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binibininghermosa · 14 days ago

Note

hiii could you please do a Luffy x Wife reader? Like, they promised to marry each other when they were kids, eventually did get married as soon as they were of legal age and they go everywhere together but the crew only noticed they were married once Nami noticed that little shine of Readers ring because idk I feel like Luffy isn't a very kissy kissy type more just huggy huggy YK WHAT I MEAN? but the crew never thought much of it cause he was like that with everyone and like... yer

please and thank you 😣🙏

This is such a cute idea! Thank you for for your request! Hope you enjoy!

Gold Ring, Red Vest

Luffy x Wife!Reader

You and Luffy had promised to marry each other when you were seven.

It was under a tree, after a shared meat skewer, sticky sauce on both your cheeks and dirt on your hands. You didn’t know what marriage really meant. Luffy didn’t either. But the idea of being together forever? That was enough.

“Let’s get married when we grow up!”

“Yeah! And we’ll eat meat every day!” “And we’ll fight bad guys.” “And we’ll sail the whole world!” “I’ll be Pirate King—so you can be Pirate Queen!”

You’d sealed it with a spit handshake. Ace gagged in the background. Sabo called it “kinda romantic, kinda gross.” Dadan told you both to stop being weirdos and come inside before the wolves showed up again.

You were there for all of it—your trips to the mountain bandit hideout frequent and full of scraped knees and louder laughs. You met Ace the same way everyone else did: by getting punched and yelling right back. Sabo shared his book with you before he ever shared it with Luffy. You were their fourth member. Your gang. Your boys.

But Luffy was always yours.

He held your hand when the campfire crackled too loud. You tucked daisies into his hair when he pouted. And when he said he’d set off to sea one day, you told him to wait. “Wait for me to be old enough. You promised, remember?” Luffy blinked. Then grinned so wide his cheeks dimpled. “I remember. I always remember.”

Years later…

The Straw Hat crew never did notice anything unusual between you and Luffy.

Sure, he was always affectionate—but that’s just how Luffy was, right? Zoro got tackled in hugs. Chopper got cuddled like a plush toy. Even Franky had been given a surprise nuzzle once. Luffy was… just like that.

You were a little like that too. So no one blinked when Luffy wrapped his arms around you from behind. Or dragged you to sit on his lap. Or chewed meat and offered you the next bite, all smile and no shame.

Until Nami noticed your ring.

It wasn’t flashy. Just a small gold band, catching the sun when you lifted your hand to wave.

She squinted.

“…Is that a wedding ring?”

You blinked down at it. “Oh. Yeah.”

“WHAT.”

Cue chaos.

Zoro’s sword dropped mid-clean. Sanji’s cigarette fell out of his mouth. Usopp choked on his orange juice and Franky literally spat cola. Robin chuckled behind her hand. Chopper was just confused.

“Married!?” “To Luffy!?” “Since when?!”

Luffy walked in mid-outburst, meat bone in hand. “Huh? What’s up?”

You smiled. “They just found out.”

Luffy blinked. “About the wedding?”

“Mmhm.”

“Ohhh. Cool. Wanna see the dance we made?” He grabbed your hands instantly and started swinging you around the deck, recreating the silly spin-step-spin you’d both done barefoot in Foosha village the day you turned legal and immediately got married. Makino had cried. Dadan bawled. The mayor gave a speech. You and Luffy made paper rings and traded real ones after.

Your wedding photo—drawn by Luffy with crayons—was still crumpled in your coat pocket.

“Hold on, hold on,” Nami said, pushing the two of you apart. “You’re telling me you’ve been married this whole time?”

“Yep,” you chirped.

“And you never told us?!”

Luffy tilted his head. “You never asked.”

You shrugged. “Didn’t come up.”

Brook fanned himself dramatically. “But when—how—where—”

“Foosha village,” you said.

“Under the big tree,” Luffy added, proud.

You both grinned at each other, eyes crinkling.

Zoro groaned. “This explains so much.”

Sanji was still weeping into a handkerchief. “My heart... my dreams… shattered…”

Later that night, with Luffy wrapped around you like a scarf on the Sunny’s figurehead, you twirled your ring between your fingers.

“You think they’ll get used to it?” you asked.

“They always do,” Luffy mumbled, cheek squished against your shoulder. “You’re mine. I’m yours. That’s all.”

You kissed the top of his head.

He didn’t kiss you back—he just smiled and pulled you closer. His kind of love wasn’t made of passionate declarations or sweeping gestures. It was loud laughter and warm hugs. Trust and tandem naps. Your fingers linked as you stood at the bow. That was Luffy’s way.

