#I don’t even know where to start with processing this

[neonbonded]

Right Here, but Still Too Far

♡ ft. Caleb, Xavier, Rafayel, Zayne, Sylus x fem!reader ♡ cw: emotional distance, soft angst, quiet longing, domestic disconnect, subtle heartbreak, husband-core devastation ♡ a/n: You live together. You sleep in the same bed. You share meals,kiss each other goodnight. But sometimes? Love gets quiet. And all it takes is one soft, honest “I miss you” to shatter the space between.

Caleb

The kitchen smells like garlic and butter.

The sun’s already gone down, but the lights are still off—just the stove hood casting a soft yellow over the counter, catching on the steam from the pasta pot.

Caleb’s moving like a machine. Quiet. Efficient.

One hand stirs the sauce, the other balances the baby monitor against his shoulder. He hasn’t sat down in hours. The front of his shirt is wrinkled from being used as a napkin. His hair’s a little damp at the edges like he forgot to fully dry it after his three-minute shower.

You’re watching him from the table.

You’re not fighting. There’s no coldness. No tension.

But something’s… distant.

Like you’re living next to each other. Not with each other.

He hums to himself softly—some melody you can’t place. He opens a cabinet with his foot. He says, “You want cheese?” like it’s code for love, but he doesn’t look at you when he asks.

You smile anyway. “Sure.”

He grates it. Sprinkles it. Passes you a bowl.

Then goes right back to moving.

The baby monitor crackles.

A timer goes off.

He starts unloading the dishwasher.

And you just sit there, soup cooling in front of you.

You’re still staring at him when it happens—when the words fall out of your mouth before you can stop them.

Soft. Honest.

Like breathing.

“I miss you.”

He doesn’t turn around right away.

His brain doesn’t process it at first. He’s too busy checking the time on the oven clock, flipping dinner, wondering if the laundry’s dry.

Then the words echo back in his chest.

I miss you.

His hand stills on the spatula.

“You…” He turns. “You what?”

You shrug. A little too fast. “Nothing. I mean—you're here. I know. It’s stupid.”

“No, it’s not.” He sets the pan down—burner still on. Crosses the room in three strides.

“You miss me?” he asks again, slower now. Like he’s scared of the answer.

You nod. “You’re always doing stuff. For the baby. For me. You never sit down anymore.”

He swallows hard.

“I didn’t realize I stopped.”

You smile, just a little. “You didn’t. You just… drifted.”

He sinks to his knees in front of your chair, rests his cheek against your belly like he used to before the baby was born.

“I’ve been right here,” he whispers. “But I’ve been so focused on taking care of everything—I didn’t realize I left the part that mattered.”

Your fingers slide into his hair.

He lets them.

“I miss you too,” he says softly. “So much it hurts.”

You bend down, rest your forehead against his.

And for the first time in weeks?

He breathes.

Really breathes.

Xavier

You don’t even realize how quiet it’s gotten until the microwave beeps.

Xavier is still standing where he’s been for the last five minutes—staring blankly at the digital numbers. Not opening the door. Not speaking. Just… existing.

He’s like that lately.

He’s here, technically. He tucks you in at night. He leaves lights on when you fall asleep on the couch. He still makes tea for you in the morning—even if it’s lukewarm by the time you notice.

But it’s like you’re in the same room, and still a world apart.

You don’t blame him. Not really. He’s always been a little detached, a little distant, like his thoughts are off somewhere else.

But lately?

He doesn’t come back.

Not all the way.

You shift on the couch, blanket pulled up around your knees. “The tea’s cold,” you say, just to say something.

He nods without turning. “I’ll reheat it.”

Silence again.

The microwave keeps beeping.

You don’t mean to say it. You’re not even thinking about saying it.

But then—

“I miss you.”

It comes out soft. Small. A little raw around the edges.

And it lands.

Xavier blinks. Slowly.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. Just… stands there.

Then the microwave beeps again, louder this time.

He opens the door. Reaches for the mug. Stops halfway.

His hand is shaking.

“I didn’t know,” he says finally. Voice low. Controlled.

You shift on the couch, throat tight. “You’ve been quiet lately.”

“I thought I was being present.”

You shake your head. “You’ve been nearby. That’s not the same.”

He turns, tea still in hand.

When he sees your face—really sees it—something in his own shifts.

He walks to you. Kneels down in front of the couch.

And offers the mug like a peace offering.

You take it. He doesn’t move.

Then he says—soft, barely audible:

“I didn’t realize I was missing you too.”

And for the first time in days?

He lets himself stay.

Rafayel

It starts with him in the kitchen—shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, music playing in the background, something herby and over-complicated simmering on the stove.

He’s singing. Loudly. Off-key.

You watch him from the kitchen table, head resting on your hand, eyes half-lidded. You’ve been watching him for twenty minutes—gliding back and forth across the tile like a tragic chef-prince in exile.

He narrates everything he’s doing. Dramatically.

“The rosemary must be coaxed, not crushed!” “Where is the sea salt?” “Oh, my darling olive oil—don’t burn me now—!”

You should be laughing.

But your smile doesn’t reach your eyes.

Because this is the third night this week he’s filled the space with music and dancing and noise. Third night he’s performed affection like a monologue—but hasn’t touched you once.

It’s not cold. Not cruel. Just… hollow.

Like he’s afraid that if he slows down, he’ll feel something he doesn’t want to.

You look down at the pasta cooling in front of you. Your voice comes out softer than you expect.

“I miss you.”

He stops mid-stir.

Just stops.

Spoon still hovering in the air. Sauce bubbling behind him. Frank Sinatra cut off mid-note.

He turns around slowly. Frowns. “I’m right here.”

“I know.”

“You just watched me kiss a tomato with more passion than most romance leads.”

“I know.”

He stares at you. Blinks once.

And then you see it—the panic. The way his whole body falters. Like he’s realizing something very, very important too late.

“Oh no,” he breathes. “Oh no.”

“Raf—”

He crosses the room in three fast steps, kneels beside you like you’re about to fade.

“You miss me? I’ve been serenading you with pasta and praise! I told the eggplant it was regal! What have I done?”

You reach for his cheek. “You’ve been everywhere but here.”

He leans into your touch like it hurts.

“I thought I was making things brighter,” he murmurs. “Turns out I was just making them louder.”

You smile, a little sad. “I don’t need louder. I just need you.”

He lets out the softest breath. Presses a kiss to your palm.

Then: “I’m going to burn dinner, aren’t I?”

You glance at the stove. “Probably.”

He sighs dramatically. “Fine. Then let me hold you while it burns.”

And when he pulls you into his arms on the kitchen floor—flour on his sleeve, sauce on his collar, guilt in his throat—you finally feel him come back.

Zayne

It’s 9:07 p.m.

The kitchen is spotless. The baby monitor is on. The dinner plates are in the dishwasher, stacked in perfect symmetry. Zayne’s at the counter writing something down—something for tomorrow. Groceries, probably. He doesn’t say what.

You’re still sitting at the table, legs pulled up under you. Watching him. Quiet.

He’s been like this for weeks now.

Present. Helpful. Perfect, really. Except you can’t feel him anymore.

You speak without looking at him.

“I miss you.”

His pen stops moving.

The silence hits hard. Sharper than you expect.

“…What?” he says. Not defensive—just confused. Like the words didn’t compute.

You repeat it. “I miss you.”

He turns around slowly, brows drawn. “I… don’t understand. I’m here.”

You offer a soft smile. “I know. But you feel far away.”

He frowns—deep. Like the idea physically bothers him.

“I make dinner,” he says. “I do the morning routine. I check in. I—” He stops.

You don’t interrupt.

Zayne runs a hand down his face, dragging it over his mouth like he’s trying to hold in something sharp.

“I thought I was doing everything right.”

“You are,” you say. “You’re doing everything. You’re just not being with me.”

That lands harder than you meant it to.

He grips the counter edge. Shoulders tense. Not angry. Just overwhelmed.

Then, voice quieter:

“I didn’t know how to come back.”

You step up behind him. Wrap your arms around his waist. Feel the tension in his spine.

“You don’t have to fix everything to be enough,” you whisper. “You just have to let me hold you.”

He exhales, shaky. Eyes closed.

“…Okay.”

And for the first time in weeks—he lets go.

Sylus

He’s on the couch with his boots still on.

One arm stretched across the backrest, the other holding a glass of something dark, untouched. He hasn’t said much since dinner—just grunted in response to your “long day?” and slipped into his usual, quiet brooding comfort zone.

You’re curled up on the opposite end of the couch. Close enough to touch him if you reached. But you don’t.

Because lately, it feels like when you do, he flinches—emotionally, if not physically.

You glance at him now, the sharp angle of his jaw softened by the warm lamplight. He’s not tense. He’s not closed off.

He’s just… somewhere else.

You turn your head away before he can catch the way your face folds a little.

And you say it.

“I miss you.”

The words hang there. Casual and devastating.

He doesn’t answer right away.

Just blinks. Breathes in slow.

Then, softly:

“…I’m right here.”

You nod. “I know. But it still feels like I haven’t had you in a while.”

He sets his drink down.

Stares at the floor for a moment. Then runs a hand through his hair like he’s trying to clear static out of his head.

“You think I’m pulling away.”

You stay quiet.

He glances over—just once—and when he sees your expression, something shifts in him. Less defensive. More wrecked.

“I didn’t mean to,” he says, lower now. “I just… get stuck in my head sometimes. And I guess I thought being in the same room counted for something.”

“It does,” you say. “But it’s not the same as being close.”

He leans back, scrubs a hand down his face.

Then mumbles, half to himself:

“God. You’re gonna make me talk about feelings, aren’t you.”

You smile. Barely. “Not if you don’t want to.”

He looks at you again—longer this time. Like he’s really seeing you. And that’s what finally gets him to move.

He scoots closer. Wordless. Slow.

Then pulls you gently into his side, your head tucked against his shoulder. One hand over your thigh, grounding. Solid.

You feel him exhale.

“I do miss you too,” he says eventually. “I just didn’t realize it until you said it first.”

You nod.

You don’t need anything else right now.

Just this.

Just him.

[literaryavenger]

(This is the first thing I've ever written with Thunderbolts!Bucky, even if it's just a drabble but I kinda love it.)

Bucky that’s so freaked out when you get your first period while you’re dating because when he was growing up women didn’t talk about it freely, and certainly not with men, Yelena had a hysterectomy from the Red Room and Ava’s never experienced hers because the accident where she got her powers happened when she was just a child so she never had the chance to even start it.

So the first time he comes home to the Watchtower to find you curled up on the couch of the common room under a blanket, watching a sappy movie and crying while stuffing your face with chocolate, he realizes how truly out of his depth he is.

He tries to approach you carefully, but you’re not having any of it and go off on a rant about how men treat women like they’re wild animals when they’re on their periods before you storm off while angrily saying, ”I should just run off to the woods for a week!”

Bucky that’s left standing there dumbfounded, trying to process the fact that you just unloaded centuries of misogyny on him because he asked ”Are you okay, doll?”

Bucky that shakes it off quickly and walks to his room like a man on a mission, taking his tablet and opening a browser page and starting an extensive research on what women go through on their periods, what works best to alleviate the pain, how to support them and how to talk to them without being condescending, making sure all articles and tips come from actual women that know what they’re talking about and saving everything on a folder in the bookmark bar marked IMPORTANT.

Bucky that instantly gets into action after a few hours of reading and goes out to buy everything he can find that was mentioned in every article he read. And I mean everything. Like hundreds of dollars worth of snacks, sweets, drinks, ice cream, pain killers, different size heating pads, and about a dozen different pads, tampons and cups, just so you have options, and all the ingredients to cook your favorite meals from scratch.

Because Bucky’s not one to spend money, unless it’s on you.

Bucky that walks with purpose into your room, unloading everything in front of your bed where you’re pouting with the pride of a kid showing off his done homework for the first time.

Bucky that freaks you start crying and sobbing uncontrollably, convinced that he somehow fucked up and you were about to break up with him.

Bucky that’s startled when you launch yourself at him and sob into his arms, telling him how much you love him for the first time while ugly crying.

Bucky that doesn’t mind as he sits patiently with you, comforting you until your crying dies down because he’s just so relieved you don’t hate him.

Bucky that doesn’t care that Alexei and John make fun of him every month when he gets super protective and doesn’t let you do anything even after you assure him countless times that, while you have your bad days, you can still function as you’ve always done, because he loves you too (Yes, when you calmed down, he said it back) and he wants you to be comfortable at all times.

Bucky that rolls his eyes when Yelena and Ava joke about him being ‘Husband material’ even if his chest puffs out with pride a little every time and he secretly hopes you think that too.

Bucky that, even when he’s away on missions, keeps track of your cycle so he can make sure to tell Bob to keep an eye on you, and Bob delivers by sitting with you through your cheesy comfort movies and crying with you at the happy endings and/or whenever there's an animal on the screen, no matter the context.

Bucky that spends every month making sure you have everything you need during that uncomfortable week (more than usual at least) so when your period is late for the first time since you started dating, he’s the first one to notice.

[flyingbanananas]

Accidental Courting (Izou x Reader)

Sharing food, exchanging gifts… You only want to be kind and show Izou how much you appreciate him and his willingness to share his culture while visiting Wano with you. But every gesture seems to draw stares and knowing chuckles.

Are you accidentally being rude, despite your best efforts?

If so… why does Izou look at you with such soft eyes instead of scowling?

_____

~ 8.000 words

Part One of the “It’s Never Easy” Series

The moment you set foot on Wano soil, it’s like stepping into another world.

The air smells like cedar smoke and summer rain while mist curls along distant hills and crimson torii gates stand like sentinels along the winding path that leads toward the capital. Moreover, a procession of paper lanterns sways in the breeze as you and the others disembark from your small, hidden ship.

Your jaw drops instantly. “It’s… beautiful.”

Izou glances at you from the corner of his eye. “Still want to come?”

“Are you kidding?” you breathe. “This is incredible.”

Next to you, Ace stretches his arms behind his head, already looking somewhat bored. “The trees are cool, but where’s the food? I heard they’ve got sweet buns the size of your face.”

Whack.

Thatch smacks him on the back of his head with a huff. “Stop only thinking about food. I’m pretty sure the point of this trip isn’t stuffing our faces. Right, Marco?”

Marco is already scanning the treelines. “Right, yoi… Izou wants to visit family, so we keep a low profile, stay out of trouble, and let Izou enjoy himself for once.”

You nod. “Right. We let Izou do all the talking then.”

“Why does he get to talk?” Ace instantly grumbles.

“Because if you talk,” Marco says calmly, “we’ll start a war yoi.”

You stifle a laugh while Izou doesn’t even glance at Ace as he leads the group forward, robe swaying with every step. His posture is straighter here, and his expression quieter like something in him slots back into place just by being home.

You fall into step beside him, your boots crunching the gravel path.

“You okay?” you ask softly.

He nods. “Haven’t been here in a long time. Feels… strange.”

You look at him for a second longer, watching the way the breeze brushes against his dark hair and the faint lines at the corners of his eyes. “Well, thanks for letting us come with you. I feel like I’m walking through a painting.”

He doesn’t smile exactly, but his eyes soften.

“Just… mind your manners,” he murmurs.

You travel for nearly thirty minutes before encountering the first locals—a small group of older people standing near a roadside shrine, their voices hushed, their movements slow. One of them, an elderly woman, spots Izou as you approach. Her expression shifts from curiosity to recognition, and she bows. Deeply.

You stop, startled, and watch.

Izou returns the bow, his spine folding forward with elegant ease, hands folded neatly at his waist. The others pick up on the gesture and follow suit, if a little awkwardly. Thatch tries to match the depth, Marco bows with precision, and even Ace gives it an honest attempt.

You’re the last one just standing there like an idiot.

Panic rises. You bow quickly, clumsily, but now your brain��s screaming: How deep? How long? Too short? Too stiff?

Then, just as you start to straighten up, a hand presses gently between your shoulder blades. Not forceful, just steady. Guiding.

Izou.

“Lower,” he murmurs, voice barely audible. “Just a bit.”

You freeze in place, heart skipping in your chest, and adjust yourself with a muttered apology.

The elderly woman says nothing, and the others don’t seem to react, but you swear one of them gives you a look. Not cruel. Not judging. Just… assessing.

You feel your cheeks heat.

When the group moves on again, Izou falls into step beside you once more. He doesn’t say anything about your awkwardness. Doesn’t tease. But his shoulder brushes yours, just barely.

You get the sense he’s watching your every move - not to scold you, but to make sure you’re okay. And somehow, that makes it worse. Or better. You're not sure yet.

“You did fine,” Izou says calmly.

“I short-circuited, Izou,” you mutter, still warm in the face from the encounter. “You all bowed and I just stood there like a statue. I might’ve actually squeaked.”

“I noticed,” he says dryly, though there’s no real judgment in it.

You groan. “Great.”

“You’re not from here,” Izou says simply, like that settles it. “No one expects you to get it right.”

You glance at him, squinting. “But you fixed it anyway.”

