cock  covering your hand and parts of your bodies. He sobs your name when the shakes finally set in, holding you close as best as possible. 

“Good boy. Cum for me. Fuck, you’re such a good boy”, you talk him through it, keeping your touches focused on his tip because he is most sensitive there. 

Jungkook is able to handle nine pumps and then overstimulation sets in, instantly making him beg and whine. 

“Stop please. No more, please.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” 

“Thank you, Mommy. Thank you!” 

“There we go, good boy.” 

Now satisfied, you release him of his pleasurable hell. You keep the messy hand between his legs for now, hugging him with your other arm. 

And Jungkook falls into a trance of gratefulness, afterglow and adoration. He sighs and whimpers, gasps and sighs some more as his body recovers from the intense high.

“Thank you Mommy. I love you.” The two sentences repeat themselves, growing quieter and quieter the deeper he falls into the relaxing afterglow.

“You’re welcome, Bunny. I love you too”, you answer him every single time, feeling entirely content. Honestly, you could play with him for hours. Being with him like this, makes you so happy. 

It is Jungkook who breaks the cozy hug, running his eyes over your features. He is smiling with them, cheeks flushed and bangs sticking to his forehead. 

“I made a mess”, he confesses and snickers.

“You made a mess. A pretty big one actually. You really needed that orgasm, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I think I did. I feel so submissive tonight and so soft and then you dressed me up in the ribbons and praised me and yeah…” he grins goofily. “I love being your sub, Mommy.”

“And I love being your Domme, Bunnybaby.” 

“Can we do this again one day? Please? Oh, I feel so cozy right now”, he says and snuggles into you. “I don’t want to leave this space.”

“Of course we can do this again. Maybe I’ll tie you to something when we do.”

“Yes please. Please do this”, he sighs and melts into a total weak mess of limbs on your lap.

His heart is racing. You hold him close, snuggling your nose into the crook of his neck. He smells like a good orgasm and his floral shower gel. You love his scent. 

“My Bunny”, you whisper, melting into him as well.

Date day is going to be extra romantic tomorrow. After such a night, it will be difficult not to stick to him at all times.

[ohsugar-honey-iced-tea]

Requesting a fic with soft Wanda who takes care of sick reader. Bonus if she gives R a whole bunch of forehead kisses, cuddles, and chicken noodle soup <3

-rémi

Pouts and kisses

Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader

A/n: this is a request from my dearest friend @cthulhus-curse . I hope you will enjoy it as much as I did writing it. Thank you for being my friend and for helping me get back into writing ♡

Summary: where Wanda is trying to make you do the impossible

-------------------------------------------------------

It was a battle like nothing ever seen before. A battle no one wanted to have and was crucial to win.

And unfortunately, Wanda was losing it.

Pouts were thrown her way and heads were shaken no.

See, the thing is, you had gotten a nasty flu that just wouldn't go away. And whilst Wanda found you extremely adorable, she had also found out that it was the most frustrating thing to ever exist.

"Come on detka, you have to eat something..."

Wanda tried with all her mights as she tried to bring a spoon filled with her famous chicken noodle soup to your mouth.

You, however, were having none of it.

You were tired, feverish, dizzy and your throat was hurting. You were miserable and deep down you knew Wanda was trying to make you feel better but your cloudy judgement got the better of you.

You moved away from the bite of soup, pouting so hard Wanda would think it hurt. You quickly hid underneath your warm Bluey blankie Wanda got you a few years ago, hiding from all the agony you were in.

Defeated, Wanda sighed and put away the spoon. She had tried everything, what could she do anymore?

"You know, my sweetheart... sick ones only get their kisses if they eat well"

This got your attention. There is only one thing you wanted the most, and that was Wanda's kisses. Slowly your head came out of your hoodie, making direct eye contact with Wanda.

"I'll tell you what... for every bite of soup, you will get one kiss"

You thought deeply. Eating anything was the last thing you wanted right now, but it would earn you Wanda's kisses.

"I suppose we could start with one bite"

Wanda smiled to herself, feeling pleased with her little victory.

"That's my good girl. Now, open up..."

You opened your mouth and allowed Wanda to place the spoon filled with soup in your mouth.

You let out a soft moan as all the tastes came over you. Rich and filled, with a hint of paprikash, reminding you of the first time Wanda teached you how to make it. All your favorite vegetables inside it and noodles in the shape of little hearts.

It tasted like home.

You opened your eyes, a small twinkle in your red and puddy eyes. You saw Wanda smile at you and you knew there and then you wanted this woman to be right next to you every day for the rest of your life.

"There! One bite down, and..."

Wanda leaned in, and as you were getting ready to get yourself a kiss, you felt Wanda's lips on your forehead. Pouting again, you pulled away.

"Hey, that's not fair'

Wanda chuckled, putting the spoon back in the bowl to get another bite ready for you.

"Now, don't make me wait, little one, open up"

Slightly grumpy still, you opened your mouth for yet another bite. After this bite you felt your insides slowly warm because of the soup.

Before you could say anything else you felt Wanda's lips on the tip of your nose.

"Mwah! Boop!"

You were officially getting cranky now. You were promised a kiss, a GOOD kiss, and you didn't get it yet.

"Now listen here-"

You were quickly given another bite, and a big kiss on your lips followed.

You were blown away by the feeling of Wanda's lips on yours. All of your worries and troubles melted away as all your foggy mind could register was Wanda. Before you even had the chance to deepen the kiss, Wanda pulled away.

"Hey..."

You wanted to protest more, but Wanda's kiss left you feeling weak.

"My dear sweet little one... we still have a whole bowl to finish!"

After finishing the bowl of soup and even some strawberries (cut in the shape of a heart, or you didn't want them), you were finally filled with some decent food and vitamins. Wanda even managed to get you to take some medicine to get the fever down.

As you were about to fall into slumber, Wanda gently lifted you up. Seeing your tired but confused look, Wanda giggled softly.

"Let me get you all nice and clean, my love"

As the bath was filling with warm water, Wanda took her time undressing you. When the water was ready, she led you into the bath. You tried to protest, wanting Wanda to join you, but Wanda silenced your small protests with another kiss.

"Soon, my beautiful girl, let me take care of you, please"

40 minutes later, you were bathed, in a clean set of pajamas (Wanda's, to be exact, as you kept asking for them as they gave you comfort) and in Wanda's arms.

Wanda saw you struggling to keep your eyes open. As much as it warmed her heart, she knew you needed your rest.

"Sleep, my detka, you need your rest. I will be here when you wake up"

With that you were asleep in minutes. Wands looked at you, and realised how lucky she was.

Sure, you always seemed so confident and strong in front of others, but with her, you allowed yourself to let your guard down. And if that meant for Wanda to take care of you when a nasty flu declares a battle, Wanda was all too happy about it.

Taking a few more looks at you, Wanda decided to get some rest as well. She should be, as she was planning to officially ask you to be her wife as soon as you were better.

-------------------------------------------------------

Let me know if you want to be added to the Wanda taglist! If you have any requests, send them! Reblogs are much appreciated :)

Taglist: @wandanats-goodgirl

[kyxhiin]

Shazam Family confusing the JL and immortal Billy combo post! (The Shazam fam will only include Freddy, Mary, and Billy. Sorry guys)

The Shazam Family confuses the JL by alot. And by alot it means "Cap' what the hell, what do you mean she's still alive??? HALF OF HER BODY IS GONE!" kind of way. For instance

The JL are on a mission, fighting some alien made robots that can "harm" the shazam fam so they had to be extra careful with this one. Mary Marvel was punching down these robots easily with Captain, until one of them got her from behind and.. BLASTED HER UPPER HALF OFF??? Marvel held her half limp lower half body, but despite all the blood was hollow?

Captain Marvel: Oh.. That can not be good. *In a super calm voice that can only be compared to adding too much water when cooking instant noodles.*

All the JL if not most stopped what they were doing and looked at cap and now the completely if not all with a solemn expression with a tinge of disgust. Flash approaching him first because, he's the fastest.

Flash: Hey man.. Are you alright? *He said, knowing no medical care could save her. CAUSE HER UPPER HALF IS GONE!*

Captain Marvel getting up, throwing Mary Marvel on his shoulder his smile returning but not as big as before: Upsy daisy! Sorry flash didn't meant to worry you all, let me just get her fixed up and she'll be ready to go. I'll be taking the rest of the day off.

