warnings. established relationship, fluff (like... a lot), sae pretending he is not painfully attentive ♡
word count. ~3.4k.
every time sae returns from spain, he brings you something small. it takes you far too long to understand that none of the gifts are as thoughtless as he pretends they are.
── .✦
The first gift Sae brings you from Spain is a bookmark.
It is thin and painted by hand, a trail of deep blue flowers curling around its edges while a narrow red ribbon hangs from the bottom. Pretty, certainly, but not particularly remarkable. The sort of thing displayed beside postcards and magnets in a quiet shop intended for tourists with a few coins left to spend before their flights.
Sae places it on the table between you without explanation.
You look down at it.
Then back at him.
“What’s this?”
“A bookmark.”
“I can see that.”
He lifts his glass, entirely unaffected by your stare. “Then why did you ask?”
You narrow your eyes, though the smile threatening your mouth ruins whatever irritation you were attempting to convey.
“I meant why are you giving it to me?”
Sae takes a slow drink before answering.
“You dog-ear your pages.”
There is enough judgment in his voice to make it sound like a personal failing.
You glance at the bookmark again.
“You bought this because you don’t like the way I mark my pages?”
“You’re ruining them.”
“They’re my books.”
“You’re still ruining them.”
You laugh, tracing one fingertip over the painted flowers. The blue is slightly uneven in places, small imperfections revealing where the brush must have paused against the wood.
“You could’ve just told me to buy one.”
“I have.”
“You complained. That’s different.”
“It clearly wasn’t effective.”
Sae leans back in his chair, conversation apparently finished.
You smile despite yourself and slip the bookmark carefully inside the novel waiting in your bag.
“Thank you.”
His eyes flick toward your hands for a moment.
Then away.
“Hm.”
You think little of it at the time.
Sae travels constantly. Training camps, matches, obligations you do not always understand and events he rarely seems interested in attending. Airports and hotel rooms have become ordinary pieces of his life, distances measured in fixtures rather than weeks.
The bookmark feels like an impulse purchase—a small object he spotted beside a register that happened to remind him of your terrible reading habits.
Then comes the second gift: a box of tea from Spain.
You are waiting in his apartment when he returns, curled into one corner of the couch with a blanket covering your legs. His flight landed late enough that you had almost fallen asleep twice, but the sound of his key turning in the lock has you sitting upright immediately.
Sae steps inside with one hand wrapped around the handle of his suitcase.
He looks tired.
Not obviously. Sae rarely permits anything to appear obvious. But there is a faint heaviness beneath his eyes, a stiffness in his shoulders that only becomes visible after you have spent long enough learning the difference between his indifference and his exhaustion.
“You’re still awake,” he says.
“You told me you’d be here at eleven.”
“It’s eleven thirty.”
“Exactly. You’re late.”
“The plane was delayed.”
You rise from the couch and move toward him, wrapping your arms around his waist before he can say anything else.
For a moment, Sae remains still.
Then his hand settles against the back of your head.
“You missed me,” he observes.
“No.”
“Right.”
His palm slides slowly down your hair, lingering before he steps away to remove his jacket.
You watch him open his suitcase.
“You’re unpacking now?”
“I need something.”
From between neatly folded clothes, he removes a small paper package and holds it toward you.
You blink.
“What is it?”
“Open it.”
Inside is a box of loose-leaf tea, the label printed in Spanish and decorated with tiny illustrations of oranges.
You lift the lid and breathe in. The scent is warm and sweet, citrus softened beneath something floral.
“It smells amazing.”
“You complained the tea here tastes like hot water.”
You look at him.
“That was months ago.”
Sae shrugs and begins closing his suitcase.
You remain kneeling beside it, the box held carefully in both hands.
“You remembered that?”
“You complained for twenty minutes.”
“It was terrible tea.”
“I remember.”
His tone remains flat, but there is the faintest curve at the corner of his mouth.
The third gift is a pair of earrings.
Small golden stars, delicate enough to catch the light whenever you turn your head.
He leaves them beside the bathroom sink while you are getting ready, the box appearing between your makeup and his irritatingly limited collection of skincare as though it has always belonged there.
You find it while searching for your lip balm.
“Sae?”
He appears in the doorway, already dressed for dinner.
“What?”
You hold up the box.
His gaze drops toward it. “They’re earrings.”
“Thank you, I was struggling with that.”
“You asked.”
“I’m asking why they’re here.”
“They’re yours.”
You turn one of the tiny stars beneath the light.
They are exactly the sort you would choose for yourself—simple, warm-toned, understated enough for everyday wear. You cannot imagine Sae wandering willingly through a jewelry shop, much less studying displays long enough to decide which pair would suit you.
“How did you even pick these?”
Sae’s expression suggests the question is ridiculous.
“You showed me a pair like them.”
“When?”
He adjusts the cuff of his sleeve. “You were looking at them online.”
Your hand stills.
That had been weeks ago. You had been lying beside him, mindlessly scrolling, and paused on a photo for no more than a few seconds before deciding you did not need them.
You are not even certain you spoke aloud.
“You saw that?”
“You had the brightness all the way up.”
“That’s not the point.”
“It was annoying.”
You stare at him.
Sae stares back.
Then his eyes drop briefly toward the earrings.
“Are you wearing them or not?”
The impatience in his voice fails to conceal the way he waits for your answer.
You smile.
“Help me put them on?”
“No.”
“Sae.”
“You have hands.”
“Please?”
He exhales, long and quiet, as though you have asked him to perform something unbearably difficult.
Still, he approaches.
You turn your back to him and move your hair aside. Sae’s fingers brush the curve of your ear as he fastens the first earring, his touch unexpectedly careful. The cool metal settles against your skin.
“You’re very good at this,” you murmur.
“Be quiet.”
“You’ve done this before?”
“No.”
“Then how—”
“Hold still.”
You do, though mostly because his fingertips have moved beneath your hair, smoothing it back into place with an intimacy that leaves warmth spreading slowly through your chest.
When he finishes, you turn toward the mirror.
The stars catch the bathroom light.
You look at Sae’s reflection.
He is already watching you.
“They’re perfect,” you say softly.
“I know.”
Of course that is his answer.
The gifts continue.
By the fourth gift—a small bottle of perfume—you begin to wonder whether any of his choices are truly spontaneous.
The fifth is a ceramic dish painted with lemons, chosen because your rings are always scattered across his apartment.
The sixth gift is a wool scarf in the exact shade you once admired through a shop window.
The seventh is chocolate from a place you had mentioned seeing online.
The eighth gift is a pen, bought because yours ran out during one of your calls and you spent five minutes searching for another while Sae listened in silence from Madrid.
Each time, he offers the same simple explanation.
“You said you wanted one.”
“You said you liked it.”
“You needed it.”
As though these are reasons enough.
Perhaps, to Sae, they are.
It takes you longer than it should to notice the pattern.
You are cleaning your room one afternoon when you find the first bookmark tucked inside an old novel. The blue flowers are slightly faded now, the red ribbon fraying near the end from months of use.
You place it on the bed.
Then, almost without thinking, you begin gathering the others.
The earrings from the small dish on your dresser.
The scarf folded over your chair.
The perfume beside the mirror.
The tea, nearly finished, in the kitchen cupboard.
A collection of small, ordinary objects arranged across your blanket, each one connected to a moment you had long since forgotten.
A complaint made beneath your breath.
A screen paused for a few seconds.
A passing comment that had felt too insignificant to carry beyond the conversation in which it appeared.
Sae had carried every one of them across countries.
You are still sitting among the gifts when he arrives.
He stops in the doorway to your room.
His eyes move from you to the objects scattered across the bed.
“What are you doing?”
You lift the bookmark.
“You remembered all of these.”
Sae leans against the doorframe, expression unreadable. “They’re things I bought you.”
“No.” You look down at the gifts. “You remembered everything I said.”
A faint crease appears between his brows, as though he cannot understand why this surprises you.
“You talk a lot.”
You laugh once, though the sound comes out softer than intended.
“I don’t talk that much.”
“You do.”
“And you listen?”
Sae’s gaze settles on your face.
For a moment, the room becomes very still.
He could tease you. He could look away, offer some dismissive answer and leave you to interpret everything yourself. That is what you expect from him—the careful avoidance he uses whenever a conversation threatens to become too openly sentimental.
Instead, Sae pushes away from the doorway and walks toward you.
He stops between your knees.
“You’re my partner,” he says simply.
Your fingers tighten around the bookmark.
“So?”
“So I listen.”
The answer is delivered with such calm certainty that your chest aches.
Sae looks down at the collection on the bed.
“You didn’t need to take everything out.”
“I was having a moment.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“You brought me souvenirs from another country because I complained about tea.”
“It was bad tea.”
Your laugh breaks free before you can stop it.
Sae’s hand settles against your cheek, his thumb moving once beneath your eye. His expression remains composed, but there is something gentler behind it now, something he does not seem particularly interested in hiding.
“You really don’t think this is romantic?” you ask.
“No.”
“You remembered earrings I looked at for five seconds.”
“They suited you.”
“And the scarf?”
“You were cold.”
“The perfume?”
“You liked it.”
You smile up at him.
Sae’s eyes narrow slightly, already suspicious of the expression.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re doing that thing.”
“What thing?”
“Looking at me like I said something impressive.”
“You did.”
“I bought you things.”
“You noticed me.”
The words quiet him.
His hand remains against your face.
There it is, you think—the reason the gifts never felt grand to him. Sae does not understand attention as an extraordinary act. He watches you because you are there. He remembers because your words matter to him. The little details you dismiss as meaningless settle somewhere inside him and remain there until he finds them again in shops, airports, and unfamiliar streets thousands of miles away.
To him, it is not romance.
It is simply loving you.
You turn your face and kiss the center of his palm.
Sae becomes very still.
“Thank you,” you whisper.
He studies you for another second before bending down. His lips brush your forehead first, then the corner of your mouth.
“You’re welcome, mi amor.”
Your smile widens.
He notices immediately.
“Don’t start.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were going to.”
You wrap your arms around his waist and pull him closer, your cheek resting against his stomach.
Sae sighs, but his fingers slide into your hair, gently combing through the strands.
After a quiet moment, his gaze shifts toward the gifts spread across the bed.
“You’re missing one.”
You lift your head.
“What?”
He reaches into the inner pocket of his coat and removes a small velvet box.
Your arms slowly loosen from around his waist.
“Sae.”
“What?”
You stare at the box resting in his palm. It is too small to contain anything harmless, and Sae’s complete lack of concern only makes your heart beat harder.
“You just got here.”
“And?”
“You already bought me something else?”
Instead of answering, he holds it toward you.
You take the box carefully, suddenly aware of how warm your hands have become. Sae watches in silence as you lift the lid.
Inside is a ring.
The ninth gift—and somehow, the one that makes every other object spread across your bed feel like a trail leading to this moment.
It is delicate, made of thin gold with a tiny teal stone set into the center—not extravagant, but elegant in that quiet, understated way Sae seems to understand suits you better than anything overly ornate. The stone catches the light when you tilt the box, flashing the same deep shade as his eyes.
For a moment, you can only stare.
“Sae…”
“You said you liked it.”
Your gaze snaps toward him. “When?”
“A few months ago.”
You search your memory until a blurred afternoon begins to return: the two of you walking past a jewelry shop, your steps slowing briefly in front of the window. You had pointed toward one of the rings inside and said it was beautiful before continuing down the street.
You had not thought about it again.
Apparently, Sae had.
“I didn’t even say I wanted it.”
“You kept looking at it.”
“For maybe ten seconds.”
“Long enough.”
The answer comes so easily that your chest aches all over again.
You remove the ring from its cushion, but before you can put it on, Sae takes it gently from your fingers.
“Give me your left hand.”
You stare at him.
Sae holds the ring between two fingers, his expression as composed as ever, as though he has not just taken the entire evening and tilted it quietly off its axis.
