I'm trying to prove a point to my brain: Reblog if you think fanfiction does not need sex to be good.
There is a trend I’ve noticed that smut fics tend to be much more popular than anything else and honestly I just want to have something to look at to remind myself and that writing doesn’t have to have sex to be worth putting out into the community.
hello will u ever write for billy kid zenless again..... (especially his new s rank)
so fun fact... zzz is uninstalled 😭😭😭 i literally stopped playing and dont get me wrong the combat is fun and the story is there but i hadn't played for months and i was like okay this is just taking up space... (yk i ran out of storage on my 400+ gb pc yesterday ???? insane.) but whats this talk about a new s-rank....... i am #curious
i doubt i'll be writing longfics but im sure i can push myself to write drabbles and hcs for him!!!
Heyyyy sorry idk if I can message in dm so I’m texting here. I absolutely love the way how you would do your works like the designs and pictures yk??? I wanted to ask how did u make the titles with like colour gradients cuz I only have few options of certain colours 🙏🏼💞 also I hope you are doing great and I love you so much!!! 💖
im unsure if you still need this since you asked so long ago (im so sorry 😭😭😭) BUT!!! i will still help!!
i recommend doing this on a computer or laptop since it gets a little messy!!
when it comes to choosing the colors, i either go to color-hex to generate random colors, coolors to generate a palette, or adobe to extract a palette/theme from an image i plan on using for the work
once i have my color(s) chosen and my title picked out, i head over to this site that basically does the dirty work for you!!
in the top white box (the one with the red and green next to it!) you put in your title! then you change the red and green boxes to match the color(s) you picked out, and click the run button
that should cause output in the bottom white box! but dont copy it yet!!! go back to the tumblr tab where your work is in progress, open it, and add a placeholder like a word or letter where the title goes. now click on the wheel at the top right corner, go down to text editor, and switch from rich text to html.
you should see <h1>your placeholder</h1>. now, go back to the js.fiddle tab and copy that output. return to your wip tab and replace "your placeholder" with what you just copied! there should be a little preview button with an eye at the top next to html! you can click that to see how its going to look when posted!
once your done, click on the wheel at the top right corner, go down to text editor, and switch from html to rich text.
use this same method if you want other words or phrases in your works to have color!!
also if you want a radial gradient like in this work or this work, i go to convertcase, paste my title in, look at the character count, divide it by two, manually count up to that many characters (incl. spaces!!), copy that section, paste it into js.fiddle, adjust the colors to match my gradient (color A to color B), and hit run
then i copy that section into the html of my title, and repeat for the other side of my gradient but now switching the colors (color B to color A)
once all thats done and you've pasted the second section right next to the first, click the preview button to make sure it looks right!!
feel free to ask if you have any more questions <3
Will you write more ryusui fanfics? 🥹🥹 I really enjoy the way you capture(?) his personality and for me it actually makes sense along with the plot. Eng is my 3rd language soo I dont know if this is difficult to understand.
1) I like ryusui in you fics, feels like something he would do and says
2) the atmosphere that you created is good, I could feel it from 500 miles away
3) takuma is interesting too! Ive been looking for fanfics about him, just found some au's in x so if you do write about him, I'll be the first to reblog and share!!
4) no pressure hehe, don't force yourself to write things you don't want :).
I think I want a sequel to be my bride (trilogy if there's already a sequel) fighting!!! I hope you have a great day, week, month, year, life.
hi my sweet nonnie!!! i literally love you so so much, i've been wanting to start writing again and this gave me the motivation to actually do it!!! you mean so much to me <33 i understood you perfectly, we are on the same wavelength. but ask and you shall receive darling, that sequel is here! and thank you so much for your compliments!! they genuinely mean so much to me and yes i've been planning to write for takuma as well!! thank you for your support my love 💖💖💖
nanami ryusui was a lot of things: loud, arrogant, obnoxious, greedy.
with all those faults, how could he get married?
a mini sequel to be my bride
word count: 1.3k
riea's comments: why hello there... can i get a chorus of good morning gorgeous for my grand return? no? oh alright... ANYWAYS this was written with that special nonnie in mind (i freaking love you)(yes i started writing this as soon as that message came in). are we hashtag ready for me to start writing again?!??!?! reminder that the dock is open for everyone... so i best be seeing sailors lined up harumph...
nanami ryusui was a lot of things—loud in a way that filled every room before he even stepped into it, arrogant in the way he carried certainty like it was something earned rather than given, obnoxious in his refusal to make himself smaller for anyone, and greedy in the most unapologetic sense of the word. he wanted everything the world could offer and more, and he had never once pretended otherwise. by all logic, by all expectation, a man like that should have been impossible to live with, let alone love, let alone marry
and yet, in the quiet, unguarded moments of your life, you found yourself thinking of how he managed to make space for you in a world he so desperately wanted to claim entirely for himself
you wake, as you often do, not to the sound of his alarm, but to the feeling of him. it isn't a gentle thing, not really (ryusui has never been gentle in any conventional sense) but there is intention in it, a deliberate closeness in the way his arm is wrapped firmly around your waist, drawing you back against him as though even in sleep he is unwilling to risk the distance. the room is dim, the early morning light just beginning to soften the edges of everything, and when your gaze drifts toward the clock, the familiar time greets you with a red glare: 5:21 a.m.
