#Morning star pattern

[bevanne46]

FREE Morning Star Pattern Final project measures 41.5" x 49". Designed by Cortney Heimerl for Robert Kaufman Fabrics. https://www.robertkaufman.com/quilting/quilts_patterns/morning_star/

[techmarkethunter]

Mastering the Morning Star Pattern: A Step-by-Step Guide

Title: Mastering the Morning Star Pattern: A Step-by-Step Guide Introduction:The world of technical analysis offers traders a plethora of tools to identify potential trend reversals and market opportunities. One such powerful pattern is the Morning Star pattern, a three-candlestick formation that signals a potential bullish reversal after a downtrend. In this step-by-step guide, we will explore…

[kirby-the-gorb]

if you eventually want to see the crochet lace work I struggled all day on fixing I am now sporadically posting my crafts on @sleepy-princess-craftery

[thisbuildinghasfeelings]

It’s love ❤️

[abubblyboo]

“Polaris. Indentura. Kolmamis. Tre’Ogdta.” Each word, the name of a constellation. His fingertip tracing the stars on my palm. It is poetry. I lean over to kiss him on the forehead. He does not recoil, too focused on his task to care. “Velminth. Ausa. The Twins. Gemshine.”

I almost do not catch it: the gentlest press of his lips against my skin. His next words are, “Beloved. Holy. Sacred. Kin.”

[shouyuus]

18+, vi-shaped brainrot, mdni

consider college roommate!vi who is the star of the rugby team and just such a fucking jock about it, spends hours at the gym, has pre and post workout drinks and never closes her door when she's blasting rock music, leaves pink hair dye on the bathroom counter, stains the tub when she gets drunk and tries to redo her roots, calls you everything but your name -- sweetcheeks, dollface, cupcake, princess -- isn't shy about her hookups, doesn't even bother to apologize the mornings after another pretty cheerleader scampers out of her room, shrugs and winks when you come out of the bathroom with a tiny thong dangling off your finger that's clearly not either of yours.

college roommate!vi who does kickboxing on the weekends and teaches a kid's course at the local gym. the first time you go there to drop something of her's off as a favor, you can't help but stare at the way she laughs and chases the kids around, so gentle with her movements, so careful, guiding their punches, correcting their forms. and the kids love her -- it's so easy to see, the stars in their eyes, the color high in their cheeks, the way the girls cluster around her legs and the boys are constantly vying for her approval, how she tries her best to divide up her attention equally between all of them.

college roommate!vi who goes real quiet the first time you laugh in her presence, a real laugh, not one of those ha-ha ones you snipe at her when she's trying to get a rise out of you, or teasing you about spending all your time in the library, but one that shakes your shoulders and makes your whole face light up. who has to blink when you cock your head and ask if she's okay bc she was so busy staring at you, wondering about the weird thumping in her chest, the tightness in her throat.

college roommate!vi who's there for you when you're stressed about your dissertation, and she knew you were smart, but listening to you rant about it at 3am in the morning, she's starting to realize that... you're kind of a genius. to be so young and already doing a doctorate in mechanical engineering, and the things you're trying to do -- they could conceivably change the world one day. who freezes when you let your head drop onto her shoulder with a heavy sigh, telling her that you don't know what to do.

"you'll figure it out, cupcake. with a brain like yours? you always do."

college roommate!vi who realizes way too late that she's kinda got it bad for you, bc since when did she start getting used to the sight of you wearing one of her gym shirts in the mornings, making scrambled eggs, rolling your eyes when she yawns her way into the tiny kitchen, leaning an arm against the fridge as she looks you over before asking what's for breakfast. who's gotten so used to falling asleep to the soft clatter of your computer keys that when you leave to visit your family for a weekend, she tosses and turns and can't figure out why it's impossible for her to get to sleep, wanders into sliver of space you guys have crammed a couch and tv into to call a living room, slumping down there to stare at the ceiling, only to feel her fingers graze against something on the ground, who tugs out the thing from under the couch only to find herself staring at one of your bunched up socks with the goofy cartoon cats pattern, and she remembers (suddenly) finding you tearing your room apart the week before trying to look for it because it's your favorite pair of socks.

she finds herself chuckling, letting the sock fall again, but the tightness in her throat doesn't recede, and invisible fingers clench in her gut as she lets her eyes fall shut.

"well... fuck."

college roommate!vi who doesn't know how to act when you get back from your weekend away, when you throw yourself into her arms, your skin still smelling of the crisp fall air and something warm, and spicy -- it reminds her of the holiday market you dragged her to last year, the cinnamon and spiced apples, the hot, mulled wine, the way it burned all the way down when she took the first sip, the way it worked the most darling flush into your cheeks above your pink knit scarf.

"i've got a present for you!" you say, when you finally extricate yourself from her gasp, your arms still around her shoulders, her hands still settled around your waist.

"y-yeah? you didn't have to do that, sweetcheeks --"

"yeah, but i saw this in a store window and -- well i just... it reminded me of you," you say, pulling back to dig something out of your travel bag, and it takes everything in vi not to tug you back into her chest. so instead, she settles for knitting her arms across her front and coughing to hide the fact that her throat's just tightened over itself at your words. you? seeing something and thinking of her? gods, she was so far gone.

"here," you say, pulling a small black box out and offering it to her on the palm of your hand.

vi stares, before reaching out to take it, her eyes flickering up towards your face, only to catch you chewing on your bottom lip in a way that makes her mind frizzle out at the edges. she refocuses her attention on the box -- opening it, she finds a tiny little gemstone, set on a thin golden chain --

"oh..." she breathes, tugging out up to let the gem dangle from between her fingers.

"it -- it's an alexandrite stone," you say, your voice a bit reedy, but you push on as vi continues to stare, "it's uhm -- one of the rarest gemstones in nature, but the cool thing is it changes colors depending on what kind of light it's under --" you reach up to grasp her wrist, her lungs seizing at the contact as you tug her into the incandescent light of the kitchen. "see? it was light blue a second ago, right? and now it's --"

"violet," vi says, her voice soft and disbelieving.

you quickly let go of her wrist, pursing your lips and wrapping your arms around yourself, looking anywhere but at her face.

"yeah -- i just --" your shoulders shrug up as she stares at you, her sky-light eyes wide, "it... it reminded me of... you."

college roommate!vi who, ever since the "necklace incident" (as the rest of the rugby team likes to call it), hasn't really been the same. she's put on the necklace and not taken it off for even a second since the day you gave it to her, but now she doesn't really know how to act around you -- bc did you actually like her? i mean, the necklace is... a pretty big thing to just give someone, but what if you were just giving it to her as a friend? as a roommate? she agonizes over it to the point that the rest of the team are so, so sick of hearing about it, they lovingly tell her to just fuck her and get it over with already. but vi insists that she can't -- it's different with you.

college roommate!vi who's stunned speechless when she gets home to find you staring at your computer, your expression blank. and at first, she thinks something's horribly wrong, but then you're slamming into her, squealing about how you've done it -- your thesis defense went well, that you're a doctor now -- and she's picking you up, spinning you around, buoyed up by the effervescence of your happiness, pressing a kiss to your cheek --

"oh my god, congrats princess! i knew it! i always knew you could do it!"

"thanks -- god, i just -- i've wanted it for so long i... i don't know what to do with myself now that i've got it, y'know?" you say, still suspended in vi's arms, your feet lifted off the ground. it takes a moment before you both seem to realize the position you're in, and vi clears her throat as she lets you down, you looking away, pressing your palms to your cheeks to cool the heat gathering there.

after a brief pause though, vi chuckles, reaching out to slip a finger beneath your chin, tilting your face up towards her's.

"c'mon, put on one of those pretty dresses of yours. we're going out."

"out?"

"yeah. to celebrate."

you blink as vi pulls her hand away.

"but it's like... 4:30 on a tuesday."

vi cocks an eyebrow, a smirk twitching at her lips, "yes, and? c'mon cupcake --" her eyes catch yours and instead of looking away, she holds it this time, something flickering behind their powder-blue depths that makes your skin prickle with heat, "i'll show you a good time."

college roommate!vi who takes you to one of her favorite clubs, tugging you through the crowd, the jostling bodies, holding your hand in her's, trying really hard not to think too much about it (or the fucking insane little black and pink miniskirt you put on), telling herself that it's just to make sure she doesn't lose you in the crowd, grinning when someone knocks you into her chest, and she finds her arm wrapped around your waist, fingers scrunching the material of your skirt, your palms splayed on her chest.

she buys the both of you a round of shots, watching with a hitched breath as your tongue flickers out to lick the salt daubed on your wrist, the way your eyes squeeze shut when you take the shot and your lips wrap around the lime slice, tries to ignore the twist in her gut like a turning blade, the way her whole body flushes with heat, the dull ache caught between her legs when you wipe your lips, your eyes bright and a little blown out, your cheeks flushed with color as you giggle and lace your hands with hers again --

"come on! i wanna dance!"

college roommate!vi who is just drunk enough to let herself dance with you, to let herself lean in to the way you're twisting your body, fingers in your hair, your eyes closed, an indulgent smile on your lips, who let's herself imagine (just for a second), pulling you in to kiss you, how soft your lips might feel on hers, how silken your skin might be beneath her hands, who tries not to groan when you lean in closer, link your arms behind her neck, press your whole body against her's, who grips your hips just a little too tight, grinds you against her, sees the way you gasp, your eyelids fluttering as you eyes glaze out --

college roommate!vi who can't help how she groans at the sight, tugs you in by the back of your neck to mash her lips to yours, crushing you to her as she kisses you (finally, finally) and you let yourself he kissed -- your fingers tangle in her choppy pink hair, and she swears you make this sweet, mind-bending whimpering noise in the back of your throat that drives her up the wall and right over it --

but when she pulls back, she sees the look on your face -- shocked and little confused, but you're drunk, and she doesn't wanna do this with you -- at least, not like this.

college roommate!vi who pulls away, only to have you follow her all the way out the club, into this small dark alley, her shaking her head, feeling a strange, saltwater prickle at the back of her throat as she says --

"shit -- sorry. i didn't mean to -- i just -- you were just so -- and i -- fuck, i didn't --"

"vi -- vi -- no, violet, listen to me --"

it's her full name on your lips that makes her pause, makes her turn to find you walking towards her. your lipstick is smeared, your hair a waterfall mess around your shoulders as you corner her against the rough brick of the club's exterior. faintly, she can still feel the pulse of music reverberating from inside the club, but out here, the air is damp and cold and quiet.

"i -- i'm sorry i kissed you," she says, her voice cracking over the syllables. she bites her lips as you frown up at her, your eyes searching her's before you let out a soft sigh and a scoff.

"well. i'm sorry you feel that way. cause..." you take half a step back, your arms curling around yourself before you glance back at her with a hard, determined light to your eyes as you press back into her space, your cheeks bright with color.

"i was really kinda hoping you'd do it again."

vi's breath punches out of her chest; it takes a few seconds of sputtering before she gathers herself enough to speak.

"wait -- what? you..."

you crinkle your nose, rolling your eyes, "i -- i thought i was making it obvious -- i mean, with the whole necklace thing -- it doesn't take a genius to figure how i feel about --"

you squeak as she pins you against the opposite wall, her lips seeking yours out, her fingers rucking up the material of your top, making you hiccup as they tease under the wire-rim of your bra.

college roommate!vi who can barely control herself when you sink your fingers into her hair, tugging lightly as you gasp out a breath, her lips tracking fire along the side of your neck, intent on making you whimper again, just the way she likes, grazing her teeth along your collarbone even as you jerk at her hair --

"vi -- fuck -- vi, not here --" you swallow around the burgeoning desire, and when you glance down to find her looking up at you, her eyes so dark they're almost black, you fight back a groan, cup your palms around her cheeks and pull her up for a long kiss.