“Sae.”
His eyebrow lifts.
“Are you going to make this difficult?”
“You’re holding a ring and asking for my left hand.” Your voice comes out thinner than you intended. “I think I’m allowed to have a moment.”
“You’ve been having one for the past five minutes.”
Your mouth falls open, but the reply never comes.
Because he said left hand.
Not your right. Not whichever one happened to be closest.
Your left.
The realization settles slowly, warmth spreading through your chest until you can hear your own heartbeat beneath the silence of the room.
You look down at the ring again, at the delicate gold band and the small teal stone catching the light between his fingers.
Then back at him.
“Sae,” you say carefully, “is this a proposal?”
He watches you for a moment.
“Yes.”
The single word steals the air from your lungs.
There is no teasing in his expression now, no trace of the faint amusement he usually wears whenever he manages to fluster you. His gaze remains steady on yours, quiet and certain in a way that makes the small velvet box in your hands suddenly feel much heavier.
“You’re proposing to me?”
“I just said I was.”
“That isn’t...” You stop, pressing your lips together as a nervous laugh threatens to escape. “You can’t just hand me a ring and expect me to understand what’s happening.”
“I asked for your hand.”
“That is not the same thing as asking me to marry you!”
Sae exhales softly through his nose. For the first time, something almost uncertain passes beneath his composure—not hesitation, exactly, but the realization that perhaps this is one moment he cannot communicate through implication alone.
He lowers the ring slightly.
Then he steps closer.
“You want a speech?”
“I want to know why.”
His eyes narrow just a little. “You don’t know?”
“I want to hear you say it.”
Of course you do.
Sae studies your face, and for one terrible second, you think he might refuse simply because you asked. Then his free hand rises to your cheek, his thumb resting just beneath your eye.
“I remember the things you say because they matter to me,” he begins. His voice is calm, stripped of any theatrical tenderness, but every word lands with deliberate weight. “I bring you things because I see them and think of you. I come back and expect you to be here. When you aren’t, the apartment feels wrong.”
Your breath catches.
Sae’s gaze does not leave yours.
"I don’t want you fitting into my life only when our schedules allow it.” His thumb moves once across your cheek. “I want you in all of it—when I leave, when I come back, wherever I end up playing.
The sting behind your eyes grows warmer.
Sae notices, naturally, but this time he does not interrupt.
“I bought the ring because you liked it,” he continues. “I measured one of yours because I intended to put it on you. And I’m asking because I want you to marry me.”
There it is.
Not wrapped in poetry. Not softened by promises too grand to trust.
Just Sae, offering you the truth as plainly as he understands it.
His fingers shift beneath your chin.
“So,” he says, voice quieter now, “marry me, mi amor.”
Your vision blurs.
Sae’s expression tightens immediately.
“Don’t cry before you answer.”
A laugh slips through the tears gathering in your eyes.
“You’re still bossing me around during your own proposal.”
“You’re avoiding the question.”
“I’m not avoiding it.”
“You haven’t answered.”
You reach for the front of his shirt, curling your fingers into the fabric as though you need something solid to steady yourself.
“Yes.”
Sae becomes completely still.
The smallest pause follows—barely there, but long enough for you to see the answer reach him beneath all that carefully maintained composure.
You smile through the warmth in your eyes.
“Yes, Sae. I’ll marry you.”
His shoulders loosen.
Only slightly.
But you see it.
Of course you do.
Sae takes your left hand, his touch unexpectedly careful as he slides the ring onto your finger. It settles perfectly at the base.
Of course it does.
You look down at it, watching the teal stone catch the light.
Then you look back at him.
“How did you know my size?”
“You leave your jewelry everywhere.”
“You measured one of my rings?”
“You make it sound more complicated than it was.”
“You secretly measured one of my rings, remembered something I looked at months ago, found it again, brought it home from Spain, and planned an entire proposal without telling me.”
“Yes.”
“And you still don’t think you’re romantic?”
“No.”
You laugh softly, though another tear escapes before you can stop it.
Sae brushes it away with his thumb.
“Don’t cry over a ring.”
“I’m not crying over the ring.”
“Then what?”
“You.”
That silences him.
You pull him closer by his shirt and kiss him before he can retreat behind another dry reply. His hand slides into your hair, holding you there as his mouth softens against yours.
The kiss is slow, warm with all the things Sae rarely says aloud.
When you finally part, your forehead remains pressed to his.
“You could have started with marry me,” you whisper.
“You would’ve interrupted.”
“I interrupted anyway.”
“I know.”
His eyes lower to the ring now resting on your hand. His thumb brushes lightly over the gold band, tracing the place where it circles your finger.
Then he brings your hand to his mouth and presses a kiss against your knuckles.
“You like it?”
You stare at him.
“You proposed to me, and you’re asking whether I like the ring?”
“You said you did.”
Months ago.
For no more than a few seconds.
You shake your head, smiling helplessly.
“I love it.”
Sae’s eyes lift to yours.
“The ring?”
“You.”
The faintest smile touches his mouth.
“Good.”
Then he kisses you again.
The ninth gift remains on your finger, distinct from every small object spread across the bed.
The others were things Sae carried home because he remembered what you liked, what you needed, and every passing thought you never expected him to keep.
But the ring is not merely something he has brought home to you.
It is his quiet way of asking you to make a home with him.
warnings. established relationship, fluff (like... a lot), sae pretending he is not painfully attentive ♡
word count. ~3.4k.
every time sae returns from spain, he brings you something small. it takes you far too long to understand that none of the gifts are as thoughtless as he pretends they are.
── .✦
The first gift Sae brings you from Spain is a bookmark.
It is thin and painted by hand, a trail of deep blue flowers curling around its edges while a narrow red ribbon hangs from the bottom. Pretty, certainly, but not particularly remarkable. The sort of thing displayed beside postcards and magnets in a quiet shop intended for tourists with a few coins left to spend before their flights.
Sae places it on the table between you without explanation.
You look down at it.
Then back at him.
“What’s this?”
“A bookmark.”
“I can see that.”
He lifts his glass, entirely unaffected by your stare. “Then why did you ask?”
You narrow your eyes, though the smile threatening your mouth ruins whatever irritation you were attempting to convey.
“I meant why are you giving it to me?”
Sae takes a slow drink before answering.
“You dog-ear your pages.”
There is enough judgment in his voice to make it sound like a personal failing.
You glance at the bookmark again.
“You bought this because you don’t like the way I mark my pages?”
“You’re ruining them.”
“They’re my books.”
“You’re still ruining them.”
You laugh, tracing one fingertip over the painted flowers. The blue is slightly uneven in places, small imperfections revealing where the brush must have paused against the wood.
“You could’ve just told me to buy one.”
“I have.”
“You complained. That’s different.”
“It clearly wasn’t effective.”
Sae leans back in his chair, conversation apparently finished.
You smile despite yourself and slip the bookmark carefully inside the novel waiting in your bag.
“Thank you.”
His eyes flick toward your hands for a moment.
Then away.
“Hm.”
You think little of it at the time.
Sae travels constantly. Training camps, matches, obligations you do not always understand and events he rarely seems interested in attending. Airports and hotel rooms have become ordinary pieces of his life, distances measured in fixtures rather than weeks.
The bookmark feels like an impulse purchase—a small object he spotted beside a register that happened to remind him of your terrible reading habits.
Then comes the second gift: a box of tea from Spain.
You are waiting in his apartment when he returns, curled into one corner of the couch with a blanket covering your legs. His flight landed late enough that you had almost fallen asleep twice, but the sound of his key turning in the lock has you sitting upright immediately.
Sae steps inside with one hand wrapped around the handle of his suitcase.
He looks tired.
Not obviously. Sae rarely permits anything to appear obvious. But there is a faint heaviness beneath his eyes, a stiffness in his shoulders that only becomes visible after you have spent long enough learning the difference between his indifference and his exhaustion.
“You’re still awake,” he says.
“You told me you’d be here at eleven.”
“It’s eleven thirty.”
“Exactly. You’re late.”
“The plane was delayed.”
You rise from the couch and move toward him, wrapping your arms around his waist before he can say anything else.
For a moment, Sae remains still.
Then his hand settles against the back of your head.
“You missed me,” he observes.
“No.”
“Right.”
His palm slides slowly down your hair, lingering before he steps away to remove his jacket.
You watch him open his suitcase.
“You’re unpacking now?”
“I need something.”
From between neatly folded clothes, he removes a small paper package and holds it toward you.
You blink.
“What is it?”
“Open it.”
Inside is a box of loose-leaf tea, the label printed in Spanish and decorated with tiny illustrations of oranges.
You lift the lid and breathe in. The scent is warm and sweet, citrus softened beneath something floral.
“It smells amazing.”
“You complained the tea here tastes like hot water.”
You look at him.
“That was months ago.”
Sae shrugs and begins closing his suitcase.
You remain kneeling beside it, the box held carefully in both hands.
“You remembered that?”
“You complained for twenty minutes.”
“It was terrible tea.”
“I remember.”
His tone remains flat, but there is the faintest curve at the corner of his mouth.
The third gift is a pair of earrings.
Small golden stars, delicate enough to catch the light whenever you turn your head.
He leaves them beside the bathroom sink while you are getting ready, the box appearing between your makeup and his irritatingly limited collection of skincare as though it has always belonged there.
You find it while searching for your lip balm.
“Sae?”
He appears in the doorway, already dressed for dinner.
“What?”
You hold up the box.
His gaze drops toward it. “They’re earrings.”
“Thank you, I was struggling with that.”
“You asked.”
“I’m asking why they’re here.”
“They’re yours.”
You turn one of the tiny stars beneath the light.
They are exactly the sort you would choose for yourself—simple, warm-toned, understated enough for everyday wear. You cannot imagine Sae wandering willingly through a jewelry shop, much less studying displays long enough to decide which pair would suit you.
“How did you even pick these?”
Sae’s expression suggests the question is ridiculous.
“You showed me a pair like them.”
“When?”
He adjusts the cuff of his sleeve. “You were looking at them online.”
Your hand stills.
That had been weeks ago. You had been lying beside him, mindlessly scrolling, and paused on a photo for no more than a few seconds before deciding you did not need them.
You are not even certain you spoke aloud.
“You saw that?”
“You had the brightness all the way up.”
“That’s not the point.”
“It was annoying.”
You stare at him.
Sae stares back.
Then his eyes drop briefly toward the earrings.
“Are you wearing them or not?”
The impatience in his voice fails to conceal the way he waits for your answer.
You smile.
“Help me put them on?”
“No.”
“Sae.”
“You have hands.”
“Please?”
He exhales, long and quiet, as though you have asked him to perform something unbearably difficult.
Still, he approaches.
You turn your back to him and move your hair aside. Sae’s fingers brush the curve of your ear as he fastens the first earring, his touch unexpectedly careful. The cool metal settles against your skin.
“You’re very good at this,” you murmur.
“Be quiet.”
“You’ve done this before?”
“No.”
“Then how—”
“Hold still.”
You do, though mostly because his fingertips have moved beneath your hair, smoothing it back into place with an intimacy that leaves warmth spreading slowly through your chest.
When he finishes, you turn toward the mirror.
The stars catch the bathroom light.
You look at Sae’s reflection.
He is already watching you.
“They’re perfect,” you say softly.
“I know.”
Of course that is his answer.
The gifts continue.
By the fourth gift—a small bottle of perfume—you begin to wonder whether any of his choices are truly spontaneous.
The fifth is a ceramic dish painted with lemons, chosen because your rings are always scattered across his apartment.
The sixth gift is a wool scarf in the exact shade you once admired through a shop window.
The seventh is chocolate from a place you had mentioned seeing online.
The eighth gift is a pen, bought because yours ran out during one of your calls and you spent five minutes searching for another while Sae listened in silence from Madrid.