there is something deeply human in that predictability, something that contrasts so sharply with the man the world sees, and you notice how this version of ryusui nanami exists almost entirely in these nine-minute intervals he carves out for himself before the day begins to take him back
you didn't understand it at first. despite the months spent together prior, in the early days of your marriage, everything about ryusui felt overwhelming—his presence, his voice, his ambitions that stretched far beyond what seemed reasonable. loving him had felt like trying to hold onto something constantly in motion, something that refused to be still long enough to fully grasp. it was only later, in a quiet, restless night that refused to let you sleep, that you discovered this small, hidden rhythm of his. you remember lying there, eyes closed, when you felt him stir beside you with a restraint that didn't match the man you knew during waking hours
he had pulled you closer then, slowly, mindful of not waking you, his hold firm and his presence warm. you had stayed still, curiosity outweighing the urge to acknowledge it, and minutes had passed—long, uninterrupted minutes where he did nothing but exist in that closeness. when you finally checked the time, you realized it was a quiet, deliberate indulgence of his
now, nearly a full year later, you understand it for what it is, even if he has never fully said it aloud (maybe he's embarrassed). these mornings aren't about efficiency or discipline or any of the reasons he might stammer out if pressed. they're about pause; they're about choosing something for himself that cannot be negotiated, cannot be interrupted, and cannot be claimed by anyone else. you feel it in the way his breathing evens out against you, in the absent, almost unconscious way his fingers trace along your side like he's memorizing something he refuses to lose
when you shift slightly, there is a subtle tightening in his hold, acknowledging your presence. his voice, when he speaks, carries none of the sharpness it usually does; it is quieter, lower, softened by the remnants of sleep and something more honest that he doesn't bother disguising in these moments, "i think i have six more minutes…"
the transition, when it comes, is always gradual but inevitable. the alarm at 5:30 doesn't shatter the moment so much as remind it of its limits, and you can feel the shift in him even before he reaches to turn it off. there's a hesitation, a reluctance that lingers in the way he exhales before finally pulling away. and yet, even in that departure, there is care—present in the brief press of his lips against your shoulder, in the way he lingers just long enough to make the separation feel less abrupt
ryusui moves with purpose once he is up, the softness of those nine minutes folding neatly back into the version of himself that commands attention and respect, but you have learned to recognize the traces of it that remain in the quieter edges of his actions
the rest of the day belongs, largely, to the world. his schedule is filled with meetings, negotiations, and decisions that seem to stack endlessly on top of one another, and yet, you always see glimpses of him in between—sometimes through messages sent without much context, sometimes in the rare moments he returns home earlier than expected, sometimes in the quick calls he makes because he just missed your voice—but even then, there is always motion, always something pulling at his attention. he thrives in it, you know he does; the chaos, the challenge. the constant pursuit of more is as essential to him as breathing. but what surprises you, even now, is not that he lives so fully in that world, but that he never leaves you behind in it
there are small things, easy to overlook if you aren't paying attention. the way he remembers details you mentioned in passing and acts on them without announcement. the way meals appear, prepared by his own hands since "my wife deserves nothing short of the best". the way his presence shifts when with you; he's not any less himself, however, all that intensity he directs outward during the day finds a different purpose when it is turned toward you. he is still loud and definitely still certain, but there's a steadiness beneath it that's intentional and comforting and it brings you right back to the altar
and then, eventually, the day winds down. the world quiets again, returning to that same stillness you woke in, and you find yourselves back where you started—together, side by side. ryusui checks his phone one last time, the faint glow illuminating his face as he reviews whatever remains of his responsibilities, and you watch him with a familiarity that feels second nature now. there's a rhythm to it, a predictability that's reassuring, and when he switches on his 5:21 alarm and finally sets the device aside, it feels less like preparation and more like a promise
because you know what comes next
you know that in a couple hours, before the world has the chance to demand his attention again, he will wake early. you know that he will turn toward you, that his arm will find its place around your waist, that he will take those nine minutes not because he has to, but because he wants to. and in a life defined by his desire for more—more success, more power, more everything—it's that quiet, consistent choice that stays with you the most
"keep looking at me like that and i'll have to marry you all over again."
"what if that's what i want?"
he chuckles loudly, pulling your body into his, your legs now intertwined. "i think we need a vacation, maybe bora bora?" he says, hand busy trailing along your arm. you're reminded of a travel magazine you were flipping though on one of ryusui's days off. maybe he saw that your eyes were fixed on a certain page
"oh, i thought you'd never ask."
for all that nanami ryusui is, his loudness and greed, arrogance and obnoxiousness,
for all the space he takes up in the world,
he has never once made you feel like something he simply acquired along the way. you are not another thing he wanted and took. you are something he continues to choose, in the smallest, most unassuming moments, again and again, every single day
Takuma Ino x GN ! Reader || Romantic || 3.0k words
Contents: winter themes ,, not so late nights ,, train rides home ,, casual intimacy ,, cuddling ,, established relationship ,, fluff
A/N: Part 1 is finally done!! It took a while... but I did it!! This is my submission for the Takuma Troops Secret Santa event!! Written for @rieamena ... I'll eventually get to editing the rest of what I wrote but I wanted this out and posted before the deadline. I hope you like it!!
Winter's fingers rapped gently across the darkening horizon, peeling away dead brown leaves from its bleached hilltops in favour of blue monotony. Its touch was frigid. It was stretching far with its annual routine. Numbing… cold… it was a soft frosting that coated the sky, spread thin by its palms: something grey that dipped from the northern-most mountains of Hokkaido and carried across the sea towards mainland. A fragile sentiment. Something exhausted in the way it pooled within the rushing rivers of the island. It moved the will of its frost down south whilst raking shards of ice from the terrain. They inched upwards, entwined in sleepy bags of darkness inking the horizon, and then fell back down dusting Japan in unassuming wonder.
Winter dragged its heavy feet through cobblestone and tarmac of amber-stained villages and colourful flashing lights, stepping across leaf litter and pine needles that wedged into the snow. It called in it annual march. It whistled. It laughed and the Earth answered in a languid crawl.