"let's --" you suck in a breath even as vi whines at the loss your lips, "let's go home --"

"holy fuck," vi swears, somehow managing to pull herself back just far enough to taste the misty night air. she stares at you, your chest heaving, a daisy-chain of hickeys blossoming along the long expanse of your neck, your makeup good and smeared, your hair a mess, your eyes bright and so full of love as they flicker over her face.

vi smiles, helpless to the loud, uncertain drumming of her heart as she says, "y-yeah -- let's get you home, princess."

college roommate!vi who barely waits for the elevator door to close in your building before she's got you shoved up against the wall, hoisting you up, her fingers seeking out the softness of your skin, tugging up your shirt, her other hand dipping into the waistband of your skirt, her mouth open and hungry as she kisses your neck, bites down at the junction of your shoulder just to hear you moan.

college roommate!vi who's way too good at undoing your bra with one hand the second you get back to your apartment (if you were more coherent, you might've thought it hot), the door slamming closed, the pair of you toppling onto the room, breathy laughs and panting whines as she hoists you into her arms and carries you to your bedroom, laying you down so gently, kissing up your stomach till you're whimpering, your own hands pulling your top off your body, leaving you in an undone-bra and a miniskirt, your cheeks flushed. you push yourself up onto your elbows, watching as vi peaks up at you from between your legs, shooting you a wink before she's tugging down your skirt and panties all in one, an eyebrow ticking up at the lil lacey thing you had on beneath the skirt all along.

"all this for me, pretty?"

you press your lips, eyes cutting away as she looks between the bra dangling off your shoulders and the panties caught round your ankles. her lashes flutter.

"oh, a matching set," she cocks her head, running her palms up your thighs, pinning them open again as you try to press them closed, feeling suddenly much too seen (bc you'd be straight up lying if you hadn't put it on in the vague hope that the night might evolve into something like this).

she clicks her tongue, shaking her head with a cocky, shit-eating grin that makes your heart skitter in your chest. her drops a light kiss to your inner thigh, savoring in the way you whine again.

"nope, keep 'em open princess."

college roommate!vi who takes her time with you, bc rly she's been waiting way too long for this, has imagined it one too many times, but nothing can compare to the way your hips jerk up against her mouth, the way your fingers tighten in her hair every time she licks up the seam of your cunt, the way your breath catches on her name over and over again, like you can't quite get the word out even though it's just a single syllable. she groans against you, too lost in the taste of you to care about what a mess she must look like, with her tongue fucking into your desperate hole, her nose nudging your clit, her fingers digging crescent moon marks into your hipbones.

she's sure that if this were an old-fashioned cartoon, there'd be big, balloon hearts popping out of her eyes. she can't get enough of you like this -- moaning her name, your legs on either side of her face, your skin littered with the remnants of her. she has the eye-rolling thought of you the next morning, of how all these marks will still be there to remind you of her every single time you see one of them.

college roommate!vi who doesn't expect you to flip over after she's literally eaten you out seven ways to sunday, to tug her in for a soft kiss (though she really does like pressing your own taste back into your mouth with her tongue), before your fingers are inching down the length of her body to tease at her hips, trailing circles down the lines of her abs, toying with the thin line of hair that leads into her black boxer briefs.

"what are you --"

you shoot her a look that has her mouth going dry.

"what? didn't think i can give as good as i get?"

college roommate!vi who's literally going to lose her mind with the way you're fingers (at first sight so thin and delicate, but gods are they stronger than they look) are pressing into her, curling up with the kind of precision usually only associated with doctors, and then a voice in the back of her head reminds her -- oh, right, you are a doctor now. but logical thought dies after that, bc you've somehow worked your way between her legs and are looking up at her with those big dark eyes of yours, smiling sunshine bright before you drop a kitten-lick against her clit and she's twitching, keening as she cums all over your fingers.

"jesus fuckin' christ, doll -- is that what you're learning in those engineering classes?"

she's breathless, cheeks flushed, and honestly just a little embarrassed at how quickly she came, but she has to bite back another groan as she watches you lick your fingers clean, grinning sweetly up at her as if you didn't just get her off in record time.

"no, but i did do my dissertation on human-based robotics, which included a lot of late nights memorizing anatomical models so..."

vi pulls you in for a kiss, laughing against your lips.

"you're amazing, y'know that?"

college roommate!vi who can't really believe how much she's lucked out, sharing an apartment with her girlfriend, who literally cannot shut up about you, but the rugby team all agree that they'd rather have this than the months of endless pining. who brags about her genius gf to anyone who'll listen, and looks for you in the stands of all her practice matches when you can make it, who kisses you in front of everyone even when you make a show of trying to wiggle away bc she's sweaty (you don't really care).

who loves telling the story of how you guys met bc she still can't quite believe it herself, and the story always starts with --

"well, actually -- we started off as roommates."

[arkaiveofurown]

Unseen

Pairing: Vinsmoke Sanji x Reader

Sanji flirts with every woman he meets, yet with you, there’s nothing. No swooning, no sweet words, not even a blush. It leaves you wondering… why do you seem invisible to him?

Word Count: ~2,200

tag: fluff

my masterlist here ♡

——

The first time you stepped onto the Thousand Sunny, Sanji didn’t faint. He didn’t sprout hearts from his eyes or launch into poetic flattery. He simply… nodded.

“Welcome aboard,” he said politely, adjusting his tie.

That was it. No roses, no flirty remarks, no swooning. Just a brief greeting.

At first, you didn’t think much of it. You had just joined the crew after all, and you weren’t expecting a grand entrance. But when Nami casually mentioned it later, it stuck with you.

“Wow, he didn’t even drool this time. You might be the first.”

You laughed along, but deep down, it left a small ache in your chest.

It wasn’t like you expected anything. You’d joined as a mapkeeper and assistant navigator, someone quiet and observant. But it was hard not to notice the way Sanji practically worshipped every woman who stepped on board. Robin always had coffee before she even asked. Nami had a seat pulled out for her every meal. You?

You got a plate and a soft “here you go.” No nicknames. No sparkles.

So you told yourself: You’re just not his type.

And it was fine. Or at least, you pretended it was.

——

Zoro saw it first. Sanji, standing outside the galley one morning, tray in hand, just… staring.

You were down the hall, laughing at something Luffy said. The sun caught your face just right, and Sanji? He froze like an idiot.

“Oi, cook,” Zoro muttered. “You gonna serve that or stand there drooling?”

Sanji flinched and muttered a curse. “Shut up. I’m just—checking the balance of the tray.”

“Uh huh.”

Zoro didn’t buy it. Over the next week, he started noticing the pattern.

Whenever you were around, Sanji got weirdly quiet. When you entered the kitchen, he found a reason to leave. When you complimented the food, he thanked you and turned away, ears pink.

“You’ve got it bad,” Zoro told him one night.

Sanji lit a cigarette and stared at the sea. “She’s not like the others.”

“Because she doesn’t punch you for being a perv?”

“No. Because she actually sees me.”

Zoro rolled his eyes. “You’re such a sap.”

“…Maybe.”

——

You leaned over the kitchen counter one afternoon, watching Sanji stir a pot.

“That smells incredible,” you said, inhaling.

He stiffened. “You… think so?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I don’t know how you always get the seasoning so perfect.”

His fingers fumbled the spoon. “Years of practice. Tasting. Balancing—uh, it’s not that hard.”

You tilted your head. “You always downplay it around me.”

“What?”

“You’re proud when Nami compliments you. You give Robin full ingredient breakdowns. But when I say something, you get all weird.”

He coughed awkwardly, grabbing the salt. “I—I do not.”

“You do,” you said softly, the joke falling flat as something in your chest twisted. “It’s fine, though. I guess I’m not really… your type.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them. And for a moment, the kitchen felt too quiet. You busied yourself with brushing crumbs off the counter, trying to act like it didn’t matter.

But it did.

You’d seen the way Sanji looked at every other woman—stars in his eyes, endless flattery, a poetic streak a mile wide. Meanwhile, you got nods. Maybe a smile if you were lucky. No pet names. No swooning. You couldn’t help but wonder if something about you just didn’t measure up.

Too plain. Too quiet. Not glamorous enough.

Maybe he just didn’t see you the way you saw him.

Sanji didn’t say anything for a long beat. Then his voice came, low and strange.

“…You’re not boring. You’re the opposite of boring.”

You looked at him, surprised.

“What’s that mean?”

But he was already moving again, pretending to focus on a tray of bread as his face turned red.

“I’ve got stuff in the oven,” he said quickly, already backing toward the pantry. “Gotta check the spice rack. Or… something.”

And just like that, he was gone.

You stood in the kitchen alone, staring after him, your heart a tangle of confusion.

You weren’t sure what hurt more—that he kept running from you…

Or the possibility that it wasn’t rejection at all.

Just something deeper he didn’t know how to name.

——

“Nami,” you said quietly one night, sitting beneath the stars, “Do you think… I’m Sanji’s type?”

Nami blinked. “What?”

You shrugged. “He’s never flirted with me. Not once. I figured… I don’t know. Maybe I’m not pretty enough.”

Nami stared at you like you’d lost your mind. “Are you kidding? Sanji blushes so hard when you enter the room, he has to stir soup just to calm down.”

You frowned. “What?”

“He’s obsessed with you.”

You shook your head. “But he doesn’t even talk to me half the time.”

Nami sighed. “Exactly. That’s how you know it’s real. You’ve seen him flirt—he lays it on thick when it’s easy. With you, it’s not.”

“…Why?”

“Because you matter,” Nami said simply. “You’re not a crush. You’re you.”

And suddenly, all the quiet glances, the silence, the fumbling—it made sense.

——

It was raining on the next island. You pulled your hood tighter and jogged ahead, boots splashing through puddles as you helped Nami carry supplies back to the ship.

Sanji was waiting at the docks, umbrella in hand. The second he saw you, something shifted.

Everything slowed.

He watched you running through the rain, hair damp, laughing, cheeks pink from the cold. Your eyes found his—and for a second, he forgot how to breathe.

He held the umbrella out as you ducked beneath it beside him.

“Thanks,” you murmured, catching your breath.

He stared.

“Sanji?”

He blinked. “Y-Yeah. You’re welcome.”

You tilted your head. “You okay?”

“…I’m doomed,” he muttered.

You laughed. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly. “Let’s get inside before you catch cold.”

——

You found him in the kitchen later that night, leaning against the counter, cigarette unlit between his fingers.

“You always stare at me like that when I’m not looking?” you asked.

He jumped. “W-What?!”

You smiled. “Zoro told me. And Nami. And Chopper.”

He groaned. “Traitors.”

“Why don’t you flirt with me?” you asked softly.

He swallowed. “Because I can’t.”

“Why not?”

He looked up, eyes burning. “Because you’re not a fantasy, Y/N. You’re real. You laugh when I’m stupid and smile when I’m quiet and I—” he broke off, voice low, “—I don’t want to screw it up.”

You stepped forward.

“What if I told you it’s okay to be nervous? That I see you, too?”

He stared.