And just like that he speeds off into the distance, holding the body parts of what once was Mary Marvel. Everybody's expressing their condolences from the day before for Captain Marvel, all dressed in black (except batman, he's always dressed in black.) with condolences gifts like letters, money (wait does he even need money?), food, flowers, and other sorry gifts.

...

Wait.. Is that Cap? AND IS THAT MISS MARVEL???? WHAT THE #!$!#!@#!?

They all aprouch Cap and Mary and start talking. Why aren't they mentioning the day before? Why are they both acting like everything's okay! And just like that nobody talks about it ever again.

(Does this count as immortal Billy? Lol, if not I'll re-do it. But now to the Freddy part.)

Captain and Jr have been arguing, arguing alot because SOMEBODY ate somebody else's banana bread muffins. And here's a thing, Cap's nice and happy go lucky to everybody, literally everybody including the villains all the time except for.. his children (That's what the JL assumes, lmao.)

Captain with his hands doing the sock puppet thing while Jr was talking to him: Nananana, that's what you sound like right now. Just admit you ate my muffins!

Green Lantern approaching Captain cause he overheard some of the stuff they were saying to eachother. Nudging Marvel to get his attention: Dude, hey. I don't think you can say that to your son-

Jr immediately cutting in cause he heard what Hal said cause he refuses to be called in any shape or form being younger than Marvel (it's the only thing he has against that tractor of a man when he's in his Marvel form, let him have this): Hey! I'm his OLDER brother thank you very much!

He said, loud enough so everybody can hear it. And the JL just stop their conversations and what they were doing, Just to look at Cap and Jr.

.

Hi hi, hope you enjoyed this even though this is not my regular posting schedule!!.

[dixonsstinkysock]

Twins

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Era: Commonwealth (Halloween)

Pronouns: She/Her

Warnings: Kissing?

Word Count: 1,850

Summary: Your little boy wants to be just like his Daddy.

A/N: This was inspired by @bambidixon …I couldn’t stop thinking about it plus it’s Halloween time so why not. Kinda rushed so...Hope you enjoy! 

The smell of your famous homemade alfredo sauce wafts through the air. The freshly cut pasta is boiling away on the stove, made from the pasta maker Daryl got you for Christmas. You’ve always had a passion for cooking, making food from scratch whenever you get the chance. Daryl was different, he prefers opening a can of some vegetable and calling it a night. He deserves better than that, so you give him your best. Speaking of Daryl, He, Judith, RJ, and your son Beau sit in the living room watching an old movie, obviously Daryl’s idea. He’s a sucker for old movies, says it reminds him of the only good part of his childhood.

 After a while, your strawberry shaped timer went off, signaling the pasta was ready, another thing Daryl got you. Your kitchen was a mitch-matched mess but you loved it, it gave the place some character. After stirring the thick, creamy sauce you move to grab a strainer. Draining the noodles and combining them with the sauce, you add a bit of chicken you shredded prior, mixing everything together. 

“Dinner!’ You call out, hearing Daryl tell the kids to go sit at the table. You feel a pair of warm, strong arms wrap around you, and then the smell of tobacco.

“I can do the rest” Daryl leaves soft, sweet kisses down your neck. Slowly rocking side to side with you, gently taking the cooking spoon from your hand and stirring the pasta himself. You turn your head to look him in the eyes, his eyes are beautiful, a deep navy blue like the ocean. “Are you sure? I can do it— I don’t mind”

He gives you that sexy, lopsided, half smile. “Nah…go sit. I’m just puttin’ it on plates right? Can’t mess that up…” You reluctantly pull away from him, going to sit down with the kids as Daryl plates the food. After a moment Daryl starts to bring the food in, you stand to help him but he insists you sit and relax. He hands the kids their plates before bringing out yours and his.

The kids say their “Thank you’s” and dig in. You can tell Beau is Daryl’s son by the way they both eat. You always thought it was cute, how alike they both were. The hair, the smile, the attitude…Almost seems like the only thing he got from you was his eyes, well…one of his eyes. He has Heterochromia, one eye blue like his fathers, the other matching yours. Daryl said he was our good luck charm, the best of both of us. Halfway into dinner you decide to speak up–

“So, have any of you thought of what you wanna be for Halloween..?”

RJ was the only one who answered, having thought alot about this. Judith and Beau were silent, still eating.

“Really? That is pretty cool RJ. Judith? Beau? What about you two? Any ideas?” You look at the two, confused at why they were so silent. Usually Judith is the first to answer, and Beau is the same thing every year. He loves that stupid Dinosaur costume. You and Daryl tried keeping up with the holiday’s back in Alexandria, wanting to give the kids some type of normal childhood.

“I don’t know…I don’t think I wanna dress up this year.” Judith murmurs looking down at her food. Daryl finally looks up and stops eating. “How come Jude? You love Halloween.” 

Judith shrugs “I don’t know, I don’t even know what I would be. Plus I’m getting too old to be dressing up…” She takes another bite of her food, obviously done talking.

“Uhh, You're never too old to dress up J. Look at me, I dress up every year.” You look at her pretending to be offended. She looks at you with a “seriously?” face. 

“You’re the same thing every year, it basically doesn’t count.”

Knowing she’s right, you turn to Daryl silently asking him to take over. He shrugs, taking another bite of his pasta, “Okay…What about you baby? What do you wanna be?” Beau doesn’t look up and just shrugs, which is weird because he is usually ecstatic when we ask him, every year telling us he wants to be a Dinosaur. This gets Daryl's attention, and he questions Beau.

“What’s wrong buddy? You don’t wanna wear your Dinosaur costume?” Beau shakes his head and that’s the end of the conversation. 

After dinner, you’re in the kitchen cleaning up. Daryl is getting the kids ready for bed, Beau being more stubborn than usual tonight. Daryl walks in after a while, coming up behind you and leaning on the counter.

“Everything okay? Heard you were having some trouble with Beau..” Daryl sighs and runs a hand down his face.

“Yeah he uh…He wants you to put him down instead.” 

“Okay..Do you mind finishing these dishes for me?” He nods, standing up to take over. You give him a quick kiss as you walk by, a silent thank you while walking to your son's room. 

Knock Knock Knock…

Beau looks up from his picture book, he’s been doing amazing with his reading recently though he still likes to just look at the pictures. “Hey… What’s going on my love?” You make your way towards his bed, sitting on the edge with him. He leans his head on you, snuggling closer.

“Mommy…I know what I wanna be for Halloween…” You look down at him.

“Really? Did you not wanna say it in front of everyone at the table?” He nods moving to sit in your lap. “So…what do you wanna be?”

He’s quiet for a moment, thinking of the right words to say. “Can you promise to keep it a secret?” He looks up at you with his big beautiful eyes and his father’s half smile. 

“Of course, pinky promise.” You stretch out your pinky to lock in your promise, he does the same. 

“Okay…I wanna be Papa for Halloween…” A smile starts to creep in, already imagining the tiny version of Daryl’s angel wing vest, Beau living up to his nickname “Mini Daryl Dixon”. You’d have to get Carol to help with the sewing, it should be hard to find a pair of jeans that fit Beau, that boy is spoiled by Daryl. Finding a toy crossbow might be a challenge, you’d have to go on a few runs maybe…

“Momma?” Beau snaps you out of your planning, you look back down at him. Brushing his hair out of his face and moving to lay him down. 

“Listen, I love that you wanna be your daddy for Halloween, but it is time for bed…Guess what? Tomorrow we can go visit Aunt Carol and ask her to help make your costume okay? We’re gonna get you a vest and a crossbow just like daddy’s.”

“Really?” 

“Yep, and we don’t have to tell your daddy until Halloween. What do you think?”

“Okay..” He nods and gives you a big smile, getting comfortable under the blankets. You give him a quick kiss on his head and stand. “Goodnight Beau, I love you.” 

“Love you too, momma..” He flips over to look out his window and falls asleep. 

Daryl’s sitting on the couch, just having finished cleaning the kitchen. You sit next to him, laying on his shoulder and closing your eyes. “He okay,,?”

“Yeah, just wanted to talk to me..” 