Each time, he offers the same simple explanation.
“You said you wanted one.”
“You said you liked it.”
“You needed it.”
As though these are reasons enough.
Perhaps, to Sae, they are.
It takes you longer than it should to notice the pattern.
You are cleaning your room one afternoon when you find the first bookmark tucked inside an old novel. The blue flowers are slightly faded now, the red ribbon fraying near the end from months of use.
You place it on the bed.
Then, almost without thinking, you begin gathering the others.
The earrings from the small dish on your dresser.
The scarf folded over your chair.
The perfume beside the mirror.
The tea, nearly finished, in the kitchen cupboard.
A collection of small, ordinary objects arranged across your blanket, each one connected to a moment you had long since forgotten.
A complaint made beneath your breath.
A screen paused for a few seconds.
A passing comment that had felt too insignificant to carry beyond the conversation in which it appeared.
Sae had carried every one of them across countries.
You are still sitting among the gifts when he arrives.
He stops in the doorway to your room.
His eyes move from you to the objects scattered across the bed.
“What are you doing?”
You lift the bookmark.
“You remembered all of these.”
Sae leans against the doorframe, expression unreadable. “They’re things I bought you.”
“No.” You look down at the gifts. “You remembered everything I said.”
A faint crease appears between his brows, as though he cannot understand why this surprises you.
“You talk a lot.”
You laugh once, though the sound comes out softer than intended.
“I don’t talk that much.”
“You do.”
“And you listen?”
Sae’s gaze settles on your face.
For a moment, the room becomes very still.
He could tease you. He could look away, offer some dismissive answer and leave you to interpret everything yourself. That is what you expect from him—the careful avoidance he uses whenever a conversation threatens to become too openly sentimental.
Instead, Sae pushes away from the doorway and walks toward you.
He stops between your knees.
“You’re my partner,” he says simply.
Your fingers tighten around the bookmark.
“So?”
“So I listen.”
The answer is delivered with such calm certainty that your chest aches.
Sae looks down at the collection on the bed.
“You didn’t need to take everything out.”
“I was having a moment.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“You brought me souvenirs from another country because I complained about tea.”
“It was bad tea.”
Your laugh breaks free before you can stop it.
Sae’s hand settles against your cheek, his thumb moving once beneath your eye. His expression remains composed, but there is something gentler behind it now, something he does not seem particularly interested in hiding.
“You really don’t think this is romantic?” you ask.
“No.”
“You remembered earrings I looked at for five seconds.”
“They suited you.”
“And the scarf?”
“You were cold.”
“The perfume?”
“You liked it.”
You smile up at him.
Sae’s eyes narrow slightly, already suspicious of the expression.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re doing that thing.”
“What thing?”
“Looking at me like I said something impressive.”
“You did.”
“I bought you things.”
“You noticed me.”
The words quiet him.
His hand remains against your face.
There it is, you think—the reason the gifts never felt grand to him. Sae does not understand attention as an extraordinary act. He watches you because you are there. He remembers because your words matter to him. The little details you dismiss as meaningless settle somewhere inside him and remain there until he finds them again in shops, airports, and unfamiliar streets thousands of miles away.
To him, it is not romance.
It is simply loving you.
You turn your face and kiss the center of his palm.
Sae becomes very still.
“Thank you,” you whisper.
He studies you for another second before bending down. His lips brush your forehead first, then the corner of your mouth.
“You’re welcome, mi amor.”
Your smile widens.
He notices immediately.
“Don’t start.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were going to.”
You wrap your arms around his waist and pull him closer, your cheek resting against his stomach.
Sae sighs, but his fingers slide into your hair, gently combing through the strands.
After a quiet moment, his gaze shifts toward the gifts spread across the bed.
“You’re missing one.”
You lift your head.
“What?”
He reaches into the inner pocket of his coat and removes a small velvet box.
Your arms slowly loosen from around his waist.
“Sae.”
“What?”
You stare at the box resting in his palm. It is too small to contain anything harmless, and Sae’s complete lack of concern only makes your heart beat harder.
“You just got here.”
“And?”
“You already bought me something else?”
Instead of answering, he holds it toward you.
You take the box carefully, suddenly aware of how warm your hands have become. Sae watches in silence as you lift the lid.
Inside is a ring.
The ninth gift—and somehow, the one that makes every other object spread across your bed feel like a trail leading to this moment.
It is delicate, made of thin gold with a tiny teal stone set into the center—not extravagant, but elegant in that quiet, understated way Sae seems to understand suits you better than anything overly ornate. The stone catches the light when you tilt the box, flashing the same deep shade as his eyes.
For a moment, you can only stare.
“Sae…”
“You said you liked it.”
Your gaze snaps toward him. “When?”
“A few months ago.”
You search your memory until a blurred afternoon begins to return: the two of you walking past a jewelry shop, your steps slowing briefly in front of the window. You had pointed toward one of the rings inside and said it was beautiful before continuing down the street.
You had not thought about it again.
Apparently, Sae had.
“I didn’t even say I wanted it.”
“You kept looking at it.”
“For maybe ten seconds.”
“Long enough.”
The answer comes so easily that your chest aches all over again.
You remove the ring from its cushion, but before you can put it on, Sae takes it gently from your fingers.
“Give me your left hand.”
You stare at him.
Sae holds the ring between two fingers, his expression as composed as ever, as though he has not just taken the entire evening and tilted it quietly off its axis.
“Sae.”
His eyebrow lifts.
“Are you going to make this difficult?”
“You’re holding a ring and asking for my left hand.” Your voice comes out thinner than you intended. “I think I’m allowed to have a moment.”
“You’ve been having one for the past five minutes.”
Your mouth falls open, but the reply never comes.
Because he said left hand.
Not your right. Not whichever one happened to be closest.
Your left.
The realization settles slowly, warmth spreading through your chest until you can hear your own heartbeat beneath the silence of the room.
You look down at the ring again, at the delicate gold band and the small teal stone catching the light between his fingers.
Then back at him.
“Sae,” you say carefully, “is this a proposal?”
He watches you for a moment.
“Yes.”
The single word steals the air from your lungs.
There is no teasing in his expression now, no trace of the faint amusement he usually wears whenever he manages to fluster you. His gaze remains steady on yours, quiet and certain in a way that makes the small velvet box in your hands suddenly feel much heavier.
“You’re proposing to me?”
“I just said I was.”
“That isn’t...” You stop, pressing your lips together as a nervous laugh threatens to escape. “You can’t just hand me a ring and expect me to understand what’s happening.”
“I asked for your hand.”
“That is not the same thing as asking me to marry you!”
Sae exhales softly through his nose. For the first time, something almost uncertain passes beneath his composure—not hesitation, exactly, but the realization that perhaps this is one moment he cannot communicate through implication alone.
He lowers the ring slightly.
Then he steps closer.
“You want a speech?”
“I want to know why.”
His eyes narrow just a little. “You don’t know?”
“I want to hear you say it.”
Of course you do.
Sae studies your face, and for one terrible second, you think he might refuse simply because you asked. Then his free hand rises to your cheek, his thumb resting just beneath your eye.
“I remember the things you say because they matter to me,” he begins. His voice is calm, stripped of any theatrical tenderness, but every word lands with deliberate weight. “I bring you things because I see them and think of you. I come back and expect you to be here. When you aren’t, the apartment feels wrong.”
Your breath catches.
Sae’s gaze does not leave yours.
"I don’t want you fitting into my life only when our schedules allow it.” His thumb moves once across your cheek. “I want you in all of it—when I leave, when I come back, wherever I end up playing.
The sting behind your eyes grows warmer.
Sae notices, naturally, but this time he does not interrupt.
“I bought the ring because you liked it,” he continues. “I measured one of yours because I intended to put it on you. And I’m asking because I want you to marry me.”
There it is.
Not wrapped in poetry. Not softened by promises too grand to trust.
Just Sae, offering you the truth as plainly as he understands it.
His fingers shift beneath your chin.
“So,” he says, voice quieter now, “marry me, mi amor.”
Your vision blurs.
Sae’s expression tightens immediately.
“Don’t cry before you answer.”
A laugh slips through the tears gathering in your eyes.
“You’re still bossing me around during your own proposal.”
“You’re avoiding the question.”
“I’m not avoiding it.”
“You haven’t answered.”
You reach for the front of his shirt, curling your fingers into the fabric as though you need something solid to steady yourself.
“Yes.”
Sae becomes completely still.
The smallest pause follows—barely there, but long enough for you to see the answer reach him beneath all that carefully maintained composure.
You smile through the warmth in your eyes.
“Yes, Sae. I’ll marry you.”
His shoulders loosen.
Only slightly.
But you see it.
Of course you do.
Sae takes your left hand, his touch unexpectedly careful as he slides the ring onto your finger. It settles perfectly at the base.
Of course it does.
You look down at it, watching the teal stone catch the light.
Then you look back at him.
“How did you know my size?”
“You leave your jewelry everywhere.”
“You measured one of my rings?”
“You make it sound more complicated than it was.”
“You secretly measured one of my rings, remembered something I looked at months ago, found it again, brought it home from Spain, and planned an entire proposal without telling me.”
“Yes.”
“And you still don’t think you’re romantic?”
“No.”
You laugh softly, though another tear escapes before you can stop it.
Sae brushes it away with his thumb.
“Don’t cry over a ring.”
“I’m not crying over the ring.”
“Then what?”
“You.”
That silences him.
You pull him closer by his shirt and kiss him before he can retreat behind another dry reply. His hand slides into your hair, holding you there as his mouth softens against yours.
The kiss is slow, warm with all the things Sae rarely says aloud.
When you finally part, your forehead remains pressed to his.
“You could have started with marry me,” you whisper.
“You would’ve interrupted.”
“I interrupted anyway.”
“I know.”
His eyes lower to the ring now resting on your hand. His thumb brushes lightly over the gold band, tracing the place where it circles your finger.
Then he brings your hand to his mouth and presses a kiss against your knuckles.
“You like it?”
You stare at him.
“You proposed to me, and you’re asking whether I like the ring?”
“You said you did.”
Months ago.
For no more than a few seconds.
You shake your head, smiling helplessly.
“I love it.”
Sae’s eyes lift to yours.
“The ring?”
“You.”
The faintest smile touches his mouth.
“Good.”
Then he kisses you again.
The ninth gift remains on your finger, distinct from every small object spread across the bed.
The others were things Sae carried home because he remembered what you liked, what you needed, and every passing thought you never expected him to keep.
But the ring is not merely something he has brought home to you.
It is his quiet way of asking you to make a home with him.
You're the newest rescued mer at the 141 sanctuary. A young nurse shark mer who was brought in after being injured when caught in a fishing net.
You were kept in a rehab tank for a few weeks so you could heal and get undivided attention from the workers and scientists. You were friendly and cooperative with the workers, so they decided you were ready to join the largest tank with the permanent resident pod.
It took you a while to acclimate to the new tank, it was significantly bigger than the rehab one. Not to mention the new mers. They were all pretty big, there was Ghost a Tiger shark, Soap an oceanic white tip shark, Gaz a black tip reef shark then Price a great white.
For the first few days you stayed at the bottom of the tank, lurking in the rock structures, keeping your distance when Kyle and Johnny would race in between the corals and caves. But soon enough you start coming out to explore and interact with the pod.
Price was the 'leader' or the one in charge. Ghost was right behind him while Gaz and Soap often fought and tried to dominate each other to establish their place in the hierarchy, but it was pretty blurred. It was pretty common to see them in mating lock or mounting each other. You knew these behaviors but you never experienced them first hand until now...
It was feeding time and you decided to swim up to the workers to get some of the crab they had. You didn't know about the feeding order, you were used to scavenging and hunting on your own. You didn't know about the 'rules' in the pod. So you took some of the crabs before Ghost got some. You were none the wiser. Once you get your fill you swam back down towards your little cave, a large shadow looming over you. Behind you was a rather irritated Ghost. He still got his food, but it was about principle. You needed to learn your place if you'd stay and join the pod. This wasn't Price's business because he ate and the other two were busy doing tricks to get thirds.
