#Button Stitching Machine | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mickandmusings · 11 months ago

Text

you’re losing me

pairing: tyler owens x f! reader

word count: 5.2k

summary:

when tyler, yet again, forgets an important date while he's caught up in chasing, y/n is at her wits end. their relationship feels like it's dying, and he just might have dealt the final blow. after a series of rather unfortunate happenings, it's up to the rest of the wranglers to set them free from the disaster they created.

warnings: ANGST with a capital a; tyler is kind of an ass; halfway edited (sorry); forced proximity; not my most favorite thing i've ever written; sort of suggestive but not explicit

The ticking of the clock on the kitchen wall taunts her, reminding her that time was continuing to pass by. She taps her fingers against the table, her patience fleeting.

Y/N picks up her phone to check it for nearly the twentieth time in the past half hour. She had hoped to look down and see a missed call or an apologetic message from her boyfriend, who, at present, is an hour and a half late for their anniversary dinner. She had the table set for two some time ago: a home cooked meal in the oven, a bottle of white wine to split, and a candle lit in the center of the table. She sported a flowy sundress that tapered off mid-calf-Tyler's favorite dress on her-one that she just knew was going to end up on the floor of their bedroom by now.

Clearly, she'd been mistaken.

She presses the button on the side and the screen illuminates the dimly-lit room. The only thing that greets her is an empty lockscreen- a picture of Tyler smiling down at her as she looks up at him, taken over a year ago. She sighs in annoyance, putting the phone back down as the tear in her heart only grows bigger and bigger. She'd known this would happen, and despite all her efforts to avoid it, he had still forgotten.

She'd started two weeks beforehand, by telling him that she wanted to spend the night of their anniversary with him, alone. He'd agreed, claiming it was a great idea. That night, she put the reminder in his phone calendar and wrote it into the paper one that lived on his fridge. A week before, she'd mentioned it a thousand times: over dinner, during grocery shopping, and even during post-bliss pillow talk. He'd pull her into his arms and kiss her head, assuring her every time that he'd be there with bells on. Naively, she had believed him. Now, she was sitting alone at his dinner table in her prettiest sundress, feeling like a complete fool.

Her phone dings, and she feels the rip in her heart stitch itself back together for a slight moment. When she notices it's not Tyler, her shoulders slump.

The Tornado Wranglers are LIVE! Click here to watch now!

She's quick to click it, watching as it loads before she sees Boone's face in the frame, the top of Tyler's hat visible. Her heart shatters, watching as her boyfriend smiles and hollers for the camera, chasing a storm. She'd known there was a big storm forming for the past few days: when Tyler went out on a chase, she watched the weather as if it were a nail-biting thriller. Hearing him on the livestream had been the first time she'd seen or heard from him all day, despite his promises to be next to her this very moment.

She exits the live and stands from the dinner table, already knowing her boyfriend wouldn't be home any time soon. She blows out the candle and puts the unopened wine back in the kitchen, wrapping the dinner she'd made in tin foil and tossing it into the fridge. Despite her simmering anger, she knew Tyler would come home drenched, so she set out a dry change of clothes and a towel on the washing machine for him to see. Shaking her head, she bit her lip and swallowed thickly as she moved to the en suite bathroom and changed out of the dress, her perfectly curled hair wasted. She throws on her pajamas and her (intentionally not Tyler's) hoodie, climbing into her side of their shared bed. She plugs her phone into the charger and switches on the silent function, not wanting to be bothered as she wallows. Finally, she plops down onto her pillow and curls under the blankets, her annoyance slowly fading into disappointment. She tries to push the tears back, feeling stupid for crying over something so trivial, but it had hurt that he'd forgotten something that was supposed to be important to both of them. She feels asinine, like a dog with a bird at his door, only to be shut out. A choked sob slips past her lips, and she's done for. She curls in on herself, legs to her chest as she cries until her body could no longer take it, and lets her eyes shut for sleep.

Hours later, Tyler stumbles into his house, plopping off his soaking wet boots on the rug at the garage door. He's slightly dry from his ride home, but his clothes still cling to his skin, making him shiver when he walks into the house. He turns to lock the door behind him, shuffling into the laundry room that connected the garage and the house. He puts his wet hat on the hook, peeling out of his sopping shirt and jeans, finding a change of clothes and towel set out for him. He smiled, knowing he'd likely find his girlfriend passed out on the couch with the weather forecast still playing on the screen. He changed quickly, hands itching to pull her into his hold and fall into a deep sleep. As he leaves the laundry room and heads to the kitchen, he notes the dinner table set with placemats and silverware next to them. He gives the set up a confused look before shrugging, tossing back a glass of water before walking towards the living room.

The empty room stops him in his tracks completely. The TV had been shut off, only a black screen staring back at him. There had been no indication that Y/N had been here at all-the blankets were folded neatly into the basket, pillows still upright and straight. He looked for anything-a charger plugged into the wall, her current read on the coffee table, an empty mug-but found no signs of the girl he loved. 'Maybe she had an early night,' his mind tried to grasp an explanation of why she wasn't where she always was when he was out on a chase.

Tyler's hand wipes his face, rubbing his tired eyes as he stomps up the stairs to their shared bedroom. The hallway is cloaked in darkness, and he has to use his phone's flashlight just to make his way to the door. He turns it off when he turns the knob and pushes the door open, not wanting the blinding light to disturb her. He makes out her figure curled into her side of the bed, looking small. He frowns again, it was always guaranteed she'd be curled into his pillow if he was gone, often wrapped in some article of his clothing, if not completely dressed in only his clothes.

Wordlessly, he comes to her side of the bed to kiss her head, checking in to make sure she was okay. Moonlight from the window illuminates her face, and he finds his chest tightening as he looks at her. Tears had dried to her skin, and a frown was etched onto her face, even in her slumber. He pushes hair from her face, finding the strand curled, and kisses her forehead lightly. He pulls the covers over her more, making sure she was entirely tucked in. With a worried frown now marking his own face, he shuffles to the bathroom to brush his teeth. He opens the door and flicks on the light, the sight in front of him bringing his confusion to new heights.

A white sundress stares back at him, sitting crumpled on the counter. The puffy sleeves are deflated, and the slit on the leg had flopped over, exposing the other side of the fabric. This dress only made an appearance for special occasions, mainly because he couldn't keep his hands off of her when she wore it. She'd talked about it for weeks, she was going to wear it on their anniver-he stills-no. Tyler's heart sinks to his feet, hammering against his chest so loudly it rattles his eardrums. There is no way he'd forgotten. The unusual things in his home began to add up, and, with shaking hands, he reaches for his phone and stares down at the photo of her smiling back at him. She's standing in a poncho, drenched, but smiling as she uses her hand to point towards a barreling storm in the distance. Sure enough, in the slew of notifications he'd ignored, sits a calendar reminder:

'Our anniversary date ;) <3'

He plops down on the side of the tub and scrolls through the messages and calls Y/N had left, clicking on the voicemail she'd left, her sweet voice filling his ears:

'Hey Ty, it's almost nine, I just...um, just checking on you. I-I don't know if you're just running late or you forgot, but...I love you, see you soon. Be careful, please. Call me when you get this.'

He pieces it together quickly-the table set up for two, his favorite dress she'd been wearing, her hair curled just to look nice for him-the realization guts him. He had been stupid, so caught up in the thrill of the chase he completely forgot about the one thing that always brought him home. His brain recalls her excitement over the dinner she would cook, and he had planned on bringing flowers and her favorite sweets from that bakery downtown, hoping to charm that dress right off of her. He pushes his damp hair back with his hands, he had fucked up, and royally. The reason she hadn't done the things she normally did when he was gone was because he wasn't supposed to be gone at all.

He breaths deeply before brushing his teeth, sliding into the bed next to her and pulling her close. He'd hold her while he could, because he'd spend the next few days groveling for her forgiveness. He'd wake up early-clean up the dishes from last night, cook her breakfast, do the laundry, pick up groceries for the week. Hell, he'd kiss her fucking feet if it meant she'd forgive him. His eyes shut closed with sleep, and night quickly fades into morning.

Y/N is the first to wake, her skin burning under Tyler's touch. She immediately rolls away from his grasp, and the content look on his sleeping face makes her flame with anger. She rolls her eyes and stomps out of the room, purposefully slamming the door to the bedroom enough to rattle the frames on the walls. The noise jostles Tyler from his sleep, and he sits up in his bed, allowing himself only a minute of solitude before he realizes he's under the dog house.

Quietly, he stomps down the stairs, finding Y/N already standing at the sink, sleeves pushed up as she scrubs at a pot hastily. Her face is drawn into an angry frown, and the air is thick with tension. There's none of her music filtering through the tiny speaker in the window, none of her humming as she works. She's angry, she's hurt, and all she really wants is an apology.

"Mornin'," his voice is raspy, and he awkwardly hovers behind her, watching from a distance as she ignores him. He comes over and lightly grabs her arm, attempting to take over the task. "I can do that, darlin', you go sit at the bar and I'll cook you breakfast, yeah?"

She snatches her arm from his grasp and gives him an unpleasant look, only returning to the dishes in front of her as she shakes her head. He gives a deep sigh, stepping away from her to give her space.

Her silent treatment was always the worst.

"Baby, please, I-I know I fucked up, I'm just trying to make it up to you, let me-"

She lets out an angry laugh, dropping the pot back into the soapy sink with a shake of her head. Her veins fill with a fury she can't control, and she's almost blinded by her rage.

"Fucked up is an understatement, Tyler."

Her angry words were piercing, but at least she was talking.

"Y/N/N, I know, I'm going to make this up to you. I'll-"

"I don't want to hear your lies that I hear every time you mess up, Tyler. You're not going to take time away from chasing, so you can stop feeding me that same lie."

Her honesty stops him in his tracks. He starts to feel defensive, his own anger rising to the surface.

"Just listen-"

The bowl she's cleaning clamors against the other dishes in a loud fashion, making him jump slightly as she turns to face him. Fury is written across her face completely.

"No! You listen! I planned this for weeks, Tyler, weeks! I did everything, the cooking, the cleaning, the waiting around for four fucking hours! All you had to do was show up, and you couldn't even do that."

She swallows thickly, the anger beginning to fester into the sadness she'd been shoving down. Her chest moves in short breaths, and she tries to control her breathing as she looks up at him. He notes her teary eyes-she's not really angry, she's hurting.

"It would've been fine if this was a one off thing, but it isn't. You and I both know that." Her voice is lacking the fire it once had, replaced with a wave of vulnerability she rarely lets show. She pauses and wipes her hands with the kitchen towel in her hands. Her eyes dart across the room in thought, never meeting his. "First it was my birthday, and then not just one, but two dates, and now this. Every other time I just let it go, not wanting to start anything, but I can't anymore, because it just keeps happening. Tyler, I love you, but you're breaking my heart."

Her bottom lip wobbles as she takes a deep breath and straightens her shoulders, trying to have a conversation with the man she was begging to love her the way she loved him.

"I'm not asking you to give it up, I'm just asking for one day, maybe every couple weeks? I feel like I sleep next to you but I never see you, and-," her eyebrows furrow before she takes a defensive step back, crossing her arms over her chest. "I just don't want to have to beg you to want to spend time with me."

Tyler's heart shatters. He fumbles to come up with the right words, knowing the wrong ones could ruin everything. He loved her immeasurably, and he'd been so goddamn blind. His mind raced with the dozens of things she does for him without being asked-making sure he had dry clothes after chasing, ensuring he had a decent meal every time he came home, tens upon hundreds of tiny actions that he had taken for granted. When was the last time he'd done something like that for her? The one time she had asked him, weeks in advance, to save a day for her, he had neglected it completely, unintentionally or not.

She looks down at her feet, feeling so incredibly small, invisible, like the man in front of her can't see her at all. She was tired of trying to keep their relationship alive all on her own. She wasn't in denial that Tyler loved her, she knew he did, but the last few months had felt as if he hardly remembered she was there. Her anxiety spirals-did he really love her, or was she just convenient for him?

"I know that chasing is important to you, and I love seeing you do it, but it always comes before me. I just want to know, will I ever come first?" Her voice is so, so hurt, and the girl he knows has withered away. The only thing that remains is the shell of her in front of him, pleading for him to just notice her. "It's okay if not, I-I just need to know. Because I can't keep having this fight, just tell me the truth so if the answer is no, I can move on."

Tyler's heart hammers, his own insecurity flaring.

"W-What? No, no, chasin' doesn't come before you, ever. Y-You know that."

She gives him a doubtful look.

"You do know that right?"

"Tyler, name one time that you've dropped everything from chasing a storm to do something for me?"