Daryl looks down, carding his fingers through your hair as much as he could. “Bout what?” You smile, keeping your promise to Beau. “Nothin important, just about how much he loved me…of course” Daryl looked back up at the TV. “Right…Of Course.” 

It was the day of Halloween, everyone was getting ready to go trick-or-treating. Judith decided at the last minute she actually did want to dress up. Lucky for her you knew that would happen and prepared a few options for her, Now you were helping Beau finish his costume. You and Carol were able to sneak out a few times looking for a toy crossbow and a child-sized leather vest. You two found the crossbow no problem, the vest was a different story. Carol gave up looking and decided to make one from scratch, finding a normal-sized leather vest and cutting it down to Beau’s size. 

You and Beau are in his room putting his costume on, he was very picky about how everything was sitting so you two have been in there for a while. Daryl, Judith, and RJ are already ready to head out, the three waiting by the door for us. Daryl goes as himself every year…how original, RJ is going as a walker, and Judith is a Samurai, in honor of their mother Michonne. 

“You two almost done?” Daryl yells from the living room, impatient as usual. 

“Yes, one more minute!” You respond, doing the last finishing touches on Beau’s makeup. He wanted his Daddy’s scar as well, practically begged for it. After finishing his costume, he opens the door slightly and shouts out. “Daddy! Close your eyes, you can’t see it yet!”

“Okay..Okay..” Daryl complies, just wanting to leave and get this over with.

“You promise you aren’t looking?” 

“Yes! I promise! You better hurry or all the good candy is gonna be gone boy!” 

You walk out first, well..Beau pushed you out first, nervous of how his Dad was going to react to his costume. You two make it down the hallway, Daryl is standing by the entryway, waiting for Beau to tell him he can look. “Okay..now you can look…” Beau is standing beside you, fidgeting with his hands, crossbow strapped to his back. His vest Carol sewed up for him is identical to Daryl’s, blue wing and all. He’s got the stitched up jeans and a strip of red cloth tied around his neck to imitate Daryl’s bandana.

“No fuckin’ way…Are you shittin’ me?” Daryl looks up at you in disbelief, you can tell he loves it. Judith and RJ are so interested in Beau’s costume they don’t even say “Swear jar”. Beau looks up at Daryl, a bit anxious from his reaction. “Do you like it..?”

“Do I like it..?” Daryl crouches down to his level. “I think that’s the best costume I’ve ever seen, Little man. We’re basically the same person now…” Beau visibly relaxes after Daryl says that, now excited to leave. Daryl stands and opens the door for the kids, signaling that it was time to leave. You and Daryl hang back watching the kids walk down the hallway, glad to finally get going. 

“So..? You like it?” You lean on Daryl’s shoulder, wanting a moment to yourselves before being crowded by the hundreds of people outside.

“I love it…I love you. You’re amazin’..” Daryl leans his head on yours, leaving a soft kiss on the crown of your head. You lean into his touch, taking a deep breath and preparing yourself to follow the kids.

“…I love you too.” You and Daryl finally make your way out the door, closing and locking it, trying to catch up with the kids. 

[brainmaggotzzzz]

The Savior~

hwang inho x fem reader

summary: the troubled yn is saved by and guided by officer Hwang, the two of them developing a special bond, but when he thought she's dead, he went into the games unaware that she's searching for him

content warning: abuse, death, violence, illness

Desperation had shaped your life. It wasn’t that you were a bad person—you were simply trapped in bad circumstances. As a child, you endured an abusive home, where hunger gnawed at you constantly because your father squandered every bit of government assistance on alcohol. He was a violent drunk, his rage erupting in slaps, drunken screams, and the shattering of bottles against the walls. You held on as long as you could, but by sixteen, you couldn't take it anymore. You had no job, no way to support yourself, and no escape from the cycle of pain—except to run.

And so, you did.

Homeless and desperate, you met your so-called savior: an intimidating man, his body inked with tattoos, his frame thick with muscle. When he approached, you braced yourself, wary of his intentions. But his offer was better than the streets—better than sleeping under bridges or scavenging for food. He took you in, gave you shelter, filled your stomach, and surrounded you with others like you. In return, all you had to do was steal for him.

For a while, it worked. Until it didn’t.

When the authorities finally caught wind of your “operation,” they came in full force. Police sirens howled as squad cars flooded the streets around your hideout. You ran, not daring to look back, feet pounding against pavement as adrenaline and fear pushed you forward.

Then, you stood on the edge of a bridge, cigarette burning between your fingers, staring down at the waters below. The height is dizzying, terrifying. And yet, in this moment of utter desperation, it almost seems... inviting.

“Kid.”

A voice cuts through the night. You don’t bother turning around.

“Piss off. I’m nineteen, not a kid,” you snap, exhaling a stream of smoke into the cold air. The wind whips through your hair, carrying the scent of damp concrete and river mist. The thick fog rolling off the water blurs the city lights behind you, wrapping the world in an eerie, muted haze.

Suddenly, a strong hand grips your arm, yanking you away from the edge.

“What the fuck?!” you gasp, stumbling back.

“Police,” he says evenly. His tone is calm, almost too casual for the situation. His gaze drags over you, assessing. Your oversized clothes hang loose on your frame, the fabric frayed and stained from too many nights spent outside. Your shoes are scuffed, the soles worn thin. Anyone with eyes could tell you don’t have a place to go.

“I can’t go back to my family,” you mutter, breath hitching.

“You’re nineteen, right? There are other places you can go.”

“Like what?” you scoff, voice dripping with bitterness. The world had never been generous with its options.

“For starters, you could come with me.” His lips twitch into a small, almost hesitant smile.

Your eyes narrow. “Show me your fucking badge, pimp.”

Without hesitation, he pulls it out and holds it up for you to see. The metal catches the dim glow of the streetlights.

"Officer Hwang Inho."

You glance up at him, wary. He’s tall, with broad shoulders that fill out his dark jacket. His posture is relaxed but firm, the kind of stance that says he’s used to control, used to getting his way. A faint scar cuts across his jawline, barely noticeable under the shadow of stubble. Even if he weren’t armed—and he probably is—he looks strong enough to handle someone like you without breaking a sweat.

Not that you have much of a choice.

◇

He took you out to eat first, settling you into the warmth of a small, dimly lit restaurant. The scent of sizzling oil and spices filled the air as a steaming bowl of black bean noodles was placed in front of you. You eyed it warily, stomach twisting with both hunger and suspicion.

Across from you, he sat with his arms crossed, watching your every move with a steady, unreadable expression.

“Eat. It’s not poisoned,” he said, his voice even, yet edged with dry amusement. The dim light cast sharp shadows on his face, highlighting the tired lines around his eyes—eyes that had probably seen too much.

You hesitated before taking a cautious bite. The rich, savory sauce coated your tongue, and before you knew it, you were eating faster than you intended.

“You seem to be in difficult circumstances,” he noted, his gaze never leaving you. His voice was calm, measured—like he was trying to keep you from running.

“Sherlock,” you muttered through a mouthful of noodles.

“Smart mouth,” he said, shaking his head slightly, but there was no real bite behind it. You laughed, short and sharp.

“Well, no shit. My dad’s a drunk who beat me, and my mom—she’s just as bad. Everything is shit. What else was I supposed to do? I found community, a family. And your kind took that from me,” you snapped, your appetite suddenly fading.

“A family that only valued you for what you could steal for them? That’s not what family is about,” he said, his voice softer now, but firm. There was something in his eyes—something like understanding, but not quite.

You let out a bitter laugh, pushing your bowl away.

“Then I’m an orphan.”

◇

He wasn’t a bad cop. Nor was he pitying you. He simply saw through you—past the anger, the defiance, the sharp edges you wielded like armor. He saw that you weren’t just another delinquent, but someone who had been hurt, someone who had done what they had to do to survive. And he didn’t want you to be punished for that.

But the law, the very thing he had dedicated his life to, didn’t bend for circumstance. Justice. Equality. He believed in those ideals, yet even he couldn’t ignore the fact that you had committed crimes. Petty ones, yes, but crimes nonetheless.

So, he did the only thing he could. He stood by you.

At your trial, he testified on your behalf. He told them about your circumstances—the abuse, the hunger, the desperation that had backed you into a corner. Yes, you had broken the law, but not out of greed or malice. You had done it to survive.