You turn to look over your shoulder, seeing the biggest shark in the tank approaching. He seemed angry, but he always looked irritated. You slow down so he can catch up, curious on what he wants. But you only pick up the pace when he starts speeding towards you. Your gills flare when he rams you into the sand, wiggling and thrashing to try and get away from his grip. He flips you onto your back, making your brain feel fuzzy for a moment. It was a big enough opening for him to shove his finger into your slit, grinding against you to show dominance. He shoves one of his claspers into you, trapping you in a mating lock. You thrash and twitch here and there, still trying to fight the inevitable. You know now to wait your turn.
Platonic Yandere! Mer! Batfam x GN! Shipwrecked! Reader
Wordcount: 1.6k
AN: Happy MerMay everyone! I saw a video of the process of a sperm whale birth and was very inspired by the rest of the pod supporting the calf! I took some liberties with sperm whale pod dynamics but like… They’re mers. Creative liberties are how we got here. Also, I finally got myself the BRZRKR themed comic box that I've been eyeing for months!!! I'm super excited to have some good storage for my comics where they won't be exposed to light!!! Not beta read. Good luck again, soldiers.
TW: Yandere and animalistic behaviors, somewhat realism, dehumanization(?), natural disasters, dead squids, eating raw flesh, kinda gross food stuff, mentions of starvation, violence, heavily implied death of humans and a mer (no major characters), mentions of male and female mers but in a nature documentary kind of way, mentions of scars and previous injuries (not reader)
♡♡♡
A tiny boat in a storm wasn’t exactly an ideal situation. Being stuck on a floating case of equipment was even less so. Being circled by a gigantic sperm whale mer while being stuck on a makeshift raft was kind of a worst case scenario. He hadn’t reached out to grab you yet but he kept cooing, rumbling, and clicking at you to try to get you to come closer when he would come up to the side of your raft. You, understandably, scurried to the opposite side and tried your very best to not freak out. His startling blue eyes were constantly on you since he found you and after a full day of being stared at, he finally left, diving down into the depths of the ocean.
He returned to the raft about an hour later with a huge, bloated dead squid that had been half torn to pieces. You watched in horror as he began tearing off chunks and putting them onto the raft. He watched your fast breathing and seemed to think that you needed help to learn how to eat. He tore off another chunk and slowly began biting into it and chewing, making sure that you were watching. After finishing his bite, he offered the chunk of flesh to you, humming softly in encouragement for you to take it. He didn’t seem discouraged when you refused, instead leaving the squid for you to eat and returning to circling around your raft like a shark.
You fell asleep that night to the sound of Bruce calling out for his pod. When you woke up, you were surrounded and being poked and prodded. A whole pod of sperm whale mers, both male and female, were either circling you or halfway on the raft as they touched your legs with a mix of curiosity and pity. You were smaller than even the calf, a male with a curious look in his green eyes. They were all whistling to each other and you didn’t need a degree in marine biology to understand what they were saying. They were talking about the messed up calf that their pod leader had found. The calf hadn’t seemed to learn patience yet as he pulled at you to try to get you into the water. He was quickly scolded by the older mers of the pod and gently pulled away from your raft.
From then on, you always had at least two members of the pod with you at all times. They slept surrounding you and usually spent their time trying to interact with you. When the pod went hunting, some stayed behind. There was the calf, who you called Damian, and then at least one babysitter. Damian couldn't hold his breath long enough to hunt on his own and it seemed that they thought the same of you. This time, the babysitter was the second largest male in the pod. He was covered in significantly more scars than any of the others. He shared the same green eyes as the calf and had a patch of white hair on his hairline. You called him Jason.
You liked Jason well enough. He was always particularly gentle with you. He seemed to like floating alongside the rafts and just watching you. He wasn't pushy or aggressive towards you and instead preferred to just watch you. He occasionally brought you small gifts that he found floating in the water. He usually brought you driftwood but once, he found a rubber ducky and seemed excited to give you something so colorful. You were happy to have something familiar. He would quietly chatter at you in his language as he watched you check over all of the different things that he would bring you.
After a few days adrift at sea, you finally became hungry enough to eat what they offered you. The eye of the dead squid stared up at you as Bruce began ripping apart the tentacles for you to eat. You were half starved when you took a chunk from his hand and took a bite. The chewy and unpleasant texture of the flesh distracted you from the overjoyed chirps and coos as the pods celebrated you eating something that they gave you for the first time. Bruce, in particular, seemed exceptionally pleased with you eating. You managed to eat enough to fill your stomach before falling asleep on the raft, the gentle bobbing motion lulling you to sleep easily.
You woke up to a different babysitter watching over you and Damian. You called him Duke because of how regal he looked when you first saw him. He was much more playful and easygoing than most of the others, even the one that you named Dick after he did a flip onto Bruce while he was busy preparing your food for you. You figured that he had some kind of deep sea fish genes from the way that patterns on his skin would glow at night. It was like having a living night light. You were distracted from watching him swimming with Damian when you noticed an oceanic white tip shark mer swimming towards you. You froze when you saw the large mer approaching, knowing that they had a reputation for eating shipwreck survivors. Duke quickly let out a series of loud, rapid clicks as he moved to intercept the other mer.
The shark mer began circling around the raft at a distance and Duke began matching him, still staying between you and the other mer. Damian seemed very upset as he began making loud clicks downwards towards where the rest of the pod was presumably hunting. The shark mer began curiously approaching the raft and once he was only a yard away, Bruce slammed into him from below and launched him up and out of the water.
There was a frenzy of activity as the pod began chasing the offending mer away from the raft. You felt your face being grabbed and you looked over to see one of the few female mers in the pod, Barbara. She seemed very intelligent but her back had a major scar and she had difficulties swimming quickly, likely due to a boat strike. It made sense why she would be the one to stay behind to watch you. Her green eyes stared into yours as she began petting your head and seemingly trying to comfort you. She continued to gently hold your face as she clicked and whistled at you affectionately, still keeping you from looking at what was happening behind you. When the rest of the pod returned and she let go of your face, you saw the massive amount of blood in the water and the lack of injuries to any of the members of the pod.
You were pampered and cuddled half to death for the rest of the day. They were all covered in water but they were warm so you didn't mind too much. Bruce would cuddle you first, then Dick, then Damian, since he threw a tantrum, then Duke, then Jason. Steph and Cass, two of the other female mers in the pod, snuggled up to you on either side, almost sinking your raft. Tim screeched at them when he realized how panicked you were and took his turn cuddling you early after kicking them off of the raft.
The pod was more protective after that. You were left with a minimum of three babysitters whenever the pod left to hunt. The hunters would bring back more squid for everyone and you would be given your portion by Bruce and whoever was babysitting you. You knew that they thought that you were cute based on the way that they treated you. They loved touching you and snuggling you. They tried to play with you with the “toys” that Jason gave you, though Jason would usually get territorial and try to take the toys back to play with you instead.
Eventually, they seemed to get sick of you avoiding the water. You wouldn't go in to cuddle or play with them like a normal calf. They seemed to think that your swimming was worse than Barbara's, which, while true, was for an entirely different reason than an injury. They would try to coax you in and would get extremely frustrated the more that you refused. It evidently got to a breaking point after three weeks of them caring for you.
You had refused to go into the water again. Bruce huffed and dove down beneath the gentle waves. You thought that was the end of it until you felt a jolt on the raft behind you and turned to see what was going on. You began screaming as Damian slashed and bit at the equipment box. Unsurprisingly, it began to fill with water and sink. You screeched and thrashed as you slipped into the water, doing your very best to swim and stay on the surface so that you could breathe. Bruce quickly scooped you up, keeping you afloat and helping you breathe as you sat on his back. The whole pod came together, clicking affectionately as they all touched you and tried to help you feel more comfortable in the water with them. They wanted you to be with them more fully.
They were all there, supporting the newest, smallest member of the pod. Their precious little calf.
You're just a caretaker, you feed them, clean the tanks, make sure they're content and check for any sick or injured mers.
You've really loved this job…up until now.
“I know he looks scary, Doll, but he's just playing."
Your superior pats you on the back as you stare at the huge mer on the other side of the glass. His big black eyes bore into you, sharp grin bared with his huge hands placed flat on the glass.
Yeah, he's obviously trying to scare you but that doesn't make it any less scary!
“He can get touchy but you just gotta shoo him away."
She waves you into the room where his tank is and you hesitantly walk in with all your cleaning gear. He gets a little secluded tank all to himself because apparently he bullies the other mers and likes scaring guests that come past the small observation window of the tanks.
You keep the door open for some sense of comfort, your steps echoing in the silent room. His head pops up from the water, only his eyes visible as he watches you get all your gear ready. You stand at the edge of the steps leading into his tank for a moment and he stays in his same spot, unblinking.
You shuffle around in your pocket and pull out a sardine, tossing it in front of him. He watches the dead fish sink into the water and then points his gaze right back at you.
You resist a shiver, sighing in defeat and taking the first few steps into the shallow waters. As soon as you reached knee deep, he sinks down into the water and you can see his huge figure swim deeper into the darker parts of the tank.
Hoping that he lost interest, you decide to just get this over with as quick as possible and start wiping down the thick glass of the tank. You wipe down the whole upper part of the tank closest to the surface while trying not to think about how you'll possibly clean everywhere else.
Every now and then you feel a brush against your leg or a force in the water next to you but you end up getting the whole top section of the tank done without much incident.
You sit on the edge of the tank, getting your scuba gear ready, eyes flicking around the pool every now and then. The silence makes everything so unsettling, it feels like he's just waiting for-
You don't even register the huge black blur moving towards you before he bursts out of the water, claws and teeth bared. You scream and swing your fist at the thing your instincts are telling you is trying to eat you, punching the mer right in the nose.
A gasp leaves you as you realise what you've done, holding in a tense breath as he groans and cradles his face. He looks at his bloody hand and then back at you in what appears to be shock. You wait for him to rip you in two but he just stares. Then his mouth slowly turns up in a sharp grin, blood still dripping from his nose.
He lunges forward and your scream is cut short when he wraps his thick arms around your waist, nuzzling his head into your stomach. You wheeze at the crushing hug, confused and still scared but if his happy clicking sounds are anything to go by, he definitely doesn't want to kill you.
You're not sure if you would've preferred cleaning the tank in constant fear for your life or if having a massive mer clinging to you the whole time was the better option.
You managed to get it done, with much struggle. He actually helped you a little at first, but got bored quickly and opted for seeing how far he could unzip your swimsuit before you swatted him away. He also stole one of your flippers at one point and only gave it back when you gave him sufficient head scratches.
Once the job was done, you knew he wouldn't just let you leave, and you kind of felt bad when you started packing up and he let out sad little whines, so you sat on the edge of the tank, patting his head until your superior came looking for you.
“So…you punched him?"
You sheepishly nodded to her, munching gratefully on the donut she brought for you since you missed your lunch break.
“and now he's in love with you?”
You give her a solemn nod this time, watching as he traces patterns on your thigh.
“Well, shit."
All you can do is nod once more in agreement to that accurate assesment of your situation.
Ghost accidentally pavlovs himself with the scent of your perfume. Mostly because he likes to hold you close, arms wrapped around your torso and nose tucked into your neck when he fucks you, inhaling the slight musk mixed the floral and wood tones.
It's not usually a problem, seeing as ghost is taking you to bed the second he gets back from deployment anyways. Never once had an issue about it.
Until you get the bright idea to spray some of your perfume on his mask as a little surprise for when he's on the field. He can't blame you, it's not like ghost exactly told you about this particular quirk of his.