She stands leaned against the counter, arms crossed in front of her. His mind cannot conjure one situation, and he knows she's right, he'd never put her first. Not once. He had missed her birthday party just last month for a big storm over in Kansas, on his own. The rest of the Wranglers had even cancelled to be there for her. Both Boone and Lilly both had called him from the party to reprimand him, and he'd stayed anyways. Then he'd done it again, twice, just two weeks later. Each time, she'd forgiven him with open arms, never fighting him on it, simply accepting his lie that he'd never do it again.

She simply nods, waiting to see how long it would take Tyler to realize just how miserable this had been for her. He grows defensive, trying to make excuses for his actions.

"That storm in Kansas, w-we haven't seen a storm that scale since-"

"Tyler, save it," she starts, her voice growing an edge. "You answered my question, that's all I needed to know."

He watches as she literally and metaphorically throws in the towel, a somber look written across her face.

“I-I need some air.”

She says nothing else, only sliding on her shoes and slipping out the garage door. He expects to hear the jangling of her keys and then the roar of her car’s engine, but neither come-she’d taken out on foot.

Tyler ignores the rush of tears that threatened to spill from behind his eyes, his chest so full of guilt it feels like he might combust from one single sob. He stews in his emotions as he resumes the task she'd started-at least when she got back, the dishes would be one less thing for her to worry about. As his hands scrubbed at various pots and pans, he thought about the thousands of things he wanted to do to show her that he was serious. He wanted to run after her, to pull her back into his house, but he knew she needed her space, time away from him to think. Tyler wrestles with his emotions, knowing this could very well be the end of them, and it'd be his fault entirely. He'd let the best thing in his life slip entirely out of his grasp, all because he'd had his head in the clouds. It had been obvious to everyone around him, except him. How had he been so blind to her anguish?

He moves around the kitchen in complete silence, only the rattle of the dishes he's putting away filling his ears. He ponders over the dark hue forming across the sky, wishing Y/N had taken a jacket or an umbrella with her. He wonders if he should call her, just to tell her that he could leave while she stayed here, he didn't want her in the rain. He doesn't overthink it and pulls up her contact, letting it ring before he hears vibrating. His eyes turn to the direction of the noise.

Shit.

She'd left her phone here.

He turns his attention to the slew of missed messages on his own phone. Just twenty minutes ago, Dexter had texted him about a storm forming just miles from his home. The messages after were from Dani, Boone, and Lilly, all asking if he and Y/N were okay. His eyebrows pinched and he frowned, about to respond with a question mark before he heard the shrill ring of the tornado siren outside his window. His eyes glance up to see a darkening sky, heavy clouds sitting low in the sky.

He tosses his phone into his pocket before he's pulling on his still-wet boots and bolting out his garage door. A tornado was minutes from hitting here, and his girlfriend was wandering around aimlessly. She couldn't have gone far, his house sat miles from town, the only neighbors being a relatively empty home the next street over-the family only visited during the winter months, they paid him handsomely to keep their grass cut when they weren't in town-so he knew that she wouldn't have anyone to look out for her. His boots clicked on asphalt, his voice hoarse as he yelled after her, her name falling desperately from his lips as the wind whipped around his face.

With no signs of her appearing, his heart began to hammer against his chest. Rain began to pelt his clothes and it only urged his aching legs to move faster. His mind conjures images he fears-her stuck under a collapsed tree or shed, left for dead because he'd been stupid. They urged him to the neighbor's house, chest searing with anxiety as he heaved, still not seeing anything-no flashes of the simple dress she'd been wearing, or the cardigan she'd wore over it tossed somewhere. Before his brain could stop him, he was pulling the spare key from under the mat, all but trespassing into his neighbor's home, shouting her name. Nothing.

He slams the door, running a hand through his hair as he begins to panic. His chest feels tight, his mind growing fuzzy with the thought of her being out in this storm alone. The air only grows more thick, and a crack of lightning startles him. It sends him into taking off on foot in their backyard, even slinging open the door of the storm shelter to see if she'd hid there. It was empty, making him let out a string of curses to the sky.

Then, he hears her voice. He almost thinks he's imagining it, her tone is sweet and gentle, and he thinks he's losing his mind.

"Hey, it's okay little guy."

It's the voice he knows well-the voice she uses for animals and babies. His jade eyes turn to see her hair blowing in the wind, her dress wet from the weather. She's crouched down and attempting to move a stack of firewood from the neighbors yard, her eyes on alert she hears Tyler's footsteps crunch the ground behind her. She whips around, looking at him.

"Tyler, help me, there's a rabbit, he's stuck."

Tyler looks at her with wide eyes. His voice is loud over the sirens blaring in the air and the wind whipping.

"Darlin', there's a big ass storm coming right for us! Leave it! We gotta get down, now!"

Her eyes are fiery when she turns back to look at him.

"Then leave, but I'm not leaving him here!"

Her hands hastily moved large pieces of firewood, getting more and more drenched. She lifts a particularly heavy one and throws it across the grass.

"If you're just going to stand there and not help, then go! I don't need you hovering because you care all of a sudden!"

Tyler's heart shatters, she thought he didn't care? Of course he cared, but he was more concerned with keeping her safe. He sighs at her stubbornness, moving to help lift the firewood at a faster pace. She lifts a particularly stubborn piece, drawing her hand back quickly with a soft 'fuck!' He tosses her a concerned look but moves on working to get the firewood moved. His muscle flexes as Tyler throws the piece caging the animal in and watches as it bolts towards the treeline. He slings an arm around her shoulder as the roar of the storm grows closer, all but manhandling her into the storm shelter he'd just looked in. It wasn't shabby by any means, well stocked and clean, but small. He shuts the door with a grunt, turning to face her and watching as she digs through a first aid kit.

"What're you doin'?"

She says nothing, only sticking out her right hand for him to see. It's bleeding from a cut, tiny pieces of wood protruding from around it.

"Shit, baby," he moves to grab the kit from her. "Stop, just stop tryin' to do it on your own, it's only going to get worse."

She stills, looking up at him with dagger-like eyes.

"Look, you did your job. I'm safe here, you can go."

Go? Where the hell did she think he was going?

"I know you're itching to go chase it, it's probably going to be a big one."

Oh.

"You think I'm going to leave you here alone to go chase this thing?"

She shrugs. "Wouldn't be the first time."

It's his turn to look offended, even though he shouldn't be. She was only speaking the truth. He knows he would be quick to defend himself, but he doesn't, knowing the hurt he'd bestowed upon her just hours beforehand. He lightly tugs the kit away from her, giving the soft, sympathetic eyes that had her hardened heart melting. He makes quiet work of removing the shards of wood, and moves to clean it with the tiny bottle of rubbing alcohol. She winces when it makes contact with the open wound, but a sweet kiss to her temple has her distracted as he finishes bandaging it. When he looks down at her, he finds her eyes already looking up at him. The look she gives him begs him to say something, to just apologize and say he'd do better, and actually mean it this time. He opens his mouth to speak, but it's cut off by a boisterous slam to the shelter door, one that startles Y/N, and she slides into his hold without thinking.

"What the hell was that?!" Her voice trembles.

"I don't know." He doesn't want to move her from his arms, but he needs to see what's going on. He kisses her temple again, setting her on the twin sized mattress that sat on the ground. He makes his way up the stairs of the shelter, moving to push the door open. He knows it's a stupid, risky move, but he does it anyway.

He pushes it forward, the door not even budging. He frowns, moving positions to put his entire body weight on the door, and the door remains shut. He pushes with his entire strength multiple times, before his mind draws a conclusion.

"It's probably a tree or somethin'," He sighs as he steps away from the door. "Probably got knocked down by the wind, fell over on top of the door."

"So we're trapped here?"

"For the time being, yes," He starts, coming to sit down next to her, her head resting on his shoulder. "But I'll get in touch with Dexter and Dani, maybe Boone too. See if one of them can get a truck out here and move it. We'll have to wait for this storm to pass though."

He fishes out his phone and begins to type, his eyes darting across the screen before Dexter's typing bubble finally forms into a message.

'We'll be there as soon as this storm settles!'

Y/N nods when he shows her the message, moving to rest her head on his chest, her heart racing. Without a word, he pulls her into his lap, his eyes now focused on her bandaged hand. She notes his concern quickly.

"It's fine, doesn't even really hurt. Just stings."

He shakes his head.

"Doesn't matter. You got hurt, again, because I did somethin' dumb as hell. Seems like all I've done for the past few months is hurt you. M'sorry, I really am. I fucked up, and I'm prepared to grovel for it."

She nods, biting her lip as she pushes a section of wet hair out of his face.

"You did, but that doesn't mean you can't fix it. Just, this time, promise you'll actually do what you say you will. Don't let it be empty words."

He makes an 'X' motion over the center of his chest-cross my heart-and watches as a small smile forms across her face. He notes it's genuine nature and it forms a smile of his own across his face.

He pulls her head softly under his chin, moving his face to where he's whispering directly into her ear. She leans into his warmth, still shivering from her damp clothes.

"I love you," his voice is a sincere whisper, laced with every ounce of emotion he can muster. She kisses the underside of his jaw, making him close his eyes and sigh.

"I know. I love you too, even when you really piss me off."

He lets out a chuckle, kissing behind her ear, a spot that makes her entire frame stiffen in his hold. He places another one just under it, making her pull away for a moment.

"You're playing with fire, Owens. What are you gonna do, take me on this twin mattress on the floor?"

Her voice is laced with sarcasm and humor, completely joking. One look in his now emerald green irises tells her he wasn't joking, not one ounce of him thought it was a joke.

"Well, might as well start my grovelin' as quickly as possible, got a lot to catch up on." He kisses the spot again, making her hand fly to his damp hair. "And I haven't done this in far too long."

His hands come to her hips, pulling her in even closer in his lap. His calloused hands land on her ass, and she yelps.

“Ty, you can’t be serious.”

He sends her a raised eyebrow. His hand squeezes the supple skin of her bottom.

“Baby,” his voice is just above a whisper, deathly serious, his gaze darkening. “When have I ever joked about taking you any time, any place?"

Y/N shudders. "Never."

"That's what I thought."

His lips connect with hers in a rough manner, effectively shutting her up.

A few hours later, as Y/N lies across Tyler's chest, her dress tossed somewhere, she's awoken by a sharp knock at the shelter door.

"T? Y/N/N? Hey, we're here. We're gonna get this tree off of y'all!" Boone's voice fills her ears and she all but scrambles up, face flushed red with embarrassment at the thought of them walking into the shelter to see her and Tyler both bare. Tyler only snoozes and turns over, and she rolls her eyes, he'd sleep through a hurricane-literally. She grabs his shirt and lightly pops him with it.

"Tyler!" She whispers-shouts, quickly buttoning up the front of her dress she'd found on the floor. His jade eyes pop open, shuffling off the blanket that had been draped across him for his modesty.

"Hm, what?" His voice comes out groggy.

"Get up, get dressed, they're here!" She throws her cardigan back on her shoulders as she tosses his jeans over to him, his belt buckle just missing his head. Tyler rubs his eyes tiredly, not quite awake enough for him to care about being completely naked.

Y/N turns to him to fuss, but she's cut off at the creaking of the storm shelter's door opening. She stills, face burning from a hot blush. From above ground, Boone, Dani and Dexter look down at them, the latter two jaws dropping and darting their eyes away. Boone clocks Tyler and swallows thickly.

"Ty, man, I am seein' entirely way too much of you right now."

taglist:

@fraaaaankiiiiieee

@rebel-ezra

@fanboysfangirl

@mbioooo0000

#tyler owens x you #tyler owens twisters #tyler owens x reader #tyler twisters #tyler owens #twisters #request #glen powell x reader #glen powell #glen powell x you

3K notes · View notes

carnalcrows · 13 days ago

Text

EVER EVER AFTER

summary: You were supposed to marry a prince, not fall into a city full of strangers, skyscrapers, and coffee machines. But getting cursed was never part of the plan—and neither was meeting a little girl whose tired, sharp-eyed father who looked at you like you were something real. Tokyo isn’t a fairytale. But maybe, if you’re lucky, it doesn’t have to be.

pairing: robert! nanami kento x giselle! male reader

content warnings: 18+, romance, fluff, angst, smut (oral + p in a), bottom male reader, transdimensional travel, poisoned fruit, found family, light swordplay, reader wears enchanted formalwear, dragon lady attack (brief) unreliable narrator (even the author is confused).

word count: 5.2k (the lack of motivation is CLEARLY visible lmao)

better viewed in dark mode

The sun rose over the hills of Andalasia—or what you had always called home. A forest made of dream-soft pastels and impossible light, where the air smelled faintly of honeysuckle and every morning began with birdsong, where deer peeked from behind trees and squirrels held sewing needles with practised grace. It was perfect. Which, to you, meant it was normal.

You twirled on the cottage balcony, robe fluttering behind you, humming a half-finished melody. Bluebirds circled your head in swooping arcs. A pair of chipmunks tugged ribbons between their teeth, and a badger attempted—unsuccessfully—to thread a button onto a coat with trembling paws.