“And what if I said I like the version of you that gets shy more than the one who flirts?”

He dropped the cigarette.

“I’d say…” he whispered, “…that’s the best lie I’ve ever heard.”

You grinned.

“It’s not a lie.”

——

The next morning, he pulled out your chair at breakfast.

“Good morning, my sunshine,” he said dramatically, hand over his heart.

You raised an eyebrow.

“You flirting with me now?”

He smirked, blush rising. “Maybe I’m just making up for lost time.”

Zoro groaned. “He’s back.”

But this time, Sanji didn’t wink at Nami or flirt with Robin.

He just kept stealing glances at you.

And when you caught him, instead of looking away, he smiled.

Because for once, he wasn’t scared.

[cherryredstarz]

Hush Meimei

A/n: Caleb’s a dirty perve. ☺️

Cw: NSFW, psuedocest?, use of pet names, breeding kink of you squint

Caleb, bending you over your childhood bed, his hands sliding under the soft fabric of your little pink night dress. You were visiting Grandma Josefine for Christmas—and your dear grandmother was asleep down the hall.

You’re struggling to stay quiet as Caleb’s large, warm hands grope at the plush of your tits, his thumbs rubbing around your pert nipples. You can feel a very prominent bulge against the curve of your ass, and it makes you flush. “Caleb!” You whisper-shout. Your nails dug into the mattress, and in the back of your mind, you were worried about ruining the manicure you’d paid for just days before.

“Hush, pipsqueak. Don’t want to wake Grandma up, do you?” Caleb rasps into your ear. One of his hands travel down your body and stops at your hip, pulling at the straps of your panties as he kisses and nips your neck.

“Don’t ruin my panties again, Caleb!” You mewl. You were beginning to regret wearing your good pair—the pale pink one with a white floral pattern and lace.

“I’ll just buy you another set.” He whispers. You squeak softly as you feel your panties being brought down to your ankles, and hear the distinct rustle of thick fabric, likely Caleb pulling down his sweatpants,

You gasp as your pussy is exposed to the cool night air, and whimper when you feel the swollen tip of his cock notch between your pussy lips. Caleb’s dick is disgustingly large. There is absolutely no way your grandma won’t notice you walking funny in the morning.

“So wet for me, pretty girl.” Caleb nips your earlobe as he lazily rocks his hips, watching as his dick rubs back and forth between your thighs, against your clit. You bite back a moan, and receive a light snack on your ass. “Let it out, pipsqueak. Right into your pillow if you gotta’.”

Feeling one finger enter you, you moan into the pillow, your thighs clenching around his hand as he adds a second and a third finger, pumping in and out of your tight hole. It feels so good.

You let out a frustrated cry when he removes his fingers, sticking his fingers into your mouth. as he thrusts his cock into you. You go crosseyed, tongue mindlessly sliding around his fingers at the taste of your juices.

“So tight..” Caleb moaned, biting your neck and leaving another hickey. He gives you a brief moment to relax and adjust before pounding into you. Your bed frame creaks with each thrust of his hips, tapping against the wall. You pray your grandmother took her hearing aid out before going to bed.

Caleb’s cock just rubs your gummy walls so well—the friction is delicious. His tip repeatedly kisses your cervix and your g-spot. Heat pools in your belly. The sounds you both are making is lewd. Wet slapping has filled your childhood bedroom, and you’ve already squirt on Caleb’s pelvis twice. “So damn wet baby..” Caleb moans into the soft skin of your neck. The bedsheets beneath you both are already soaked with fluid and cum.

Caleb covers your mouth as your moans get louder; you can feel your orgasm rapidly approaching. “So good, huh, baby? You like it when I wreck this tiny hole?” He tilts your head back, nipping at your cheek—he expects a response. You desperately nod, incredibly close to seeing stars.

“M’ gonna fill this pussy up. It’s mine, huh? Gonna breed her. She’s gonna look so cute filled up. Bet she wants a baby, no?” You know Caleb’s about to bust by the way he’s rambling, but you’re sure he’ll keep his promise.

You nearly scream into your pillow when your orgasm rushes over you, your cunt spasming around his dick. Caleb moans as hot cum spurts from his cock, filling your pussy to the brim. His hips keep jerking as you both ride out your highs.

By the time you come too, Caleb flips you over onto your back, and pulls your thighs over his shoulders. Your dazed expression amused him.

“What? You think we’re done already?”

It’s gonna be a long night.

[isasweetie]

. ۫ ꣑ৎ . drew starkey and the sweetie who interviewed him

you’re nothing — that’s what you always tell yourself, anyway. you’re a journalist at a small magazine company, all potential and questions wasted because you’re relatively shy and big names like vogue tend to hire the louder workers.

it was a shock to you when your editor landed you an interview spot at TIFF. she believed in you, wanted to give you an opportunity to chat with some big names.

walking into the room where the stars would be interviewed by all the big names, you’re accompanied by one photographer who brought his camera to film the interviews. your pink heels click on the ground as you walk, and you feel severly underdressed in a black mini slip dress, with your hair down.

you’re handed the less popular movie stars to interview, but you’re nervous nonetheless. face going red when you stumble during a long question (even if they’re extremely intellectual), and fiddling with your nails while you listen.

you’re assuming everyone you interview is lesser known, based on the pattern occuring, until a very familiar figure walks over. right, you almost forgot you had to interview him.

now, it’s not like you knew him personally. you were both from north carolina and you have a two mutuals on instagram, but you and him weren’t friends. the only reason you know him is because you’d be living under a rock if you didn’t — drew starkey.

you can’t help the way you’re shaking a bit, flustered, nervous, and excited all at once.

“hi, y/n l/n,” you greet, then tell him what magazine you’re from. you shake his hand.

“drew starkey,” his voice is deep and makes you shiver. you’d heard from almost everyone how captivating he is, and now you believe it.

“it’s nice to meet you,” you say gently. his baby blues haven’t left yours yet. “i just watched ‘queer’ last night, drew, it was amazing,” you tell him, easing your way into the interview. “what was it like filming around the world? have you ever done that before?”

“uh, yeah, i have,” he nods. “i went to vancouver to film ‘the other zoey’, i think, and i went to serbia for ‘hellraiser.’ but i mean, i feel like for ‘queer’, it was more of an experience. we filmed everywhere, multiple continents, it was kind of crazy. and i mean, i’m a country boy, north carolina, so experiencing cultures outside of traditional america will always wow me,” he explains. “where are you from?”

you smile when he flips it on you because he’s very polite. “i live in north carolina too.” you tell him.

“no shit,” he smiles. “what part?”

“charlotte. i mean, i’m not orignally from there, but it’s where i live now so…” you shrug.

“where are you originally from?”

“this isn’t my interview, mr. starkey,” you smile at him. he chuckles. “can i ask another question please?”

“yes ma’am,” he relents, and you giggle. his smile grows when you giggle — his eyes haven’t left you.

you ask a couple more questions, and eventually he has to leave to go talk to another journalist. but he grabs your hand again and squeezes it, intense eye contact as he says it was nice to meet you, and to have a nice night. you’re already in a trance, even though you try to convince yourself that he was just being polite. he’s polite to everyone.

when he leaves, you can’t help but turn to the photographer with a smile on your face and your jaw dropped, simply because that was the biggest name you’ve ever spoken to. you’re unaware he never stopped the video.

────୨ৎ────

the morning after, when reporters are posting their interviews everywhere, you can’t go three scrolls on tiktok without drew’s face at TIFF appearing. you’re half-asleep, until it clicks that every interview you’ve seen has been specifically your interview with him. captioned with, ‘how to be this interviewer???’ or ‘the way he looks at her?’ or ‘someone tell her hes taken by me already’, or even ‘he looks a little young for her?’ you’ve gone viral. everyone believes that the drew starkey is into you.

you’re down a rabbit hole. the slo mo videos on him glancing at your lips, then licking his own, the way he squeezed your hand, you and him both giggling. you can’t deny how it might look either.

you go onto drew’s instagram. he doesn’t follow you, and you’re a bit nervous to initiate. so you close your eyes, bracing yourself, before hitting follow. an hour later, he follows you back. you open the app — one new message.

[Drew Starkey] : Hey it’s the cute interviewer from yesterday! How are you?

you could’ve sworn that your lungs gave out right there.

[rxmye]

" 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐄 "

𝐀 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐍𝐈𝐀𝐂 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 — you're his entire world, his only thought, the very illness that has corrupted his mind and body . . .

gender neutral reader / yandere oc x reader / mentions of sleep medication / pathetic yandere / suggestive content / a character slightly aimed towards people with a savior complex

masterlist | requesting rules | character info . . . a/n: edited, Lucas first fanfic is out !! . . click here to read it !! <3

He was someone with fleeting attraction—yet a hopeless romantic, who'd spend most of his class time doodling away in his notebook instead of taking actual notes, writing these scenarios that played out in his mind—tired hazy doodles of small characters, blurry lines of writing, scribbled out text, as he struggled to stay awake—

He had never had a proper sleeping schedule, and if he did he'd never stick to it, a night owl who often faced the consequences of his own actions, sleep medication was something he was all too familiar with, the feeling of being restless without sleep, his nerves always on edge, dark circles under his eyes made him feel insecure, and alarmingly out of character.

He felt something touch his back, he froze, nerves all over the place, a pit growing in his stomach as he turned almost instinctively to face whoever touched him, pushing their hand off harshly . . . "Hey Yoichi . . what's up with you man, why so aggressive?!" Lucas asked . . and then he froze, letting out a nervous and rather embarrassed chuckle, "Ah—um . . sorry Lucas . . just feeling a little tired that's all", he replied softly, voice barely coming out.

To be quite honest, when he first saw you, Yoichi thought nothing of it, he sat at the very back and you for some reason, sat in front of him, not that he minds, you're presence covered him from the teachers eyesight, which allowed him to do whatever he wanted, he was even able to drift off to sleep during that period.

However, it wasn't until he found himself, drawing tiny versions of you in his notebook, little doodles, pink ink staining the paper as he hearted your initials together—his name then your last name . . your name then his last name . . . names of future children—that he realized he was crushing on you . . . big time.

His emotions was fleeting, it had always been, he didn't think much of it . . it was just a simple crush, everyone has one of those, and they go away with time.

Yoichi was a punctual student—and a well organized one—he'd rarely forget his books, much less the notebook with his embarrassing doodles of him and you, it would ruin his image to be quite honest . . yet for some reason he had forgotten it in class today, it could've been his ever-growing restlessness due to a lack of sleep, or maybe the caffeine that's been fucking with his head since early in the morning—he sighed—knocking himself out of his own thoughts, as he twisted the doorknob, hopefully the teacher left the class unlocked.

The door was open, to his utter relieve . . . wait . . . "y/n?", he spoke, taken aback—you were soundly asleep on your desk—you looked so at . . peace . . . calm? . . . Nothing could describe the emotions he felt as he approached you, slowly reaching over to his desk and grabbing his notebook, quickly stuffing it in his backpack—he should go . . , that would be the best course of action . . .

Yet he couldn't . . . he knelt down on the floor, leaning his head on the desk, starring at your face, looking into every curve and line, in his eyes every imperfection just made you even more perfect, the pattern of your breath was soothing to his otherwise restless mind, a soothing scent radiated off of you, and for the first time in months, he felt sleepy . . . like he could sleep without a care . . . everything felt so right. . .—nothing felt displaced or disoriented.