He lifts one elegant shoulder in a soft shrug. “Couldn’t let you keep bowing like that. It looked like you were apologizing for murdering someone.”

Marco’s voice pipes up just behind you. “To be fair, you usually are.”

You swat him without even looking back. “Not here, I’m not.”

Ace snorts. “Give it time.”

“I’m trying to respect the culture, thank you very much,” you huff, crossing your arms as the group continues up the path.

The path narrows as you wind deeper through the countryside. The scent of smoke and incense thickens, and soon the trees thin to reveal a small cluster of wooden buildings nestled at the foot of a hill.

Izou slows his pace, gaze drifting over the buildings with something like nostalgia softening his features.

Then someone bursts out of the front door.

A young woman in a pale kimono practically flies down the front steps, long dark hair streaming behind her. She looks so much like Izou, with the same dark eyes and elegant bearing, that you blink in surprise.

“Izou!” she gasps, voice high with joy.

He barely has time to react before she throws her arms around him, hugging him so tightly he actually takes a step back. His arms come up automatically, one hand cradling the back of her head as he laughs—a real, full laugh you’re not sure you’ve ever heard from him before.

“You got taller,” he murmurs into her hair.

“You got slower,” she sniffs, squeezing him tighter before finally pulling back. Her eyes are shiny, but her smile is huge. “You didn’t write, you didn’t send a message, I didn’t even know if you were really coming until I heard rumors!”

“I didn’t want to get your hopes up,” he says gently.

She swats his arm. “Idiot.”

“Definitely related,” Marco mutters behind you.

You grin.

Izou turns toward you, still smiling in that quiet way of his, the kind of smile that seems rare enough to feel important when it happens.

“This is my little sister,” he says, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder. “Kikunojo.”

"Nice to meet you," you smile and glance at Izou. "Should we bow again?"

Kikunojo lets out a soft, melodic laugh. “You don’t have to. This isn’t an audience with the shogun.” She bows to you anyway, graceful and deep, with hands folded over her stomach. “But it is a pleasure. Izou rarely brings anyone home.”

You bow quickly in return, not quite as fluid but sincere. “It’s an honor to be here.”

Kikunojo’s smile softens further. “You must all be exhausted from the journey, and hungry, I imagine. Please, come inside. You’re just in time. Dinner is nearly ready.”

The moment the word hungry leaves her lips, Ace lights up. “Finally,” he groans. “I was about to start chewing on my own arm.”

Whack.

Thatch doesn’t even look at him as he smacks the back of Ace’s head with ease. “Have a little grace, would you? We’re guests.”

Ace scowls, rubbing the spot. “I was being honest!”

“Try being quiet instead yoi,” Marco mutters, brushing past them both.

Kikunojo giggles behind her sleeve, her expression unreadable and amused all at once. “You brought quite the lively group, brother.”

Izou exhales through his nose, his tone dry. “They grow on you.”

“I believe you,” she says, stepping aside to let you all pass through the inn’s doorway.

The air inside is warm and softly lit, the floors polished to a gentle sheen, and the scent of simmering broth drifting in from the back. You slip off your shoes, following Izou’s lead, and step up onto the raised wooden floor.

The place feels lived in but not worn down instead it appears to be quiet and welcoming. Like someone took the time to make sure everything was ready for your arrival.

But you’re not the only one taking it in.

“Wow,” Thatch murmurs, glancing around. “This is… way nicer than I thought.”

Ace’s jaw drops. “They’ve got yukata ready?!”

Sure enough, a small wooden rack nearby holds a variety of neatly folded yukata—indigo, cream, deep green, patterned with delicate motifs. Without hesitation, Ace grabs the brightest one he can find: a bold red with orange wave patterns.

“This one’s mine,” he declares.

“Of course it is,” Marco says dryly, though you catch the faintest twitch of a smile as he surveys the room.

Kikunojo steps in behind you. “I’ve laid out a few things to make you comfortable. Please, feel free to choose whichever yukata you like. You’ll find washing basins and fresh towels through the hallway to the left. When you’re ready, we’ll be in the main room for dinner.”

You nod quickly, bowing your head again. “Thank you. Really. This is… amazing.”

She smiles, and something in her eyes suggests she’s glad you’re being sincere about it. “I hope you’ll enjoy your stay. And don’t worry about formalities too much while you’re here. Just try not to break anything.”

Ace already has one arm in his yukata, half-spinning in the middle of the room. “No promises!”

“Ace,” Thatch groans.

You’re guided to a smaller adjoining room, divided by sliding paper doors - simple but elegant. Inside are bedding rolls tucked neatly to the side, low lacquered furniture, and enough space for each of you to rest in separate areas without feeling cramped.

As you gather your chosen yukata and step toward the changing area, you glance back at Izou. He’s standing just off to the side, watching the group settle in with a mix of fondness and mild disbelief.

“Go on,” he says, catching your eye. “We’ll eat soon.”

You nod again, clutching the fabric in your arms.

____________

A low table is set in the center of the main room, surrounded by floor cushions, each place set with care. There are ceramic dishes arranged with seasonal vegetables, simmered fish, miso soup, and delicate pickles.

Moreover, a warm clay pot steams gently in the center, its broth bubbling as Kikunojo ladles in thin slices of meat and tofu with ease.

You sit beside Izou, mimicking his every move like it’s a test you desperately want to pass. When he folds his hands and bows slightly toward the food, you do the same. And when he uses chopsticks, you mirror him, resisting every urge to fumble.

Across the table, Ace is already digging in, slurping noodles and humming with his mouth full.

“This is amazing!” he exclaims, eyes sparkling. “Is this lotus root? What is this WHACK Hey!”

Thatch swats him again. “At least try to act like you weren’t raised in the wild.”

“I was raised in the wild!”

Marco sips his tea without comment.

You manage to hold back a laugh and return your attention to the food, trying not to seem too wide-eyed at how beautiful everything looks.

Carefully you pick up a delicate slice of fish glazed in something sweet and smoky, and when it hits your tongue, you actually pause.

Oh. Oh, that’s good.

Then, without thinking, you reach for another piece and gently place it in Izou’s bowl.

“You have to try this,” you murmur, leaning in just a little, your voice softer than before. “I swear, it’s perfect.”

You expect a quiet thank-you, maybe a nod, but what you don’t expect is the softening of his whole expression.

He pauses, just for a heartbeat. His eyes flick down to the fish, then back up to you, softer now. There’s something gentle there, almost guarded, like a secret he’s not ready to share. And then, a small smile, almost like it’s just between the two of you.

“Alright,” he says, and picks up the piece with his chopsticks like it’s nothing.

But across the table, Kikunojo has stopped mid-pour, her eyes sharp with sudden interest as she glances between the two of you.

She notices the way Izou’s shoulders relax ever so slightly, how his voice carries a different warmth when he talks to you. And when he tastes the fish, he doesn’t comment on the flavor; instead, he offers a small, satisfied nod, like he’s savoring more than just the food.

Then in the corner of your eye you catch Kikunojo watching you – just briefly – before she looks away, but not before her gaze makes you question yourself and your gestures.

“…Did I do something wrong?” you ask softly, careful not to make it obvious. Your eyes flick to Izou’s bowl. “I… was that rude?”

Izou meets your gaze, his brow lifting slightly. He studies you, as if debating whether to say more. Then, with the faintest shrug, he replies, voice steady and soft. “No. Not rude.”

“Really?” You glance at Kikunojo this time, your expression openly concerned. “Please tell me if I did something out of line. I wouldn’t want to offend anyone.”

She looks at you for a long moment. Then at Izou.

There’s a beat, where she seems ready to explain something. But the way her brother looks at you—quiet, unreadable, yet undeniably tender, makes her pause.

“No worries,” she says at last, her voice smooth and kind. “No harm done.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, the tension easing from your shoulders. You smile again, lighter this time.

“And here I was thinking I accidentally called you an idiot or something,” you say to Izou, half-joking, half-trying to hide your earlier nerves.

Izou chuckles, low and easy. “No... nothing even close to that.”

His eyes flicker toward yours, linger for just a second too long, then drop back to his food like he’s trying to play it cool.

You smile, turning back to your own plate… only to be interrupted by no other than Ace.

“Hey, was that the fish you gave Izou?” he grins, leaning across the table. His eyes gleam with mischief. “Come on, share some with me too!”

You turn to him, unimpressed, and gently push his chopsticks aside. “Get your own. I’m not your personal waitress.”

Ace blinks, a little surprised by your edge, then smirks, delighted. “Oh? But it’s totally fine when it’s Izou, huh? Playing favorites.”

“I’m not.”

“You so are!”

You roll your eyes, trying to dismiss it with a scoff, but your ears burn all the same.

As you continue to eat you don’t seem to notice how Kikunojo continues to watch you closely. But eventually she shifts her gaze to Izou and raises a single, knowing eyebrow. It’s a silent question, not teasing exactly, but close.

”Why don’t you say something?”

Izou doesn’t answer with words. He only offers the faintest of shrugs, eyes still on his tea as he lifts the cup to his lips. But his smile lingers a little longer this time. And it’s different, not one meant for the table, or even for Kiku.

It’s the kind of smile you offer when something quietly matters. When you're not ready to name it out loud, but you’re already holding it close.

And Kiku sees that, too.

She hums under her breath, almost like a laugh, and finally looks away.

_____________

Later that evening, when you return to your room well fed and tired, you find a small hand-painted charm in the gift basket left in the corner of your room. It’s a delicate little thing – red, gold, and black, strung with a paper tag that reads “for protection and sincerity”.

You think of Izou, how gently he’d touched your back, how he hadn’t laughed when you messed up. How he looked like someone caught between two worlds and carried himself like he belonged in both.

So, you pluck the charm from the basket and tuck it into your pocket. He needs this more than you do right now… so maybe you’ll give it to him tomorrow.

_____________

The next morning, you find Izou standing alone beneath a flowering tree behind the inn. Soft petals drift around him, caught in the breeze, and scatter across the surface of the koi pond below. He’s watching the water, arms folded neatly, his face unreadable.

You shift the little paper-wrapped charm in your hands and step closer, careful not to crunch the gravel beneath your feet.

“Hey,” you say gently.

He glances over. “You’re up early.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” you admit. “Too many crickets. Loud little things.”

You come to stand beside him, the silence stretching out in the way it only can with someone you trust. A comfortable quiet, filled with birdsong and the ripple of fish in the water. And after a few beats, you hold out the small bundle.

“I found this in the gift basket in my room. Thought you might like it.”

He raises a brow, but takes it from your hands without question. His fingers are warm against yours, and as he peels back the paper, his expression stills. Inside is a deep red omamori charm, threaded with gold and marked with two careful ink strokes: protection and sincerity.

He studies it for a long moment.

“…You’re giving this to me?” he asks, voice lower than before.

“Yeah,” you say, suddenly unsure. “I figured, with us being here and… probably messing up a bunch of stuff culturally without realizing, you might need it. I mean… not need it, but maybe it’s, like, a nice buffer? I don’t know. Is that not okay?”

His eyes flick up to meet yours.

“No,” he says firmly, and closes his fingers around the charm. “It’s not rude. If that’s what you’re worried about.”

You blink. “Really?”

Izou nods once. He doesn’t smile, not quite, but the edges of his gaze soften. Then, to your surprise, he tucks the charm into the inside fold of his kimono close to his chest, pressed over his heart.

“I’m planning to go to the temple today,” he says after a pause. “If you want to come.”

You blink. “Oh.” Then you smile, bright and open. “I’d like that very much.”

Izou returns your smile, though his is more reserved. Softer. “Me too… If it’s not too much to ask we could go now… You know… before it gets crowded. It’ll be quieter.

You blink again, then nod quickly. “Oh. Yeah, that makes sense. I’m gonna get dressed then!” you say quickly, practically bouncing. “Give me ten minutes!”

You rush back inside before the excitement can bubble over. Your room is still dim with morning light, and the scent of tatami mats and sakura hangs in the air. You go straight to your luggage and pull out two kimonos you’d set aside the night before.

One is pale lavender with delicate silver cranes stitched along the hem, airy and graceful. The other is a deeper shade of indigo with subtle plum blossoms curling around the fabric.

You hold them up in front of the mirror, shifting your weight back and forth.

“They both look nice,” you murmur to your reflection, but the mirror is no help at all.

So, you purse your lips, glancing toward the door. Izou’s room is only a few steps away, and you know him well enough to know he wouldn’t mind.

Probably.

You pad quietly down the hall, barefoot, the fabric of your robe rustling softly as you go. You knock lightly, but don’t wait long before sliding the door open.

“Izou?” you call gently, poking your head in.

He’s already dressed, standing beside a low table adjusting the sash at his waist. His kimono is dark with soft floral patterns stitched in faded silver and violet. It fits him perfectly, of course.

He looks up the moment he hears your voice. His gaze drops to the two kimonos in your arms, then back to your face.

“I can’t decide,” you confess with a sheepish grin, stepping inside. “Do you think the lavender or the plum one suits the temple visit more?”

He doesn’t answer right away, just steps forward and gently lifts the plum kimono from your arm. His fingers brush yours briefly, a warm touch that lingers longer than it needs to.

“This one,” he says softly.

“Yeah?” You tilt your head, looking between the one he’s holding and the one still in your arms. “I thought you might say that actually… It’s a bit more traditional-looking, huh?”

Izou’s lips quirk, but he doesn’t explain further. His gaze flickers over your face, then down to the fabric again.

“We’ll match if you wear it,” he says softly.

“Match?” You blink, then look at his kimono. Sure enough, plum blossoms. “Oh! That’s adorable. We’ll look like a set.”

He chuckles, low and smooth, but there’s something else behind it. Something softer. Fonder. “Yes… a set.”

You beam without catching the subtle shift in his expression. To you, it’s just a cute coincidence. But to him…. To Izou it means something more… because matching outfits are a sign of commitment.

A subtle declaration, but of course you don’t know that.

“Thanks, Izou!” You tell him and rush off to change with a smile.

_____________

Even though it is rather early the road through the village is busier than you expected.

Many stalls line both sides of the path, vibrant and loud, filled with vendors shouting over one another to sell fresh peaches, steamed buns, trinkets, and charms. Moreover, children run between adults, chasing kites and each other.

You walk beside Izou, your sleeves brushing now and then. The road is just crowded enough to press you closer than usual.

Every so often you glance to the side, eyes catching on something you think might make a good souvenir — a little frog-shaped coin purse, or a painted wind chime that jingles softly in the breeze. You're in the middle of admiring a delicate porcelain tea set when movement at a nearby pottery stall catches your eye.

To your left, an older woman glances up from arranging her wares. Her gaze sweeps over you Izou briefly, then lingers a little longer than necessary. She takes in your matching colors, the slight closeness, and the ease in your movements beside each other.

Then she offers you a small, knowing smile.

“Oh,” she says softly, to no one in particular, but clearly aimed in your direction. “How lovely! Plum blossoms for both. A sign of harmony, you know.”

You blink. “Huh?”

The woman doesn’t explain further just tucks a strand of silver hair behind her ear and returns to adjusting a small clay vase like she hadn’t said anything at all.

You glance at Izou, puzzled. “What did she mean by that?”

He’s quiet for a beat longer than expected. Then his lips quirk faintly, and he says far too casually, “Just an old saying.”

“If you say so…” You push the rising feeling of unease down and keep walking.

But it happens again.

A man selling persimmons catches your eye. He gives you a knowing smile - small, but unmistakably amused, and nods politely as you pass. You blink, confused, and glance behind you to check if he is looking at someone else.

Unlikely, there is no one, but Izou beside you, close as ever, with his arms tucked neatly into his sleeves.

“Odd,” you think, and try not to think about it too much. After all, Izou doesn’t seem to be concerned, so why should you be?

But then a few steps later, a mother walking with her child suddenly slows as you approach. Next, she leans down and says something in a soft voice, too fast for you to catch, but the child giggles and stares right at you. Then at Izou. Then back again.

“What was that about?” you murmur, trying to smile politely as they pass.

Izou shrugs, face neutral, but his eyes are almost too calm. Like he’s holding something back.

”Why do I get that feeling that everybody knows something I don’t?”

Luckily, you’re finally nearing the far end of the village, the crowds thinning out, the temple just visible beyond a row of trees. Only a handful of stalls remain between you and the quiet ahead.

But then one of the stalls catches your attention immediately. The air around it smells of something grilled and sweet, a smoky, nutty aroma that makes your stomach twist in a pleasant way.

You pause without thinking.

“Smells amazing,” you murmur, already stepping closer.

The vendor beams at your reaction and begins wrapping one of the rice cakes before you even ask. And before you can pull out your coins, Izou’s hand moves quietly between you and the vendor.

“I’ve got it,” he says simply.

You blink, surprised, but say nothing as he pays.

The vendor chuckles softly as he hands the rice cake to you, not unkind by any means, but with the kind of knowing smile that makes your stomach flutter for a different reason. His eyes flick from you to Izou, and there’s a warmth there.

“Enjoy,” the vendor says. Then, with a subtle smile, “She’ll love it.”