"Almost done!" you said brightly, kneeling beside the dress form shaped from hollowed bark and stitched leaves. “Prince Gojo is going to love this. Well… maybe. I mean—I hope he loves it. It’s just our wedding, after all.”

You paused, blinking, suddenly dizzy with the thought—your wedding.

The forest rustled its approval.

Of course, you’d only just met yesterday. But he’d heard your song. You’d danced on the edge of a waterfall. And when you’d fallen into Gojo’s arms—gracefully, from a cliff, as one does—it had just felt right. That had to mean something. That had to be love.

“Right?” you asked a passing bird.

It chirped something vaguely affirming.

You sighed dreamily, collapsing onto a bed of moss as the birds fluffed the hem of your suit. “A fairytale beginning. A prince. A kiss. And a happily ever after. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

But the forest didn’t hum back the way it usually did.

There was a pause—a stillness.

Then, from the trees—

A rumble.

The birds scattered. The chipmunks dropped their thread. You sat up just in time to see a troll barrel through the glade, teeth bared, claws glinting, eyes wild.

“Okay—not part of the plan!”

You scrambled upright, tripping over a ribbon, only to be yanked backwards by the collar as vines snared your feet. “Seriously—why is it always vines—?!”

Just before the creature could swipe you in half, something silver flashed through the air. A sword. A scream. A blur of white and gold.

Prince Gojo.

He looked like he’d leapt out of a painting—shirt torn, hair somehow perfect, grinning like the chaos was part of the fun.

“Darling!” he called, catching you one-armed while slashing the troll with the other. “I missed you!”

“I saw you yesterday—”

“Too long!” Gojo laughed.

And just like that, the troll was gone.

Vanquished. Heroic. Timed perfectly to the end of a crescendoing song you didn’t realise had started.

Gojo dropped the sword, cupped your face in both hands, and beamed. “Tomorrow,” he said, “we’re getting married.”

And you—still breathless, still dizzy—could only smile and nod.

Because why wouldn’t you?

You had everything you wanted.

Didn’t you?

The next morning bloomed golden and soft. Sunlight filtered through stained-glass leaves, casting patterns on the forest floor as woodland creatures bustled in preparation. Birds carried garlands of silk, chipmunks stitched last-minute adjustments on the embroidered sash, and even the badger from before had seemingly mastered buttoning techniques overnight.

You stood before the mirror, smoothing down the front of your ceremonial robes. Soft blue and ivory, lined with hand-stitched petals, every seam kissed by your own hands. It looked exactly like something you’d imagined as a child—what your future would look like. A storybook ending written in fabric.

Your reflection smiled back. But there was a weight behind it. No doubt. Just... static. A kind of quiet you hadn’t expected.

You shook it off. Today wasn’t for wondering. Today was for joy.

Outside, trumpets rang through the glade.

“Ready?” Gojo called, already astride a white horse, grinning like he was late to his own coronation. A dove landed on his shoulder. He winked at it.

You barely had time to laugh before someone stepped into your path—a stooped woman in a cloak, half-shadowed beneath a crooked hood. Her voice was like splintered wood wrapped in silk.

“Excuse me, dearie,” she said. “A moment, before your big day.”

You paused. The animals hesitated, feathers ruffling.

“I’m in a bit of a hurry,” you said politely, taking a half-step back.

She smiled—wide, too wide—and reached into her cloak. “Just a wedding gift.”

You didn’t see the hand until it was on your chest. You didn’t feel the ground until it was gone.

The sky twisted above you. The trees blurred, then bent, then shattered into light.

You were falling.

And falling.

And—

Your body slammed into something wet and hard. Your ears rang. Lights flashed—unnatural ones, bright and red and harsh. There were no birds. No singing. No flowers. Just the sting of pavement and a chill that had nothing to do with the weather.

You groaned, rolling onto your side.

Towering buildings loomed above, steel and glass swallowing the sky.

And around you, a dozen strangers in suits and jackets walked past without even blinking.

You sat up, wide-eyed, soaked and shivering.

You weren’t in Andalasia anymore.

—

You stumbled to your feet, blinking hard against the lights. They came from everywhere—flashing boxes in the sky, windows that moved, towers made of cold silver and too much glass. The air stank of smoke and iron. The ground beneath you was not grass but something hard and grey, painted with stripes and humming faintly beneath your boots like it was alive.

A giant, glowing sign buzzed somewhere overhead in a language you couldn’t read. Another flashed to life with a jingle that made no musical sense. And still, not a single soul stopped.

People brushed past you without looking. Men in black coats talking into small glowing boxes. Girls with skirts that barely covered their knees, chewing gum and laughing too loudly. A man walked by holding a bag of something fried and orange, and no one said hello. Not even the dog he dragged behind him.

You blinked up at a traffic light.

A robot voice said something you didn’t understand.

“W-what is this place?” you breathed.

No one answered.

A car honked—an angry, blaring sound that made you spin around too fast and nearly fall again. It wasn’t a carriage. There were no horses. Just metal beasts that screamed without mouths, hurtling past in streaks of black and chrome.

“This isn’t right,” you murmured. “This isn’t real.”

You looked around wildly, hoping—praying—for a patch of trees, a trail of birdsong, anything that might lead you back. But there was only noise. Towers. People moving like they couldn’t see you.

Your throat tightened. You spun in place, chest heaving.

“Hello?” you called. “Can anyone hear me? I think—I think I’m lost!”

A businessman glanced at you briefly, eyes skimming your embroidered robes and curling shoes. He shook his head and kept walking.

You swallowed. Hard.

Your hands trembled.

And for the first time in your life, you didn’t know what to sing.

Then—

“Papa, look!” a voice cried. High-pitched. Excited.

You turned.

A little girl was tugging at a man’s sleeve, pointing directly at you. She looked about six or seven, dressed in a tiny school uniform and pink sneakers. Her pigtails bobbed as she dragged her father toward you.

Her father—tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a dark coat and tie—stopped just short of you. His expression was… tired. Mistrustful. And unreadable.

“Please,” you said, stepping forward. “I don’t know where I am. Or how I got here. But I think I’ve been cursed.”

The girl beamed. “I told you, Papa, he’s a prince!”

The man blinked.

Then sighed.

And said, flatly, “Oh, hell no.”

The man turned as if to walk away—already fishing in his coat for what looked like a phone, his jaw tight, his whole posture radiating not my problem. You scrambled after him, nearly tripping over your own hem.

“Wait—please!” you said, voice cracking. “I don’t know where this is. I was on my way to my wedding and then a hag—well, a woman, but you know—she pushed me down a well, and now everything smells like metal and why is the sky flickering—?”

“Okay.” He stopped, hands raised. “You need to calm down.”

“I am calm!” you said, not calm at all. “This is just my very composed panic voice!”

The little girl looked up at him. “Can we keep him?”

“We’re not keeping anyone,” he said, but his voice lacked conviction. He looked at you again—really looked this time. The dishevelled hair. The mud-spattered sash. The way you stood with your hands wringing in front of you, like you didn’t know what to do without a song to fill the air.

“You’re not from here,” he said slowly.

“No,” you breathed. “I’m from—” You paused. “Actually, I don’t think it exists here.”

“That makes two of us,” he muttered.

There was a long pause.

“Fine,” he said, and ran a hand down his face. “You can come with us. Just for now. Until we figure out who you are, or where you escaped from.”

You blinked. “I didn’t escape from anywhere.”

“Sure you didn’t.”

The little girl took your hand. Her fingers were warm. Grounding.

“I’m Nobara,” she said. “You’re gonna love our apartment. It has a couch. And juice.”

“That sounds…” You swallowed, trying to think of the right word. “...Comforting.”

The man sighed again, as if regretting every choice that led him to this moment.

“Kento Nanami,” he said.

You blinked up at him. “That’s a lovely name.”

“Don’t make it weird,” he replied flatly. Then turned, gesturing for you to follow.

So you did.

Because what else was there to do?

You were lost in a kingdom that didn’t believe in magic. Your prince was in another world. Your clothes were soaked. And nothing smelled like flowers anymore.

But for the first time since the fall, you felt just a little less alone.

The next morning, you tried your best to be helpful.

You folded the couch blanket into a perfect swan. You brewed tea using what you thought was a teapot—it was actually a rice cooker. You gave Nobara an elaborate forest-style braid, complete with twigs and a flower you found in the stairwell. She looked thrilled. Nanami looked... tired.

You were in the middle of sweeping the floor with a curtain rod when the doorbell rang.

Nanami opened the door and immediately tensed. The man on the other side stood tall, dressed in a tailored black coat, hair tied back with the kind of precision that said he’d never forgotten a single appointment in his life.

Suguru Geto.

He didn’t smile. “She ready?”

“She’s finishing her breakfast,” Nanami said, jaw tight.

Geto’s eyes slid past him—and landed on you.

He took in your embroidered cuffs. Your flower-pinned sash. The fact that you were still barefoot, holding a curtain rod like a staff.

There was a long pause.

“New roommate?” he asked.

“No.”

“Dating?”

“No.”

You stepped forward, cheerful. “Hello! I’m staying here until I figure out how to undo a terrible spell that may or may not have involved a cursed well and a power-hungry sorceress. Also, your daughter is delightful.”

Geto blinked.

“...Right.”

Nobara skipped into view, backpack in hand. “Dad, this is the guy who sings at the furniture.”

“Of course he is.”

Nanami handed her a lunchbox. “Back by six.”

“Don’t give me rules in front of the furniture guy,” she muttered.

Geto’s hand rested lightly on her shoulder. “Say goodbye, sweetheart.”

“Bye, magic prince,” she chirped. “Don’t turn into a tree.”

“I’ll do my best.”

The door clicked shut behind them.

Nanami stared at it for a long beat.

“Your co-parenting seems… tense,” you offered.

“I’m going to lie down on the floor.”

“That’s fair.”

⋆｡°✩

Down in the subway, Toji checked the note pinned to the inside of his jacket. A crude drawing of your face. A Tokyo address, scrawled in angry cursive.

He pulled out a polished apple, turning it slowly in his hand.

“Should’ve poisoned the horse,” he muttered.

But he took a bite instead—just to test—and promptly spat it out.

“Ugh,” he grimaced. “Too early for this.”

Then he tucked the apple away.

And followed the scent of magic through the city.

The next few days blurred.

You tried to adjust. Truly, you did.

But Tokyo wasn’t a fairytale kingdom—it was loud and messy and fast in ways you couldn’t quite understand. The birds didn’t sing back. The mice refused to sew. And your songs, no matter how sweetly sung, only earned you startled stares and someone in a bear costume handing you a flyer for a karaoke bar.

Nobara took it all in stride. She made you a “Do Not Pet the Pigeons” sign after you got pecked in Ueno Park. She showed you how to use a vending machine. She explained what an elevator was only after you had screamed.

Nanami… tolerated you.

Most of the time.

He scowled when you rearranged the bookshelf into colour-coded rainbow order. He gave you a deadpan look when you introduced him to your “talking shirt” (it wasn’t talking, you just liked it). But he never made you feel stupid. Or small. Or wrong.

And sometimes—only sometimes—you caught him watching you. Like he was trying to solve something he’d forgotten how to understand.

Those were your favourite moments.

⋆｡°✩

Toji arrived on day four.

You were at the apartment alone, dancing with a mop (named Gregory) to a tune you were humming. You twirled toward the door just as the bell rang and flung it open with a smile.

The man on the other side was all shadows and scar tissue.

“Oh!” you said. “Are you a delivery—”

The world tilted.

You hit the floor hard, dazed, a sharp smell filling your nose as something was shoved under it.

“Breathe deep,” the man said, crouching beside you, voice low. “Apple extract. You’ll be out in thirty seconds.”

You blinked. “Is that supposed to be threatening?”

“I mean…” He hesitated. “Yeah?”

“Oh.” You frowned. “It just smells like cinnamon.”

He blinked back at you.

You both stared.

“…Are you immune to poison?” he asked.

“No, just—very good at holding my breath.”

Toji groaned. “Of course you are.”

You scrambled backwards across the tatami mat, brandishing Gregory like a sword. “Are you a bandit? An assassin? A disgruntled pastry chef?”

“I’m your fate.”

“That’s very dramatic.”

Toji lunged—and was immediately tackled to the ground by an eleven-year-old with a bag full of textbooks.

“GET AWAY FROM MY GUEST!” Nobara screamed, absolutely feral.

Toji wheezed. “What the hell—”

Nanami arrived thirty seconds later, briefcase in one hand, tie askew.

He took one look at the scene—Toji pinned to the floor, Nobara biting his sleeve, you holding Gregory like a knight in training—and sighed so hard you could feel it in your bones.