It was December and together they sang their icy harmonies of intertwined symbolism, fanning their breaths across the landscape in the festive promise of a new year to come. A whisper. Then a hum made from wisps of frigid air. Their self-imposed mystery etched into cities, dancing in the snow that painted the world white: a silver hue that coated everything with its crisp sheen. The people, the buildings… the trees that swayed in the cold wind. Even the curses haunting the shadows of this final season were left at the mercy of its numbing call, crying out their lies into the ice.
Winter was waking up, prying away from the tender hands of autumn, and given the rush for last minute presents it was a surprise the ride home was as empty as it was.
A jostle. The metal wheels of the train clunked against the tracks and the time… it wasn't early enough to warrant the quiet. It was long past the midday peace that would dull down the commute in favour of the elderly population (the time when travel lost purpose and placid sunlight beamed through the glass) but it was still too early that the post rush-hour crawl would lead the carts into an exhausted silence of final stragglers. It was a little past five in the afternoon—a normal time: a perfect in-between where you anticipated the train to be packed with commuters charging for entertainment in the busy city—and yet a promising silence bathed your shoulders like thin frost.
The sky outside was already glowing purple with its thickening twilight; the gentle pinks having dissipated into grey-toned ultramarines and indigos and the painted flurry of coral ripped itself from the sky and fell into the sunset. A cold night settled outside the cart's reflection. A silent night that you could see past the blurry windows of the train—the condensation of which was only disturbed by the friction of hoods and scarfs of vacating travellers—one with gentle snow falling from clouds that barely hung to light. Blue… maybe a little white. A dark blanket threatened to envelop the world outside and against it they looked like twinkling stars speeding past you in glittering blurs. Flashes in the darkness; tears that melted against the foggy glass.
In the gentle rattle of its tracks you sat beside Takuma.
Today had been your final mission of the year as promised by the easy-to-bribe Gojo Satoru, the poor man putting in a word on your behalf, and the two of you were beyond exhausted with what you knew to be the higher ups' version of payback. A repercussion for your cheep trick. Your limbs were tingly; your muscles ached. A sort-of strain etched into every motion you made in longing for the merciful heat of home and yet a breath of mirth coated the both of you as you leaned against Takuma's hard shoulder.
You thought it was worth it. The battle-induced adrenaline had melted into exhaustion. Stillness… the quiet of the cart… it allowed you to take a silent break the both of you needed. It wasn't much—nothing could be in the ugly amber glow that flickered with each tremor—but it was something you were thankful for nonetheless.
Peace—Takuma breathed. It was a deep sound like the echo between two buildings and a tired sound that chipped at his lips. It clung to his sigh; it rumbled in this throat like a strained gargle tipped on a whine. There was a rasp there. Something sore… but it was quiet. It was quiet and minute and happy and you glanced at the underside of his jaw watching as his Adam's apple bobbed with his swallow. He groaned, stretching his arms out in front of himself before he turned his cheek towards you. Thin lashes fluttered with his dopey blinks as clay brown eyes watched you, his pale lips a parted line.
"You doin' okay?" He asked, voice quiet and you nodded against him, face half smushed before you pulled away to give him room. Takuma hummed, looked around the half-empty space, and kissed your forehead with pride seeping where his lips touched skin. Then he wrapped one arm around your back.
For a moment Takuma fidgeted with your shoulder. His hand squeezed around it; his fingers trembled against your winter coat with a weary sort of tightness and in your ears you could hear the ruffling of your scarf. He palmed against it. Calloused fingers pinched around the hem. They trailed the messy lining… then he straightened out his hand and tapped it against the fabric with an uneven sort of rap. Two taps, then a short break. Then each finger strummed down your upper arm. One, two, three till it reached your elbow.
Another squeeze before Takuma's hand rubbed your skin through your clothes in a tender motion and his eyes returned to observing the floor whilst your own, head once again resting atop his shoulder, went back to looking at the peach fuzz creeping down his neck. Glittering. Sweat-covered. You shuffled in your seat as you observed it, letting your own arm fall behind his back to inch snug against his farthest side, and pressed your knee into his. A pause—his thigh tensed. Then on instinct he pushed back against you and you aligned your foot with his own. The heels of your boots clicked together and Takuma slid his hand down to settle it on top of your waist.
It was warm—you could feel it as he squeezed there too, fingers daring to inch against the waistband beyond your coat in a gentle want for skin. It made you hum a quiet, pleased sound just as the two of you settled against eachother.
Silence. Another prominent jostle.
The winter outside hummed with its wind.
Neither of you spoke and after a while your tired eyes drifted down to the train's floor. Wet slush puddled in the centre—mud left wonky footprints on the enamel coating. They beaded, much like the speckled condensation coating the windows, beneath the parallel seats. They sank beneath strangers' shoes. Grimy… your eyes fell to your hand, one that rested upwards atop your thigh, dirty palm exposed and irritated with persistent gravel-marks. You tested your strength. You pawed at the empty air before you settled it on top of Takuma's knee just as the train's sounds were muffled by the passing of a brief tunnel. It made Takuma flinch—knee jutting up and making your hand jump—before the sharp sound of tracks resumed and Takuma settled with poorly masked excitement.
You wondered which one of you would break first: which one of you would give into the grasp of conversation. It had always been Takuma. Whenever it got too quiet, whenever the voices lulled into stillness, his hyperactive mind had a habit of growing impatient in the silence. It wasn't an impulse—you knew that. It wasn't a need for attention or anything else as vein. It was him wanting to fill the space between you with warmth and interaction. Takuma was ingrained with a restlessness potent enough to fill an unserious silence with joy. Chatter. You raised your eyes and looked up at him, his brown eyes flipping to yours, then down to your lips, then they returned to staring into space as if he had nothing to add but the calming sound of his breath. You were certain he would be first to try a conversation, eventually, when the exhaustion gave way to words.
For now neither of you spoke and the train stopped. The halting had Takuma's body pressing into your side. Your heads turned to the outside—Takuma's first as he sat up.