You feel your ears go warm.

Izou only offers a polite nod and turns to continue walking, his expression unreadable save for the faintest curve at the corner of his mouth.

You scramble to follow him, clutching the warm bundle in your hands. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to.”

His tone is casual, but your heart skips anyway.

And behind you, the vendor chuckles again low, amused, and just loud enough to feel like the punchline of a joke you weren’t meant to hear.

But then finally the road leads you to the edge of the village, and the noise of the stalls fades behind you. Ahead, a stone stairway leads up the hill, flanked by carved lanterns and shaded by tall pines. The temple you two plan to visit sits above, overlooking everything.

You slow at the base of the steps, still holding the rice cake. The warmth has soaked through the paper by now, soft and steady in your hands. A harsh comparison to the chaos inside of you that you can no longer ignore.

“…Are people staring at us?” you ask quietly.

Izou doesn’t look away from the path ahead. “Mm.”

“…Why?”

This time he glances at you, brief but deliberate. “Why do you think?”

You frown, uncertainty knotting in your chest. “I don’t know,” you mumble, heat blooming across your face. “I must’ve messed something up again. Maybe I did my hair wrong, or it’s the kimono’s color, or I wore the wrong sash, or…” Your heart suddenly drops. “Should I go back? I can change!”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he says. “I picked the kimono, remember?”

You blink up at him, that spiraling panic softening just a touch. “I know, but—”

“Why don’t you take a bite,” he says gently, nodding to the rice cake in your hand. “Might help settle your nerves.”

You glance down at it, the scent drifting up—sweet and warm and toasty. You take a slow bite. The crisp edge gives way to soft chew and sweet red bean paste, and despite everything, a tiny noise of approval escapes you.

“…You’re right,” you murmur, chewing. “That actually helps.”

Izou hums, watching you with the faintest smile ghosting the corner of his lips. The breeze lifts a lock of his hair and carries with it the distant sound of wind chimes.

You take another bite, then hold the rice cake up to him, offering it wordlessly.

He raises a brow. “You’re sharing?”

“Of course,” you smile up at him, trying to cover the quiet flutter in your chest.

“I bought that for you,” he says quietly and you would have assumed that he truly doesn’t want to take a bite if it weren’t for that lingering look in his eyes.

“I’m offering a bite,” you chuckle softly, “not the entire thing. Come on. It’s really good.”

Izou hesitates for a moment but then leans in slightly and takes a small bite close enough that you feel his breath brushing your fingers, warm and brief. Then he pulls back, chewing thoughtfully.

“…You’re right,” he says. “It is good.”

You try to laugh, but it comes out too breathless.

Luckily Izou doesn’t tease. He just watches you for a moment longer, then reaches out with two fingers and adjusts the edge of your sleeve where it slipped slightly off your wrist.

He doesn’t say why. He doesn’t need to.

You look at him, heart suddenly full of something you don’t have words for, and in that moment, the noise of the market fades completely. The laughter, the whispers, the tension from before, it all disappears into the quiet space between you and him.

Izou’s voice breaks the silence, soft and almost hesitant: “Do you still want to go to the temple?”

You blink, surprised by the question, by how careful he sounds. Do you?

“I can take you back to the inn,” he offers gently. “If it’s too much… if you’d rather.”

Your eyes drop to the small, warm remnant of the rice cake in your hands, then up to the stone steps ahead, the temple looming just beyond. You take a slow breath, then shake your head.

“No,” you say quietly, but with certainty. “I still want to go.”

Izou studies you for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly as if weighing your words.

You offer a small, shy smile. “You wanted to go. And I don’t want to ruin this for you.”

Izou’s brow furrows, and he steps closer. “You’re not ruining anything,” he insists firmly. “Whether you stay or go back, it doesn’t change anything. You don’t have to worry about that.”

You bite your lip, uncertain.

He softens, voice dropping to a gentle rumble. “If you want to go, then we'll go. If you need a break, we can turn around. Either way, it’s fine.”

You smile again and shake your head, pushing down the soft giggle that dares to escape your tight lips.

You move on.

_____________

The temple sits quiet at the top of a stone path, surrounded by wind-chimes and willow trees. It isn’t grand or towering. It feels lived-in, loved. Worn wooden beams curve softly under carved tiles, and paper lanterns sway between weathered posts.

You climb the last steps slowly, trying not to let your thoughts race ahead of your feet. Izou walks beside you, hands folded neatly in front of him, expression unreadable but unmistakably calm. Always calm.

Naturally, you fall into step just half a pace behind, unsure where you should be.

You glance at him from the corner of your eye. Every step he takes seems sure, quietly measured, and respectful. You watch the way he holds his hands, how he walks without rushing. It feels like there’s a rhythm to it, one you weren’t taught.

So you copy him.

Or try to.

Hands folded the same way. Stride small and even. You don’t want to risk doing something wrong, not in a place like this not when it clearly matters to him.

At the main hall, Izou slows, then stops just before the offering box. He bows once—deep and respectful, and steps forward silently. You mimic the bow a beat after, not quite as fluid, but earnest.

He pulls a small coin from his sleeve and drops it gently into the box, the sound barely a whisper against the wood. You fumble for your own coin, offering it the same way.

Izou brings his hands together in front of his chest, fingers lightly touching, and bows his head in prayer. His eyes close. Shoulders still. He doesn’t rush.

And of course, you follow every movement. Match the shape of his hands. Lower your head. Try to still your breath the way he does.

Eventually, he opens his eyes, and for a moment his gaze flickers toward you. Feeling his stare you look up, half-expecting him to look surprised or annoyed. But his gaze softens… just slightly… just for you… and a small smile flickers across his face, brief but real.

You blink at him. “What?” you whisper, uncertain. “Did I mess it up?”

He shakes his head slowly, that tiny smile still curling at the edge of his mouth. “No,” he murmurs, “you’re doing it… perfectly.”

And then he turns to light incense, stepping quietly to the side.

Of course, you follow. Just close enough to match his pace. Just close enough not to lose your place beside him. And together, you place the incense upright in the ash bed. Side by side. Your hands nearly brush.

You keep your gaze lowered, but movement catches at the edge of your vision.

Two older shrine-goers, praying near the incense trays, glance up. One smiles. The other leans toward her and whispers something beneath her breath. You catch the phrase “still so traditional” before it’s lost to the wind.

You blink. Traditional?

You’re just trying not to embarrass yourself further.

Still, your steps stay cautious. You keep your hands folded the way Izou does. You walk in silence.

You want to do it right.

Then, when the offering is done you two turn to leave. Still, you can’t help but look over to the older women again and notice how one bows her head while the other smiles as she watches you both pass, like she knows something you don’t.

So, you glance at Izou and lean toward him, keeping your voice low. “Are you sure I didn’t mess anything up?”

He hums lightly, almost amused. “You didn’t.”

“Because…” You glance back again. “They keep looking at us like we just announced something. Or agreed to something. And I… I don’t know what I’m missing.”

Izou doesn’t answer right away. But his pace slows just enough that you notice.

When he does speak, it’s quiet, thoughtful. “They probably saw something familiar.”

You blink. “Familiar?”

“Something they remember,” he says. “From when tradition wasn’t just formality. When it meant something.”

You glance sideways at him, brows still slightly knit. “Is that a good thing?” you ask, still not completely understanding.

Izou doesn’t look at you right away. His gaze stays ahead, fixed gently on the path winding back down through the trees. But the corner of his mouth lifts, not a smirk, not teasing. Something softer.

“Yes,” he says, and this time, he does look at you. “One might say that.”

His voice is steady, but there’s a glimmer of something behind the words something you can’t name yet, but it feels warm. Quietly proud. Maybe even fond.

But you don’t press. You just walk the rest of the way beside him, wondering what, exactly, they all saw that you didn’t.

_____________

What a day… You enjoyed experiencing the culture and interacting with the locals, but once evening comes around, you’re truly happy to be back in the inn.

The inn’s common room glows with golden light, lanterns swaying gently as night folds over the village outside. The table is already full with ceramic dishes piled high with leftovers, cups clinking softly as another round of sake is poured.

Thatch leans back, laughing at something Ace just said, something loud and ridiculous, at Marco’s expense, judging by the exasperated look on his face.

You smile faintly, letting their voices fade to a low buzz and not really listening, thoughts bouncing from memory to memory, replaying the day’s moments over and over.

Eventually, you glance to Izou, who’s sitting next to you. He hasn’t said much all evening.

But to be fair, you haven’t either.

“Izou,” you murmur, low enough that only he hears. “Can we talk?”

He looks at you then, eyes steady. “Is something wrong?”

“I just… Please…” You nod toward the hallway, and he follows without a word.

You end up near the edge of the garden, where the paper walls let in the soft sound of wind chimes and the distant laughter of your friends. It’s dimmer here, quieter. And when you turn to him, your hands are folded tightly in front of you.

“I’m not stupid,” you begin, voice soft but firm. “I know something’s been going on.”

Izou doesn’t respond, he just watches you, unreadable.

“People stared,” you go on. “They whispered. They laughed. At us. And you…” your voice catches, “…you won’t tell me why. I’ve asked. I’m asking again now. Just once more.”

Still nothing.

You exhale, starting to turn away, but then Izou reaches into his sleeve and pulls something out. A small, rectangular parcel, neatly wrapped in deep red cloth.

He holds it out to you.

You blink, confused, but take it carefully. Your fingers unwrap the cloth slowly, revealing a slim wooden box. You open it.

Inside is a hairpin.

Delicate and exquisite—silver inlaid with lacquered flowers, with a tiny crane poised in flight at the end. It glimmers faintly in the light, too beautiful to be anything casual.

Your breath hitches. “Izou, this is…”

He cuts in, voice low but clear. “In Wano… when someone wants to court another person, they don’t use words at first.”

You look up sharply.

“They offer gestures,” he says. “Meals. Walks. Small touches. Gifts. And eventually… a hairpin. It’s the final step before the proposal.”

The silence that follows is thick. Dizzying.

You stare down at the hairpin, its delicate craftsmanship glinting in your palm. The crane’s wings are outstretched mid-flight, caught in a moment of motion, and yet your whole world feels like it’s holding its breath.

When you speak, your voice comes out quieter than you mean it to. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Izou’s gaze lifts to meet yours, but he doesn’t answer right away. You push, just a little more, because you need to understand.

“All those times I asked if I did something wrong,” you murmur. “If I offended anyone. You could’ve told me what it meant. That I was…” Your words falter. “That I was doing all that by accident.”

Still, he says nothing.

Your voice sharpens, not with anger but with hurt. “Why didn’t you explain it to me?”

Izou finally exhales, slow and quiet, like he’s setting something down inside himself.

“Because it wasn’t wrong,” he says simply. “It never felt wrong.”

You blink, startled.

“I liked it,” he continues. “Being looked at that way. Being given food, and walked beside, and…” He hesitates for a moment, then finishes softer, “It felt like I was being chosen. And I… I wanted to pretend. Just for a while.”

Your breath catches in your chest. He’s looking at the floor now, his voice low, unsure. Like he’s afraid to look up and find regret on your face.

And maybe you should be angry, or embarrassed, or feel tricked. But you don’t. You’re just quiet for a long moment.

Then, with slow, careful fingers, you lift the hairpin from the box and hold it out to him.

Izou freezes.

His eyes drop to the pin, to the crane resting in your open palm, then to your expression. Whatever he sees there makes his jaw tighten. He doesn’t reach for it at first.

You give it a little nudge toward him.

And finally, he takes it.

His hands are shaking.

You see it, the tremble in his fingers as he wraps them around the gift he gave you. The way he holds it like it’s something fragile, something breaking.

Like he thinks you’re handing it back.

“I just…” You start, then pause. You turn away, looking down toward the wooden floorboards, suddenly very interested in the weave of your sleeve. “I don’t know how to put it in.”

You don’t see his face, but you hear the breath he lets out. A sound caught somewhere between disbelief and relief.

“Could you…?” You swallow, still not facing him. “Would you… put it in for me?”

Silence stretches just long enough that you wonder if you misread something until you feel him move.

He steps behind you, slow and steady. And when his hands rise to gently brush your hair aside, your whole body goes still.

His touch is feather-light, reverent. He gathers your hair with more care than you thought possible, pulling it back just enough to find the right place near your ear. You feel the cool brush of metal as he slides the pin in.

And he sees it, then—your ears flushed bright red, the blush creeping all the way to the tips. Your shoulders tense under his touch like you’re trying to hold yourself perfectly still, even though you’re clearly on the edge of bursting into flames.

Izou smiles.

It’s soft. Private. A little stunned.

“Adorable,” he can’t help himself from saying it out loud.

He lingers just a moment longer, smoothing one last stray piece of hair away from your cheek, his fingertips ghosting across your skin.

And when you finally turn to look at him again, your blush hasn’t faded, but there’s something proud in your eyes now, too. Like you’ve chosen this. Like you’re not afraid of being seen anymore.

The crane glints in your hair between you.

And Izou… he just stares at you, utterly undone.

Then, like his body moves before his mind can catch up, his thumb brushes softly across your cheeks, tracing skin like he’s memorizing it.

You stay still, heart fluttering like the crane resting just above your ear.

Your breath catches when his hand tilts ever so slightly, his fingers cradling your jaw now. You open your eyes to find him already looking at you—closely, deeply—like you’re the only thing in the room.

“Izou,” you whisper, though you’re not sure what you meant to say. Maybe just his name. Maybe just to breathe it into the space between you because you need him to know how you feel without saying anything else.

“I know,” he murmurs, just as quietly.

But he still doesn’t move.

Not yet.

There’s a reverence in the way he waits, giving you time… always giving you time. And it’s that patience, that gentleness, that makes your chest ache with wanting.

So you tilt your chin up. Barely. Just enough.

His eyes flick to your lips. Just once.

And then he leans in.

The kiss is slow, almost tentative at first. A brush of lips, soft and searching, like he’s still unsure if he’s allowed to have this… if you’ll stay or pull away.

But you don’t.

You lean into him, one hand rising instinctively to grip the front of his kimono, grounding yourself in the warmth of him. And that’s all the answer he needs.

His other arm curls around your waist, drawing you closer, holding you steady as his lips press more firmly into yours—still tender, but now with more weight. More intent.

It’s not a kiss meant to steal your breath.

It’s a kiss that gives it back to you.

When you part, neither of you speaks right away. Your foreheads rest together, the hush between you humming with something alive.

But then a sudden gust of wind chills your skin, making you shiver beneath the soft night air and Izou feels it instantly.

His hand presses to the small of your back.

“Come on,” he murmurs, already shrugging off his haori. “Let’s head back. It’s getting cold.”

The walk back is slow and quiet, your steps unhurried, your heart still fluttering from the kiss and everything it meant. The hairpin glints gently in your hair as you lean a little into him, warmed more by his presence than the borrowed fabric.

When you return to the inn, laughter and voices are already spilling out of the common room. Inside, Ace, Thatch, and Marco are sitting cross-legged around low trays stacked with sake cups and half-eaten snacks, joined now by Kikunojo.

The moment you and Izou step into the light, Kiku looks up. Her gaze sweeps over you both—your flushed cheeks, the borrowed haori still wrapped around your shoulders, and then... the crane hairpin gleaming in your hair.

Her expression shifts immediately, all amusement and recognition. “Well,” she says, eyes dancing. “Congratulations.”

You blink, not expecting anyone to figure out what just happened by looking at you for less than three seconds.

Ace immediately pauses mid-sip and whips his head toward her. “Congrats for what?!”

Thatch nearly chokes on a rice cracker. “Hold on, hold on, what did we miss?! You two were gone for, like, five minutes!”

Kiku smiles behind her cup, absolutely enjoying herself. “Look closely.”

Thatch squints. “What am I looking for…? Oh. OH.” He points dramatically at your head. “The hairpin. It must have something to do with the hairpin!”

“Exchanging gifts, especially hairpins and other accessories are a sign of commitment, yoi.” Marco sips calmly. “It’s the final step in a Wano courtship ritual.”

Ace screams. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN FINAL STEP?! WHEN WERE THERE OTHER STEPS?!”

You burst into laughter just as Izou casually sits down and pours himself a drink like nothing is happening. You slide down beside him, flushed but smiling, and reach for his hand your fingers linking without hesitation.

“Oh my god, it’s real,” Thatch whispers. “It’s actually happening. I thought you two hated each other.”

“We bickered like once,” you say, amused.

“Which is flirting, apparently!” Ace gestures wildly between you. “Since when? No one tells me anything! Was this happening under our noses the whole time?!”

You’re laughing into your sleeve, but Izou’s hand is still in yours, steady and warm. He watches the chaos unfold with a faint smirk, as though this is exactly what he expected from his loud brothers.

“Okay but LISTEN,” Ace says, suddenly pointing between you and Izou. “We need a timeline. When did this start? When did you fall in love? WHO confessed? Was it dramatic? Did someone cry?”

Thatch slaps the table. “Did you hold hands before this? Kiss behind the inn? Is there a secret love letter somewhere? I need to know everything.”