The court listened. Instead of prison, you were sentenced to two years in a resocialization facility for adolescents. A second chance.

For the first time in years, you had stability, not to mention a warm bed, regular meals, therapy. . And every week, without fail, he visited you. He brought books, study materials, things to keep your mind occupied. He never expected gratitude, never asked for anything in return.

You wouldn’t admit it—not out loud—but you grew fond of his presence.

◇

“Mr. Officer!”

You waved lazily from the garden bench, cigarette balanced between your fingers. The garden had become your responsibility, and despite your initial reluctance, you had to admit—it looked good. Rows of neatly trimmed hedges lined the pathways, wildflowers you hadn’t even known the names of now bloomed in soft clusters, and the once-dull vegetable patch was thriving. It was the only place in the facility that didn’t feel suffocating, and that was because of you.

Officer Hwang Inho smiled as he approached, giving you a small wave before taking a seat beside you on the worn wooden bench.

“I told you to quit smoking, Y/N,” he said, his voice carrying that familiar mix of exasperation and quiet amusement. His sharp eyes flicked to the cigarette in your hand, then back to your face, as if waiting for you to challenge him.

You smirked, bringing the cigarette to your lips. “If I did, I’d be too perfect of a story for you. A juvenile delinquent turned model student, studying for cop school entrance exams because you saved her from jumping off a bridge? I won’t give you that satisfaction.”

He let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head.

“You think too highly of yourself.”

“And you think too highly of justice,” you shot back, blowing out a stream of smoke.

“Let’s be real, if someone else had found me that night, I’d either be in a cell or dead in that river.”

He didn’t deny it. He never did.

Instead, he leaned back against the bench, gazing out at the garden.

“You’re selling yourself short. You’re not here because of me. You’re here because you didn’t give up.”

You scoffed. “I didn’t exactly have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice.” His tone was firm, but there was no judgment in his eyes—just that same unreadable calmness he always carried. “You could’ve fought this the whole way. You could’ve refused to study, refused to put in the work. But you didn’t.”

You frowned, flicking the ash off your cigarette. “Maybe I just got tired of fighting.”

He turned his head slightly, studying you in that way that always made you feel like he saw right through you. “Or maybe you finally realized you deserve better.”

For a moment, you didn’t say anything. The cigarette burned between your fingers, the smoke curling into the cool evening air. Then you exhaled, shaking your head with a small smirk.

“Look at you, getting all sentimental,” you teased.

He huffed a quiet laugh.

“I spend too much time around you. Must be rubbing off.”

“Doubt it. You’re still the same stiff, justice-loving cop you were the day I met you.”

He glanced at you, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“And you’re still the same stubborn pain in the ass.”

You grinned.

“Glad to hear I haven’t lost my charm.”

A comfortable silence settled between you, the quiet hum of the garden filling the space. You wouldn’t say it out loud—hell, you barely admitted it to yourself—but these moments? These visits? They meant something. Maybe more than you were ready to accept.

◇

It was only a few months before your police academy exams. You were out of the facility, free to start your life over. Your face was even plastered across their pamphlets, a shining example of their so-called success in resocialization. But the truth? It wasn’t them that changed you. It was Inho.

He had been your support system when no one else was. He never pitied you, never looked at you like some lost cause destined to be locked up forever. While others believed young offenders never truly changed, he saw your potential. He believed in you. He stood by you. And now, he was the one helping you prepare for the exams, drilling you on laws, procedures, and ethics after his shifts.

It meant a lot to you—he meant a lot to you. More than you’d ever admit.

And though he’d never say it outright, you mattered to him too. More than he was supposed to. He had seen beyond your sharp tongue and rough edges to the person underneath—a clever, resilient, and unexpectedly kind girl. Over time, he had grown to… care for you. More than he should.

In the months leading up to your exams, you got a job as a waitress in a small restaurant. The pay wasn’t much, but it was enough to afford a tiny apartment—a place of your own. Inho had even helped you furnish it, assembling cheap furniture with quiet determination. He even surprised you with an aquarium, filling it with tiny, colorful fish after you’d once mentioned that watching them swim calmed you down.

◇

One evening, he showed up at your restaurant, sliding onto a barstool with his usual composed expression.

“What could I get for you, my lord?” you asked, flashing him a teasing grin as you leaned against the counter.

He raised an eyebrow. “What do you recommend, miss?”

You pointed to a few items on the menu, but he barely glanced at them—his focus was on you, standing there in that ridiculous uniform. The puffy blue-and-white striped dress, the frilly apron, and the oversized red bow on your chest made you look absolutely ridiculous.

“You look like a lost carnival attraction,” he remarked, lips twitching with amusement.

You shot him a glare before scanning the restaurant, making sure your boss wasn’t watching. Once you confirmed the coast was clear, you flashed him two playful middle fingers.

He let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head.

When he left, you found a folded bill under his empty glass. A big tip. Bigger than it should’ve been. Big enough to make your heart race.

◇

Tonight, for the first time ever, Inho stayed over.

You hadn’t even needed to ask. You had simply mentioned, in passing, that someone had been harassing you late at night—banging on your door, shouting slurred words that dissolved into the night. The sounds were familiar, distant memories clawing their way back to the surface. You had shrugged it off, chalking it up to some drunk or a homeless guy wandering too close. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

But the moment the words left your mouth, Inho had tensed. His jaw clenched, his hands curled into subtle fists. He felt it was his duty to protect you, even if you treated the whole thing like it was nothing.

Now, the two of you sat on your couch, your legs curled under you, a pint of ice cream in your hands. Some cheesy, over-the-top romance movie played on the TV, neither of you really paying attention to it.

Inho chuckled, glancing at you as you scooped another spoonful into your mouth. His gaze was warm, almost fond.

“What?” you asked, flashing him a grin. “It’s protein ice cream. It’s healthy.”

He smirked, shaking his head. “I’m not sure that’s how it works.”

You leaned in slightly, tapping your temple with your index finger. “It’s not about how the food works,” you said, voice mock-serious. “It’s about what you think. Right now, I may be physically eating ice cream, but my mind has convinced my body that it’s a salad.”

Inho let out a real laugh, shaking his head again.

You liked it—the way his eyes softened when he looked at you, the way the corners of his lips lifted ever so slightly. Without realizing it, you found yourself staring at them now.

He noticed.

“Don’t,” he murmured.

Your eyebrows furrowed slightly. “Don’t what?”

His voice was quieter this time, lower. “Or I won’t be able to hold back.”

Something in you snapped. On impulse, you crashed your lips against his.

For a brief second, he stiffened—then his hands were on you, one gripping your lower back, the other sliding up your spine as he pulled you in. You straddled his lap, fingers digging into his shoulders, your body pressing flush against his as the kiss deepened into something desperate, something unspoken that had been simmering between you for far too long.

You pulled away just enough to meet his gaze, your breath unsteady.

“Inho, I lo—”

BANG.

A loud slam against your door.

Followed by a voice that sent ice through your veins.

“I know you’re in there, bitch!”

Your fathers voice.

You froze. Just for a moment. Then, without a word, you stood from Inho’s lap, your body moving on instinct as you walked to the kitchen. Your fingers wrapped around the cool handle of a knife—just in case.

Before you could steady your grip, Inho was there, his hand closing gently around yours. His touch was firm but careful as he pried the blade from your trembling fingers. He shook his head, eyes locked onto yours.

“Let me handle it.”

You clenched your jaw. You wanted to argue. He could see it in your eyes—the same defiance, the same recklessness that had never quite left you.

“Stay back,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost pleading. Because he knew you. He knew what you were capable of.

Nevertheless, this time, you listened.

From the doorway, you watched as he stepped toward the entrance. The door creaked open.

Your father’s screams grew louder. “Give me money! You don’t care about your family at all, huh? You little traitor!” His voice was slurred, thick with alcohol, his frame barely holding itself upright.

When he tried to force his way inside, Inho caught him, shoving him back with ease.

“Leave,” Inho said, his voice low, controlled.

“And don’t come back. Or I’ll make you.”

Your father staggered but caught himself, wild eyes darting between you and Inho. His lip curled in disgust. “So this is what you are now?” He spat onto the floor. “Some high-and-mighty little saint? Think you’re better than us now? Whoring yourself out?”