That was the day that started it all, it seems, Yoichi had started forming something that was akin to obsession, he couldn't sleep at all without you—a piece of you—something that reminded him of that calming scent that he felt that day, you calmed his overdriven nerves, you halted his troubles for more than a fleeting moment.

Yoichi knew what he was doing was odd, especially when he found himself picking up the wrapper you threw out, and taking inhaling it, his eyes growing half lidded—he felt like a drug addict—drunk off of you . .

Fleeting touches would tick off his ever delusional mind, a small compliment could set him on overdrive and in the back of his head he knew he was growing addicted, a pit in his stomach grew as he felt slightly disgusted with himself, with the obscene and rather degrading things he'd do, just to get something touched by you.

Lucas stared at his friend, who seemed no better than dead, "Are ya' okay?" he asked, looking him up and down, "You look like a train-wreck", he stated half out of concern and half out of clear disdain and possibly curiosity, "Is it normal?", Yoichi spoke up, taking a gulp of air as he continued, "to want someone so badly that it's hard to explain—like—a part of me feels obsessed, like I feel like carving my own heart out and showing them just to prove my love wont be enough—they could claw out my fingernails—and from where I'm standing, I'd still look at them with only love . . . but at the same time I feel disgusted with the feelings I feel—", Yoichi kept blabbering on, until his friend shushed him, taking a sip of his drink as he jokingly replied, "I mean . . if you love them that much, then their clearly the one . . ."

Yoichi blanked out, as Lucas chuckled, he has no idea how much of his teasing words Yoichi would take to heart that day nor of it's lasting consequences . . .

want more, buy my limited time only advent calendar?

@ rxmye , do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my work/theme without prior permission and or confirmation.

[linoxpudding]

Written In The Stars- Lee Know

summary: he's your soulmate, but he's already in love with someone else

pairing: lee know x fem!reader

genre: angst, soulmate au, unrequited love

word count: 1828 words

a/n: this was requested, really loved this concept— should I do part 2? 👀

PART 2

Masterlist

~°~

You had always dreamed of meeting your soulmate. As a hopeless romantic, you had imagined it all—the instant connection, the rush of emotions, the realization that this was the person meant for you.

From the time you were little, you'd trace the blank space on your wrist, imagining the mark that would one day bloom there—the sign of your destined person. Stories of soulmates finding each other had filled your heart with longing, whispering promises of a love so deep, so undeniable, that nothing could stand in its way.

And then on a fateful morning, three months after you turned thirteen, it happened.

A delicate star-shaped pattern shimmered on your wrist, fading from golden light into solid ink.

This was it.

Your breath had caught in your throat, your heart pounding as you traced over the pattern with shaking fingers. It was real.

Your soulmate was out there.

And you were going to find them.

************

You had spent years searching—watching, waiting, hoping. But soulmarks were unpredictable. Some people found their destined person right away. Others searched for years, only to meet their soulmate at the most unexpected moment.

For you, it happened through Bang Chan.

************

You had known Chan for a while now, having met through mutual friends, and occasionally you hung out with his group that consisted of your mutual friends from college. One evening, he invited you over for a casual get-together at his place. You had no idea how much your life was about to change.

When you arrived, laughter and conversation filled the apartment. People greeted you warmly, but your attention was drawn to him.

Lee Minho. 

There was something about him that intrigued you. Maybe it was the way he carried himself, confident yet not overbearing. Maybe it was his sharp eyes that held mischief and mystery. He was handsome, almost unfairly so, with an aura that pulled attention effortlessly.

The moment you met, there was some sort of instant spark. 

As the night went on, he was leaning back in his chair, eyes sparkling with amusement as he watched you argue with Jisung, another close friend of Chan that he introduced you to, over some ridiculous topic. And then he joined in.

The two of you had gone back and forth for at least ten minutes, teasing and taunting each other like you had known each other for years.

“Wow,” Minho had finally said, crossing his arms with a smirk, “Chan, where have you been hiding this one?”

Chan had laughed, “Right? I knew you two would get along.”

And from that moment on, you did.

The banter was easy, natural, like a rhythm you had both unknowingly fallen into. He would throw a jab, and you would return it without missing a beat. It became something of a game— one that neither of you acknowledged but played anyway. 

After that night at Chan’s place, you and Minho exchanged numbers, a silent agreement to keep in touch. But life was busy— too busy for long conversations or one-on-one meetings. Your interactions were limited to occasional group hangouts, fleeting moments where you’d exchange teasing remarks and match each other’s humor effortlessly.

For a while that was enough, until you saw the mark.

************

It happened weeks later, on a movie night at Changbin and Hyunjin’s place. It was a casual kind of movie night where everyone showed up in sweats, curled into couches with blankets draped over their laps, trading playful jabs between mouthfuls of popcorn. The air smelled like butter and cinnamon-scented candles, and the TV flickered with a half-watched movie as conversations overlapped.

Minho sat across from you, comfortably leaning into the cushions, his usual smirk in place as he fired off another joke. The room erupted into laughter, but yours was the loudest— it always was when it came to him. It was effortless, the way the two of you fell into banter, the way he made you laugh like no one else could.

And then, in the midst of it all, he reached for his coffee.

It was such a small thing, so inconsequential, yet it changed everything.

His sleeve rode up slightly, exposing the inside of his wrist for the briefest moment. But that moment was enough.

Your laughter faded. Your pulse stilled.

Because there, etched into his skin, was your mark.

The very same pattern you had spent your whole life tracing absentmindedly, the one you had dreamed of seeing on someone else one day. On your soulmate.

Lee Minho was your soulmate.

The world should have stopped. This should have been the moment where everything clicked into place, where the universe finally made sense. But before the thought could fully form, a voice cut through the haze.

“Sorry, babe. I’m late.”

A woman appeared beside him, her tone light, affectionate. She leaned in without hesitation, pressing a kiss to his lips as her hand came to rest on his shoulder like she had done it a hundred times before.

Minho turned to her, his smirk softening into something warmer, something real. It was love.

You thought you knew him well enough. Well enough to anticipate his dry jokes, to recognize the mischievous glint in his eye before he spoke. But clearly not well enough to know he had a girlfriend.

And that was when you knew. Minho wasn’t waiting for a soulmate. Because he was already in love with someone else.

You barely remembered the rest of that night. You smiled, you laughed when appropriate, you responded to conversations, but your mind was elsewhere. On him. On her. On the way he looked at her, touched her, stood beside her like she was his world.

And that realization destroyed you.

************

You told yourself it didn’t matter.

The mark wasn’t a command. It wasn’t a guarantee of love, just a promise that this was the person who was meant to understand you like no one else could.

So you stayed.

Not because you were waiting. Not because you were hoping. But because leaving felt impossible.

Chan’s group became your own, and Minho was always there—laughing, teasing, existing so effortlessly in your world. 

At first, it was unbearable.

Every time he absentmindedly rubbed the mark on his wrist, a quiet frown flickering across his face, your stomach twisted. Did he feel it too? Did he ever wonder?

But then his girlfriend would call, and he would answer with a voice so gentle it made you want to scream.

She was perfect. Kind, beautiful, talented, and Minho loved her. He was happy.

And you? You were just his friend with the same mark.

************

The months that followed felt like moving through water—slow, heavy, suffocating.

You tried convincing yourself that nothing had changed. That Minho was still just a friend, a fleeting presence in your life, someone you saw in passing at group hangouts and laughed with over inside jokes. But knowing the truth made every interaction feel heavier, every lingering glance, every easy banter laced with something you couldn’t ignore.

And yet, he remained blissfully unaware. He didn’t know. He didn’t see.

Not until that night.

The party at your friend’s penthouse was loud, the music thrumming through the walls, laughter and conversation bleeding together into a dull hum. But you weren’t part of it. Instead, you stood in the dimly lit kitchen, gripping the counter so tightly your knuckles turned white, trying to steady yourself against the weight in your chest.

You weren’t sure why you had come. Maybe some part of you still craved the normalcy of being around him, of pretending nothing had changed. Maybe you were just tired of avoiding him.

“Hey,” he greeted you, entering the kitchen. His voice was soft, but it made your stomach drop, “You're still here?”

You didn’t turn right away. You couldn’t. You replied weakly, “Yeah, needed a breather.”

He hummed, reaching for a glass of water. His movements were effortless, casual—until he caught sight of your wrist.

His body went rigid beside you. His eyes flickered from your mark to his own. You felt it before you saw it— the way the air shifted, the sharp intake of his breath, the stillness that settled between you like a physical thing. 

You felt your chest tighten.

“…It’s you,” he whispered.

Slowly, hesitantly, you followed his gaze down to your wrist.

You swallowed. “Yeah.”

You watched as realization hit him like a crashing wave, his expression flickering through shock, confusion, and something deeper—something you didn’t want to name.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

And then, finally, he did.

“But…” His voice was quiet, almost fragile. He swallowed, staring at you like he wished he could unsee it. “But I love her.”

Three words.

Three words that carved into you deeper than you thought possible.

You exhaled slowly, forcing yourself to meet his gaze, to absorb the quiet devastation in his eyes— the same devastation mirrored in your own.

“I know,” you said, offering him a small, trembling smile. “I know, it's okay.”

His head snapped up, his eyes dark with something unreadable. “No, it’s not.”

And that was the difference between you.

You had spent weeks coming to terms with the inevitable, had learned to swallow down the ache every time you saw him with her. But for him, this was the first time. This was his moment of realization, and it was breaking him apart in real time.

His voice was rough when he spoke again, like he was fighting against something he didn’t understand. “How long have you known?”

Your lips parted, the answer lingering on the tip of your tongue. But what would that change?

“Does it matter?” you asked softly, finally meeting his gaze.

His jaw clenched, his eyes flashing with frustration— at you, at himself, at the cruel twist of fate that had led you here.

“I should’ve known,” he muttered, shaking his head, his voice filled with something raw and painful. “I should have—”

“Minho.”

Your voice was steadier than you felt. He looked at you then, really looked at you, and you could see it—the weight of it, the way his heart and mind waged a silent war.

He didn’t want to hurt you. But he loved her.

You reached for him before you could stop yourself, your fingers just barely brushing against his wrist before pulling away. A silent offering. A silent goodbye.

“It’s okay,” you repeated, softer this time. “You love her.”

And that was the end of it.

Minho exhaled, a shaky, uneven breath. He opened his mouth, like he wanted to say something, anything, but no words came.

There was nothing left to say.

So you smiled, even as your heart cracked, even as you felt the finality of it settle into your bones. And then you turned, slipping out of the kitchen and back into the party, leaving Minho alone with the mark that had changed everything.

Minho was never meant to be yours.

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

Taglist:

@kaiyaba @lov3rachan @pixie-felix @ellemir2404 @willowhanji @skzimagines @wavetohannie @jamroses @kayleefriedchicken @kokinu09 @nightmarenyxx @vietjeb @my-neurodivergent-world

[nightingale-prompts]

Space Fae- DCxDP prompt

So ending up in another dimension wasn't necessarily part of the plan. The plan was to stop the portal from being opened and letting countless demons flooding the mortal realm.

Constantine had said portals were finicky and interrupting the summoning can throw off the destination that the portals go to. But not the hell sounded pretty good.

So Tim might have "accidentally" ended up on the other side of said portal after attempting to see what was in it. He didn't actually think he'd fall in.

On the other side, he ended up in what he thought was a lounge. It looked like one or maybe it was a living room.

Regardless 4 tall luminescent figures looked at him from their reclined positions.

