#I have no idea how to tag this actually. you all get the drift

[ghostussy]

Hello, got a small comfort drabble request from a friend of mine who is too nervous to send a request and doesn't know how to use the anon request button.

It kinda goes that teen-reader gets the sniffles and them being stubborn about it (like "oh no, I'm fine. It's nothing.) And each papa is not taking that as an answer then takes care of them. like one making sure they get their medication into them and one holding them bed-hostage to make sure they get rest and the other two being dads. Just, Pure tooth rotting fluff ensues.

Hope it isn't too much trouble, thanks.

-🌘(crescent anon)

I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK FOREVER. I HOPE YOU ENJOY IT AND IF YOU WERE SICK WHEN YOU SENT THIS ASK I'M SO SORRY BAHAHAHAHA

Sick Days (All Papas x Sick Teen Reader)

"O-oh! Sorry!"

You hadn't meant to bump into him, but now Copia's mismatched eyes stared straight into your core. "Satanas, are you alright? You look unwell."

"Oh. Yes, Papa, I'm alright, thank you. I just have a little cold is all."

That was an understatement.

You were sick as Hell.

You'd felt it come on last night; it had started simply as a deep fatigue, which you'd heeded as you went to bed. Then this morning you had woken up to discover that the fatigue had not only gotten worse, but was now accompanied by a head-splitting migraine, a sore throat, and shivers.

Still, you'd gotten up to get ready for work like always. Still new to the Ministry, you strove to prove yourself; being a clumsy teenager, you found it difficult to get people to listen to or trust you, but things were getting better. Still, you couldn't afford to call in sick, or risk ridicule.

You noticed a frown form on Copia's lips. "Child, if you aren't feeling well, perhaps you should take the remainder of the day off? It may help to rest."

"No, no, I'm okay... really, I'm fine." You managed a pained smile that did little to reassure him.

He sighs and steps closer, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. "Y/n, right?" When you nod, he continues, leaning close. "I know you are new here, and young. But that does not mean that you must power through illness simply because you wish to prove yourself worthy. Do you understand?"

You nod.

He pats your shoulder before turning away. "Good. Go get some rest, child."

. . .

A few hours pass, and you still have not stopped working. Though you appreciated Copia's advice, you needed to finish these chores. After all, your assignments came from Sister Imperator herself, and you hated to disappoint.

Unfortunately, that meant that you also had to avoid Copia as much as possible.

If you heard him coming down the hall, you ducked into a side room. If you saw him in the library, you hid behind a shelf. You didn't need him to worry about you; after all, you were nearly an adult!

However, it was much to your disappointment when you finally ran into him in the kitchen. You'd gone to get yourself a glass of water, unable to hide the way your hands trembled as you retrieved the glass from the shelf.

When he noticed your presence, he didn't speak. Instead, he simply stared at you, arms crossed and a motherly look that said, what is your ass doing out of bed?

"Y/n, I thought you were resting?"

"Oh! I was," you spoke with uncertainty. "I just needed a glass of water, is all."

"And you felt the need to get dressed in your work uniform to do so?"

You froze, trying to come up with a lie. "Well, yeah. I hate looking unpresentable."

He looked unimpressed. "Sister told me you have still been working. Bambino testardo (Stubborn child), look at you! Your hands are shaking, tesoro. You need to stop."

"I'm fine, Papa! I think I'm old enough to figure out if I'm sick enough to work or not."

"Oh, truly? Because it looks to me like you're about to pass out on the counter."

"Now you're just being dramatic," you tell him, returning to your task at hand. Just as you turn your back, a wave of fatigue and dizziness washes over you, forcing you to stop and place a hand on the counter in a weak attempt to steady yourself. "Oh."

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose briefly before moving close by your side; then he places his hand on the small of your back to steady you. "Okay, hai finite (you're done.) We are making a quick stop to your bedroom for pajamas, then you are staying with me for the rest of the day. Resting."

"No, I can't- I have stuff to do."

He is having none of it. "Non più (not anymore). Sister has already given your remaining chores to the other siblings. You, dear child, are going to sleep the rest of this off."

"But I-"

"Enough," he snaps, and you flinch. His gaze softens as he looks down at you. Your skin was pale, cheeks flushed with fever, eyelids drooping with fatigue. "Kiddo, you look absolutely exhausted. I'm sorry for being so harsh. But you must rest. That is an order."

You sigh, rubbing your eyes with closed fists. He's right; you're tired, too tired. You can't find the energy to argue anymore, so you turn to follow him. "Fine. Lead the way."

He smiles, moving his arm to wrap around your shoulders as he leads you out of the kitchen.

A few minutes later, the two of you are standing at your bedroom door. You let him in, and you quickly grab the first pair of pajamas you see from the drawer. While you change in the connecting bathroom, he takes the time to admire your decor.

"You have many stuffed animals," he chuckles when you exit the bathroom.

"Oh. Yeah."

"And a nightlight?"

You look away. "I don't like the dark much."

"Ah, that's quite alright; I'm not one for darkness either. I keep candles lit much of the time. Now come on, let's get you to bed. Would you like to grab a stuffie to keep you company?"

You eyed the pile of stuffed animals for a few seconds before responding. "No, I think I'm okay." Copia raises an eyebrow, and you take a few steps toward the door.

Copia grabs a decently-sized stuffed dinosaur from your bed before joining you by the door. "Just in case." He gestures the dino towards you. "Want to carry it?"

You sheepishly smile and bring the animal into your arms, squeezing it tightly for a moment before cradling it. "Thanks."

"Of course."

"You don't think I'm too old for this stuff?"

"They bring you comfort, do they not?"

You nod.

"Then you are never too old for such things."

. . .

Another moment later and you are standing in front of Copia's bedroom door. He holds the door open for you, allowing you to enter first. It's cozy; candles softly light up the room, and you notice a pink lava lamp by the door. On his bedside table, you can also make out a few medications, and bottles of water.

You notice that his room is cold. You assume this is because of the open window, which shows a dark and cloudy sky.

You're surprised to see Terzo and Secondo in the room, both dressed in comfy clothes. Terzo was lying on the bed while Secondo fiddled with Copia's small TV, seemingly trying to connect a DVD player. "Oh, hello."

Copia chuckles as he closes the door behind you. "What, did you think I'd be wrangling you on my own? No, my fratellos here have offered to assist me in aiding in your comfort, and making sure that you do not sneak off."

"Ciao, tesorino," greets Terzo. "How are you feeling? My brother tells us that you are unwell."

"I'm...okay," you tell him, uncertain.

Secondo finishes messing with the TV, finally turning around to look at you. "Okay? You look a little tired."

You throw your hands up in defeat, dinosaur still in hand. "Why does everyone keep saying that? I'm fine! It's a cold!"

"A cold that worried our fratello enough to give us babysitting duty," mumbles Terzo, his arms crossed.

"Well- I am concerned! Look at them! Senza offesa (no offense)," he says that last part to you, looking apologetic briefly before moving to his bedside table to check over his supplies. "Now! I need to make sure we have everything. Primo is coming with tea, I got the nyquil and water, Secondo is setting up a movie; Terzo, did you get the snacks?"

"Si, they're on your dresser."

"Perfetto! Now, y/n- Oh!" Copia yelps in surprise as a loud crack of thunder is heard through his open window. "I suppose it is going to rain..."

"Y/n, would you like to join me?" Terzo pats the space next to him. "My brother is correct, you appear to be a little sleepy."

"Oh, I'm alright with standing for now. Thank you though."

Secondo appeared behind you, placing his hand on your upper back and nudging you forward. "Go lay down." It didn't sound like a request.

"I'm okay, I-" you're interrupted as he quickly swoops you up in his arms, and you drop the dinosaur on the floor in surprise. "Hey!"

He's gentle as he lowers you onto the bed. The dizziness from earlier returns, and you practically melt into the cushions as your head lulls onto Terzo's shoulder.

"S-sorry," you mutter, moving your head onto a pillow instead.

"Non si preoccupi, cara. (don't worry about it, dear.) It's alright, you can snuggle up to me." He winks at you.

Instead you look at the floor with a small frown. "Rupert," you whine.

Secondo lets out a laugh. "You named your dinosaur Rupert!?" When he sees the solemn look on your face, as well as Copia glaring daggers at him, he's quick to backtrack. "I mean, that's a perfect name for him. Very fitting." He retrieves the dinosaur and hands it to you.

You thank him and sit up in the bed. "So, what movie are we watching?"

Terzo is quick to pull you back down, this time helping you underneath the covers. Instinctively, you pull yourself closer to him in an attempt to absorb some of his warmth. "Your favorite."

Before you can answer, Primo strides into the room holding what appears to be an electric kettle. "Sorry I'm late," he announces, "The tea took a little longer than expected. Hello, dear." He greets, taking a mug and filling it with tea. He passes it to you, and you drop Rupert to the side before taking the mug in your hands.

The mug is warm in your cold hands. It smells sweet; you sense a hint of lavender and honey. You take a careful sip, and it tastes just as good as it smells. "Thank you, Papa."

"You're very welcome. That should help sooth your throat, and help you sleep."

"O-oh, I don't really need to sleep. I'll be okay in a bit."

Primo exchanges a knowing glance with Copia. "Now I understand what you mean."

"Stubborn, I know!"

You roll your eyes as you continue taking small sips of the tea, savoring the smooth taste.

"Okay, I've got everything plugged in- Where's the DVD?" Secondo looks to Copia.

"Ah, yes- here it is." Copia passes the DVD case to his brother, and you recognize it as a childhood favorite of yours. "Now, y/n, I've got some cold medicine you can take, here- it'll make you feel better."

He hands you a couple of pills, and you begin to protest. "But won't this make me tired? I really don't need-"

"Yes, you do," he insists, "trust me. It will make you feel so much better when you wake up."

"Trust him on this, y/n. Please." Primo looks at you with concern in his eyes.

You sigh. "Fine."

Secondo finishes setting up the movie, and it begins playing at a low volume. "Okay, everyone on the bed."

You chuckle as the three remaining grown-men pile onto Copia's bed. Even though it was a king size, the five of you had to cuddle close to fit on the bed. You managed to make yourself comfortable in between Terzo and Secondo.

As the beginning scenes of the movies start, another crack of thunder can be heard. Shortly thereafter, the power goes out; then the rain starts, quickly turning into a downpour. It's a calming setting, given that Copia's bedroom was primarily lit by candles anyway.

"Ah, merda," grumbles Secondo, "all that time setting up the DVD player for nothing."

"We could play games instead?" you suggest.

"Maybe something less interactive," Copia says gently. "I could read a book?"

"You'll put us all to sleep from boredom, fratello." Terzo tells him.

"Is that not the goal?" Primo asks.

You sit there, sipping on your tea as you listen to the brothers argue. After what feels like forever, the conversation switches from passing the time to simple chatter. They're discussing anything from childhood memories, to current events, to what they had for breakfast. After a while, you stop adding to the conversation, simply enjoying their presence and hearing their gruff, low voices mix in with the sounds of the rain outside. It's almost like a lullaby.

You readjust yourself to sit more comfortably in-between the two men. After a while, your head is falling to meet Secondo's shoulder, and he finally notices the sleepy trance you've entered. Your eyelids have closed, and the mug of tea in your hands is dangerously close to spilling over.

"Ah, diavolo," he grumbles, "mettiamo a dormire il bambino. (Ah, hell. We've put the kid to sleep.)"

"Che cosa? Fammi vedere (what? let me see); si, it seems we have," Copia sits up to look at you, and Primo follows.

You notice the sudden silence in the room and pry open your eyes, though half-lidded. "Hmm...?"

"Mi dispiace per quello (sorry about that) kiddo, I didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep," Secondo whispers, taking the tea from your hands. You whine, weakly reaching your arms out for nothing in particular. Terzo finds Rupert, and places him gently in your arms. You hold him comfortably, moving to nuzzle your face in the dinosaur's belly. When you do so, your head slips from Secondo's shoulder, and you awaken more fully. With a frown, you open your eyes completely and move to sit up, though tiredly.

"Sorry," you manage, voice low and slurring, "didn't mean to sleep."

"That's quite alright," Terzo coos, sitting up with you. He gingerly places a hand on your back and another to your sternum to lower you back down into Secondo's hold. He holds his arms out, pulling you to rest on your side with your head on his chest. Rupert is still in your arms, and you pull him up to cover your face. Dazed and drowsy from the medicine and the tea, you open your eyes to look at the rain falling outside the window. Terzo shifts behind you, curling up close so that you have no room to sit back up. It makes you feel safe.

Secondo adjusts the warm duvet up over your shoulders, and your head falls ever-so-slightly. You readjust yourself to nuzzle your face into his chest, and he melts.

"Who knew teenagers could be so cuddly," he mumbles. You're barely awake, still watching the rain. He kisses the top of your head, then starts softly rubbing you back. A soft exhale escapes your lips, then your eyelids flutter; once, twice, then darkness.

. . .

"Primo, look." Copia nudges his brother, motioning for him to look towards Secondo.

"What? Oh."

On the other side of the bed lies yourself, curled up in Secondo's arms; your mouth pressed into the muzzle of your dinosaur stuffie as you lie on his chest. Secondo lies with his head leaned back against the pillows, mouth agape as deep snores escaped him. Terzo lies directly behind you, arms thrown around your abdomen, face snuggled deep into your upper back. His hair was a mess from the movement.

All three of you deeply asleep.

"Quick, where's your camera phone?" Primo smacked Copia's arm lightly. "We have to keep a record of this. They'll never believe us."

Rumor has it, both Secondo and Terzo keep framed copies of that photo somewhere in their office.

#drabbles #ask me anything :) #ghostussy asks #terzo cuddles #secondo cuddles #papa emeritus x reader #I have no idea how to tag this actually. you all get the drift #tragic napping event no survivors

[vampiresfromxenon]

Kiss It Better

Astarion x gender neutral! Reader/Tav

Around 2.2K words 

Tags: Fluff, kissing, blood, soft!(ish?) Astarion, hurt/comfort, angst, 3rd person, no use of y/n

CW: Blood, deep wound on hand, existential thoughts (?)

Summary: After accidentally cutting your hand on your blade, Astarion is the only one in the camp to help you deal with it. You’ve been seeing him for awhile now, but this is the first time you’ve ever seen him actually care. Perhaps he does feel the same way about you…

~

With the daylight fading, you rest just outside your tent, wiping the blood off of your blade with a damp rag. As you sit there, shining it to perfection, you can’t help but analyze your reflection, thinking about the events that led you to having newer, fresher scars on your face. It’s been a few months since the start of this nightmare, since the start of having these things inside your head. The tadpoles weren't that bad to deal with, but your feelings were worse. 

You’ve grown to love all the companions you’ve met along the way, laughing and enjoying their company as you travel across the land, searching for answers, for a cure. You all keep each other safe in one way or another, and while you hate to get too attached, knowing this won’t last forever, you feel as though you found your family, especially since you can’t remember your real one. God, your real family. One you once knew but now have no memory of. Your past is a mystery, and it haunts you, much more than the gnawing idea that you could become a mind flayer at any waking moment. 

You want to remember. Oh, so desperately do you want to remember, but you can’t. That is not an option for you. And besides? What good would that do you now? You can only confront the horrors that lie before you. The thought of losing your friends, the thought of losing yourself. The thought of losing… No. You can’t bear the thought of losing him.

You find your heart sinking in your chest at the thought of him turning into a mind flayer. Your chest aches at the thought of where you promised you’d stab him if, Gods forbid, he turns. Looking into his eyes and seeing nothing, no life, no character, but a vessel. A vessel for these wretched things. It was becoming too much to handle. Your body begins to tremble from these false images enveloping your thoughts, these twisted and sickly ideas corrupting your mind for far too long. You’re so distracted by these terrors that you fail to notice the fact that you started to scrub the blade harder, or even more pressing, the fact that you dropped the rag. 

In one swift movement, your palm forcibly glides across the blade, drawing both blood from your palm and a string of curses from your mouth. The images disappear, fleeing your mind as you pick up the rag and crush it into the palm of your hand to stop the bleeding. The blade was no longer important in this moment, tossed off to the side for later. You storm into your tent, clutching your hand, searching for any sort of healing potion or power that you could find. Shadowheart and the rest of the camp had left to explore the town for the night, leaving you all to your lonesome, or so you thought. 

You sit on a cushion, exasperated and upset with yourself and your doomed existence. Removing the cloth, you take a closer look to see just how bad the wound is, trying to ignore the stinging feeling. Distracted by the blood, you fail to hear a visitor’s light footsteps approaching. 

“Oh dear, what happened to you?” A charming voice rings out. 

You turn to see a pale, slender elf standing in the opening of your tent, his white hair perfectly styled as always, his piercing red eyes invading your soul. Shoving the rag back into your burning palm, you attempt to hide your mistake, though you know he smells the blood from miles away. 

“I had a moment of clumsiness, nothing more.” You stated in a nonchalant tone, attempting to downplay your embarrassment. 

You turn your hand away from him, your eyes drifting around your tent, avoiding his gaze. He slowly approaches you, kneeling down on the cushion you are sitting on. He moves his head to meet your gaze, not wasting a second of eye-contact. 

“Mind if I take a look, darling?” He purrs, asking more nicely than usual. 

Your heart begins to race as he leans over you a little, prying into your personal space. If it were anyone else, you would push them away, but he invited himself in so much that you couldn’t help but miss it when he left. However, in this moment you did not want to feel this vulnerable, this embarrassed at your mistake; you couldn’t help but push him away just a little. After all, he is not known for having the best 'bedside manner’, if any at all. Meeting his eyes, you give him a knowing look.

“I’ll be alright on my own, thank you, Astarion. Besides, I thought you went into town with the rest of the camp?” You inquire, suddenly aware of just how much your feelings of being alone may have been an illusion. 

“I had no need to go, and honestly I couldn’t take any more of Gale’s whining about ‘needing to eat magical artifacts’. I know everyone complains about my diet, but let’s be realistic here for just a moment…” He looks away smirking, proud of his own snarky comment. Turning back to you, there is suddenly a shift in tone on his face. While he still has his typical look, one that is oozing with flirtatious energy, he looks a bit more serious, concerned even. You’ve never seen this side of him before, and it shocked you considering just how insignificant he’d find a wound like this normally. 

“Let me see it, please.” His voice was low, softer than usual, but commanding. One of his hands reaches across you, his hand ghosting over yours. You can’t help but lift your bloody hand so his palm touches the back of your hand. Never breaking eye-contact, he pulls your hand closer to him, gently pulling the rag from your white knuckles. Looking down, he notices just how bad the cut is, taking up most of your palm. 

“Oh, my dear… How did you do this?” His voice is more concerned now, his thumb gently rubbing circles into your wrist. His eyes soften, and you can’t help but think back to what put you in this mess to begin with. Your body trembles once more, eyes breaking his gaze as you stare down at your hand. 

“My hand slipped while cleaning my blade. It’s alright, I just need to wait for Shadowheart to come back…” You trail off. 

“Why wait for Shadowheart? I can make you feel better, you know…” His free, slender hand reaches down and grabs your chin, gently raising your head to face his again. You blush from his touch, his willingness to command your body. Your mouth falls open a little, unsure of what to say or how to respond to such a comment from him. You were used to his flirting, but this unlocked a whole new feeling in you. He could sense your speechlessness, and so he did the one thing he knew how to do best: make you even more flustered. 

“Would you like me to kiss it better?” He asks in his normal, teasing tone. This offering catches you off guard, breaking your immersion in this intimate moment. You can’t help but laugh, thinking now that he was only just charming you like he does everyone else. Continuing to laugh, you call him out. 

“Very funny, Astarion. Hilarious. Need I remind you of when I was opening up to you not that long ago and you said almost the exact same thing? Seems to me you’re running out of tactics here.” You roll your eyes, not amused by his antics.

You feel his grip tighten on your bleeding hand, pulling it closer to him. Looking to see what he is doing, you connect with his eyes one more time, seeing an almost predatory look. You stop laughing, your face heating up once again, your heart pounding as his soft lips connect with your wounded palm. It still stings, and you wince a little at the contact, but you can’t seem to look or pull away from him. He kisses all along your palm, and you can feel him gently sucking at the blood. Not only was he kissing you better, but he was feeding on you. 

If you weren’t so attracted to him, you’d be much more upset. Instead, you sit on this cushion while the vampire of your desires kneels before you, kissing and sucking at your wounded palm. You can feel his tongue lapping at your skin, his fangs ever so slightly poking out from behind his lips. Yes, he was feeding, but was he… actually kissing you too? His hands continue to massage the back of your hand and your wrist, trying to provide you comfort without completely invading your space. Eventually he stops, planting a final kiss on your wrist, his mouth covered in blood. He licks his lips, and you can’t help but tremble now but for a whole new reason. 

“Better?” He asks, smiling enough to show his fangs this time. 

“You just wanted an excuse to suck at my hand, didn’t you?” You raise an eyebrow, an attempt to see through him.

“I am always looking for any excuse to suck at any part of you, my sweet.” His voice is low once more, a rumbling laugh escaping his lips.

He finds a section of the rag not absolutely soaked in blood and pushes it back into your, now much cleaner, palm. Your whole face is flushed now, unable to think of any more witty remarks or comebacks. For the second time in just a few small minutes, he found yet another way to leave you completely speechless. The sly vampire decides to take advantage of your silence once more. 

Letting go of your hand, he leans forward, his lips connecting with yours. It’s soft, gentle, and new. To be fair, while you have spent a few intimate nights together, this moment here alone feels so much more real, so much more genuine. Almost as if he was kissing you… because he wanted to. A real, genuine want. His hand caresses the side of your face, his other landing on the small of your back as he continues to kiss you. Without hesitation, you lean into the kiss, your body elated by his touch. It’s not long before he deepens the kiss, his tongue parting your lips, wanting more from you. 

He tastes of iron, what more could you expect, but for once you don’t hate the taste. You invite it more into your mouth as he continues to lean even further over you. He begins to push you back, your body relaxing into the cushion. He breaks from the kiss, planting small kisses on your face, trailing them down your jaw and to the side of your neck. You can’t help but close your eyes, softly sighing as he kisses at your skin, sucking softly, his fangs once again poking you. He had been feeding off you almost every night now for weeks while you were dead asleep, and while it was unusual for you two, it was so much more enjoyable to experience it this way. He lifts his head, meeting your eyes as a way of warning you he was about to bite. He opens his mouth, his fangs protruding, ready for the taste of your flesh and blood. 

“Helloooo? Astarion? Tav? We’ve got some goods!” Yells out Karlach, just a few meters away from your tent.

Shit. He sits up, kneeling over you, looking dissatisfied. You sigh and throw your head back into the cushion, frustrated. His cool hand caresses your cheek before tracing down your arm. He leans in close to your face one last time, his breath warming your skin. 

“Shall we finish this later tonight, my love?” He purrs, not even remotely finished with you.

You nod, still unable to speak from the last few eventful minutes. He kisses your cheek before standing. “Find me in the woods at our little spot, just after everyone has gone to bed. Don’t keep me waiting.” He flashes one last cheeky smirk before exiting your tent. 

“Hello, Karlach. Gale find any boots to devour today?” He quips, and you can’t help but laugh when Gale offendly responds.

The camp erupts in conversation, and you find yourself leaving your tent after a few minutes to track down Shadowheart. She heals you in her tent, though she has quite a few questions. Giving vague enough responses, she accepts them and lets you be on your way, but she’ll definitely be curious about it for a while. 

No matter, the only thought you could think of now was what Astarion had planned for both of you tonight; you knew exactly what was going to happen, but there was this whole new sense of excitement now that you could tell there was something deeper, real, and authentic going on between you two. You lie there in your tent, waiting for the snoring and sleep talking to begin to resonate throughout the camp, eager to scamper off into the wilderness with the elf you adore.  

-

Author's Note:

Hello! I haven't written any fan fiction in a loooooong time, and none of it was ever good to begin with- I've been struggling with writer's block for awhile now, and this was the first thing to break me out of it... lmao. I am very new to BG3 in general honestly, and I just barely started act 2. Please no spoilers, but also if Astarion is sorta OOC, I hope that explains why too :)

I've only had Astarion for what, two, three weeks now, and this man is just so whewww. I thought of this fic idea right as soon as I started a longer drive, and I started recording my thoughts on video so that way I wouldn't forget anything before I could start writing hahaha- I blushed so hard writing this, hope y'all feel the same

Hope you enjoy!

#astarion #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion fic #astarion x mc #astarion x you #astarion soft #astarion fluff

[wonysugar]

close the door | hanni pham

synopsis : you had no idea what you were doing, and neither did she.

genre : fluffy smut!

pairing : non-idol!hanni x gf!femreader

tags : they’re in love your honor, lots of kissing and making out, cuddling, l-bombs, top!femreader, bottom!hanni, they’re both virgins, fingering, clit play, nipple play, neck kissing, hanni’s dogs are mentioned twice lawl, lots of comfort, lots of consent! they’re literally just lovey dovey girlfriends having sex for the first time aheheh

warnings : none :]

word count : 2.5k

a/n : if you’re rereading this and thinking “hey the synopsis changed and there wasn’t an author’s note before!!” well you’d be right I POSTED THIS IN A RUSH I’M SO SORRYYFKEJF

anyways!! this is just to say that this fic is inspired by the lovely writer that is sorry for tagging you twice ahh @facefullofsadness’s fic right over here :] sooo GO READ THAT FIRST! it’s truly lovely and i really enjoyed reading it, hence why i wrote thisskfke. thank you for readingg<33

oh how you loved your girlfriend.

you would die for your girlfriend, actually, even if you only started dating barely a few months ago. who could blame you? that’s what happens when you’ve been best friends prior to your relationship for so, so, so long. it simply started with a ‘hi! my name’s hanni! what’s yours?’ from her part at the innocent age of seven and just like that, years later, you guys were still inseparable. 

so really, your life-long friendship and months-long relationship were both with the same gorgeous and outgoing girl, and the only thing distinguishing those two was the label you used to describe them.