Snow. It fluttered down onto the station floor. It coated the clock and the benches. It lined the green-painted bins in white. Gentle now that the train was stagnant, and cold… Takuma pulled you snug against his side and his fingers drummed against your waist again like an antsy dog with its tail wagging. His leg pressed into yours again and you squeezed it in silent affirmation.
Just before the pause the intercom spoke the location. Two people stepped in through the doors. Someone with a messy red scarf woven in a similar style to your own, and another with an intricate wooden cane that settled in the corner. Three others left: a couple with their sleepy child.
Your head lifted slightly and you watched as their father picked them up the moment they stepped onto the stand, carrying the little thing in the nook of his elbow before he turned to his wife. Their lips moved; you didn't quite catch their words as the doors closed though the exchange looked soft and tender. A kiss—you turned away, eyes cast back to the floor. The train started again and the next station was called out in gentle warning, the jolt of which had you shivering from the draft.
Takuma's head fell on top of yours and your assumption was proven right.
"Are you cold?" Takuma asked in a mumble, nuzzling his cheek against the very top of your head. There was mirth in his tone—that usual eager sound that coated all of his words. An affectionate childishness and the type of kindness that came with love, something tinted with genuine worry as his hand took to rubbing your side. It warmed your face in a flush and it forced a pout onto your lips. You snuggled against his side hoping it would mask your quiver.
"No," you lied knowing you didn't sound genuine, slipping your hand off his knee and wrapping it against your chest. Takuma made a sound akin to a whine. Something that rumbled despite himself as he pulled his head away to stare you down. You could feel his need to complain at the lack of touch (he wouldn't, he was too understanding for that) but the words died on his tongue when that same hand snaked around his front in a complete side-hug. Those warm eyes… they watched you with a pinched brow as you pressed your face into his shoulder. "I'm fine," you mumbled, "just fine."
Another stop. The doors opened again and you pressed yourself tighter against Takuma. A shiver trembled through your fingertips and you fisted the fabric of his jumper. You could feel his body-heat spread into your skin.
Takuma hummed and looked between the cart's doors and you. "Do you want my jacket?"
You pulled away from him when the offer left his lips, keeping your hands clenched around his clothes whilst pulling a face. He looked genuine and you knew he'd take it off at your request. The sentiment made you shake your head. "I have my own," you said with a sigh before returning to your spot against him. You pressed your leg into his again before he could protest. "You'll be cold too if you give me yours—"
"So you are cold!" He quipped and you grumbled the both of you into silence. Then a quiet: "we could always wear it together."
"It's not big enough."
"Let's try."
"No."
Takuma sighed. You could hear the pout in his exhale before you could feel the jutted out lips against your hairline. A brisk kiss, then he returned to nuzzling against the top of your head with his cheek.
The silence returned. A comfortable silence highlighted by a mutual stillness. A tired silence that threatened to lull you into slumber. Your eyes felt heavy and Takuma's hand drumming softly against the fabric of your puffy clothes didn't help your exhaustion. The heat of his body melted into your limbs… you remained strong, staying awake if only partially because of the frigidness that remained coated on your skin. Your fingers twitched. They trembled. You breathed something quiet—an exhale before your hands squeezed around him. More silence. The cart rattled as it switched tracks. Then it stopped at another station.
You blinked and raised your gaze from the ground—half groggy and half alert—staring off into the darkness that enveloped the fully bloomed night. You squinted at the glass and tried to look beyond your own face. Past the highlights of your expression, beyond the falling snow, you could make out the time on the station's clock. The minute hand ticked the moment your eyes focussed. It was nearing six now and the shuffling of bodies through the doors let you know it was only getting colder. Another shiver. Your fingertips felt numb even pressed against Takuma's body.
The rough texture of Takuma's gloves sliding down your nose startled you, catching your attention quickly. You looked up at him with a shake of your head, gawking. You blinked, lashes fluttering, looking up at his face as he looked back at you.
"At least let me warm your hands," Takuma said, lips tilted in a silly half-smirk, partly bashful as if he had to resist rubbing the back of his neck in self-imposed awkwardness.
Two stops. Two stops had passed, perhaps around ten minutes of mutual silence lost to the tracks, and Takuma was still thinking about it: the way you shuddered at the chilly bite of winter… of course. You glanced at the proposed hand—palm up, his fingers twitched. The black glove looked inviting. It looked warm, frayed and dirty from battle, but in those ugly amber lights it looked cosy. You could feel a similar heat in his eyes and it didn't take much convincing for you to peel yourself from his side. His other hand left your waist. He cupped the air and you settled your hands in his. Gentle… his thumbs brushed your knuckles as his palms sandwiched your own.
Takuma sighed into the space. You stared at the empty seats and the fogged up windows.
"You wanna order food when we get back?" He asked and you shook your head 'no'. He perked up and looked at you. His hands squeezed yours.
"Noodles… from the grocery store. We need to pick up a few things."
"Groceries?" Takuma questioned and you nodded. He made a noise, a sound similar to a disgruntled whine that drifted into a sigh. His head went limp against his other shoulder. Then he nodded, jostling as the train stopped. "Do you know what we need?"
"I think so," you mumbled.
Hesitation clouded your thoughts for a moment. You didn't want to pull away from him. Not when the scratching caress of his thumbs brought such a warm bubbling feeling to your chest. You wanted him to hold them longer. Then your station was announced. The rumble of the tracks resumed and you removed your hands from his. They chased you, fingers tapping your skin, before resigning against his lap. Cold rushed to your digits just as fast as they did and you tried your best to not lament over the loss of his touch. You looked around the cart. Empty, bar from the people minding their own business with their noses in their phones. The wind outside the windows whistled. Distant streetlights flickered beyond tree-lined roads. You blinked, then turned your attention to Takuma.