Your hands curled into fists.

Your father let out a cruel laugh, swaying slightly before his gaze locked onto Inho.

“What, you think you can protect her? You think she’s some innocent girl? She’s filth. Just like her mother.”

That was it.

Inho’s patience snapped. He shoved your father hard, slamming him against the hallway wall. The impact rattled the cheap plaster, a framed picture down the hall shaking from the force.

But your father—he was always the kind to escalate.

Before Inho could react, your father let out a sharp grunt, lifting his hand—glass glinting under the dim hallway light. A shattered bottle.

The jagged edge slashed against Inho’s forearm as he barely managed to step back. A shallow wound, but deep enough to spill crimson.

Something in you broke.

Before you could think, before you could even breathe, you stormed forward. You grabbed the knife from the counter as you passed, and in seconds, the cold steel was pressed against your father’s throat.

He went still. His breath reeked of alcohol, his body stinking of sweat and cigarettes.

“Dad,” you murmured, your voice disturbingly calm. Your grip was steady. The blade hovered just over his skin. “Back off. Or I’ll slice that nasty throat of yours.”

His eyes widened slightly, and for the first time, he looked… afraid.

But before you could push it further, before you could even consider actually doing it, a strong hand wrapped around your wrist.

“Enough,” Inho’s voice was steady, but his grip was unyielding. He gently pried the knife from your fingers for the second time that night.

You didn’t fight him.

With a firm hand on your father’s shoulder, Inho dragged him—kicking, cursing—down the hall. Past the other apartments with their doors barely cracked open, nosy neighbors peeking out. Past the flickering fluorescent lights that buzzed overhead.

Straight to the exit.

Inho shoved him outside, his voice low, threatening. “If you come back here—if you so much as breathe near her again—I will personally make sure you regret it.”

Your father stumbled, glaring between the two of you. But this time, he didn’t fight. He only scoffed, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and spat onto the pavement before disappearing into the night.

The second he was gone, Inho turned to you, his gaze softer now.

“Are you okay?”

You swallowed hard, your heart still pounding. You glanced at his arm, at the blood trickling down his skin.

“You’re hurt,” you said instead.

Inho exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve had worse.”

Tears well up in your eyes—tears not just from the adrenaline fading, but from the weight of everything. The ordeal, the exhaustion, the bitter fact of being born into all this. Inho’s arms wrap around you firmly, grounding you, holding you together until you gently pull away.

“Let me take care of this,” you murmur, nodding toward the cut on his arm.

You disappear into the bathroom and return with a first aid kit. “Sit down,” you say quietly. He complies without hesitation. Rolling up his sleeve, the wound becomes clearer—not deep enough to be alarming, but far from harmless.

“This might sting,” you warn, pouring antiseptic over the cut. He doesn’t even flinch, eyes never leaving your face, as if memorizing every line of you in this moment. Carefully, you wrap his arm in a bandage, then without thinking, lift his hand to your lips, pressing a soft kiss to it. He lets out a quiet chuckle.

“Come here,” he says, leaning back on the couch and opening his arms in invitation. Without hesitation, you melt into him, curling up in his embrace. The weight in your chest loosens just enough for the tears to finally spill over.

“I’m sorry,” you sniff, your voice barely a whisper. “You’re a good man. You deserve someone good, too.”

His arms tighten around you, his thumbs tracing gentle circles along your back. His voice is steady, sure. “You are good,” he murmurs. “It’s where you came from that isn’t.”

He presses a kiss to your temple, grounding you once more. You lift your head to meet his gaze, something fragile and warm blooming in your chest despite the ache.

“I think you should be over more often,” you laugh softly, tears still clinging to your lashes.

◇

You got sick.

It started slowly—fatigue, nausea, pain that you brushed off as nothing. Until it wasn’t nothing. Until the doctors said words that didn’t feel real. Your liver was failing. Without an organ donation, you were going to die.

And Inho wouldn’t accept that.

He took out loans—more than he could ever hope to pay back. Drowning himself in debt just to keep you alive. But no matter how much money he scraped together, an organ donor was nowhere to be found. You were at the bottom of the list. Forgotten. Disposable.

Everything had been going so well. You had built yourself a new life, had fought so hard to stand on your own two feet. But with your diagnosis, you couldn’t even sit for the entrance exams. Your dream—everything you worked for—slipping through your fingers like sand.

And yet, the only thing you wanted now was him.

Inho sat on the edge of your hospital bed, fingers threading gently through your hair, soothing you in the only way he could. His touch was careful, lingering, as if he could somehow keep you tethered to this world just by holding on.

You turned your head slightly, looking at him. His eyes were warm, filled with something deep, something unspoken—but beneath it, there was exhaustion. A weight he refused to show. Dark circles under his eyes, stress carved into his features. He was holding himself together for you.

“Inho,” you murmured, your voice weak, barely above a whisper.

His gaze met yours instantly, full of love—of quiet desperation.

“If I die,” you exhaled, “find someone. Someone who will make you happy.”

The words barely left your lips before he shook his head.

“Don’t.” His voice was firm, immediate.

“Inho—”

“Don’t talk like that.” His tone was sharper now, edged with something raw, something breaking. His fingers stilled in your hair. “You’re not going to die.”

You could see it in his eyes. The way his jaw clenched, the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. He refused to accept it.

But you had already made peace with it.

He hadn't. And he never would.

◇

You smiled as he stepped into your hospital room, though the effort was weak. You were getting worse—more tired, more fragile. Every day, the weight of your failing body pressed down on you a little more.

For Inho, it was unbearable. Seeing you like this, the girl who once burned so brightly, now dimming before his very eyes. You were sweet—sweeter than ever, even—but he hated it. He hated the softness, the exhaustion in your voice, the way you barely had the strength to tease him anymore. He wished things were the way they were before.

He knelt beside your bed, his large hands wrapping tightly around your frail fingers. His grip was firm, desperate, as if holding on to you meant he could keep you from slipping away.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Everything.

“I—I took bribes,” he confessed, the words forced out like they physically hurt to say.

You inhaled sharply, brows drawing together.

“I told you… don’t. Stop it,” you scolded weakly, but there was no strength behind it.

His expression twisted. Then, in an instant, he was on his feet. The vase of flowers on your bedside table shattered against the floor, water and petals scattering across the sterile tile.

“Why?!” His voice cracked, raw with pain.

“Why you?! Haven’t you been through enough?! Fuck—”

His fist slammed into the wall.

You flinched, trying to push yourself up, but your body was too weak. “Inho—” Your voice wavered. “Come here.”

He froze.

“Please,” you whispered, barely audible.

“I need you.”

For the first time, it was you holding him.

As soon as he sat back down, you reached for him, your thin arms wrapping around his broad shoulders. He hesitated at first, but then he let himself sink into you, his forehead resting against your shoulder, his breath uneven.

You were comforting him about your own death. But in doing so, you were also comforting yourself.

His hands clung to you, holding on like he could somehow stop the inevitable. His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke.

“I can’t lose you.”

"Doctors orders: don't be broken hearted" You give him a weak smile.

◇

You had escaped death’s clutches.

Just when hope seemed lost, the doctor delivered an unbelievable miracle—there was an open slot for a liver transplant, and it was happening that very evening. For a moment, the world stood still. Relief crashed over you like a tidal wave, your heart pounding with overwhelming joy. It felt as if fate itself had intervened, a divine hand reaching down to pull you from the brink.

With trembling fingers, you reached for your phone, eager to share the life-changing news with the one person who had been by your side through it all—In-ho. One ring. Two rings. Three. He didn’t pick up.

You tried again. And again. But each call led to the same agonizing silence. The realization gnawed at you—he hadn't visited today. It was so out of character. He had come every single day, never failing to be there for you. Dread pooled in your stomach as your mind raced through endless, terrible possibilities.

Panic took hold. You called his station, hoping someone there had seen him. Nothing. When they refused to conduct a wellness check, dismissing your fears with cold indifference—claiming he was simply avoiding the fallout of his exposed corruption—you felt something inside you snap. You weren’t convinced. He wouldn’t just disappear.