“bro i genuinely don’t understand why he doesn’t just… run away. cause— get this, there’s obviously a murderer in his house right? and what does he decide to do about that? just stay in there. like, okay.. like i’m aware they needed plot but lord, i don’t know at least make it somewhat realistic you know what i mean—“ was what your girlfriend said, on her bed as she sat down in between your legs and leaned her back against you, her head facing forward and resting on your shoulder.

you simply nodded along to her words as you played with her hair, trying your hardest to stay focused on the piece of media before you whilst also paying your utmost attention to her, despite her constant ranting and criticizing of the entire movie. you, having originally liked the film, were now conflicted about your opinion on it. it’s not like she was wrong, her very heavy criticism had to have come from somewhere, after all, but you couldn’t help but slightly appreciate the storyline. so, you weren’t really sure what you felt about it anymore.

one thing you were certain of, however, 

was that your girlfriend looked really good while passionately rambling. like, way too good. she had tied her dark hair into a high ponytail, it also looked wavy due to the rain that was pouring on you guys earlier, her messy bangs fell perfectly onto her forehead. and her smile? it always looked perfect. she always looked perfect. 

and since you apparently weren’t hiding your admiration well enough, she very quickly noticed it.

she giggled teasingly. her voice sweet like honey, her australian accent more prominent than usual, she spoke up, “hello?” before full-on laughing, “were you even listening to me?”

you could only kiss her, that seemed like the only appropriate response in the heat of the moment. she, of course, kissed back just as lovingly before pulling away moments after, a curious and confused look on her face. 

“no seriously, what is up with you?” she kept teasing, smiling stupidly as she kept her gaze lingering on yours for the following seconds, her eyes unconsciously drifting to your lips. “you look stupid.”

“and you look really pretty.” was what you whispered back to her, earning a shy smile and an exaggerated eye roll from her. immediately, you made your lips come into contact with hers again. it felt as if the world would stop spinning if you didn’t, like a slowly growing urge to keep touching her suddenly came over you and you needed to fill it.

“so.. so pretty.” you mumbled, so quietly that it was almost to yourself, before going back in. you allowed yourself to make the kiss deeper and slid her tongue across her soft lips as you demanded entrance. you could hear her let out slight noises, she clearly was not expecting you to do anything of the sorts, at least not right now. she was a tad bit confused, but let you in, who in their right mind would pass up the opportunity to kiss their girlfriend? immediately, your hands wrapped around her waist whilst you continued kissing her lovingly, your tongue roaming every part of her mouth.

it didn’t take long before your hands started naturally reaching under her top, caressing on her tummy and progressively going higher with each sound she let out.

you pulled away, slightly worried of going too far, “c-can.. can i continue, hanni?”

you were scared, terrified, even! despite knowing each other for years, you’d only been dating for a few months; those are two completely different things! it’s not like you see your completely platonic best friend’s naked body every tuesday. even then, despite dating, you still haven’t gotten that stage of the relationship. and on top of that,

the two of you were a proper pair of virgins. you had no idea what you were doing, and neither did she. you didn’t want to seem like an inexperienced loser to her, you wanted to take care of her and make her feel good. what if that didn’t happen? what if you made it awkward between the two of you?? it was nerve-racking.

as if barging into your mind and reading your thoughts, wanting to reassure you, she grabbed your hand in a gentle manner before nodding. then, she spoke up, “can you close the door?”

“there’s.. nobody home, though?”

she giggled, “oh i know, it’s just that i don’t want the dogs to potentially walk in on this.”

you groaned dramatically, laughing and insisting that you were too lazy to get up and that her dogs wouldn’t understand the situation if they even walked in. she, in response, just tapped your knee with a cheeky smile, encouraging you to stand up.

“come on y/n, close the door. think about milly and mia; think about their innocence!” she exaggerated.

after playfully hitting her arm and laughing along with her, you got up, proceeded to close and lock the door like she asked you to and eventually walked back to her bed, sitting back on it and positioning yourself the way you originally were, her back to you again. 

“happy?” you asked in a fake arrogant tone.

she hummed, radiant, “yes, very happy.” before turning her head just right and kissing you again.

eventually back to the original rhythm of the kiss, you placed your hands back on her stomach again, slowly caressing and teasing higher and higher with time. once you reached her bra, you proceeded to impatiently unhook it, immediately taking it off of her.

her breathing got heavier with each second that passed, partially due to nervousness, probably. you’d be lying if you said that wasn’t the case for you too. the more your hands carefully roamed her body, the more self-conscious you got, you truly had no idea what you were doing. 

then, as if something in your mind clicked, you had an idea. what if you just did to her whatever you enjoyed doing to yourself in moments like these? that could work.. right? maybe??

you glided your hand upwards, your finger lightly grazing her nipple. in response to the sudden movement, a lewd sound accidentally escaped from her pretty lips, her breath hitching. that sound was a small moan.

a small one, barely audible, yet it was still enough for you to feel the activation of every single neuron residing in your brain.

then suddenly, it’s like the concept of making love to her wasn’t as nerve-racking as it originally was.

“s-sorry..” she apologized, seeming slightly embarrassed.

you kissed her cheek, reassuring her, “don’t apologize, i wanna hear you.”

despite it being an accident, she seemed to enjoy the sensation of your hand on her chest, so you went back to teasing her tits and gently groping them before you eventually asked, “is it okay if i go further..?”

nodding in a keen manner, she swallowed her saliva, then breathed out her response, “yes. yes keep— keep going. please.”

well shit! even if you wanted to stop, it’s not like you could, not with how good she sounded pleading for you.

not wasting any more time, you proceeded to separate one of your hands from her chest and quickly slid it downwards; to the band of her sweatpants. now, of course, your other hand was still in its original place, working its magic, but you wanted her to feel more. so much more.

you wanted to convey every surge of affection you violently felt for her into pleasure. and, if there was one thing you surely knew how to do, it was kissing her. 

so, you started kissing on her neck, which she didn’t expect whatsoever, and still heavily concentrated on the hand you had on her breast. then, you pulled on the sleeve of her tee just enough to expose her shoulder and moved your mouth towards it, nipping and gently licking it.

your hand now fully slipped into her pants, you teased her entrance through the fabric of her underwear as you kept kissing her naked shoulder. you listened to her attentively and took mental notes of her reactions; so far, her breathing got heavier, her thighs slightly clenched around your hand and she was now frequently biting her lip. 

plus, her panties were wet. 

did all of that mean you were doing good? …perhaps it did!

and did her drenched underwear make you short circuit? perhaps it did as well!

“d-d’you feel okay?” you asked, before going back to slowly kissing her shoulder. she threw you a quick glance, chest heaving up and down. 

“s-so okay.” she giggled.

her smile being contagious, you found yourself doing the exact same thing, content with the answer she gave you.

soon enough, you traced your finger up her clothed slit before eventually sliding it into the undergarment she wore, making her shudder. after what felt like an eternity, you could feel her slick coat your digits from one swipe of the finger. 

it was tantalizing.

growing impatient, you quickly yet carefully settled your middle and ring finger on her swollen clit, making slow circular motions on it, looking at her in the process. full on whimpering, this time, she stared back at you, no longer embarrassed. she wanted to let you know how good you were making her feel, hence why she was getting louder with each movement you made, and it filled you with enough confidence and adrenaline to gently push her head towards you, leaning in for a kiss.

thankfully, she kissed you back, deeply at that, her eyes closed and her quiet moans muffled.

you pulled away after a few moments, “tell me if it hurts, okay?” you reminded her. she simply nodded, brain all fuzzy from arousal.

she grabbed your other hand and intertwined her fingers with yours. “g-go slowly.” she whispered.

“i will.” you affirmed.

slowly and gently, you slid your fingers into her core, making sure not to go too fast or too rough. thankfully, the wetness was making it easier for you, and probably for her as well. every time that your girlfriend’s breath hitched, that her hand gripped harder on yours or, hell, every time that her eyes closed, you stopped in your tracks and double checked to see if you were hurting her, so it took a little while for your digits to fully penetrate her. 

fortunately, she assured you that you weren’t, in fact, hurting her. some moments just felt more comfortable than others, is all.

once they were fully in, you gave her time to get used to the feeling, still double checking on her state every now and then. after a few deep breaths, she nodded.

“i-i’m ready.”

you started to pump your fingers in and out of her, taking in all of her as your speed slowly increased as time went on. naturally, as more time passed, you felt the urge to make her feel good get even stronger.

that’s when you decided to increase the pace, your fingers curling on just the right spot inside her, pumping faster and faster as your thumb played with her clit.

“is this okay baby—” you asked.

“f-fuck— yes y/n that feels good—“ was what she moaned out, cutting you off. a feeling of bliss progressively and clearly overtaking her whole body.

when you tried to look at her despite only being able to see her side profile, you could’ve sworn you saw an angel. her cheeks were slightly tinted with a pinkish color and her eyebrows were upturned, her whole face contorted with pleasure, her skin glistening with sweat. her eyes hooded with lust, hanni looked down at herself and attentively watched as you played with her. your fingers swimming in her slick, navigating in her folds the way a skilled sailor would the vast ocean, it was hypnotizing, and she realized how this was probably the way you got yourself off on a regular day, and she couldn’t help but moan at both the thought and the sensation. 

you made her feel good, you made her feel happy, loved. you always did.

amidst the chaos that was her messy bed, the setting somehow looked better than every piece of artwork you’d ever seen combined. the bed creaked ever so slightly, and she looked and sounded so beautiful, especially with the way the sun set directly on her parted lips at that moment. 

you were certain that your heart skipped a beat at the sight.

“i love you so much, hanni.” you softly said, kissing the back of her ear whilst you kept fingering her. she couldn’t form proper words, so she simply tightened her grip on your hand more, as a way to say it back.

then, once you picked up a stable pace for a few minutes, her back arched against you, her breathing getting heavier, practically panting. her hand’s grip on yours getting tighter, you felt her hot breath hit your neck once she settled her head into the crook of it.

“y/n— baby i think i’m- i’m— mmh—“

that was the moment she reached climax, letting out a long and loud moan as she rode out her orgasm, bucking her hips against your hand before smashing her lips onto yours. quietly, she let a few i love yous slip out of her mouth between kisses, her hand resting on your head, fingers intertwined with your soft hair. 

you particularly made sure to say it back to her every time.

you pulled out your fingers and took your hand out of her pants. still coming down from her high, she smiled at you with tired eyes and kissed your cheek. you smiled back, looking at her lovingly.

“d-did i do okay?” 

she giggled, “..are you seriously asking me that? do you not see me right now?” 

you raised your eyebrows, playful, “for all i know you were faking it.”

“yeah, actually.. i was faking it, especially with how wet i was from the whole thing. aren’t i such a good actor y/n? it’s almost like i legitimately came really hard—”

“shut up.” you elbowed her, laughing. she gave you a cheeky smile before she got up from the bed, grabbed a pair of new underwear from her drawer and opened the bedroom door, heading straight towards the living room to pet her dogs after changing. 

“hey y/n?”

“hm?”

“…wanna bake brownies in a bit?” 

“uhm.. yes? what kind of question is that?? let me just go wash my hands first.” you replied, getting up and walking towards the bathroom before adding on, “unless you wanna eat very unsanitary cum-buttered brownies, of course—“

you heard her contagious laugh from across the hallway, making you smile to yourself, “you’re fucking disgusting— go wash your hands, you weirdo!”

oh how you loved your girlfriend.

#smut #kpop gg #hanni pham newjeans #hanni newjeans #newjeans smut #hanni pham #hanni pham x female reader #hanni x reader #hanni x fem reader #hanni pham x fem reader #hanni smut #newjeans hanni #female reader #kpop gg smut #kpop girlgroups

[euphoricfilter]

HIIII GIRLY. I saw your drabble game anddd how about

"How could we ever just be friends" + yoongi djskskjs

just friends:

pairing: yoongi x gn! reader

genre: fluff || mild hurt with a lot of comfort || non-idol au

summary: maybe you were never just friends

word count: 1.2k

tags/ warnings: feelings, fluff, the smallest hint of hurt, they’re actually just really in love and the m/c is slightly oblivious but yoon is a big old sweetheart

notes: OMG HEY!!!!! you didn’t ask for a specific au so i did indulge slightly and made it fluffy and soft, hope you like it :D

drabble masterlist || all my other works

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.

There had always been something utterly unique about Yoongi’s existence in your eyes. He had been the first, and only person whose life had meant anything to you.

You’d spent most of your life aimlessly wandering, taking each day as it came and only hoped it would get better the more you trudged through. Fingers letting go of the ropes of friendships you’d made and lost—people you didn’t pay any mind to now that they weren’t in your life.

You didn’t miss them. Never thought of them unless they were right in front of you, if they never made themselves known.

But Yoongi had been different.

It didn’t take his physical presence for you to wonder how he was doing. He didn’t need to message first for you to ask how his day was. Dreams filled with another reality, what the two of you would be doing the next time you met, how sweet your name sounded from his lips. Or that sweet smile he would give you every time you stumbled over your words, too caught up in his eyes your brain malfunctions and you forget how to speak.

Thoughts consumed by him, feelings wrapping around the idea of his existence, soul dancing around his in this weird push and pull, not quite just friends but not really anything more.

Special, precious, perfect, Yoongi.

In all your years alive you’d never had a crush until that first moment you met. Never once thought of another human being in any other way that wasn’t platonic. It felt as though part of your world had started to crumble to moment, you’d acknowledged how you truly felt about him, stuck in this endless dilemma. Because who were you meant to tell him about your feelings when he was your closest friend? What if he asked who it was? He knew you rarely went out, and you sure as hell would have told him if you’d gone on any dates. So, you’d been stewing in your own feelings for as long as you can remember, too scared to utter a word about what was really happening between the two of you.

Because, sure his touches lingered, warm skin pressed against one another until the heat has travelled to your cheeks and you refuse to look at him, too scared he’d see how flustered you were. And sure there was the nicknames, though that was something he’d started early on, and you had doubts he fell in love just as quickly as you did.

Sometimes it felt like he only smiled at you, and yet you could only assume it was because you were his best friend, a safety net for him as much as he was one for you.

But not once had he made it obvious he liked you any more than a friend. A fact you’d slowly decided you could live with.

Just like yourself, it wasn’t very often Yoongi went on dates, you don’t think he’s been on one in the time you’d been friends. Which makes this whole dilemma slightly easier to swallow, because at this moment in time you were probably the most important person in his life.

You got to live out your secret little fantasy, and he got a low maintenance friendship. The perfect exchange.

And truly you believed it would be like this forever, until that little dream in the forefront of your mind was shattered by someone else coming into his life, and the two of you slowly drifting apart.

That was until tonight.

It wasn’t often you drank, never indulged in the fine whiskeys Yoongi would bring over to your place, stashed away in the cupboard when he wanted a little something before bed. However, Yoongi had come over with a cocktail making kit, saying he’d done some research because he knew how much you liked sweeter drinks.

And maybe you’d had a few too many, eagerly asking him to make you different drinks from the little book he had, excited as you watched him mix everything together. Utterly amazed by how good everything he made tasted.

You can’t remember what you’d said, words tumbling out your mouth quicker than you could swallow them back down. The small, sane part of your brain slowly catching up to what was happening as you watch Yoongi’s face morph into something slightly more surprised.

“How could we ever just be friends?” he shakes his head, scooting closer to you on the couch.

“Because you don’t like m—”

He holds a finger up to your lips, quick to silence you.

“Don’t finish that”

A frown tugs at the corners of your lips, “but Yoongi—”

He takes hold of your hands, thumb running over delicate skin as he looks at your face.

“No” he shakes his head, “listen to me for a moment, yeah?”

He’s calm, voice tender and smooth.

You nod.

“You’re not forcing me into anything” he starts, “I thought I was being too pushy with you”

You swallow.

“Huh?” your eyes widen slightly, “But I could have sworn you didn’t like me more than a best friend”

The low rumble of a laugh vibrates from his chest, “Best friends don’t look at each other the way I look at you. They don’t hold your hand on days out, or wish they could kiss you when you make that sweet little face when you first wake up in the morning”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you murmur, “I really thought—”

“And why didn’t you tell me, hmm?” he smiles, “feelings are weird.”

You nod, outburst having helped you sober up slightly.

“What now?” your legs bounce a little, so far out of your comfort zone.

“Whatever you want” he reassures.

“I’m scared” it spills past your lips before you can think about it.

He tilts his head slightly in question, “About what? Commitment?”  

You shake your head, frantic “I just—I don’t know what to do I’ve never dated a person before”

He gives you a gentle smile, “Just be you. Just like you are now, that’s all I want”

“But what if I want a kiss?” you inch a little closer to him.

“Then I’ll give you a kiss”

“What if I wanted a kiss when we go out to dinner with your friends?”

He laughs, “Doesn’t matter when or where, I’ll always be willing to give you a kiss if that’s what you please”

You chew on your bottom lip.

“I’ve never actually kissed anyone before” you say, shoulders losing their tension, because now this felt normal. Like how it always was with Yoongi, where you didn’t need to have secrets or be scared about what he thought. Because for all the time you’d known him, he had always been by your side, and you hope it will stay like that for the rest of time.

“Then I’ll teach you” he hums, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, “Try not to worry your pretty little head too much, I know what you’re like”

“But—” you worry.

“Nope” he laughs, “We’ll work through this together like we do everything else, I’m always here for you, you know that right?”

Your eyes flicker between his for a moment, words settling into your soul as you nod.

“And I’ll always be here for you too, just so you know” the corners of your lips curl up into a smile.

#bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts #yoongi #yoongi fic #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #yoongi imagine #yoongi scenarios #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi fanfic #min yoongi fic #min yoongi imagine #bts non idol au #bts drabble

[jujutsubaby]

after hours (part 1)

☆ pairing: toji x afab!reader ☆ summary: toji, your objectively hot neighbor, needs a babysitter, and you need some cash. however, things are getting weird because he hasn't paid you in a week and rent is due... ☆ warnings: 18+. MINORS DNI. choking, oral sex (f!recieving), implied parent death, some public nudity, slight power dynamic ☆ tags: modernAU, babysittingAU ☆ a/n: lowkey wrote this with one hand if you catch my drift ꈍ .̮ ꈍ i'm thinking about doing more parts loosely based off of each other following y/n and a love triangle between gojo and toji. yes, they will be horny and yes i will *try* to have some plot let me LIVE okay (°◡°♡) let me know if that's something people are interested in :3 🖤🤍 series masterlist 🤍🖤

"megumiiii~", you sing lightly, "it's time for beeed". it's way past 9pm, and if toji finds out his son was 30 minutes past his bedtime, he'll never let you forget the next time you babysit. not that you have any issue babysitting for your extremely built, ripped, hot, dilf of a neighbor, that is.

megumi groans and tears start lining his little eyes. "but i don't wanna~" he cries out. "there's only 30 minutes left on this show...", he tries to beg. you pick up the candy wrappers you secretly gave megumi after dinner as a treat for eating his veggies.

"okay, first of all, i let you stay up way longer than i should have. second, there's no way in hell am i gonna let you stay up and watch...oh god. you're watching euphoria?!" you exclaim, eyes widening at the thought of megumi watching all the inappropriate content without you even realizing. you hope it's too late in the night and he's far too sleepy and tired to actually retain anything he just watched. you grab the tv remote and turn it off, and pick up megumi in your arms. "c'mon bubs, you've got school tomorrow, and your daddy will be home soon", you whisper softly in his ear.

megumi yawns and mumbles while slowly drifting off. "but i'm not even that sweepyy...". by the time you make it upstairs to his room, megumi is knocked out. you smile softly at him, before quitely closing the door and heading downstairs to the living room to clean up the mess megumi had made.

you look at the time again. 9:45...toji should be back soon, you think to yourself. you decide on reviewing some of your notes for a final next week while euphoria continues to play on the background. you've personally never watched the show, but your roommate, shoko, was obsessed with jacob elordi and loved euphoria, but there was far too much nudity in it for you.

as if right on cue, shoko shoots you a text.

shoko: pls tell me ur balls deep in toji rn babe me n utahime are bored as hell and we need something exciting this friday night 😭

you giggle. it was no secret between you and three that your next door neighbor was insanely hot. you guys always joke about sleeping with toji. you quickly type back:

y/n: stfu what if he was next to me and read this text huh? never gonna happen you know that 🙄

it’s not like you’re not not down for that. you just don’t want to be all over him like everyone else in the neighborhood. you and shoko have seen the way some of these girls did not know how to act on nextdoor whenever toji went on one of his shirtless runs or drove megumi to and from school.

it’s also not like you’re a total virgin either. you’ve had your fair share of ex-boyfriends in the past, but you won’t lie…it has been a while since you’ve been with someone. your thoughts are interrupted by a response from shoko.

shoko: riiiighttt, that's why you asked to borrow my shortest n sluttiest skirt to "babysit" tn 😏

you shake your head, scoffing at your cheeky roommate. you love her, but there's a final next week that isn't going to pass itself. muting the show and putting on your headphones, you get lost in your class notes, reviewing all the important key points and ideas before your final next week. you don’t even notice toji opening the door and his keys clanging on the table as he takes off his shoes and groans after a long day of…work? you’re not entirely sure what he does for a living but you never really bothered to ask. and it’s partially why you were feeling nervous to ask toji about your babysitting payment for the last week, as he hadn’t paid you at all for it. toji heads to the kitchen and opens a cold bottle of beer and saunters to the living room, only to be met with a pair of 4k hd bare titties on the 60 inch tv in his living room and you on the sofa.

toji clears his throat loudly. “whatcha watching, y/n?”, he says cheekily. you look up at toji, startled by his entrance, and you look at the tv, and squeal at what’s on display.

“oh my god, mr. fushiguro! i-i-i have no ideas w-what’s playing. ohmygodidon’tevenknowwhatshowisplaying-” you start rambling, looking around frantically for the remote to turn the tv off.

“relax, y/n-kun”, toji coos. “i’m not judging you. never known anyone to do their best studyin’ while there are a pair of tits on screen, but you always find a way to surprise me.” toji chuckles as you turn off the tv, and moves closer to you so he can sit across the sofa.

“stop teasing me, mr. fushiguro~”, you whine., crossing your arms and pouting. “you know i’d never-“

“c’mon y/n, how many times do i have to tell you to call me toji? i’m not that much older than you, you know that right?”, toji reminds you.

your pout slowly turns into a smile as you laugh slightly. “okay, whatever you say, boomer,” you tease. you and toji both laugh gingerly. you both stare at the blank tv screen, marinating in the comfortable silence you both were familiar with. toji was right when he said he wasn’t much older than you. he was, after all, your age when he had megumi and was somehow making ends meet as a single parent, although you would be lying if you said you hadn’t seen a few women here and there that toji brought home every so often. it was never the same girl more than once, but you definitely knew he had some game, whether you liked it or not. wait, do you not like that he brings girls over?

you shift uncomfortably on the couch as you recall the uncomfortable conversation you need to have with toji. he senses the change in your mood and how you body stiffened up instead of its usually relaxed posture. toji frowns. “hey, what’s on your mind, pumpkin?”

“umm…well, i hope you don’t mind me asking this but…well, i’ve got to pay my portion of rent soon. a-and i’ve noticed that i haven’t gotten paid for the last w-week yet. sorry, i know things are rough but…i was wondering…” you trail off, pleading inside that toji can fill in the blanks himself and can figure out what you’re asking.

toji shifts towards you and locks eyes with you. you don’t really know what you were expecting to see but it sure wasn’t him smirking. you swear you saw a twinkle of playfulness in his eyes as he inches closer and closer to you. almost instinctively, you clench your thighs together, trying really hard not to think about the effect locking eyes with toji has on you.

“aw, i’m sorry, pumpkin.” toji feigns sympathy to you. “you see, i was going to pay you last week. remember when you went to tuck megumi in after last thursday? i had an envelope with the cash i owed you, and i went to put it in your bag, when your laptop chimed with a new message.” your face immediately drops. this can’t be what you think it is. you’re not entirely sure what toji could’ve seen, but also, isn’t this a violation of your privacy? you hold your breath and gulp, daring not to let toji sense how nervous you are.

“oh god, y/n. i didn’t want to look but it’s hard to look away when there’s a message that says ‘so have you fucked your hot dilf neighbor yet?’ don’t tell me you were only babysitting for me because you wanted me?” toji asks, raising an eyebrow, the scar near his lip lifting up slightly in a teasing grin.