You open your mouth to respond, but Ace cuts in again.

“Oh my god… NO… did you accidentally court him? Was it one of those ‘oops we’re married now’ situations?!”

“Well…” you begin and than look towards Izou for help, but he doesn’t answer, just raises his sake cup to his lips and takes a slow sip.

“Oh no,” Thatch groans, smacking the table again. “That’s what happened.”

Ace gasps. “And he knew the whole time! Maybe even planned it!”

“I didn’t plan anything,” Izou says smoothly.

“I don’t believe a single word that’s coming out of your mouth !!” Ace howls, flailing dramatically. “I swear, if one more surprise drops on me tonight, I’m throwing myself into the koi pond.”

You’re laughing so hard your sides hurt, but there’s a fluttering warmth in your chest you don’t want to let go of. You look at Izou - his eyes, his steady presence, the way his thumb gently brushes your knuckles beneath the table.

And maybe he feels it too, because he leans in and murmurs, just for you: “You’re glowing.”

“Blame the sake,” you tease.

“No,” he says softly, his smile deepening. “It’s not the sake.”

“STOP WHISPERING SWEET THINGS WE CAN’T HEAR,” Ace yells.

“WE’RE YOUR FAMILY, DAMN IT,” Thatch adds. “WE DEMAND TRANSPARENCY.”

“You two are the worst,” you say, still smiling.

“No, YOU TWO are the worst,” they shout in unison.

_____________

The docks are bustling as you prepare to leave, the sails of your ship tugging gently in the wind, and the early morning light painting everything gold.

You hug Kikunojo tightly, your voice soft. “Thank you. For everything.”

She squeezes you back just as firmly, a warm smile on her face. “Take care of him,” she whispers into your ear, then pulls back with a glimmer in her eyes. “And keep wearing the pin. It suits you.”

Your hand instinctively touches the ornament tucked neatly into your hair, and you nod, throat tightening a little.

Izou stands nearby, exchanging quiet farewells with a few other locals, and when your eyes meet, his expression softens in that way that makes your heart flip all over again.

But the moment is short-lived, because as soon as you both step aboard the ship, you can feel that chaos is about to start.

“Alright, listen up!” Ace announces, sliding down the mast with exaggerated flair. He plants himself firmly in front of you, arms crossed. “New rule: no sneaky late-night strolls, no romantic moonlit talks, and absolutely no eloping behind our backs!”

You blink at him. “We’re not… Ace, seriously?”

“I mean it!” he insists, pointing between you and Izou. “If we give you two even an inch of privacy, next thing we know, you’re getting married in the middle of the night by candlelight with no witnesses and we’ll all find out from a note taped to the mast!”

You can’t help laughing, lifting your hands to try and calm him. “Ace, come on, it’s not like that. We’re not planning anything. I swear.”

Thatch strolls up behind him, arms crossed, clearly enjoying the drama. “That’s what they want us to think. But we’ve seen the signs. The blushes. The stolen looks. You’re one quiet dinner away from exchanging vows.”

“Exactly. Therefore, I will sleep outside your door,” Ace threatens dramatically. “I will do it. Just try me.”

You open your mouth to protest again, but you feel Izou shift beside you, entirely too calm. In fact… smug.

“Well,” he says smoothly, folding his arms, “technically… I could marry her right here. In my cabin. Doesn’t even need to be formal. Quiet. Private. No interruptions.”

You turn to look at him, eyes wide. “Izou!”

But he’s smirking now, and there’s a dangerous glint in his eyes. He’s enjoying this.

Ace gasps loudly enough to echo off the sails. “OH HELL NO. You are NOT sharing a room! Not unless I’m sleeping between you two from now on!”

You sigh through your laughter, watching as Ace frantically starts drawing diagrams in the air with wild gestures while Marco walks away in the opposite direction, pretending not to hear a word.

Through it all, Izou’s hand remains firmly in yours.

You glance up at him, smiling despite the ridiculousness of it all. “You really like riling him up, don’t you?”

His smile softens. “Only a little.”

And even with Ace shouting about curfews and Thatch declaring himself your “maid of honor just in case,” it’s quiet between the two of you in that one perfect moment, like the chaos only makes it sweeter.

You glance up at Izou with a snicker you can’t hold back, eyes still bright from laughter. “Just wait until the others hear about this.”

He lifts a brow, returning your grin with a gleam of mischief in his gaze. “And Pops.”

Your expression shifts into a mixture of amusement and mock horror. “Oh, Pops is going to love this.”

Your laughter softens as Izou turns toward you, the teasing fading into something quieter, gentler. The breeze tousles his hair, and the warmth in his eyes isn’t playful anymore… It’s something deeper.

You don’t need words.

His hand rises, fingertips brushing against your cheek before tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, lingering there as if afraid the moment might slip away. You tilt your face up instinctively, breath caught between heartbeats.

And then he kisses you.

It’s slow, tender, full of the kind of affection that’s been building in quiet glances and stolen moments. The world around you fades away… the sway of the ship, the distant shouting from below deck, even the sound of the sea. It’s just the two of you, wrapped in that single, perfect kiss.

Until…

“OH MY GOD IT’S HAPPENING AGAIN!!”

[comicnerd557]

The one where Jake tells the squad how he met his wife

Jake Seresin x reader

A/N: Sooooo, this was supposed to be a blurb and it's almost 6k words. It's fine. Enjoy! There may be a part two if there's interest, just let me know!

Warnings: Jake is accidentally an asshole, plus sized!reader, reader is a female, cursing, sexual innuendos and dirty thoughts but no smut, even then, MDNI!!!

as always, a thanks to my bestie @dalamjisung who introduced me to Top Gun Maverick in the first place. Love you boo!!

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Okay but like, imagine Hangman, cocky, badass, can’t-wipe-the-smirk-off-his-face, Hangman, married

Most would probably picture a woman equally as badass as he is, tough as nails, spits literal fire and can’t go an hour without jumping her hubby’s bones

That’s  certainly what the rest of the Dagger Squad thought when Hangman let it slip he was married

“Someone married you, Seresin?” Payback was both shocked and horrified. Shocked someone accepted his proposal, horrified they hadn’t changed their fucking mind yet

It was no secret Hangman was a lot to be around, and while, yes, he had relaxed a bit with age, he was still a goddamn handful. He had stopped flirting with every skirt he saw about three years back, but….the squad just assumed he got tired of the playboy life and decided to go bachelor

“You don’t wear a ring.” Phoenix was skeptical, as usual, sipping her beer with narrowed, observant eyes. Without wasting a beat, Jake reached under the collar of his shirt, grabbed his dog tags, and held them up

Sure enough, in between the tags sat a simple silver band. “I wanted gold, but, the Mrs said she would sooner rip her finger off than wear gold. Clashes with her skin tone apparently.” He snorted

More shocked silence. It was all true. Jake Seresin was married. “How long?” Bob questioned. He hid his shock much better than the others, something Jake was thankful for

Hangman paused to think. “It’ll be 11 months in two weeks.” Jaws dropped. Jake’s ego took a hit. He laughed, a bit awkward. “I’m a bit offended, y'all are so surprised. I took a month off for the honeymoon…You guys didn’t think anything of it?”

“Honestly, thought you were on a mission, I swear to go-Wait, hang on, why the hell didn’t we get invites?!” Coyote’s protest was met with rallied cries of confusion. The entire squad was upset. “It was just me, her, and our folks. Private, small, quiet.”

Hangman? Quiet? Private? The man was like a walking disco ball. He fucking loved attention. Whenever the thought of Jake getting married crossed through heads, it was always assumed it would be a huge spectacle with fireworks and maybe a dance crew

The squad was silent for a full minute, processing the information they had just learned. It was a quiet night at the Hard Deck too, meaning there wasn’t even the chatter of strangers to fill the void. “Oh my god, someone say something! It’s not that big of a deal! I’m fucking 34, none of you expected me to be married? Really?!” Jake threw his hands up, laughing

Finally, shockingly, Rooster spoke. “We’re happy for you, really bro, just…What’s she like? How’d you guys meet? Name, age, job, we wanna know.”

How did they meet? A smile spread across Jake’s face before he could stop it. It wasn’t Jake Seresin’s usual cocky, condescending smirk. It was a genuine smile, sappy, sweet…and weirdly soft. None of them had ever seen anything like it

“Alright little ones,” Jake teased, sitting down across from the squad. Part of him worshiped the attention. “Gather around and Papa Jake will spill the beans.” Dramatically clearing his throat, Hangman started his story. “It all started three years ago…”

Jake had been absolutely fucking beat. The San Francisco sun was nothing to laugh about, and Maverick had, once again, kicked their ass in training. Hangman only added fuel to the fire, running his mouth, and as a consequence, he had to do double the amount of pushups the others did

“Fuckin’ ridiculous.” He grumbled, slamming the door of his truck shut with a huff, head falling forward onto the steering wheel dramatically. He had spent the entire day working his ass off, didn’t even have time to eat. Jake was fucking starving

Too lazy to cook, the pilot grabbed his phone, googled ‘food near me’, and clicked on the very first one, allowing the directions to guide him without even check where the hell he was going

Imagine his delight, then, when GPS led him to a quaint, soft looking bakery. The parking lot was empty, causing Jake to mumble a quiet thanks to the Big Guy upstairs before hopping out of his truck, making his way inside

The bell on the door jingled as he pushed it open, and the rush of ice cold air conditioning felt like the sweetest relief hitting him square in the face. He groaned aloud, content, tense muscles slowly relaxing the more the scent of baked goods invaded his nose

It wasn’t overly sweet, thank god, but just sweet enough to lure even the pickiest eater through those doors. Why this place wasn’t crowded, Jake didn’t know. Were the workers rude? Ugly? Maybe the food was unsafe to eat, leaving people glued to their toilets for hours on end

“Hi there!” A voice chirped from behind the counter, causing Jake to finally reopen his eyes after closing them in bliss. Like Cupid’s arrow had struck him, Hangman froze in place. Fuck. Fuck, fuck fuck fuck.

Never before had Jake Seresin, Hangman himself, been rendered speechless by a woman. Until now. “....Are you okay sir?” The heat had been especially brutal today…Maybe this guy had heat stroke and was just wandering, confused?

Jake managed to put one foot in front of the other and make his way up to the register. Thank fucking god he didn’t trip. Now, it was time to flirt. “....Doughnut.” His brain had been left at the base, clearly, cause that was the only fucking word Jake managed to squeeze out

You smiled, barely biting back a giggle. “Did you want a doughnut or…?” Jake blinked, forcing himself to fucking think. “Your dress. It has doughnuts. It’s cute, very fitting. Are you the owner or just a really dedicated employee?” Yes. Yes! The AC had finally cooled his head enough to think straight

“The owner.” You answered, smile turning a bit shy, hands soothing down the front of your dress. “It’s actually one of many pastry themed dresses I own. Today we have a special on doughnuts, so I figured my doughnut dress would be a good way to advertise that.”

“I’ll take 'em all.” Excuse you? Huh? Jake’s brain was screaming at his mouth for moving too quick. It seemed you were just as shocked, eyes going wide like dinner plates, and fuck, Jake’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of your visible excitement. “Really?! You haven’t even tried them yet!” You had fussed over him in a way that had Jake making up his mind. He would buy every single fucking doughnut if it kept that smile on your face

He just nodded. “Yes ma’am. I’m actually a Navy Pilot, and my squad just got back from a highly classified, super dangerous mission, so, we’re celebrating.” He explained, taking the chance to brag about how super cool awesome brave he was. “Feeding soldiers is like feeding a damn zoo. It’ll take all these doughnuts and more to fill ‘em.” Again, your smile grew, now fully beaming

“Take a seat! Here, you can have this one on the house while you wait. I’ll get everything packed up and I can help you carry them out to your ca-Oh i’m gonna need to build more boxes.” Now a busy bee, Jake watched as you hurried around behind the counter, packing up every single doughnut you had in the store, including some fresh from the oven. By the time you finished the pile of boxes was almost as tall as you

His wallet would hate him for a while, but the crew would be eternally grateful, especially if the rest of the doughnuts were as good as the one you had given him to munch on while he waited. “I knew this area was filled with pilots, but I hadn’t had any visit yet. Thank you for your service!” You giggled, grinning ear to ear. “I added a military discount, and combined with our sale, you saved a lot of money! Your total is…” The number was in the triple digits. Jake still didn’t hesitate as he tapped his card. After the beep, he reached into his wallet, pulled out a stack of cash, and dumped it into the tip jar

“Oh, oh no!” You immediately protested. “I can’t accept that! You’re really saving me, if the doughnuts don’t sell, they get tossed and it’s a really big waste. Honestly, I can’t take th-” You reached into the jar to take the cash out. Jake reached out, grabbing your wrist, and fuck, the instant zap was felt by the both of you

He smiled, sweet, calm. “Keep it. These are the best damn doughnuts I’ve had in my life. I owe it to ya.” Hangman managed to wink before grabbing half the pile of boxes, promising to come back for the second half after he loaded them up

The next day, when he showed up to work, he made the new trainees carry the doughnuts into the break room. Why the hell should he do the work? He bought the damn things after all

“Is it someone’s birthday or something? Someone die?” Rooster asked, pink sprinkles falling from his frosting covered mustache. “Whatever it is, I hope it happens again. These fucking rock.” Fanboy groaned, mouth full. Jake just smirked. “You’re welcome. I was feeling generous, figured I would remind all of you why you love me so much.” He mused. Everyone stopped chewing

“...They’re poisoned. Everyone go throw up.” Phoenix, despite her words, finished the doughnut she had in hand

Jake just rolled his eyes. “I think you mean “Thank you Jake, you’re so handsome and kind and funny and smart, oh my god any girl would be lucky to have you!” Right?” Maverick saved her from having to respond, calling for the team to gather up for a meeting

That afternoon, Jake returned to the little bake shop on the corner, prepared to ask for Doughnut Girl’s number…Except she wasn’t there. Someone else was behind the counter. Jake ended up just buying a single cookie before leaving, head hung low

The routine continued for a week straight. It got to the point where Jake asked about the owner. The teenage employee behind the counter just grinned. “Oh she works morning shift most of the time! Usually gets off by three.” Fuck. Jake almost never got off before six. Another cookie bought, another disappointed look as he walked out

For a few days, Hangman tried to move on. He really did. After picking up three skirts in three days, he still had you on his mind. The girls moaning obnoxiously under him looked nothing like you. They were tiny, practically toothpicks. You filled out your dress, body soft and curved. They had a thigh gap. Yours jiggled with every step in a way that hypnotized Jake. He gave up after the third night

He woke up extra early the next morning and set out, determined to complete his mission. He was gonna get your number, take you out, and fuck, maybe even marry you one day, who knew? He was feeling a little crazy

So, at 5:45 the next morning, Jake pulled into the parking lot of your bakery, turned off the engine of his truck, fixed his hair, and walked inside. “Welcome to The Cozy Oven!” Your voice was like music to his ears. No more bored teens or sweet but confused old ladies. Finally, he was reunited with his baker

“Oh it’s you! Mira said you came looking for me.” Was he delusional or were you teasing him? There was a glint in your eyes Jake couldn’t quite place, and the way you leaned over the counter seemed to prove his theory. You were so teasing him. Oh it was on. “You got me hooked on your sweets then disappeared on me.” He mused, smirking, palms flat against the counter. “The sweets have still been here.” You point out, giggling

Again. Fucking music his ears. “Tastes a bit sweeter when I’m looking at you.” Jake’s voice dipped low, leaning in a little closer. In an instant, your cheeks went hot, the tips of your ears darker in color from all the blood rushing to your face at once. “O-oh, you think so?” No longer could you meet Jake’s eyes, though, the smile didn’t leave your face. “Don’t tell me you’re a shy thing. Guys must come in every hour to beg for your number.”

At first, you laughed, like Jake had just told a super funny joke. When you noticed he wasn’t laughing, you stopped. “Oh, you were serious?” You weren’t being sarcastic or rude. Just genuinely confused. “I can count the times I’ve been hit on by strangers on one hand. I mean, my best friend calls me her wife, but, that’s just her thing. She’s married.”