But it does mean he's sporting a stiffy from the moment he pulls on his mask in the locker room to the moment he finds the time to rut against the dirt if his snipers perch....only to get hard not ten minutes later when his brain registers the hint of the perfume again.
Inspired by [this] lovely post by @on-a-lucky-tide
Thinking about ghost who, since you moved in together, has always had a preferred side of the bed.
He doesn't like sleeping next to the wall, as you've come to learn. The fist few nights he would grumble and push you further onto the bed before snuggling up to your back with a "my spot now, love. Comes with the relationship."
Not that you mind, of course. You like how it almost feels like he envelops you, tucked between the wall and simon.
It's not until you two stay at a hotel this unofficial rule you've decided ghost lives by is brought into question.
You don't think much of the bed being in the center of the space, it's a standard layout. So you pick a side arbitrarily, exhausted and wanted to pass out. Only to peek your eye's open to ghost looming over you, frowning "yer in the wrong spot. I go there."
Which....makes no sense. There's no wall, no nice space to hide in. The thought ghost had a designated place without the presence of a wall makes you question the entire rule itself!
Every place after that, you start taking greater note, until it huts you.
Ghost always sleeps on the side closest to the door.
In fact....ghost is always closest to the door. Manhandling you into a different seat at restaurants, or climbing over you on the sofa to claim "his spot".
A physical barrier between you and the entrance.
Ghost has been protecting you this whole time without you even realizing. He's been enveloping you in his form of safety. If someone were to enter with bad intentions, they'd reach him before you.
Ghost huffs in confusion when you cuddle him much tighter than usual that night, but indulges either way. He's just happy to keep one of the few good things in his life safe.
Still thinking about [captive bred mer!reader and wild mer!ghost] and their first feeding time together....
You spend so long in that little cave, tucked into the shadowy corner whenever the big mer swam by. He was just so big! And spiky in places you aren't, and all the wrong colors!
After awhile he leaves you alone, instead swimming laps in the giant pool, chirping...something. you still don't understand him. It was easy to calm down in your cave, knowing he couldn't fit. It was harder to ignore your growing hunger.
You don't know how you'll get food, it's too scary to swim up and do the tricks! Just the thought of doing your usual splashing and flying from the water with the big mer around....no. best not to.
So you hunker down, tuck your tail over your arms and open you vents for the long night. It's not the first time you'll go without food but it never gets easier.
Something thunks outside your cave entrance, startling you out of your half-sleep.
A....crab? It's definitely a crab! Oh, wow! You didn't know there were any in the pool! Excited, you swim out to say hi. chest brushing the rock so you can be eye level, you chirp "hai!!! Helloooo!!! Hi!!"
The crab doesn't move. Hrm. Strange. You bat at it, churring in curiosity when it simply floats away a bit, still not moving. You paw at it, inspecting it, worried it might be sick and—
A loud rumble above you— the mer! You go to dart back into your cave only to realize it's so far away. He rumbles more, reaching a giant hand down to pluck the crab from its place, and instead place food down!
Ah. He must be helping the crab out.
You eat the food, making sure to save some for the big mer because even if he's scary he's helping the crab so you suppose he should eat too. He brings more and more, and you eat your fill for the first time in...a long time.
Above the surface, two workers talk to eachother about your feeding method. It seems whole foods don't work, but ghost is willing to tear them up for you. They will continue to monitor.
Thinking about mer!reader who was born in captivity meeting mer!ghost who was born wild...
You both meet in a mer sanctuary, you having been rescued from an aquarium going bankrupt and ghost under treatment for a boating strike. You've never seen another mer before, but the strange creature in your tank undeniably is one, that much you instincts tell you.
But....but he's so big, bigger than anything you've seen before! You doubt he could ever comfortably fit in your tank! Just looking at him makes your fins flutter nervously, hiding in the rocks on the shelf built into the pool.
He keeps peeking into your cave, chirping and churring in a way that makes your instincts perk but you don't really understand. Safety? Pod? You don't know.
Meanwhile, ghost is losing his mind.
This strange mer is too damn small, and he keeps trying to ask "are you okay? I'm safe, did they hurt you?" But all it does is squeak like a pup and hide!
Ghost can't fit into the tiny cave with the mer, and his instincts are already freaking out because he's separated from his pod! He needs to protect the weird pup!
....how the hell the workers intend to care for you when ghost is at risk of drowning anyone who tries, they have no idea.
Request fill for nonny who wanted captive vs wild mer!!!
You woke up slowly, blinking up at the sun's rays piercing through the surface of the sea. Out the corner of your eye, you see the bottom of a familiar houseboat and smile a little to yourself.
It's been a few weeks since the strange couple plopped their boat in your waters. You were initially quite irritated, you liked your solitude and didn't care much for your own kind, much less humans, swimming around your reef.
However, they never swam near your cave or bothered you at all so you carried on with your lazy life of solitude...until curiosity got the best of you.
What got you was the excitement and wonder on their cute faces when you popped your head out of the water to check out their boat. They didn't scream or try to catch you or sail away to call for the monster hunters, they just watched you like you were the most interesting creature on the planet.
Often you would swim to the surface beside their boat and just sort of swim around while they frantically write things down and excitedly chatter to each other.
It was obvious they were mates, not just by the affectionate way they interacted but by the shiny bands on their fingers. Watching them often made you feel like you were being left out of something you should be a part of. Particularly strange since you've faught off every suitor who's ever tried to invade your reef, male or female, so this feeling was very foreign.
It was also clear by their wonder and excitement at merely seeing you that you knew more about humans then they knew about your kind. You decided it would be more fun to watch them try and figure you out rather than give them all the answers. They almost fainted when they realized you could understand their language, imagine their reaction if they found out you could speak some of it too.
That thought makes you snicker to yourself, swimming up towards the boat until you're only a few feet away. You found yourself wanting to spend more and more time with the couple and you weren't sure yet if that was a good thing. Humans can be dangerous.
You hesitate for just a moment longer before popping your head out the water on the side of the boat. You swim along the side but freeze when you hear a sound from the boat above.
It's definitely the woman and she's definitely enjoying herself. She's moaning her husbands name and the sound makes your tail flick in what you think is excitement?
You hear a deeper voice mingle with hers, her husband gives her praise and encouragement with his lovely baritone. You swim over to the back of the boat and rest your arms on the lowered swim platform. You have a perfect view now of the couple on the bench-like structure built into the side of the boat.
You can see where the woman sinks down onto her husband's cock, it disappears inside her as she sets a slow sensual pace. They moan together as they make out in the morning sun and the scene ignites a heat in your belly.
You'd seen them kiss before, little pecks as they do their research but nothing like this. This is passionate and hungry, they taste each other while their bodies writhe together and you want a taste.
You want them, more than any treasure buried in the sea floor. You need to figure out a way to make them yours.
You slowly lower yourself back into the water, swimming down towards your cave, already forming a plan. Grabbing your old fisherman's net and your spear, you get to work.
About an hour later, you were swimming back to the surface, net full of freshly caught fish. You pop your head above the surface, fresh air tickling the gills on your throat. When you don't hear any of those gorgeous pleasured sounds, you make a clicking noise to alert the couple of your presence.
You hear hushed curses and frantic shuffling, smiling to yourself, you swim over to the swim platform. The woman calls out a greeting to you as she pulls her shirt down her naked waist, running her hands through her rich, curly hair. Her husband tries to act like he didn't just have his dick in his wife a few minutes ago and clears his throat while adjusting his swim trunks and fixing the glasses on his face.
You let out an amused click and haul your fishing net onto the swim platform. You look up at them expectantly, hoping they'll accept your courting offer.
"What's all this for?" The woman asks as she kneels down to the platform, she surveys the fish with an impressed expression, making you hopeful.
They both stare at you curiously and you suddenly feel a little bashful, you didn't actually think about how you'd explain the courting offering to them. The husband must notice your nervousness and kneels down next to his wife.
"Is it a gift?"
You nod your head and push the net of fish towards them trying to get them to actually accept your offering.
The woman laughs a little at your actions, you're not usually this interactive with them.
"Well, thank you very much. This'll keep us fed for...like a week!"
You don't even try to stop the happy clicks that come from your throat, you've provided for your mates and they accept your courtship. The man nods at you gratefully before he hauls the net of fish over to the big, cold box on deck where they keep their food.
The woman sits so her legs dangle in the water over the platform and she beams at you, clearly very pleased that you're being so friendly with them and letting her sit so close to you.
You hadn't really let them touch you much before. You reluctantly let the man measure your tail, you'd let out a growl whenever you felt he was too close and he'd back away and continue his measurements at a respectful distance.
You never felt overwhelmed with their obvious interest in you, they both were very respectful and careful about your boundaries. You assumed that's because they were scared of you (which is smart). You only let them touch your skin once, holding out your hand for them because you were curious of what they'd do.
You ended up sitting there for about an hour while they took turns hesitantly but excitedly poking at your webbed fingers, turning your palm and marveling at the texture and how sharp your claws were and so on and so on. God, they were so endearing.
"Does this mean we're friends?"
The woman says, you think she's joking but you aren't sure. You shake your head and gently take her hand and point towards her shiny ring and then back towards yourself.
She looks at you with absolute shock and let's out a little "oh". After a moment, you take her hand and rest it against your cold cheek. She's so warm and you croon into the touch, lightly clicking. She lets out a shocked breath, you don't blame her for being caught off guard as this is by far the most you've let either of them touch you and it's definitely the most human-like thing you've done so far.
Her husband looks just as shocked, he looks towards his wife who is way too distracted with the fact that she's touching your face. You motion for him to come closer and he slowly sits down next to his wife. You take his even warmer hand and place it on your other cheek.
You click softly, like a purr, and close your eyes, keening into their touch, trying your hardest to convey what you want from them. They look at each other and you can tell they're communicating with their eyes. Their silent conversation makes you feel left out and you let go of their hands, backing away in embarrassment.
"Wait."
The man catches your hand before you can retreat into the water and nods to his wife, who says softly,
"We accepted the gift."
Your tail flicks in excitement and you look over to her husband who gives you a slightly hesitant but sincere smile. You give them a sharp toothed grin and reach out to pull both of them into your arms. They wheeze and laugh a little incredulously like they can't believe what's happening.
You let go and look expectantly at the woman, you lift yourself up, hands on either side of her thighs so that your face is inches from hers. They knew you were big but now it's made clear just how big you really are when your face is so close to hers.
You look down at her lips and back to her eyes waiting for her to get the idea. She spares a glance towards her husband, who gives an encouraging nod and she tilts her head slightly, locking her lips with yours. Her lips are so soft, so warm, so plump against your own, you have to force yourself not to bite them. You separate from her and she is left breathless, you turn towards the man and lift yourself up in front of his handsome face, waiting for him to kiss you too.
He spends a moment to look at your face, black eyes gazing at his lips eagerly, sharp teeth biting at your lower lip, wet hair sticking to your face. You're so beautiful in such a wonderful way. He kisses you deeply, his palm on your cheek, you let out soft clicks into the kiss pressing your body into his as you lean into it.
You part when you run out of breath and sink back into the water up to your gills. When you do, you smell something that makes your tail twitch. It smells like them. Not just them but their essence. You look to where the woman sits on the platform, water coming up to her thighs and wetting the hem of her shirt. You realize that his cum is seeping out of her into the water, you could probably smell it from a mile away but this close, its intoxicating.
She must see you staring because she clenches her thighs together and when you look up at her face, she's trying to avoid looking at you. She knows that you know.
You slowly push her thighs apart, surprised that she lets you easily swim in-between them. Eyes big and predatory, you rub your cheek along her thigh getting closer and closer to where their scents mix. She silently watches you, chest heaving slightly, your pretty mate letting you get so close.
You nuzzle against the soft material of her bikini bottoms and breath in deeply, letting out a deep rumbling sound that feels ripples in the surrounding water. She whimpers in anticipation and that's all you need before you're tearing her bikini off and shoving your face into her bare cunt.