Their bare starry skin was bearly covered by translucent shawls. Their bodies were dappled with constellations against their colarshifting skin, it was like looking at space itself but cut out and melded to humanoid forms. It was clear they felt no need to cover themselves when they were so radiant as is.

The figure in the center of the room who was reclined on a fainting couch laid her eyes on him. Her eyes were a glittering blue surrounded by amber lashes. Her long hair was a metallic copper that moved like molten metal. She was the tallest as she stood up reaching 10 feet. You'd think she was a goddess at first glance. Her shroud covered her head to toes stopping short of the floor. She donned copper rings and necklaces around her with form.

The other 3 figures gazed at Tim with curiosity.

The tallest male had red patterns of stars on his skin like a dying cosmos against his dark skin. The main difference between him and the tallest female was her skin glittered with hues of purple stars against the black space. But he was mostly void. His eyes glowed like blazing red dwarfs determined to not go without a fiery blaze of glory. His ashen-tinted shroud was wrapped around his hips with a silver pin. His hair was a metallic silver. The only part of him that caught the light. He crossed his arms as he stared down at Tim at 9 feet tall.

The smallest girl stood only 7 feet tall. Her white hair flowed upwards in a ponytail that moved like a cloudy mist. Her skin was a bright cluster of colors like fireworks. Her skin was so bright the black spaces of her skin didn't exist yet because the space she embodied was so young and new. She mainly shined shades of blue and white of new stars Her green eyes were so bright they glowed a mint green. Here shroud was tied around her like a dress with a golden chain. She bounded towards Tim only to be stopped by the last of the figures who leaned down to meet Tim's gaze.

The last one was male...kind of. Male and female of these beings were judged only by their outlines so far and their way of wearing their translucent coverings. But this last one was neither but completely breathtaking. Their Lazarus green eyes framed by silver eyelashes like fresh powdery snow. Their long white locks reflected like the morning sun shining off untouched snow making holographic like rainbows ripple down the hair. His skin was a swirling mass of cloudy green stars. The center of their body made up the center of a rotating galaxy around a star. His shroud was tied in a toga that fell off one shoulder. He accessorized with jade bracelets and earrings that glowed eerily on his arms, legs, and neck.

The 8-foot-tall being placed a finger under Tim's chin and smiled kindly. He said something to the others and a language he didn't know. It sounded like humming.

There was something in that sound like it promised everything Tim had ever wanted could be found here. Limitless knowledge, love, and someone who understood him in every way.

Then Tim was thrusted back into his dimension with faint memories of his time there. Learning, flying, a warm embrace, and the faint taste of nectar on his lips. The memories faded to vague dreams when he crossed the threshold and only minutes had passed since he left.

[areislol]

being transported into their world 2

►— pairings. honkai star rail men x gn! creator! reader

►— warnings. nothing really, proofread 🙅🏻‍♀️, caelus is the trailblazer, romantic but you can see it was platonic if you want to! boothill lore, slight angst sahau (self aware honkai au)

►— synopsis. their beloved creator, the one who created many worlds, including theirs, had yet to return after thousands of years. but lately, they've been experiencing strange things, feeling like a heavenly, divine figure loomed over them. could it possibly be their one and only creator?

►— a/n. so many ideas but so little time to write it all down!!

►— wordcount. 6.2k

The last thing you remember is the image of Caelus, Dan Heng, Gepard, and Bronya standing before you, the smokey, dark and ominous fog surrounding you.

Next thing you know, you're waking up in the middle of an unfamiliar weight of silk sheets pressing against your skin. Blinking rapidly, you tried to focus on the ornate ceiling above, its intricate patterns swirling in the soft morning light.

This wasn’t your room.

Confusion gripped you as you sat up quickly, only to be greeted by a pounding headache. Wincing, you pressed your hand against your forehead, trying to make sense of the disjointed memories in your mind.

The room around you was lavish, decorated with rich tapestries and elegant furniture. Everything seemed meticulously placed as if the room belonged to royalty.

The air smelled faintly of lavender and something else you couldn’t quite place. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart.

Just how did you end up here?

Closing your eyes, you tried to recall the events that led to this moment. It all came back in fragments, like pieces of a shattered mirror.

You were standing up, shrouded in a dark, smokey fog. The air had been thick and oppressive, making it hard to breathe. Before you, Caelus, Dan Heng, Gepard, and Bronya stood with expressions of worry and determination. Their faces flashed in your mind, each one etched with concern.

Were you in a dream?

The fog, the faces—it all seemed so surreal. You opened your eyes again, scanning the room for any clues. The furniture was heavy and ornate.

A grand mirror stood in one corner, reflecting the dishevelled state of your appearance. Your clothes were the same as before but seemed out of place in this opulent setting.

Pushing the covers aside, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed, feeling the cool marble floor beneath your feet. The pounding in your head persisted, but you forced yourself to stand, determined to get out of this unknown place.

Each step felt like a struggle, your body weighed down by an invisible force. You approached the window, drawing back the heavy curtains to reveal a breathtaking view of a cityscape blanketed in snow.

Tall, imposing buildings of grand architecture stretched out before you, their intricate designs dusted with white. The streets below were covered in a moderate layer of snow, and the occasional figure bundled in winter attire moved through the frosty landscape.

Your mind raced with possibilities. Had you been transported here by some unknown force? Was this just a particularly long dream? Shaking your head you cleared your mind, yes... it was a dream, it had to be a dream.

Besides suddenly waking up from an unfamiliar room, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being watched since the moment you awoke. Turning away from the window, you noticed a door on the far side of the room. It was slightly ajar, revealing a sliver of the hallway beyond.

Cautiously, you approached the door, your senses on high alert. Peeking through the crack, you saw a long corridor lined with more doors, each one identical to the next. The silence was eerie, broken only by the faint sound of your breathing.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed the door open wider and stepped into the hallway. You wished that the floor was covered in carpet, it was extremely cold. You had no idea where you were going, but you couldn’t stay in that room any longer.

Turning a corner, you nearly bumped into a figure standing in the shadows. Startled, you took a step back, your heart pounding in your chest. The figure stepped forward, revealing a familiar face.

Grey hair, a pretty face, tall... the Astral Express golden ticket... wait...

“Caelus?” you whispered, barely daring to believe it.

Caelus’s eyes widened as he registered your voice. His surprise quickly turned into awe, and he stumbled backward, nearly losing his balance. Without a moment's hesitation, he dropped to his knees, pressing his forehead against the cold, hard floor.

"Your Gracefulness," he murmured, his voice trembling with reverence. "I am honoured to be in your presence."

You blinked, momentarily taken aback by his reaction. It wasn’t the response you expected. To them, you were not just a friend or a fellow traveller; you were the creator, the one who shaped their very existence. The weight of his words made you feel uneasy.

"Uh, please, get up," you urged, feeling a mix of discomfort and compassion. "You don’t have to kneel."

He hesitated for a moment before slowly rising to his feet, his eyes still filled with awe, oh his dear creator, what a kind soul they are! "Forgive me, Your Gracefulness. It’s just... we’ve been searching for you, and to find you here..."

Caelus was sure that he would get a scolding for talking to his Holy Grace for too long, he was sure of it. But he just couldn't stop the words pouring out of his mouth, all the years of yearning to meet you... and now you were here, right in front of him, before his eyes.

You offered a small nervous, reassuring smile despite the uncertainty gnawing at you. "I—I see." You bit your bottom lip, completely uncertain of what to do now as you stand there awkwardly with a curious Caelus.

"What... happened? I don't recall being here from the start," You asked, taking a moment to observe the ornaments around you. Caelus straightens his back, clearing his throat before speaking.

"You fainted a few minutes after coming out of the meteoroid. Thankfully Dan Heng caught you just in time, and then Bronya decided to keep you here, we were unsure when you would wake up."

"How long was I unconscious for?"

"Four days, your Grace."

"FOUR DAYS?!" The word came out in a disbelieving whisper, your mind reeling.

"Yes, your Grace." He nodded, a bit taken aback by your raised voice. You stood there, trying to process the information, feeling awkward and out of place.

Caelus's expression softened slightly before giving you a nod. "I'll take you to them." He guided you down the hall to another room, while you both walked you looked around once again, everything was different, not just your surroundings but the atmosphere was heavy.

You took in a deep breath, trying your best to calm yourself down. You knew that you were safe (although this place was still new to you), you knew these people, what they were like, everything.

They were famous video game characters. The very video game characters that you spend weeks on trying to find the right and perfect relic for them.

Honkai Star Rail drained your pockets, the lore and story were addictive, the play-style was addictive, and the pulling animation was addictive. Unsurprisingly, after a week of downloading the game, you were hooked.

It was a surprise that you weren't in debt... You shook your head, clearing your clouded mind. It was tough to digest the fact that you were walking right beside the Caelus!!

It was a silent walk with only the sounds of his shoes squeaking every there and then, it was clear how polished the floors were.

Caelus dared not to speak up in your holy presence. Was he even worthy of speaking to you let alone bask in your presence?

As you continued down the hallway, Caelus remained close by, his protective instincts heightened by your presence. The corridors seemed to stretch endlessly, each one identical to the last.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being watched, and the oppressive silence only added to your unease.

Calm down, you thought. No one's going to jump you..

Not long after Caelus stopped in his tracks, moving to the side as his hand rested on the door handle. The door was huge and elaborate, probably three times your size, and you finally heard faint voices.

Caelus signalled for you to stay back as he approached the source of the sound. Moments later, he beckoned you forward. You hurried to his side, peering into a large room filled with familiar faces.

As you entered, Dan Heng, Bronya, and Gepard looked up from their conversation. Relief, admiration and shock washed over their faces when they saw you.

"Your Gracefulness," Dan Heng said, bowing his head slightly. "I—It's a pleasure to meet you."

Everyone in the room had stood up from the seats, immediately bowing down with one knee, their eyes set downcast, refusing to even look at you. They remained solemn and reverent, their gestures filled with respect and devotion—an act that left you utterly speechless.

The room was silent, barely even a breath could be heard. You felt your cheeks flush with embarrassment, a deep discomfort settling into your bones.

This wasn’t something you were used to.

Back home, you were just another person, another face in the crowd. But here… here you were something else entirely apparently.

The realization struck you again, hard and jarring: you’d been "isekai’d" into the world of Honkai: Star Rail, a place where the characters you once guided and watched from behind a screen now saw you as their Creator, their Gracefulness.

But that didn’t make this any less strange.

"Please," you said, your voice shaky, betraying the unease you felt. "You don't need to do that. I'm just… I mean, I’m not—" You trailed off, struggling to find the right words.

How do you tell them that you didn’t see yourself as anything more than a normal person? That this whole situation felt surreal, like a dream you hadn’t quite woken up from yet?

Dan Heng, still kneeling, glanced up at you, his eyes calm and steady. "Your Gracefulness," he began, his tone soft but firm, "It is only right that we show you the respect you deserve. You are our creator, the one who has guided us through countless battles and decisions."

Bronya nodded, her gaze filled with a mixture of awe and dedication. "Without you, we wouldn’t be who we are today. This is the least we can do to honour your presence."

Gepard remained silent but his expression was resolute, as if nothing you said could change his mind about bowing before you. Caelus, however, looked a bit hesitant, perhaps sensing your discomfort more than the others. Yet, even he remained in place, waiting for your acknowledgment.