Now, it was Jake’s turn to be confused. How the hell were you not married with three kids and another on the way? He wouldn’t say it aloud (yet) but fuck, you were like, ideal wife material. He had only recently started thinking about settling down and getting married and you checked off his checklist fucking perfectly

And god those hips were down right sinful, and fucking meant for holding and having babies. Not that Jake’s head was filled with thoughts of bending you over the counter and stuffing you full of cream instead of you stuffing the doughnuts. Definitely not

If his standard issue pants were a little tighter than usual, that’s not his fault

“Are they blind, or am I the first single man to walk into this bakery?” This man was single? Fucking. How. He had made your entire month buying every doughnut in the bakery and had done so with a grin and a sweet, somehow not creepy, wink. The bakery was doing…okay. You had just opened your doors a few months ago, and while your head was still above water, you were getting tired of treading really quickly

The pilot had the biggest order you had received so far, and holy hell that tip was enough to even buy that new super fancy cat food for your cat. Sniffles had been almost as grateful as you had. Almost. She never said as much, obviously

“Well, single men walk into this bakery often, so…You must be blind.” You giggled again. Jake laughed, tossing his head back. “I assure you, sweets, my eyes are just fine. They wouldn’t let me fly if they weren’t. I’d be stuck on the ground, or worse, the backseat.” He shuttered with over exaggerated disgust, playing it up to hear you laugh again

It worked. He beamed. “At the risk of making myself look like a complete jackass…” Jake leaned in, dramatically serious. “Can I have your number? I’d like to prove to you exactly why those men are blind as bats.” Jake let his eyes wander, slow, drinking in your frame like he was sipping the finest whiskey in the world. Just as slow, your smile dropped

As sweet as he seemed, the way he stared…Men usually wanted one thing. “I don’t even know your name.” You responded, voice quieter than he had heard it before. Jake, being Jake, chalked it up to your close proximity, so distracted by those pretty lips moving he failed to hear the cautious, almost anxious tone in your voice. “Lieutenant Jake Seresin. At your service.” There it was. His secret weapon. Every woman he ever met (Phoenix didn’t count she’s weird) had practically tossed their panties at him whenever he dropped that line

Women went nuts for men in uniform. One mention of his rank and they would fall to their knees. “I fly for Top Gun. Have you heard of it?” Everyone had. Jake was really pulling out the big guns now, but if he went to work without your number, he may just fly into the mountains for fun. Much to his shock, and dismay, you shook your head. Gone was that cute, sunny smile from before. Now, you just seemed…withdrawn

“I thank you again for your service, Lieutenant, but I’m afraid I don’t give out my personal number to customers.” A fatal shot. You went for the kill by reaching for the business card on the counter. “But if you ever need catering, please don’t hesitate to call the shop and put in your order. Would you like to buy something? I’m afraid I don’t have time to chat.”

A lie. You had all the time in the world. Mornings were always a bit slow. But with Jake’s intentions clear, you weren’t interested in entertaining his chubby chaser fantasies anymore. What other reason would he have for asking you out? Most girls around this area were tiny gym babes the size of twigs. While many preferred that, there were always men out there who thought you’d be a nice easy lay due to your size. They didn’t have to put in effort, clearly you would be desperate enough

Though you didn’t get hit on often, a blind person could see the hunger in Jake’s eyes as he stared at your body. In his eyes, he was admiring fine art. In yours, he was thinking of how easy it would be to hit and quit. Besides, he had another thing working against him. Military men never really wanted a relationship. They wanted a fuck, a stress reliever

Admittedly, it was a little upsetting. Jake had seemed so kind, but, the more you thought about it, the more you realized how his pretty face and sweet words had tricked you into assuming his entire personality after one fucking meeting. Pathetic. Maybe you did need to get laid. How long had it been since you pulled that little box out from under your bed again?

Jake’s grin dropped. He hadn’t been turned down in….well, ever. Honestly. Maybe when he was freshly twenty and still learning how to flirt? What had he done wrong? “Oh yeah, of course.” He stood up straight, smile now much less flirty and much more polite. “Uh, I’ll just…Take one of those.” He pointed to a random pastry in the case, tapping his card before, once again, leaving a hefty tip in the jar

“Have a good one, miss.” Jake walked out of the bakery in a daze, a frown tugging at his lips. He knew you were different, he knew that the minute your hand grazed his and pure electricity filled the air, but not even a number? Really? He wasn’t upset with you, of course, just confused and disappointed in himself

Maybe it was delusional, maybe the lack of oxygen to his brain had gotten to him, but Jake had already been imagining the second, third, and fourth date before the first one had even taken place. He made it to work ten minutes early with an uneaten cookie in hand. He passed it to Coyote the moment he asked about it, claiming he wasn’t that hungry anymore

Everyone noticed Jake was a little quieter that day. He wasn’t as cocky or boisterous, keeping his comments to a minimum, not even complaining when Maverick had him with a tone within the first half hour of their dog fight, didn’t push back when Phoenix made fun of him

“Alright what the hell is wrong with you?” Bradley had been trying to rile Jake up all day. Jake hadn’t indulged the man once. They were in the shower room now, Maverick having ordered them all to hose off after they had spent nearly an hour running through a mud soaked obstacle course, part of a new training program meant to help agility just in case they were out of their planes and behind enemy lines

Payback shut his locker, towel wrapped around his waist. “You didn’t even take the bait when Bob tripped over his own feet. Bob. You love teasing Bob!” Jake just sighed, head leaned back against his locker, annoyance clear on his face. “What’d you strike out or something? Get shot down?” Rooster had, unknowingly, hit the nail on the head. He realized as much as soon as the look in Hangman’s eyes turned murderous

“Oh my god he did. Our Hangman is heartbroken. He’s grown up so much.” Bradley sniffled dramatically. “Remember when a rejection just meant he moved on to the next girl?”

“I don’t get rejected.” Jake huffed, slamming open his locker, grabbing his comb to fix his hair, not because it needed fixing, but because he couldn’t look at that stupid smug look on Rooster’s face anymore. “Bradley,” Javy, his best friend of over ten years, finally spoke up. “Leave him be. Clearly this girl isn’t just a girl. Wanna tell us about it bro?”

Not really, if he were being honest. Jake kept his mouth closed, weighing the pros and cons of telling the truth versus denying everything. On one hand, the guys on his squad lived for teasing each other, digging under the others skin with glee. On the other, there was no one on earth Jake trusted more than the men in the locker room with him. They had saved his ass time and time again, and he had done the same for them. Maybe, just maybe, they could offer some solid advice

“There’s this woman, she ain’t no girl, this is a full bodied, grown woman, and she’s nothing like the skirts I usually chase. But she’s in my fuckin’ head and I asked for her number this morning. She turned me down. Turned me down cold.” He huffed, tossing his comb back into his locker with a frown. “And I ain’t mad at her. It’s my own fault, I think I came across a bit…”

“Pervy?”

“Sex addicted?”

“Menacing?”

“Okay everyone but Bob can go fuck themselves.” Jake scowled. “But, yeah. I guess. I don’t know. I gave her the line that usually makes panties fly off and she just shut down.” Bradley snorted, rolling his eyes. “The Lieutenant line? Really? Look man, we all use our uniforms to get into beds, but if you want something more you’re gonna have to actually work for it. Flowers, chocolates, sweet talk about something other than her ass. That sort of shit.”

Jake had never felt so fucking old. He had to learn how to pitch woo now? Really? “She worth the effort?” Bob asked quietly. Jake paused before shrugging. “My heart gets funny around her. Yeah, she makes me hard in my fuckin’ cargo pants,” Payback groaned in disgust. “But it’s more than that.” Silence took over the room. Once again, Jake was left with his thoughts

“We’ll help.” Reuben nodded, determined. Jake let out a loud groan. “Oh my god, I cannot get help picking up a woman from you guys, you’re supposed to come to me for that.” His ego would never recover from this. Ever. “We come to you for help getting laid, you come to us for help getting a date. Seems fair to me.”

And so, Operation Get-Hangman-His-Date started. They looped Phoenix in almost immediately, rightly deciding her female perspective might just be useful. They spent the night at the Hard Deck coaching Hangman on how to be a true gentleman. Bob got the honor of spraying him with a spray bottle every time he so much as glanced away from a woman’s face after winning a game of pool

The next morning, Jake was ready. He had the day off from training, his only commitment was a beach day with the squad around two, but until then, he was free to charm his way into your heart. He was dressed in his civilian clothes, his hair styled to look like he had just rolled out of bed despite having worked on it for nearly half an hour

In his hand, there was a bouquet of flowers, small, just five or so. Natasha suggested they start simple. “She’s gonna think you’re a stalker otherwise.” She explained. “Or some majorly obsessed creep, which, you are, but, at least you’re not the murder and dump the body type.”

The bell jingled as he stepped inside. Today’s dress was pie themed, and in the display counter were a handful of different flavored pies. The flavor of the day was apple, apparently. You were in the middle of bringing out new product, making everything neat and perfect. When you locked eyes with Lieutenant Jake Seresin, your sweet, cheery smile turned awkward. Great. He was back

“Ma’am,” He greeted, the southern drawl more obvious in his words. “Women love a southern accent.” Javy had explained. “Use it.” So he did. Jake didn’t work to hide the Texas drawl. “I think I maybe came off a bit strong yesterday.” You snorted quietly, amused. A bit? The guy was practically making eye contact with your nipples

Still, you let him continue…Mainly because he was a good customer who could bring a whole lot of business if he ever decided to order catering. “I wanted to apologize.” Jake paused, trying to remember what he had been instructed to say last night. “You’re very, very attractive, and god knows I would love to take you back to my place and-”

He was losing you again. Jake stopped himself, clearing his throat with a bashful smile. “Anyway, that’s not why I asked for your number.” You looked at him skeptically, cautious. “You wouldn’t look at my eyes, just my body.” Though your words cut deep, mainly because of the truth behind them, your voice was soft like a cloud

No matter how nervous or upset you were, you spoke to Jake like he would cry if you yelled. He had never been approached so….softly before. “I know, I know, I’m sorry. I just, I ain’t ever been interested in a woman like you before and-” Immediately, your face dropped into a sharp scowl. No more soft. No more gentle. “A woman like me?”

Jake knew that tone. That was the tone of an angry woman. Alarm bells went off in his head. “T-that’s not how I meant to say it. I just meant you’re not my usual type.”

Fuck

Fuck

Oh my god

Did he just say that?

You looked…irate. To say the very least

“Okay mr, I can tolerate you staring at my tits, I can tolerate you coming back in here sniffling with flowers in hand trying to make up for staring, but I won’t tolerate this. I get it, you’ve never been with a fat chick before, not used to putting in all this effort for a lay. You will not come into my bakery, my business, and tell me you’re acting like this because you don’t know how to handle a woman my size. I’m gonna respectfully ask you to leave.”

Somehow, in the span of just mere moments, Jake had fucked everything up. Now, as he sat on the beach, beer in hand, he did everything he could to ignore the scolding from Phoenix. He had told Javy what happened in private, but, of course, Payback had overheard everything, and within minutes, news had spread to the whole goddamn squad

“I cannot believe you, Hangman! You basically just admitted you’d never usually go for her! I mean, I knew you could say some dumb shit but you’re not a dumb guy, so why the hell did you act like a fucking Florida frat boy?”

Why did he? Jake didn’t know. The look of hurt that had flashed over your face before the anger set in had been haunting him since this morning

Jake stood, mumbled something about grabbing another beer, before taking a walk down the beach. He needed some time by himself, some time to think, to breathe without the squad shaming him for his fuck up. It was the third drink in that an idea hit him square in the face…Right as he walked into a sign advertising the 50th anniversary of the Hard Deck

Vaguely, he remembered Penny mentioning that she needed to find a good bakery to make a cake and enough cupcakes to feed an army. He stood, shaking the sand off, and ran top speed into the Hard Deck. “Penny! My favorite bartender!” He beamed, tossing an arm over her shoulders. “Hangman, my favorite headache. Why are you here? We aren’t technically open, you know.”

That never mattered. The Dagger Squad was always welcome, they knew that. Penny had an open door policy when it came to her team. “You still looking for a caterer?” He asked, smile wide and confident. Penny nodded. “Yeah, I’m having a hell of a time finding someone willing and able to make so much on my budget. I can’t afford to break the bank.” Hangman’s grin grew wider

“What if I told you, I know a place?”

It was almost 6 pm when you got the call. Eight dozen cupcakes, and a two tiered cake celebrating the anniversary of the most popular Navy bar in Cali. Their budget was low, but the woman on the phone was just too sweet to turn down, and this was the perfect chance to get the Cozy Oven’s name out there and known

A deal was made, the money was sent over, and two days later, you and your entire team were baking like mad men, scrambling around to get everything ready and fresh for the hungry customers at the Hard Deck. At the same time, the Dagger Squad was running around getting the bar ready. Maverick had asked them to help, and none of them even considered refusing

An hour before opening, the Cozy Oven delivery van pulled up in front of the hard deck. Jake, Javy and Bradley had all gone on a run for the last bit of party supplies they needed, leaving Bob, Reuben, Natasha and Mickey to finish setting up what they could. Penny had told you not to worry about bringing a team to carry all the sweets in. She had her own.

Within minutes, everything was carried in, and while you knew there were dozens of Navy bars around, part of you was still nervous Jake would show up. “I can’t thank you enough.” Penny had trapped you in a conversation, seemingly unaware of how eager you were to leave

“Honestly, when Jake recommended you, I wasn’t sure but then he went on ranting and raving about your food and-” You stopped her, confused. “Jake…Recommended my bakery?” You had honestly figured he wouldn’t ever bring up the bakery again after how harsh you had turned him down. Penny nodded. “Oh yeah, he loves your doughnuts, says he’s put on ten pounds since finding you. Does him some good, I think.”

You left a few minutes later, confused, and very, very conflicted. Had you misjudged the whole situation? Had you misjudged Jake entirely? Why the hell would he recommend you for catering after everything?

The rest of your night was spent cleaning the bakery top to bottom. You couldn’t sleep when your head was so full of thoughts and when you couldn’t sleep, you needed to do something productive, or you would loose your fucking mind

By opening the next morning, you still hadn’t slept. Your hands were raw from scrubbing, back sore from mopping, but you still opened the bakery with a smile on your face, no matter how painted on that smile was

For a fourth time, Jake Seresin walked into the Cozy Oven. This time, he had no flowers, no styled hair and no practiced words. He approached the counter calmly. “Can I have a dozen doughnuts please?” He requested, perfectly polite

This could have been a perfectly normal customer interaction, an average experience…But there was one question burning the tip of your tongue. “Why did you tell Penny to cater from my bakery?” Half way through loading the doughnuts, you blurted it out

Jake paused, blinking rapidly before furrowing his brows. “Why wouldn’t I? You’re an amazing baker. I was the idiot. My friend needed a good baker and I knew one. Just cause I got rejected don’t mean I’m gonna go around bad mouthing the best bakery in California.”

The look on your face softened. Fuck. Stupid Jake and his stupid effect on your stupid heart. “And I am really, really sorry for what I said the other day. I uh…My friends tried to coach me on how to romance a woman instead of seduce. Guess I’m not a very good student.”

“You wanted to romance me?” The thought seemed shocking to you. Jake nodded. “I wasn’t lying when I told you, you’re damn beautiful. I’m just an idiot who never even thought about how to ask a lady on a date. I didn’t mean it in a bad way, when I told you I’d never gone after a woman like you before. I haven’t, and yet, you’re the only damn woman that’s been stuck in my mind this long.”

Jake hadn’t come here to bear his soul, but here he was, unable to stop talking, rambling like some nervous teenager all over again. He was stopped by a soft hand over his mouth. “Jake,” Slowly, your smile grew. “Ask me for my number again.”

His eyes went wide. Your hand moved away, allowing him to speak again. Heart racing like a horse in the Kentucky Derby, Jake did as asked. “Can I have your number, sweets?”

You reached behind the counter, grabbed that same business card that had shut him down so harshly before, and scribbled something on the back. “Ask me on a date.” You instructed him again. Hangman smirked. “You’re certainly a bossy thing, aren’t you?” He teased lightly

“Would you like to go on a real, romantic date with me, Sweetheart?” Your heart melted. Fuck. That accent really did something. Combined with those soft green eyes and there was no way you could deny him again. “Give me an hour notice before you pick me up, and I’ll be there.”

Jake leaned back in his chair, smiling. He had finished his story, and now, the Dagger’s knew exactly how he had met his wife. Three beats of silence passed before chaos exploded.

“THE GIRL YOU NEEDED ADVICE ON IS YOUR WIFE?!”

“I DIDN’T THINK ANYTHING CAME FROM THAT MAN YOU NEVER SAID ANYTHING.”

“How the fuck did he get married before Bob? Bob is prime husband material.”

Jake just smirked, finishing his drink. “Sorry boys, Phoenix, but I gotta get home. The Mrs gets real grumpy if she falls asleep alone, and I’m too good of a husband to make my wife unhappy.”

[jupiterpiss]

i keep seeing ex remmick which u eat up everytime but i’m wondering what the process of breaking up with him would be like

Thank youuuu 😝😝 I feel that a lot of this is kinda just me retelling some stuff.. maybe? Not really but it’s different ways he’ll be ruining your life that were mentioned before. This doesn’t have a ton of smut.. actually close to none lolz. This reads to be very.. aggressive on his end. It is supposed to be like that.. he’s a piece of shit sorry.

Honestly.. I think it would be a very complicated process.. because in my mind I think Remmick doesn’t necessarily ever think you two are ‘broken up’. Like yes.. you kicked him out and told him to fuck off and said this is over BUT LIKE you were just upset. People say means things all the time when they’re upset.

I truly don’t think he ever sees you as not satisfied.. cause he knowssss he’s satisfying you so like why are you acting mean and RUDE?? Not cool wtf. It’s kinda how he wouldn’t leave alone ANYONE IN THE JUKE JOINT even tho they told him to fuck off SEVERAL TIMES. He literally won’t take no for an answer, it’s not in his vocabulary so why should it be in yours.