Desperation drove you to search for any trace of his family, any contact that could lead you to him. But you couldn’t find their contact information, no leads, nothing but a void where he used to be. A sickening fear settled in your chest, deep and suffocating. What if something had happened to him? What if he needed help?

But there was nothing more you could do.

◇

The transplant went smoothly. In the days that followed, your body grew stronger, the pain dulling, your skin regaining its color. You were healing. You had been given a second chance at life.

But how could you celebrate when the person who had once made life bearable was missing?

Weeks turned to months. Still, no word from In-ho. No matter how many times you called or reached out to the police, they all gave you the same response: "He's gone. He took his own life."

You refused to believe it.

Something inside you—something unshakable—told you he was out there. Maybe hiding. Maybe in trouble. But not dead. You could feel it.

And if no one else would look for him, you would.

With a renewed sense of purpose, you threw yourself into the police academy entrance exams. It wasn’t easy, but every grueling physical test, every moment of self-doubt was drowned out by one burning thought: Find him.

You weren’t just training to become an officer like you did before—you were preparing for the hunt. To track him down, to uncover the truth, to understand why he vanished without a word.

You had survived death. Now, it was time to find the one who had once fought to keep you alive.

◇

It had taken every ounce of pressure, every ounce of intimidation—flashing your newly obtained badge, speaking in that firm, unyielding voice you had perfected over the months—but the landlord finally cracked. With a reluctant sigh, he let you into In-ho’s abandoned apartment.

The place was stale, untouched, as if frozen in time. Dust coated the surfaces, the air thick with neglect. Your eyes swept the room, scanning for anything—anything—that could tell you where he had gone. Then, on the desk, you spotted it. A small black box.

Your pulse quickened as you lifted the lid. Inside lay an unsettling card.

Three symbols stared back at you: a triangle, a square, a circle.

You turned it over. On the back, a short number.

Your brows furrowed. It was strange. Ominous. But it was the only clue you had. With a deep breath, you slipped the card into your pocket.

◇

It was another exhausting, monotonous day at the station. Piles of paperwork. Meaningless cases. Officers gossiping about weekend plans. You barely heard them, your mind consumed by that card. That number. That unsettling feeling in your gut that you were on the edge of something much bigger than you had imagined.

Then, chaos erupted at the entrance.

A homeless woman barged in, wild-eyed and frantic, her voice shrill as she waved something in the air. That same card.

“They kill people! They kill people in those games!” she screamed, her words tumbling over each other in a desperate mess. “Children’s games! But if you lose, you die! They take you and you never come back!”

Your blood ran cold.

Your colleagues barely spared her a glance. Some laughed, shaking their heads. Others muttered about calling social services. "Another crazy one," someone scoffed. "Probably off her meds."

But you knew better.

Before anyone could throw her out, you followed her outside, catching up to her in the alley behind the station. She flinched when she saw you, eyes darting around in panic.

“I need to know everything,” you said, voice low and sharp.

The woman hesitated, clutching the card like it held her last thread of sanity. “I— I don’t know much,” she stammered. “The first game… Red Light, Green Light. They wore masks. Pink jumpsuits. They shot the losers. I barely got away.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. That was...almost unbelievable.

You reached for your holster. In an instant, you had your gun trained on her.

Her breath hitched. “W-what are you—”

“You’re going to call the number on that card,” you ordered, voice steady. “And you’re going to register yourself"

"But-!"

"Shut up. Obviously I'll go in your place"

Her hands trembled as she dialed.

◇

You found yourself behind the wheel of a large van, your gloved knuckles white against the steering wheel. Around you, several people sat slumped in their seats, their bodies eerily still. But unlike them, you were wide awake.

The only reason you were here at all was because of the man now lying unconscious on a sidewalk somewhere. A guard. A masked figure in a pink jumpsuit. You had managed to knock him out, strip him of his uniform, and take his place before anyone noticed.

Thankfully, this car had a fucking GPS.

Your stomach churned as you followed the blinking route on the screen. The people in the back—were they drugged? Their chests rose and fell with slow, steady breaths. No one flinched. No one stirred. Even when the struggle had happened, even when you had dragged the unconscious man out of the van, not a single one of them reacted.

It was unnatural. Wrong.

Every turn you took, every second that passed, uneasiness curled tighter in your chest. Where were you taking them? Where were you going? Was this homeless woman bluffing? is this truly what she said it is?

But your grip remained firm. You had come this far. There was no turning back now.

◇

Your assigned quarters were deceptively innocent. A small, pastel-colored room. Soft walls. A tiny, single bed. A nightstand with a lamp that cast a warm glow.

And a camera.

It stared at you from the corner of the ceiling, its red light a constant, silent reminder. You avoided looking at it, keeping your head low, always turned away. If they recognized you, it would all be over.

Your new identity was a number. “17.”

You pulled the scratchy blanket over your head, curling into yourself. Sleep didn’t come. How could it? Not in a place like this. Not with a camera watching your every move. The childish atmosphere of the room only made your skin crawl further. It was like a twisted daycare for something far more sinister.

◇

The homeless woman had been right.

These were kids’ games. Deadly kids' games.

And you had seen it.

You had stood there, frozen, as the players carved out shapes in brittle, sugary cookies. A simple task, deceptively so. Until someone failed. Until the cookie cracked, and—

Gunfire.

A sharp, merciless sound. A sound that punched straight through bone, through flesh, through life itself.

Bodies fell. Again and again and again.

You wanted to vomit.

The thought crashed into you, violent and unrelenting—Was In-ho here? Had he stood on this very ground? Had he failed? Had he died trying to raise money for you?

You felt sick.

And then, directly in front of you, a man’s hands trembled as his cookie split in two. A broken piece tumbled onto the ground. His face twisted in horror.

You didn’t move.

A masked figure beside you—another pink-jumpsuited enforcer—turned to you. His distorted voice sent an unnatural chill up your spine.

“17.”

Your breath caught.

“Shoot him.”

Your fingers twitched around the weapon you had barely dared to hold.

The man’s eyes found yours, wild with terror. “Please,” he rasped. “I have a family. I— I can— I’ll do anything—”

You couldn’t.

You didn’t.

You stood there, frozen.

And then, just as quickly, the other guard raised his own weapon.

A deafening shot rang out.

Crimson splattered onto the sand. The man crumpled, lifeless, a final breath wheezing from his lips.

You flinched.

◇

"Seventeen."

A Square guard approached, his voice distorted by the mask’s built-in modulator. "The boss wants to see you. Follow me."

Your stomach twisted with dread, but you forced your legs to move, trailing him silently into the elevator. The ride was suffocating, each floor passed marked by a dull beep, until the doors slid open to reveal a room unlike anything you'd seen in the facility.

It was pitch black. No pastel pinks, no sterile whites—just shadows swallowing the walls whole. The darkness felt deliberate. A warning.

At the center stood a figure, clad in the same uniform as yours—only his was black from head to toe, a chilling distinction.

The guard who’d led you there gave a small bow before turning sharply on his heel, leaving you alone with the man.

"Seventeen."

The figure removed his mask, revealing a middle-aged man with cold, sharp eyes and a face that looked worn, yet calculating.

"I heard you didn’t fulfill your task today." His tone was blunt, almost bored. "For years, you did what you were told. Loyal. Efficient. And now? I’m disappointed."

Your throat was dry, but you forced yourself to speak, keeping your head low. "My apologies, Boss. It won’t happen again."

He scoffed, shaking his head with a hint of fondness. "Oh, for fuck’s sake—take off the damn mask when I’m talking to you. You’re lucky we’re friends, you know that? If it were anyone else..."

"You're lucky that I'm reprimanding you, not the capitan"

He trailed off, blissfully unaware of the truth: you weren’t his friend. You weren’t even supposed to be here.

Your hand hovered near the mask’s clip, heart hammering. Then, survival instinct kicked in.

In one swift, fluid motion, you pulled out the gun tucked at your side and fired.

The shot echoed like a thunderclap in the dark room. His head snapped back, body collapsing instantly with a sickening thud. Blood bloomed beneath him, dark as the walls.

A shudder ran through you, but there was no time to waste. Groaning through clenched teeth, you grabbed his corpse by the arms, dragging him behind a shelf. Your muscles burned, the weight of what you’d just done sinking in fast.

With trembling hands, you stripped him of his black uniform, pulling it over your own. Finally, you clipped the black mask onto your face—becoming him.