“I don’t even want to know,” he muttered.

Then calmly tasered Toji.

You never loved anyone more.

Toji hit the floor with a grunt, the taser still humming in Nanami’s hand like the ending chord of a very satisfying song. Nobara stood over him triumphantly, arms crossed, one knee planted on his back like a gladiator claiming her kill.

“That’s what you get for sneaking up on a magical prince,” she said, breathless but proud.

“I’m not sneaking,” Toji groaned, dazed. “I rang the doorbell. I had manners.”

Nanami sighed and stepped over the fallen assassin, loosening his tie. “I told you,” he said, eyes on you, “don’t open the door for anyone.”

“I thought he was delivering something!” you said, indignant. “He looked vaguely gift-shaped!”

“He had a knife.”

“It was sheathed!”

Toji coughed. “You guys are the weirdest hostage situation I’ve ever seen.”

Nanami turned to him. “You’re going to explain everything. In detail. And if the words ‘poisoned apple’ come up again, I swear to god—”

Toji lifted his hands weakly. “Alright, alright. Let me sit up first. Your daughter’s kneecap is in my kidney.”

“She’s not my daughter,” Nanami muttered.

“Rude,” Nobara said.

⋆｡°✩

After Toji was zip-tied to a dining chair (you were very proud of that knot, by the way), he admitted to working for “a certain powerful woman”—which, with a little pressing, turned into “Queen Meimei,” which then quickly turned into “look, I just do what I’m paid for, alright?”

“She sent you to kill me,” you said, arms folded, standing like judgment incarnate in your mismatched pyjamas.

“I mean, she said gently assassinate, but yeah.”

Nanami looked at him, stone-faced. “That’s not a real phrase.”

Toji gave him a lopsided grin. “It is in my line of work.”

“And where did you even get these apples?” Nobara asked, sniffing one suspiciously. “They look like they’ve been dipped in nail polish.”

Toji groaned and leaned back in the chair. “Look, I just need the guy to go back through the magic well, and everything’s fine. No more apples. No more death. No more me being choked out by an eleven-year-old.”

“Ten and a half,” Nobara corrected.

“I stand corrected.”

You tilted your head. “So... you’re not evil. You’re just... working retail for witches?”

Toji blinked. “Honestly? Yeah.”

Nanami pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is insane.”

You smiled widely. “But at least now we know I am cursed! Which means if we find the well again, I can return to Andalasia and marry Saturo—Gojo. Prince Gojo.”

And just like that, the room went silent.

You didn’t notice. You were already dreaming aloud again, pacing slowly, hands gesturing at nothing. “He must be worried sick. I hope he’s okay. He’s probably searching every corner of this strange kingdom for me as we speak—”

⋆｡°✩

Gojo sneezed into a Tokyo metro map, upside-down, perched on top of a garbage truck.

“Megumi,” he muttered, “I think we’re lost again.”

The chipmunk on his shoulder did not answer.

Nanami didn’t say anything.

He just turned, walked into the kitchen, and opened the fridge with slightly more force than necessary. The door creaked like it was used to this. Like it had seen one too many magical princes show up in silk pants, talking about true love.

You stood frozen in the centre of the room, suddenly aware of how quiet it had gotten.

Toji raised a brow from the dining chair. “So. That’s awkward.”

Nobara leaned against the wall, chewing her rice cracker. “He’s jealous.”

“What?” you blinked. “Jealous of Gojo?”

She nodded sagely. “Mmhmm.”

Toji chuckled. “Yeah, buddy. He is so in love with you.”

“I—he’s not—” You faltered. “He barely even likes me.”

“He let you reorganise his bookshelf,” Nobara said.

“He cooked for you,” Toji added.

“He let you stay on the good couch.”

You blinked. “There’s a bad couch?”

Toji pointed. “You’re sitting on it.”

“Oh.”

You turned slowly, looking toward the kitchen. Nanami was still there, still pretending not to listen, still staring into the fridge like he expected it to give him emotional clarity.

You bit your lip.

“I didn’t mean to make things weird,” you said quietly.

Toji rolled his eyes. “You’re a singing forest prince. Things have been weird since you showed up.”

Nobara nodded solemnly. “He needs a push.”

“A gentle push,” you emphasised. “Not—”

She was already gone.

You heard her in the kitchen.

“Hey, Nanamin,” she said sweetly. “You still into emotionally repressed denial, or should I start calling him Dad?”

Nanami choked on his water.

You sank into the couch. “I’m going to die here.”

⋆｡°✩

Meanwhile, across the city, Gojo had decided that the best way to find you was to sing louder.

He stood on top of a moving float in a parade he was not invited to, throwing roses and belting ballads while Megumi tried to chew through his robe in protest.

“Where is my prince, so noble and kind—”

A child threw a soda at him.

“Rude,” he muttered. Somewhere above, a crow perched on a lamppost and cawed once, low and warning.

Back in her suite, Meimei tapped a finger to her wineglass and smiled slowly.

It was time for her to take matters into her own hands.

You stood by the window after dinner, watching the lights of the city flicker like stars fallen to earth. There was a moment, quiet and small, where it hit you all at once. The strangeness. The softness. The fact that you hadn’t sung in days and didn’t miss it like you thought you would.

Behind you, Nanami moved through the kitchen like a man on autopilot. Cleaning a plate. Drying a cup. Never looking directly at you.

“I didn’t mean to make things difficult,” you said, breaking the silence. “With Gojo. With everything.”

Nanami paused. His reflection met yours in the window, faint and ghostlike.

“You didn’t,” he said. “You just reminded me that... I used to believe in love, once.”

You turned. “You still do. You just don’t want to.”

He leaned against the counter. “Maybe.”

There was a beat.

Then—

“Are you going back to him?”

The question caught you off guard.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I was so sure, before. But now… there’s something about this world. It’s messy and loud and everything hurts more, but it’s also real. And honest. And—”

You looked at him.

He was already looking at you.

“I think I’d miss this,” you whispered. “You.”

The air thickened between you. You took a step forward. So did he.

And then—

“Formal invitation,” Nobara announced from the hallway, holding a sparkly gold envelope. “From Geto’s weird rich cousin. You’re all invited to a ball tomorrow night.”

You stared at her.

Nanami groaned.

“I already picked your outfits,” she added.

Of course she did.

⋆｡°✩

The next evening arrived faster than you expected.

The ballroom shimmered in warm gold and marble. The floor was polished to a mirror shine, reflecting the chandeliers like upside-down constellations. You stepped inside in a suit that Nobara had helped tailor herself, complete with lace cuffs and a soft lavender ribbon at your collar. You hadn’t seen Kento yet, and your chest ached with how badly you wanted to.

Then he appeared.

Dark vest, gold trim, hair swept just slightly off his brow. He looked uncomfortable and perfectly composed. But when he saw you, really saw you, something softened around his eyes.

“Wow,” you breathed.

He stepped closer. “Likewise.”

There was music, low and elegant.

He offered you his hand.

And when you took it, the world fell away.

You danced like you’d known each other forever. Quiet steps. A shared rhythm. A warmth you didn’t know how to carry in words. His hand on your back. Yours at his shoulder. Eyes never leaving one another’s.

When the final note faded, he didn’t let go.

And when he walked you home through the quiet streets—through alleys lit by vending machines and the distant hum of traffic—you didn’t want to say goodbye.

So you didn’t.

You took his hand.

Led him upstairs.

And kissed him like it was the only magic you still believed in.

⋆｡°✩

He led you to the bedroom like he was afraid the spell might break. The city lights spilled in through the blinds in fractured gold, brushing along your skin when he pushed your jacket from your shoulders, slow and careful. When you reached for him, it was with both hands and everything you hadn’t said all evening.

He was warm beneath your touch. Real. No prince. No fantasy. Just him.

And you wanted him more than you’d ever wanted a fairy tale.

He kissed you as if he meant to remember every sound you made. His mouth moved slowly along your jaw, your collarbone, down the centre of your chest—each touch deliberate, tender. His hands never rushed. He made room for you to gasp, to pause, to smile between breaths. He only moved closer when you pulled him in.

“You’re beautiful,” you whispered.

He touched your face like he wanted to say something back, but just couldn’t.

⋆｡°✩

Clothes slipped away quietly. The warmth between you built in slow waves—hands gliding over skin, mouths tracing every curve, breath curling soft and shaky in the quiet.

It was not hurried. It was not practised.

It just was.

Every sigh from you drew one from him. Every time you reached for him, he was already there. When he finally pressed against you fully, it wasn’t about lust—it was something deeper. A need to feel known. To be held in a way that felt like truth.

You trembled. He kissed you through it. Moved slowly. Anchored you.

The rhythm you found was soft. Gentle. Like music made without notes. It built in heat, not force. In need, not hunger. Until the world narrowed to just breath and skin and the steady echo of your name on his lips.

You let go with your head tilted back and your heart aching with how much you felt. He followed, arms wrapped around you like he didn’t want to let go. As if he were terrified you’d vanish if he blinked.

⋆｡°✩

Later, the two of you lay tangled in quiet.

His fingers trailed absent-minded patterns against your spine. You watched the light move across the ceiling and listened to the city outside. For the first time in your life, you didn’t wonder if this was a dream.

You knew it was real.

And that, somehow, was even better.

The morning came softly.

You woke with Nanami’s arm still draped across your waist, his breath warm against the back of your neck. The light through the curtains was a pale gold, gentle, hesitant. The kind of morning that didn’t rush you.

You didn’t move at first.

Not because you were afraid—but because you didn’t want to disturb what felt, impossibly, like peace.

When you did shift, just slightly, his grip tightened. A subtle, instinctive pull that made your chest ache in the best way.

You turned to face him.

He blinked once, slowly, then smiled the smallest, softest smile you’d ever seen on him. No walls. No filters. Just… him.

“Good morning,” you whispered.

He answered with a kiss, quiet and unhurried, like a secret passed between you.

For a few minutes, there was nothing but the rustle of sheets, the hush of breath, and the way his hand never left yours.

Until the doorbell rang. You both froze.

Nanami groaned. “Tell me that’s not your enchanted raccoon again.”

You laughed. “Megumi is a chipmunk.”

“Not better.”

You pulled on your robe as Nanami padded to the door. He opened it—

And found Toji standing on the other side, holding out a glinting red apple in the palm of his hand.

“I come bearing brunch,” Toji said. “Very specific brunch.”

Nanami frowned. “You’re supposed to be in jail.”

“I was bored.”

You stepped into the hall, hair tousled, smile still warm from sleep. “Oh! Good morning—”

“Don’t eat that,” Nanami cut in, pointing at the apple. “That’s definitely cursed.”

Toji looked wounded. “What, just because it’s glossy and red and I’m a former assassin working for a magic sociopath? Wow. Judgmental.”

You squinted at it. “Is it poisoned?”

Toji hesitated. “Maybe just a little.”

Nanami reached for the taser.

Toji backed up. “I didn’t give it to him yet! Geez. No appreciation for dramatic timing.”

⋆｡°✩

But later that evening, after laughter, after tea, after something that felt dangerously close to happiness, you stepped into the kitchen alone.

The apartment was quiet. Nanami was brushing his teeth. Nobara had passed out face-first on the couch.

And there, sitting in the fruit bowl like it belonged, was the apple.

Red. Shiny. Smelling faintly of roses and honey.

You stared at it. A whisper trailed through your thoughts.

Forget him.

Forget all of this.

One bite—and it all goes back to the way it was. The ball. The prince. The perfect fairytale ending.

You reached out. Touched the apple’s skin.

And just as your fingertips curled around it, A voice behind you said, silk-smooth and evil:

“I knew you’d choose the story over the ending.”

You turned.

Meimei stood in the doorway, all dark velvet and cold eyes.

And in that moment, you knew.

This wasn’t over.

You stepped back instinctively.

The apple clattered to the floor, rolling a few inches before coming to a stop, glinting under the overhead light like something out of a dream you no longer trusted.

Meimei smiled, slow and catlike. She looked impossibly at ease, standing in Nanami’s kitchen like she owned it. Not a wrinkle in her dress, not a hair out of place. Like she hadn’t crossed dimensions to murder you.

“Not quite the fairy tale you imagined, is it?” she said. “Too loud. Too grey. Too human.”

Your hand hovered behind you, searching for the counter. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Her eyes gleamed. “Neither should you.”

Nanami’s voice rang from down the hall. “Everything okay?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but Meimei was already moving.

Her hand struck with blinding speed, a push like wind and stone. The world lurched. You slammed back into the cabinet with enough force to knock the breath from your lungs.

“You should’ve stayed in the story,” she said. “Married your prince. Let me keep my crown.”

Your vision blurred. You tried to speak—call out, cry for Nanami—but the words got lost between your heartbeat and the copper taste in your mouth.

Meimei knelt beside you, lifted the fallen apple with two fingers.