You swallowed hard, feeling a lump in your throat. It was overwhelming, this level of devotion and reverence. It wasn’t something you ever imagined experiencing, and certainly not something you knew how to handle.

You’d come here, to this world, not out of a desire to rule or be worshipped, but by some strange twist of fate. The weight of their expectations, their respect—it felt heavy, almost suffocating.

"I appreciate… everything you’re saying," you began slowly, trying to find the right balance between acknowledging their feelings and setting boundaries. "But really, you don’t have to bow to me. I’m still… me. Just a person. I’m not used to this, and it makes me feel… awkward."

The room fell into a brief silence, the air thick with unspoken thoughts. You could see the conflict in their eyes—caught between their ingrained sense of duty and their desire to respect your wishes.

Finally, Caelus was the first to move, rising to his feet with a small, understanding smile. "If it makes you uncomfortable," he said, "then we’ll try to find another way to show our respect. But know that our loyalty for you remains unchanged."

One by one, the others followed suit, standing slowly. Gepard gave you a respectful nod, while Bronya offered a gentle smile, her previous intensity softening. Dan Heng lingered the longest, his gaze searching your face as if trying to understand you better, before finally standing as well.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, a small wave of relief washing over you. This was all so new, so overwhelming, but at least now, with them standing, you felt like you could breathe a little easier.

Even if you were their creator, you didn’t want to be put on a pedestal. You just wanted to go home.

"Thank you," you said quietly, your voice sincere. "I really appreciate it."

And with that, the tension in the room eased, the atmosphere shifting back to something more comfortable, more manageable. You were still trying to wrap your head around everything, but at least now, you didn’t feel so alone in it.

"We were worried about you." Bronya stepped forward, her expression a mixture of concern and determination. "Are you feeling alright? Do you need a doctor? I can get them right away—"

You shook your head, trying to maintain your composure despite the overwhelming emotions swirling inside you. "I'm alright," you said, but even as the words left your lips, you could feel the weight of them.

Your head was pounding, a relentless reminder of everything you had just been through. The disorientation, the headaches—symptoms of something far greater than mere confusion.

You were trying to grasp the reality that had been thrust upon you, the fact that you were no longer in your world, that you had died, and now… now you were here.

Dan Heng’s eyes softened as he watched you, his usually calm demeanour laced with a subtle concern. "It’s understandable that you’re disoriented," he said, his voice steady but filled with empathy.

"You’ve been through something unimaginable. Arriving here so suddenly… it’s not something anyone could easily adjust to."

You looked down, your mind flashing back to that moment—the car crash. The impact, the pain, the sudden darkness. You remembered the sensation of being pulled away, as if your very soul had been yanked from your body, only to be confined within something cold and unforgiving.

The next thing you knew, you were hurtling through the sky, encased in what felt like a stuffy coffin, and then… Belobog.

You winced, the memory of it all almost too much to bear. "What… what did you see when I arrived?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. The question hung in the air, heavy and laden with the fear of hearing the answer.

Gepard, who had been standing a little behind the others, stepped forward, his expression sombre. "When you appeared… you were in some sort of meteorite. It was like nothing we’d ever seen before. It came crashing down from the sky, landing just outside the city walls of Belobog."

"There was news that this month, the creator would return. Everyone was on high alert and once one of my guards spotted a mysterious crater, everyone knew that it had to be you."

Caelus nodded, his tone still filled with concern. "It was like a shooting star, only… darker. And when we approached, we saw you inside, unconscious. We had no idea what to do, but we knew we had to get you out of there, to help you."

Bronya’s gaze softened as she watched you struggle to process their words. "You were in a state of complete stasis, almost as if you were… suspended between worlds. We’ve never encountered anything like it."

The room seemed to close in around you as you tried to reconcile what they were telling you with what you knew—or thought you knew. You had died. You felt it. And yet, here you were, standing in a world you had only ever seen on a screen, surrounded by people who weren’t supposed to exist.

A headache pulsed at your temples, and you pressed a hand to your forehead, trying to steady yourself. The world felt like it was spinning, the reality of your situation crashing down on you like a tidal wave.

Caelus immediately stood by your side, his hands hesitating to hold you before shaking his head ever so slightly, holding your arm and waist to keep you from falling.

"I… I don’t understand," you murmured, more to yourself than to them. "I died. I remember the crash. I remember everything going dark, how on Earth did I..."

Dan Heng took a step closer, his presence grounding you in a way you hadn’t expected. "It must have been a traumatic experience," he said softly, his voice gentle as if he were trying not to overwhelm you further.

"But you’re here now. Whatever happened, whatever brought you here, I think it was fate, just like how the legends had stated."

You wanted to believe him, wanted to find comfort in his words, but the reality of it all was still too much.

How could you be here, alive, in a place that shouldn’t even exist? And what did it mean that they were treating you like this—as if you were someone of immense importance, someone with power, someone they called their "Gracefulness"?

"I’m sorry," you said, your voice trembling slightly. "I just… I need a moment to process all of this."

Bronya stepped forward, her expression filled with understanding. "Take all the time you need. We’re here for you."

Gepard nodded in agreement, his voice steady and reassuring. "We’ll be by your side, your wish is our command."

You stood there, your mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, trying to make sense of everything that had happened, everything that was happening now. The room felt both too large and too small at the same time as if the walls were closing in on you while the ceiling stretched out into infinity.

——

The rest of the day passed in a blur of activity as you found yourself surrounded by a level of attention and care that was both overwhelming and humbling. Bronya, ever the efficient leader, took charge of organizing a grand celebration in honour of your return.

It was to be the most elaborate, grand and magnificent, parade ever. Only the best for their beloved creator.

The news of your arrival spread quickly, with messages sent across Belobog and even beyond, reaching the farthest corners of the world. Shops began to close in your honour, and preparations were set in motion to ensure that everything was perfect for the festivities that would last for months.

Caelus returned back to the Astral Express to spread the news to his friends who soon sent the message worldwide, especially to their alliances.

As the day wore on, you were never alone. Dan Heng and Gepard remained by your side, they would be your guards, though you couldn’t shake the feeling of being slightly out of place.

They escorted you through the grand halls of the Supreme Guardian’s residence, offering you a glimpse into the grandeur and history of Belobog.

The building itself was massive, with high ceilings, intricate carvings, and large windows that let in streams of light, casting everything in a golden glow.

Despite the opulence around you, your mind was still trying to adjust to the reality that had been put upon you. The remnants of your previous life, the memory of your death, the inexplicable warp that had brought you here—it all lingered in the back of your thoughts, creating an undercurrent of unease that you couldn’t quite shake.

But for now, you have to focus on the present. Gepard and Dan Heng took their roles seriously, ensuring that you were comfortable, well-fed, and taken care of in every possible way. When it was time to eat, you were treated to a feast of the finest foods Belobog had to offer, dishes prepared with such care and precision that you could taste the love in every bite.

They made sure you didn’t lift a finger, encouraging you to rest when you looked tired, and when the day began to take its toll on you, they arranged for a bath to be drawn in one of the grand, marble-floored bathrooms.

The bath was a welcome respite. The water was warm, and scented with calming herbs, and as you sank into it, you could feel the tension slowly melting away.

Maids attended to you, offering you soft towels and luxurious oils, treating you with a level of care that you had never experienced before. It was almost too much—this pampering, this constant attention—but you reminded yourself that this was how they showed their respect, their gratitude for your presence in their world.

After the bath, you were led to the room that had been prepared for you, its large windows offering a view of the snow-covered city below.

The bed was soft, the sheets made of the finest silk, and as you lay down, you couldn’t help but marvel at the turn your life had taken.

Just days ago, you had been living an ordinary life, unaware of what was to come, and now… now you were here, in a world that wasn’t supposed to exist, treated as a deity by those you had only known as characters.

Sure, today would have been amazing if it weren't for the fact of constant unease nagging you in the back, it was nice to be pampered and shown love, but at the same time, you wanted to go home, back to the place that you grew up in.

As you drifted off to sleep, surrounded by the luxury and comfort that had been arranged for you, a part of you couldn’t help but wonder how long this would last.

How long you would be able to maintain this facade, to accept the adoration and devotion of those around you when deep down, you still felt like the same person you had always been—just a regular human, trying to make sense of a world that didn’t make sense at all.

But for now, you had no choice but to go along with it, to embrace the role that had been thrust upon you, even if it felt like you were living in a dream.

A dream that, for better or worse, you couldn’t wake up from.

——

The next morning, you awoke to the sound of soft knocking on your door. The sun had just begun to rise, casting a pale light across the snow-covered city of Belobog.

You could see your breath in the cool air as you stretched, still disoriented from the events of the previous day. For a moment, you wondered if it had all been a strange, vivid dream—but the grand room around you, the luxurious sheets beneath your fingers, and the echo of voices beyond the door reminded you that this was indeed your reality now.

You called for whoever was outside to enter, and the door opened to reveal Dan Heng and Gepard, both standing tall and composed. Their expressions softened when they saw you, and you noticed the subtle way their shoulders relaxed, as if simply seeing you reassured them.

"Good morning," Dan Heng said quietly, his tone respectful yet warm. "I hope you slept well."

You nodded, managing a small smile. "I did, thank you."

Gepard stepped forward, his gaze meeting yours with a mixture of concern and deference. "If there's anything you need, anything at all, please don’t hesitate to ask. We've arranged for breakfast to be brought to you, and after that, if you're feeling up to it, Bronya would like to discuss the plans for the upcoming celebrations with you."

Celebrations. The word lingered in your mind, bringing with it a mix of emotions. You still weren’t sure how to feel about all of this—the way everyone seemed to look at you as if you were something divine.

It was overwhelming, and part of you wanted nothing more than to retreat, to find a quiet corner where you could process everything on your own. But you knew that wasn’t an option. You had a role to play, and even if you didn’t fully understand it, you were determined to do your best.

"I… appreciate that," you replied, your voice softer than you intended. "I’ll be ready soon."

As the two men left to give you privacy, you dressed in the clothes that had been laid out for you—a simple yet elegant outfit that, while comfortable, still bore the intricate designs and rich fabrics that seemed to be a hallmark of Belobog's fashion.

You took a moment to steady yourself, taking deep breaths as you reminded yourself that you were in control, even if it didn’t always feel like it.

When you were ready, Dan Heng and Gepard led you to a grand dining room where a lavish breakfast had been prepared. The table was set with an array of dishes—freshly baked bread, fruits, pastries, and steaming bowls of porridge.

The sight of it all made your stomach twist, not from hunger but from the sheer extravagance of it. You took a seat, and though the food was delicious, each bite felt heavy for some odd reason.

As you ate, Bronya arrived, her usual stoic demeanour softened by a hint of nervousness. She greeted you with a respectful nod before taking a seat across from you. You noticed the way her eyes flickered to Dan Heng and Gepard, almost as if she were seeking their reassurance before she spoke.

"I’m glad to see you’re well," she began, her voice calm but measured. "The people of Belobog are eager to welcome you and show their gratitude for your return. We’ve begun preparations for a series of celebrations in your honour, and I wanted to discuss the details with you, to ensure everything meets your approval."

The idea of the entire city celebrating you—parades, feasts, and gatherings in your name—felt surreal. You weren’t sure how to respond, unsure if you could live up to the expectations they had of you.

"I don’t want to disrupt anyone’s life," you said cautiously, trying to find the right words. "It’s all very overwhelming. I’m not used to being treated like this."