“i-i don’t know w-what you’re talking about, toji~ why were you looking at my messages!” you accuse, your face growing hotter by the second with embarrassment and…lust? wait what no, he’s your neighbor you can’t do this! you can feel your panties getting more soaked by the second and you cannot bear to look at toji’s stupid handsome face, so you look at his hands. the way his large fingers rest on the sofa. how would they look around your neck? oh my god, snap out of it!

“why are you telling everyone but me you think i’m hot?” he counters, pulling you from your thoughts. “that reallyyy hurts my feelings, y/n-kun”, toji says as he pretends to pout. wait, when did he get so close to you?

“it’s s-so unprofessional i didn’t want to-“ you start rambling. toji is right next to you, his knees touching your knees. he stops you mid sentence by using his hands that are practically the size of your face to grab your jaw and force you to face him, as you let out a pathetic little whine.

“cut the shit, pumpkin. it’s just babysitting, okay. it’s not that serious,” toji spits harshly. every muscle in your body is on fire, and you have to actively prevent your eyes from rolling back. you swear you had a fantasy dream like this once (oh god, was it with toji?).

“don’t think i don’t see you looking sooo disappointed when i bring yet another girl home with me. hell, it even makes me feel bad…” toji trails off, as he loosens his grip on your jaw, slowly using his fingers to trace your jawline. you shiver at his touch. “hell, even i feel bad when i see your sad sad face drop. my poor girl…”, toji feigns a frown as he starts to softly trace the outline of your lips.

instinctively, you let out a quite moan when his fingers touch your lips. “i do, toji. i feel so sad when i see you with those other girls. i can’t stand it when someone else has you.” you confess, almost embarrassingly easily. your wide bambi eyes look at toji’s, and you’re not sure if you want to cry or beeline back to your place and forget this ever happened. or perhaps a secret third option where you give in to the desires you’ve had all along?

toji groans deeply as he shifts slightly in his seat, but before you’re able to look down and see the hardening tent in his pants, toji shoves his index and middle fingers into your mouth, taking you by surprise. you stifle out a moan before toji sticks them deeper down your throat.

he doesn’t even have to ask you to suck on them as you instinctively start to do so, making a show of gagging on them for toji’s pleasure. you feel warm as you hear toji let out a groan as he slips in a third finger, making you choke on them. your moans vibrate against his fingers and he hums in approval of how well you’re doing with no instruction from him.

“you’re doing so well, pumpkin,” toji hums, a string of saliva connecting his fingers to your mouth as he slowly takes his fingers out of your mouth.

alright, fuck it. this sends you over the edge. your lips crash into toji’s, teeth hitting each as you both get to know the shape of each others mouths. you bite his lip and that’s all it takes for toji to pull you onto his lap and deepen the kiss with his tongue, exploring every inch of your mouth. you feel the vibrations of his groans and your hips grind into his thigh as you put your arms around his neck, pulling yourself as close as you can to him. your legs wrap around his torso as his hands grab your ass harshly. you let out a yelp into his mouth, daring not to end the kiss.

“oh you’ve been waiting for this haven’t you, pumpkin?” toji breaths against your neck after breaking the kiss. he begins to kiss your neck and you moan his name embarrassingly load.

“tojiiii~” you whine, “i need you, please~” you try to move your hips against him to feel some friction in the place you need it the most.

“shhh, you’re gonna wake m’gumi up,” he slurs in a low voice, already drunk off of your warmth. "not so fast, pumpkin", he says as he stills your hips, "i call the shots here." he grins and before you even know it, your back hits the sofa and he pulls your legs up on his shoulders.

you feel exposed, as shoko's pleated skirt does a poor job of leaving anything to the imagination, and all of a sudden, you really wish you wore your trusted boy shorts instead of your black lace thong under it. as he starts to kiss your ankles while looking deeply into your eyes, you see nothing but primal lust on his face. he lightly bites your ankle, making you slightly yelp before covering your mouth, remembering megumi upstairs.

toji's eyes wander to your sweet spot, and it's taking everything in you not to thrust your soaking core into his hungry face. "oh, is that where you want me to touch you?" he teases, his hands running down softly from your ankles to your inner thigh. your hips wiggle side to side, hoping his fingers end up grazing your aching core, but toji holds you hips down roughly. he scoots back and peppers your leg with kisses, slowly inching up and up until he's mere inches away from your panties.

he plants a wet kiss on your clothed mound and you let out a pathetic mewl as toji shoots his head up and stops dead in his tracks. "make another noise, pumpkin, and we end this right now and you go home frustrated and upset." he warns. unfortunately, this turns you on even more and your hands are over your mouth immediately, eyes shut closed, praying toji pities you and gives you some release.

you feel toji take off your panties agonizingly slowly, and your breath hitches. "oh, your panties are fully ruined. better get rid of them." toji says as he tosses them somewhere across the room.

"it's your fault..." you say, you voice a low whisper through your hands.

toji starts back at your mound again and moans into the kiss in agreement. his fingers lightly touch your core, and you shiver in anticipation. "oh, this is where your sensitive, right?" toji teases, as his fingers finally start circling the part of your delicate bud you've been aching for toji to touch. you bite your hand to prevent yourself from moaning loudly, and take deep breaths so to not make any noise.

toji starts circling your sensitive bud with his fingers, moving with your hips as you get to a rhythm that has you on cloud nine. you feel the familiar build up beginning, when toji abruptly takes his fingers away, leaving you breathless and practically whining from his lack of touch. "ohhh, don't worry, pumpkin. i just wanna taste you," he coos, before diving mouth first into your sensitive bud once more, tasting every inch of your delicate core.

this time, you're unable to hold back and your deep breaths are practically moans. you're laughing, whining, crying...you're not actually sure. you're mind is clouded by the pleasure toji's tongue is sending through your body.

toji's fingers start teasing your entrance as your hips buckle and you start grinding on his face. you're making a mess on his sofa but you don't even care, and neither does toji. "oh, toji, fuck~ that feels...soo good...fuck~" you whine. you're practically begging for his fingers inside you, and toji finally complies and inserts his finger inside you.

"please toji~", you whisper, "i need more, please, please."

"wow, someone's a bit greedy. one finger just isn't enough for a slut like you, huh?" toji chides, the vibrations of his voice going straight to your body. he inserts two more fingers, and you feel a pang of pain, which makes you yelp.

"toji~ it's too much," you cry out, unable to handle three of his large fingers inside you at once.

"oh, now it's a problem? you can take it, pumpkin." toji encourages, moving his fingers at a moderate pace while his mouth is still playing with your delicate bud. the pain slowly turns into pleasure, and the pleasure slowly turns into an inevitable build up that's starting to cloud your vision.

"toji~" you whine. "i'm getting so close, please..." you trail off, trying your hardest to lower your moans.

"please what?" toji asks, knowing full well what you wanted, and that he was the only person able to give it you. toji's member was practically begging for escape against his dark pants, but he was far too drunk on your sweet nectar. he doesn't remember the last time he tasted someone as addicting as you.

"please, can i...c-can i...?" you don't get to finish your sentence before toji groans a "yes" into your core, and the dam that had been building finally burst as you release all over toji's face.

you pant heavily as you finish, hoping you weren't too loud. toji lifts his head from between your legs and immediately darts to your lips, kissing you deeply before you can say anything. you moan into the kiss, still feeling the effects of your orgasm rippling through your sensitive body. you taste yourself in toji's kiss and you never want it to end. a whine escapes your mouth when toji's lips finally disconnect from yours, an unashamed smile playing on toji's face. "did you like that, pumpkin?" he asks.

you're still catching your breath as you nod and smile, gazing at him softly. you can't help but want to return the favor for toji, as you slowly get up and scan toji up and down. god, he's so fucking fit.

you scoot closer to toji, maintaining eye contact, and placing your hands on his upper thigh. oh my god, his legs are just pure rock hard muscle. your hands shake slightly as they make their way on top of toji's hard straining member. toji chuckles as you grasp him over his dark pants, stopping you in your tracks by grabbing your wrist and moving it away from him.

"woah, hold on there y/n. it's 11pm. a bit too late to start something now, dontcha think?" he inquires, raising his eyebrows at you.

heat rises to your cheeks and you feel so embarrassed you could combust. oh my god, wait, does he not want you to return the favor? the insecurity showed up immediately on your face, with your lips frowning and eyebrows scrunching. toji cups the side of your face endearingly and his thumb grazes your lower lip before letting it sit there.

"hey, don't give me that look. i want this. i want you but...it's late. megumi has school tomorrow and it's parent teacher night. i know you have class, too," he explains.

you pout, but not before sucking toji's thumb that was grazing your lower lip and giving it a wet kiss. "that's not fair~ i really want to return the favor toji..." your voice trails, as you already know this conversation is over. you sigh as you turn away from him and reach for your notebook and laptop on the coffee table. you get up and bend down to grab your bag and start packing your belongings and fishing out your keys.

you hear toji hum and turn around to see the gears twisting in his dark eyes that are fixated on you. wait, hold on. he's not looking at you. he's looking at your ass. and he's being so obvious and unashamed about it, too!

you blush and roll your eyes as you chide toji. "wow, so you don't want me to suck your dick but you're gonna look at my ass as i leave?"

toji laughs earnestly and the sound of his laughter makes you feel warm and relaxed inside. you could probably live the rest of your life hearing that laugh. wait, what? rest of your life?

"first off, i do want you to suck me off, pumpkin. second, am i not allowed to respectfully admire? anyway, i was thinking. maybe you come with us to the parent-teacher meeting tomorrow? you practically help the kid with his homework every other night, and i think he really sees you as someone he can trust." toji says, bringing you out of your thoughts. you notice the hidden solitude behind his eyes, and feel a pang of melancholy in your heart. you don't know much about toji and megumi's mom, and you never thought it appropriate to discuss with either one of them, so you always let it be. a part of you is curious and another part is afraid to touch such a vulnerable side to toji, fearing it may alter your relationship with him permanently.

"we can grab dinner before, too. my treat." toji winks, and you scoff. he never even makes sure there's food for you at home before he leaves, always leaving you to pay for your own dinner every night you babysit, let alone pay a meal for you.

you roll your eyes, trying to act upset, but a giggle breaks out anyway. "yeah, i'd love to." you respond genuinely.

you finish packing up your things before searching for your discarded panties in toji's living room. "looking for these?" toji teases, holding up your lacy black thong, still ruined with the mess you made earlier today.

"give 'em back, toji~" you say, trying to reach for the panties from toji, before he stuffs them in his pocket.

"i think i'll keep these actually. they need to go in the laundry anyway, might as well be here." he teases, as you pout. toji cracks an evil grin, knowing deep down you must love having to go back home without any panties in your short skirt.

and he was right, you kinda did love it. a blush creeps up to your cheeks as you shake your head in dismay. "you're so fuckin' annoying, y'know?" you say as toji interlaces his fingers with yours as he walks to you to the door.

"yeah, i know. let's see if you're still that mouthy after you choke on me tomorrow," toji says, giving you a playfully menacing look.

the cool air of the late night nips at your skin, making you shiver, but you know deep down that has more to do with thinking about all the things toji will do to your poor throat tomorrow evening. "hm, we'll see...," you say, as your breath hitches slightly. you stand up on your tippy toes to give a quick peck goodnight to toji.

you honestly should've known better because toji immediately leans forward and turns the quick kiss into a deep make out session in the chill yet humid night air. he's quick to grab your ass, and you're quick to regain your senses and break off the kiss. oh my god, what if someone saw us, you think, recalling all the girls in the neighborhood that fawn over toji and the fact that you weren't wearing panties thanks to toji.

"stop toji~ it's late like you said," you whine, wriggling out of his strong grasp. you turns you around, you back flush against him and he laughs into your neck, arms wrapping your hips tightly from behind.

he releases you but not before giving you one last squeeze. "goodnight, pumpkin."

"night, toji," you say softly as you turn around and head to your car in the driveway. you do a poor job of pulling your skirt down as low as it can possibly get without you looking incredibly stupid, and cross your arms in the cold breeze.

you hear the door close, and start up the car engine and back out, relying only on muscle memory to get you home, as you spend the entire five minute car ride thinking solely about everything that happened today. how were you ready for another release already? you make a mental note to charge your vibrator when you get back to your apartment.

just as you pulled into the drive way, you jaw fell and you remembered. oh shit wait, he still hasn't paid me.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu toji #jjk toji #jujutsu kaisen toji #toji fushiguro #toji fushigro x reader #toji x reader #toji zenin #dilf toji #fushiguro toji #jjk modern au #jjk smut #toji smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #megumi fushiguro #jjk megumi #toji x y/n #toji x you #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro x you #toji fushiguro x y/n #toji fushiguro smut #jjk fan fiction

[xmalereader]

PS5 Peter Parker x Male Reader

☆ — MASTERLIST — ☆

REQUEST: May I request a PS5 Peter Parker x Male Reader. The reader and Peter used to be a thing when they were in high school but, they didn't work due to Peter's distance and cold because of him being spiderman especially when aunt May died. Years later, they encountered each other, the reader achieved his dream of being a writer, he wrote a book about him and unexpectedly, Peter came to his convention. Peter has been following the reader ever since they broke up, he always checks up on what he was doing daily without him. He visited the reader's convention hoping for a closure and confessed that he still loves the reader.

TAG: @jihanbang

WC: 4.7K

CONTENT/WARNINGS: Fluff, angst, mentions of high school sweethearts, age gap ( one year difference ), Peter is angsty, reader is a writer, break ups and make ups, request made, insomniac Peter Parker, Spider-Man, some mature language, memories, childhood, high school memories. Peter POV, OOC Peter Parker.

NOTES: I may have gone a little overboard with this one, but I don’t care. I’ve actually been planning on writing an angsty Peter about ex lovers and all and when I saw your request I just had to write it right away. I was gonna keep it short but instead took it further almost 5k! (°▽°), but anyways I enjoyed writing this and put it as Peter perspective. I hope you enjoy this shot because I know I did!

Peter stares at the poster board plastered on the front window of the cities famous bookstore that he’d been passing by on the way out of F.E.A.S.T. He wasn’t much of a reader when it came towards books of fantasy or romance and would much rather have his nose stuck between the pages of a physics and engineering book, but he’d for sure read this new one coming out soon. His eyes drift over to the authors picture, staring at the smiling man and taking in their appearance. How long has it been since he’s last seen that smile?

Peter remembers the first time he saw that smile.

He was sixteen years old and freshly new to high school near his aunt May’s place. He’d grown nervous and anxious at the idea of starting his first year of his last three years of education before collage could even start, he remembers arriving late on his first day, flustered and embarrassed when walking into his first period only to have everyone laugh at him when the teacher points out his tardiness to the whole class.

He was embarrassed, but also lucky enough to get a seat in the back of the classroom where no one would see him. The only difference was that the only spot avaliable was next to the schools president who was a year older than Peter and the only Junior in his first period class. Peter always steered away from class representatives having experience their egos back in middle school. The good thing was that he didn’t have to deal with it all day and only for the first hour of school.

Until he found out that the president was in all of his classes, meaning that he would be seeing the kid for the whole school year and being partnered with him in various projects together. When he was first partnered with the class president he figured that he would be the only one doing the project and getting them an easy A only to get the total opposite from him.

Peter was surprised when Y/n sat next to him during class, shoulders bumping as he opens their textbooks and began to plan out their project and what subject they should look into along with figuring out where to meet up and when to get started. Peter didn’t think that the class president would actually help him out or put the work into their project.

He figured that he was only being nice because he was the schools star until he started following Peter everywhere. He’d invite him to eat lunch together or even drag him to the library in order to get started on their project it wasn’t until Peter actually freaked out when Y/n followed him home, thinking that he was being stalked and gained the confidence to stick up to the president, glaring at the junior and asking him why he was following him and claiming him to be a stalker.

Only for Y/n to laugh at Peters accusations and quickly clear up the problem by telling him that he actually lived in the same street as him, pointing out to the house just a few blocks down from Peters aunts place. Lets just say that Peter was embarrassed that day.

It wasn’t until their time together became a routine.

Y/n would be waiting for Peter every morning in order to walk to school together, visiting his place and joining his and aunt Mays dinner nights and keeping them company. There time together almost everyday caused a strange feeling to bloom deep down inside of Peter, questioning himself as to why he was feeling this way whenever he was around Y/n.

Peter liked science and like a scientist he had to experiment.

So, the teen started the process. His mornings with Y/n on the way to school were normal the two always talking about class work that was left unfinished or Y/n telling Peter about the different ideas he had in mind for the students and making sure that the year ends perfectly for everyone. There lunch together was also normal with Peter sitting across from Y/n as he eats his chocolate pudding, staring at the other teen who also eats his lunch and passing Peter his own pudding cup.

Y/n knew that Peter liked the schools chocolate pudding and always gave him his each time they got it for lunch without even having to offer it and Peter would easily take it without hesitation and eat a spoonful while they continued to converse.

Peter didn’t get that familer feeling anymore and figured that he was possibly just sick that day. Only to get that same feeling again when their both sitting in his bedroom after finishing up their project with Y/n rambling to Peter about his writing and the amount of ideas he had in mind while showing his drafts, sitting so close to each other that they can feel each others breaths.

That’s when Peter discovered that he was crushing on the class president.

Which resulted into Peter screaming into his pillow that night after going to bed. He couldn’t be crushing on Y/n out of all people why him? Since his discovery he was much more careful around Y/n, cutting their time together, leaving earlier than him in the mornings to the point that he had to fake being sick in order to avoid seeing him.

It didn’t take long for Y/n to notice Peter avoiding him and he wasn’t one to let things drag on. The day that Peter arrived to school an hour early in order to avoid Y/n he didn’t expect himself to be grabbed by the back of his backpack and dragged inside the janitors closet. He panics at first until he’s face to face with Y/n, staring at him with wide eyes and noticed how angry he looked.

“You’re avoiding me.”

Peter chuckled nervously while shrugging. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Cut the crap, Peter.”

Peter can’t help but wince softly by his stern voice, avoiding eye contact when he feels his heart race, noticing how close Y/n is being while he continues to talk.

“You’re always leaving earlier than me in the mornings which is funny because your always waking up late and I have to be the one to wake you up—you stopped eating lunch with me and your always taking sick days which never happens because you hate missing school and you never get sick!” He continued to ramble on, losing Peter half way when he’s staring at him with admiration. The fact that Y/n not only noticed Peters avoidance but also pointed out the smallest things about him that not many people knew about, not even his aunt did.

“—and then you leave me behind after school when we always walk back home together and you don’t answer my texts! So, I figured that I’d corner you before school started in order to get answers.”

Peter is pulled from his thoughts and focused back on Y/n, staring at him as he stands before him with crossed arms and a frown on his face and a raised brow, waiting for an answer.

“It’s complicated.”

“Bullshit.”

Y/n was quick to respond, surprising Peter.

The two are staring each other down until Y/n sighs in defeat, frown softening while breaking contact and rubbing his temples. “Look, I won’t push you to tell me but can I least ask…did I do something to make you act this way?” His voice is filled with concern which only makes Peter quickly speak up. “No! No you didn’t do anything its…” He hesitates to speak, growing afraid and anxious by how Y/n will react when confessing his feelings.

He’s afraid to lose the person he really cares for, but he can’t always keep his feelings bottled up.

“Peter—?”

“I like you.”

Y/n’s breath hitched when hearing Peters confession, eyes full of surprise and with a gaped mouth. Before he could say anything Peter continues on. “I didn’t know until I started being around you more often and ever time I’m around you my hearts races and my stomach makes me feel like I want to throw up. I was avoiding you because I was afraid of how you’d react if you found out and I thought it would be better for me to keep my distance in hopes of getting rid of these feelings, but it only made me feel worse.”

Peter would think that Y/n would reject him and possibly leave him alone in the closet, ending their friendship after confessing. He didn’t think that he’d pulled into a kiss, warm hands cupping his cheeks and soft lips against his own. Peters eyes were wide in and face going red, he wasn’t only full of surprise but it was also his first kiss.

“You’re an idiot if you didn’t think i’d feel the same way.” Y/n says against Peters lips when breaking apart.

From that moment on the two started dating.

Peter expected the entire school to find out that their popular Vice president was dating him only to get nothing due to them keeping their relationship private. Y/n wanted to continue enjoying his time with Peter in school without being bombarded with questions by the various popular students who liked him. The two had their peace for the first year until graduation neared.

During Y/n’s last year of school he had told everyone that he wasn’t running for president for his Senior year and instead with the extra time he had he spent it at Peters place after school. The two would listen to each others talk passionately about what they loved with Peter talking fondly about his science projects and him listening to Y/n ramble on about his writing and his book ideas that he’s noted down for Peter to read and critique.

Everything was going well until it wasn’t.

Before Peter and Y/n officially started dating he focused on his duties as the cities hero, never having to worry about keeping it a secret from anyone else but his Aunt only to find out that he’d have to eventually tell Y/n about it which only freaked him out. He couldn’t allow him to know due to the fear of ruining their relationship and perhaps putting him in danger if things were to get bad as he continued to be the cities hero.

So, little by little Peter became distant towards Y/n.

Coming up with excuses as to why he didn’t want to go out to the point that arguments started over the smallest things. Peter wanted to keep Y/n close to him but the fear of being discovered as to why he’s always late to their small dates caused him to make the worst decision ever. It was the week before senior graduation that he broke up with Y/n, making up a lie that he didn’t want to hold him back when he’s in college and should have the freedom to be with other people who were far better than him.

Peter couldn’t even look him in the eyes when he utters those words and instead runs away like a coward.

That same night he had cried himself to sleep, feeling devastated and broken by his poor decision but also telling himself that it was for the best. Peter avoided Y/n on the days that he tried to talk to him, coming over to his aunts place to try and have a conversation only to be pushed away, keeping himself busy with his Spider-Man duties and spending more time in the city.

It wasn’t until after graduation that Y/n moves out of his parents place and got himself an apartment on the other side of the city, far away from Peter. He didn’t have to worry about going outside and bumping into his ex each time he checked the mail or took out the trash even though Peter wished to see him again he knew it’s was better to stay away.

Even after twelve years he couldn’t stop thinking about the man.

As the years went on he had found Y/n on social media, checking in on his profile every few weeks and taking notice of the various pictures that are posted along with interviews and conventions about his book that is to be released soon. Peter didn’t want to look like a stalker checking his ex’s socials, but can’t help himself and do it.

After returning back home from F.E.A.S.T he didn’t expect to find MJ working in the living room. Even though the two were close friends she had recently moved in with him as a way of saving some money and making living easier for the both of them.

“What are you doing?” Peter asked when enter the house and closing the door behind him while heading towards the kitchen to make himself something to eat while he listened to MJ type away on her computer. “Just on a new article.” She answers and looks up from her computer to see Peter searching the fridge. MJ took the opportunity to close her laptop and rush over to Peter with a smirk on his face.

“An article about what?” Peter closed the fridge after taking out the orange juice and slightly jolts by MJ’s sudden close appearance, startling him and sighing deeply.

“About Y/n.”

Peter froze at the familiar name.

Even though him and MJ had been friends for years he hadn’t told her or Harry about his past relationship with Y/n he never even mentioned dating someone when he was with them. He wasn’t ashamed he just didn’t want to bring up something he regrets ruining.

“The author?” He stutters out and focused back on pouring himself a drink and setting the carton of orange juice aside while he listened to MJ. “Yeah! I got to interview him about his book and he was very nice.” She went on about her time with Y/n. “Oh! He actually gave me a copy of his book before the release date and I took today to start reading it, I’m half way through but I really like it. I think its kind of cute that he turned his life story into a little fairy tale of his own.” She chuckled while approaching the living room where she picks up the book.

Peters eyes land on the cover page and watched her open the book to where she left off, his eyes averting as he focused on drinking his juice.

“Check this out! While I was reading it I noticed that the love interest has the same name as you.”

Peter chokes on his juice.

Spitting and coughing by the action.

“Are you okay?” MJ approached him, patting his back as she looks at him with worry only for Peter to reassure her that he’s fine and that he choked on his juice, claiming that he was drinking to face when in reality he was shocked by MJ’s words.

“Can I see?” He points towards the open book that she left open on the counter. “sure.” Her approval is all he needed for him to pick up the book and scan the pages, eyes moving back and forth as he read a few paragraphs and noticed how familiar the sounded to him. He doesn’t realize how engrossed he is that MJ clears her throat. “You can borrow it if you want, although you don’t look like the kind of guy who reads this sort of stuff.” She teased, earning a small laugh from Peter.

“You’d be surprised.” He gives off a faint smile, checks turning red as he closed the book. “Would it be alright for me to borrow it? I won’t move your bookmark.” He said.

MJ chuckled while nodding her head. “You can borrow it, just make sure to give it back once your done. I want to know what happens next.”

Peter promises MJ that he’ll return it once he’s finished.

He doesn’t read it right away and instead waits until sunset when he’s getting ready for bed, finally getting the peace and quiet that he needs before he takes the book from his nightstand and stares at the cover, growing nervous by the second until he finally decides to open the book.

Peter spends the entire night reading Y/n’s writing and realizing that his story is a reflection of their past relationship only with a few changes here and there, but it felt like Peter was watching a movie about his past and the things that both he and Y/n did together. He remembers the amount of drafts and ideas that Y/n wold show Peter and how he struggled to write a good story. He remembers Y/n telling him that he wanted a story that his readers would actually enjoy a story that will pull them in to the point where they are begging for more.