Settling your hand against his cheek he practically melted into your palm. His skin felt clammy—it looked clammy, dirt sticking around his nostrils and in the wrinkles of his skin, dusting his face in makeshift freckles… Takuma flushed, you assumed it was at the intensity of your gaze, and you stood up prematurely to kiss his forehead. He didn't follow you up and instead guided you to stand between his legs where he could place his hands on the backs of your thighs. To keep you close; to keep you balanced. His hands squeezed them once and then his fingers drummed against the muscle as if on instinct. He looked up at you with the prettiest browns…
You pulled his beanie down to cover his eyes, flustering yourself in the process.
"Wha—hey!"
"And if I don't know what to buy we can just guess—yeah, that."
You puffed up your cheeks and Takuma pushed his beanie back up his forehead, blinking at you with a confused (albeit love-struck) expression before he chose to match your attitude. He pouted, letting you pull him to his feet. The both of you wobbled with the sway of the train and you nearly slipped on the small puddle by the door. Takuma kept you stable, he always did, his hands settling just under the curve of your butt.
Silence. Calm, tranquil silence bounced on the rattling train tracks. Then the train stopped, your stop was announced for the final time and the two of you stepped out into winter's frigid night.
riea's comments: hi time! i got your request... i hope you like it!!! i haven't posted in *checks watch* two months which is really crazy but yk cookies and crumbling... i really really wanna get back into writing so send some requests my way :>> also if this is buns shoot me bro like bullet to my brain immediately
part of the takuma troops inofic secret santa event ran by @inotaku-talkz and time!
something about the holiday season makes takuma undeniably happy. getting to close out another year with you in the best way possible: gingerbread houses. after all, that's how you two met. if it wasn't for last minute plans formed out of pure boredom and the courteous words of "take it!" and "oh no, you take it!", you wouldn't be with each other today. but really, for two completely unrelated people to get bored and say "i'm going to make a gingerbread house" and end up at the same grocery store at the same time, exchanging the last box of graham crackers because neither of you want to take it, is some insane level of soulmatism
but for the past five christmases, you've been making them together, of course with actual gingerbread now, not graham crackers
you're running around the house, eyes scanning over every flat surface possible. "takuma!" you call out, "where's my–"
"i have your keys and mini bag! yes, it's packed. yes, your lip balm is in there. now come, i've already started the car!" takuma responds quickly, jingling your keys as a signal that he does, in fact, have them. following the sound to the front door, you flash your boyfriend a smile before fixing his scarf and walking to the car. you've always liked this time of year, it serves as a reminder of the unconventional meeting of your lover. if you never asked him to come over to your place so that you could split the box of graham crackers, takuma would've never had your number to ask you out for coffee the following week
the grocery store is just about as loud as you both expected it to be. people bustling for ingredients to cook, carts rattling, registers chiming, and holiday songs playing softly overhead. takuma tells you he's just going to grab one thing, because that's easier than admitting he's already forgotten what aisle the icing is in, like he hasn't been frequenting this store for the past three years. you give him a small nod, busy debating between two brands of wafers. you know he'll find his way back eventually
takuma doesn't get far in his search before he's stopped. an elderly couple catches his attention in the snack aisle, the woman smiling at him with the kind of warmth that makes him feel immediately exposed. he answers her small talk politely, laughing when appropriate, nodding along, thinking it'll end quickly. it doesn't. the woman asks what he's shopping for, and when he mentions gingerbread houses, her eyes light up. "oh, they're the one you're making them with," she says, not even phrased like a question. "i can tell."
takuma feels his ears warm, an old lady's intuition is no joke. "yeah, it's a tradition of ours."
the man, who's been quiet until now, looks him up and down like he's assessing something important. "so," he says, folding his arms, "when are you proposing?" the question hits takuma so hard, it knocks the air from his lungs. proposing? he never mentioned that. not out loud, not to anyone, even though the thought is constantly on his mind. "i—sorry?" he manages and the old man scoffs. "don't act surprised." the man says, jabbing the air with a finger, "i've been married for fifty-six years. i know what a man looks like when he's already lost."
takuma laughs nervously, unsure how to respond, but the old man isn't finished. he leans in, lowering his voice to the point where it feels like he's sharing a warning only meant for takuma. and his following words don't help his case, "do it soon. there's no guarantee someone like that will stay around forever."
a threat. that's a threat, right? takuma's grip tightens in his pocket, fingers brushing against a velvet case and suddenly, takuma is very aware of how fast his heart is beating. before he can respond, the old woman places a gentle hand on his shoulder, calming him down just enough that his heart rate won't be a health concern
"harold," she sighs, shooting a look at her husband, "you've scared the poor boy." she turns back to takuma, expression softening. "i'm sorry about him. he gets anxious when he sees young couples." she glances at him sideways before lowering her voice. "it was about your age that he messed up and nearly lost me."
"i did not—" the old man starts
"you absolutely did," she cuts in, then looks back at takuma with a knowing smile. "so. do you have a ring yet?"
takuma opens his mouth. closes it
then, because he is exactly who thinks he is, he nods. "i—um. yeah. i do, i have it right here actually."
both of them freeze before glancing at each other out of the corner of their eyes. the old man is the first to speak. "you disappoint me," he says, crossing his arms and shaking his head in disbelief. "why are you just carrying it around like—"
"can i see it?" his wife interrupts, already holding out her hand. takuma hesitates for half a second before pulling that pretty velvet box that he got custom made in your favorite color out of his pocket and opening it gently to uncover the ring. it's unmistakably you, like if takuma himself showed the jeweler a picture of you and said make them into a ring. the three of them huddle into a little circle in the middle of the snack aisle; chips, pretzels, cookies, granola bars and various other delicacies surrounding them
"it's beautiful," the old woman murmurs
"you did good," the old man admits, grudging but sincere
"takuma?" you say, voice bright as you round the corner. "oh, here you are! i've been looking everywhere for you."