“Don’t worry,” she said, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “It’s painless. Mostly. And after midnight, no one will remember you anyway.”

You reached for her wrist.

She offered the apple.

You hesitated.

And that was all she needed.

She pressed it to your lips—gentle, deceptively so—and the moment your teeth sank in, the world tipped sideways.

The floor vanished.

Your limbs went cold.

And then everything went black.

⋆｡°✩

Nanami found you less than a minute later.

The apple was split open on the tile. Your body lay crumpled against the cabinets, motionless. Too still.

For a second—just one—he couldn’t move.

Then he was at your side. Kneeling. Shaking your shoulders. Repeating your name over and over like it was a prayer he was too late to make.

Your eyes didn’t open.

Your chest didn’t rise.

Nobara screamed from the living room. Toji cursed. Someone called Geto. But all Nanami could do was hold you—arms wrapped tight around your limp frame—while the clock on the wall ticked closer to midnight.

And nothing happened.

⋆｡°✩

They gathered at the ball.

Meimei, radiant and smug, stood on the highest balcony like a queen crowned by cruelty. Gojo arrived too late. Nobara cried so hard her nose bled.

And Nanami—quiet, steady, breaking in the worst way—pressed one final kiss to your lips.

“I love you,” he whispered, broken.

And just as the clock struck twelve—

You breathed.

Your fingers curled in his lapel.

And your eyes opened.

⋆｡°✩

Meimei screamed.

She transformed—claws, wings, teeth. A dragon in heels. She lunged for Nanami. For you.

And you, in your borrowed suit and bare feet and messy hair, picked up the nearest decorative sword and ran.

You climbed, ducked, and dodged. She followed. Fire at your heels. Wind at your back.

On the rooftop, it ended.

One wrong step. One well-timed slip.

She fell.

And you watched as the last petal of the old story turned to ash on the breeze.

⋆｡°✩

The next morning was warm.

Gojo returned to Andalasia. Geto stayed behind, promising to stop being dramatic about joint custody. Toji left Tokyo with a train ticket and a new appreciation for tasers.

You opened a small fashion studio.

And Nanami?

He stood beside you, hand in yours, watching Nobara chase pigeons down the street.

“Are you really staying?” he asked.

You looked at him.

Smiled.

“I already am.”

Taglist: @zolass @edensrose @tamias-wrld @ilovesugurugeto69 @planetxella @mazettns @longlivegojo @midnight-138 @literallyrousseau @vimademedoitt @useless-n-clueless @flatl1n3 @hikaurbae @lexkou @razefxylorf @abrielletargaryen @coco-145 @eagleeyedbitch @deathofacupid @gayaristocrat @porcalinecunt @whatsaheartxx @thecringes2000 @sageofspades @g4vcat @itsrandompersonyall @blvdprn @blueemochii @sappychat @onyxxxxqq @axetivev @s1llygo0s3 @crazydirectioner2000-blog @thestarsallowed @honey-valentin3 @academiq @gaozorous-rex-blog @idkmissgurl @sooniebby @seomn

#male reader #x reader #smut #gay #x male reader #bottom male reader #nanami x reader #nanami kento #kento nanami #nanami x male reader #jjk imagines #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x male reader

685 notes · View notes

be4chywritez · 3 months ago

Text

man vs. machine | quinn hughes

quinn hughes x fem!reader

Quinn takes a simple claw machine challenge way too seriously

recs are open + prompt list

beachy’s masterlist🐚

Summer in Michigan had been great so far—days on the lake, bonfires, and lazy afternoons where you could actually get Quinn to slow down and relax.

A night at the roller rink hadn’t exactly been your idea.

But somehow, Jack and Luke had inserted themselves into your plans with Quinn, and now the four of you were at the most aggressively outdated skating rink in Michigan. The whole place smelled like burnt popcorn and questionable rental skates. The DJ was playing Low by Flo Rida for what had to be the third time.

Jack had already disappeared—probably making enemies with a group of middle schoolers—while Luke was currently smacking the side of a vending machine that had stolen his dollar.

Which meant Quinn had an opening to pull you toward the arcade.

"Finally," he muttered, barely looking back as he led you into the dimly lit room lined with old machines. “I was about two minutes away from throwing Jack onto the rink and letting the universe take it from there.”

You laughed. “I’d honestly respect that.”

Quinn huffed. “Me too.”

You were mid-step when you saw it.

The claw machine.

It was old, the kind with a slightly busted joystick and claw arms that had clearly given up on life. The stuffed animals inside were even worse—off-brand cartoon characters, unidentifiable blobs, and one absolute disaster of a penguin.

The penguin.

It was hideous.

Bubblegum pink, with little black eyes set just a bit too far apart, giving it the expression of someone who had just received life-altering news. Its beak was stitched on at an angle, and one of its wings flopped down like it had simply given up.

It was perfect.

You grabbed Quinn’s arm. “I need that.”

He followed your gaze. “That thing?”

“Yes.”

He didn’t question it. Just nodded, already pulling out his wallet.

“I got this.”

He did not got this.

The first attempt was bad. The claw barely brushed the penguin before swinging uselessly to the side. The second attempt? Somehow worse. The claw closed too early, missing everything entirely.

By the third attempt, Quinn’s jaw was tight, his grip on the joystick getting progressively more hostile.

You glanced at the screen. He had already spent ten dollars.

“Babe,” you started, biting back a smile, “maybe we should—”

“I’ve got it,” Quinn muttered, fully locked in.

That was when Jack and Luke finally found you.

Jack took one look at the situation and blinked. “Wait. This is what you guys snuck off to do?”

“He’s trying to win me the penguin,” you explained.

Jack squinted at the machine. “That ugly thing?”

Quinn didn’t even acknowledge him, completely focused.

Luke, on the other hand, grinned. “How much have you spent?”

“Not important,” Quinn said.

Jack leaned over and checked the screen. “Ten bucks?!”

Luke wheezed. “No way.”

Jack shook his head. “Dude.”

Quinn pressed the button. The claw dropped—

And completely missed.

Jack let out a sharp breath. “Yeah, no. This is painful.”

Luke looked amused. “You ever consider just… quitting?”

Quinn ignored them both, lining up another attempt like his entire career depended on it.

Jack nudged Luke. “Alright, someone’s gotta put him out of his misery.”

Luke sighed dramatically, then reached into his pocket for a token. “Alright, move over.”

Quinn shot him a warning look. “Don’t—”

Too late. Luke had already slid the token into the machine.

With an ease that should have been illegal, he adjusted the claw, barely hesitated, and pressed the button.

The claw dropped.

The claw grabbed the penguin perfectly.

The claw actually carried it all the way to the chute.

Luke bent down, picked up the penguin, and turned it over in his hands before offering it to you.

“For you, sweetheart.”

Jack blinked. “That was—” He exhaled. “Man.”

Quinn just stared.

Luke clapped a hand on Quinn’s shoulder. “You still have hockey, dude.”

Quinn shoved him off and turned away. “I’m not speaking to you for the rest of the night.”

Luke grinned. “That’s fair.”

Jack snorted. “This might be the best thing I’ve ever witnessed.”

Quinn sulked. You happily hugged your slightly deformed pink penguin.

A win was a win.

#be4chywrites #nhl x reader #quinn hughes x you #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes x y/n #quinn hughes

711 notes · View notes

novacorpsrecruit · 1 month ago

Text

I’m just thinking about Steve, who carried Eddie out of the upside down, begging for him to stay awake, to stay with him. Who carried Eddie into the ER, transferring him to a gurney and watched him get wheeled away.

And who, ones the dust settles, collapses in the middle of the ER.

Steve who never got the proper care for his bites from days ago. Never cleaned out, never properly stopped the bleeding.

Steve who developed an infection of his own and ended up in a hospital bed. Right next to Eddie.

Steve who watched Eddie lay still. Never seen him so still before. So quiet.

Steve who fought off delirium from his infections the first few days, talking to Eddie while Eddie was still unconscious.

Steve who became more sober after a couple of days, still talking to Eddie as if he could hear him.

Steve begging in the middle of the nights for Eddie to wake up.

Steve, who pulled his stitches out when he lunged for the call button when Eddie’s eyes were wide open, scared and confused at the machine shoved down his throat, breathing for him.

Steve who’s had to be ushered back to his own bed by nurses every hour since Eddie woke up.

Steve who frustrated the nurses so bad that they finally moved his bed closer to Eddie.

Steve who read lord of the rings and the hobbit to a tired Eddie. Steve who talked sports to Eddie’s uncle when Eddie was asleep.

Steve who coaxes Eddie’s first words since he woke up.

Steve who still has nightmares about the Upside Down, Eddie dying, the bats. Steve who can only be calmed down in the middle of the night by a hoarse voice, speaking for the first time in weeks. “It’s ok-ay, sw-sweet-h-heart. We-we’re ok-ay.”

Steve who’s finally okay.

Eddie, who survived.

Eddie who wished he didn’t remember anything. Who wishes he didn’t remember how the bats tore into his skin or how the blood tasted in his mouth or how Dustin looked down at him.

Eddie who wished he didn’t hear how broken Steve sounded as he begged him to stay awake.

Eddie who remembers the pain jolting through his body as Steve jostled him, carrying him out of the Upside Down. Eddie who remembers Steve brushing his hair back, who remembers his voice getting muddier and muddier.

Eddie who remembers Steve disappearing all together.

Eddie who doesn’t remember much past then. Who felt alone and empty until that voice comforted him. Until he heard tales of the Shire and Mordor. Until he heard pleading for someone to wake up, cries in the overwhelming darkness, whispers holding power like secrets.

He heard over voices too. Younger and older. Soft and loud. Talking to him or around him. Laughers and cries. It felt too much, but not enough. Eddie who felt not enough.

Then Eddie who felt everything all at once.

The room was too bright and too dark and too loud and too quiet all at the same time. He tried to move, too weak to do anything. There was a scratch in his throat that was too overwhelming then he heard that voice.

“Eddie, I’m here, I’m here, stay with me, okay?”

Echoes of Steve, repeating the words he last heard. Eddie who thought he died in the upside down. Eddie who thought he died on the operating table. Eddie who thought he was dead as he heard his cries. “They’re coming, Eddie, they’re coming.”

Eddie who found out he wasn’t dead. Eddie who was incubated after his surgeries. Multiple. Eddie who lost an incredible amount of blood and was still alive.

Eddie who is tired all the damn time.

Eddie who was never alone.

Eddie who’s now only an arms length away from Steve, after the bed was moved. Eddie who falls asleep as Steve carefully read his favorite books. Eddie who listens to Steve and Wayne talk about sports.

Eddie who can’t speak.

Eddie whose throat is too raw and sore and he can’t form the words.

Eddie who tries his best, but the best he could do was whine or sob or grunt. Eddie who somehow is able to carry a conversation with Steve without speaking.

Eddie, who tries his best to comfort Steve when he felt alone or afraid or scared.

Eddie who carefully pulled Steve across the divot of the two beds. Eddie who ran his hand through Steve’s hair soothingly as he cried.

Eddie who speaks for the first time, the words harsh out of his mouth but somehow soothing to the boy in his arms.

Eddie who leaves the hospital with a new love.

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #//myfic

255 notes · View notes

latenightdaydreams · 1 year ago

Text

König x Lactating!Reader (fem)

MDNI🔞

For more: Master list

>CW: fem/afab reader, oral, breast milk, breast play

1.8K Word count

König sat across from you as you secured the baby bottle to the pump part. It was your first time pumping and the first time your baby has slept for more than three hours. You pull your shirt off and unclip your nursing bra to expose your hardened leaking nipple; a drop of pearly white lingering on the tip. Slowly you bring the breast shield to your skin and press the button on the machine. A low humming begins and starts a steady rhythmic motion as the pump begins to suction to the skin and pull the nipple forward.

König’s eyes were glued to your breast in the pump. He swallowed hard as he began to see the white milk being drawn from your swollen breast. Slowly your breast begins to let the milk flow, your nipple being pulled forward and milk making a splashing sound against the hard plastic. The bottle begins to quickly fill up. König’s mouth dropped open and he began to subconsciously move his tongue in a suckling motion without realizing it. He cleared his throat and adjusted how he was sitting to try and conceal the growing arousal in his pants.

The stimulation from one breast being relieved made the other breast feel like it was threatening to release all the milk at any second. A small wet circle began to form on the shirt over my other breast. I look down once I feel the wet fabric.

“Shit, I’m leaking out of the other breast now.” I began to laugh and reach for one of my baby’s burping rags to soak up the milk.

“You know Schatz, I could help you with the other one.” König’s voice quiet and smooth as his icy blue eyes look from your breast to your eyes.

In confusion you raise an eyebrow at him, “What do you mean help?”