The story is written in Y/n’s perspective, obviously using a different name for the character he’s writing about. It’s the way that the words are perfectly written for him to understand and remember those days of them being together. It all came crawling back to him as he nears the end only to find out that the ending was different.

Instead of both characters breaking up the story continues on with Y/n’s perspective of his life in college, not giving much detail about what happened to the relationship and ending with him finding joy in writing. Which leaves Peter questioning himself, why?

When he completes the book he sets it aside sitting in silence and thinking about everything that happened between the two. He thinks about the first time they kisses, their first date, the first time that Y/n convinced Peter to sneak out to a party, the time that Y/n snuck inside Peters bedroom window as the two snuck around like teenagers would.

He also thinks about their break up and how scared he was to even look at Y/n when ending it between the two.

It was obvious that he still loved him and after twelve years he couldn’t let go.

—

Peter shouldn’t be here.

He shouldn’t be at this convention when he clearly told himself that he’d keep his distance and yet, here he stands in a line full of fans that came to see Y/n and get their books signed. His hand gripped a copy of the book, growing anxious each time the line got closer only to chicken out every time he gets close and head back to the end of the line.

His anxiety washed away every time he got to the back of the line and did this almost five times until the line was cut short when announced that this was Y/n’s hour before leaving, meaning that Peter couldn’t turn back nor could he avoid confrontation. His heart raced as the line moved closer, keeping his head down in hopes of avoiding getting attention. He found out that he was the last one in line which would make the whole situation less awkward between the two.

He wouldn’t be holding anyone back and could leave whenever he can without a problem.

That was until his turn came up.

After the young girl in front of him gets her book signed and goes along her day he noticed Y/n turning around in order to get another marker due to the last one running out of ink, not noticing Peter when he approached the table. He slides the book in front of Y/n and when he turns back around his focus is on the book first, smiling as he flips it open.

“Sorry about that my last maker ran out and had to get a new one! But, good thing your the last I’m in no rush!” He chuckled out, being friendly as always as he flips to the front page where he signs his name. “who am I signing this for?”

Peter hesitates.

“Peter Parker.”

He noticed Y/n freeze mid signature, looking up slowly to face Peter.

After twelve years Y/n hadn’t changed a bit, his hair was still the same and so was his sense of fashion, remembering when he was teased for wearing a coat the minute fall started even though it wasn’t even cold outside yet.

The two stare at each other in silence only for Peter to break the tension between them. “I liked your book.”

Y/n blinks at him, focusing back on the book and clearing his throat while he nods. “Thanks…” He finished signing the book and closed the cover, sliding the book back to Peter while avoiding eye contact.

Peter wanted to wince, but it was expected. He ended things terribly between them and didn’t blame Y/n for avoiding him. As he reached out to take the book back into his hand he lets his fingers trace over the binding the tension between them growing even more as they remain silent amongst themselves.

“Why did you end it like that?”

Peters question gets Y/n’s attention, finally looking at him with a confused look. “What?”

“The story, why did you end it like that?”

Y/n licks his lips. “Because I thought it fit well.”

“Even when you know what the ending was really like?”

Peter wasn’t trying to judge his writing or criticize the ending, he was simply confused as to why he ended it when him sounding like everything was fine when in reality the ending would have been different if he had added their break up into it.

Y/n doesn’t know what to say, remaining silent as he stands from his seat and tried to keep himself distracted by cleaning up his area and pouting things away. “Why does it matter?”

“Because I know what its really about.” Peter speaks up, taking a step forward and setting the book down on the table as he watched Y/n collect his things. “You’ve showed me your writing before and I know how much you like being honest in your stories—“

“Not everything has to be true.” Y/n blurts out getting Peters attention who gets cut off mid conversation while looking at the man that he knew loved to write stories with passion who’d quickly pull out his phone the minute an idea came to minute and would note it down for later.

“What do you mean?”

His question causes Y/n to really look at him. “Yes, the story is about us and yes I changed the ending, but that doesn’t mean that everything is true. If you want the truth then I am more than happy to tell you the truth.” He glares at Peter while shoving his jacket inside his bag. “The truth is that I was miserable in college, I hated that place and the people who were there with me. I didn’t care for anyone and I stopped writing for years because every time I sit down and pick up a pen and start writing I can’t help but think about you all the time and that stupid smile on your face. I found it hard to visit my family knowing that you lived just a few blocks down.”

Peters heart races when listening to his explanation.

“So I figured, why not write our story the way I always thought it would be like?”

By the time he was done talking he had finished getting his things, giving peter one last look before leaving, brushing past Peter and making his way towards the exit while Peter stood back and watched. He felt like he was losing him all over again telling himself that it wasn’t worth it and to move on like he has been in the last twelve years, but after reading his book after getting the truth as to why he wrote it he knows he can’t sit back this time and watch as the person he still loves slip away from him.

So, Peter is quick to react. He’s rushing after Y/n and running out of the bookstore, looking both ways until his eyes land on Y/n who walked further up ahead. He’s running after him, chasing down the man and grabbing him by the arm and he pulls him into an alley way, perhaps not the best place but the only one that can give them some privacy from the public eye.

“what are you—!?”

“I’m sorry.” Peter cuts in.

“Peter—“

“No, let me finish.” He cuts in again, this time letting go of Y/n’s arm. “I’m tired of running and I’m tired of letting the best thing get away from me. I know what I did to you was horrible and it was the most dick thing I could ever to do and yes, you should be mad at me and you should hate me for it, but I never stopped thinking about it. You have no idea how many times I wanted to reach out and apologize but every time I thought about it I couldn't help but think about how I ended things and I regret everything about it.”

Y/n sighs softly, eyes softening as he leans back against the wall. “Then answer me this, why did you end things?”

Peter froze, the familiar fear crawling back to him.

“Because I.,,” He couldn’t speak. “Because I was afraid to lose you if I told you the truth. I was afraid that you’d possibly stop liking me or end things with me first before anything else.” He was rambling at this point knowing that he wasn’t telling him everything and was still avoiding the truth.

“Peter,” Y/n’s voice is enough to bring him back. “The truth, now.” His tone grew stern, glaring this time.

Peter sighs in defeat. “I didn’t break up with you because of you going to college, I broke up with you because I was afraid of telling you that I’m Spider-Man…” He finally says the words, finally revealing the truth. He expects Y/n to laugh at him or perhaps walk away without a word only to hear the most jaw dropping thing ever.

“I knew.”

‘you knew—how?”

Y/n laughed at Peters shock. “Peter I was always paying attention. I knew that something wasn’t right when you grew distant with me and I didn’t realize until I found your suit hidden under your bed. I didn’t want to believe that my boyfriend was Spider-Man until I started piecing everything together.” He explains to Peter. “You were always late to our dates, ditching classes which you never do, I even noticed the amount of muscles you gained when we were in gym together.”

Peter blushed at the last statement not realizing how much Y/n stared at him each time he changed in front of him.

“If you knew why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to freak you out and instead I decided to wait until you were ready to tell me…and this is the results.” He points a finger between the two, realizing that this all caused them to break up even when he already knew. Peter felt even worse now that he knew the truth, wanting to punch himself and feeling ashamed of himself.

While Peter cursed at himself for everything, Y/n speaks up with a small smile on his face. “So you thought about me?” Peter blushed at his comment. “Yeah.” He answers honestly, staring at the man who chuckled. “You wrote a book about me.”

“Technically it wasn’t about you it was about us.”

“Still counts,”

Y/n can only laugh which makes Peter smile feeling like teenagers again. Their laughter and smiles bring them back memories of their time together and perhaps they can make new ones

#male reader #Peter parker x male reader #Peter Parker #marvel x male reader #Spider-Man x male reader #Spider-Man #insomniac spider man #peter parker ps5 x male reader #PS5 Spiderman #Insomniac Peter Parker

[marvelouslizzie]

just let me make you feel better

summary: after a long day of work, you finally come back home and rest. your period is making your day miserable but your boyfriend is here to help you.

pairing: bucky barnes x female reader 

word count: 3.2k

warnings: 18+ NSFW MINORS DNI, period comfort, established relationship, pet names, mentions of menstruation pain, a little bit of period stigma, comfort offering, sexual activity during the period, nipple play, clit play, fingering, after care, obviously blood, unrealistic portrayal of male partners, no mention of y/n.

a/n: I just wanted to write a Bucky Barnes offers to comfort you during your period story so here we are. Unfortunately, this kind of care is really rare so I’m sorry for fucking up your expectations about men. Most of them don’t even do the bare minimum. This concept would shock them but don’t settle for anything less.

Thank you @notafunkiller and @es1dit for beta-reading and helping me better this story. Love you both!

All work is mine, please do not repost or translate without my permission. 

Every like, comment, and reblog is highly appreciated. Don’t hesitate to message me or send me a question regarding the stories I write. I would love to talk about it and no, it would never bother me.

Read more tag starts after the first paragraph of the story.

God, you can’t wait for this day to be over. It’s not the worst day of your life, you know it, but still, the freaking pain just doesn’t want to go away. At least, not completely. It finds different ways to crawl back to you and keep you suffering.

You tried a lot of stuff, starting with good old painkillers. There’s no denying that the pill is helping you, but it’s just not good enough. Your back is hurting, joints are feeling sore and there’s still a headache on the back of your head that no matter how many painkillers you take, keeps lingering and torturing you. Like bleeding isn’t enough.

Yeah, being on your period and working at the same time is no fun. It’s not even bearable. Still, you make it through the day and come back just to drop on the couch. You really want to get rid of these clothes, take a hot shower and change into something comfortable, but you just don’t have the energy. Mentally, you are already doing all this stuff, imagining how good it would feel to stand under the hot water and just let it relax your muscles. Yet your legs don't want to move. You just lay on the couch like a bag of potatoes.

As you drift between sleep and being awake, you hear the keys jingling, signaling that your boyfriend is home. Is it weird that you can already smell him while he’s standing across the room? You have no idea but you can. It just feels like something…  familiar. You have no idea how it works, but it makes you feel safe even though he did nothing but step into the apartment.

“Darling?” Bucky calls out because he isn’t used to not being greeted by you when he comes home. Usually, you are either going toward him or yelling “Welcome home, baby” from wherever you are.

You can’t find the strength to call out so you groan a little while raising your hand. God, his expression changes so quickly. He walks towards you at a trot.

“Are you alright?”

“I am.” You are just exhausted, nothing out of the ordinary. Especially not at this time of the month.

“Are you sure? You don’t look alright.”

“It’s that time of the month again.” The worried expression on his face slowly fades away when he notices you are actually alright. It makes you wonder what he thought happened to you, but you don't ask him.

“Oh, darling…” His voice is so caring. Your period completely saps you of your energy and he knows it. He knows how you suffer or what you do to make yourself feel better. “Did you take a painkiller?”

“Yes.” Of course, you did. That was the first thing you thought of.

“When?”

You stop for a second to think. “In the morning and after lunch.”

“So you can take another one now, right?” 

That’s a good question. You can take another pill, but your stomach is already protesting at that thought. You should eat something before taking it, but you don’t feel like cooking. Even the thought is exhausting.

“But first you will need food.” God, is he reading your mind or what?

“I don’t feel like–” Before you can finish your sentence, he’s already standing up and making his way to the kitchen.

“I will prepare something for you.” When your words register, he turns around and looks at you. “You don’t wanna eat anything?”

“No, no. I was going to say I don’t feel like preparing anything.” 

“Oh, that’s fine.” He turns around. “Don’t worry. I will make your favorite.”

You have yet to learn what he means by that because you have many favorites. A meal, sandwich, snack, or dessert? You find out what he means when he comes back with your favorite sandwich, a glass of water, and the painkiller you use only during your period. You love him for paying enough attention to notice that.

“Eat while I draw a bath for you. Warm water should help.”

Why didn’t you think about filling the tub and just sitting there? The thought of laying there for a while sounds so much more appealing than a quick shower. It doesn’t take long for you to finish the whole sandwich and take the pill. Your stomach isn’t protesting anymore, and neither are your taste buds. Still, the pain and that discomfort are there, lingering and making you regret being born. Men don’t have to suffer like this and it’s so unfair! You hate mankind for that privilege. While you are lost in your thoughts, Bucky comes out of the bathroom and you notice: No, you don’t hate the whole of mankind. There’s one exception. You can’t hate Bucky when he’s the most thoughtful person you've ever met.

“The bathtub is ready for you. Did you finish your sandwich?” He kind of sounds like a teacher or a parent, checking if you did everything you were supposed to.

“Yep, all done.” You gesture to the plate. “Took the painkiller, too.”

“Good job, doll.” He comes closer without taking his eyes off of you. “Wanna head to the bathroom now?”

“Yes, but I need to take some clothes with me first.”

“Don’t worry, I will take care of it. Just get in there and relax, okay?”

You just nod with a small smile on your lips. When he takes care of you like this, you feel so lucky and so seen. You never asked him to do any of this stuff for you. Occasionally, you just said “I don’t feel like cooking” thinking you would order take out or you asked for a painkiller, but he registered all that information and started to do things without you asking. Seeing how he paid attention and cared about you just makes you feel valued.

You have no idea how long you have been laying in the bathtub. It was nearly perfect with the bubbles and the scent. You expected him to show up and tell you what to do next, but that did not happen. After a while, you decide to properly clean yourself and drain the bathtub. That’s when you notice he put your towels to warm on the radiator, which instantly makes you smile. You wrap your hair with one and dry your body with the other. Thinking you might bleed around, you quickly leave the bedroom to find your clothes. 

While you are thinking if you should go for a pad or a tampon, you find your missing boyfriend in your bedroom. Your clothes are already chosen and set aside, your favorite pajamas waiting for you.

“Hey. How are you feeling?”

“A little better. The painkiller started to work its magic.” You walk towards your clothes to put them on as quickly as possible, still thinking about the blood.

Bucky quickly gets in your way. “No need to rush.”

“No, no, I really need to rush.” He gives you a look that makes you think he's confused. “I don’t have a tampon on. I will bleed on the floor.”

“And?” His tone is so carefree, it confuses you.

“And we will have to clean it, Bucky.” You state the obvious.

“Then we will clean it.” He makes things sound so natural, so casual. Like it’s the most normal thing on earth, but you are conditioned to think that you shouldn’t bleed around, that you should take care of any mess you make.

“You don’t wanna see that.”

“Maybe I do.” His answer comes instantly, surprising you.

“Believe me, you don’t.” You make a move in the direction of your clothes, but Bucky doesn’t let you.

“Bucky!” 

“Darling, I have been fighting for god knows how long. Do you think your period blood would disturb me?” His question sounds so genuine, you stop to think for a second. He has a point, but not really. It's a different kind of blood.

“I mean it’s not the same, is it?” 

“Yeah, it’s not.” The confirmation you expect finally comes. “I’m used to seeing blood caused by violence, not by nature.”

Wait, what?

You don’t know how to react to this. Of course, it is natural, but it is also torture and it makes a mess every time. A huge mess. Usually, your exes were disturbed by the idea, keeping a respectful distance while you were on your period, but apparently not Bucky. His fingers were already grazing your skin carefully. He looks into your eyes, asking for permission silently.

“I really don’t feel like it, Bucky.” You hate saying no to him, but the pain is still there. You are sure it will make things uncomfortable.

“I’m just asking for permission to touch you, doll. I’m not asking for anything else.” He keeps confusing you tonight. 

“What do you mean?”

“Just let me make you feel better.” His answer is simple, but not enough for you to understand his meaning. What does he mean by that?

“I think having you there now isn’t a great idea, Buck. I’m in pain and a little bit too sensitive.” You try to explain as simply as possible.

“Darling… There are other ways to make you feel better, or did you forget about those? Maybe I should remind you, huh?” Gosh, the smug smile creeping up his lips… It sends shivers down your spine. “Just lay down.” He gestures to the bed.

“I will blee–”

“Shh…” He doesn’t let you finish. “Just be a good girl and stop thinking too much.”

For fuck's sake… A good girl? He definitely knows how to shut your brain up. You slowly sit down on the bed and notice a big towel under you. He already thought about everything, so you won’t have to worry. So you can just enjoy this. If that’s what he wants, you can do that. You can shut your mind for a short while and try to enjoy yourself. 

As he lies down next to you, he turns his entire body in your direction and props himself up on his elbow. His flesh fingers start to caress your skin very lightly, making their way to the towel you wrapped around your body. 

“It is time to…” His fingers work quickly to undo the towel. “...take this off.”

He sounds somehow impatient. Maybe just to see you naked or hear the sounds you make while he touches you all the ways he knows you love. His fingers move to your nipple, fingertips grazing over carefully. As he touches you so lightly, another wave of goosebumps washes over you. It's not normal for you to be this sensitive, but your nipples are already hard. Your lips tremble as he moves closer and gives one a long lick.

“God, damn it.” You mutter and he instantly looks up.

“Should I stop?” The way he asks the question shows how concerned and focused he is.

“No, no.” You take a deep breath. “Just be gentle. I’m just…”

“Sensitive, I know.” He smiles and dives back in. His tongue swirls around your nipple over and over again until you start to cry out.

“Fuck!” That’s so unexpected. The pleasure you are feeling is foreign. Nipple play never felt like this before. “It feels so– so good.”

He moves his mouth away with a wet pop just to say: “Yes, surrender yourself to the feeling, darling.” Then he goes back to sucking your nipple, while his metal hand is massaging your other breast. It’s such an amazing change after feeling pain for hours and you can’t help but crave more. Your hips are rising unintentionally. Bucky’s flesh hand moves down to your body, sliding between your folds really carefully, but it makes you push your hips up again.

You've never felt this wet in your life. You are sure your period has a lot to do with it, but god… That’s not the only reason. The way he’s paying attention to your breasts, the way his index finger is working between your folds… It feels like magic. His fingers start rubbing on your clit and the next thing you know you're moaning his name over and over again. Whenever you moan, his tongue becomes more relentless around your nipple. The pleasure hits you suddenly, it takes your breath away.

“Buck–” Your back arches like a bow. “Oh my go–”

He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even hesitate for a second. His fingers and tongue work you through your orgasm until you start to feel a little sensitive. You let a long breath out, proving how satisfied you feel.

Finally, he lets go of your nipple and looks up. Hair messed up, lips swollen and eyes glossy. “How are you feeling?”

“Great.” You breathe out again and it makes him smile widely. So fucking widely… “I feel great.” His hand rests on your pussy while his head is on your upper body. You lean down a little and he meets you in the middle in a messy kiss. God, his lips are the most delicious thing you've ever tasted. They're nearly sweet and just intoxicating.

You sigh loudly, feeling so much better than before. The pain is the last thing on your mind. You actually think about a possible second orgasm already and a little smile creeps up on your lips.

“What?” He asks wondering what you are thinking.

“I think I want a bit more.” 

“Oh, you do?” He is fully smirking now. You just nod while biting one side of your lower lip. “Would it be okay if I put my fingers inside? Would that be comfortable for you?”

“I hope so. We can try and if it’s uncomfortable, I'll tell you.”

“What a good girl you are.”

Before you can say anything in return, his fingers move a little down and he pushes one of them inside.

“Bucky!” The sudden pleasure catches you off guard.

“Sorry, sorry. I will go slow.” He moves himself a little bit up, just to be able to kiss you comfortably. You look at him and excitement is written all over his face. He’s actually enjoying this even though he isn’t getting off himself, and you love how your pleasure affects him. Licking your lips, you close the little distance between you two. 

He kisses you deeply while moving his finger in and out. He’s using just one, but dear god… you are so sensitive. It feels so good even though you aren’t completely filled. Slowly, he pushes the second finger inside, crooking them and rubbing them along a spot where you can see stars. Your mouth suddenly opens as you let out a loud moan. You are unable to kiss him back, it feels like your whole body just tensed up and your muscles stopped working.

“Yes! God, yes.” You manage to say while he keeps on working. “Just like that.”

“Don’t worry, doll.” He speeds up a little. “I won’t stop.”

He keeps working his fingers while kissing your neck. You can feel your second orgasm approaching and it feels so good, but also not enough.

“Please…” You beg without thinking. “Please…”

“Tell me what you want.” His voice sounds so deep, so full of desire.

“Faster. A little faster.” You take a deep breath. “I’m so– close.”

He doesn’t make you ask twice, just starting to move his fingers a little faster and that’s all it takes. 

“Bucky!” You scream so loudly that it surprises even you, but it’s too late to bite your lip. The overwhelming pleasure takes over, making you scream so loudly that Bucky thinks all your neighbors know what you are up to. And he doesn’t care. They should know he is the one making you feel this good. He is the one who makes you forget about your pain and mindlessly moan his name like a prayer.

When you come down from your high, you feel boneless. It’s like your whole body relaxed after the blinding pleasure. Maybe it’s the mixture of the orgasms and the painkiller you took, but you are too tired to care. 

While you stretch your arms, you notice Bucky isn’t next to you anymore. You look around to see where he went and he comes out of the bathroom with another towel in his hand.

“Looking for me?” God, his smile is so smug, but you can’t blame him. The way you just screamed his name without having his cock inside you… That must have boosted his ego. Rightfully so. His fingers are magical. And his tongue. Also his lips. The way he turns you on so much and pulls this pleasure out of you is unbelievable.

“Yes. Why did you leave me?” You know he didn’t but you like to play.

“Just got a wet towel for you.” He kneels in front of the bed, between your legs and you prop up on your elbows to see what he’s doing. He gently moves the towel on your thighs and wipes the blood he smeared while making you scream his name.

“I could clean myself. You didn’t have to.” 

“I know you can, doll. Nobody said you can’t.” He rubs the towel against your slit and you jump a little, feeling sensitive. He notices your reaction and tries to do it more carefully. “I just want to help you.” After he’s done wiping, he folds the towel and puts it away. Immediately after, he grabs your clothes and helps you get dressed: your underwear first (and no, he did not forget about the pads), then your pajamas. In a couple of seconds, you're clean and all dressed up. “Now it’s time to rest.”

You move backward and get under the covers while watching him collect the towels all over the room and put them in the dirty laundry bin. It amazes you how he doesn’t forget about anything. He doesn’t let any small detail bother or worry you. You hear him washing his hands and he comes back with a smile on his face. 

You don’t know how you got this lucky. Having a loving and caring boyfriend like him… Getting taken care of like this… You remember how your friends talk about their boyfriends and how they do absolutely nothing. You know that’s not how a relationship should be, but you also know how rare this is. Your eyes wander back to him while he is getting undressed, showing you how incredibly hard he is. Yet he didn’t even make a move to relieve himself. He didn’t ask for a hand or begged to be inside you like he does sometimes. He put you first and unfortunately that’s even rarer.

He quickly puts on his pajamas and slips right next to you in bed. His arms are already around your waist, pulling you closer. You carefully move your hand down and palm his still rock-hard erection.

“Nope.” His answer is simple yet firm.

“Let me take care of you, Bucky.” You try to say as sweetly as possible. You want to return the favor.

“Not tonight, darling.” He gently moves your hand away. “But I promise, you can do whatever you want to me when you feel better, alright?”

“Alright.” He’s right. You are feeling sleepy already, you can do this another time. 

After all, you are his and he is yours. You have all the time in the world.

He pulls you even closer, putting his head on your shoulder behind your back.

“It’s time to sleep.”

“I love you Bucky.” You say while feeling the weight on your eyelids. It’s hard to keep them open.

“I love you too, darling.”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #celebrity!bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes x oc #marvel x reader #sebastian stan #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes period comfort #bucky barnes x reader smut #sebastian stan x you #my stories

[midnightsxblue]

HEARTBEAT

carl grimes x reader

tags: fluff!

masterlist here!

fair warning, i’ve never done this before or like written and published any writing before so please if it’s dog shit DONT KILL ME <3 (also pls request some ideas if u want more!!!)

─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ───

You and Carl were perfect. There was absolutely nothing that could separate the two of you. Although you guys have had your fair shares of close calls, Carl loved to make up for it with the thing he adored most (besides you of course): cuddling.

“I just…I dunno I hate seeing it. Being nearby and not being able to do anything is torture.” He explains, resting his head on your chest as he laid on top of you. Earlier today on a supply run, the both of you had gotten caught up with walkers.

Instead of focusing on himself, he looked to you, of course. You were on the floor practically being tackled by the thing. It took him a moment to fully realize what he needed to do to help.

You guys eventually got it handled but it set the weary tone for the rest of the day. When you guys got to Alexandria, he still wouldn’t leave your side. He even waited for you to finish your shower outside in the hallway.

“I know. But we’re here now. We’re okay. That’s all that matters.” You run your fingers gently through his long hair, your other hand softly grazing your nails along his shoulder and back.

He adjusts his head in a certain position on your chest, one that would seem rather uncomfortable. “What are you doing?” You giggle and stop running your fingers through his hair as he settles in. “I’m listening.” He replies shortly. “Listening?” He lifts his head up to look at you.

“To your heartbeat.”

“Oh.”

The urge to just melt under him was overwhelming. He loved to just sit there and listen to your heartbeat, fully grasping that you’re there with him, just alive. Listening to your….aliveness (?) helped him feel like everything was going to be okay.

Carl lays there for a couple minutes as you run your fingers through his hair, just listening. He deeply breathes in your scent before lifting his head up to place his lips to your heart, not kissing it but just placing them there.