And it had always been enough. From spit handshakes to gold rings.

Forever, just like you’d promised.

Sanji made a whole dinner in your honor.

Nami made you a spreadsheet of exactly how long you kept it secret.

Franky offered to remake your rings into SUPER matching wedding bands.

Zoro made gagging noises every time Luffy hugged you for the next three days.

Robin gave you both a book on “Married Life and Maritime Adventures.”

Brook wrote a love ballad for your union.

Usopp designed a “Just Married… 5 Years Ago” banner.

And Chopper?

Chopper made you a “Top Secret Straw Hat Love Club” badge and insisted on wearing his too. Just because

It had been a few days since the Big Reveal™.

Everyone was still adjusting.

Well, “adjusting” was generous.

More like staring at you and Luffy with unblinking suspicion, as if the way he handed you his half-eaten meat skewer now had depth or the way you leaned into him during sunny naps was suddenly illegal. The dynamic hadn’t changed.

But the context had.

You were lounging beside Luffy, both your legs tossed lazily over his lap as he absently traced shapes on your shin. He was laughing—genuinely wheezing—at a joke you made about the seagull that dive-bombed Zoro’s hair gel.

Sanji was watching from the kitchen window, arms crossed, suffering.

“…They’ve always done that,” Nami whispered beside him, eyeing the scene with a strange mix of amusement and betrayal. “Why does it feel so different now?”

“Because now it’s real,” Sanji hissed, like he’d been personally wounded. “She’s married. To Luffy.”

Usopp, next to him, rubbed his chin. “They’ve been married.”

“That doesn’t help, Usopp.”

Franky adjusted his sunglasses. “To be fair, I always assumed they were just weirdly close childhood besties.”

“They are,” Robin said smoothly, sipping her tea. “They just also share a legal union and a bed.”

Sanji wailed.

Later that afternoon, you strolled into the kitchen humming, barefoot and relaxed, reaching over to grab an apple. Luffy, as usual, clung to your back like a sleepy koala, his chin resting on your shoulder.

Sanji straightened. His eyes were full of betrayal.

“(Y/N)-swan…” he began dramatically. “How could you?”

You blinked. “Huh?”

He dropped to his knees. “How could you let him marry you?! I would’ve cooked you candlelit dinners every night! I would’ve carried you across every puddle! I would've—”

Luffy, mid-apple bite, stared blankly. “Wait… you like her?”

Sanji stopped mid-rant.

“Of course I do! I always have!”

Luffy frowned, slowly leaning more of his weight into you like a pouty blanket. “But you do that with every girl.”

“This was different!” Sanji wailed. “I meant it! I liked her liked her!”

Luffy’s eyebrows pinched. “You can’t like her liked her.”

“Why not?!”

“Because she’s mine!”

The kitchen went dead silent.

Luffy rarely used words like that. Not seriously. Not possessively. Not with that strange, almost growly edge in his voice.

You turned slightly in his arms, surprised—but not shocked. You knew how much Luffy loved you. It was in every action, every grin, every time he let you wear his straw hat without flinching. He didn’t do possessive. Not often.

But this?

This was different.

“She’s my wife,” Luffy said again, slower this time. “I married her. We promised. When we were kids. And I’m not sharing.”

Sanji looked genuinely heartbroken.

“But you never said—”

“I didn’t know I needed to,” Luffy said, squeezing his arms around your waist. “You didn’t ask.”

You leaned your head against his.

“She’s the funniest girl in the world,” he added. “And the prettiest. She makes me laugh all the time. She makes me feel like I can fight a million bad guys if she’s cheering for me. She smells nice. Her feet are cold but I like when she puts them on my legs at night. Her voice makes my brain quiet. And she’s mine. So stop trying to steal her.”

Sanji looked like he might cry again.

You blinked, cheeks warm.

“…I thought I was the one who gets poetic,” you whispered, stunned.

Luffy just grinned. “You rub off on me.”

From that moment on, Luffy was—how to put it? More... Luffy. But with a bite.

He started holding your hand more often. Pulling you into his lap even when you were just trying to read. Giving Sanji death glares if he offered you juice. Refusing to leave you out of his hugs, tugging you with him even when stretching to another ship.

Zoro clocked it first.

“He’s gone full territorial.”

Chopper nodded, concerned. “Should we… sedate him?”

Robin smirked. “It’s fascinating. Like a monkey guarding a precious fruit.”

“He is a monkey,” Nami muttered.