Bronya’s expression softened, and she exchanged a glance with Dan Heng and Gepard, who stood behind you like silent sentinels. "Your presence alone is a gift to us," she replied gently. "We don’t see it as a disruption, but rather as an honour. The people are eager to show their gratitude and to celebrate this momentous occasion."

You nodded, feeling a mixture of unease and responsibility settle in your chest. "Alright. I’ll do my best to be what you need me to be."

Bronya smiled a rare and genuine expression that made you feel a little less out of place. "Thank you," she said simply. "We’ll take care of everything. You don’t need to worry."

The rest of the day passed in a whirlwind of preparations and introductions. Bronya led you through the city, introducing you to key figures and showing you the various places where the celebrations would take place.

Everywhere you went, people bowed deeply, their eyes wide with star-struck in awe. It was both humbling and unnerving, and you found yourself struggling to find the balance between accepting their respect and trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy.

Dan Heng and Gepard never left your side, their presence a constant reminder that you weren’t alone in this strange new world. They were vigilant, ensuring that you were comfortable, that no one overwhelmed you, and that you had moments of rest whenever you needed them.

By the time evening fell, you were exhausted, both physically and emotionally. You had been paraded through the city, introduced to so many people, and shown the elaborate plans for the days and weeks to come.

All of it felt like a dream, and as you finally returned to your room, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of it all pressing down on you.

While you lay in bed, twiddling with the fine silk blanket, the other regions were preparing to finally gaze upon their divine creator.

——

In the Xianzhou Luofu, the atmosphere was charged with anticipation as the news of the Creator’s return spread. Within the grand halls of the Divine Foresight, Fu Xuan stood before the Council of Elders, delivering the monumental announcement that had just arrived from the Trailblazer.

"The Creator has returned," Fu Xuan declared with a calm but resolute voice. "They have descended in Belobog, and it is our duty to honour them with the highest respect and homage."

The Council of Elders, seasoned in both wisdom and combat, exchanged glances of disbelief and awe. The Creator, the one who had shaped their world and guided their destinies, was now walking among them once more. The gravity of this revelation weighed heavily on their minds, knowing that their response to this event would define their legacy.

Jing Yuan, the Arbiter-General of the Xianzhou Luofu, stood quietly at the back of the chamber, his usual calm demeanour betraying a hint of solemnity. The Creator’s return was a momentous occasion, and Jing Yuan felt the significance of this event.

"We must ensure that our tribute is worthy of their grace," he murmured, his eyes narrowed in contemplation.

Nearby, Loucha listened intently. His thoughts were more introspective, contemplating the deeper implications of the Creator’s return. Loucha, ever the observer, recognized the immense pressure that this event placed upon them all.

But unlike the others, his focus was not on the material offerings but on the spiritual and existential implications of meeting their Creator. He quietly resolved to find a way to honour the Creator not just through gifts but through his actions and service.

A casket would simply not do, although he was sure that you'd grow fond of it.

Hm, what else could he possibly give you...

Blade, as usual, remained silent throughout the meeting with the Stellaron Hunters. His mind, however, was not at ease. Blade’s relationship with the concept of the Creator is complex and filled with conflicting emotions.

Blade knew he had to play his part in honouring the Creator, even if it meant confronting the very things he had spent so long trying to suppress.

Preparations across the Xianzhou Luofu began immediately. Gifts were gathered from the most skilled artisans—finely crafted weapons, ancient scrolls, and traditional garments.

The best chefs prepared exquisite dishes that would showcase the rich culture of the Xianzhou. In every corner of the realm, citizens participated in rituals, prayers, and meditations, focusing their energies on the Creator.

Jing Yuan oversaw the strategic aspects of the journey, ensuring that their voyage to Belobog would be flawless. Loucha offered his medical expertise to make sure that everyone on board the vessels was in perfect health, while Blade had already begun making his way to Belobog along with Firefly and Kafka.

As the time for departure approached, the air was thick with reverence and anticipation. The Xianzhou Luofu were not just travelling to meet their Creator; they were about to present themselves as a testament to the Creator’s guidance.

Their journey to Belobog would be marked by the same dedication and honour that had defined their civilization for centuries.

Far away in Penacony, the city of innovation and creativity, the news of the Creator’s return was met with an explosion of activity. Penacony, renowned for its technological marvels and artistic achievements, reacted to the news with excitement.

Aventurine was among the first to receive the message. As soon as he got the text, he froze, eyes furiously scanning the text over and over again.

Was this real? Has the creator really come back? The one who he worshipped so obsessively?

He immediately rang Jade, his voice frantic as he spoke to her over the phone. "We cannot afford to delay," Aventurine stated.

"This is a once-in-a-lifetime event, and we must honour the Creator with everything Penacony has to offer."

Sunday, the head of the family, took charge of organizing the preparations. He ordered all renowned artists, engineers, and musicians all come together to create a tribute that would embody the spirit of their city.

Everything had to be perfect.

Sunday was enthusiastic for the Creator's return, it was not just a reflection of his usual cheerfulness—it was something far deeper, almost lovesick.

The moment he received word that the Creator had returned to their world, something in him ignited. It was as if all his life had been leading up to this moment, and now, he could finally fulfil his purpose.

“The Creator has returned,” he whispered to himself after first hearing the news, his voice trembling with a mix of awe and anticipation. His eyes, usually bright with optimism, now gleamed with a fervour that bordered on the intense.

To Sunday, this wasn’t just an event to celebrate—it was a divine calling, a chance to prove his unwavering devotion.

From that moment on, Sunday threw himself into the preparations with a single-mindedness that was almost unsettling. He didn’t just organize the celebrations—he orchestrated them with an obsession that left little room for error.

Every detail had to be perfect, and every gesture had to reflect the utmost reverence for the Creator. He wasn’t just leading the preparations; he was living them, breathing them, as though his very existence depended on it.

When rallying the artists and performers, Sunday’s usual encouragement took on a more insistent edge. “This isn’t just for any celebration,” he’d remind them, his eyes wide and unblinking. “It’s for the Creator. We must give them everything—our best and beyond.”

He’d hover over rehearsals, his smile still present but his tone sharper, more demanding. Mistakes weren’t just errors; they were almost blasphemous in his eyes.

In the kitchens, his involvement was even more intense. He tasted every dish, scrutinizing each one with a level of scrutiny that made even the most seasoned chefs nervous. “This dish needs something... more,” he’d say, his brows furrowing in concentration.

“It needs to be worthy of the Creator. Start again.” And they would, because Sunday’s passion was as contagious as it was overwhelming. Many chefs and assistants often gossiped with one another about Sunday's behaviour, he was far too obsessed.

They, of course, understood the importance of perfecting everything as well, it would be served under the gaze of their Almighty Creator, but Sunday was too overbearing, pushy and stubborn.

Everything has to be perfect.

His interactions with the other citizens of Penacony took on a different tone as well. While still encouraging, there was an underlying pressure in his words. “The Creator deserves only the best from us. Do you understand? This is our moment to show our love, and our loyalty. We can’t afford to disappoint them.”

As the days passed, Sunday’s obsession grew. He spent nights alone, surrounded by plans and lists, going over every detail until his eyes were red and his hands shook from exhaustion.

But he didn’t care. Sleep was secondary; his devotion to the Creator was all that mattered.

Boothill, unlike the others found himself in an unfamiliar situation. Normally at ease with a revolver in hand, Boothill was now tasked with selecting gifts that would impress the Creator.

He knew the importance of your arrival, but there was something that lingered at the back of his head. The memories would override his brain, successfully clouding his thoughts, all he could think about was revenge.

His home.

His daughter.

His family.

His beloved memories.

Gone. They were all gone, all because of one man: Oswaldo Schneider.

Perhaps... If he impressed you with his devotion and adoration, would you help get revenge for him? As the Creator, wouldn't you be so kind as to lend your devoted worshipper some help?

(He decided to contribute something personal—a custom-made weapon, intricately designed and crafted with precision.)

Once the word spread to Gallagher that you were finally home, Gallagher’s response was deeply rooted in a sense of duty and respect.

Like Sunday, he wanted everything to be perfect, not because of an obsessive need to impress, but because he believed it was the right thing to do.

In meetings, Gallagher was a voice of calm amidst the excitement, offering practical solutions to any challenges that arose. “Let’s focus on what’s important,” he would say, steering conversations away from extravagance and towards meaningful gestures.

He believed that the Creator would value sincerity and thoughtfulness over grand displays, and he ensured that Penacony’s contributions reflected that belief.

In his heart, Gallagher held a deep respect for you. His admiration was sincere, but it wasn’t showy. He didn’t need to prove his devotion through grand gestures or dramatic displays; his actions spoke for themselves.

He believed that true reverence was shown through quiet, consistent effort—through doing what was right, even when no one was watching.

He could just taste your happiness at the tip of his tongue, it was delicious. He began to think about your responses, what would you say? Would you accept his gift happily? Toss it away in digust?

“We’ve prepared these offerings with great care and respect, Your Grace. We hope they meet your expectations.” He would say.

"Oh, Gallagher! You shouldn't have!" You would reply.

Or...

"How bold of you to assume that I would accept such a gift from a low-life dog like you!"

Even a small smile would do.

No matter your response, he would still devote his entire being to you.

He had always been confident in his abilities, but now, faced with the Creator themselves, he wondered if his efforts would be enough. It wasn’t a question of worthiness, but of connection—he wanted the Creator to understand that Penacony’s gifts came from a place of genuine respect and loyalty.

Yet, even in this moment of uncertainty, Gallagher remained composed. He knew that whatever the Creator’s response, he had done his best.

And that, for Gallagher, was what truly mattered. He would continue to serve and protect, quietly dedicated to the Creator’s well-being, just as he had always done.

——

As the day of departure approached, Penacony and the Xianzhou Luofu were abuzz with activity. Airships were loaded with gifts, including traditional dishes, intricately designed artifacts, and artistic performances that would honour the Creator.

The entire city was involved in the preparations, each citizen contributing in their own way.

When the airships finally took flight, they carried not just the hopes of Penacony but also the dreams and creativity of its people.

This journey was more than just a trip; it was a pilgrimage to honour the Creator who had shaped their being.

note: so many wips..

tags 🏷️: @tomansimp @one-offmind @miitchiji @dainsleif-when-playable @momoewn @stygianoir @irethepotato @imetsk @fiannee @sunnyf4lls @goldenglow149 @rhwm @urlocalheizousimp @saltylovetale-blog @toramune @oreo-ren @backintomykpopphaseagain @serenity-loves-red @flooofity @minteasketches @yurassia @chellazhef @fulldoves @kateybuggi @wanderingconstellations @mini-shower @160ccm @rosariashield @sickize @sarah22447 @dreamlessnight @gimmealmap @bebeluvs @caramelstarlight @sukiidreams @oceanist @achy-boo @alhaitie @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved @that-mom-friend @v-ish @merormerry @gojoulen03 @scarletttcrow @hadischara @kithewanderingme @keiqqo @livelaughlovekuni @chirikoheina @wr1t3rfum1k0 @issacdaholi @yu-ulda @alysinbshsu @vanilla-sweets @your-local-reblogging-kazoo @be-gay-do-crime-ahaha @seipaws @clavichordcleffa @uhhhiwassupp @youdontneedyoknowlol @the-lazy-perfectionist @issacdarknight @lucienbarkbark @bizzybkd @obliviousariies2007 @coffee-seedy

(if the usernames aren’t highlighted that’s because I can’t tag you so I’ll dm you when I post a new chapter! if i forgot to tag you im so sorry!)

for those i’ve taged: if you do not want to tagged for hsr drop a comment or message me.

liking + following + reblogs are greatly appreciated!!!