So with that added pain of him not really seeing you as separated just ya know going through a mild disagreement.. which if he wants to call it that he shouldn’t be using the word mild. It’s farrr from it, like you two literally threaten each other, that’s not mild.

Threats of killing one another, threats of going to the police or family or vampire hunters. Everyone and anyone at this point. It’s bad. Wtv. Ahem.

Point is— it’s hard to leave someone who doesn’t see you as separated.

That’s also where the toxicity comes from, because at some point you become beyond annoyed with him. He won’t stop showing up, won’t stop threatening to eat your family, coming up with lies that he’ll change, that NO he isn’t mean.

You eventually meet your breaking point when you do try to move on, threaten to start sleeping with other people and he, I KIDD YOU NOT, yells about how you can’t be with anyone else cause uhhhh he’ll curse them to die from a terrible infection!

“Vampirism?”

“No.. worse. If you sleep around, every dick you touch will fall off.”

And he’s not kidding LMAOOO. Do I think he’ll have the ability to do that.. idk. I don’t actually know if vampires can actually possess people or anything.. but he does cause I said so. Not possess I guess but more so he makes them go crazy. Like actually crazy.

Remmick PLAGUES the minds of those you touch. Also.. he counts this as cheating on him. He’s not too fond of it, matter of fact it pisses him off really really bad but wtv. You’re just going through a weird phase.

Ya know those people who say ‘they know where home is’ when speaking about their cheating spouse? Yeah that’s fucking him. Except he also curses and scares off anyone you actually do. I don’t wanna go tooo in depth cause quite a few people asked for a second ex!Remmick post and one person asked for this exact scenario.. so more on that later. It’s gonna be part of the part 2 of that post.

Anyway.

Once your done with sleeping with other people cause CLEARLY that isn’t helping anyone (this proves his point right btw even tho it wasn’t on purpose on ur end.. he still sees you stopping as a means of you ‘leaving this phase’)

You decide that maybe packing up and moving would do good. Leaving your house, leaving your family, the town. Everything. Last day of packing tho he shows up and fucking flips his shit.

This is where I reallly wanna reel in the fact that toxic Remmick is extremely scary. Like really scary, you should probs not be trying to look for this man, type of scary. Cause he wrecks all your shit, tells you how are you going to leave when you have nothing??

“Fuck you! I’m done, we’re done— done! I’ve been done, I’m moving-“

He tuts, shaking his head slow, “and what exactly will you be leavin with? Got no furniture now, got no clothes, jewelry.. baby, you’re not prepared to go.”

And it’s like.. hello?? Yes I was but you literally lit all my shit on fire while happily jumping up and down. Hooting and hollering, happier than a fucking clam. He’s unwell. He saw all your stuff resting outside, heard you still shifting around stuff inside, packing the rest of what you got. You live far out.. so having shit stolen isn’t exactly on your mind but you thought ‘hey, just one more box and I’m done’ only to go outside to see a massive bonfire.

And who’s standing beside it with a box FILLED with matches? Remmick :))

He lights all your shit on fire, and if you have a car he slashes the tires. Lights it on fire too.. this is starting to sound actually really bad. Omg okay but HE DOES THIS OKAY. I’m not backing out, he destroys ur shit!!

Okay.. moving is a big no. And ya know what else is a big no.. ur friends. You see.. Remmick does some hunting and searching, he decides ya know what?! I’m gonna take this bitch’s friends. Yeahhh fuck you im making you a complete loner. So that’s what he does LMAOOOO he makes ur ass a bigger loser then him by quite literally taking out all of ur friends.

And he uses that hivemind like noooo one else. Forces them to try and convince you back together, that really he will change. That this is just a word phase ur going through, cold feet. Ya know.. but that’s okay! He’ll warm them up!! He completely takes away their personality, who they are. What they want, what made them.. them. Everything you loved, those imperfections, the characteristics.. mind you, these people are your home. A found family of some sort all built on the need to find connection outside of family. Outside of blood.

And that’s gone.

It freaks you out, rightfully so. Everyone is so.. bleak. A empty cast of what they use to be, pawns for his own destruction. Makes you wanna vomit and sob on the floor.

And you do. Really you do. You start to actually feel trapped, unable to really do anything.

Your friends keep saying, “just let us in! Let him in! I can see all his memories.. all his emotions. Everything. Honey, he really does love you.” And it would be a friend of urs that HATES men. Hello? Not the same person.

AND HE STILL WONT LEAVE GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE. Stillll thinks ur together and—

“ya know, this whole cat and mouse thing is really startin to get on my nerves, hun. Just- I don’t even know why you’re upset.”

He really doesn’t. Remmick doesn’t get why you won’t let him in, or why you keep claiming you broke up. You didn’t? He thinks he’s in the right, thinks all of this is for your own good cause.. you two are meant to be, mean to thrive together. Why would you give that up cause of one messy argument.

It wasn’t a messy argument and really he’s always been manipulative.

If he were to convince you to have make up sex he would try to baby trap you. I’m certain of it.. that or because I don’t think vampires can have babies, he would bite you. Just like in the fic. More on this later.. actually I’m thinking long and hard about this, you will be seeing it.

[lilacwinexi]

𝐌𝐲 A𝐥𝐥 -

James Kelly x f!reader

“id give my all to have just one more night with you.”

The rain had stopped hours ago, but the pavement still looked wet under the streetlight outside my window. A reflection shimmered on the floorboards, just enough to catch my eye every few seconds. I curled deeper into the blanket, knees to chest, phone resting heavy in my palm.

I told myself I wasn’t going to call. Not tonight. Not again. But my body ached in that specific way, not just for touch, not just for heat. But for him.

The way his hands knew where to go without asking. The way he kissed like he was saying something he didn’t have the words for. The way he looked at me like he already knew I was lying when I said I was fine.

I wasn’t.

And the silence in my room was too loud. He’d been gone for weeks, but the ghost of him never really left. I could still smell him on the pillow, still feel his breath in the curve of my neck if I lay still long enough. I hated how much of him still lived in this room. In me.

He told me to stop calling, said it only made things harder. But what was I supposed to do with all this need? What was I supposed to do with all this love?

My thumb hovered over his name on the screen. I didn’t mean to press it — not really. But I did.

“…hello?” His voice Low. Tired. Rough. It wrecked me.

“It’s me,” I whispered.

A pause. Not surprise. Just silence soaked in understanding.

“I know,” he said softly. And I cursed myself for hitting the call button.

“Im sorry, I know I said I wouldn’t call-“ He cut me off before I finished.

“Why’d you call?” I swallowed hard. “Because I miss you. And because pretending like I don’t doesn’t work anymore.”

He let out a breath, and I swear I heard him shift — sheets rustling, the soft creak of his bed frame. I imagined him sitting up, rubbing his hand across his face the way he always did when he was trying not to feel too much.

“I shouldn’t come over,” he said after a beat. But his voice didn’t sound convinced. “I know.” I replied, barely a whisper.

“But you want me to.” He said, in a quiet tone. I closed my eyes. “I want more than I should.”

He went silent.

Then, finally, “I still think about you,” he murmured. “Even when I don’t want to.”

“God, me too.” I rubbed my head, regretting my actions. I shouldn’t have called, but I’m too far gone now. And we both know this will only end in one way. I heard him sigh — that low, familiar sound that made my chest ache.

“I’ll be there in twenty.”

He hung up, leaving no room for argument. I stayed sitting on my bed for minute processing what just happened.Then I stood, brushing my hair out of my face, wiping my dark eyes. I didn’t bother with makeup. I didn’t bother changing. He’d seen me like this. And still, he always kissed me like I was something beautiful.

When the knock finally came, I was already at the door. He looked the same, damp from the misty night, eyes heavy, jacket in his hand, and something unreadable on his face.

I didn’t say a word. Just stepped back. He walked in like he never left, and I let him.

There was no small talk. No pretending. Just an undeniable tension in the room that was quickly fulfilled when he kissed me, it wasn’t soft — it was aching. His hands gripped my waist like he was afraid I’d disappear. My fingers curled into his shirt like I needed him to stay stitched together.

Clothes came off without a word.

His hands gripped my shirt, pulling it up and over my head slowly like he was scared I might break. I started working on his belt, none of us saying a word besides the breathy gasps and whimpers of need.

Once our clothes were off he laid me down on the bed, his hands going to my hips as his whole body pressed me into the mattress. The feeling of his skin against mine again was intoxicating, his fingertips digging into my hips.

I looked up into his eyes, watching his lust filled eyes as he entered me in a teasing stroke. My eyes rolled back, feeling his warm breath hit my collarbone as he began thrusting.

I watched, entranced, as his body moved against mine. He knew all the angles to drive me crazy. One arm rested against the pillow next to my head, hands gripping the plush pillow like he was holding back going too fast. His other hand resting on my hip, pulling me towards his thrusts.

I let out soft moans, throwing my head back against the pillow. My back arching up until my breasts were pressed against his chest. It felt so wrong and so right, after all this time without him. His cross necklace swung back and forth in front of my face as he rolled his hips into mine.

Suddenly, breathless and needy, he turned over onto his back. His hands immediately gripped my hips, guiding me up and down. Once I got the right motion and rhythm, he let go of my hips and placed his hands at the back of his head. His hips still bucking upwards to meet my thrusts.

I let out filthy noises, rolling my hips like a wild animal. He watched me, his mouth slightly open, letting out casual whimpers. “Oh god…” he whispered, his chest sweaty and heaving. He looked pathetically handsome, and so close to his release.

He sat up suddenly, leaning against the headboard. Pulling me impossibly closer like he wanted us to mold together. I wasn’t complaining. His arms wrapped around me, thrusting faster up into me. I let out a louder moan, leaning my forehead against his shoulder.

The room filled with the dirty sounds of our love making, skin slapping and wet noises combined with our needy moans. “Look at me…” he said breathlessly, and I lifted my head to look up into his blue eyes. I let out a soft moan, leaning my forehead against his as I felt him twitch inside me.

Our breaths mingled as we chased each others release. My hips moving at a steady speed, his hands squeezing the skin on my hips, silently encouraging me. I looked up into his eyes and the look in them was enough to unravel me. My body convulsed in his arms as I came hard. He let out a loud groan, squeezing his eyes shut. Feeling him fill me up in a matter of seconds.

We stayed wrapped in each other for a few moments, our chests heaving against one another. I placed my sweaty forehead against his shoulder, softly kissing the skin. His thumb lazily rubbed my thigh, a comforting thing he’s always done after sex.

I lift my head and look up at him, cupping his face. “I’d give my all just to have this again.” I say softly, my voice rough from the passionate moment earlier. He didn’t answer. But he leaned in and kissed my forehead, and that was enough of an answer for me.

[twiishaa]

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋‎♪ what you want t.oikawa x reader , comfort approx 650 words warnings i think it deteriorates pretty quickly also this is very much based on me

content you feel insecure about your future and begin to wonder how your boyfriend can follow his passion so fearlessly.

--

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 “SAY, tooru,” you begin to ask the brunette boy in front of you. he stops walking and turns back to look at you. there they were again– his intense eyes always make you dizzy. it must be nice, you wonder for a second before carrying on.

“you’re going to go pro, aren’t you? –with volleyball, i mean. when you graduate?” the clauses were all mixed up and oikawa took a second to process the question before answering.

“i am, yeah– was there something wrong?” he asks in response. the evening breeze blows through your hair. it makes you look ethereal, he thinks. but there’s something else in your expression– he can tell. it’s bittersweet, and pensive.

“no! nothing wrong!” you exclaim quickly. “just thinking, it must be nice to have your heart dead set on something, and know what you’re doing. i really wish i had the guts to follow my dreams like that…” your voice trails off in something like fear, but not quite. i’ve said too much, you think quickly– you’d never bared your feelings like this before. oikawa, your boyfriend, looks… surprised? suddenly the calm evening breeze feels bitter, seeping through your skin. oikawa jogs to where you are, and clasps your hands between his.

“oh, baby,” oikawa says, a half-whisper, warm unlike the air around him. the amount of feeling spilling out from those two words made your heart ache, tears beginning to build up.

oikawa knew exactly what you meant– something was off with you ever since you handed in your career form. why didn’t he figure it out earlier? holding you in a tight hug, his warmth surrounding you, he asks again, “have you been thinking about this for a while?”

you don’t want to tell him the truth– you know it’ll hurt him. you know it’ll confirm his fears– that you’ve been jealous of your own boyfriend– envying his courage and ability to follow his dreams without any fears. but you can’t hide it anymore. softly, you nod.

oikawa knows what that means. he’s angry– not at you– at himself, because he didn’t figure it out earlier. but quickly, he looks at you, crying in his arms– and the evening breeze goes from cold to unbearable.

oikawa can tell you’re scared, more than anything. “hey, just because i’m going pro, doesn’t mean i’m not scared. i worry every night– that i’m not going to make it.”

“you’re talented though, tooru– you’ll definitely make it,” you whisper into his shoulder. he chuckles at your response. “that’s exactly what i think of you too, baby.”

the familiar scent of oikawa’s cologne grounds you. after a pause, you whisper carefully, as if sharing a secret– in a sense it was, something you’d held close to your heart forever; but you were certain oikawa would understand.

“a singer.” the collection of vinyls in your room makes sense now, oikawa thinks to himself– so did the tiktoks you reposted of covers of your favourite songs. there were little clues along the way– a genuine smile gently washes over his face. “i think you’d be an amazing singer,” he whispers genuinely; voice so full of love it was about to burst at its seams.

other than volleyball– maybe even more than it, this is what oikawa dreamt about the most– being able to be vulnerable with someone else. no one else saw you like he did, and he took pride in it. maybe it made him a selfish person– he didn’t care; all that mattered to him was you.

heartbeat ringing in your ears, you feel light. the ‘childish’ dream you’ve had since you were five begins to feel a little real on this dimly lit road– and all it took was whispering it to the person you treasured the most.

you look up at oikawa. now, you meet his eyes full of determination with yours, a hidden passion slowly starting to emerge, colouring your irises brighter than ever before. “can i go and change my career form?” you ask, giggling.

“of course.” oikawa grabs hold of your hand and starts running back to school, the breeze warming up as the evening gives way.

note this is your sign to follow your dreams💞 i've been having this crisis in my head for so long

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ like what you read? here’s the masterlist! ٩(๑❛ᴗ❛๑)۶

[yaseraphine]

pick a card 12 - what are you currently manifesting ?

masterlist / ko-fi

my last reading : the dynamic between you and your future lover

Pile 1

Ace of Swords, 5 of Pentacles, The Magician

So, Pile 1, really interesting that you got The Magician in a “what are you currently manifesting ?” reading, when it is the ultimate master manifestor card. I feel like there is maybe a need for you to recall your manifesting powers. Maybe some of your manifestations didn’t go well, didn’t flourish or manifested the way you expected or it literally did not manifest. Either way, there is a need to take a new approach to the way you manifest with the ace of swords being there, calling you to change your mental state or method of approaching manifestation. I am not an expert of the different methods there are to manifest but you need to find a new one. Seeing the ace of swords falling first, then the 5 of pentacles, which is a card that can indicate a lack mentality, a new way of thinking needs to be manifested. What I am seeing is that you are manifesting a new mentality, a new way of seeing things that will lead to better manifestations. Changing your outlook and taking a step back from thoughts that stem from insecurity or lack will clear up your mind and help you manifest better, with a clearer idea and better intentions. 

Some of you could benefit from writing prompts. Everything that has to do with writing, and communication. Maybe speak your manifestations out loud, tell people what you want and it might help you “boost” those manifestations.

Capricorn - Ambition, Realism and Methodical Steps

You are currently manifesting more ambition and more dedication towards your goals/ manifestations. There is this energy of a *mise en abyme, you are manifesting new manifesting methods which leads you to manifest more accurately your manifestations. (why is this sentence so hard to read). You will take a more realistic and methodical approach to your manifestations. Maybe in the past the reason why a lot of your manifestations failed was because you were too impatient or you skipped certain steps. Right now, you are learning that manifestation is not an overnight thing and that it takes time. You’re accepting how slow it can be to manifest what you want, and this will reward you with your manifestations coming the way you want and long term.

*mise en abyme : “Mise en abyme is a play of signifiers within a text, of sub-texts mirroring each other. This mirroring can attain a level where meaning may become unstable and, in this respect, may be seen as part of the process of deconstruction. The film-within-a-film, where a film contains a plot about the making of a film, is an example of mise en abyme.” Seeing the literal definition, I don’t really know why it came up lol You’re just manifesting manifesting methods. What a headache lol

Quote : The one you are looking for is you.

I don’t really see the correlation between this quote and the rest of the reading but you might resonate with it somehow. 

This was all for you Pile 1, hope it resonated ! I am sending you lots of love and see you in the next reading !