She yelps in surprise and tries to cover up the loud moan that comes after as you lick your slick tongue up her entire puffy cunt. You explore the strange texture of her skin against your tongue, keeping her thighs in place with your comparatively massive hands.
Her husband moves behind her, gently taking her hand from her mouth, wanting to hear his beautiful wife's sounds. He throws her torn bikini onto the deck and slowly eases her thighs open wider for the creature licking up her pussy.
You stick your tongue inside and groan when you taste a mixture of both of them, you push deeper into her wet pussy, groaning as her walls clench down on your tongue.
She's moaning just like she was this morning and it makes you buck your hips in the water. You gaze up at her and groan when you see her husband has shifted her shirt up to expose her tits, he kisses her neck and lightly fondles her soft tits. You barely resist the urge to lean up and sink your teeth into the soft flesh, instead sucking hard on her clit and thrusting your tongue into her faster.
She shakes and cries, you let her plush thighs clench around your head, her hands dig into your wet hair. She screams as she cums and you lick and suck her through it. Her husband has thoroughly marked up her neck and gently pulls her shirt over her head as she rests against his chest, catching her breath.
You lay your head on her thigh, watching her pussy clench every few seconds before looking up at her hard nipples. That's new, you also have fat on your chest but not round hard nipples like her and you've never seen hers that pronounced before. You cock your head and reach up to curiously touch one. She whines and you retreat back slightly, worried that you might have hurt your new mate.
Her husband chuckles and leans down to latch onto one of her tits, sucking and licking the nipple. He holds the other tit up, offering it to you and you copy his actions. You both suck and lick on her tits as she arches her back and whines loudly.
"Alright! Alight. Give me a break. God, now there's two of you. "
She lightly pushes you away and covers her sensitive tits with her hands, looking exhausted. Her husband turns to you and snickers, you hiss out your own in return.
You lean in and kiss him, sharing the taste of his wife on your tongue. He groans at the taste and sucks on your strange tongue. You pull him closer to the edge of the platform and press his cock to your stomach, feeling how hard he is. When he moans into your mouth you slink a hand up and palm him through his thin baggy trunks. He holds your hand there and looks down at you, dark hair falling over his face, his glasses lying crooked on his nose.
"Show me."
He palms himself with your hand and gestures down to your power half below the water.
"Show us. Please."
You purr, looking around trying to figure out how exactly you'd do that. You push him back so that there's enough space to flop onto the shallowly submerged platform. You rest on your elbows, the part of your giant tail that doesn't fit on the platform slaps in the water.
The couple shuffle closer, you lightly run your hand down to the slit that's opened below your belly. You stroke around it with your fingers, revealing more of your swollen clit. It feels incredibly vulnerable to be showing them your most intimate parts like this and being out of the water makes you feel even more vulnerable.
The two marine biologists look over you with absolute wonder. This is no doubt incredibly valuable research and all but you're getting impatient so you growl lightly and splash your tail impatiently.
The man wastes no time getting his trunks off, leaving him as naked as his wife and allowing you to see his hard cock, leaking the same cum you just ate out of her. He straddles your tail as his wife shuffles closer to kiss your shoulder. She kisses all the way to the gills on your neck where she places very gentle kisses, testing the waters.
You shiver and let out something in-between a growl and a moan. Leaning your head back onto her shoulder as she continues placing gentle kisses along your sensitive gills.
It feels so good you almost forget about her handsome husband (who is also your handsome husband now, you realize) in front of you until he leans down and places a kiss right on your erect clit. You hump into the kiss and he has to put all his weight into holding your hips down as he kisses along your slit and dips his hot tongue into your slick entrance.
You feel so good. Both your mates are pleasuring you, kissing your skin so lovingly and it feels so good. Your husband eases a finger into your slit and moans at the feeling of your slick walls around his finger. He realizes that prep is a bit redundant considering how much bigger you are than him but he won't miss an opportunity to explore the amazing creature in front of him a little.
He sits up and runs his leaky tip along your slit. You groan into your other mates neck, she kisses your forehead so sweetly. He slips his cock in, easing his way into your surprisingly warm pussy. You both moan as he bottoms out, he's so warm and you're so tight you can feel him throbbing inside you. He can't wait any longer as he begins pumping into you starting a steady pace.
You're in heaven, as your pretty wife brings you into a messy kiss, she licks at your teeth and groans when you lightly bite her tongue. You separate and look into her beautiful bright eyes and then at the dark marks her husband left on her neck and shoulders. You feel a hunger so strong nothing else could satisfy, you bring her closer kissing and licking her throat.
Your husband's balls slap against your sensitive slit with every thrust, the water splashes around you and when he gently strokes your clit you lose it. You sink your teeth into your wife's shoulder, right where it meets her neck. She screams at the pain and you lick up her blood. She tastes so good in every way. You lick up the wound, hoping you didn't hurt her too much, you look up at her with an expression that you hope is remorseful even though you would do it again in an instant.
To your surprise she looks at you with eyes so full of lust they could beat your own, she leans down and gives you another sloppy kiss, licking the sharp edges of your teeth with her soft pink tongue.
"Oh fuck."
Your husband catches both of your attention as his thrusts quicken, he rubs your clit faster and you pull him closer to you, thrusting up in time with him, quickly getting closer and closer to the edge. You grab his shoulders and bite down on his flesh as you cum around his cock. He chokes out a groan and clutches onto you as he cums hard inside you with your teeth inside him. He keeps rubbing your clit and pumping his cum into you as ride out your climax, clenching and shaking, groaning and licking up the blood dripping from his shoulder.
Your so tight when you cum that he feels like he's suffocating, your pussy has such a grip on him that he's sure he couldn't pull out if he tried. Your exhausted husband rests all his weight on you as you lick up his wound, letting out apologizing clicks.
Your wife gets up, walks to the inside part of the boat and comes back with a med kit. She applies some strong smelling disinfectant on her bites and does the same to her husband while you kiss his cheeks, still feeling sorry. When you finally loosen up around him enough to pull out, he flops onto his back with a sigh and his wife giggles at him.
The water sloshes into the platform as you watch your mates with a dazed smile, both of them now carrying your mark. You rest your head on your palm and grumble out in a raspy voice,
"Mine. My mates."
They both freeze, looking at you with wide eyes and wider mouths.
If you had known coming to watch your boyfriend’s game would lead to this, then you seriously would’ve thought twice about coming.
You see, Sae really liked it when you went to his games, but he never asked you out loud – all he ever did was throw a (his) jersey your way or message you with the info about the match, like he was expecting you to already know what he wanted without him needing to say it – and it always worked. You always understood what he meant, and how important it was for him to have you in all the matches you were able to attend.
So, to have him actually ask you to come – with a very tight hug from behind while you cooked breakfast and a groggy “You coming, right Amor?” – you should’ve known something different from the normal was happening.
“And Itoshi Sae gets a red card! He’s expelled from the match!”
You wanted to disappear. To turn into smoke. Because how else were you supposed to react to your boyfriend and your ex fighting because of you in the middle of a game with sold out tickets?
“And it seems Bunny Iglesias, who Sae just punched in the face, just got one too! It’s an ‘El Classico’, ladies and gentlemen! Everybody is on the edge!”
The commentators were not helping your case. Of course, you knew Real Madrid x Barcelona was one of the most heated rivalries in Spanish football, but Bunny and Sae were making everything pretty damn worse!
You could clearly see Bunny looking at you in the stands and smirking, while Sae was being held back by his teammates every time your ex said anything. You couldn’t really hear what they were saying from your seat, but judging from Sae’s expression, it wasn’t really a polite or friendly conversation.
Thankfully, Sae was able to calm down – after lots of begging from Luna and his other teammates – and was already exiting the stadium. You quickly got up to meet him in the dressing room, only to stop when Bunny screamed your name. In that moment, all the eyes were on you – especially Bunny’s and Sae’s – but all you could feel was your own face burning up from the utter shame you were experiencing. Then, like the little prick he is, Bunny Iglesias lifted up his hand, put it near his ear in a telephone shape and mouthed “Call me.”
When Sae ran back towards the field and punched Bunny in the face again after what he said, you really wished you had never dated a football player.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ ໒꒱ dilf! bunny iglesias knows he shouldn’t feel this way—especially not towards the woman taking care of his precious daughter…
but he really, really likes you, the new babysitter. his little girl means the world to him—even if her mother is out of the picture and all the love he had for her replaced itself with utter hatred.
he has a little condo in barcelona where he lives with his kid, just the two of them since his little girl’s been less than a year old. but with that, comes issues regarding her mother. sometimes, he doesn’t know how to really answer her questions about her mom.
questions like: “why did mami leave? does she not love me? does mami have another kid she loves more than me?” got him, and it hurt him to say anything, so he just said that hopefully another better and prettier ‘mami’ will come, and not another elderly nanny that he’s always gotten for her.
truth be told, he’s grateful for the nannies he’s hired as they help with his daughter, but he can’t help but wish for someone to stick around with more commitment—for his daughter and for him.
but fuck, the moment you entered their lives, it was like the world turned a little brighter. you were just so… amazing.
you had been recommended to him by the previous nanny, who had to take a leave to take care of her husband in hospice, and introduced you as one of her nieces. you barely graduated college—babysitting to pay off loans and have a little boost on your resume for experience in ‘hospitality and communications’.
and the moment you showed up, bunny felt his mouth go dry. you had the cutest little summer dress; puffy little sleeves, nicely fitting, long, flowy skirt—and that damn cleavage… bunny was no pervert by any means, but jesus you looked good as hell. you always did—wearing similar dresses in that fashion. even his daughter referred to you as “la señora que se ve como princesa”. [the lady who looks like a princess].
but he hired you because of your kindness. his daughter was spoiled…a bit too much. and you were able to handle her attitude and behavior without even raising your voice—something he himself can’t do.
he even caught his daughter call you ‘mami’ by accident, and he swore he almost lost it.
you baked treats occasionally, sang little lullabies to her that knocked her out, treated his little girl with such gentleness and kindness. you even showed up to parent events if he couldn’t make it—and his daughter never complained once.
but he can notice things. he isn’t dumb. you’re kind to his daughter…but to bunny, you seemed different.
he can notice the way you purposely began wearing slightly provocative clothing the moment he dropped that he had no wife. you still looked modest, sure, but when you bent down or crossed your arms…jesus, your tits looked amazing.
how whenever you were given any food that required sucking and licking like a lolly or a cupcake, you’d do it with direct eye contact with him. then how you’d have a habit of staring at…his crotch when he’d wear sweatpants or tight fitting pants. and that was all the time.
then you’d avoid eye contact when he did look back.
he’s bunny iglesias; he was literally named ‘sexiest man alive’ last year; of course he can tell you’re into him.
and the final straws? you just had to suck on the ice lolly he gave you with such intensity while staring straight at him and making some crude joke about being a virgin. then “oh! i’m so sorry, sir!”
and then before his little daughter fell asleep to his bedtime story, she stopped him from leaving, asking if you were going to be her new ‘mami’… fuck. you really have such a damn effect on him.
“s-sir—! not s-so rough!” he laid you on the couch, immediately going down on you the moment his daughter went to sleep upstairs.
bunny smiled, placing his index on your quivering lips. “shhh, wouldn’t wanna wake her up. keep quiet, okay?”
oh he was torturous—absolutely mean and slow with it. he had you in some type of missionary prone-bone, putting his weight against you while you took his cock with your legs wrapped around his waist. you were so fucking tight, wrapping around his fat cock like a vice.