he nearly drops the box
in one smooth, panicked motion, takuma shoves it back into his pocket like it's a live grenade and turns to you, cheeks already burning. "h-hi!" he stutters
you glance between him and the couple, waving and smiling politely. "uh… did i miss something?"
takuma gestures wildly with his hands. "uh—ring! marriage! couple! wedding—" he stops, bringing his hands to cover his face, horrified at himself. "never mind. i—...never mind."
you blink. then laugh, warm and easy, slipping your hand into his. "okay," you say, amused. "but we still need icing." he nods immediately, squeezing your hand a little tighter as you pull him away—ring heavy in his pocket and heart thankfully not the bpm it was a few minutes before but still faster than it should be
the trip back home is quick and uneventful, the kind that passes without either of you really noticing the time because you're there together—your shoulder brushing his when the car turns, your laugh filling the space whenever the radio lands on something familiar. takuma keeps one hand on the wheel and the other on your thigh, but his mind drifts more than once to the weight in his pocket, to the way the old woman's voice had softened when she'd said it's beautiful. he doesn't say anything. he just drives, content in the quiet
inside the house, grocery bags rustle as he sets them down on the kitchen island. you move around him easily, taking out small plates and cutting boards for the set up. takuma pulls out the supplies one by one, lining them up neatly—icing, candy, the boxes of wafers. he pauses when he reaches those, the two packs he'd grabbed without telling you, a completely different brand from the ones you'd been trying to choose between back at the store
"hey," he says, casual, though his heart skips when you look up at him. he sets the wafers on the counter between you. "what if, for this year, we make each other houses?"
it's a simple idea, really. almost stupidly so. but the more it settles in his chest, the more he likes it
"i mean," he continues, rubbing the back of his neck, "like—build it for the other person. pick the colors, the candy, everything. no peeking."
he watches you carefully as you open the oven to take out the gingerbread you two baked last night, focusing on the way your brows lift, the smile creeping in before you even realize it's there. takuma exhales, relieved, warmth blooming in his chest. he can already picture it—something lopsided and imperfect, probably collapsing in one corner, but made with you in mind the entire time
"deal?" he asks softly, holding out his hand.
"deal."
both of you had settled in opposite corners of the house, with the mutual meeting point being the kitchen to grab any extra supplies if needed. hours passed by with the only indication being the clock hand's turn and the setting of the sun; soon enough, you placed the final touches on the house, icing bags and small saucers scattered around your workspace
"okay," takuma says, clearing his throat and placing his house next to yours on the counter "no judging."
you laugh. "you're the one who suggested this."
"exactly," he mutters, sliding his house toward you. "which is why i should be protected by law."
you lean in, inspecting the figure. it's exactly what takuma thought it would be—one wall slightly crooked, icing a little heavy in places—but you wouldn't be convinced if someone told you anyone else made it but takuma. it's thoughtful in a quiet way: the colors are your favorites, he's even tried to make tiny details that don't really matter structurally but matter to you, like the small heart piped onto the side. you look up at him, eyes soft. "takuma… you made this for me." the words sound silly, but they're carried with so much love
he ducks his head, embarrassed. "well. yeah. that was the assignment."
"it's really cute," you say gently, reaching for his hand, "i love it."
his shoulders relax like he's been holding his breath the entire time. "okay. good. because if you hated it, i was going to cry and beg for forgiveness."
then, you slide your house toward him, watching as his expression shifts from curiosity to something you couldn't quite recognize. he studies it carefully, as if he's afraid to miss something. the way the colors match his favorite hoodie, the one you gifted to him on his birthday a few years back. the candies that don't match the overall aesthetic of the house but you added them anyway because they're his favorite. and it looks like you both had the same idea with the heart on the side. society calls that a match made in heaven
takuma exhales a quiet laugh, "you're evil." you hum questioningly, inching closer and closer to him, "how so?" the way his hand settles on your hip is natural, it honestly shocking that you've gone almost the whole day without feeling it there. takuma presses a kiss to your forehead, "no one else gets to call you their lover. they don't get to see how amazing and sweet you are." you melt into his touch before squishing his face with your hands, "my baby, always thinking about others. surely being with me isn't all that bad?"
he looks offended at this (rightfully so, you're the love of his life). "all that bad? what are you talking about. being with you is one of the best things to happen to me. like ever." he starts, flailing his arms around before they grab onto your shoulders and begin shaking you back and forth, "i don't even think you realize how happy i am just being able to breathe the same air as you. i love you. babe, i'm actually really—"
pats to his chest stop him mid-rant. "i love you too." you stare up at him, bright eyed, and suddenly his mind goes blank and he can't remember his next words. takuma struggles to form words so he decides to pull you into a tight hug instead, eliciting a string of giggles from you. "you're so cute!" you smile, returning the hug
"you're the cute one…" takuma whispers, face buried in your hair to try and mitigate his reddening face
soon enough, you find yourselves on the couch, a blanket pulled over your laps, a random show playing on the television, and the gingerbread houses on the coffee table before you. takuma tears off a piece of your house before handing it to you and doing the same for himself. "cheers," he says, barely audible above the sound of the tv. you clink candy against candy. "cheers."
eating slowly, you comment on the icing being too sweet, and steal pieces from each other's plates, laughing when a wall caves in. at some point, you tuck yourself into takuma's side without thinking, his arm coming around you just as naturally, fingers resting warm and familiar at your shoulder
"this was a good idea," you murmur. he hums, already sounding a little sleepy. "most of my ideas are."
"well..."