You didn’t mind. You were used to clingy, squishy Luffy. This was just a possessive, competitive version of that.

And honestly?

You kinda liked it.

It was nice, being claimed by someone who didn’t want anything from you but your smile. Nice, knowing that to him, you were everything.

Still, you kissed Sanji on the cheek one night, just to tease. He immediately fainted.

Luffy sulked for the rest of the evening, hiding under your shirt like a ticked-off blanket.

“Mine,” he muttered. “Yours,” you agreed, playing with his hair. “Forever.” “Since we were seven.” “Spit handshake and all.” “Grossest wedding proposal in history.” “Best wedding proposal in history.”

You snorted, wrapping your arms around his head. And outside, the rest of the crew gave up trying to understand it.

“It makes sense now,” Usopp whispered. “They’re just… stupidly in love.”

“Like really, really dumb in love,” Nami added.

Zoro nodded. “Disgusting.”

Chopper wiped a tear. “I want that one day…”

Robin flipped her book shut and sighed dreamily. “Childhood promises that lasted into adulthood… how romantic.”

Franky wept.

Brook wrote another ballad.

Sanji cooked in tragic silence.

And Luffy? He held you tighter. Always did. Always would.

t started subtly.

You were mid-fight—some nameless island goons talking big and swinging bigger—and you kicked one square in the chest, sending him flying into a fruit stand.

Luffy, fists at his sides, beamed proudly from the edge of the battlefield and yelled:

“THAT’S MY WIFE!”

The Straw Hats all froze for a half-second.

“Did… did he just—?” Usopp squinted.

“Yep,” Zoro grunted, slicing through two thugs. “Keep count.”

It didn’t stop.

Every time you threw a punch, landed a clean sweep, or flipped someone over your shoulder, Luffy would yell it like it was the ultimate battle cry.

“That’s my WIFE!” “She’s SO COOL!” “You see that?! My wife did that!!”

You stabbed a pirate’s weapon out of his hand mid-lunge. Luffy, from a rooftop: “MARRY ME AGAIN!!!”

You grabbed two guys by their collars and headbutted them into each other. Luffy, starry-eyed: “THAT’S HER!! THAT’S MY GIRL!! MY WIFE!!”

“Can he not,” Sanji hissed under his breath as he roundhouse-kicked someone.

“He can and he will,” Nami said, blocking with her staff. “I think he’s even prouder of her fighting skills than his own.”

Robin chuckled. “I find it endearing. He’s fully committed.”

“Too committed,” Zoro grunted, parrying a blade. “I’ve heard him shout that line eight times and the fight’s only halfway done.”

Chopper was practically vibrating with joy. “She’s so cool, though!”

“We know, Chopper.” “Luffy knows.” “The whole damn island knows now!”

The final blow of that skirmish?

You jump-spun over a cannon, kicked a guy in the jaw mid-air, and landed without a stumble.

Luffy actually screamed. Dropped to his knees like he’d just watched a divine miracle. “THAT’S MY WIIIIIIIFE—!!!”

A flock of startled seagulls flew off a nearby roof. The townspeople who had hidden inside started clapping. Franky cried. Sanji threw his cigarette into the dirt in dramatic despair. Zoro turned around and walked away like this was not his circus.

Back on the Sunny, bruised and bandaged and full of post-battle stew, the teasing didn’t stop.

“So, just to be clear,” Nami said, leaning her cheek on her hand, “you really like your wife.”

Luffy blinked. “Yeah?”

Robin smiled. “She’s quite skilled.”

Luffy nodded seriously. “The best. She’s funny and scary and she smells good and she’s got that move with the knee thing that goes bam! and—”

You smushed a pillow in his face mid-ramble. “Okay okay okay, I get it.”

He peeled it off, face pink but grinning. “You’re my wife.”

“Yes, Luffy. That is a fact.”

“My wife,” he repeated smugly.

“And we all know it now,” Usopp groaned from his hammock. “Loud and clear.”

Later that week, the crew split up to take on different pirate squads. You took the left flank.

When your group regrouped, Luffy jogged back, covered in soot and laughing.

“Did you see what she did?!”

Zoro sighed. “Yes, Luffy. We saw. You yelled ‘that’s my wife’ six times, two of which she wasn’t even in the frame.”

“But she was there!” Luffy argued. “I felt it. The air changed.”

Nami stared flatly. “You also shouted it when Sanji landed a high kick.”

Luffy tilted his head. “He kicked like (Y/N) does sometimes. I got confused.”

Sanji fumed. “You compared me to your wife?! I—!”