“mmm—f-fuck!” you were so fucking loud too—and not even your voice rather your damn cunt. all bunny had to do was talk and you were instantly soaking wet down there. your panties were clinging onto your labia by the time he even got to attempt foreplay.
but it was worth it; it was better than anything you could’ve even imagined. you yourself knew bunny iglesias—one of the most famous people in spain—hell, the whole world. never in your dreams did you think you were gonna be fucked by him.
then when he switched positions? jesus, it felt like he went deeper; he kneeled, angling your hips upward on him. you had to bite your lower lip from stopping yourself from whining. he had you in such an embarrassing manner: your tits spilling out of your dress, skirt lifted all the way to your ribs and face insanely hot.
“awh, no llores, preciosa. c’mon, honey. come for me, please?” [don’t cry, dear] he pinched your clit, rubbing it and causing your legs to squeeze his waist.
oh, he was so domineering, it was insane. he was insane. he kept fucking you like that in that position for some time—
only bunny iglesias could fuck you in that damn position for various amount of time, still jackhammering into you and bringing you to tears without it getting boring.
oh he knew it was over the moment you pulled him down, adjusting yourself so that you’d be straddling him on the couch, and aligning his cock to your overflowing hole.
“why don’t we give her a cute little sibling, yeah?”
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MY MAN IS BACK IN THE MANGA YAYAYAYAY also this is a #repost nyehehehe
synopsis: them doing a post-match interview after winning a big match and they do this interview with their 9-month old baby boy because i have severe baby fever.
isagi had fully intended to give your son back before the interview started, but the second your little boy buried his face into his dad's neck, wrapped those tiny arms around his jersey, and let out the saddest, most offended little whine imaginable when you reached for him, he immediately folded.
"… yeah, sorry," he laughed sheepishly, already bouncing him on one hip. "he's... not negotiating today."
the reporter found the whole thing adorable before the interview even began because here stood japan's match-winning striker, sweat still dripping down his face, medal hanging crookedly around his neck, while absentmindedly rubbing tiny circles into the baby's back like he'd done it a thousand times.
every answer somehow included multitasking. "yeah, we adjusted the press during the seco– buddy, don't eat dad's medal... okay... during the second half we– hey, that's not food?”
your son spent the first 2 minutes completely fascinated by the microphone. every time the reporter lifted it toward isagi, two tiny hands immediately reached for it with the determination of a man trying to win the world cup himself.
eventually... success. the baby yanked the microphone straight out of the reporter's hand.
"bababababaaaa!!! dada!!! bthhhhhhhhh!!"
he then aggressively blew spit directly into the microphone.
the speakers echoed every single wet raspberry throughout the stadium.
complete silence… followed by 40,000 people laughing.
isagi completely froze before immediately losing it himself, head dropping onto your son's little shoulder because he was laughing too hard to breathe.
"bro..." he wheezed. "he really wanted to say something..."
the reporter – absolute professional for approximately 3 seconds – burst out laughing too before dramatically holding the microphone back toward your son.
"would you like to comment on your father's performance today?"
"DADADADADAAAAAA."
"yes, that’s a powerful statement."
the internet immediately declared that your son had just delivered "the greatest post-match analysis of all time."
clips of isagi trying to conduct a serious interview while wrestling a baby for possession of the microphone collected 20 million views overnight.
the comments absolutely killed him:
"he inherited isagi's field vision because he saw that mic from ten centimeters away."
"first assist of his career."
"his media training starts early."
"bro already has more interview aura than half the league."
isagi reposted one edit with the caption: "he's banned from media day until further notice 😭💙"
itoshi rin
rin genuinely believed this interview would go smoothly because your son had been suspiciously well-behaved ever since the final whistle blew, happily resting against his shoulder while lazily playing with the collar of his jersey, and after you made 3 separate attempts to take him back only for your baby to cling even tighter with a tiny pout and watery eyes, rin simply looked at you, gave the smallest shrug, and muttered, "he doesn't want to," as if that settled the matter, which admittedly, it did.
by the time he walked over to the interview area, every camera had already shifted from celebrating japan's victory to zooming in on the sight of one of the most intimidating strikers in the world absentmindedly rubbing little circles across his son's back while adjusting the baby's tiny socks with one hand, completely unfazed by the dozens of reporters surrounding him despite looking like he'd been carrying him like this for hours.
the interview actually started surprisingly normally because rin answered every question in his usual short, matter-of-fact way while your son remained perfectly content against his chest, occasionally patting the gold medal hanging around his neck or trying to pull on the collar of his jersey, making it seem like everyone had worried over nothing.
"he's behaving today," the reporter commented with a smile.
"usually does," rin replied without a second thought.
the moment those words left his mouth, your son locked eyes with the microphone.
every parent watching immediately knew exactly what was about to happen.
the reporter raised the microphone closer so rin could answer the next question, only for two tiny hands to suddenly shoot forward with shocking speed, grabbing it with both hands before anyone had time to react.
"ba."
the entire interview area fell silent.
your son blinked once. then– "bababababababAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!"
it wasn't crying. it wasn't babbling. it was an impressively loud, victorious yell delivered directly into the microphone, which echoed throughout the entire stadium loud enough for nearby players to physically turn around and see what had just happened.
the reporter jumped so hard she nearly dropped her cue cards while photographers immediately lowered their cameras because they were laughing too much to keep them steady.
rin simply stared at his son for a few quiet seconds before sighing almost imperceptibly. "... loud."
that single word made everyone laugh even harder.
your son, incredibly proud of himself, immediately tried to scream into the microphone a second time, but rin calmly removed it from his tiny hands with the practiced patience of someone who had apparently dealt with this exact situation more than once before.
"... finished?"
"... da."
"... good."
then he continued answering the reporter's question as though absolutely nothing unusual had happened, while your son happily resumed playing with the medal around his father's neck instead.
the internet completely forgot about the match because every trending topic became some variation of "RIN ITOSHI'S BABY SON JUST JUMP-SCARED THE ENTIRE STADIUM," while countless edits slowed down the exact moment your son leaned forward to yell into the microphone with meme audios playing over it.
what truly broke the internet, however, wasn't the screaming – it was the brief moment immediately afterward when your son reached up with both hands, accidentally squished rin's cheeks together, and caused the tiniest, weakest, most reluctant smile to appear before rin realized cameras were still rolling and immediately returned to his usual cold expression.
within minutes, fans had declared your son the only person on earth capable of making rin itoshi smile on command, with thousands joking that japan’s soccer team should stop recruiting strikers and simply hire the baby instead.
itoshi sae
sae somehow managed to make carrying a 9-month-old baby through a post-match interview look effortlessly elegant, standing there with his medal around his neck and his jacket draped neatly over one shoulder while your son sat comfortably on his hip, absentmindedly chewing on the zipper of his jacket with complete satisfaction as though this were simply another ordinary afternoon rather than an international broadcast watched by millions.
before the interview even began, you reached over with open arms, quietly asking if your son wanted to come back to mama, only for him to immediately shake his tiny head, bury his face into sae's shoulder, and cling tighter with a little whine that made the nearby reporters collectively let out an audible "aww."
sae simply glanced at you. "guess he's staying."
he didn't sound annoyed. if anything… he sounded quietly pleased.
throughout the interview, sae answered every question with his usual calm, composed demeanor while simultaneously multitasking in ways nobody expected, casually fixing your son's tiny jersey’s collar after it slipped off, catching his pacifier before it hit the floor without even looking, adjusting the little sneaker that kept slipping off his foot, and gently bouncing him every few seconds whenever he grew restless, all without interrupting a single answer.
the reporter eventually smiled before crouching slightly so she was closer to your son's eye level. "do you think he'd like to say something, too?"
sae looked down at him. "you have something to say?"
your son immediately reached toward the microphone with absolute confidence. the reporter happily held it closer.
"gagagagagaga..." a fat pause. "dadadada..." another pause. "mmmmmmmm."
everyone waited. then without warning… he leaned forward and licked the microphone. completely. absolutely no hesitation whatsoever. not a single thought in his tiny brain.
the reporter froze for a second before laughing so hard she had to lower her clipboard because she physically couldn't continue the interview.
sae calmly took the microphone back, reached for the towel around his own neck, wiped it clean with practiced efficiency, handed it back to her, and simply said, "sorry."
"it's okay."
“he does that."
somehow, the fact that sae said those three words with complete seriousness – as though babies licking expensive broadcasting equipment was a perfectly ordinary occurrence – became funnier than the actual licking itself.
the interview continued, except your son had now decided the microphone was the greatest invention in human history, leaning toward it every single time it came within arm's reach while sae quietly shifted him away at the last possible second before another attempted lick could happen.
fans later counted… it happened 6 separate times.
the internet edited the clip like it was an action movie, like dramatic slow motion, suspenseful music choices, and captions reading "TARGET LOCKED" every time the microphone entered the frame before cutting to sae calmly redirecting your son at the final moment.
thousands of comments joked that the true battle of the evening hadn't been the football match at all – it had been sae spending 5 uninterrupted minutes defending a microphone from his own baby.
nagi seishiro
nagi had completely forgotten there was supposed to be a post-match interview because, after the final whistle, he'd spent almost 20 minutes wandering around the pitch with your son comfortably resting against his shoulder, absentmindedly pointing at the stadium lights and occasionally trying to steal the gold medal hanging around nagi's neck, making the media staff chase him down just to remind him that he still had obligations to fulfill.
when they finally caught him, he simply blinked. "oh." he looked down at your son. looked back at the staff. "guess he's coming, too."
nobody argued.
by the time he reached the interview area, your son had fully decided that his father's medal belonged to him and repeatedly reached for it with determined little grabby hands, causing nagi to lazily lift it out of reach every few seconds while continuing to walk without putting in even the slightest extra effort.
"hey. mine."
tiny hands reached higher.
"... no."
another reach.
"it’s daddy’s.”
louder baby noises followed immediately.
after a full minute of this extremely one-sided argument, nagi finally sighed. "fine..."
he let your son hold the medal. instant peace.
the interview began with the reporter congratulating him on today's win, only for your son to enthusiastically babble right over the top of her introduction as though he had been personally waiting for his turn to speak all evening.
"congratulations on today's vic–"
"BAAAAAAA!"
the reporter burst into laughter. "and congratulations to you, too."
your son nodded. everyone around him completely lost it.
halfway through another question, your son noticed the microphone for the first time.
nagi noticed him noticing it. "don't."
tiny hands reached.
"don't, buddy."
they stretched farther.
"too troublesome…”
your son ignored every warning. and somehow, despite nagi technically being one of the fastest athletes in the world… the baby still won. he proudly grabbed the microphone with both hands before immediately announcing to the entire stadium, "dadadadadadadadadabthhhhhhhhhhh."
the loudest raspberry imaginable echoed through the speakers.
nagi stared at him for several long seconds before quietly looking back at the reporter. "wow. that was a long answer."
the reporter folded over laughing so hard she couldn't even ask another question because she kept trying to compose herself only to remember the raspberry echoing around the stadium all over again.
the internet immediately clipped nagi's completely deadpan response, turning "that was a long answer" into the newest reaction meme overnight, while thousands of fans jokingly translated the baby's speech into detailed tactical analyses, transfer rumors, and complaints about bedtime schedules.
reo even commented underneath one viral clip, "he definitely inherited nagi's interview skills," only for nagi to casually reply, "he talks way more than i do," which somehow made the entire interaction even funnier because everyone agreed he wasn't exaggerating.
mikage reo
reo had shown up to the interview looking as polished as ever despite having just played 90 exhausting minutes, somehow still managing to keep his hair neat while carrying your son comfortably on one arm, who was wearing the tiniest little pair of noise-canceling headphones because reo had insisted before kickoff that the celebrations afterward might be too loud for sensitive little ears.
fans immediately zoomed in. "of course, reo bought luxury baby headphones." "those probably cost more than my rent."
before the interview even began, you walked over with open arms to take your son back for a little while, only for him to dramatically bury his face into reo's shoulder with the most pitiful little whimper imaginable, clutching onto the front of his jersey with both fists as though someone had just informed him he was being separated forever.
even nagi held his arms out with a lazy, "come here."
your son looked at him. then immediately turned back around and hugged reo even tighter.
reo looked far too pleased with himself. "guess i'm his favorite today."
you rolled your eyes. "don't let it get to your head."
throughout the interview, reo somehow answered every question while gently bouncing your son whenever he became fussy, absentmindedly fixing his tiny headphones whenever they slipped sideways, wiping a little bit of drool from his chin with a towel without missing a beat, making every parent watching collectively smile because it was obvious none of these little habits were rehearsed – they were simply second nature by now.
halfway through the interview, your son spotted the microphone. he stared at it with complete focus. reached once. missed. reached again. success. with both tiny hands wrapped proudly around the microphone, he lifted it toward his own face like a seasoned professional before confidently announcing, "dadadadada..."
everyone waited.
