It started innocently.

Gladys, seated cross-legged in the mess hall, watching Angeal carry three trays of food like it was nothing, a single bead of sweat trailing down his perfect temple.

"That's a man who needs a wife," she whispered into her meat bun.

Zack, across from her: "You okay, dude?"

"No," she replied dreamily. "I'm in love."

The Gladys Marriage Plan (a list, stolen from someone's desk):
1. Feed him regularly.
A man that buff doesn't stay alive on Shinra rations. She starts packing extra food, claiming she "accidentally made too much."
2. Compliment his abs exactly once per day.
"You look strong today, sir."
"Did your biceps always glisten like that?"
"You could crush me between your thighs. Just saying."
3. Casual domestic moments.
• She starts folding his towels in the barracks.
• Offers to shine his sword like it's normal.
• Leaves handwritten motivational notes in his locker: "You're doing great. And I'm free on Fridays."
4. Defend his honor aggressively.
Someone insults Angeal's attachment to the Buster Sword? She bites them.

Angeal's Perspective:

At first, he thinks she's just... a weird kid Zack adopted.

But then he starts noticing things:
• His gear is mysteriously organized every morning.
• He's receiving muffins with smiley faces carved into them.
• She makes intense eye contact whenever he gives orders like he's reading her vows.

"Recruit," he says one day, confused and gently stern. "You keep calling me 'husband' in the hallway."

Gladys, without missing a beat:

"Sorry. Future husband. I'll correct it."

Angeal's soul leaves his body. Genesis overhears and LAUGHS FOR A YEAR.

System Alert:

[You have earned +10 Affection with Angeal.
Title Unlocked: "Sword Wife Candidate"
Bonus: You now automatically carry an umbrella if it rains during his patrols.]

And then, the shirtless training scene happens.

Gladys is just walking past the training room when she sees it:
Angeal, shirt off, glistening, focused, breathing hard while doing sword forms.

Her grip on her lunch tray snaps it in half. Her soul ascends.

Zack: "You good?"

Gladys, nosebleeding:

"That man has MILF energy and I fear no god."

She spends the next week baking protein cookies shaped like hearts. One for every visible ab. That's eight cookies.

....

The cookies were stupid.

Gladys knew that. But also, she didn't care. The moment she saw Angeal lift a twenty-kilo training dummy like it was made of foam, something inside her snapped. Some ancient maternal caveman instinct whispered:

"Feed him. Breed him. Protect his dignity."

So she'd spent her free time in the tiny mess hall kitchen (after bribing the cook with two cans of Midgar beer and a back massage) to craft the most ridiculous, protein-packed, muscle-friendly cookies imaginable.

Shaped like little swords. One had a smiley face and read, "ur strong :)"

Gladys walked into the common room like she was about to propose marriage at gunpoint. Angeal was there, of course. Shirt on (tragic) but still glowing with that heavy, dadlike, devastating sex appeal that made her knees feel like damp cardboard.

He was reviewing cadet scores, eyes squinting behind his glasses.

(She didn't know he wore glasses. She nearly passed out.)

Gladys cleared her throat like she didn't rehearse this five times in the mirror.

"Hey. Sir. Commander. Big Guy."

Angeal looked up, one brow arching slightly.

"Gladys. Something I can help you with?"

She stepped forward, holding out the tray like a sacrificial offering. "I brought cookies. For your muscles."

A pause.

Angeal blinked at her.

"...For my what?"

"Your muscles," she repeated, too far gone now. "You have a lot. They looked hungry."

She held up the sword-shaped one with the little smiley face.

"This one is for your right bicep. It's the one that glistens the most when you spar."

He slowly, very slowly, set his clipboard down.

"...Are you trying to bribe me with baked goods?" he asked, fighting a smile.

"No," she said, absolutely lying. "This is not a bribe. This is a declaration of long-term, emotionally stable wifehood. Also, I think your thighs are sentient."

Silence.

Genesis, walking past in the hallway, did a full stop and double take.

"Did she just say—?"

"Yes," Angeal muttered.

Gladys was still standing there, sweating buckets, tray trembling.

"I just—I just think someone should appreciate you for more than your honor, okay?! You deserve love! And cookies!"

System Alert:

[You have broken Angeal's mental focus. +20 EXP]
[Affection Level Increased!]
[New Passive Buff Unlocked: "Emotional Whiplash" – 5% chance to fluster your target into forgetting what they were doing.]

Angeal coughed, visibly flustered, and finally took the tray with careful hands.

"...I'll, uh. Try them. Thank you."

Gladys nodded too fast. "I'm available on weekends. If you want... more. Cookies."

He turned, walking off with the tray. And was that a smile? A REAL SMILE?

Genesis muttered as he passed, "She's going to destroy this company with baked goods."

Gladys whispered to herself,

"That's the plan."