"…okay, some of them are."
his voice trails off, words growing softer, until his head tips against yours and stays there. you glance up at him, smiling when you realize he's asleep already, mouth slightly open, completely relaxed. you reach for another piece of your gingerbread house—and feel something solid inside
you pause
carefully, you pull out the small box, recognizing it almost instantly. a sigh escapes you before you can stop it, the sound fond rather than surprised. of course he would hide it there. of course he would forget
you look back at him, still asleep, then stand quietly and place the box on the dresser in the bedroom, next to a framed photo of you two. when you return, you slide back into the couch, nestling into his chest. takuma shifts in his sleep, arm tightening around you like he knows you're there even unconscious
the tv continues playing to no one. the gingerbread houses sit half-eaten on the table. and wrapped up in takuma's warmth, sugar still on your fingers, you drift off too, feeling full in every way that matters
riea's comments: hi time! i got your request... i hope you like it!!! i haven't posted in *checks watch* two months which is really crazy but yk cookies and crumbling... i really really wanna get back into writing so send some requests my way :>> also if this is buns shoot me bro like bullet to my brain immediately
part of the takuma troops inofic secret santa event ran by @inotaku-talkz and time!
something about the holiday season makes takuma undeniably happy. getting to close out another year with you in the best way possible: gingerbread houses. after all, that's how you two met. if it wasn't for last minute plans formed out of pure boredom and the courteous words of "take it!" and "oh no, you take it!", you wouldn't be with each other today. but really, for two completely unrelated people to get bored and say "i'm going to make a gingerbread house" and end up at the same grocery store at the same time, exchanging the last box of graham crackers because neither of you want to take it, is some insane level of soulmatism
but for the past five christmases, you've been making them together, of course with actual gingerbread now, not graham crackers
you're running around the house, eyes scanning over every flat surface possible. "takuma!" you call out, "where's my–"
"i have your keys and mini bag! yes, it's packed. yes, your lip balm is in there. now come, i've already started the car!" takuma responds quickly, jingling your keys as a signal that he does, in fact, have them. following the sound to the front door, you flash your boyfriend a smile before fixing his scarf and walking to the car. you've always liked this time of year, it serves as a reminder of the unconventional meeting of your lover. if you never asked him to come over to your place so that you could split the box of graham crackers, takuma would've never had your number to ask you out for coffee the following week
the grocery store is just about as loud as you both expected it to be. people bustling for ingredients to cook, carts rattling, registers chiming, and holiday songs playing softly overhead. takuma tells you he's just going to grab one thing, because that's easier than admitting he's already forgotten what aisle the icing is in, like he hasn't been frequenting this store for the past three years. you give him a small nod, busy debating between two brands of wafers. you know he'll find his way back eventually
takuma doesn't get far in his search before he's stopped. an elderly couple catches his attention in the snack aisle, the woman smiling at him with the kind of warmth that makes him feel immediately exposed. he answers her small talk politely, laughing when appropriate, nodding along, thinking it'll end quickly. it doesn't. the woman asks what he's shopping for, and when he mentions gingerbread houses, her eyes light up. "oh, they're the one you're making them with," she says, not even phrased like a question. "i can tell."
takuma feels his ears warm, an old lady's intuition is no joke. "yeah, it's a tradition of ours."
the man, who's been quiet until now, looks him up and down like he's assessing something important. "so," he says, folding his arms, "when are you proposing?" the question hits takuma so hard, it knocks the air from his lungs. proposing? he never mentioned that. not out loud, not to anyone, even though the thought is constantly on his mind. "i—sorry?" he manages and the old man scoffs. "don't act surprised." the man says, jabbing the air with a finger, "i've been married for fifty-six years. i know what a man looks like when he's already lost."
takuma laughs nervously, unsure how to respond, but the old man isn't finished. he leans in, lowering his voice to the point where it feels like he's sharing a warning only meant for takuma. and his following words don't help his case, "do it soon. there's no guarantee someone like that will stay around forever."
a threat. that's a threat, right? takuma's grip tightens in his pocket, fingers brushing against a velvet case and suddenly, takuma is very aware of how fast his heart is beating. before he can respond, the old woman places a gentle hand on his shoulder, calming him down just enough that his heart rate won't be a health concern
"harold," she sighs, shooting a look at her husband, "you've scared the poor boy." she turns back to takuma, expression softening. "i'm sorry about him. he gets anxious when he sees young couples." she glances at him sideways before lowering her voice. "it was about your age that he messed up and nearly lost me."
"i did not—" the old man starts
"you absolutely did," she cuts in, then looks back at takuma with a knowing smile. "so. do you have a ring yet?"
takuma opens his mouth. closes it
then, because he is exactly who thinks he is, he nods. "i—um. yeah. i do, i have it right here actually."
both of them freeze before glancing at each other out of the corner of their eyes. the old man is the first to speak. "you disappoint me," he says, crossing his arms and shaking his head in disbelief. "why are you just carrying it around like—"
"can i see it?" his wife interrupts, already holding out her hand. takuma hesitates for half a second before pulling that pretty velvet box that he got custom made in your favorite color out of his pocket and opening it gently to uncover the ring. it's unmistakably you, like if takuma himself showed the jeweler a picture of you and said make them into a ring. the three of them huddle into a little circle in the middle of the snack aisle; chips, pretzels, cookies, granola bars and various other delicacies surrounding them
"it's beautiful," the old woman murmurs
"you did good," the old man admits, grudging but sincere
"takuma?" you say, voice bright as you round the corner. "oh, here you are! i've been looking everywhere for you."
he nearly drops the box
in one smooth, panicked motion, takuma shoves it back into his pocket like it's a live grenade and turns to you, cheeks already burning. "h-hi!" he stutters
you glance between him and the couple, waving and smiling politely. "uh… did i miss something?"
takuma gestures wildly with his hands. "uh—ring! marriage! couple! wedding—" he stops, bringing his hands to cover his face, horrified at himself. "never mind. i—...never mind."