He feels your heartbeat through his lips and smiles, finally actually pressing real kisses to your heart before kissing up your chest, all the way to your neck to find your pulse. He repeats the process, just placing his lips to the heartbeat to feel how alive you are before kissing it, loving on the fact that you’re just simply living.

He ends it all off with a gentle kiss to your forehead and then your lips. He lays his head back onto your chest to listen to your heartbeat as he drifts off to sleep, feeling loved and safe. A feeling he can never get enough of.

─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ───

a/n: i’m going fucking insane. GUYS PLEASE this is probably so ass just ignore it T-T

#the walking dead #twd #carl grimes #carl grimes twd #carl grimes x reader #carl grimes fanfiction #carl grimes fluff #carl grimes x you #carl grimes x fem!reader #carl grimes x y/n #first fanfic #heartbeat

[annwrites]

exactly what he needs, pt. 3 ♡ ⋆｡˚ | pt1 | pt 2 | pt 4

— pairing: nate jacobs x fem!reader

— type: ficlet (multi-chapter)

— summary: nate takes you shopping at the mall, to dinner, then bowling, before dropping you off at home.

— tags: having a great day with nate, even if he has ulterior motives

— tw: dollification, objectification, sexualization, emotional manipulation, pushing boundaries, guilt-tripping, drinking, eating

— word count: approx. 6.4k

— a/n: i have never been inside a nordstrom in my life, so i have 0 idea what their changing rooms actually look like. | baby-doll dresses | tennis skirt | blush | necklace

GIF by msgorillagripcoochie

Once you and Nate are on the road, he decides to offer you full access to his car's stereo once again—he has an aux cord stored away in the center console, which he'll only offer if you can't figure out how to pair your phone through bluetooth.

There's just something about the idea of his truck being saved in your phone that appeals to him. Hell, maybe he'll get lucky and you'll fuck up, letting it read your calls and texts, too. He wouldn't mind finding out who all you're talking to.

If he's lucky, it'll be people he knows. People he can spin stories to you about to get you to cut them out of your life.

He'd made the mistake with Maddy in letting her have friends. Like Cassie—he didn't need to list the problems she'd caused. Then there was Kat, always her enabling little sidekick. Even Lexi to an extent, who he knows you're also friends with. He supposes as far as female friends to have goes, Lexi is the better one to keep company with, but she's still Cassie's sister.

He knows he'll, in time, need to figure out a way to get rid of her. But that's a problem for future him.

"Would you like to play some music?"

You smooth out the skirt of your dress. "Sure. Do you have a uh-"

"It has bluetooth."

"Oh."

Great, you think, I get to spend the next fifteen minutes looking like an idiot as I fight to get the thing to pair with my cell.

Surprisingly, however, you get it to sync up rather quickly. You scan through your music, now sweating, wondering what song to choose. What if he thinks your taste in music is stupid? Then, you mentally shrug. He can take over at that point if he thinks so.

Eventually, a soft melody begins to drift through the cabin, low enough that it serves simply as pleasant background noise, until Nate reaches over, turning the volume up, making you shrink back in your seat.

You turn the room a shade heaven, and learn my name.

You flush. You shouldn't have chosen a stupid romantic song. You should've chosen anything else.

You look out the window, refusing to sing along like you normally would as the chorus starts.

No one ever will love me better than your everlasting love. I found only one way in and no way out...

You fold your hands in your lap, waiting for the damn song to eventually end.

Finally, once the tempo has faded, Nate turns the radio down.

"Is that one of your favorite songs?"

You glance at him, nodding.

He can tell you're embarrassed, but can't understand why. He thinks it sweet: one of your favorite songs being one about love.

He then wonders if you sing. Perhaps, if so, you'll do so once you're more comfortable being around him like this.

"I liked it."

"Oh, good," you say, still flushed.

He likes how easily he has that effect on you.

"So, where are you wanting to head to?"

You shrug, fumbling with your phone and turning some lofi music on instead now. Nothing with lyrics.

"Wherever you want to go is fine with me."

He likes that: you letting him choose for you. Letting him make a decision for the both of you.

He enjoys how easily agreeable you are today.

He hopes it's due to you feeling comfortable enough with him that you trust him to do so.

"Do you want to eat first, or would you like to go to the mall for a bit?"

You glance at the clock and see that it's only a few minutes past four. "I can wait a couple more hours to eat."

He nods, heading in the direction of the East Highland mall.

Once Nate has parked, he comes around to your side and you nearly slip on the running board, falling against his chest.

He catches you, helping you down.

You look up at him, your face a shade of red. "Sorry. Thanks."

Stupid klutz—should've worn boots, you think.

He shuts the door behind you, quickly locking the vehicle before placing his hand against the small of your back. "No problem."

As you enter the mall, a pair of men leave, glancing at you. Admiring you, from Nate's perspective.

His grip tightens imperceptibly, pulling you the least bit closer to him as he gives the men a nasty look.

Meanwhile, you're oblivious, instead overwhelmed by the sights and sounds and smells, the awful florescent lighting overhead. God, you hate crowds.

You look up to him, just wanting him to pick a store to get you out of the way of everyone milling about. Coming here on a Friday afternoon was a bad idea.

He looks down at you. "Where to first?"

He can see that you're nervous. His brows furrow. "Do crowds make you uneasy?"

You nod, your eyes staring into his, practically screaming for him to get you out of here.

He lets his hand drop to his side, then speaks again. "Do you want to hold my hand?"

You blanch.

Having something—someone—to ground you and lead you through the throngs of people surrounding you sounds nice enough, but what if someone from school is here and sees you? And won't it seem a bit childish? That you're that easily overstimulated that you have to hold another grown-person's hand in a shopping mall?

Just as you're about to tell him no—that you're ok—someone bumps into you, shoving you into his side.

Your hand quickly latches onto his.

Nate twines his fingers between yours.

You don't see the smirk on his face.

Nate leads you into Nordstrom, a store you've never been in before because you know it's far, far out of your price-range, but you don't object as you step inside, the crowds behind you fading away as quiet pop music plays overhead, only a handful of people browsing the racks of clothing.

You look up to him, suddenly unsure of yourself.

"You can look around, if you want."

You release his hand and he already hates the feeling of his palm being empty.

You step over to a rack of midi dresses and your eyes widen when you see a price tag for $120.

Nate keeps close to your side. "Do you like that one?"

He knows he doesn't—hates midi and maxi dresses—but he wants to buy you something today. Anything. He just wants to give you your first real present from him.

He doesn't count him bringing you breakfast everyday for the last week—despite your objections, even if you did always finish it with a grateful 'thank you'—as as much.

You place the dress back where it was hanging, shaking your head. You look up to him. "That dress it over one-hundred dollars. Nate, I can't afford to shop here."

Not unless they have a clearance section, you think. But even then...

Nate steps away from you for a moment, his attention now stolen away by a white babydoll dress with puffy sleeves. Fucking perfect, he thinks.

He grabs it off the high hook which it hangs from—something you'd never be able to reach—and goes to hand it to you.

"Try this on."

You hesitantly take it from him, a confused expression on your face. "Why?"

He shrugs. "I just think it'd look nice on you."

You hold it up to yourself, not liking that it comes up well-above your knees.

"I don't thi-"

"The changing rooms are this way," he says, nodding his head in the direction of the back of the store. He doesn't care to hear you argue. You're trying the dress on. He needs to see it on you.

He'd been picturing you wearing—essentially—that exact dress for over a week now.

He places his palm against your back, leading you to the desired destination.

Once you've reached the back of the store, Nate opens a wooden door to one of the changing areas and just stares at you, waiting for you to enter.

Finally, you sigh, stepping in.

"I'll be waiting right out here," he says before closing the door behind you.

You stare at yourself in the mirror for a moment, realizing just how different—how little—you look like yourself right now. But you consider it, perhaps, a good thing: forcing yourself out of your comfort zone, even just a little.

You'd been considering finally wearing the sundress that Nate had picked out for you for a few weeks now. It was nice of him to compliment it—you. You aren't entirely sure how you feel about your hair being down, however.

Finally, you hang the dress up that he'd handed you, deciding to get undressed. The sooner you've tried it on, the sooner you can be out of this over-priced boutique.

Nate sits in a chair directly outside of your changing room, watching your legs shift from one foot to the other, until, finally, your sundress pools at your feet.

His cock hardens, knowing just a few feet away is your half-naked body. He leans back, waiting a minute, then two, then he stands.

He gently knocks on the door and you jolt in surprise.

"Y-yes?"

"Do you have it on?"

"Yes..."

"May I come in? I'd like to see."

You balk. He wants to come into the changing room with you? Is that even allowed?

"Isn't that against some sort of policy?"

He likes how much of a good girl you are—no, fuck it, loves it—but in this moment his patience is wearing real fucking thin. "No one else is out here," he replies as gently as he can.

A beat of silence, and then the lock on the door handle clicks.

He quickly enters the changing room, promptly taking in every inch of you.

You look just how he had imagined you would.

You don't meet his eyes. "I look so stu-"

"Perfect," he interrupts.

You look up to him. "What? Really?"

He studies you for a moment, your wide innocent eyes staring up at him, waiting for him to answer.

He runs his fingers through the hair draped over your shoulder. He then runs his hand along that same shoulder down your upper arm, where it comes to rest. "Yes. I just wish you could see what I do."

You blink up at him, then sniffle.

"Are you crying?" He nearly cringes. That question had come out a bit more harsh than he'd meant for it to. He'd wanted you emotionally vulnerable numerous times for the last week so he could finally find a way in, and now here it is. He prays he didn't just fuck it up.

You nod. "I'm sorry. I'm just...no one has ever been this nice to me."

He almost breathes a sigh of relief. He hadn't hurt your feelings.

So that's all it's going to take with you: a few kind gestures, some nice words, a few soft touches, and you'd be like putty in his hands. His to mold as he pleases.

This was what being alone for so long had done to you: made you desperate for affection—of any kind.

You step a bit closer to him, unsure of yourself, unsure what you're doing or even why.

When he doesn't move, you press yourself against his broad chest, taking him completely by surprise.

Fine with being alone his ass. That entire statement had been utter bullshit. Not even you understand just how lonely you are.

Finally, he wraps one arm around you, holding you close, his other hand slipping into your hair, massaging your scalp.

You remain quiet, just focusing on his breathing, the beat of his heart, his warmth. When was the last time someone had held you like this? Hugged you? Shown you any form of affection or attention?

You'd truly thought you were fine without it.

Meanwhile, Nate's head is racing. God, you'd shown him just in this action alone just how easy it was going to be to manipulate you. A couple of compliments had nearly brought you to tears? Just wait until the two of you are in a relationship. No, starting tonight he'll begin pouring it on heavier.

But once you two are together? He'll fucking suffocate you with gifts and attention and love. And above all: sex. That will be his weapon. You're inexperienced. Know nothing about it. A few orgasm denials and Lexi will be long-gone from your life.

Then he'll no longer have to worry about the risk of her relaying stories of he and Cassie, or he and Maddy to you. Won't have to worry about his occasional shitty behavior toward them coming to light, driving—no, taking—you away from him.

If you ever find out about the choking incident...it'll be over before it ever begins.

He feels you snuggle the least bit closer to him and he briefly glances to the mirror to the side of both of you. He sees that your eyes are closed and your cheeks are flushed.

Finally, he pulls away and you look up at him, shame filling your features. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. I-"

He gently grips your chin. "I didn't mind."

"Oh." It's the only reply you have. It feels inappropriate—being here with him like this. You're in a changing room together, for God's sake. You'd tutored numerous people before and never had you ever spent any amount of time with any of them outside of school.

But Nate is different. You tutor him in private, whereas all the rest had been at school or in public. There'd never been a chance at friendship with any of them. You'd convinced yourself that it was something you didn't need in the first place anyway. Told yourself you were better off alone.

High school is temporary, along with the friends that come with it. No point in getting attached to someone who won't be sticking around.

You know all too well about abandonment.

Nate will probably be just like all the rest.

You take a step back. "I should probably change."

"I never got to see the whole dress. Can you turn for me?"

You pause. "Like... Twirl?"

He crosses his arms, just staring at you.

Finally, you begin to slowly turn until you're facing him once again. "Ta-da,"you say nervously.

He turns toward the door, placing his hand over the handle. "It looks really cute on you, just so you know."

While you're busy changing, Nate quickly returns to the rack from earlier, grabbing the same dress you were currently taking off, along with another one, but in light blue. He then spots a pink tennis skirt and grabs it as well, with a matching flowy top. He takes all the items up front, to a register.

When you exit the changing room, you see Nate straight ahead, standing just outside the store.

You come up to him, glancing down to the shopping bag in his hand, then up to him with a concerned expression. Surely he didn't...

He shrugs. "Just something for my mom."

You smile, feeling relieved. "That's very sweet of you, to get something for her."

He just offers you his hand again, which you take after a moment.

As the two of you wander around, mostly window-shopping, you try to ignore just how nice it feels to be holding someone else's hand. To be touched at all. You briefly wonder if he thinks you pathetic now, after what happened in the changing room.

You glance up to him. "Nate?"

"Hm?"

"You're sure it didn't bother you?"

He doesn't need you to elaborate to know what you're referring to. He likes that you're insecure and emotionally fragile. Broken pieces in the palms of his hands.

That had been another issue with Maddy—she'd been too independent, too confident, too secure and comfortable with herself. Whereas Cassie had known what he wanted and had tried to mold herself into it, all in some attempt to keep him interested.

But you? You're clueless to the ways of men. You're just...you. Intelligent, but only in a book-smart sort of way. Sweet—so fucking sweet it makes his teeth ache. Quiet, and reserved—prim and proper and meek.

And he'd thought it before and would again—so. fucking. innocent. You have no idea the power you already have over him. And he wants it to stay that way. Wants to be the one in complete control this time around, without being given permission to be, like Cassie had given him.

She'd told him what she had wanted: him to choose her clothes, what she eats, to decide who she could talk to—the list went on and on. Because she had clocked him from day one—the type of guy he was—that he was desperate for control.

With you, it will be gradual, insidious manipulation until he's all you have left in your life to turn to. Until, one day, you look up, and everything is different and you have no goddamn idea how you've gotten to where you are.

He stops walking, still keeping your hand firmly in his, incase you decide to wander. "Not at all."

"I don't..." you shift nervously. "I don't know what happened. I'm not usually like that. I don't get emotional in front of other people, like, ever."

He gives you a kind smile. "It's ok, really. I just don't think you're used to it."

"What?"

"Kindness. Someone wanting to give you their attention and time. You don't have to worry, I still like hanging out with you."

You look down and he gives your hand a gentle squeeze.

"Good," you reply.

The two of you stop in at Sephora, and while you browse their lipglosses, Nate steps away, looking through their selection of blushes, until he finds a soft pink shade that he likes and he takes it up, quickly paying for it, and placing the small bag within the larger Nordstrom one. One more gift for you.

When you leave the cosmetic store, you excuse yourself to the restroom, and he goes into the Tiffany store next door, browsing their necklace collection, until he spots one that he deems perfect for you: silver, with a small diamond pendant hanging from it. He doesn't even bother looking at the price tag when he asks an employee to retrieve the item from a glass case and box it up for him.

He's waiting for you when you exit the restroom.

He takes your hand in his, not bothering to let you make the gesture this time.

"Hungry?"

You nod.

Nate, though he doesn't want to, bothers with asking where you'd like to go to eat as he watches you buckle yourself in—wishing you'd let him do that himself, but knows him taking such an extreme measure for your safety this early will do nothing more than freak you out.

You shrug. "I don't go out much, so I'm not sure what all is around here. You can choose, if you'd like?"

He smiles, unsure the last time he felt so happy and in-control as he shuts your door.

Nate takes you to a rather expensive bistro, perhaps twenty minutes away from the mall, his right hand itching to wedge itself between your bare thighs as he drives, but he doesn't dare touch you. Not yet. The only thing he has to keep himself in-check right now is the surety that, soon enough, you'll be all his to do with as he pleases.

Every inch of you.

When Nate comes around to your side of the truck, after he's opened your door, he takes things a step further this time, gripping both of your hips, helping you down. As he sets you on your feet again, before you can say a word, he speaks. "Didn't want to risk you tripping again."

He adjusts your dress and your hair, then takes your hand firmly in his as he leads the two of you inside.

You immediately feel regret in him bringing you here. You should've told him literally anywhere else, so long as it was cheaper.

The rustic décor alone screams pretentious. And you know the menu will be even worse.

But just as you think to tug on his arm and ask him to take you elsewhere, a hostess greets the two of you, leading you to a table in a corner near a window.

Nate pulls out your seat for you, scooting you in, then seating himself.

You both pick up menus, and you're thankful your face is hidden by yours when you see the outrageous pricing.

You can barely afford a small salad here.

"Have you been here before?" You ask, still hidden by your menu.

"Mhm, their food is pretty good. I thought you might like it."

Unless it's dipped in gold, it can't be worth what they're charging is what you want to say. Instead, you remain silent.

Finally, your server arrives. An older woman, with red curly hair, freckles, and a curvaceous figure greets the two of you with a smile. "Do you two know what you'd like to drink?"

Nate looks at you.

"Water, thank you."

She nods.

"It'll be one check, and a diet coke."

She nods again, leaving the two of you to each other.

You look at him, now panicking...just a bit. "You don't have to pay for me. It's fine, really, I-"

He lifts his menu, glad that it apparently works in getting you to be quiet about his spending money on you. Again.

You'd already freaked out enough over him bringing you breakfast for three days in a row, until the fourth when you finally ate in silence.

"I told you I was taking you to dinner. It was my idea to bring you here, so it's only fair that I pay."

You cross your legs at the ankle, unsure how to feel about that.

You simply lift your menu again, now even more unsure of what to get.

He sets his menu down, seeing that you're now hidden behind your own once again. "I know their choices can seem a bit overwhelming the first time you come here. Would you like me to order for you?"

You lower your menu. "You're sure?"

He gives a slight nod of confirmation.

It's then that your waitress returns with your drinks and you stay silent, sipping on ice water as Nate orders dinner for both of you.

As you wait for your penne alla vodka—all you know is that it's some sort of pasta—Nate stretches out his long legs under the table on either side of your chair.

"I've had a really nice time with you today," he says, a soft look in his eyes.

You wrap your sweaty hands around your cold glass. You smile. "Me too."

He crooks his head slightly to the side. "Would you like to go bowling after this?"

Your brows raise. "You want to?"

He nods. "I do if you do."

You glance out the window for a moment. "I'm not sure the last time I went bowling. I think when I was really little."

He leans forward, foot brushing against one of yours completely on purpose, so as to pull your attention back to him. "So is that a yes?"

You blush. "I guess so."

Nate glances up to you every few moments from his steak and rice, watching as you take small bites of your pasta.

"Do you like it?"

You quickly grab your napkin, wiping your lips. You nod, swallowing. "It's really good. You chose well for me. Thank you."

He smiles, his foot "accidentally" brushing against your leg again. "You're welcome, sweetheart."

You grow quiet again at the pet name, taking another bite of your meal.

Once the two of you have finished your dinner, Nate pays the check from his phone before standing, throwing two twenty-dollar bills on the table—you're impressed that he tips so generously—then pulling your chair out for you.

He twines his fingers between yours before leading you back out to the truck.

Once Nate has paid for a game of bowling for the two of you, you both go to your designated spot. You sit to put on the pair of hideous bowling shoes you've been given, until Nate sits on the small table in front of you, grabbing your foot and resting it atop his knee as he slips the shoe on your foot, tying the laces.

You laugh nervously. "I can do that."

He merely glances up to you, before doing the same with your other foot.

Once you feel well and truly like you have on a pair of clown shoes, you go first...and miss every single pin.

Nate stands behind you laughing. "It was a good try."

He'd not actually bothered watching you play, he'd instead watched as you'd bended over slightly, getting a brief flash of your pink panties before you released the heavy bowling ball.

You go to sit down. "Shut up," you say, clearly embarrassed.

Nate goes next...and of course gets a strike on the first try.

You tell yourself not to pout; that you're not a competitive person by nature.

"I'm just rusty is all."

"Mhm," he replies with a knowing smirk before leaning down, hands planted on either side of you. "I'm going to get a drink. Want anything?"

You glance behind you at the concessions, looking over their menu. Meanwhile, Nate looks you over. Your neck, which he wants to lick and kiss and leave hickies all over to mark you as his. Then down your dress at the swell of your breasts...which he wants to do the same to. Then your thighs that he wants to shove his face between.

When you finally look back at him, you jump, seeing that he's still looking right at you. "Oh, uh, maybe just a water?"

He reaches up, brushing some hair out of your face. "Not hungry?"

You shake your head. "I'm still full from dinner."

Right. Dinner.

"I thought at least some cotton candy," he replies, before walking away.

You're left sitting there, wondering what that was supposed to have meant.

When Nate returns, it's with two Budweisers and a bottle of water, which he hands to you.

You stare at the extra bottle he sets on the table as he twists the top off of the other one, taking a swig of it.

"Is that smart?"

He looks at you with a raised brow. "Hm?"

"Drinking...since you're driving?"

He smirks. "It takes a lot more than two beers to get me drunk, Y/N. But if it makes you that uncomfortable, you can always drive us back."

He's not sure how he feels about letting you drive his truck, in truth. He'd never let Maddy, and sure as hell not Cassie behind the wheel. He was more-so offering to see if you'd let on whether you know how to drive or not.

And he gets his answer, just like he was wanting.

"I...I don't know how."

He sits on the same table from earlier, your legs between both of his knees.

"Not at all?"

You shake your head, feeling a bit ashamed of the admittance. "No one has ever exactly been around to teach me."

You're no longer looking at him now, so you don't see the frown on his lips.

"I could teach you."

Your head jerks up. "That's probably not a good idea."

He takes another sip of his beer. "Why not?"

"What if...what if I hit something with your truck, or damage it?"

"I have insurance."

You nearly roll your eyes. "Ok, what if I hit a person?"

He notices your lip twitch, trying to fight a smile.

He grins. "It has a big bed."

You laugh and so does he. God, being with you is so easy.

He holds out the bottle to you. "Do you want a drink?"

You consider it for a moment, then of course shake your head. "No, thank you."

"Have you ever even drank before?"

You don't want to give him the answer to that either. "No."

"Really?" He asks, a bit of surprise to his tone—even if he isn't actually surprised at all. If it's 'bad' for you, he's sure you've never done it before.

You nod, feeling like a total fucking square. "How did they even give it to you in the first place?"

He stands, briefly removing his wallet from his back pocket and he hands you his fake ID.

"Oh."

"I can get you one made, if you want?"

You shake your head, handing it back to him. "I'm ok."

He likes you innocent and unknowing, but he isn't used to someone being so...within the lines. He can't tell whether he wants to corrupt you or not. Perhaps he'll just start with doing so in bed and go from there when the time comes.

Once he has you daydreaming about his cock, he'll move onto bigger targets.

He puts his wallet back away, then jerks his head back toward the bowling alley. "Your turn, sweetheart."

Halfway through the game, you get your first strike and you squeal in delight, causing a smile to breakout across Nate's face.

You jump up and down, then run toward him and he catches you in his arms just in time as you wrap your legs around his waist, only spilling a little of his beer. "I did it!"

He laughs, loving seeing you so fucking happy for just one moment.

"I see that, baby."

You're so pleased with yourself that you barely even catch the new term-of-endearment he's given you.

You look down at him, your hair falling over his face as he looks up at you. "Sorry, that was exciting," you say with a laugh.

One arm firmly holds you up, under you bottom, while the other comes up to cup your cheek. "I like seeing you happy like this. You don't smile nearly enough."

He should really make more of an effort to get you drunk before the two of you leave. He has a feeling you're a happy one, and if he's extra lucky—all the alcohol will go straight between your legs.

You beam at him again, trying to prove him wrong, and all he wants is to kiss you until you can't breathe.

Finally, he lowers you back to your feet and you sit, now excited, as he takes his turn again.

You skip through the parking lot, your hand in his, completely elated at having won.

And to your knowledge, it was fair and square.

Even if Nate knows otherwise.

He'd offered to buy another game, but you'd told him you were starting to get tired, so he'd agreed to take you home, even if he wanted to stay out with you all night. Preferably in the back seat of his truck with your clothes off and lying underneath him as he explores your soft, sensitive body.

Instead, you sit in the passenger seat, all smiles and giggles as he drives you back home.

He's in enough of a good mood himself that he turns up the radio, some song with thumping bass coming through the speakers, as he rolls the windows down, the warm summer night air blowing your hair.

Nate, now actually nervous—afraid he's about to ruin everything—reaches over, resting his palm over your bare knee.

You don't push it away. Instead, you simply glance at it for a moment, feeling something...something you're not sure how to describe at the sight of him touching you like that, and then lean back, content to leave his hand right where it is.

And so he does. The entire drive back to your place.

It doesn't matter how desperately he wants to, he doesn't move it any higher.

Once he's pulled into your driveway, he removes his hand, your leg now feeling cold, and kills the engine. You unbuckle yourself and turn toward him. "I know we said it earlier, but I had a really nice time tonight. Thank you, for dinner and bowling and just...today."

He reaches up, running his fingers through your now-tangled hair. "It was my pleasure. Maybe we can do it again sometime?"

You nod, smiling. "I'd like that."

He wants to lean across the console and kiss you, but once again tells himself no. Something he's quickly tiring of having to do.