For now.

◇

You couldn’t wait any longer. You had to act. The question gnawed at your sanity—was In-ho dead? Did he lose his life in this twisted place? The very thought of it felt like fire crawling beneath your skin, burning you alive from the inside out.

In-ho… The man you loved. The man who held you when the world turned its back. The man who stayed when you were at your lowest, when death felt like mercy. He saved you—not with grand gestures, but in the quiet moments no one else ever saw. When everyone else gave up, he didn’t.

Now, you stood in this godforsaken place, knowing nothing about its rules or the monsters running it. There was only one lead, one person who might know something—might help you, if you could find a way to make them. The one they called the Captain. You remembered the name because the man you just shot spat it out with his dying breath.

If In-ho was alive, you’d find him. If he wasn’t… you’d make sure his death wasn’t in vain. Either way, someone would bleed for this.

Before you could piece together a plan, the heavy metal door slammed open. A guard in blood-red uniform rushed in, voice clipped and breathless.

“Boss. The Captain requests your presence.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Lead the way.”

The walk was silent, each step echoing through the cold, sterile hallways. You were led into a dimly lit room where he waited.

He stood there—tall, imposing—drenched in the kind of authority that made the air feel heavier. Black leather and dark tactical gear hugged his frame with terrifying precision. The smooth, black mask he wore gleamed under the harsh lights, its angular design giving no hint of the man beneath. Only the faint, steady sound of his breathing gave him away as human.

“The VIPs will be arriving shortly,” his voice was deep, measured, almost mechanical behind the mask. “Is everything proceeding as planned?”

His presence made your skin crawl—and yet, you couldn’t look away. This was the man who held all the answers.

"Yes," you answered sharply, forcing your voice steady.

"Very well." He paused, head tilting slightly—just enough to make your stomach knot. "What about the impostor?" His voice was low, mechanical… unnervingly calm.

Your blood turned to ice. Impostor? Did he know? Was this the end?

"I—Impostor?" you stammered, barely able to push the word past your dry throat.

Without warning, his gloved hand shot out. You barely registered the movement before he gripped you—unforgiving, iron-tight. There was no escape. With one brutal motion, he tore the mask from your face, the sound of ripping fabric echoing like a gunshot.

For a long, suffocating moment, he said nothing.

You crumbled, knees hitting the cold floor beneath you as though the strength had been ripped from your body too. Hands trembling, you clung to him—desperate, pleading.

"P-Please... please don’t," you gasped, voice breaking. "I—I must’ve been insane coming here... Please... don’t hurt me."

He stood frozen—like a statue carved from obsidian—unmoving, unreadable. But there was something in the way he looked at you... like you were a ghost. Something impossible.

It wasn’t death you feared in that moment—no, you’d come here knowing that was a possibility. What terrified you was dying without ever learning the truth. Without ever knowing what happened to the man you loved.

And then—his voice cracked through the silence. Flat. Mechanical. But under it… something else. Something human.

"You’re… alive."

Your teary eyes snapped up, breath hitching in your throat. "W-What?" you managed, voice barely above a whisper.

Slowly—painfully slow—he reached up. Fingers brushed against the edges of his own mask. The click of the clasps echoed in your ears as he undid them, and then… he pulled it free.

Your breath caught.

It was In-ho.

But not the man you remembered. His face was pale, gaunt. His once bright eyes were sunken, hollowed out by something you couldn’t name. Haunted. Cold. There was no trace of the man who had once pulled you from the brink.

You froze—unable to process it. How? How had it come to this?

This was the man who believed in the law, who believed in justice. The man who lifted you out of the gutter, who dragged you from a life of crime and led you to a badge… led you to him. The man who showed you what love could be.

And now… now he stood before you, running a goddamn slaughterhouse.

"In-ho…" you whispered, the name trembling on your lips like a prayer.

You staggered to your feet, reaching for him—palms cupping his face, fingers tracing every sharp, worn line, as if needing to feel he was real.

A sob tore from your throat. "Why…?"

His hands shot up, gripping your wrists tightly. He pulled you closer, so close you could feel the raggedness of his breath against your skin.

"You’re alive," he said again—but this time, it sounded less like a statement, and more like a man trying to convince himself of the impossible.

Your voice cracked as the question broke free. "W-Why are you doing this?"

"Because I love you," he said—his voice still carrying that mechanical edge, but beneath it… there was something raw. Something real. "And I hate the system that treated you like you were insignificant. As if your life mattered less… like you were unworthy of help. Of saving. They left you to rot while the privileged thrived."

His jaw clenched, his expression hard—like stone molded by years of pain and betrayal. But when his eyes found yours, they softened. There was a flicker of the man you remembered—the man who once held you when you wanted to fall.

"Here…" he continued, voice quieter now, "here… I fight that. In this place, everyone is equal. … they all bleed the same. They all get one chance, no more, no less."

And suddenly, it hit you.

He wasn’t the villain. Not to you. No, he was just like you. Broken. Lost. You saw it now—the same emptiness that lived in your chest back then, the same darkness that dragged you to the edge of that bridge.

"In-ho…" you breathed, your voice trembling as the tears fell freely now. "I'm right here…"

You threw yourself against him, arms clinging desperately to his body as though letting go meant losing him forever. "I'm right here," you choked, your sobs muffled against the cold fabric of his uniform. "I'm alive… and so are you. We both are."

For the first time, his hand moved gently—thumb brushing your tears away, his touch reverent, almost fragile. And then his lips found yours.

The kiss was soft, unbearably so—full of longing, full of everything unspoken. Desperation, grief, love. The years you both lost. The futures you imagined but never had.

"You’re alive," he whispered against your lips, as if the words themselves were sacred. "I’ll never let you go."

His arms wrapped around you, tight, almost possessive—like he truly feared you’d vanish if he loosened his grip.

"In-ho?" you whispered, sniffling, voice hoarse from crying. "How… how did you know about the impostor?"

His breath hitched—just slightly—as if the question pulled him back to the present.

"My brother," he muttered darkly, his eyes flashing with something unreadable. "He broke in too." There was a bitter, humorless laugh. "Turns out I had two impostors on my hands."

Before you could speak, he hoisted you up with ease—like you weighed nothing. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, arms locking around his shoulders. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he held you like a lifeline.

"I love you," he breathed, forehead pressed to yours. "Without you… I was already dead."

And for a moment—just a moment—you saw it. That glint. That spark. The one that used to dance in his eyes when he looked at you. The glint of your In-ho.

And finally, for the first time in what felt like years, you allowed yourself to believe—maybe he wasn’t entirely lost. Not yet.

Not if you were here.

[trendywaifus]

Cuddles with Jane! She needs to be taken care of, gotta cook food for her since all she eats are snacks. Good food and cuddles and sleepy time and soft kisses to her ears and face

‘saved my soul like jesus!

this was basically the majority of the Jane asks and i’m glad we all agree that she deserves to be pampered and loved. i’ll put this drabble under this ask. each time i came back to this, it got longer and longer. ahem, just to let you know everyone, im one of the jane doe ceos!!! (i’m a good little ceo btw)

more fluffy (maybe even a lil angst with comfort) jane doe asks r welcome for more of these as we wait for part 2 of the jane fic and other stuff.

inspired by glue song. i rec u listen to it while reading this!

if someone were to ask jane years ago if she ever thought about settling into a relationship in the future, she’d laugh and say, “ we’ll have to see. though, i think i’ll be better off on my own given i dedicate the majority of my time to my ‘side jobs’. lastly, it’ll be strange for someone like me to be tied down into a relationship. i’m not exactly the ideal partner someone would want after all. “

years later, at the age of twenty six, here she was, stepping into the security of her own home that was once dark and quiet as a mouse—now bright and smelt like dinner at 2am. the exhaustion weighing heavily on her shoulders, departs and is left at the door. then here you go, stepping out the kitchen with a heart-warming smile on your face. her tail immediately sways at the sight of you, reactive rodent ears fluttering, and the thin line of her faded, pink lips curls into a soft smile.