"... GOOOOOOO."
the entire interview area exploded into laughter.
nobody actually knew whether he'd been trying to say "goal" or if it was simply another happy baby noise, but the timing couldn't have been more perfect considering reo had just scored the match winner.
reo gasped loud. "did you guys hear that?!”
he looked between the reporter and the nearby cameras with mock seriousness.
"i think that's his first official post-match interview."
the reporter immediately joined in. "would you say today's victory belongs to your father?"
your son stared at her. "babababa."
the reporter nodded thoughtfully. "mhm. interesting analysis."
reo sighed. "he disagrees."
your son then lightly bonked the microphone against reo's chest before happily giggling to himself.
"okay, okay," reo laughed. "i'm getting absolutely cooked by my own son on live."
by the end of the night, the internet had collectively decided your son held a higher position in the club hierarchy than anyone else, with edits introducing him as assistant coach, sporting director, club president, and even reo's toughest post-match critic, while countless fans joked that his "GOOOOO" celebration deserved its own commentary replay.
the sweetest moment happened after the interview had officially ended, when your son suddenly leaned forward all on his own, gave reo the tiniest little kiss on his sweaty cheek, rested his head against his shoulder with a sleepy sigh, and closed his eyes as if the excitement had finally caught up to him.
reo visibly melted.
he completely forgot there were still cameras following him as he gently rubbed your son's back and whispered, "yeah? all done? let's go find mama," before carrying him across the pitch with the softest smile on his face, making everyone watching quietly agree that, as incredible as his winning goal had been, nothing compared to the way he looked carrying his little boy afterward.
bachira meguru
bachira had absolutely no intention of bringing your son into the interview at first, but the second you reached out to take him back, your little boy immediately wrapped himself around bachira's neck like the world's tiniest koala and let out the most dramatic, heartbroken whine imaginable, making bachira laugh so hard he nearly dropped the medal hanging around his own neck before grinning at you apologetically.
"sorry, honey," he said, gently patting your son's back. "he picked his favorite parent for the next 5 minutes... don't worry, it'll be you again after i accidentally tell him he can't eat grass."
the interview was pure chaos before anyone even asked the first question because bachira kept making funny faces every time your son looked even remotely close to getting fussy, causing the baby to burst into loud giggles that echoed through the microphones while reporters repeatedly had to pause because they couldn't stop smiling at the sight of one of the world's best forwards entertaining a baby between every answer.
your son found the microphone absolutely fascinating from the moment the interview started, repeatedly reaching toward it every time the reporter lifted it closer, only for bachira to gently redirect those little hands somewhere else while whispering, "nope... that's not your toy... well, technically it could be your toy, but i think she'd be sad."
eventually, the reporter laughed and simply held the microphone toward your son instead. "maybe he has something he'd like to say?"
your son's entire face lit up. he grabbed the microphone with both hands. "bababababa... DADA!!"
everyone smiled.
then he leaned closer. "BTHHHHHHHHHH."
the loudest raspberry imaginable exploded through the stadium speakers.
bachira physically doubled over laughing, nearly losing his balance because he couldn't stop wheezing into your son's shoulder.
"HE PRACTICED THAT!" he laughed. "i swear he does that every time i call his grandma!"
the reporter was laughing too hard to continue. "do... do you think he has any thoughts on today's match?"
your son immediately smacked the microphone with one tiny palm. "DA!"
bachira nodded dramatically. "exactly! i couldn't have said it better myself."
the internet instantly declared the baby the funniest post-match interview guest in football history, while edits comparing bachira's nonstop energy to your son's chaotic little personality flooded everyone's timelines, with thousands of comments joking that bachira hadn't raised a son – he'd simply cloned himself in miniature.
shidou ryusei
nobody – not the reporters, not the camera crew, not even you – expected shidou to show up carrying a baby with the same confidence he'd just celebrated scoring 2 goals, casually strolling into the interview area with your son perched comfortably on one hip while excitedly pointing at every bright stadium light he could see, looking completely content in the safest place he knew.
"you sure you don't want me to take him?" you asked one last time.
your son answered by grabbing a fistful of shidou's jersey.
shidou grinned. "sorry, babe. he has excellent taste."
the interview started surprisingly well because your son was completely distracted by shidou's medal, repeatedly lifting it up to inspect it before trying to chew on it while shidou absentmindedly let him, only occasionally stopping him with an amused, "hey little dude, dad kinda needs that."
everything changed the second the microphone entered the baby's line of sight.
he froze. stared. reached. somehow succeeded on the very first try.
"BAAAA!"
shidou immediately pointed at him. "THAT'S MY BOY!"
the baby squealed louder. "DADADADADADAAAAAA!"
the stadium speakers practically shook.
shidou threw his head back laughing. "YEAHHHH! LET HIM COOK!"
the reporter was crying laughing by this point. "would you say he inherited your confidence?"
"confidence?" shidou laughed. "nah." he proudly bounced your son a little higher. "he inherited greatness."
your son immediately celebrated by grabbing the microphone again and aggressively blowing another raspberry into it.
the internet completely lost whatever composure remained.
"THEY SHARE THE SAME ENERGY."
"THIS ISN'T A FATHER AND SON."
"THIS IS A DUO."
fans joked that shidou was encouraging his son's press conference debut like he'd just scored the winning goal himself, while countless edits paired every loud baby scream with one of shidou's goal celebrations because, somehow, the energy genuinely matched perfectly.
karasu tabito
karasu walked into the interview already smiling because he'd spent the last 15 minutes listening to your son happily babble complete nonsense into his shoulder while absentmindedly playing with the little hairs at the back of his neck, and after watching your baby stubbornly refuse to leave his dad's arms despite multiple attempts from you, the coaching staff, and even a very bribable bachira holding out a plush mascot, karasu simply chuckled. "well," he said. "he's made his decision."
unlike most players, karasu somehow managed to keep the interview flowing naturally while carrying a baby, casually answering questions with one hand tucked into his pocket while gently bouncing your son with the other, occasionally pausing just long enough to fix his little jersey after it rode up or quietly wipe away a bit of drool before continuing exactly where he'd left off.
the reporter eventually laughed. "he's been eyeing the microphone this entire time."
"yeah," karasu sighed. "i've noticed."
your son finally made his move. tiny hands grabbed the microphone. "... dadadadada..."
everyone leaned in.
"... GOO..."
pause.
"BABABABABABA!!" followed immediately by a delighted squeal.
karasu pinched the bridge of his nose while trying (and failing) not to laugh.
"... great. he's discovered public speakin’."
"do you think he has your personality?" the reporter teased.
karasu looked down at your son, who was now trying to eat the fuzzy windscreen covering the microphone. "not really… he's louder."
your son looked up at him and giggled.
karasu's entire expression softened. "yeah, yeah. yer funny."
the internet adored how naturally fatherhood seemed to fit him, with countless fans pointing out that every time your son reached for something he wasn't supposed to have, karasu never scolded him or looked stressed – he simply redirected him with the patience of someone who had already mastered the art of negotiating with a tiny human who couldn't even speak yet.
kaiser michael
kaiser had every intention of doing the interview alone because he genuinely believed it would be easier that way, but the moment you tried taking your son back, the baby immediately buried his face into his father's shoulder and clung to him with surprising strength, refusing to let go despite your gentle coaxing, causing kaiser to glance down for a brief second before quietly saying, "he's comfortable," with such calm certainty that even you couldn't help smiling before waving them both toward the interview area.
somehow, kaiser looked impossibly composed standing beneath dozens of flashing cameras with your son balanced securely against his chest, occasionally adjusting the baby's tiny jacket whenever it slipped off one shoulder or gently brushing sweaty little blond strands of hair away from his forehead between answering questions, all while speaking with the same composed confidence he always carried after a victory.
every so often, your son reached up just to touch his father's face, gently patting his cheek or absentmindedly playing with the damp strands of his blond hair falling into his eyes, and every single time, kaiser instinctively leaned down just enough to make it easier for those tiny hands to reach him without interrupting whatever answer he was giving.
halfway through the interview, the inevitable happened – your son spotted the microphone. his eyes widened. tiny fingers stretched toward it.
the reporter smiled knowingly. "would you like to let him answer one?"
kaiser gave the smallest nod.
the microphone was placed in front of your son. "...babababa..."
everyone waited.
"DADA!"
kaiser's lips twitched.
then your son enthusiastically leaned forward and planted the wettest little kiss imaginable directly onto the microphone before giggling to himself.
the reporter completely broke character. the camera crew laughed. even several photographers lowered their cameras because they were laughing too hard to keep shooting.
kaiser simply accepted the microphone back, wiped it clean with the towel around his neck, and quietly apologized before looking down at your son.
"was that your interview?"
"... da."
"... i see."
by the next morning, the internet had fallen hopelessly in love with the contrast between kaiser's composed, almost regal demeanor and the tiny baby enthusiastically covering expensive broadcasting equipment in drool every chance he got, with thousands joking that the only person capable of making michael kaiser patiently sanitize microphones on live television was his own son.
ness alexis
ness had spent the entire walk to the interview softly talking to your son about absolutely everything that had just happened during the match, pointing toward the cheering supporters, waving his tiny hand toward the cameras, and proudly showing him the medal around his neck as though your 9-month-old genuinely understood every tactical decision that had led to today's victory.
by the time you reached them, your son had become so content listening to his father's voice that the second you reached over to carry him instead, he immediately leaned right back into ness's chest with the sweetest little sigh, making ness smile so brightly it almost rivaled the stadium lights.
"sorry," he laughed sheepishly. "i think... i might be trapped."
throughout the interview, ness somehow answered every question while instinctively rocking your son in slow, gentle motions, occasionally kissing the top of his little head whenever he grew sleepy before quietly adjusting the tiny blanket draped around his shoulders because the evening air had started getting colder.
reporters quickly noticed that your son hadn't taken his eyes off the microphone once. "i think someone has something important to contribute."
ness laughed. “i think you're right."
the microphone was lowered. your son reached forward with both hands.
"... dadadadada..."
pause.
"... MAMAMAMAMA..."
everyone collectively went quiet.
ness blinked and looked toward you standing just off camera. "... did–"
before he could finish speaking–
"BTHHHHHHHHH."
another enormous raspberry echoed through the speakers.
the entire interview dissolved into laughter.
ness laughed so hard he actually had to wipe tears from the corners of his eyes before gently taking the microphone back from your son.
"that..." he smiled down at him. "that was a wonderful speech, little guy.”
the reporter grinned. "care to translate?"
ness nodded with complete seriousness. "he said..." he pretended to think very hard. "that i'm the greatest midfielder in the world.”
your son immediately smacked him on the cheek with one tiny hand. everyone burst into laughter again.
"or," ness corrected himself through a grin, "maybe he disagrees."
the internet absolutely adored the entire exchange, especially the way ness looked at your son with so much open affection that it almost made people forget they were watching an elite footballer and not simply an impossibly proud first-time dad, with thousands of comments insisting the baby had fact-checked his father live on international television for the whole world to see.
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