He glances out the windshield. "I'll walk you to the door."

He retrieves the Nordstrom bag from the backseat before coming around to your side, holding it behind his back as he offers you his hand to help you down.

Nate walks you to your door, watching as you unlock it. He wishes you'd just come back to his house instead, but doesn't dare suggest as much. He'd rather you sleep in his bed with him than stay in this empty house where you're not safe on your own.

Even if he'd made sure you were a couple night this last week when he parked across the street, a couple houses down, pistol in his glovebox. Just incase.

You look up to him with a shy smile. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," he replies, handing you the shopping bag.

Your brows furrow. "I thought this was for your mom?"

He shrugs. "I lied. I wanted to buy you something all day, but knew if I asked, you'd tell me no. This way was easier."

You're not sure how to feel about the fact he'd lied to you so easily. Had made—most likely, if the brand-name on the bag is any indication—a rather expensive purchase for you. You're just not sure why.

Before you can bother asking, he plants a quick kiss to the top of your head. "Hope you like it," he says before heading back to his truck.

Once you're inside and in your room, you immediately start pulling out the contents from the bag and setting them on your bed. Your heartrate only rises with each item. A small bag from Sephora, another one from Tiffany, and four clothing items from Nordstrom—one being the dress he'd asked you to try on.

You feel lightheaded at the price tags on the clothing. But when you look in the Tiffany bag—pull out the jewelry box and open it, you sit down on the edge of your bed.

A diamond necklace.

"Nate..." you whisper to yourself in a panicked voice, wondering what had gotten into him to think that this is ok.

Surely...surely this item is meant for his mom. He'd just accidently thrown it in with everything else.

You pick up your phone with shaking hands, drop it, then pick it back up once again and call him.

"Hey, everything okay? I'm not too far away. I can turn back arou-"

You shake your head, despite the fact he can't see it. "The...the necklace for your mom, you accidentally put it in with-"

"I didn't get it for my mom. Everything there was purchased for you."

You go quiet suddenly, forcing Nate to check that you're even still on the line. He waits for you to respond.

"Nate, I don't know that I feel comfortable with this."

He slams on the brakes, pulling off to the side of the road, throwing the truck in park. "With what?"

"It...it'd be one thing if you'd bought me some cheap keychain or t-shirt or something. But all of this...do I even want to know how much this necklace costs?"

"Probably not," he replies, nonchalantly. Even if he wants to tell you that it was over a grand.

You hang your head, pinching the bridge of your nose. "You don't need to buy me stuff to try and repay me for tutoring you. I do it for free because I like helping people."

"I didn't do it for that."

"Then why?"

How to say, without alarming you: it makes my dick hard spoiling and spending obscene amounts of money on you?

"I just wanted to give you a few nice things. That's all."

"Nate, I don't-"

"Listen, do you want to repay me?"

You go quiet again. Meanwhile, he wants to say, if you say yes: then do it in sexual favors, starting with letting me wrap you hair around my fist as I face-fuck you.

"How?"

"Enjoy it. Wear the white dress and necklace to school on Monday." He wants to throw in the blush, but doesn't, hoping you'll decide to use that all on your own.

You lay back on your bed. "It's all very nice and pretty, and I appreciate it immensely. But-"

"Do you want me to turn around and come get it?" His tone is now the slightest bit annoyed. "If you don't like it, you can tell me. You're not going to hurt my feelings. I'm sorry, I guess I fucked up."

You feel guilty now somehow. Like you're being ungrateful. Even if you hadn't asked for any of it. Maybe...maybe this is what Nate thinks you have to do to make friends: buy their affection?

When you grow up wealthy like he has, you reason, it makes sense.

"No, I'm sorry." Your voice is soft and gentle and feminine now, and he relaxes, his grip on his phone loosening.

You don't even realize it, but his sudden shift in mood had been so imperceptible that it had scared you.

All you do know is that you somehow feel wrong, but you're not sure how, exactly. So, you just brush it off and blame it on being tired. Blame it on anything but him.

"I'm just...I'm not used to people buying me gifts. It's very sweet of you. Thank you," you say as you lightly run your fingers over the soft material of the white dress he wants you to wear in a couple of days.

"You're welcome, sweetheart."

You're not sure how to feel about the pet names, either, but don't want to hurt his feelings again, so you ignore your discomfort.

"I'm going to go take a shower and throw my new clothes in the washer. Be safe driving home. Goodnight...again," you say it with a small laugh.

"Goodnight, Y/N."

#fic: euphoria (nate jacobs x reader) #nate jacobs x y/n #nate jacobs x you #nate jacobs x reader #nate jacobs imagine #euphoria x you #euphoria x reader #whew lad look at me exploring my emotional abuse trauma through my writing #i hope this chap doesn't suck‚ i feel like it sucks

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Exactly what it's meant to say

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 28

Prompt: Proposal

Rated: G

CW: none

Tags: Established relationship; Moving in together; Fluff; Marriage proposal

Notes: Contiued from days 5 and 25

Eddie is up on the roof when Steve pulls into the driveway. His first thought is that the rain pipe must be leaking again, but then he sees the giant letters his boyfriend is wrestling into submission on the snow-covered roof and sighs. 

"Eds?" he calls out as he gets from the car. Eddie yelps and almost slips and Steve has a brief mental image of spending Christmas Eve at the emergency room. "I thought we agreed to not put them up this year?" 

He wasn't even sure which of the many unopened boxes they were in - just knew that Eddie had not-so-sneakily grabbed all of the old Christmas decorations from the house in Loch Nora on the day Steve moved out. Not that Steve minded. His parents haven't been home for the holidays in forever, it's not like they'll miss the stuff. 

"Okay, I know, but listen!" Eddie flashes him a toothy grin as he skids down the roof and to the ladder that's leaning against the wall. Steve watches him, hip popped against the side of the car, as he comes wading towards him in the fresh layer of snow. "I know we said we'd skip it this year, what with still getting settled and stuff, but I was unpacking some of the boxes earlier, and I found the letters, and I just had to put them up. It's our little tradition, Stevie. Would be bad luck not to observe it in our first year in the new place." 

He has drifted into Steve’s space and put his hands in his coat pockets to pull him closer, all disarming, dimpled smile and large brown eyes. Steve hums in mock-annoyance as Eddie leans in to steal a kiss. 

"So does it actually say what it's supposed to this year?" 

Eddie cocks his head at him. 

"I have no idea what you-" 

"Eds?" Steve quirks an eyebrow and Eddie falls silent. 

Because, yes, the letters have become a bit of a tradition ever since their first Christmas together, and Steve would be lying if he said they don’t make him feel all warm and fuzzy. 

Another tradition is that they never actually spell the right thing. 

And while the MERRY SMAX sparkling from the roof of the Harrington house for all the neighborhood to see in the first year was still an accident, Eddie has since embarked on a mission to outdo himself with increasingly absurd creations.

Steve still fondly remembers SEXY MARRM, ARSEY MR XM, and - last year's zinger - SMARMY REX.

And judging by the entirely too innocent grin gracing Eddie’s face now, he's in for another treat. 

"Eddie?" he tries again, one hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "What is it this year?" 

"Dunno what you mean, baby," Eddie singsongs, and prances over to the switch for the outdoor power supply like a particularly merry Christmas elf. Steve can't quite conceal his fond grin as he is tugged along. "It says exactly what it's supposed to say. How about you do the honors?" 

Steve rolls his eyes but obediently pushes the switch. The letters flicker to life, casting the snowy front yard in a haze of sparkling white. Steve can't see the roof from where they're standing, so he takes a few steps down the driveway. Eddie hovers by his shoulder, suddenly tense and silent, and oh God, what has he done now?

"Eddie," he starts, "I swear, if I have to explain to the neighbors why our roof says stuff about axes, I'll-" 

And then he stops. 

Steve feels how his mouth drops open and how his eyes bulge, and he's faintly aware that he must look like a complete idiot, but he's powerless to do anything about it. 

Because he has just turned and now he sees what the words say. 

Because Eddie has actually left out some of the letters this time and he has no idea what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn't this.

Because every single bit of mental capacity is focused on playing the words sparkling down at him on repeat in his head. 

MARRY ME

"See?" Eddie has stepped up beside him and taken his limp hand to entangle their fingers, but his voice is hesitant all of a sudden. When Steve manages to turn his head, those dark, pretty eyes are refusing to meet his, pointedly trained on the roof instead. "Exactly what it's meant to say." 

Steve gapes at him. Eddie cringes and pulls a strand of hair in front of his face with his free hand. The other is trembling around Steve's fingers. 

"So, I know we can't really," he mumbles. "Like, legally or shit. But … you've literally pulled me from hell and I know it sounds totally cheesy, but it feels like you skipped boring old Earth and dragged me straight on into heaven and I totally would, if I could. Marry you, I mean. So if it's cool with you, I'll get you a ring or something, promise to stick with you forever, all that lame-ass stuff."

Steve stares. Swallows, tries to speak, but no words come out. Eddie sighs.

"And if it isn't, that's also fine. I just … wanted to put it out there, y'know. Like, literally. I'm sorry, I'll… I'll just take these down." 

And Steve still can't talk, isn't sure when he'll be able to again. But he also doesn’t need to. Because what he can do is tighten his grip on Eddie’s hand as it threatens to slip from his. 

What he can do is pull him back in, body against body and sling an arm around his waist to keep him from getting away. 

What he can do is crash their mouths together in a kiss so searing he's surprised the snow doesn't melt all around them. 

What he can do is hope that this will be enough of an answer. 

From the way Eddie grins against his lips, it is.

All my holiday drabbles

#steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve x eddie #steddie brainrot #steddie fanfic #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #steddie holiday drabbles #hype's holiday drabbles

[starleska]

Dollface - the Toymaker x Real Toymaker!Reader

As a toymaker, you are delighted when you stumble across MR EMPORIUM'S TOYSHOP. But when you meet its eccentric owner - one eponymous 'Toymaker' - you enter into an impossible game with higher stakes than you ever imagined…with the risk of your deepest fantasy coming true. Rating: Mature. Tags: Dollification; Toyification; Truth or Dare; Reality-Bending; Humiliation; Psychological Torture; Fluff; Teasing; Touching; Forced Dancing; Mentions of Neglect; Cosmic Horror; Horrible Fake German. Reader is presumed female, but has a complicated relationship with gender and enjoys feminine terms of endearment. requested by the lovely @chronicbeans!! whilst this was originally meant to be a few-paragraphs long headcanons bit...but then it sprawled into a 13,000 word fanfic. my apologies to yourself, and to any German speakers in the audience 🙈💖 you can also read this on AO3. i hope you enjoy!

Toys are your life.

For as long as you can remember you have been fascinated by all manner of toys: everything from teddy bears to zoetropes; spinning tops to yo-yos. As a child you weren’t just interested in playing with toys—you wanted to reach inside of them, pick them apart, and understand every little detail about how they worked. Much to the chagrin of your parents, you spent more time trying to put your toys back together than you did actually playing with them. 

But all of your alternative playtime paid off. Now, as an adult, you run a modest yet successful local toymaking business, with your own vendor stall at the market and a popular online shop. Much of your work is custom, using vintage materials to replicate toys of the past, and you occasionally trade and sell real old toys too. As a result, you have something of a monopoly on the local toy scene, and feel you know every single toymaker and toy-collecting enthusiast in a fifty mile radius.

That’s why it’s a real shock when you stumble across MR EMPORIUM’S TOYSHOP late one night. 

The storefront is a gorgeous assault to the senses. Parked in the middle of the cold, grey street, the toyshop beams out crimson and gold onto the snow drifts, with all manner of classic toys peeking out at you through the windows. You are delighted to see an assortment of downy plush bears and hand-painted model motor cars crowding the shelves: so many it feels like the toyshop itself might burst at the seams. Your giddiness only increases as you get closer to the window. You can make out all sorts of fun, bright shapes within: countless colourful toys beckoning you and begging to be taken home. 

Yet it isn’t these treasures which catch your eye the most. Right at the back of the shop, near the counter, you spy a shelf lined with dolls. They are beautiful even at a distance: likely from the early 20th century, masterfully painted and wearing a fine rainbow of little dresses. Even from your vantage point you can see the impeccable craftsmanship. There’s immense detail in their delicate hands, and if you’re not mistaken, each doll has a crop of real human hair.

Perhaps most intriguing of all is the eyes. Their glass sheen looks so sad and wistful…far more emotion than a doll should be able to communicate.

If you didn’t know any better, you would believe the dolls were alive.

Oh, I shouldn’t , you tell yourself. I’m much too old now to be playing with dolls…and I keep all my old ones locked up anyway. I shouldn’t deprive some kid of a toy. This is a deeply silly excuse, and a hypocritical one. The vast majority of your clientele are adults, as are the brilliant toymakers you’re proud to call your friends. This is the perpetual double-standard you constantly believe and are always trying to rally against: that you are uniquely strange, and deserve to be ridiculed for your interests. 

The curious thing is that this idea doesn’t apply to toys more broadly…only to dolls. You have made countless dolls throughout your career, and yet owning dolls and enjoying them is something you’ve long nursed a hang-up over. But that is a can of worms you refuse to open up today. No , you decide, today I am going to be a normal adult who is confident about their interests and doesn’t feel an ounce of shame! I am going to go into this toyshop and look at those dolls, and that’s that! With your mind made up, you shift your backpack onto your shoulder, take a deep breath, and push through the toyshop’s door. 

The door slams shut behind you with the tinkle of a bell. You are immediately enveloped in warmth, and the delicious scent of varnished wood enrobes you like a fine dress. You can’t help but close your eyes and inhale: somehow, the toyshop smells just like your childhood.

“Hallo, meine kleine Mädchen! Komm in, komm in, be ge-removings yourselves from dee kalt! It is ein horrid evenings, is it not?”

You open your eyes in surprise, and see an older, greyish-blond-haired man leaning against the counter. He’s dressed in a most whimsical fashion, wearing a soft white work shirt coupled with a maroon waistcoat, and a brown apron stuffed with woodworking tools. A spotted ascot around his neck and a pair of pince-nez balanced at the end of his nose complete the look.

The man smiles at you like he’s known you all his life. You feel like you’ve been transported to another time.

“It is,” you agree, as you shake the snow drifts from your boots. “So sorry for dropping in so late—I’m surprised you’re still open.”

“Ah, but I am always having times for dee beautiful Fräulein,” says the man with a coy wink. “But vot is it zat is ge-bringings you here?”

You have to stifle a giggle. You know enough of the language to know the man’s German is terribly off, and his accent is borderline offensive. However, you also know that folks in the toymaking community tend to be eccentric, and you can forgive a corny, theatrical accent for the wonderful atmosphere of this shop. Who are you to judge if he wants to LARP as a Bavarian thespian?

Before you can reply, the strange man is suddenly beside you…although you don’t recall seeing him move. He has also removed his pince-nez. You blink, a little taken aback. How did he move so quickly? You wonder if you’ve eaten enough that day.

“I’m…a toymaker,” you say, trying not to sound freaked out. “I’ve never seen your shop before, and I thought I knew everyone in town who makes toys. What’s your name?”

The man’s eyes are blue, you notice—terribly blue, and sparkling in the soft light with unspoken mischief. “You are beings ein toymaker? Vy, zat is a coincidence…” He taps the side of his nose. “Many peoples ge-calls me by many names. But zey most oftens call me the Toymaker, und nothing else. It be gettings dee point across, nein? Und was ist your name?”

You tell him, and the Toymaker’s mouth splits open in a wide grin.  

“Das ist ein schöner name!” he says enthusiastically. “Truly, a magnifizent fit. It is not often zat I am gettings other toymakers in mein shop…I vonder, vot does your eye ge-fallen upon? Could it be mein cuddly collection of teddies? Oh, ja, I sees you are ge-needings ein soft companion for dese frosty nights. Or could it be mein train? Choo-choo! it goes, round and round all dee livelong day! I am ge-havings many customers mit ein eye for dee train.”

The Toymaker’s voice is smooth as butter, rich and inviting, and each word he speaks seems to add a little more colour to his delightful environment. You look around in awe at all of the toys, unable to comprehend the sheer scale of the place. Just moments ago the shop seemed so small, with the abundance of toys seriously crammed in on the shelves, but now it looks impossibly vast: a veritable sea of playful delights. The little choo-choo train in question chugs along on its rails and moves past the doll shelf, drawing your eye back to their pretty little figures.

“Ah, dee Katze hast gotten your tongue,” says the Toymaker. He gestures to the dolls, and the gold ring on his right pinkie finger catches the light. “I too ams often becomings stricken by dee beauty of mein dollen…zey took me many nights to make, ja. Oh, but ge-look! Eins ist out of place. Zose fingers are so fiddly! Und dee hair…zo many eveninks ge-spended brushing out zeir tiny curls."

You watch as the Toymaker reaches up and begins deftly rearranging the dolls. His fingers are long and nimble, and they move with such care and attention, placing each doll’s tiny hands neatly in their laps and smoothing down their dresses. When you’re a toymaker, you grow to appreciate a pair of well-practised hands, and there’s something undeniably… charming , about this Toymaker and his cartoonish whimsy. It’s silly, but you feel a little heat rising in your cheeks. The attention he’s paying to such small, delicate objects…

…well, it’s only natural that your mind should wander to more practical applications of such hands.

“The dolls are gorgeous,” you say. “Do you offer any toymaking classes? The dolls I make have a bit more of a modern touch.”

That’s when the Toymaker laughs, and it is a strange laugh: it tinkles out of his mouth like a jingle, in a musical, ‘Ha ha ha HA ha ha ha!’

“Oh, mein dollen are sehr modern…moreso zan you sink,” says the Toymaker. He gives you another wink, as it seems he likes to give them out for free.

That’s when you feel the little clench in your chest. Oh dear, he really is quite handsome. This wouldn’t be the first time you’d caught feelings for a quirky, attractive stranger, and they were often not as well-dressed as the Toymaker. You have a tendency to get caught up in the realms of imagination, and have thought up more than a few daring trysts with pretty-faced people with whom you’d only exchanged a couple of words. You ought to grab a doll, leave, and have a quiet little panic attack about this interaction at home.

You force your eyes away from the handsome man and back to the shelf.

That’s when you spot her.

Somehow, a doll had escaped your notice. Right in the middle of her sad-looking rainbow sisters is another doll, simply and prettily done up in a powder-blue be-ribboned frock. Unlike the other dolls, this one is smiling in a dimpled way, and her eyes sparkle with a magical sheen not unlike that of the Toymaker’s. You note with some amusement that the doll has the same eye colour as you—hair colour, too. This isn’t strange on a doll, but it gives you the same jolt of satisfaction and déjá vu you get when meeting someone who shares your name.

“Ah,” says the Toymaker (now on your other side). “Dee dollen…zey speak to you, ja? Zey are ge-having ein chitter-chatter, all high up on dee shelf. Vot fun games zey have ven I ge-leaves the shoppen!”

Dollen isn’t even the German word for dolls, you know—it’s Puppen. But you get the sense that the Toymaker’s German accent is less an earnest recreation (and it’s certainly not his natural accent), but a pantomime version intended to amuse and entertain.

“I’m sure they do,” you say, but you’re distracted from the Toymaker’s little act. The longer you look at the doll, the stranger you feel.

You move closer to the shelf to get a better look, and are startled by what you discover.

It isn’t just that the doll on the shelf has similar hair and eyes to you: they’re both the exact same shade, even down to the imperfect flecks in your irises. 

You study the doll intently for a moment, blink, and— what? The doll’s hair is now the same length as yours. Was it always? No, you could have sworn just a moment ago it was not just a completely different length, but style.

You rise up on your tiptoes to get a better look at the doll, and are baffled by what you see. It’s as if detail is stacking on the doll right before your eyes, the way some video game maps load in piece-by-piece. You watch as texture is added to her hair, and light pools in her eyes. This level of craftsmanship is uncanny; it’s as if the Toymaker went out of their way to create a doll which resembles you.

“How did you do that?” You turn to the Toymaker, confused. “Did you know I was coming here?"

The Toymaker’s mouth contorts into an offended pout. “Now, you ge-vounds me. It is ein special privilege, having another Spielzeugmacher in mein shop. Tell me, vot do you sink of her hair? Es ist pretty, ja?”

“But that doll looks exactly like me,” you say.

You can feel your heart hammering in your chest. Suddenly the warm, cosy atmosphere of the toyshop feels more claustrophobic and oppressive. The Toymaker looks unbothered; he rests his chin on his hand and contemplates the shelf. 

“Zere ist ein…certain resemblance,” says the Toymaker, with an unusual, almost French affectation on the last word. “But you are just ge-havings, as zey say, ‘von of zose faces’. Ja, das ist richtig: ein dollface. Puppengesicht. All smooth und sveet. Vy, vot a lucky lady you are! She simply must be goings home vith you.”

You’re scrambling to work out what kind of practical joke this is, and how the Toymaker was pulling it off. You’d met a few eccentric toymakers with God complexes before, as they tend to go hand-in-hand: you’d briefly dated one who designed escape rooms in his spare time. But this is on another level…creating a doll which can be imperceptibly altered to resemble a person in real-time? You’d never heard of such a thing, and you can’t think of a non-creepy reason why someone would go to the trouble of making one.

Oh, hang on a minute, you think. This guy might just be a genius. “This is a marketing trick, isn’t it?”

You pull away from the Toymaker and lean against his counter, feeling terribly smug for having figured it out.

The Toymaker puts his head on one side, quizzical. Playing dumb, you think.

“I am not ge-followings you,” the Toymaker says. 

“You make dolls of the people you see ahead of time,” you explain. “People you know who will come in here at some point…collectors, other toymakers. Then you wait and put them on the shelf when they come in, maybe behind some hidden panel so you can spin them around when they get close. Then when they come in, it’s like they’ve found the perfect toy!” 

You’re so proud of yourself for having cracked the case, you want to pump your fist in the air. For a moment, you envision yourself wearing a deerstalker hat and smoking a pipe. Go me! But your victory is short-lived. During your diatribe, the Toymaker’s bright, childish grin had frozen on his face, and remained in place even during your brief mental celebration. But now the smile slowly slips like a mask peeling away from too-tight skin. In its place sits a stormy frown: one which clenches the muscles and wrinkles of the Toymaker’s face into an expression which says ‘insulted’.

“For shame,” says the Toymaker. “That’s twice you’ve accused me of cheating now. You really do me a disservice. I am bound by the Rules of Play, and would never resort to such cheap tricks.”

What the hell…? The Toymaker’s accent is completely different. Where before his voice was a thick soup of faux German, now it is a soft British breeze: a proper, formal accent which speaks the way trees rustle. You gape at him, dumbfounded. 

“Your accent is different,” you can’t help but say. You’re no longer just leaning against the counter—you’re actively pushing into it, with the edge of the countertop pushing into the small of your back.

The Toymaker raises an eyebrow at you, and smirks. “You are not half as stupids as you are ge-lookings,” he says, slipping the German back on like a heavy cloak. “But zen, I know you are playing ein game mit me, aren’t you?” 

You stare at the Toymaker. Something has shifted: the air is thick with a tension you cannot identify, but which you want to run away from. You keep staring, thinking that if you look away from those too-blue eyes for even a moment, you might just lose your grip.

You know for a fact that if you look back at that doll on the shelf, it will look even more like you than before.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, and you wish you weren’t lying.

The Toymaker laughs his musical laugh and wags his finger in your face. “Sehr naughty!” he says. “Oh, how natürlich dee lies kommen to sie, mein Schatz. You be ge-knowinks how to play games…zis ist ein lecker human mind game, und you are ge-tryings to deceive me.”

His voice slips smoothly back into the British:

“Do you think I don’t know all about your little fantasy?”

Your eyes go wide, and a choked noise escapes your mouth. No. There is no way that this man…this impossible toymaker could possibly know. You were always so careful, so sure to keep it all to yourself! Familiar shame and embarrassment wash over you in a hot wave as the Toymaker looks at you, looks into you, as if he can see the inner workings of your mind. Your mind grabs at the old, familiar justifications the way one might grab a newspaper for modesty if they found themselves naked on a bus. It’s perfectly normal to have fun little flights of fancy. Everyone plays make-believe sometimes, right? “But zey are embarrassing, zese thoughts of yours,” the Toymaker giggles. “Not dee kind of thoughts you can share mit deine Mutter. I am not ge-thinkinks zat you have shared your desires mit ein Partnerin…” There goes the eyebrow again, cocked sardonically to match the wicked curl of his lips. “Is zis true?” You feel nauseous. The firm pressure of the countertop underneath your palms is all that stops you from shaking. It feels as if the Toymaker is probing the inside of your skull, and using those skilled fingers to strip back the whorls of your brain and grab at the fleshy thoughts inside. 

“Get out of my head,” you say quietly.

“Oh, but zis is dee game I ge-likes!” says the Toymaker. “Humans mit zeir internal struggles. Desires mit dee most fun ideas, but you are too ge-frightened to say vot you vant. So you play games mit dein loved ones…dee hunting und dee exasperation. Oh, you simply vill not communicate!"

You don’t know when the Toymaker got so close to you, but now he’s towering over you, with his hands firmly planted on either side of the countertop. You’re close enough to count the spots on his ascot, and examine the year-lines etched around his mouth and eyes. When he smiles those lines crinkle, but not naturally: it’s the way a puppet’s arms reach for the stars when the marionette twists them upwards.