Without words König stands from the seat across from you and moves to kneel in front of you. His eyes move from your eyes to your full and sore breast that are full of milk. Watching the pump pull milk from one breast as his hand begins to unlatch the other side of the lactation bra.

“König, wait-“ You try to protest but he gently shushes you and exposes your other breast. Your dark erect nipple leaking milk, drop by drop quickly spilling from you.

Gently he flicks his tongue to get a small taste of what your milk is like. It was surprisingly sweet and only left him wanting to taste more. He grasped your sore breast with one of his massive hands a squeezed lightly. A shower of milk squirted out and landed on his face, you couldn’t help but to giggle when he jumped slightly with surprise. You’ve gotten use to seeing the milk shoot out like that everywhere. König chuckles softly along with you as he licks around his mouth to collect some of what’s there.

He leans in and places his mouth around your nipple and began to suck. A gush of sweet warm milk spurts into his mouth. His eyes close as he enjoys the sensation on his tongue. A soft moan falls from your lips as you look down at him, his mouth latched to you as if he needed your milk to live.

Quickly he began to feel his cock begin to get hard and press against his jeans. He reached his hand down to slowly fumble with his belt and undo his jeans with one hand while the other squeezes you breast. Once his cock is released, he begins to slowly stroke his length, rubbing his precum around the head before dragging his fist along his shaft.

His other hand eagerly moves from your breast down to your pants waist band. He began to tug at the elastic band of your sweat pants. Your hand quickly stops his.

“König, I still have stitches remember?”

He stops and looks up at you, his blue eyes full of lust. You reach out and turn off the breast pump and put the bottle down on the bedside table. He pulls away and looks between your breast before his gaze meets yours again. He nods his head remembering, his cock just feels so hard and wants to sink deep into your wet velvety walls.

“Ja, ja I remember.” His voice shaking with lust. His eyes fall on your breast as he continues to slowly stroke himself.

“Schatz, I don’t mean to be selfish...” his voice trails off as he takes a deep shaky breath. “I need to cum, my hand isn’t doing it for me anymore. I miss your body. I miss your touch. Ich muss deine Berührung spüren.”

“I know, but with the baby I’ve just been busy. Plus my body needs to heal still-“

“Liebling, I don’t need your pussy to cum.” His eyes drop to your lips before falling to your breast.

Before you can respond he leans in and pulls your shirt off completely then reaching behind you to unhook your bra. His lips meet yours in a passionate kiss as his hands work eagerly. Slowly he pulls away from your lips and lets your bra fall down your arms and to the floor. He stands to his feet and drops his pants and underwear to his ankles.

“Lay back Liebling.” He Austrian accent smooth and sensual.

König steps out of his pants as he gets on the bed straddling your hips, his heavy weight pressing your smaller body into the bed. He grabs at the hem of his black shirt before pulling it over his head revealing his muscular and scarred body.

His hands began to squeeze your breast causing more milk to squirt of out your dark erect nipples. You wince slightly from his large hands groping your sore swollen breast. You feel his hard cock pulsing from excitement, resting on your stomach as his hands continue to fondle you.

“Scheiße, your motherly body is so sexy…”

His blue eyes travel up to your face to see the slight blush that his words gave you. After having a baby, you felt anything but sexy and he could read how you felt on your face.

“I mean it,” he moved back slightly and ran his hands down your stomach and caressed your new stretch marks and the belly pouch that hold his child only a few months ago. “All of you Schatz.”

His mouth clashed with yours in a passionate kiss. His tongue pressing past your soft lips and invading your mouth. The smell of your breath consuming his senses. He gently bit down on your lower lip before peppering kisses along your jawline and down your neck. His eager lips eventually found their way wrapped around on of your nipples, sucking desperately as your milk filled his mouth.

“Du schmeckst so süß,” he says before circling your nipple with his tongue before moving his attention to the other breast. His fingers pulled on your other nipple, twiddling the sensitive peak between his thumb and index. His mouth latched to you as his eyes watched your face relax into pleasure.

König lifts his head from your chest and moved his body up over you more so he was straddling your waist. Your hands travel un and down his massive thighs as you look up at him biting your lower lip. A small smirk appears across König’s lips as he begins to drag his heavy cock across your breast. He began to squeeze milk out as he moved the head over your nipples back and forth to get himself covered. He slaps his cock down on your breast as he lets out a deep groan before slipping it between your breast.

His hands come together to squeeze your breast tightly together around his cock as he begins to buck forward. A quiet moan falls from his lips as he looks down at the milks slowly seeping out of your nipples adding to the lubrication. Your breast had gotten so much bigger since your milk came in making them easily hold his dick in place. His pace begins to pick up slightly as his breathing becomes more labored.

“mein Gott,” his blue eyes stuck watching your breast swallow him. White droplets of milk scattered around your whole chest and his arousal. “Suck the head.”

You bend your head down slightly and open your lips as his thrust pushed the head of his cock into your mouth. You get a strong taste on your tongue, a mix of bitter precum with sweet breast milk. The sound of König moaning begins to fill the room. He begins to mumble in German under his breath as his gaze drifts from your breast to your lips wrapped tightly around his pink leaky tip.

“I’m so close,” he pants out as his hips continue to thrust forward. His heavy balls began to feel tight as they drag across your chest.

“Fuck-“ In a quick motion he lets go of your breast and moves over your head as he pushes his cock further into your mouth. His hips begin to buck rapidly fucking your mouth as if it were your pussy. His balls slapping against your chin as you become consumed with the scent of his masculine musk. You begin to gag with each thrust forward; your hands move to his thighs and you squeeze.

He pulls his cock out as rubs it across your puffy lips, getting your own saliva all over your mouth and chin. “Stick your tongue our for me.”

You comply and stick your tongue out for him. He slaps his dick against your tongue before squeezing the tip of his head to get precum on the tip of your tongue. He slowly pushed himself back inside your mouth and pushed deeply into your throat before picking his pace back up. Spit beginning to run down the sides of your mouth as your eyes begin to water slightly.

“mein schönes Mädchen…” His gaze meets yours before slowly dropping down to see your full lips stretching around his fat cock.

König’s fingers run through your hair and holds tightly as he keeps you in place. He begins to let out soft whimpers as he pushes his cock in deep into your throat and holds it. His eyes flutter closed as he throbs, coating your throat in white ropes of him cum.

He moves himself off of you and drops down on the bed breathing heavily. His eyes travel over your body and back to your face before he leans in and kisses you again.

“Ich liebe dich.”

“I love you too,” you scoot over to him and snuggle into the blonde hair on his chest as he wraps his arms around you. König leans down to kiss the top of your head before letting out a content sigh.

#konig #konig cod #konig x reader #konig x y/n #könig #könig x reader #könig lactation #konig smut #könig smut

2K notes · View notes

rafeslvbug · 29 days ago

Text

sweetheart!reader teaching rafe to sew…

you had tried, at first, to sit rafe infront of the sewing machine - how hard could pressing a pedal and lining up fabric be? impossible, it seemed, because rafe went off focus multiple times, got the needle of the machine caught in string and bunched the fabric up into a clumped mess.

each time he messed up, and you had to undo the mistakes, he would scratch the back of his neck, flushing red as he mumbled a, “this shit’s broken..”, like a five year old, believing his new toy wasn’t working just because he didn’t know how to turn it on. you only laughed at his indignant behaviour, smoothing out the crinkled pink fabric, telling him sweetly, “baby i’ve had this machine since i was thirteen, it’s not broken.”

“well then you need to get a new one, how ‘bout we go to the mall tomorrow mornin’,” rafe drawls, watching your careful hands as you swap places with him, hemming the edge of the shirt as rafe was supposed to. you scoffed at this, quietly, because rafe was always looking for some excuse to spoil you. shaking your head, you hand him the shirt and little decorations you were sewing onto it with a thin metal needle, tasking him with that instead.

“no rafe, you just need to try sewing with a needle, most people start with this!” you say reassuringly, dismissing his comment as you begin to show him how to stitch the cloth blueberries you cut onto the shirt. rafe grunts, noticing your attempt to brush past the topic, but he knows better than to push. your birthday’s only around the corner, he can wait for then to spend his money on you. brows furrowed, gaze intense on your deft hands, he traces the stitch pattern until he feels cocky enough to take the needle from your hand and try himself, settling on the couch opposite your sewing table.

“ow, baby this shit hurts,” rafe curses when the needle pricks his finger for the thousandth time, a tiny spot of blood bubbling to the surface because he’s too rough with his sewing. he holds his finger out to you, when you tut, spinning your chair around and hopping off to lean over the back of your quilted couch, taking it in your hand.

it’s tiny, hardly there, yet he’s got this exaggerated pout on his face. one his friends would be ashamed of if they saw.

this doesn’t stop him from being soft with you, overplaying injuries just to get your attention which he craved so much.

“poor baby..d’you want a band aid?” you ask with a sweet smile, one rafe can never distinguish between genuine concern and light teasing. he lets out a chuckle, muttering a no, but you’re persistent now in your mockery. “ya sure hun? i’ve got these clear ones with red hearts,” you poke at him, giggling at the way he rolls his eyes and pulls his finger away, only to reach up with the other hand, fingers slipping under your braids and pulling you closer by the neck. his lips gently press against yours, sweet, as he coaxes you onto the couch, under the masses of pillows and knotted strings.

when he gets back to tannyhill two hours later, hair mussed and top button shirt undone, he slips through the door and up the stairs like he’s on a stealth mission. mainly because he is. he dislikes the interrogation ward and rose give him when he comes back late, when they know he’s been hanging out with the sweetheart of kildare and are curious as to what she even sees in him, or what they even have in common. tonight though, he thinks he’s lucky when he makes it all the way up the stairs. his silent gratitude is dealt too early, though, when sarah’s door slides open and she freezes upon seeing her older brother. her eyes zone in on the red heart bandaid wrapped around his index finger, and she raises an eyebrow - she knows that bandaid from when she picked it out with you. rafe stuffs his hands into his pocket, trudging past her, into his bedroom while grumbling a, “don’t fuckin’ mention it.”

257 notes · View notes

dresshistorynerd · 1 year ago

Text

Sewing 1890s Day Dress in Doll Scale

I went slightly overboard with this second historical doll project. Here's my first one. The style is from around 1897 and more of a middle class style. As with my first doll outfit, I tried to stick to historical methods as much as possible, but the scale forced me to do some deviations. I hand-sew everything though sewing machine was already widely used, because in this scale it's easier to control the stitch, there's not that much to sew anyway and also I just really like hand-sewing. Here's all the items I made. As said, I went a little overboard. One thing that's missing is the corset cover, but the layers of fabric were creating enough bulk on the waist as is so I decided to not make one.

This time I decided to try repainting the face. I don't have any doll customization materials, so I used acrylics. After couple of attempts I got decent results. Acrylics can't make as smooth and delicate finish as pastels, pencils and gouache, which can be used on vinyl with basing sprays, and I'm not experienced with painting small details on 3D objects, so it's a bit smudged at points, especially with the other eye. I aimed for 1890s very neutral make up and the type of expression that was popular in fashion plates and other illustrations.

Undergarments

Combinations and stockings

The combinations are split crotch as they were in the period. They are from thin cotton voile I have a lot of and is very appropriate. I didn't have really tiny enough lace for this, so it's kinda bulky, but I think it's okay enough. The stockings are cotton knit, which fits well. The garters are not actually necessary for this doll since her legs are rubbery.

Corset

I made the corset from a firm-ish linen and satin rayon pretending to be silk as the fashion fabric. The stitching of the boning channels is not super neat, this fabric is very unforgiving, I didn't have exactly matching thread and the scale made it very difficult. I of course didn't have tiny busk, so I used small hooks, sewed thread loops for them and used narrow metal wire for the edges. I think it looks surprisingly right on the outside. I used the same wire as the boning to reinforce the lacing on the back. I didn't actually use boning elsewhere but the tightly packed linen edges in the boning channels kinda work like lighter boning. I think it keeps the shape pretty ways even with just that. I stitched cotton tape inside to shape the corset further. I also didn't have tiny metal eyelets so I hand-sewed the lacing holes.

Bustle pad

The bustle pad is from linen and stuffed with tiny cabbage.

Petticoat

The petticoat is from the same cotton as the combinations.

Outer wear

Skirt

The fabric is cotton half-panama. It's pretty thin, but firm. I would have liked to use a woven wool, but I didn't have any that's thin enough to work in this scale. I think this cotton looks close enough in this scale to a wool with a tight weave, so I'm imagining it's that. My problem was that the cotton was white, but I wanted light brown. I wasn't going to buy any fabric for this, so I did the reasonable thing and dyed it with red onion peals (I've been doing natural dye experiments so this worked well for me).