you blink. then laugh, warm and easy, slipping your hand into his. "okay," you say, amused. "but we still need icing." he nods immediately, squeezing your hand a little tighter as you pull him away—ring heavy in his pocket and heart thankfully not the bpm it was a few minutes before but still faster than it should be
the trip back home is quick and uneventful, the kind that passes without either of you really noticing the time because you're there together—your shoulder brushing his when the car turns, your laugh filling the space whenever the radio lands on something familiar. takuma keeps one hand on the wheel and the other on your thigh, but his mind drifts more than once to the weight in his pocket, to the way the old woman's voice had softened when she'd said it's beautiful. he doesn't say anything. he just drives, content in the quiet
inside the house, grocery bags rustle as he sets them down on the kitchen island. you move around him easily, taking out small plates and cutting boards for the set up. takuma pulls out the supplies one by one, lining them up neatly—icing, candy, the boxes of wafers. he pauses when he reaches those, the two packs he'd grabbed without telling you, a completely different brand from the ones you'd been trying to choose between back at the store
"hey," he says, casual, though his heart skips when you look up at him. he sets the wafers on the counter between you. "what if, for this year, we make each other houses?"
it's a simple idea, really. almost stupidly so. but the more it settles in his chest, the more he likes it
"i mean," he continues, rubbing the back of his neck, "like—build it for the other person. pick the colors, the candy, everything. no peeking."
he watches you carefully as you open the oven to take out the gingerbread you two baked last night, focusing on the way your brows lift, the smile creeping in before you even realize it's there. takuma exhales, relieved, warmth blooming in his chest. he can already picture it—something lopsided and imperfect, probably collapsing in one corner, but made with you in mind the entire time
"deal?" he asks softly, holding out his hand.
"deal."
both of you had settled in opposite corners of the house, with the mutual meeting point being the kitchen to grab any extra supplies if needed. hours passed by with the only indication being the clock hand's turn and the setting of the sun; soon enough, you placed the final touches on the house, icing bags and small saucers scattered around your workspace
"okay," takuma says, clearing his throat and placing his house next to yours on the counter "no judging."
you laugh. "you're the one who suggested this."
"exactly," he mutters, sliding his house toward you. "which is why i should be protected by law."
you lean in, inspecting the figure. it's exactly what takuma thought it would be—one wall slightly crooked, icing a little heavy in places—but you wouldn't be convinced if someone told you anyone else made it but takuma. it's thoughtful in a quiet way: the colors are your favorites, he's even tried to make tiny details that don't really matter structurally but matter to you, like the small heart piped onto the side. you look up at him, eyes soft. "takuma… you made this for me." the words sound silly, but they're carried with so much love
he ducks his head, embarrassed. "well. yeah. that was the assignment."
"it's really cute," you say gently, reaching for his hand, "i love it."
his shoulders relax like he's been holding his breath the entire time. "okay. good. because if you hated it, i was going to cry and beg for forgiveness."
then, you slide your house toward him, watching as his expression shifts from curiosity to something you couldn't quite recognize. he studies it carefully, as if he's afraid to miss something. the way the colors match his favorite hoodie, the one you gifted to him on his birthday a few years back. the candies that don't match the overall aesthetic of the house but you added them anyway because they're his favorite. and it looks like you both had the same idea with the heart on the side. society calls that a match made in heaven
takuma exhales a quiet laugh, "you're evil." you hum questioningly, inching closer and closer to him, "how so?" the way his hand settles on your hip is natural, it honestly shocking that you've gone almost the whole day without feeling it there. takuma presses a kiss to your forehead, "no one else gets to call you their lover. they don't get to see how amazing and sweet you are." you melt into his touch before squishing his face with your hands, "my baby, always thinking about others. surely being with me isn't all that bad?"
he looks offended at this (rightfully so, you're the love of his life). "all that bad? what are you talking about. being with you is one of the best things to happen to me. like ever." he starts, flailing his arms around before they grab onto your shoulders and begin shaking you back and forth, "i don't even think you realize how happy i am just being able to breathe the same air as you. i love you. babe, i'm actually really—"
pats to his chest stop him mid-rant. "i love you too." you stare up at him, bright eyed, and suddenly his mind goes blank and he can't remember his next words. takuma struggles to form words so he decides to pull you into a tight hug instead, eliciting a string of giggles from you. "you're so cute!" you smile, returning the hug
"you're the cute one…" takuma whispers, face buried in your hair to try and mitigate his reddening face
soon enough, you find yourselves on the couch, a blanket pulled over your laps, a random show playing on the television, and the gingerbread houses on the coffee table before you. takuma tears off a piece of your house before handing it to you and doing the same for himself. "cheers," he says, barely audible above the sound of the tv. you clink candy against candy. "cheers."
eating slowly, you comment on the icing being too sweet, and steal pieces from each other's plates, laughing when a wall caves in. at some point, you tuck yourself into takuma's side without thinking, his arm coming around you just as naturally, fingers resting warm and familiar at your shoulder
"this was a good idea," you murmur. he hums, already sounding a little sleepy. "most of my ideas are."
"well..."
"…okay, some of them are."
his voice trails off, words growing softer, until his head tips against yours and stays there. you glance up at him, smiling when you realize he's asleep already, mouth slightly open, completely relaxed. you reach for another piece of your gingerbread house—and feel something solid inside
you pause
carefully, you pull out the small box, recognizing it almost instantly. a sigh escapes you before you can stop it, the sound fond rather than surprised. of course he would hide it there. of course he would forget
you look back at him, still asleep, then stand quietly and place the box on the dresser in the bedroom, next to a framed photo of you two. when you return, you slide back into the couch, nestling into his chest. takuma shifts in his sleep, arm tightening around you like he knows you're there even unconscious
the tv continues playing to no one. the gingerbread houses sit half-eaten on the table. and wrapped up in takuma's warmth, sugar still on your fingers, you drift off too, feeling full in every way that matters