“ jane, welcome home! “ you greet her, walking over to your girlfriend and embraced her. since it’s fall transitioning into winter, it’s been getting colder. her coat felt cold to the touch and so did her cheek as you nuzzle it against yours. you almost flinched. she chuckles happily, intertwining her tail around your leg. “ hey, you, “ her smooth voice drips with affection, “ it’s almost three. i thought i told you to not wait for me and sleep. “

you pull back and she does too. jane drapes her arms loosely around your waist. she takes a moment to drink in your features she’s been wishin’ to see all day. honestly, she can’t believe that got the chance to experience love. it’s a pure and wonderful feeling that she chased for during her rough teen years and gave up in her early twenties once she became a specialist. then you suddenly came along, like a flare of light and enlightened her to a path she can never walk alone now. “ i was going to but i didn’t want you to come home hungry. “

she raises a brow, snorting, “ i would of been fine. i could’ve just eaten a few snacks or noodles. you sleeping matters more than my appetite. “

you shake your head, giving her a, are you serious look? you press her more into your body and rest your forehead against hers. “ absolutely not jane. like i told you before, you need to be eating proper food and i’ll make sure of it. i can’t let the woman i love eat unhealthy when she needs to be in top shape for her job. “ you argued. her cobalt eyes flicker with prized endearment. how did she get so lucky?

“ come here. .” she murmurs, leaning in for a kiss and you gladly do. her soft lips felt cold against yours but you don’t care. it’s a gentle caress that doesn’t represent how much she truly missed you. jane will be sure to she kiss you more later as you fully break away from her. “ the food is waiting for you, love. slip off your coat and those boots so you can eat. i’ll meet you at the dining table. “

after she takes off her combat boots, coat, and her pouch, she follows after your steps to the dining room. as promised, you’re sitting at the table, waiting for her to come join you with only a singular plate that consists of her favorite comfort food and a canned cold beverage beside it. “ come, come! “ you wave her over eagerly and she snorts again through her nose. jane sits down next to you and plants a lingering kiss on your cheek as thank you. “ just what i needed at 2am. “ jane jokes playfully, digging into her food.

a protracted, peaceful silence falls between you and jane as she eats.

“ soo, “ you speak up, breaking the silence.

“ hmm? “ jane hums.

“ it’s getting really cold outside and i know a thiren’s ears are sensitive this time around—i was wondering if i can buy you a few pairs of thicker leggings and some ear muffs. i know that ear muffs doesn’t really fit your style but—“

“ i’ll wear them. “ jane simply responds, after swallowing a piece of her food. “ anything you buy, i’ll wear it. . as long as it isn’t too tacky. “

she feels her heart skip a beat when she sees that happy, pretty smile on your face. jane feels like a lovesick man whenever you smile. the warm atmosphere makes her feel belonging, like yeah, this is home and i wish it stays like this forever feeling. you two converse and laugh until jane finishes her late dinner and you take the empty canned beverage and threw it in the trash. you grab her plate and placed it into the sink to clean it.

while you spent a few minutes washing the singular dish and wiping down the counters, the rat thiren sneaks up behind and wraps her arms around your waist for a moment. she buries her reddened nose into your shoulder blade, breathing in your welcoming scent. her tail swishes lowly with satisfaction. “ cuddly at 2am, are we jane? “ your body shudders as you giggled.

she kisses at the side of your nape a few times and sighs with content. “ can you blame me? been missing you all day, baby. hurry up and let’s get ready for bed. i have more of where that came from.”intrigued by her words, you hurried up with your current task to finally get in bed with your girlfriend.

once in the bedroom, you climb into bed while the rat thiren rummages around in her drawer for a simple oversized shirt, and enters inside the bathroom. she turns on the light, briefly lighting up the bedroom before she closes the door. you yawned, adjusting the thick covers over your body. after a little over thirty minutes, jane comes back out in nothing but the over-sized t shirt she picked. even when she wearing just that, she’s breathtaking. “ it took you nearly an hour to put on a shirt? “ you joke, jane rolls her eyes playfully as she gets straight into the bed, under the covers and slides ontop of you. her elbows sink on both sides of your head, thighs press firmly into your hips, straddling you.

“ you’re not taking to account of me undressing myself, wiping off my makeup, and doing my nightly routine. “ jane bends down to your face, lidded, teal eyes staring down at you as they softly glow in the dark. her lips hover over yours, the proximity between you is nearly nonexistent. jane waits for your reply one more time before she can get her kisses in.

“ whatever, “ you murmur, your hands finding purchase on her hips, “ don’t know why you even wear makeup when you already look so gorgeous. can’t even tell the difference when you do. “

a half chuckle escapes her and she finally locks you into a slow, passionate kiss. jane exhales through her nose. now, this is what she wants every night, slow kisses in the dark after a long day of work. your hands run up and down her sides sensually, feeling her perfect curves through the cotton fabric. nails scratch along your scalp while her plump lips languidly move with yours. with each soft kiss, the tender smacks of your lips internally sends jane over the moon. her palm finds your cheek as she deepens one of many kisses shared between you currently. your hands ride under jane’s shirt and scope the gentle arch of her back.

“ mmmm. . “ the rat thiren lets out a drawn-out hum from her chest as the warmth of your palm travels against cool skin. in your arms, she turns puddy and that’s how it should be every time; melting into you. “ don’t want no one else but you. . “ she confesses between kisses under the stillness of the early morning but it’s anything but that with you and her. “ so stay with me. .by me. .“ her honeyed voice is hushed yet fierce in your ears.

“ what makes you think i won’t? “ you inquire softly, drawing loose circles into her back as you held her close.

there’s a small pause before jane replies and she momentarily rests her forehead against yours. she exerts out a soft chuckle that sounds melancholic.

“ . .because you’re too good for me. “

your brows furrow together at that. “ that’s not true, you’re saying that like you don’t deserve me or something. “

she kisses you again but it’s brief. “ i’m saying it like it is, baby. .”

“ and don’t. you deserve everything. . “ you mutter, moving your head a bit to kiss at the corner of her lips, jaw, cheek—everywhere on her face where you can reach. jane’s teeth softly grinds together with contentment, her own rat thiren way of her purring, one of many natural reactions you love to pull from her. “ and of course, i’ll stay with the woman i’m planning on marrying. “

her breath nearly gets caught in her throat. jane quickly recovers and gives you an amused, lop-sided smile. the softness in her eyes shows you how she really feels as clear as day.

“ haha, marry? me? you sure you want to? “ she asks jokingly.

you take one of her hands and brought her ring finger to your lips. “ 16k carat diamond ring. i don’t care if you can’t wear it on your missions, wearing it around me is enough. “

jane doesn’t even reply, instead, she replaces her finger with her lips in a ardent, heady kiss. her hand clasps around the back of your head. you’re too good to her, for her. there is absolutely no chance jane’s letting you slip away from her when you’ve changed the direction of her life in two years. she doesn’t care for marriage but it’s starting to have a nice ring to it now. a woman who lives up to her rat thiren species, who goes from one fake identity to another, and mostly is seen in the shadows of the night—is actually married. .

huh. that’s a funny and interesting thought.

she kisses you until your lips are swollen and your lungs are struggling for air. “ you know i’m not letting you go after this right? “ jane whispers possessively, running a quick thumb over the curvature of your bottom lip, a prominent devoted look in her half-lidded eyes as they bore into yours.

“ wouldn’t have it any other way, future wife. “

it’s your turn to be in awe with jane’s warm, breathtaking smile. she rests her head on your chest, legs tangling with yours as she finally stops straddling you. her body weight over yours grounds you. your arms tighten around her frame, holding her close to your chest.

a few minutes pass and it’s just you occasionally planting soft kisses to the crown of her head while she traces nonexistent shapes into your side with a delicate finger.

“ you should sleep, jane. don’t you work in several hours? “

“ oh, i forgot to tell you. .i’m actually off. “ jane mutters, her smooth voice beginning to sound tired and soft. you break out into a happy smile and firmly squeezed jane into you, pulling a quiet squeak from her.

“ you’re off, babe? that means we can sleep in together! more morning kisses and cuddles with my beautiful woman! “ you squealed, following up with a angelic laugh that sounds like music to jane’s ears. she giggles into your chest and finally closes her eyes.

i’m glad i’m yours.

“ i love you. “ jane murmurs under her breath, allowing sleep to finally overwhelm her consciousness.

jane peacefully falls asleep in the arms of someone who loves her back.