Shirtwaist

The shirtwaist is from the same cotton as the undergarments. Yes, I dyed it too. I didn't have thin enough cotton in a color that would fit with the skirt and the purple bow, so I dyed it light blue with fabric color. Since I already went the trouble of dyeing I decided I might as well make a small flower print to it since that was popular in the era. I didn't want it to jump out too much but the lighting makes it even less visible. I made it with a white fabric pen. The collar and cuffs are reinforced with linen. I also sewed small stick-like beads to the cuffs on both sides, so one acts as a button (I sewed a buttonhole too) and the other makes it look like they are cufflinks. The bow is from the same fabric as the corset and the belt is sewn from the same cotton as the shirtwaist. The buckle is from a barbie belt.

Waistcoat

The waistcoat is from the same fabric as the skirt, thought the lapels and the back are from another satin rayon. I tailored the front panels and the lapels by stitching the linen interlining with tailor's stitches (I don't remember if that's the correct word in English) into shape. There is some wonkiness on one side of the hemline for some reason.

Boots

I made the slightly insane decision to make the shoes fully from leather, like they would have been in the period. I had an old broken leather wallet I had saved in case I needed some leather scarps. It has fairly thin leather, so it was workable here. It's light brown though, so I used black shoe polish to darken it. I wanted black or very dark brown shoes. I stacked the heels from glue and leather pieces and carved them into the right shape and sewed the shoe itself to leather shaped as the sole and glued it to the heeled and shaped sole. After I had shaped the shoes and the heels as much as I could I painted the heels black.

#historical fashion #fashion history #sewing #custom doll #ooak doll #victorian fashion #dress history #costuming #historical costuming #doll clothes #doll customization #historical sewing #my scene #my art #dolls

943 notes · View notes

waywardxrhea · 9 months ago

Text

Tuna-Tober Day One - Spencer Reid

pairing: Spencer Reid x wife!pregnant!reader

prompt: falling asleep in a hospital room

word count: 2,034

content: hospital setting - mentions of IV lines, ventilators, lacerations, stitches, and broken bones; mention of motor vehicle accident

tuna-tober masterlist / main masterlist

dividers by: @tunatober

The music playing from your phone stopped abruptly as an incoming call from an unknown number began ringing you. Sliding the bar over to answer, you placed the phone between your shoulder and ear as you continued chopping vegetables. “Hello?”

You were greeted by your name being quietly spoken by a familiar voice, who added, “It’s Emily. I’m calling to tell you that something happened with Spencer. He’s in the hospital right now and-”

The sharp knife in your hand nearly slipped as her words rang in your ears. You placed the knife down on the cutting board and tried to take a calming breath before asking, “What happened?” You were hoping that your husband would be done with the case in enough time to make it home for dinner, but now, clearly that wouldn’t be happening.

“He’s in the operating room right now and then they’re taking him to the ICU. The car he was in got hit by the unsub,” Emily informed you quietly, keeping her tone neutral for your sake. She took a deep breath before telling you, “He flipped a few times and they needed to use the jaws of life to get him out. That’s all I know for now. I’ll keep you updated on when-”

“What hospital is he in?” Emily said your name exasperatedly before you asked in a firmer tone, “What hospital is he in?” She sighed before telling you the name of the hospital, but not before once again attempting to keep you at home in order to keep your stress levels down.

When you hung up the call, you leaned heavily onto the counter as tears began to fall from your eyes and emotion threatened to close your throat. Shallow breaths were all you could manage as your mind flitted through the worst case scenarios of the outcome of this hospital visit… It took a few minutes, but you finally gathered yourself enough to safely make the trip to the hospital Emily said Spencer had been taken to.

Your worry had started to ramp up again as you quickly made your way into the hospital and navigated to the entrance of the ICU where you hit the button to speak with the nurses at the station. Your hands fidgeted with the strap of your purse as you waited, and you jumped when the voice finally crackled though, asking, “How may I help you?”

“I-I’m here to see Spencer Reid. He was in a car accident? I was told he would be here after he got out of surgery.”

There was a long pause before the woman on the other side said, “He already has more than the max number of guests at the bedside, you can-”

“I’m his wife! Please!” you pleaded in desperation, your voice breaking with renewed emotion at the thought of being denied access to see him.

Another long pause filled the air before you heard the locks on the doors give way and open to give you access into the ICU. As you wandered past the nurses’ station, you heard the same voice from before call out, “Mrs. Reid?” When you turned your attention toward her, she told you, “He’s in bed 18, right this way.”

On the way to the hospital, you imagined many different reasons for Spencer to end up in the ICU after a car accident, but the one you didn’t imagine was him being on a ventilator, having a machine breathe for him. There were tubes and IV lines everywhere and the sight of Spencer’s battered body made your knees give out under you. “Woah!” the nurse walking you yelped as she grabbed you under the arm to try and keep you from falling to the ground.

Your name was called before another set of hands was under your other arm and their owner helped you stand. “I’ve got her,” said Luke as he wrapped an arm around you to keep you steady. “JJ, get her a chair.”

JJ turned toward the two of you and nodded, grabbing a rolling chair from nearby and pushing it behind you so you could sit. Without anyone even saying anything, the small crowd of BAU agents parted as Luke rolled you up to the bedside so you could be beside Spencer. “What happened?” you whispered as you grasped Spencer’s hand in your own and held on tightly.

Right as you asked this, a doctor walked into the small room and said, “During the crash, his airway became compromised and a lung collapsed. He also sustained a few broken bones. Fractured left tibia and fibula as well as a dislocated left shoulder. There was a large laceration across his abdomen that we stitched up in the OR. He’s lucky to be alive. We’re going to keep a close eye on his case and hope that he can come out on the other side of this with minimal long term complications.”

“Oh my God…” you whispered, practically collapsing against the railing of the bed as a fresh bath of tears cascaded from your eyes.

“He’s gonna pull through, he’s strong,” Emily said as she put a comforting hand on your shoulder. She cleared her throat before telling the team, “Let’s give them some space, everyone.”

A kiss was placed on your temple by David before he wrapped you in a hug, telling you, “Call if you need anything, okay? We’ll be nearby.”

When they were gone and you were alone with Spencer, you sat and held his hand for a few minutes, only the beeping of machines and your quiet sobs breaking the silence. When you felt like you ran out of tears, you lowered the railing on the bed and raised the chair you were sitting in. Scooting closer to the bed, you took Spencer’s hand and placed it on your swollen belly, holding his hand there as you whispered, “I really need you to pull through this, Spence. You need to be here when our little girl gets here. I can’t do this without you…”

The stress of the situation combined with the hour drive to get to the hospital had you nodding off in the chair soon enough. By the time visiting hours were over, the nurse came into the room to inform you, but just couldn’t bring herself to wake you. She made her way to the blanket warmer and got a blanket to drape over you before ordering a cot to be brought to the room for when you stirred from your sleep at some point.

The next morning you startled awake when you heard a pair of voices in the room. Blinking hard, you adjusted your eyes to your surroundings and saw Tara and Penelope in the room, both fussing over gifts they brought. Tara held a handful of balloons in her hand as well as a stuffed bear, and in Penelope’s there was a vase of flowers and another stuffed animal stuffed under her arm that you couldn’t tell what it was…

“Good morning,” came Tara’s voice as she made her way over to you, picking up a cup from the table and bringing it over to you. “Hot chocolate. Extra chocolate, and whipped cream on top.”

“Thank you,” you whispered as you took the warm drink and held it in your hands. Spencer must’ve told them your order at some point… The thought brought tears to your eyes.

The tears fell when Penelope shuffled over and wrapped you in a hug as she whispered, “This sucks so much…”

“Yeah…” you whispered, your voice scratchy and breaking as you spoke.

When she pulled away, she pushed the mysterious stuffed animal into your hands. Looking down, you realized it was a capybara. Penelope cleared her throat before saying, “Spencer says that you remind him of a capybara with how kind you are and how you take in and take care of anyone who needs it.”

“Damnit, Penny!” you whispered, your voice pitched up as you took the stuffed animal into your arms and held onto it like a lifeline.

“I’m sorry! I just saw it in the gift shop and couldn’t help it!” she said, frantically reaching into her purse for a tissue to give to you.

Tara had to take off before Penelope so she could work the case, but Penelope stayed for a bit after to keep you company until she was needed. Her positive attitude and words attempted to keep your mind off the horrible reality that you found yourself in.

You spent the day at Spencer’s bedside and only left when you realized how tired and sore you were from sleeping in the chair and then the uncomfortable cot. Penelope offered her guest room to you, and surprised you with your pregnancy pillow on the bed after a hot meal of pizza and warm mug of hot chocolate to end the night.

Every night for the next week you stayed at Penelope’s place after visiting Spencer in the hospital. She worked from home as much as she could so that you weren’t alone, and by the end of the week, the unsub was brought to justice, not only for his crimes against the people he killed, but also for what he did to Spencer. Penelope joined you as you made your way to the hospital to tell Spencer that the team had caught the guy. The nurses had been telling you that even under sedation, some people can hear and remember what was happening around them, and you were sure that would be the case for Spencer.

Penelope was armed with yet another get well soon card, and you had a bag of Spencer’s favorite coffee in hand as an incentive for him to wake up soon. When you neared room 18, you saw a large team of medical workers walking away and your heart instantly kicked up, pounding in your ears as you made your way over to the room which had the curtain drawn. As you pulled back the curtain, you were met with a sight that brought tears to your eyes. Spencer was off of the ventilator! “Oh my God, Spence!” you whispered, your hand covering your mouth as you dropped the coffee and rushed over to his bedside.

“Hey,” Spencer said, his voice hoarse from lack of use over the last week.

“Oh my God! Oh my God! You’re awake!” Penelope said hurriedly. She rushed over and kissed the top of Spencer’s head before saying, “I’ll give you two some time together and go tell the team! I love you two, and I’ll be back soon!”

“Love you too, Penny,” you replied before turning your attention back to Spencer.

“Thank you,” you whispered as you gently nuzzled yourself into the crook of Spencer’s neck.

“For what?” he asked as he wrapped his right arm around you.

“For coming back to us,” you told him, pulling away and guiding his hand to your bump.

“I’ll always come back to you,” he said, a fond smile on his face as he gazed at your growing belly and then up to your face. “You know…” he started, his voice wobbly with emotion. “When the car was hit, all I could think about while it was flipping was you and our little girl. How I couldn’t leave the two of you here alone. So before everything went black, I told myself that I needed to fight to get better. I knew that if the worst did happen, the team would support you through it all, but… I’m so happy it didn’t have to come to that. I love you both. So much.”

“I love you too, Spence,” you whispered before leaning over to give him a gentle kiss. “Once you get out, no more hospital stays ‘til she’s here, got it?”

Spencer chuckled before nodding and telling you, “Got it.”

And he kept that promise. After he was released, the next time the two of you fell asleep in a hospital room was after the birth of your baby girl and you were so grateful for the better circumstances for the stay.

and that is Tuna-Tober Day One done! enjoy!

ps: how freaking cute is Spence in that gif?? i love him!

likes and comments are always appreciated! xo, brooke <3

taglist: @reidmarieprentiss

#Tuna-Tober 2024 #october prompt challenge #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid angst

488 notes · View notes

vincentbriggs · 6 months ago

Text

I finished this wool waistcoat a couple days ago, and it's another thing that had been on The Pile for years. I don't think I've mentioned the Pile number recently, but as of right now I'm down to 14 unfinished sewing projects! (It was 25 at the start of this year.)

The wool is from an old pencil skirt that was originally dark greenish grey and I overdyed it with green. I had to piece the sides and shoulders, as I always do when making things with skirt wool. (I was given a bunch of them years ago, already picked apart.)

I had to piece the linen back too, since it was cut from a couple of small strips, which I'm pretty sure were also given to me at some point. The pocket bags are a lighter weight unbleached linen.

The lining is silk taffeta I bought on a road trip in 2018, and the button moulds are flat wooden beads. One of my goals this year was to actually use silk twist more (instead of just hoarding it because it's expensive) so I actually did use silk for the buttonholes for once!

It has a little bit of machine stitching, but most of the sewing is by hand. I haven't got any pictures of it on me yet, but I will try to get some soon. Very glad to have another wool waistcoat for my everyday wardrobe! Before this I only had the black one I made last year, and I would like to have more variety. I used to have a brown wool one I wore constantly in the cold half of the year, so hopefully I'll make another of those soon.