Pile 2

Knight of Wands, Ace of Wands, Strength, Queen of Cups

Pile 2… When I tell you the cards flew violently and flipped sharply on my table lol There is a really sure and decisive energy coming from your pile. You are sure of your manifestations and you believe that the universe is working with you and that everything will work out in your favor. This sharp and confident energy of how the cards flew out of the deck is even more backed up by the fact that 4 cards fell (instead of three like I asked, so you want more and you will get more for sure !) 3 are fire cards : The Knight of Wands, the Ace of Wands and Strength. I am seeing a fresh energy here. You just got recently started with an idea, you recently planted a seed and just like an athlete runner, you’re about to fearlessly take off from the starting blocks. Some of you might actually have already started running. You’re following your intuition while acting on your instincts. It is a beautiful mix of fire and water energy that you are combining together here. You are determined, but not ruthless. You know that you will have to slow down at some point while manifesting this thing. It’s weird because I have the feeling you already manifested that project. It feels like it is career/ personal goal related. You are just leveling up on that thing. For instance, your goal was to just lose 15 pounds in the first half of 2025. You managed to do it successfully and now you are feeling in the right energy/alignment to not only lose weight, but to also build muscle mass and start genuinely doing some kind of sport. Wait. Some of you might be manifesting a long life hobby !! I am seeing it could be anything : crochet, pole dance, chess, creative writing, etc.. It’s like you’ve been desperately trying to “glow up”, find something that you are good at, that makes you genuinely passionate for the new years’ resolutions but despite your numerous attempts, it was unsuccessful. And, the moment you give up (which might be your current mood), you’ll be invited to somewhere, have the urge to try something, come across a post randomly about a specific activity. You’ll try it with a mentality “ I really got nothing to lose” and go out  of it completely shocked because that thing just ignited something inside of you. You might become obsessive over this, practicing it whenever you can, day and night, out of pure passion. Man, this is beautiful, pile 2 ! 

Mutable - Surrender, Fluidity and Welcoming change

What you are currently manifesting is surrendering that will lead to long-term success ! The more you try not to control the situation and accept the flow of things, the more easily you will manifest this fated discovery/hobby. Accept invitations, interact with your friends, interact with people and try to keep a positive attitude ! Stay open to new experiences and don’t expect anything in return, just enjoy the moment and try to be present as much as possible. Don’t hesitate to interact with strangers. Especially if you overhear a conversation about a topic you’re interested in, don’t hesitate to try to come at them and include yourself in the conversation. These kinds of little bursts of courage socially will lead you more easily towards that discovery. I am hearing this : “Enjoy the process of getting to know people without expecting anything in return”. Really interesting! I love your pile 

Quote : Do what makes your soul shine ! <3

Your pile is a little messy because it took me a while to get to the heart of the topic of your specific situation. I am choosing to leave it like that because I think it’s important to understand the progression of the reading, even if it is a bit incoherent  ! 

This was all for you Pile 2, hope it resonated ! I am sending you lots of love and see you in the next reading !

Pile 3

7 of Wands, 7 of Pentacles and 8 of Wands

Interesting start, Pile 3. You got 2 cards that are 7 and the 8th, which follows the 7 of Wands. There is a continuity to something. You are manifesting going above obstacles thrown at you. You are currently manifesting defensiveness if that makes sense. You might have been avoiding a situation, a confrontation of some sort. At some point, you will have no choice but to confront it head on. It may actually come at you before you can say anything and you will have to defend yourself on the spot. It’s like you’ve procrastinated paying for a specific bill, pushing it for tomorrow every time you remember it. Then, one glorious day, you get a call from your banker, let's say and they tell you that you have to go to the bank tomorrow at 10 am to pay for the unpaid fees/ the unpaid bill otherwise it could end up in court. You may get scared on the spot because you will be forced to do what you dreaded to do for so long. However, once the meeting at the bank/ the confrontation is finished, you will feel free and liberated from this thing that has been weighing on your mind. Maybe it’s not something you are actively avoiding, but more so an important meeting , a custody battle, just think of any situation where you will need to defend yourself with bravery and fearlessness that was planned weeks or even months ago. You’re approaching the fateful day and it may scare you but it seems the odds will be in your favor even if you are not so prepared. Again, depending on your situation, still approach it carefully but stand your ground. 

 South Node - Destined to release / TOD - the top of the deck is Libra, this highlights the “justice” and mediation aspect I was feeling above

Okay, pile 3, it’s pretty clear to me : you are manifesting the resolution of a conflict. Something that kept you up at night, that made you overtly worried, something you were anxiously clinging to : you will finally have the courage, the balls may I say, to face it head on. You’ll finally prefer the temporary discomfort of conflict resolving than putting things under the rug to keep some kind of nauseous and anxiety-inducing peace. Interesting that this is coming up because yesterday I was reading about the north node in aries and the south node in libra axis and something that was said in the article (that I am putting the link of here) really struck me : “To find long-lasting peace, sometimes we need to go to war”. 

I think this perfectly sums up your situation. And even if it is something so seemingly small as “finally going outside after two weeks of self-isolation because of seasonal depression”, it is still facing fears and going above them. I am hearing “Be scared and do it anyway”. This is the mentality you are manifesting to get this conflict resolution. 

Quote : You get in life what you have the courage to ask for and "Be the reason someone smiles today !" (really wholesome all of sudden lmaoo)

Your pile was so deep ! I loved reading it, like really ! 

This was all for you Pile 3, hope it resonated ! I am sending you lots of love and see you in the next reading !

[voie-lacte3]

sidewalk rule with mason thames

—the one where mason always walks on the side closest to the street

| based on this request

| taglist

| the rest of his masterlist!

mason always walks on the side closest to the street, whether it's crowded, raining, day or night, hoodie on or off.

he’s not dramatic about it.

he just… does it. every time. and if you ever try to walk closest to traffic?

“nah, switch with me. just—yeah, stay on that side.”

he does it instinctively. no fanfare. no lecture. just silent protection.

────୨ৎ────

• if it starts raining, he puts himself closest to the cars splashing water and throws his hoodie over your head without thinking, “i got it. stay dry.”

• you're walking and talking so you don’t notice you're getting close to the curb, mason just gently grabs your hand and tugs you toward the inside without stopping the convo.

⤷ “and then she said—”, he tugs you across the sidewalk, “…what was that?”, “you were about to get hit by a bus, keep going.”

• one day you ask him why he always does it. he just shrugs and goes, “my mom always said if you love someone, you protect them, even from little things.”(cue your heart combusting.)

• he says funny things like: “you know i’m not letting you walk near traffic, right? who do you think i am?.” “get over there. i’m not tryna let a rogue Uber take you out.” “stay close. i like you too much to let you get hit by a bus.”

────୨ৎ──── first blurb

you’re walking next to mason down your neighborhood street. the sky’s pink from the sunset, your sleeves are too long, and you’re rambling about some girl from your class who doesn’t know how to whisper. you're halfway through your story, hands flying around, voice full of drama, when you feel him tug your wrist lightly. no words. just a gentle pull.

you blink and look down, and that’s when it hits you.

you're now walking on the inside of the sidewalk. he’s on the outside. again, between you and the cars.

you pause mid-step.

“wait. why do you always do that? walk on that side?”

mason looks over, confused for a second. “do what?” “that sidewalk thing. you switch sides every time.”

he looks at the street then at you, shrugging like it’s obvious. “hello? thats the street side. dont want you to get hit by a car?”

“i mean yeah, but… you always do it.”

“duh??? im not gonna let my precious girlfriend get hit by a car, be for real”

you laugh. “okay protector.” he grins. “damn right. sidewalk rule, babe. don’t fight it.”

then quietly, softer, almost like an accident, “i like keeping you safe.”

and you swear your heart does a backflip.

────୨ৎ──── second blurb

you and mason are walking in downtown dallas after grabbing some tacos. your hand’s in his, you’re half-complaining about your sandals, and the traffic is absolute hell.

people were driving like they were cast for a fast and furious spinoff, causing mason to— every 4 steps, gently guide you toward the inside of the sidewalk again. and again. and again.

you eventually get distracted by a guy walking down the street with a snake around his neck (??) that you dont notice yourself accidentally drift towards the street.

before you can even process it, mason tugs you back hard enough that you stumble into his chest.

“Jesus Christ mace, im not gonna get hit by a car.”

he gives you one of the most outrageous side eyes known to man, “have you seen how people in texas drive?” he mutters, arm going around your waist. “stay on the inside. these texans will run you over and reverse to do it again.”

you roll your eyes, “dramatic much?” “babe. that ford F-250 didn’t even slow down at the red light.”

“okay but like, i can protect myself.” “puh-lease, you barely dodge curbs. the city’s tryna end you.”

he tugs you closer as a car screeches past, the wind making your hair blow all over your face.

you glare. “okay fine. but i still feel babied.”

“you're not being babied. you're being girlfriended. there's a difference.”

he kisses your cheek mid-stride like it’s the most casual thing in the world, wrapping an arm tight around your waist as another car zooms past.

────୨ৎ──── third blurb

the two of you are trying to leave a restaurant. it was highkey supposed to be lowkey, but a few paps caught on....and then a few more.

suddenly you're on the sidewalk, lights flashing, voices calling out your name. one guy yells something about mason, another says something gross about your outfit.

you feel yourself freeze up instantly.

mason doesn’t even blink. his arm snakes around your waist. he shifts you to the inside of the sidewalk so fast it’s instinct, putting himself directly between you and them.

“breathe. i got you.”

his hand tightens on your hip, and he leans in close—not for the cameras, but just for you.

“look at me. not them.”

────୨ৎ──── fourth blurb

you’re walking back to his car after a late-late night ice cream run. it’s quiet, peaceful, and you’re full of cookie dough and love.

he’s half-asleep and rambling about movie ideas when you gently tug him to the inside of the sidewalk.

he blinks.

“...did you just sidewalk-rule me?”

“you're clearly tired. if you love someone, you protect them, even from little things,"

he… stops, looking at you like you personally rewired the stars, softest smile on his face.

“damn. imma marry you.”

“relax lover boy. i just moved you off the curb.”

“and it was hot.”

a/n: i hope this does the request justice 💔 lmk if yall want a full fic on this!!

tags: @bluebvrriee @v4mpire-bit3s @neroloops @m-e-m06 @icollectrubberduckies @tuttifrutt1 @unsaidjaelinrose @sorry-for-party-rocking-rah @courta13 @thegr8estpuff @thamesbunni @user168537 @katie-the-bookworm @cecedelove

[moesthoughts]

jackie taking care of drunk fem reader at a party, reader could get into a fight with someone who said something gross about jackie

ೃ࿔ looking out for you

Jackie loves you, she really does. She doesn’t expect to fall more in love when you defend her at a party, even if you’re very drunk.

pairing 𝜗𝜚 jackie taylor x fem reader

warnings 𝜗𝜚 alcohol, slight sexism, puke mentions, mostly pure fluff!

Party’s are all the same to Jackie, she gets drunk, has an ounce of fun with her friends until some random jerk comes along, and then leaves. She doesn’t expect this party to go any different, even if she brought you along this time. She lost you half way through, you disappeared through the crowd of people to go make yourself a drink again, she hasn’t been counting how much you’ve fled to that table. Jackie knows she should be concerned, but she trusts you enough that she can be confident that you know your limits when it comes to alcohol.

A few shots later and Jackie is pretty tipsy, not enough to be completely drunk, but she’s still having a good enough time. She’s twirling Shauna around, snorting at Van’s jokes, chanting while Nat chugs another drink down, she’s having a blast. After awhile, she remembers she brought you to the party. She curses under her breath and heads over to the drink table where she last saw you. Lo’ and behold you, making shots for everyone that surrounds you.

“Jesus christ, I was worried about you!”

That familiar tone laced Jackie’s voice, angry but concerned. She swears her stomach drops even more when you look at her, a dopey smile painted on your face, and your eyes droopy. She sighs and places a hand on your back, the least she can do is help you play bartender.

“Hi Jackie! Yknow.. I’m reeeaally good at this.”

Jackie rolls her eyes, but can’t fight the small smile that makes its way onto her face. She can’t be mad at you, especially when you look so happy. She aligns the solo cup with your shaky hands as you pour the tequila into it, along with sprite to make a makeshift cocktail. As you turn around to give the drink away, you’re both met with Randy, who has a snarky look on his face.

“Jackie Taylor! Hey you.. I wouldn’t be seen with her after she left Jeff for someone else, What a slut right?”

Jackie is taken aback, she could care less about being shamed. Though, when he roped you into it is where she draws the line. She opens her mouth to defend herself, of course she refuses to stay quiet—

“Do you ever shut up Randy?”

Until you spoke up, she presses her lips together. Jackie can only gaze at you, your lips curled into a frown, your eyebrows furrowed, a complete change from your demeanor when cocktails were made. She isn’t sure if she should be concerned that you started a fight with a huge dude who plays football, or be proud. Either way she stays quiet while you chew his ear out, watching in awe as your mouth moves. She can only fall more in love with you.

“You’re a chick, stop getting in my face like you’re a dude!”

That statement only causes you to get closer, and your hands to ball up into fists. When Randy’s arm makes a subtle movement, that’s when Jackie steps in. She grabs your arm and drags you back towards her, holding your bicep close to her chest. She has a fierce look in her eyes, like she’s about to bite the boy’s head off. She bites her tongue again, she isn’t worried about Randy, but you. She leads you towards a bathroom as you hunch over in her arms. She only just processed how drunk you actually are, she doesn’t care about the party anymore, her world needs to revolve around you.

“Hey, don’t worry. I got you.”

Jackie doesn’t speak above a whisper, even with the loud music drumming against the door, you can still somehow hear her. Her hand rests on your back and she makes sure your hair doesn’t fall in your face. She tries to ignore the anxiety bubbling in her stomach as she watches you sway, you can’t even sit correctly. Regrets plague her mind, why didn’t she stay with you? She hates how you didn’t cross her mind until she had a few drinks, all she can do is pray you don’t have alcohol poisoning.

“Hey babe, I’m here. How are you feeling?”

Her tone is gentle as she dabs your mouth with a paper towel. She’s faced with your glassy eyes, staring at her like a doe. She bites her lip, it feels as if her heart broke then and there. Jackie embraces you, petting your hair as you lay against her shoulder, completely slumped. Her painted nails work through your strands in an attempt to comfort you without words.

“I don’t like that people talk about you like that, Jackie.”

Of course you avoid her question, and successfully quiet her too. Jackie peers at the ceiling, recalling all the names she’s been called after dumping the school’s most treasured football player, Jeff Sideki. After she met you, she couldn’t imagine being with a man anymore, let alone one who doesn’t even know how to treat her right. She’s lucky to have you by her side, especially since you’re so quick to defend her name. Her attention returns to you, and a soft smile pulls at her lips.

“Yeah. Uh– Thank you for having my back there, that really means a lot to me.”

Your knuckles graze her jaw, causing her to subconsciously lean into your touch. The low sound of rock is oddly comforting while you both snuggle in the bathroom, even if your head is still foggy. You two settle against the wooden cabinets, the cool metal of the knob digging into Jackie’s back, she doesn’t mind, especially since she has you in her arms.

“I love you Jackie, I meant it.”

You utter out, your eyes unable to tear themselves way from her face. Jackie’s breath escalates, and for the first time she actually believes in the word “love”. Your tone sweet like sugar, and the gaze of Romeo looking at Juliet, how can she not be convinced? She brushes another hair behind your ear, she feels mushy inside, a completely new feeling to her.

“I love you too.”

She manages to respond to you, happy to finally be able to express her love without lying straight to someone’s face. Jackie pulls you into a kiss, the fruity taste of her lipgloss touching your taste buds. You return the kiss and press your hand into the back of her head, wanting to taste more of that pretty pink gloss. She draws away from you with a huff for air, her lips now glistening from your saliva. You two share a long look, hearts practically forming in your eyes. She can only think about taking you back home so she could have more of you, in a more private space.

“Let’s head home, I’ll make Shauna drive.”

Jackie helps you up before slinking an arm around your shoulders, she isn’t letting you go so easily anymore.

i’m half asleep.. but enjoy the jackie food.. sorry for the late posts lately’n hope you enjoy anon 🤍🤍

req me!

masterlist

[alaiasole]

🥂welcome back to solè’s bar🥂

tonight’s special: onyakopon, your paranoia, & the party you had to show up to.

→ ony x black!reader | angst | modern au |

───────────────────────────

you and ony had been planning to go to connie’s party for weeks talkin’ about it every night, you already had your outfit laid out, hair booked, everything. but the night before, your body betrayed you. throat scratchy, head pounding, stomach turning you could barely keep your eyes open.

ony had been sweet about it too, babying you all night, saying, “it’s okay, mama, if you ain’t feelin’ good, we don’t gotta go.” but you could tell he wanted to. connie was his boy since forever and missing his party? you knew he didn’t wanna do that.

so when you woke up feelin’ a little better, the first thing you did was tell him to go.

“don’t miss the party ‘cause of me,” you whispered, snuggled under your blankets. “i’ll be okay. that’s your best friend, go have fun.”

he hesitated, kissed your forehead, rubbed your thigh all gentle. “you sure?”