“I mean it as a compliment!!” Luffy beamed.

Eventually?

It became a Straw Hat inside joke.

Franky started building a sound system that played “THAT’S MY WIFE!” on command. Usopp started taking bets on how many times Luffy would shout it per battle. Robin offered to count them out loud. Chopper made a badge that said “Wife of the Captain (Certified Cool)” and insisted you wear it during island visits.

And Luffy?

He never stopped.

Didn’t care if it was a tavern scuffle or a full-scale war.

If you landed a punch?

If you flipped someone over your shoulder?

If you so much as raised an eyebrow and a whole navy soldier fainted?

Luffy, beaming like you’d just turned into the sun:

“THAT’S MY WIFE!!!”

And honestly?

You kinda loved it.

---

It began as mockery. (As most things on the Sunny did.)

The next battle was a chaotic scrap in a busy port town—clashing blades, smoke, screams, your knee in someone’s gut. A typical Tuesday.

Luffy, balanced on a rooftop, grinned wide as you body-checked a pirate into a market stall and bellowed:

“THAT’S MY WIFE!!”

And this time, without missing a beat—

“THAT’S HIS WIFE!” —came from Zoro, ducking a sword swing.

“HIS WIFE!” —Usopp echoed, hanging upside-down from a balcony.

“MARRIED TO HIM!!” —Nami yelled, smacking someone with her staff.

“SHE IS, IN FACT, HIS LEGAL SPOUSE!!” —Franky, tears in his eyes, while launching someone into orbit.

Luffy blinked. Paused mid-arm stretch. Then let out a giddy, sunbeam laugh that rattled the tiles beneath his feet.

“…You guys noticed!!”

After that, it became a thing.

Every time Luffy yelled “That’s my wife!” (which was often), the crew would chime in with increasingly ridiculous affirmations.

You knocked someone out with one punch?

Luffy: “That’s my wife!!” Crew: “CONFIRMED!!!” “TIED THE KNOT, BABY!” “RING ON HER FINGER, NAME ON THE PAPER!”

You swung down from a rooftop and roundhouse kicked two goons at once?

Luffy, practically levitating: “THAT’S MY WIIIIIFE—!!” Crew chorus: “HIS SPOUSE!!” “HIS RIDE OR DIE!!” “THE MISSUS!”

Luffy ate it up.

The first time it happened, he was confused. His head tilted, a soft “Huh?” slipping out as he processed the call-and-response echoing around the battlefield. But then he grinned so hard it looked like his face might split in half.

He was delighted.

Later that night, Luffy plopped beside you on the deck, still laughing.

“They’re all sayin’ it now!” he said, wiggling with joy. “I yell it and they yell it too! It’s like… our move!”

You, calmly sipping water and icing a scraped knuckle, nodded. “It is technically a fact.”

Luffy blinked at you. “Only technically?”

“Well, you’re not wrong. I am your wife.”

He lit up like a lantern. “You like when I say it, right?”

You shrugged. “I don’t mind. You’re proud. It’s cute.”

“I am proud,” he said, leaning in to nuzzle your cheek with a wide, sleepy grin. “You’re my favorite thing.”

Robin passed behind you both, murmuring with a smile, “That’s his wife.”

Luffy squealed in delight.

You didn’t react.

Because again: it was just a fact.

he next island brought new enemies, and with them:

Luffy: “THAT’S MY WIFE!!” Crew: “HIS BELOVED!” “FIRST LADY OF THE PIRATE KINGDOM!” “MRS. STRAW HAT!”

Someone once tried to flirt with you in a tavern.

Luffy didn’t notice at first. But then—

“Back off, dude, that’s his WIFE.” —Zoro, dragging the guy away by his collar.

“Like, legally and spiritually,” Usopp added from under the table.

Luffy blinked, confused. “Huh? Who—? Oh, yeah. She is.”

Cue smug arm-wrapping. Cue chest-puffing. Cue a full twenty-minute explanation of your wedding under a Foosha tree that no one asked for.

You just sipped your drink. Neutral.

Still technically true.

One day, while you were in the middle of high-kicking a bounty hunter off a staircase, a random civilian watching from afar whispered:

“…That’s his wife, right?”

“Yeah,” Chopper said from the bushes, full of pride. “She is.”

And in the distance, Luffy yelled it again.

“THAT’S MY WIIIIIIIFE—!!!”

And the whole crew, in sync, arms raised:

“YEAHHHHHHHHHHH!!”

You just sighed.

“...Honestly, it could be worse.”

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binibininghermosa · 2 months ago

Text

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!!”

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