“Okay, you’ve had your fun,” you whisper. “I’ll buy the doll and leave.”

This close, the Toymaker radiates heat. He smells like rose petals and Christmas.

“You could…but zat vould be no fun,” says the Toymaker. “I propose ve solve zis in a more interesting vay…”

The Toymaker waves his hand across your field of vision…and transforms the centre of the toyshop. A small wooden table complete with chairs has popped into existence just in front of the counter. You gape at the sight. How did he do that?! “Let us play ein game,” he says. “If you vin, you can take dee doll free of charge. But if I vin…”

The Toymaker’s smile cracks like the earth preceding a quake.

“You vill stay vith me und play mein games forever!”

You have to give yourself credit for reacting as well as you did. Most people, if they were faced with a crazy fake German man who seems able to read your mind, may have had a breakdown or made a run for the door. But you’ve seen a lot of anime, and you understand that if you are challenged by a handsome, powerful man with magical powers and a delightful hairstyle, you cannot refuse the call. Your brain has shifted from This should be impossible, to It’s game time.  “Alright,” you say slowly. “You’re clearly very powerful. It seems like if I play a game with you, you have far more to gain than I do. A doll isn’t a good enough prize.”

The Toymaker smiles at you. “Ein girl after mein own heart,” he says. “How about zis: if you vin, I vill show you exactly how I make mein dollen, complete vith a demonstration. Zat is generous of me, nein?”

His words are laced with sinister venom, and it’s all you can do not to be poisoned.

“And I’m guessing that if I refuse your game, something terrible would happen to me?”

The Toymaker hums low in his throat. “Hm…not accepting mein game is always ein option…ja, you could do zat. Und yet…” 

You inhale as the Toymaker brings his face terribly close to yours. The skin of his cheek brushes your own. You can feel his soft breath as he whispers into your ear, British once more:

“I know you are so curious as to how I make my dolls. If you leave now, you’ll never know. And I think if you wanted to leave, you would have done so already.”

The Toymaker pulls away from you, leaving you with your face on fire. He’s right. In less than ten minutes, the Toymaker has sussed out your fatal flaw: your damned unstoppable curiosity. There have been countless times where your life would have been improved if you’d kept your nose in your own business…but this is different. The Toymaker isn’t just dangling a carrot: he’s already dug his hooks in you, and you are being reeled in with every second you spend looking into those impossibly blue eyes.

When you next blink, the Toymaker has moved again. He is sitting in one chair, his hands folded primly in front of him.

“Name your challenge,” he says.

You weren’t expecting this: you thought he would have a game in mind. “Any game at all?”

“There isn’t a game I don’t know,” says the Toymaker coolly. “It is common courtesy to allow the guest to pick the party game.”

You can’t help a nervous giggle. “This is a weird kind of party,” you say. 

The Toymaker acknowledges this by inclining his head. “Choose.”

Your mind scrambles over dozens of options. There are so many games…board games, card games, strategy games. Do we need equipment? How long does the game have to be? What games can you play with just two people? That’s when your brain starts to run in a very different direction, and a variety of… game positions …flash through your imagination with impunity.

A flush scalds up your neck. You look at the Toymaker, who raises his eyebrows in a knowing way.

He knows exactly what you’re thinking.

You want to scream.

“Truth or Dare!” you blurt out.

That gets his attention. The Toymaker leans forward, his eyes quizzical. “Zat is non-traditional…yet apt,” he says. “Could it be zat you are ge-vantings me to force zat fantasy out of you, meine Liebchen?”

“No,” you lie. “I want you to tell me what you are, and why you’re doing this to me.”

“Then let’s get down to business,” says the Toymaker. “We take it in turns to ask each other Truth or Dare. A Truth corresponds to a question which must be answered truthfully, and a Dare is an action which must be carried out. The player earns one point for each Truth or Dare successfully completed.”

The Toymaker steeples his fingers together. You can’t pull your eyes away from them.

“If you refuse to complete a Truth or a Dare, or you contravene the rules of the game, you lose a point…and must complete a forfeit.” 

The way he says ‘forfeit’ sends a shiver down your spine. “What kind of forfeit?”

“Oh, dee usual,” says the Toymaker casually. “Somesing difficult or humiliating. I do not ge-liken to pre-plan zese things…I am preferings to be spontaneous.”

You are starting to regret your choice of game. This is a man who knows more about you than you’ve ever told your closest friend…surely a game like Truth or Dare would be pointless for him? So you ask: “Why would you want to play this if you can already tell what I’m thinking?”

The Toymaker frowns. “A good question,” he says. “The Rules of Play prevent me from having any unfair advantage over an opponent. Although my abilities will remain intact, anything which would tilt the game in my favour is out-of-bounds. I am physically incapable of cheating, and would thank you not to bring it up again. There are only two states of being which matter: winning, or losing. I intend to win.”

Fair enough , you think. “And what if I cheat?” you say. “I have a pretty good poker face. If you can’t look inside my head during the game, what if I just lie to you? How could you tell?” 

The Toymaker chuckles, bearing his mouth wide. To your horror, you see there are far, far too many teeth in his mouth.

“I can always tell when someone is lying to me.” 

“Six turns,” you counter, voice trembling. “Whoever has the most points at the end of those turns is the winner. And…you can’t choose Truth or Dare more than twice in a row.”

The Toymaker seems impressed by your game-making skills. “Agreed,” he says. “Let us begin.” 

He snaps his fingers, and all the lights in the toyshop go out. Above, a stagelight snaps into existence, pouring heat and light onto your scalp in a cascade. The Toymaker’s striking features are illuminated by this shift in lighting, casting the lines of his face with the severity of stage makeup. You swallow: he looks divine.

“Would you like to go first?” he asks politely.

“...No,” you say after a moment. “I think that honour should go to the house.”

Your gamble pays off: you realised that the Toymaker is a man with great respect for the rules of the game, and this offer makes him smile.

“How generous,” says the Toymaker. “Truth or Dare?”

“Dare,” you say. 

The Toymaker taps his finger to his lips, considering. Then, he says, “Destroy something precious to you.”

It takes a few seconds for you to really process the Dare. When it hits, you are baffled. What kind of Dare is that? you want to say…but you don’t bother saying it aloud. What kind of toyshop is this—and what kind of ‘toymaker’ is he? All you need to know is reflected in the sadistic gleam in the Toymaker’s eye. This wouldn’t be an ordinary game, and contesting his requests would be fruitless. All you can do is make your move.

You take a deep breath, and reach down into your backpack. You didn’t leave the house this morning planning to bring anything precious to you, but you are a sentimental person by nature, and know you have one item which fits the bill. It’s with great sadness that you pull out a small, ratty teddy bear and place him on the table. The bear is old and beige and dressed in a crimson band leader’s outfit, complete with a hat and red-laced riding boots.

“Oh, ein teddy bear!” laughs the Toymaker, delighted. “How charming. He is quite dee looker, isn’t he?”

“He’s the first bear I ever made,” you say. “I was listening to some 90s British pop music, and the idea for his design just…popped into my head. I scribbled it down and pulled him together from scraps of fabric and repurposed stuffing in just a day. His name’s Neil…I keep him with me for good luck.”

Something about what you said is terribly amusing to the Toymaker, but you don’t know why. “Ein handsome name indeed,” says the Toymaker. “But I am afraid zat vill not be enoughs to ge-save him. Poor Neil. Now…vill you complete your Dare?” 

You take a deep breath. There was no turning back now; you’ve accepted the Toymaker’s game, and the predatory sheen in his eyes tells you that you can no longer just walk away. So you pick up Neil, grab hold of his little teddy bear ears—

And tear his head off, sending stuffing careening all over the table. 

“Oh!” says the Toymaker with a false gasp. “Vot an unfortunate end for poor Neil. I did not know zat you have such ein cruel streak.” 

“Shut up,” you say, trying not to look at Neil’s decapitated corpse.

Even though he’s just a teddy bear, you feel like you’ve just killed a defenceless animal. Neil’s lifeless button-eyes gaze up at you imploringly, as if asking why you’d do such a thing. You knock Neil’s head off the table and focus back on the Toymaker.

“That’s one point to me,” you say. “Truth or Dare?”

The Toymaker grins at you like a shark. “Dare.”

There are a thousand questions ricocheting around your head, but you ask the one which you know will keep you up at night: “Tell me how you did that thing with the doll.”

The violence of the Toymaker’s laughter makes you jump. He actually covers his mouth to quieten himself, but his shoulders shake even so. “Oh nein, nein, nein, you are ge-makings ein mistake!” he says. “You cannot be askings a question ven I have chosen Dare. Oh, meine Schatz, you have your lost your point…and must receive ein forfeit.”

Your veins run cold. “What? No! That was never in the rules!” 

“It is a common rule,” says the Toymaker, suddenly serious. “What is the point of distinguishing between a Truth or Dare, if a Dare can be a Truth?”

You want to protest…but his logic is infuriatingly sound. It’s exactly the kind of argument you could see yourself making if you were playing the game against a friend. You try to think of some other get-out-of-jail-free card—anything which would allow you learn how the Toymaker made that doll look exactly like you—but you come up short. You slump in your chair, and resign yourself to waiting for the next round.

“Oh, do not ge-look so sad,” says the Toymaker. In mock sympathy, he makes a little tutting sound against his teeth. “Now, about zat forfeit…ah! I am ge-knowings just dee sing.”

The Toymaker snaps his fingers…and your clothes burst into a flock of doves.

You scream and leap up from the table, batting away at the birds scrambling over your skin. They coo and and flap in your face before struggling upwards and flying into the rafters. Shocked, you look down to find yourself still fully clothed…but with a wardrobe change. You are now clad in a beautiful, powder-blue dress. The fabric is inhumanly soft and threaded through with white ribbons.

“Oh my God!” you yell. “What did you do?!”

The Toymaker is doing his best to stifle a giggle behind his hand. “Do you like it?” he asks. “I think the colour is rather fetching on you.” 

You clutch at the skirts of your dress, wishing the floor would open up and swallow you whole. There is no way this is possible…you hadn’t felt anything, not even a shift of your own clothes or the sliding of new fabric against your skin. One moment you were wearing your own clothes, and the next you weren’t. It’s as if your clothes were merely a covering, and when they transformed into doves and flapped off, they left only your dress behind. 

You move your legs under the layers of fabric, and blush when you discover you’re wearing a pair of frilly stockings. As you stick out your feet, you can see your feet are clad in a shiny pair of Mary Janes. It’s with a sick feeling in your stomach that you realise what the dress is.

It’s the same dress that the doll on the shelf is wearing.

"You're sick," you hiss.

The Toymaker cocks his head to one side. “Indeed?” he says. “How odd. I thought I was being rather generous, giving you a helping hand towards becoming your true self.” He snickers at you. “If I am sick, then I do wonder what that makes you. My mind is full of games, but the inside of your head is full of so much more.”

You ignore the Toymaker and hold your own arms, shrinking back down into your chair. Yet as you look down at the dress, you can’t help but feel a pang of longing. The dress is a perfect fit, one which could have been custom-designed, and the fabric is truly stunning in appearance and quality. With its puffy sleeves and shapely waistline, you know if you were alone you would have given your new skirts a twirl.

But you can’t let yourself get lost now. This is as much a mind game as it is a real one, you realise. The Toymaker is eyeing you like a piece of meat, and it’s clear that he is capable of so much more than a costume change. You must press on with the game. 

“I want to keep playing,” you say.

“Wonderful,” says the Toymaker. "We’re currently still at zero points each, with two turns down. Unfortunately, your turn was taken due to the forfeit. I must ask you: Truth or Dare?” 

You don’t allow yourself time to think about it: “Dare.” 

The Toymaker’s smile is knowing. “It is a fool’s errand, trying to delay the inevitable. I believe my initial suspicions were correct…you do want the Truth to be pried from you, don’t you? Perhaps that makes the shame a little less potent. After all, the mean, scary Toymaker made you dress this way. It wasn’t your fault…you couldn’t help it. Am I getting warmer?”

Your face is getting warmer, and it’s getting increasingly hard to meet the Toymaker’s gaze. “It isn’t my fault that my opponent is insane,” you say, with venom. 

Somehow, the Toymaker’s laugh is German. “Ah, zere is zat fire. You are quite dee entertaining playmate, meine Liebling. I am not ge-xpectings you to verstand games of dee mind…but I do find zem exhilarating. Dee expressions ge-crossing your face right now…I vish you could see zem.”

You scowl at the Toymaker. “Just give me your Dare.”

The Toymaker shrugs at you. “If you insist. I Dare you…to perform a dance befitting a fine young lady such as yourself.”

Oh, God, no. This is a nightmare of a Dare. “I—I’m not a dancer,” you say. You can feel your blush crawling up your neck. You envision yourself prancing around in your new dolly-dress, and the embarrassment makes you physically cringe.

“Oh, zat is not ein problem!” The Toymaker beckons you to look under the table. When you do, he taps his own shoes against the floor, performing a rhythmic tap-step. “Zose lovely Schuhe I gave you vill ge-helpen sie along. Provided you are villing to perform dee dare, your tanzen is all taken care of. All you are ge-needings to do is stand up, und take drei steps backwards.”

The Toymaker leans back in his chair and looks at you expectantly. The list of excuses which blossomed into your mind when he first suggested the Dare are dwindling rapidly, each one seeming more pathetic than the last. But…maybe there is a way out of this?

“What about music?” you ask. “Surely you can’t expect me to dance without music.” 

The Toymaker shakes his head at you. “Do not ge-worry about dee musik! I have it all covered. Unless…you vish to forfeit once more?” The idea of any other part of your body spontaneously transforming into an animal is enough to make you scramble to your feet. Immediately, you are self-conscious: the dress is equal parts beautiful and ridiculous, and is so poofy and frilly that it gives your lower half the shape of a bell. You haven’t felt this kind of embarrassment since you were in school: the dry throat and sweaty palms before getting up on stage for assembly. Feeling like a silly child, you can’t help but look at the Toymaker, searching those mirthful eyes for guidance. But the Toymaker simply shoos you, indicating for you to step back.  Hesitantly, you take one step away from the table. Then another. Then, one final, gentle step.  Without warning, the floor of the toyshop erupts! From beneath your feet a wooden stage springs up, unfurls around you and traps you like a box. You shriek and try to stumble away, but your new dancing shoes root you firmly to the spot. A spotlight bursts into being above your head and illuminates your frozen self in all your newfound frilly glory.  You look down from your new height to see the Toymaker sitting in what is now the front row of a vast auditorium; the toyshop’s interior has vanished. He whoops and grabs a fistful from a cartoonishly large bucket of popcorn. You open your mouth to yell at him, and maybe call him some horrible names you haven’t thought of yet. But before you can, music starts blaring from all sides of the auditorium. It’s a grating, repetitive tune: some ghastly combination of twee guitar and twinkling piano…and it’s so familiar . You know this song, but what is it? And why does it sound so…childish?  The music hits a powerful note. Your mouth opens unbidden, and from your vocal cords a voice which is decidedly not yours belts out the opening lyric to a familiar nursery rhyme:  “I’m a little teapot, Short and stout!” Your voice is loud and beautiful, and you project better than any Broadway singer. You can do nothing but watch yourself in abject horror as your knees bend in time with the music, and your shiny shoes send you toppling along the stage in time with the song.  “Here is my handle Here is my spout!” You try to scream and stop, but your body is no longer in your control. Your arms bend at frightening angles, and your hips send your neck careening to the side with a crack . A rictus grin is firmly plastered onto your face, and your mouth stays open and singing: “When I get all steamed up, Hear me SHOUT!…” Your hands flap and your toes point and you screaming on the inside, begging for this to stop, stop, STOP ! But the infernal music is inside of your head and it’s pushing in on all sides, and no matter how much you cry and beg and plead your mouth won’t work except to belt out the final words of your song. “TIP me over and POUR. ME. OUT!” At the last line, your knees give out and you collapse face-first onto the stage. A grand cheer goes up from the auditorium. You twist around, trying to see if the Toymaker has conjured up an audience to witness your humiliation—but he is the only one present. The Toymaker is on his feet and giving you a standing ovation. “Vunderbar!” the Toymaker cries as he claps enthusiastically. “Oh, you are dee most darling little teapot, ja. Zis is a fine game we are ge-havings!”

“What—did—you—do?” you gasp on the floor. You feel like your lungs have been crushed. Something the Toymaker did seized up everything inside of you and folded them up like paper. Now it’s as if you really are a doll: crumpled up and discarded in the corner when your owner is finished playing with you. Although you’re quite sure the music has stopped, the melody is blasting in your head in a maddening loop. You try to move, but your legs won’t work. 

“Oh, don’t be zo dramatik. Eversing I ge-make brings viele fun,” says the Toymaker. “Herzlichen Glückwunsch …das ist ein point to you.”

You don’t see the Toymaker get up on the stage, but the next thing you know, he’s crouching down next to you. Without warning, the Toymaker lifts you up under the arms and pulls you to your feet as if you weigh nothing at all. You try to stand but your rigid muscles struggle with the task and you stumble, falling right into the Toymaker’s chest. He chuckles, and you hear it rumbling softly in his chest. His skin is impossibly warm…and you can’t hear a heartbeat.

The two of you stand like that for a long moment, with you enveloped in the Toymaker’s arms. When pressed against his waistcoat, the maddening song infesting your brain quietens, and is replaced with an easy sort of calm. It’s strange…all the questions and anger and terror seem to just burn away. They’re forgotten in the simplicity of being held like a doll.

Eventually, your senses kick in. You manage to pull yourself away from the Toymaker, and you refuse to look at his face. “I just want to get on with the game.”

“Of course.”

The Toymaker waves his hand and the stage and auditorium vanish. You are transported back to the interior of the toyshop, with its familiar cuddly audience and the table taking centre stage. You sit back down at the table shakily. You know when you look up the Toymaker will already be sitting across from you…and you’re right, even though you didn’t see or hear him pull back his chair. His eyes are bright and curious. 

“Okay…Truth or Dare?”

The Toymaker places his hand on his chin and pretends to be deep in thought. After a while, he says, “Truth."

You very nearly ask him the same question you were denied just before: how was he able to make that doll look exactly like you? But the momentary calm offered by the Toymaker’s embrace has had a quieting effect on your mind, and a spike in your critical thinking skills. You have to think strategically; if you want to win, you need to ask him a question which will throw him off-guard. Asking him about the doll wouldn’t be a challenge because he likes to gloat, and to tease. But if you win, you can have your answer to that question and an actual demonstration…

…plus, you get to keep your freedom. Don’t forget that.

So you stare at the Toymaker and wonder…what causes a man (creature, entity, etc.) to end up this way?

“Tell me about your childhood,” you say.

The smile is wiped from the Toymaker’s face in an instant. His mouth twists in discomfort and anger. For the first time since you’ve met him, you feel a pleasant curl of satisfaction in your guts. The game is on, you think.

“What’s wrong?” you ask out loud. “Do you have a problem with the question? Because you can always forfeit—”

“I. Will. Not. Lose.”

The Toymaker’s fists are on the table now: they’re clenched and shaking. Although he’s looking at you, his mind seems far away, trapped somewhere else. After a beat, he leans forward, grabs your head and brings your foreheads together so they’re just barely touching.

“You asked for this,” says the Toymaker gravely. “I will do more than give you the answer to your question. I will show you. Close your eyes.”

The closeness is invigorating: the Toymaker’s hands are strong against the sides of your head, and you wonder for a second if he could pop your skull like a balloon. You consider saying no and demanding he just tell you the answer, but the look on the Toymaker’s face is so intense that you cannot refuse. It’s that terrible curiosity in you, willing you to stand at the edge of the universe and take a step off the cliff.

So you do as your bid, and close your eyes…

…only to awaken in a void.

To say there is nothing around you is an understatement. Your idea of nothingness is very particular: blackness; emptiness, an absence of sound and light. But this is something else entirely. You can’t even feel the lack of something in this place because there simply isn’t anything to feel. From the moment you open your eyes you feel the contradiction of yourself as a physical being, standing in this vacant not-space. There is less than nothing here. There is zilch. There is negative zero. There is null.

You try to get your bearings by looking around, but there are no bearings to get. This is a nothingness which exists beyond your comprehension. Just standing in this nothingness makes your jaw tighten and the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. This is a phobic realm which is the antithesis to life.

And it is so, so cold. 

“This is where I grew up.”

You jump. The Toymaker is standing beside you, arms folded behind his back. He surveys the nothingness with humble respect, the way a weary sailor surveys the ocean.

“How?” You try looking around again, but without anything to anchor gaze on, your eyes just swing back round to the Toymaker. “There’s nothing here.” 

“Nothing except for me.”

The Toymaker sits down on the emptiness, cross-legged. Feeling discombobulated in the lack of space, you sit down too, next to him, and wonder how that’s possible. You hug your elbows, trying to fend off the omnipresent cold.

“We are outside of your universe,” says the Toymaker quietly. “Below it, as a matter of fact. We are in a pocket realm, like the hollow in a tree branch. Here there was nothing for a very long time…so long, that I do not know how to count it. The void is indifferent to such concepts.

“I was a child for an eternity, and many more eternities after that. Merely a conscious speck suspended in forever. At the time I had no form. No body, no face, and not really a mind. I was a collection of distant ideas and fraught, base emotions. There was no reason for me to have either a solid shape or a brain. I existed only in relation to the void, and the void went on forever. All I had to entertain myself were my games.”

With a flick of the wrist, the Toymaker conjures a ball into existence. Then another. Then another. He does this over and over again until he is juggling at least twenty balls. His hands move in a blur as he juggles the balls effortlessly. He tosses them higher and higher, so high that you have to crane your neck to see. Eventually you lose sight of the balls in the nothingness.

But then, the Toymaker sighs…and you notice that the balls are disappearing. This continues for about a minute, the balls growing fewer in number until he’s down to just three…and then there’s only two, so he’s not really juggling at all.

Finally, the Toymaker catches the last remaining ball and holds it up to your face. A frost has grown along its leathery side.

“Playing games can keep you warm,” says the Toymaker, “but only for a little while. Eventually, the cold gets in. And the cold devours everything."

“How did you survive here?” you ask quietly. You can’t raise your voice above a whisper: it feels disrespectful.

“Death isn’t something I am capable of experiencing,” says the Toymaker. “I can never die from the cold. But I can still feel it.” 

The Toymaker looks at the ball in his hand, and it catches fire. You gasp and pull away, but the fire only burns for a few seconds: the flames are quickly extinguished by a new crop of frost, growing over the ball’s surface like a disease.

In moments, the Toymaker is holding nothing but a ball of ice.

“I’m…sorry,” you say.

It’s a feeble reply, and you know it. The cold here is wrapped into the environment itself. This no-space could well be made of nothing but a creeping, insidious chill. It’s worse than the kind of cold which slams into you, like the jump from the shower to a towel on a winter night, or the way your cheeks are slapped when stepping outside on a snowy day.

This cold is sinister. 

It waits.

It seeks out warmth wherever it can, wraps itself around that spark of heat, and crushes it frozen.

The Toymaker runs hot, you remember with a shiver.

No wonder. The Toymaker fends off your weak sympathies with a shake of his head. He stares off into the nothingness, and continues to speak.

“I thought it would just be me and the void forever. But then one day, I heard laughter! It was a sound utterly foreign to me. I was so frightened, I spent millennia curled tight up into a ball, cringing away from the sound. But I could hear them now…beings, with shape and light and thoughts. As the epochs stretched before me and the void remained still, I found myself drawn to their laughter.”

The Toymaker’s eyes glitter with recollection. “I learnt how to poke small peepholes into the fabric of the void, and peer through at the shapes. And oh, the things I saw! These beings, they played games , just like me! Games which used pieces and strategies and all manner of wonderful toys. I wanted to have them all. Needed to have them. So I did. I fashioned myself fingers, and with those fingers I fashioned toys and toys and toys, enough to fill up every child’s toy room in every universe!"

You watch as the Toymaker trembles with excitement. His voice has swollen to fit the void: a rallying cry against the darkness. He looks so proud of himself…but only for a moment. 

“After a while, my toys grew old,” he says sadly. “They say a boy becomes a man when he must throw his toys onto the fire in order to keep himself warm...and the cold never stops. I realised that wood and string were all well and good, but they had no personality of their own…and I had no opponent.”

The Toymaker turns to you then. There’s a manic look in his eye. “So I began to lure in the flesh-and-blood creatures,” he says. “It was easy enough once I learned to assume their shape…especially the early ones, who weren’t so bright. And what shapes I would become! I enjoy this shape so much that I’ve decided to keep it permanently, with the odd touch-up every half-century or so. Being handsome helps bring in the players.”

There goes that easy wink again, smooth and charming and drawing you in like the lure on an anglerfish.

“And…that’s why you’re here today?” you ask. “You just want to play games with us?” 

The Toymaker’s laugh is mean. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he says. “All that exists is to win, or to lose. I don’t want to play games with you. I simply want to win.”

The two of you stand in silence for a while, contemplating the nothingness. The longer you stay, the more you can feel the chill sliding its icy fingers over your flesh. It crawls up your socks and settles into the gaps behind your knees. It causes wet, cold dew to form at the edges of your eyelashes. It even seeps into the spaces between your skin and fingernails.