#sewing #18th century #clothing #waistcoats

598 notes · View notes

devilish-cherry · 4 months ago

Text

ᨳ♡₊➳ jujutsu kaisen x reader

ᨳ♡₊➳ crack with plot

"You hate your job. The pay is bad, your manager is worse, and customers are somehow both entitled and clueless. Just as you finish contemplating whether unpaid breaks are a human rights violation, weird new people keep showing up to the café. They all seem to know each other. Sometimes they talk in cryptic phrases. What the hell is this domain and why do they want to expand it? One time, a man with stitches on his forehead walked in, made prolonged eye contact with you, and then left without ordering anything. You’re pretty sure he was a serial killer. Another time, the one with white hair and sunglasses indoors mentioned a "higher mission", and you’re 90% sure this is how cult documentaries start. One of your regulars only speaks in weird food-related phrases. You assume he has some kind of medical condition, but no one explains anything to you. But you are not about to ask questions, because ignorance is bliss and also job security. And unfortunately, they are all weird and they seem very interested in coming back."

꒰ masterlist ꒱ ₊⊹. ꒰ chapter 2 ꒱ ₊⊹. ꒰ chapter 4 ꒱

ᨳ♡₊➳ or read on archive of our own!

The first sign that today was going to be a lot was when you walked into work and found the espresso machine actively smoking.

Greg the Manager stood next to it, arms crossed, nodding to himself like a man who was taking this issue very seriously but would do absolutely nothing about it.

“Looks bad,” he said gravely.

You set your bag down and exhaled. “Have you done anything to fix it?"

“I thought about unplugging it,” he admitted.

“…And?”

Greg frowned. “I figured I’d wait and see if it resolved itself.”

You stared at him.

“Greg.”

“Yeah?”

“Machines don’t have healing factors.”

“Well, not with that attitude.”

You spent the next five minutes aggressively pressing buttons and muttering curses while Greg hovered behind you, offering completely useless commentary like, Try hitting it? and Have you, like, considered manifesting better vibes?

Eventually, by some miracle, the espresso machine sputtered, coughed, and decided it did want to work today.

You, however, were not convinced. It was only a matter of time before the damn thing completed its ritualistic sacrifice to the void. But hey. That was a problem for Future You.

With that catastrophe narrowly avoided, you mentally prepared yourself for a standard day of emotional and physical suffering. The morning rush passed without incident, and you allowed yourself a single, fleeting moment of peace.

The café was slow. A couple of students were hunched over laptops, a guy was typing aggressively while crying like he was writing a breakup message with the full force of divine wrath, and the espresso machine had only screamed into the void twice so far. A win.

And then the bell jingled.

Yuji bounced in first, smiling like this wasn’t about to be your problem. “Hey, we’re back!”

You blinked at him. Then at the man following behind him, who moved with the slow deliberation of a final boss entering the arena.

Choso.

The café’s weirdest, most socially unhinged customer had returned. And based on the way he immediately locked eyes with you—expression blank but purposeful—he had not just stopped by for a casual latte.

“Barista,” Choso greeted solemnly, stepping up to the counter.

Oh god. He had a mission.

“Choso.” You nodded back, bracing yourself.

“I require another latte.”

Okay. Safe. This was safe. You could do this.

You rang it up, watching as Yuji rocked back and forth on his heels, suspiciously giddy. Why did he look so—

“I will be paying,” Choso said suddenly. “With gratitude.”

You squinted. “I… okay? It’s $4.75.”

Choso nodded. Then, with the solemn grace of a man bestowing a sacred relic, he reached into his pocket—

And pulled out an old-ass wooden charm.

It was covered in intricate symbols. It gave off rancid vibes.

You stared.

Yuji made a noise like a dying animal.

Choso, completely unfazed, placed it gently on the counter. “This should suffice.”

You did not touch it. Because, and this felt important to clarify, it looked like something from a museum. A cursed museum. The kind that people in horror movies go to right before they start seeing dead children in their mirrors.

"Uh," you said, examining it. "Choso. What is this?"

"A charm," Choso answered, dead serious. "It will protect you."

You squinted at him. "...From what?"

Choso did not answer.

Yuji, sweating buckets, laughed. “Haha! HAHA! It’s a, uh, totally fake replica of a—”

“But it is real,” Choso interrupted, giving Yuji a slightly confused expression.

You swore you heard thunder in the distance.

“…Right,” you said slowly, staring at the wooden charm like it might start whispering ancient secrets at you. “Cool. Love that. But I cannot accept what is very obviously an art piece from the underworld as a tip.”

Choso frowned. “Why not?”

“Because this is a coffee shop, not an auction house for haunted objects.”

Yuji, in full-blown panic mode, snatched the charm off the counter and stuffed it in his pocket. “HAHAHA! SILLY CHOSO, YOU CAN’T TIP WITH RELICS, AHAHAHA.”

Choso blinked. “But it is a powerful protection charm. It will ward off evil.”

Yuji shook his head so aggressively you thought he might dislocate something. “JUST, UH, TIP IN CASH LIKE A NORMAL PERSON, OKAY, BUDDY?”

Choso nodded slowly, as if this was a deep and tragic lesson.

“…Understood.”

Crisis avoided. You rang up the latte again, expecting Choso to finally pull out some actual legal currency—

Choso, with the absolute confidence of a man who had never tipped in his life, placed an entire brick of cash onto the counter like he was presenting an offering to a deity.

You stared.

Yuji choked. "Dude, isn't that your rent money?! What are you doing?!"

Choso looked at the money, then at you. His expression was blank, but his voice was completely serious. "It is for the barista. It is to show my appreciation.”

“...For what?” You asked.

Choso looked at you like the answer was obvious. “For your lattes. And your presence.”

"I don’t think you’re supposed to tip, uh, this much," you remarked, eyeing the disturbing amount of cash sitting on your counter.

Choso frowned slightly. "Why not?"

Yuji flailed and made a strangled noise. "Because it’s, like, way too much?! Choso, dude, you don’t need to tip this much!"

Choso did not care.

"The barista makes good lattes," he said simply, like it explained everything.

You slowly, carefully, poked the stack of cash like it might bite you. "Okay, I appreciate the sentiment, but I cannot accept what I’m 99% sure is someone's rent money."

Choso looked personally offended. "I do not wish to insult you."

Yuji stepped in, frantically shoving the bills back toward Choso. "Okay! We’re gonna start small, buddy. You tip a couple bucks, not your life savings."

Choso hesitated, looking very much like a kicked puppy and like he didn’t understand why you wouldn’t just take it.

Yuji, meanwhile, gave you a tight, please just go with this smile.

After a few moments, Choso picked up exactly one five-dollar bill and carefully placed it in the tip jar.

You exhaled. Progress.

Yuji had wandered off to go sit down somewhere, but Choso remained near the counter, completely silent, watching you make drinks like a spectating ghost.

At this point, you weren’t even fazed.

Well. Mostly.

You ignored him to the best of your ability, focusing on making a matcha latte for the sweet old lady at the counter. She had been chatting pleasantly about the weather, her grandchildren, and something about how young people these days didn’t appreciate a good casserole. You nodded along, offering polite hums of acknowledgment while finishing up her drink.

Then, out of nowhere—

“Oh, dear,” she said, glancing at Choso, who was still standing eerily still, his gaze never leaving you. She smiled sweetly, lowering her voice to a whisper (but not really, because old people had zero volume control).

“Is that your boyfriend?”

Old lady. What.

“No,” you blurted, feeling your soul try to escape your body.

Then you made the grave mistake of looking at Choso.

And Choso—who had apparently never been introduced to the concept of social cues—was thinking about it.

No immediate denial. No clarification.

Just… contemplation.

Then, after what had to be the longest ten seconds of your life, he finally spoke.

"Not yet.”

Not. Yet.

NOT YET???

Your hands went slack. The matcha latte nearly slipped from your grip. You made direct eye contact with Choso, searching desperately for any sign that he was joking. He was not. He was just standing there, all calm and collected, as if he had not just dropped that absolute bomb in the middle of your workplace.

The old lady? Beaming.

Gojo, who you had not even realized was here until now, was already on the floor wheezing.

Nanami, who you guessed Gojo dragged along with him, looked like he was reconsidering every decision that had led him to this exact moment. Yuji? Yuji had his face buried in his hands, probably trying to astral project himself out of existence due to the secondhand embarrassment.

Meanwhile, you were still trying to reboot your brain like a Windows XP computer.

Because what the hell was Choso even thinking about for so long? What part of “is this your boyfriend” required that much deliberation?

You quickly shoved the old lady’s matcha latte into her hands, forcing a polite, “Have a nice day!” while completely ignoring the smug look she was giving you.

“Thank you, dear,” she said, before looking at Choso approvingly. “You take care of your sweetheart now.”

Choso, ever the enigma, seemed to take her words very seriously and nodded solemnly.

Gojo shrieked with laughter.

You resisted the urge to bash your head against the register.

Gojo was still laughing when you turned to glare at him. “Ohhh, this is fantastic,” he wheezed, wiping a fake tear from under his sunglasses. “Best thing I’ve heard all week.”

“I will ban you from this café,” you deadpanned.

“You wish you could.”

You did. You really, really did.

Gojo, apparently deciding that making your life miserable wasn’t enough, suddenly perked up. “Oh! Speaking of best things ever—how’s the loyalty program going?”

Nanami groaned. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes!”

You sighed through gritted teeth. “You mean the completely fake customer loyalty program that you made up, despite not even working here?”

Gojo gasped, hand over his heart like you had just stabbed him. “Fake? Fake??”

“It’s fake, Gojo.”

“First of all, rude. Second of all, the people love it!”

You scowled, glancing at the stack of handwritten punch cards sitting by the register. You had tried—tried—to confiscate them, but customers were actually excited about it. Because Gojo was a tall pretty boy that could get away with anything.

The cards had rewards written in Gojo’s messy handwriting, and you had no choice but to read them every single shift. They included:

• Buy 5 coffees, Get a Pat on the Head from Gojo!

• 10 coffees = A Surprise! (Spoiler: It’s just Gojo being annoying.)

• 15 coffees = You Win! (Literally nothing happens. You just Win.)

The worst part? People wanted them.

An alarming number of customers were on their ninth coffee. Ninth. Meaning soon, you were going to have real customers demanding their “Gojo Surprise” like it was a legal right.

“Look at this!” Gojo held up a card proudly. “People are invested.”

You turned to Greg the Manager, expecting—hoping—for him to intervene.

Greg the Manager was playing Candy Crush on his phone.

You turned back to Gojo, who was still smug.

“You are not giving my customers head pats,” you gritted out.

Gojo gasped dramatically. “Oh? Are you jealous? Do you want a head pat?”

You threw a napkin at his face.

Gojo caught it effortlessly. “I’m telling HR about this."

“We don’t have HR.”

Nanami pinched the bridge of his nose. “Gojo, stop.”

Gojo grinned. “Can’t. I’m in too deep now.”

You put your head in your hands.

By the time they left, Gojo had successfully handed out thirty-six punch cards. Customers were thrilled. You had never wanted to quit more in your life. At least you had some peace and quiet now. The lull between rushes was your favorite time of day.

For approximately thirty minutes—if you were lucky—you could almost convince yourself that working here wasn’t slowly eroding your will to live. But, as you were well aware by now, peace was never meant to last.

The bell above the door jingled, and you sighed, mentally preparing yourself for whatever fresh hell was about to walk in.

At first glance, he looked normal. Silver hair, sharp eyes. Pretty normal. That was, until he stepped up to the counter, fixed you with an unblinking stare, and, in the most serious tone imaginable, said—

“Kelp.”

You blinked. “…Sorry?”

“Spicy cod roe.”

Okay. What.

You stared at him. He stared back. A battle of wills commenced.

“…Sir,” you said slowly, “this is a café.”

“Salmon.”

Your soul left your body.

Was this a prank? Were you being filmed? You subtly glanced around the café, half-expecting to see a hidden camera crew. Nothing. Just the muffin guy staring at the muffins once again and a woman that was on her sixth cappucino and looking like she was second away from a mental breakdown.

That was when you realized he was wearing the almost exact same damn uniform that Gojo and Yuji so often wore. Of course.

Alright. You had two options here. One: demand he speak like a normal person. Or two: roll with it and hope for the best.

You were so tired.

“…You want a drink?” you guessed.

He nodded. Progress.

“Cool. Uh. What kind?”

He opened his mouth. You braced yourself.

“…Tuna.”

God damn it.

You let out a deep breath. “Right. Tuna. Naturally.”

Who was this guy?

It took some trial and error (and what felt like divine intervention), but eventually, you managed to deduce that he wanted something cold and sweet. So, you handed him an iced vanilla latte and hoped for the best.

He examined it, nodded approvingly, and took a sip. Then, in what you could only describe as the most intense, soul-staring thumbs-up of all time, he silently expressed his satisfaction.

And then. He just left.

Didn’t say a word. Just turned and walked out, like his mission had been completed.

You stood there, staring after him, the weight of what had just transpired settling onto your shoulders.

What the hell was happening to this café?

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #choso x reader #gojo x reader #nanami x reader #geto x reader #toji x reader #shiu x reader #higuruma x reader #naoya x reader #mahito x reader #kenjaku x reader

198 notes · View notes