[delicatebarness]

Omg pleaseeee can we have a super soft buckyxreader are in bed together (after activities) and he is having doubts about the New Avengers and his role leading them, reader comforts and reassures him. Anyway she wakes up the next morning to find him getting dressed into his new suit and they have a super soft/fluffy moment? Thank you sm!

someone worth following | bucky barnes

Summary: ^^ Request

Warning: Possible Thunderbolts* Spoilers | Bucky's Anxiety and Self-Doubt | Implied Intimacy / Non-Explicit

Word Count: 678

A/N: I fear I will never stop thinking about Bucky in Thunderbolts*. Also, I hope I did your request and Bucky justice! <3

Everything: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick | @sapphirebarnes | @rach2602 | @thetorturedbuckydepartment | @lanabuckybarnes

It was long past midnight, and the whispered praises and tangled limbs had settled into a peaceful quiet. The room was warm, the kind of sticky heat that lingered after Bucky opened himself up to you—something he never allowed until you. 

He lay beside you, one arm wrapped around you. His vibranium fingers traced a lazy pattern along your spine, leaving goosebumps to raise in their wake. The other arm was tucked under his head. Your body shifted closer to him, and you let out a content sigh. But you felt it—the tension under your weight. He wasn’t in the room with you, not really.

“Bucky?” you murmured, resting your chin against his chest to look up at him. “Is everything alright?” 

For a second, he paused his fingers. And you thought that maybe he might pretend to be asleep. Until a slow exhale released what seemed like years’ worth of weight. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” his voice barely above a whisper as he spoke. 

Your brows furrowed, suddenly feeling wide awake. “With what?”

“This—” The arm which was previously under his head, now gestured around the room. “This team. Being their ‘leader’. Being an Avenger.” The title sounded bitter falling from his tongue. “Steve made it seem so easy. Why me? They’re all looking at me for answers I don’t have. Shit, I’m still trying to figure out who the hell I am.” 

“Bucky…” you whispered, lifted from him slightly to look at him properly. His blue eyes were fixated onto the tall ceiling like it held the secret cure to all his problems. After brushing a stray strand of his hair back from his forehead, your hand rested on his cheek. “You don’t have to be Steve.” 

“I know,” he said, yet there was a flicker of doubt in his eyes. “I just—I don’t want to let them down. I can’t get anyone else hurt. Or killed.” 

Leaning in closer to him, your fingers traced over the letters of dog tags and kissed his shoulder. Then his jaw. “You care, James Bucky Barnes. And that already makes you a better leader than most.” 

He turned toward you then, his eyes searching yours and his vibranium grip on your hip tightened.

“You’re steady even when you’re unsure and it’s hard. You think before you act… mostly. You listen. And you’ve never taken this role lightly. They trust you to lead them because they see your worth. And so do I.” 

He blinked, not responding straight away, at least not verbally. Something unreadable passed through his eyes before his arm tensed around you. Bucky pulled you in until you were chest to chest, nose to nose. 

“I’m scared,” he admitted in a breathy whisper. 

“I know,” you nodded. “But you’re not alone.” 

The other side of the bed was cold when you woke a few hours later. With a frown, you blinked against the morning light spilling in through the curtains. “B-Bucky?”

You alerted your attention over toward the vanity mirror upon hearing a rustle from the direction. Your breath caught in your throat as your gaze landed on him.

Bucky stood, adjusting the collar of a dark, sleek suit near the mirror. It was black and matte, a subtle, modern armored texture adorning his broad frame. Tailored to him, in every way possible. A red star lined his right arm, catching the light, while his left—gold-and-black vibranium arm—shimmered, bold and unmistakable. The new Avengers insignia sat high, proudly on his chest. 

He looked strong.

Commanding. 

Like a leader. 

His expression softened when he caught your eye in the mirror. 

“You look incredible,” you said, unable to hide your smile tugging at your lips. He turned, and you watched his cheeks pink just a little. “Like someone worth following.” 

He chuckled quietly, crossing the room and leaning down to kiss you. He was soft, lingering. Your fingers reached up to his hair, scraping your nails over his scalp gently.

Pulling back, he rested his forehead against yours. “Dinner tonight?” 

You smiled, nodding. “Don’t leave me waiting.”

___

[jijournal]

"Jealous Much?" | D.M

Potter!reader x Draco Malfoy

Summary: You receive a letter with a gift every week, and your brother Harry and his friends won’t stop teasing you about a “mystery admirer.” Little does he know, the sender is the last person he’d ever expect.

A/N: I'm currently in love with potter!reader x draco scenarios. ♡

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

It started about a month ago—a quiet little mystery that became your favorite part of the week.

Every Friday morning, just as the Great Hall buzzed with chatter and clinking silverware, a sleek, pale-gray owl swooped down gracefully and landed in front of you. It was never late. And it always brought something thoughtful—something that made your heart race just a little.

The first gift had been a delicate silver charm bracelet, simple but elegant, with a tiny serpent dangling from the chain. The note attached was written in tidy script:

“Something subtle… to keep me close, even when I’m not there.”

The second week, it was a small box of enchanted chocolates—each one shaped like a star, and when you bit into them, they whispered things like, “You’re beautiful,” and “Thinking of you.” The letter that time said:

“A little sweetness to match yours. Don’t share them with Weasley.”

You had giggled at that one, earning a curious look from Harry across the table.

Week three, it was a pressed flower—some kind of rare, deep purple bloom you’d never seen before—enchanted so it would never wilt. The note was shorter that time, but no less meaningful:

“Even something rare and beautiful pales next to you.”

And today? As the owl landed gracefully in front of you, heads turned, and Harry, who had already caught on to the pattern, raised his eyebrows with exaggerated interest. You untied the small parcel and unfolded the parchment first.

It read:

“Meet me tonight. Same place. P.S. You look stunning when you smile at my letters.”

You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face as you unwrapped the gift—a silver locket. When you clicked it open, inside was a tiny photo of you (one you didn’t even remember being taken) smiling down at something out of frame. Opposite it was a moving image of Draco, eyes soft and a rare, genuine smile tugging at his lips. Your heart squeezed.

“Alright,” Harry said, setting down his fork and leaning forward on his elbows. “This is getting serious now. A locket? You have to tell me who it is.”

Ron and Hermione both looked up, curious and amused, but Harry was the most relentless.

“I’m guessing—hmm—Ernie Macmillan.”

You rolled your eyes, tucking the locket carefully into your pocket. “Nope.”

“Michael Corner?”

“Wrong again.”

“Hmm…” He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Zabini? He’s smooth.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Lockhart?!” Harry gasped suddenly, eyes wide with mock horror. “Is it Lockhart? You can tell me!”

“Harry!” you squeaked, swatting at him, your face burning as you laughed.

“Look at her blush!” Harry crowed. “It’s Lockhart. Case closed.”

Ron groaned. “Please, no one wants to think about that.”

That night, you slipped out like usual, heart thudding as you made your way through the secret passage to your hidden meeting spot. And sure enough, there was Draco, already waiting, arms crossed, expression… stormy.

You frowned. “Hey… what’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer at first, just glared down at the ground. His jaw was tight, and he seemed to be brooding even more than usual.

“Draco?” you pressed, stepping closer.

Finally, he huffed and muttered, “If your brother keeps talking about other boys, I swear I’m going to hex him into next week.”

You blinked, startled—then burst out laughing. “That’s why you’re sulking?”

Draco scowled but didn’t deny it. “It’s annoying. All day, it’s been Corner this and Zabini that—and Lockhart?! Are you kidding me? I should’ve hexed Potter right then and there.”

You giggled, sliding your arms around his waist. “Jealous, much?”

“Maybe.” Draco didn’t even try to hide it. His eyes were sharp but softened when you reached up to brush his hair back.

“You know it’s only ever you, right?”

That earned a rare, genuine smile. He leaned down and kissed you, slow and deep, pulling you flush against him like he never wanted to let go.

“Let them guess,” you whispered against his lips. “It’s more fun that way.”

“As long as you remember who you belong to,” Draco murmured, smirking now, possessive but playful.

You laughed, pecking his lips. “Always.”

⸻

The following Friday, you thought maybe things would settle down. But oh, how wrong you were.

The owl swooped in as usual—but this time, it carried a huge box. Bigger than any gift so far. You stared as it dropped the package in front of you with a graceful thud.

“Oh, this is serious now,” Harry announced, eyes lighting up as he grabbed the box before you could. “Come on, let’s see what lover boy sent this time.”

You groaned, but Hermione and Ron were already leaning in curiously, and of course, the Weasley twins—never ones to miss out on teasing—slid onto the bench with identical grins.

Harry opened the box dramatically—and all five of them gasped.

Inside was the most stunning gown you’d ever seen: emerald-green silk, shimmering faintly, clearly enchanted, with intricate embroidery that looked too expensive to even touch. You couldn’t stop staring at it.

“Holy—” Fred began.

“—bloody hell,” George finished.

“Is that designer?” Hermione whispered, eyes wide.

Harry held it up, gaping. “This must’ve cost a fortune! Okay, okay, this is big money. We need to think. Who’s rich enough to pull this off?”

You tried to grab it back, face burning. “Harry, stop—”

“Theodore Nott?” Harry guessed first.

“Nope.”

“Mclaggen?”

“Wrong.”

“Zabini?” Hermione chimed in, clearly entertained now.

“Montague?” Fred suggested, holding the dress up to himself with a wink. “If it is, tell him I want one too.”

“Ohhh,” George added dramatically, “I bet it’s one of those international students. Super rich.”

You groaned, hiding your face. “You guys are ridiculous.”

Fred and George shared a look and started chanting, “She’s getting married! She’s getting married!”

“I am NOT—!"

And then it happened.

A sudden clatter of footsteps, sharp and purposeful, echoed across the Great Hall. Everyone turned—and your stomach dropped.

Draco Malfoy was storming across the room, eyes locked on you, face like thunder.

The table fell dead silent.

“Uh… why’s Malfoy coming over here?” Ron muttered nervously.

Draco didn’t stop until he was standing right behind Harry, towering over him with his arms crossed and that deadly glare fixed in place.

“I’m the one who bought the dress, Potter,” Draco announced, his voice cool but sharp, loud enough for half the hall to hear. “Not the cheap students you’re rattling off like some pathetic guessing game."

Silence.

Harry’s jaw dropped. Fred dropped his fork. Hermione blinked like she couldn’t process what had just happened.

Draco turned to you then, gaze softening ever so slightly. “You’ll look stunning in it, by the way.”

Harry's eyes widen even more, practically bulging out of his eye sockets, as Draco leans in to kiss your forehead.

And with that, he spun on his heel and strode out, his cloak following behind him.

There was a beat of stunned silence… and then chaos.

“MALFOY?!” Harry exploded, whipping around to stare at you. “You’re dating MALFOY?!”

Fred and George howled with laughter, practically falling off the bench.

“Ohhh, this is gold,” George gasped between wheezes.

“Best reveal ever,” Fred agreed, wiping tears from his eyes.

Ron just looked horrified, and Hermione… Hermione slowly closed her book, gave you a look, and said, “I knew it.”

You buried your face in your hands, groaning. “…Well. I guess the mystery’s solved.”

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

masterlist!

[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.