“yeah, i promise.”

he left. you rested.

but by mid-afternoon, you was feelin’ good as new. your girls found out before you could even process it.

sasha’s name popped up on your screen, facetime ringing.

“girl… i heard you wasn’t feelin’ good.”

“i wasn’t… but i’m okay now.”

“so you comin’ to the party, right?” sasha grinned like she already knew your answer.

“girl, no… it’s already late, ony’s there…”

“i don’t care. i’m coming to get you.”

before you could argue, she hung up.

you sent a quick text to your man:

ony🫶🏾:

hey baby, just wanted to let you know i’m feelin’ better, the girls convinced me to come to the party. see you there 🤍

you waited for that text back, but your girls were already bursting through your door, hyping you up, laying your edges, zipping your dress, pouring shots you barely had time to overthink.

the car ride to the party was loud, full of music and giggles, but your chest? tight. phone? dry.

no text back.

“girl, you’re overthinking,” you told yourself, staring at your screen like it might light up any second.

you pulled up to the party. music bumpin’, lights flashing, people everywhere. connie’s backyard packed shoulders brushing, cups in hand, laughter spilling into the air.

you smiled, pushing down that bad feeling.

but as you walked through the crowd, greeting people, taking shots, you couldn’t shake it. no sign of ony. no text. no “see you soon.” not even a “where you at?”

an hour passed.

then another thirty minutes.

the pit in your stomach grew heavy.

you checked your phone again.

still nothing.

and that’s when you knew…

something wasn’t right.

you couldn’t shake the feeling. it was crawling up your spine, squeezing your chest tight, making your pulse race.

where is he?

you start lookin’ around, weaving through the crowd, eyes scanning faces, but he’s nowhere in sight.

first person you spot? jean.

“jean, hey have you seen ony?”

he blinks, looks around like he gotta think real hard. “uh… nah, not in a while.”

weird.

you brush it off, keep moving. mikasa’s next, cup in hand, standing near the speakers.

“hey, mikasa, you seen ony around?”

she frowns a little, eyes darting to the side. “no… maybe he’s outside?”

but when you peek outside nothing.

your heart thuds heavy.

you try again. reiner. ymir. sasha’s even lookin’ now.

every person you ask? same confused face, same haven’t seen him, same weird little pause before they answer. it don’t sit right with you.

why’s everybody actin’ like they forgot who your boyfriend is?

you head upstairs, push open random doors.

empty bedrooms.

closets.

bathrooms.

no sign of him.

by now your stomach’s in knots.

you come back down, breath shaky, eyes darting through the room like you missed something. that’s when you see him.

connie.

you make a beeline for him, tapping his shoulder.

he turns

his whole face falls.

eyes wide, like he’s seen a ghost.

mouth parted.

color drained.

like you ain’t supposed to be here. like you caught him in the middle of something.

“connie… have you seen ony?” you ask, watching his reaction close.

he clears his throat, shifts his weight, eyes bouncing everywhere but yours.

“nah… haven’t seen him in a bit.”

his voice wobbles. his jaw’s tight. his hand flexes at his side.

your heart sinks lower.

he’s lying.

you can feel it in your chest.

but you force a smile, nod, “oh… okay. thanks.”

but your gut?

it’s screaming.

something’s wrong.

and you’re about to find out exactly what.

your feet move before your mind catches up.

there’s a crowd gathered near the back of the house people in a tight little circle, all hovering, whispering, laughing too low.

your chest tightens.

you head that way, weaving through the party, but people keep stoppin’ you like they tryna slow you down.

“hey girl! you finally came out?” some girl grabs your arm, fake smiling so wide it looks painful.

you force a laugh, peel her off. “yeah, yeah hold up, I’m lookin’ for somethin’.”

another one calls your name someone from class.

then another.

it’s like the whole party suddenly remembered you exist.

why they actin’ weird?

they keep touchin’ your arm, leanin’ in your face, tryna make small talk, block your path but your eyes stay locked on that group of people.

the closer you get, the heavier your chest feels.

your heartbeat’s pounding so loud you can barely hear the music anymore.

people step aside when they see you comin’.

you don’t notice the pity in their eyes

the way they glance at each other

the way their mouths tighten like they already know how bad this finna hurt.

you just keep moving.

closer

closer

your stomach flips when you finally break through the circle

eyes landing on them.

your heart stops.

no.

no, your eyes are lying.

they gotta be.

onykopon’s hands on some girl’s waist

her arms wrapped around his neck

his mouth locked on hers like they ain’t at a party full of people.

you go dizzy, knees damn near buckle.

your stomach twists, throat burning like you gon’ throw up right here, in front of everybody.

it’s not real.

it can’t be.

you blink

but they still there.

his lips still on hers.

until

like he feels you.

his eyes snap open.

he pulls back, turns

eyes locking on yours.

his face drains of all color.

his mouth falls open

shock, guilt, panic flooding his face all at once.

it’s quiet, even though the music still plays.

the world tilts sideways.

you can’t breathe.

you do the only thing your body lets you

you run.

you don’t even know where your legs carrying you

you just run.

outside

air cold on your face

mind spinning

heart cracking wide open.

you stop near the sidewalk, chest heaving, vision all blurred from tears.

then arms wrap around you from behind.

that voice you used to love more than anything whispers, “baby… i’m sorry…”

you rip yourself out his grip, spinning around, voice breaking all over the place.

“why?”

your throat burns.

your words barely come out.

“why would you do this to me?”

tears spill down your face, hot and fast.

he tries to grab your hands

you yank away.

“you cheated on me, ony! in front of everybody what the fuck is wrong with you?!”

he shakes his head, eyes wide, mouth stumbling over his words.

“it wasn’t like that it was a dare—”

you freeze.

blink.

“a—” you scoff, voice rising, heartbreak laced in every word, “a fucking dare? are you dumb? are we in fucking middle school?!”

you shove his chest, voice cracking mid-sentence.

“why would you play like that? why would you embarrass me like that? in front of everybody? you made me look stupid—”

your voice breaks entirely

you can’t even finish.

you cover your face with your hands, sobs shaking through your body so hard your knees damn near buckle.

he catches you, arms sliding around you again, pulling you close even while your fists weakly hit his chest.

“i’m sorry… i’m so fuckin’ sorry, baby, please—”

he holds your face in both hands, thumbs brushing your cheeks, his forehead pressed against yours.

your breathing’s ragged, tears still falling, vision all blurry

he leans in

his lips just inches from yours

and that’s where it stops.

but suddenly

“baby? baby are you listening?”

his voice cuts through everything.

you blink.

reality slaps you dead in the face.

ony’s standing right in front of you, eyes soft, confused.

what the fuck?

your throat feels dry.

you glance around.

you’re not outside.

you’re not at the party.

you’re in your room.

your mind’s spiraling.

did you really just sit here… and imagine your man cheating on you? kissing some random girl? you imagined arguing with him? crying? the whole fuckin’ meltdown?

what the hell is going on in your brain?

ony raises a brow, tilting his head.

“you good? i was asking if you still coming to connie’s party.”

you stare blankly at him.

his lips move but your brain’s still glitching.

you imagined all that?

like some final destination, but make it relationship heartbreak edition?

your voice barely works

“my bad… what were you saying?”

he laughs lightly, still looking at you crazy.

“i said… you still coming to connie’s? or you staying in? you just told me you wasn’t feeling good—”

“i’m coming.”

you cut him off too fast.

voice flat, mind spinning.

“aight… okay then,” he shrugs, walking off like nothing happened.

but your chest’s tight.

your head’s fuzzy.

what the fuck did you just imagine?

now you gotta go to this party

cause after that mental movie your brain just played?

you need to see it for your damn self.

[himbochub]

there is so much to be said for how humongous you've made yourself in two months and each time you or even your @ crosses my timeline I get so flustered because FUUUCK you look so great, like as someone close in weight to you the way you've bloomed from someone that was already heavy enough to make me go speechless to really take in all the ways you've spoiled every inch of yourself with a new layer of soft and calories, the way this bulk is making your arms look or how your distension highlights every brain numbing, leg shaking aspect of what having to control yourself for so long and how now that the cork on that restraint is popped your body welcomed all that new weight, size, mass with such grace ugh I'm jelly af , you remind me each time seeing you that I'm slacking in my bulk and I don't know what's more exciting knowing how that this is just the start and getting to join in on the pride of knowing how big you've gotten through this process through your greed and need to be huge alone or the tons of people shoveling kilos in calories in there face thinking I need to get fucking huge like himbo; you've gotten so jiggly and round you've made it even more addicting and not just for you for all of us

don’t even know where to start with this, just so sweet, thank you! i love knowing that my hedonism rubs off on other fatties everywhere 🥵🥵🥵🥵

[katieaki]

My ✨ post-apocalyptic Lesbian Cowgirl Mailman choose-your-own adventure✨ has just updated! Read it here for free on my Patreon and vote in the poll! Here is a guide to get you started, the summaries of each part of the story thus far, the complete collected text, and FAQ, all in one place. They have everything you need to know about Lou, her requited-but-complicated love, the religious assassin who just beat the tar out of her, the worst person she's ever met, and the ill-advised journey she is on! There is also a discord where Pony Express readers from all across god's green internet can gather, here!

✨Read the update for free on my patreon & vote on what happens next!

✨ Excerpt below the cut. ⚠️‼️ cw: discussion of past cannibalism!

Artie wasn’t just issuing commands. She was speaking from personal experience. She’d eaten people to stay alive. If her sister had starved to death, there couldn’t have been much meat on her. What had there been for them to eat except her organs? Lou looked down into her bowl, suddenly able to see the distinctive shape of one of the kidneys. She felt herself go pale and looked up at Artie. She’d eaten people. She’d eaten people’s organs.

Artie looked back at her. “Wait, are you gonna hurl?” she asked.

Lou shook her head more confidently than she felt, but Artie jumped up and ran to grab the empty washbasin from the stand and brought it to her. 

“Don’t puke. Do not puke. You need to keep it down. It’s your medicine,” she said, holding the basin under Lou’s chin for her. “Come on, cowgirl. You’re tough. It’s just a little offal.”

“No it ain’t,” Lou said, wincing. She took deep breaths and tried to calm her stomach. “It tasted fine, good, even. I just– I just got kinda funny.”

“What?” Artie said, cocking her head to the side in confusion. Then, suddenly, she laughed a big, surprised laugh. She could barely keep the bowl steady under Lou’s chin. “No, not a-w-f-u-l, o-f-f-a-l.”

Lou looked back at her and waited for her to remember that she couldn’t spell and had no idea what that string of letters meant. When it hit her, Artie laughed even harder. Lou’s nausea was burned clean away by a scalding flash of anger. She pushed the basin in Artie’s hand away from herself, nearly upsetting her dinner tray in the process.

“Fuck off,” Lou said, as Artie continued to laugh. “It ain’t funny.”

“I’m sorry, I just–” Artie began.

“Shut up,” Lou said. Every trace of her previous nausea was gone. Without really thinking about it, she furiously tucked into the rest of her meal. She was too annoyed and embarrassed to worry about organ meats or cannibalism. She just ate until the floral pattern on the bottom of the bowl became visible.

“Man, all I had to do was get you pissed off like this? This is the secret?” Artie asked. She leaned back against the footboard with a big smile. “That’s too easy. I could have been doing this all along.”

[m0r1bund]

I know most artists are probably annoyed to hell and back with art advice questions…

No idea on your stance so I’ll ask

How do you do format your backgrounds?? Like the perspective, the empty space versus detail, what shape to make the canvas, all that stuff, idk.

I can imagine detailed stuff in my head but in practice I flounder to even begin to put it to paper so is there some sort of method to the madness?

Lastly, do you think it’s a good idea to start by drawing over real life images as a way to learn?

That’s all, thank you

Hi, sorry this took a while. No worries about asking, I’ve been there and I think we sometimes underestimate how much people like to feel helpful and to talk about their process. I have an awful memory, so it’s hard for me to retrace my steps sometimes, but I’ll try!

I remember being in a similar place where my mind’s eye was far ahead of my technical skill. This still happens, I don’t think it ever really goes away, I just remember it feeling especially pronounced and frustrating when I was younger.

context: I used to be really frustrated with my inability to finish or even start large, meticulously detailed pieces, especially landscapes and environmental pieces. This changed as my technical skill started to catch up with my mind’s eye, and I could execute things faster and faster, before my brain would arbitrarily decide a piece was “done.” I’ve had this lifelong tension between trying to become a faster artist so that I can strike while the iron is hot, while also accepting that my brain is wired a certain way, I don’t have to make myself suffer by working against my own brain, and it’s OK to make slow art. for all the grief it gives me, the ADHD hyperfocus / state of flow is part of the process and I do genuinely love it.

So with that in mind, here’s some pointers that I’ve personally found useful.

done > perfect, started > not started, always and forever. Lower the bar as much as you need to. I think this can be rough for those who are less motivated by the process and more by communicating something as it exists in their head. Unfortunately I am learning this lesson over and over, that a piece simply will not happen unless I make it feasible for myself. Can it be done faster and shittier? Can you settle for getting one or two things “right” and letting the rest turn out how it may?  

Taking up photography, studying photographers, and yes, tracing / photobashing / painting over photos (with appropriate permission.) Sometimes it’s more intuitive to find the composition than it is to make it from scratch. I’m lucky to live in the place that I draw, so it takes less guess-work to translate it to my art, but I also just think it’s fun to cultivate an eye for composition using the world around you.   I think creating your own references also teaches you things that studying curated art will not. You interacted with the space in-person, so you have valuable insight into how the space feels and the relationship between objects that you can’t glean just from a picture. It’s also got the beauty of the amateur’s eye. Contrast won’t be perfectly balanced, you’ll get to work with weird color combos under weirder lighting, things won’t be massed very intentionally, etc. What’s interesting to you about the subject is ultimately unique to you, and you get to bring that out.   Video game photography is another fun way of studying someone else’s work. Virtual landscapes are intentionally composed, down to the massing/lighting/visual clutter, so in a competently-designed environment it’s easier to find picturesque vistas or neat places to stage your subject. More fun, maybe less frustrating than exploring an environment that isn’t similar to one you want to depict.   I like sandbox games for DIY scene-setting too. Staging stuff in blender, making rough clay models, whatever you need to do to feel out the space.  

Ditto the above for studying other mediums that you enjoy. I feel like it’s glaringly obvious when I want something to be a 10-part animated series or, like, a tapestry, because that’s just where I go to when I’m pulling from my mental library.   Maybe part of why I gravitated to film and animation is because you can see changes in composition, focus, perspective, etc. happening in real time, so it’s easier to notice them, and to reflect on how they change the meaning of the scene.  

Leveraging your limits. Limited palette, limited time, limited scope, whatever. Easier to play with values when you’re working in black and white than when you add color to the mix. And hey, what can you uniquely do when you’re working under certain limits that you can’t do if you had free reign of a blank canvas? Pixel art, polychrome pottery, noir… The limits of a form make it memorable, or however that saying goes.  

Massing detail and polish around the focal point of the piece. I don’t think I’m very intentional about this with my finished work, I usually play with contrast or negative space to bring attention to things. but I often do this with my quick-and-dirty art like Basedt and Threadbare. I polish the bare minimum to communicate what I need to, and then leave the rest to imagination.   like anything else it’s just another tool in your toolbox, not as useful to those with very detailed work that choose to guide the eye in other ways.  

Thinking of the environment as its own character(s). Some of us get into art because we’re having fun drawing our favorite characters or our OCs, so backgrounds are just that--- backgrounds, scene-setting, all secondary to the main event, not as interesting or exciting to draw. I am personally trying to get rid of the mental boundary between subject and environment, because that’s more in line with how I feel about worldbuilding and life in general. They’re inseparable, they feed into one another, and it does me better to think about them holistically.   Corollary to that: Environments can be fun! A lot of people think of them as drudgery, but I don’t think you have to self-flagellate doing a hundred still-life master studies if that’s not the most efficient way for you to learn. We can and should do difficult things, but I don’t know, I think you can trick yourself into getting excited about drawing cars or buildings or rocks. For me, it’s exciting to explore my headworlds through the eyes of the fake people who live in my head. I guess having that touchstone of something that’s familiar alongside something that’s unfamiliar makes it more fun. When the switch finally flipped, it was really rewarding to realize I was scribbling landscapes as the “main event,” and the inclusion of a character was a last-minute thing if it happened at all. It can be fun! It doesn’t have to suck! But it takes time.  

OK, I think that’s all I got right now. As usual, glean what’s useful to you and forget the rest. There are others who can speak more competently about technical stuff than I can, and I’m sure I’m overlooking something obvious. this is just what sticks with me, personally.

[5secondsofsomerhalder]

the only thing that’s gonna make me feel better right now is a hug from pedro pascal himself

[gemstarstarlight]

“Ego is like a dish that only feeds you false fruit. Right? Like, the more that you eat off of your own ego, the more you starve your spirit.”

—Josh Johnson