You wish you hadn’t asked for this Truth.

“One point to you, Toymaker,” you say through chattering teeth.

The Toymaker starts: clearly he’d forgotten all about you. The void has a sobering effect on him, it seems. How did a little boy manage to have any imagination in this place at all? “Yes,” says the Toymaker with a worn smile. “One point each.”

The next time you blink, the void is gone. You are returned to the familiar warmth of the toyshop, and are still sitting at the table across from the Toymaker. But now, even as the cold sloughs off your skin and your cheeks begin to heat up again, you can see the toyshop for what it is. The bright lights and colourful attractions are nothing more than decorative wallpaper for a frozen, ephemeral darkness, ever-creeping in on the corners of your vision.

When the Toymaker speaks again, his German is back in full force, and you wonder if he’s trying to stave off how frightened he really is.

“Zat is vier turns down,” he says. “Mit only zwei to go. I ge-believe it is my turn, ja?”

Oh, hell: he’s right. You’d gotten so caught up in the impossibility of the Toymaker’s mind that you’d forgotten you’re playing a very dangerous game. But the Toymaker’s smile looks fake now, and the way his eyes glimmer seems less like mischief, and more like withheld tears. For the first time you want to stop this game…not just for you, but for the Toymaker too.

But that’s not how this would be played. The rules are fixed, and you’ve seen what the consequences could be. Worse, you only have one response left to give. By the way the Toymaker is grinning at you, you know he’s remembered this rule too.

“Truth or Dare?” he asks.

You swallow, before giving the only answer you can: “Truth.”

The Toymaker laughs a little too loud. “Now, you had better nots ge-try to get out of zis one,” he says. “I vant you to tell me dee truth: vot exactly is your fantasy? I vill be requiring details.” 

There it is: the question this whole game has been building up to. This situation is impossible and ridiculous. Here you sit, surrounded by beautiful toys in your gorgeous dress, playing a game with an unbelievable, broken man who can rewrite your entire reality with nothing more than a thought. Yet you still can’t just open your mouth and give him the answer. Somehow, even in the face of impossible adversity, you are still beholden to your human embarrassment.

“If I tell you…” you say slowly. “...Do you promise not to laugh?” 

The Toymaker’s eyebrows knit together. He looks distressed by the question. “All players should be treated with respect,” he replies.

That’s not the answer I want, but it’s the only answer he can give , you think. But maybe that’s the key here. You would never willingly part with this information…but the Toymaker just did the same thing for you. He didn’t have to show you where he came from. He could have talked around it, given you the crib notes, and you would have been none the wiser. The Toymaker showed you vulnerability just by allowing you into his history.

You owe him that same level of respect.

“I didn’t get much attention when I was growing up,” you say. “It wasn’t a bad upbringing, but I was just kind of…left, a lot of the time. I wasn’t looked after. There was always some sort of problem that needed fixing, and my parents never had time for me. No one bothered to check on me, so I just had to figure things out for myself. I spent most of my time alone in my room…just me and my toys.”

“That sounds familiar,” says the Toymaker, and the sympathy in his voice is real. “How did you pass your time?”

“I took my toys apart,” you say. “I think my parents felt guilty for leaving me alone a lot, so there was never a shortage of toys. But I wanted to figure out how they worked. That seemed much more interesting than actually playing with them, you know?” 

The Toymaker smiles with approval. “Dee keen eye of a toymaker is a gift,” he says. “But I sense you are delaying your real story…” 

You curse inwardly: again, he’s right. You cannot hide any longer.

“I took apart all of my toys…except for my dolls.”

That gets the Toymaker’s attention: those bright blue eyes light up with interest. “Go on.”

“I had a set of five dolls,” you say quietly. “Generic dolls. Sparkly, brushable hair, and little swappable outfits. Nothing special. But even when I was really small I couldn’t hurt them. I was terrified of damaging them in any way. There weren’t any other kids around to talk to, and my parents weren’t home, so I just…talked to the dolls instead. I knew it was weird, but in my head the dolls were more sentient than my other toys. I thought they could really understand me.”

The Toymaker starts back up in his German voice: “Ah, zere is nothing more ge-saddening zan a lonely Kind. Zat is why decapitating poor Neil vas being no problem for you, zen?” 

“Yeah. It still hurt, but not for the reasons it would hurt most people.” You swallow; this is the really difficult part. “The older I got, the more toys I had, but I never added to my doll collection. My parents would joke all the time about how I was becoming a ‘little lady’. When I became a teenager there was so much pressure to be pretty, and girly…and it made me feel sick. So I tried to fight back against it. I cut my hair, I swore off pink, and I wouldn’t be caught dead in a dress.”

The words stick in your throat. You look up at the Toymaker, hoping for some kind of mercy, but you don’t find it. But he isn’t mocking you, either: he just sits and waits for you to continue.

“I locked my dolls away,” you say. “I pretended I had thrown them out…but secretly, I’d sneak them out, and play with them. I’d brush their hair, and mend their dresses. I still do.”

The Toymaker leans in. “Why?”

“I…I wanted to be like them,” you whisper. “They are so pretty. The long, flowing dresses and the perfect makeup…they’re dazzling in a way I could never be. I can never, ever be that beautiful.”

You twist the fabric of your dress between your fingers fitfully, and force yourself to say it: 

“I always wanted to be someone’s favourite doll."

There’s silence in the toyshop. You stare down at your lap, your heart pounding and your face flushed. Stupid, stupid…! Your eyes well up with hot tears. You can’t bring yourself to look at the Toymaker.

“Und zen you arrive here,” he says. “Meine beautiful dollen drew you in.”

“Yes,” you say quietly. “If I can’t be loved like a doll, then at least I can give them love instead. If I were a doll, maybe things would be easier, you know? Maybe…”

You can’t help the little choke-sob which escapes your lips.

“...maybe someone would take care of me."

The tears fall freely into your lap now and stain the beautiful fabric of your dress dark. You feel disgusting: worthy of ridicule. I deserve whatever happens to me now, you think, your brain awash with old, dark feelings you’ve kept locked up just like the dolls in your closet.

But it’s the Toymaker who snaps you out of his reverie. You didn’t hear him move, but you flinch when his fingers slide under your chin and tilt up your face towards him. Your tears cast him in a watery halo.

“Mein Liebling, stop ge-crying,” he says. “I have made sehr many dollen over dee years, und many of zem have been beautiful. But you are somesing else entirely entirely. Ein living, breathing, villing doll, so cute und poseable. Oh, you und I vill have zo many adventures together! You could be mein prized possession, und I vill hold you and play vith you from dawn zu dusk.”

The Toymaker’s words send a shudder through your body. Blood thrums at the surface of your skin and pools in your cheeks and neck. The Toymaker leans in until your noses are almost touching. He’s so very close to you now…close enough that he could kiss you. 

But just before he reaches your lips, the Toymaker moves to the side and whispers into your ear:

“Dee game is not yet over, meine schöne dollen. You have one final question to ge-ask of me. Do it, und zis vill all be over…one vay or another.”

You can feel him smiling gently against your hair, and it makes you want to sob. Oh, please let this torture end…! But you’re in the Toymaker’s grasp now, in the final throes of his game, and you know you have to finish this or your suffering will never be over. There is only one turn left. You have to try, one last time, or you would spend the rest of your life at the beck and call of this madman.

“Truth or Dare?” you manage to croak out.

The Toymaker lets your face go. “Dare."

You take a deep breath. This is your last chance.

“Let me go.”

The Toymaker takes a long, long moment to process your answer…and then he starts to laugh. Really, really hard. The tinkling arpeggio of his laughter builds and builds until it seems to shake the very walls of the toyshop. For a moment, you are terrified that it’s all going to come crumbling down like a house of cards.

“Oh, perhaps becoming ein dollen hast eroded deine brain, ja?” says the Toymaker, the arrogance flashing in his teeth. “I am not ein genie you kann outsmarts. I am afraid zat since letting you go ist your prize, you cannot request it of me. So, you have lost ein point, putting us at a tie…und you must complete ein forfeit once more.”

No. No. NO! “That’s not fair!” you yell. The tears are streaming down your face in earnest now; all of the distress of this game and the Toymaker’s psychological torment can no longer be contained. 

“Oh, und here comes dee tantrum,” says the Toymaker with a sigh. “I hates it ven zey get like zis. You must have ein forfeit…und I think I have dee perfekt idea to stop your ge-crying.”

The Toymaker snaps his fingers again. You open your mouth to scream at him…but nothing comes out.

You try again, but your mouth just flops open like a fish, with no sound attached to it whatsoever.

The Toymaker has stolen your voice. 

“I have assisted you in another core aspect of your doll transformation,” says the Toymaker, the British swooping in over his tongue with ease. “I do not think most dolls can talk, do you?”

You awful…! But the words can’t even die on your tongue, because they never reach your tongue in the first place. There is a total disconnect between your mouth and your brain. Although you can fashion your lips into the correct shapes and try to push the air into forming syllables, none of them can escape your mouth.

The Toymaker has silenced you, taking away perhaps your only remaining asset in this game.

You mentally tally up the points, and realise he’s right. You are now tied, and six turns have passed. 

“But I cannot tolerate a tie. Dee rules dictate zat ve must perform a tie-breaker challenge…” His accent ripples between the German and British easily, as if he can’t decide between childish delight and cool professionalism. “Do you have any suggestions for a tie-breaker?"

The devastation of losing your voice almost made you look over this detail. Yes, he’s right: for all of your suffering, the Toymaker hasn’t actually managed to get a point over you. That means all is not lost.

That means you still have a chance to win.

But you cannot strategise in a vacuum: much less when you can’t speak. The Toymaker looks at you in amusement, as if expecting you to try and talk anyway. You could have written a message down on a piece of paper, or typed it on your phone, but you decide not to give him the satisfaction. The Toymaker has already gotten you on the rules twice: you are going to play within his boundaries and win fair and square. 

You don’t see where he produces the hat from. A flourish of the arm, and it’s suddenly in his hands: a beautiful top hat which would have gone perfectly with a tuxedo. The Toymaker flips the hat over and proffers it to you.

“Ladies first,” he says with a sly smile. 

You reach into the hat and are surprised to find a variety of small, paper tickets. After some rustling around, you pull one out and read it. When you do, your eyes go wide.

WHOEVER HOLDS THEIR BREATH THE LONGEST IS THE WINNER.  “Vot fun!” exclaims the Toymaker, clapping his hands together in excitement. “I must ge-varn you, I am a very gut schwimmer, and kann hold mein breath for ein long time.” 

But do you even have a lung capacity?! is what you would have asked if you could. How was this fair? The Toymaker is clearly an extradimensional being, and his physical body doesn’t seem to conform to the laws of physics, space or time…anything that would put a real challenge to this game. But you can’t say so: you have no way of telling him.

Besides…is it cheating if that’s just how he is? Is it cheating if he’s just better at the game?

A loud tick-tocking draws your eye to the right side of the toyshop. Against the wall (where it definitely didn’t exist before) is a grandfather clock. Both of the clock’s hands are almost at the 12. This was news to you; you’d arrived at the toyshop sometime around 8pm.

“Ve vill begin when ze clock strikes twelve,” says the Toymaker. “Zere are no fancy rules…ve just start ge-holdings our breath, until eins of us cannot anymore.”

The grandfather clock ticks closer to your demise. You look at the Toymaker in desperation, clasping your hands together in a silent plea…but he just looks at you coolly. Now, you are nothing but an opponent to defeat. You are an obstacle ready to be demolished. 

Well, I am not helpless. If anyone is going to decide the winner of this game, it’s going to be me. With only thirty seconds remaining, you fish around in the pocket of your backpack and pull out your phone. You set up your video camera, prop the phone up against a toy monkey holding a pair of cymbals, and hit the record button.

“Ah,” says the Toymaker. “In case of ein photo-finish. Gut idea.”

There’s a cold fire in his eyes now: something which ignited when he took you into his personal void. You have no moves left, and no gameplay strategies to implement. It is clear that he is the master of games, and you may as well already be his doll. 

But hell, you are going to try your best.

The grandfather clock strikes twelve with a loud, booming chime, and you suck in the largest breath of your life. You don’t balloon out your cheeks: instead you opt for a subtle approach learnt from musical training, where you draw in the oxygen deep into your lungs and will it to sit there for as long as you can handle.

By comparison, the Toymaker doesn’t look like he’s holding his breath at all. You merely hear him stop breathing. He looks totally at ease.

The first ten seconds are child’s play.

The first twenty seconds are fine.

The first thirty seconds are acceptable.

But by the forty-second mark a playful fire start to burn in your chest, and the urge to take a breath begins to beg. Inside you curse yourself, wishing that you’d practised— but why on earth would I have practised such a useless game?! You look at the Toymaker. Big mistake. He waggles his eyebrows at you silently, rippling them in an over-the-top-sultry manner. You feel your lips quirking up into a smile…You can’t believe it! He’s trying to make you laugh!

So much for respecting the rules, you think to yourself. Your chest is really starting to hurt now. But then you wonder, is that really cheating? If the Toymaker can try to make you laugh, what if you can make him laugh too? But you shut down that idea immediately: if you prancing around in a frilly dress singing I’m A Little Teapot didn’t make him laugh (just clap!), you didn’t have a chance in hell.

Oh no. What is he doing now? While trying to focus on holding your breath, the Toymaker had conjured two familiar puppets on the ends of his hands: Punch and Judy. With a final, victorious wink, the Toymaker begins a silent, over-the-top slapstick routine with the puppets. Even without dialogue you recognise the beats of the show; Mr Punch is a mess of a man, overwhelmed by the demands of his wife and baby (the latter brought into being with a tiny, adorable puppet the Toymaker wears on one of his thumbs). His hands move with such finesse that the puppets almost look real.

Such a gaudy routine wouldn’t have been enough to make you laugh by itself, but the Toymaker brings a whole new dimension with his wonderfully expressive face. Each time the long-suffering Judy begins a voiceless tirade of her husband (i.e., throwing little puppet-objects at his face), the Toymaker supplements Punch’s depression with a frown worthy of a theatre mask. When Punch manages to land a hit on his wife or baby (My God, were these shows always so violent?), the Toymaker grins with such deranged glee that you can’t help but find it hilarious.

Oh no. You look at the clock: it’s been a minute, and your chest is really starting to hurt. The Toymaker and his puppets make your cheeks puff out with the effort of not laughing.

He smirks at you as Punch picks up his wife and baby and tosses them into the air, punting them like footballs. It’s so absurd and ridiculous that you can feel the giggle rising up in your chest. You desperately want to open your mouth and suck in oxygen but you can’t, you simply can’t, because if you do you’ll lose the game and he’ll keep you here forever…!

As your remaining seconds tick closer to your inevitable failure, you close your eyes. You want to have one last moment to remember yourself as you are, because you are sure whatever the Toymaker is going to do to you will not be pleasant.

Your chest aches. Your cheeks bulge. Your will starts to unravel.

And then, you have the idea.

It’s a stupid idea, and with barely any seconds left to execute it, you have no guarantee that it will work. But as you open your eyes and look at the Toymaker’s smug ‘I’ve already won!’ expression, you know you have no choice but to follow through with your mad plan.

So, holding on to every last bit of breath you have, you lunge at the Toymaker—

—and envelop him in a bone-crushing hug.

Several things happen at once:

The first is the Toymaker exclaiming in surprise, his breath clearly lost, and dropping his puppets, which dissolve into ash as soon as they hit the floor. 

The second is your desire to breathe finally overpowering you as you collapse against the Toymaker, and the two of you tumble to the floor. 

The third is the grandfather clock exploding. Just as you hit the ground the clock bursts apart, firing out wooden shrapnel with a horrifying bang! On reflex you huddle yourself against the nearest form of safety, which in this case happens to be the Toymaker’s chest.

You weren’t expecting him to hold you back.

The two of you stay like that for some time: you and the Toymaker, on the floor together, breathing heavily and wrapped up in each other’s arms. Despite your own adrenaline, you can’t understand the Toymaker’s terror: surely he caused the clock to blow up? He certainly wasn’t in any danger.

But then you hear a sound you couldn’t hear before. It’s the thrumming of the Toymaker’s heart, loud and insistent and desperate to survive. You hear it through the fabric of his waistcoat, and feel it in the pulse of his neck. For just a moment, the Toymaker seems to be just as human as you.

You wonder if the Toymaker’s mortality is contextual.

Eventually, you manage to disentangle yourself from the Toymaker’s limbs. You peek at the smoking remains of the grandfather clock, and are relieved to see that nothing has caught fire: there’s just a scorched, black mark where the clock once existed. The shards of wood which exploded out from the clock have disappeared.

Thankfully, your phone is untouched! You pick it up, pause the recording and watch it back. A smile stretches across your face.

“Oh, Toymaker!” you say, and you are so very pleased that your voice has returned. “You’re going to want to take a look at this.” 

When the Toymaker climbs to his feet, you are immensely amused to see that his perfect curls have been knocked a bit by the explosion. For the first time since you met, the Toymaker is dishevelled and confused. It’s a cute look on you, you think.

“You broke my game,” says the Toymaker incredulously. “How did you do that?”

“No idea,” you grin. “Maybe it was an unexpected outcome. Still within the rules, still a valid way to win, just…unorthodox.”

You show the Toymaker the recording. You watch as his expression turns from bafflement, to despair, to outright blazing anger.

“No!” the Toymaker cries. “You can’t have beat me!”

But the camera never lies. The footage on your phone clearly picks up the Toymaker gasping in shock as soon as you hit him with your hug…whilst you don’t gasp for air until a few seconds later, just before the grandfather clock explodes.

“Seems like I have!” you say happily.

“But I…you…” The Toymaker’s fingers flex in the air meaninglessly, as if looking for a straw to grasp. “But that’s cheating!” 

“No it isn’t,” you say with confidence. “There was nothing in the rules about us not being able to make each other lose our breath. If you making me laugh was a valid strategy, then me hugging you was too. Either we both cheated, or no one did.”

The Toymaker looks like he’s been slapped, and it is a delicious feeling. You almost want to pinch his cheeks. With a pout fixing his lips, the Toymaker snaps his fingers…and your clothes return to normal. Your dress is gone, replaced by the clothes you entered the shop with.

(Is it a little silly to be regretful of that fact…?)

“I still say that shouldn’t count,” says the Toymaker sullenly. “That was an underhanded tactic. I’ll be writing that into the rules next time.”

But you’ve turned away from the Toymaker now—he obviously needs to work through his sore-loser feelings in his own time. You trot over to the doll shelf, pick up the beautiful doll in the powder-blue dress and cradle her in your arms. She truly is a wonderful prize.

When you turn back around, the Toymaker is sitting on the floor with his hands hugging his knees. You feel a pang of sympathy for the man…it seems this really is his whole life.

“But why did you hug me?” the Toymaker asks, baffled. “That’s not a winning strategy. You just surprised me. You were so…”

The Toymaker looks up at you with shining eyes. This time, his eyes really are wet with tears.

“...Warm,” he whispers.

The triumph of your win quickly sours on your tongue. The way the Toymaker is looking at you gives you a powerful feeling…and it’s not one that you like. Even though every part of you is telling you to make a run for the door while you have this post-win window…you don’t.

Instead, you sit down cross-legged on the floor next to the Toymaker, just like you did when in the void. You even bump your shoulder against his.

“I’ve been sad a lot in my life,” you say. “But I’ve never felt as much sadness as I did in your void. And it made me wonder if…you’d ever been held before.”

The Toymaker looks at you with flashing eyes. His bottom lip trembles as if he’s trying to hold back a lifetime of grief. He doesn’t say anything, but those eyes tell you all you need to know. 

“I wouldn’t mind coming around here sometimes,” you say gently.

The Toymaker looks at you like you’ve got two heads. “You would voluntarily subject yourself to my life-or-death games?”

“Maybe not the life-or-death part,” you say hastily. “But I had fun today. Weird, horrible fun. You’re kind of a weird and horrible guy…and I’m pretty weird too.”

To your surprise, the Toymaker actually laughs at that. “You are unique, meine Liebling,” he says, German once more. “To out-ge-smart me, you must be.”

“Well…maybe it’s a good thing we met,” you say. “Maybe you don’t need to keep luring in suspecting people to your shop, Toymaker. Some of us might actually want to stick around and play. And maybe…”

You rest your head against the Toymaker’s shoulder.

“...Maybe I could help keep the cold out for a while.” 

The Toymaker and you sit in silence for some time, listening to the gentle whirs and clicks of the toys going about their business. You keep your new doll tucked between your legs, and your cheek resting against the Toymaker’s shoulder. He’s so warm that you find your eyelids fluttering: you could easily fall asleep right here.

It’s a surprise when you feel the Toymaker’s fingers sliding into your own. You look at him, and see those telling blue eyes alive with fresh excitement.

“It’s a deal,” says the Toymaker, with an enormous, brilliant smile.

You let the Toymaker pull you to your feet. To your amusement, he grants you a deep, formal bow.

“Run along now, meine Schatz…today must have been ge-xhausting for you. But I shall be seeing you again soon, ja?"

Other people would not have caught it, but you know what loneliness sounds like: you hear the edge of desperation at the edge of the Toymaker’s voice. You take a step back and return the bow with a curtsey.

“Ja, genau,” you grin.

The Toymaker’s smile could have outshone the sun.

That night, when you return home, you take all of your dolls out of your closet. You line them up with care on your shelf, making sure to pose them prettily and smooth out the creases in their frocks.

But you keep your new doll in your hand, and clamber into bed with her. Before you turn out the light, you look one last time at her perfect, dimpled face.

Oh, what games will you and the Toymaker play next?

#the toymaker x reader #the toymaker x you #the toymaker #doctor who #the celestial toymaker #dw #the giggle #fanfiction #x reader #starleskawrites #i don't know what came over me but it sure was fun to write 🥰💖 #long post

[honkthehenry]

unnamed slime game - part 1

Masterlist

The way you suddenly snapped into awareness without realizing you drifted off at all was something akin to having a bucket of ice-cold water thrown into your face.

You... dozed off in class again. In hindsight, it was inevitable – the last time you got hours of sleep instead of something in-between nothing at all and a 2-hour-nap was last Saturday. You've been running on nothing but bitter, cheap coffee and sheer spite for almost a week now, it was high time you finally crashed.

Still, you should have woken up at Uni. You should have woken up to your professor huffing and puffing and glowering in your face about your terrible conduct, about how your generation had no respect for his generation, about how such a complicated and beautiful science like Robotics was not a place for slackers like you (which, fair, you had no idea what you were doing in Robotics either), not... alone and certaintly not in the middle of a forest.

You ran through a bunch of scenarios quickly, but none stuck.

Kidnapping? Far-fetched at best. You lived alone, only barely making ends meet by running yourself into the ground as you tried to marry working retail with being a full-time student, so ransom was out of the question and being kidnapped for the sake of doing bad things to you... Why bother? You didn't know anyone nearly well enough to be kidnapped due to personal feelings and you were neither good-looking enough (perpetually tired goblin that you were) nor famous-, connected- or skilled enough to be kidnapped randomly.

Besides, you were at the University, on the 5th floor, in the middle of the city that had no forests for miles! You were surrounded by 20-odd other people, there was no way someone would be able to kidnap you with so many witnesses around.

So, not kidnapping.

Dream then?

Also unlikely. Your dreams were few and far-between and when they did happen, it was either you being surrounded by characters from the show you happened to be fixated on at the time or it was you getting repeatedly chased and swallowed whole by a dinosaur on a loop, until the dream finally ended (probably Jurasic Park childhood trauma, now that you thought about it).

Still.

This was so weird, because you knew for a fact you were much too aware of everything to be dreaming and yet the things you saw didn't makes sense at all!

You didn't have any arms for one!

And your body was purple!

You could feel electricity zapping at your body and it didn't hurt, it was more like being swallowed in a blanket burrito and nursing a comforting mug of hot chocolate, while watching your favourite show with no worry for deadlines or money!

You weren't supposed to feel like that, you were supposed to be tired and grumpy and irritable and not nice and not toasty and certaintly not so comfortable!

Drugs? Hallucinations? You never partaked, you didn't drink alcohol either, so that was a no—

—A purple crystal you were under zapped at you again and you positively melted on the spot, basking in the feeling and letting the troublesome train of thought go like the wind, before it inevitably derailed and caused you undue anxiety as it always did.

...it was very nice actually.

Maybe losing opposable thumbs wasn't so bad if you got this in exchange.

You could live like this.

×•×•×•× Honk!!! Corner ווו×

You know that one post lurking on Tumblr where OP is turned into a frog by a witch as revenge? And just vibes? Basks in the sun without worrying about life? This is MC now.

I don't care how long or how short chapters are, they're just gonna vibe as they are because I am a goblin with a short attention span and no actual ability to write.

Something to get you thinking - MC is an electro slime for a reason and that reason is electro immunity.

I wonder why?

*smiling like a particularly smug cat*

Did I mention I can't draw lightning/electricity? Because I can't, so I didn't.

Also fvck me, my tags didn't saveeeeee 😭

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact sagau #genshin sagau #sagau x reader #sagau #except sagau part is slow burn #isekai #genshin isekai #x reader #x gn reader #x gender neutral reader #x gn y/n #x y/n #x you #electro slime mc #slime mc #unnamed slime game

[ghcstao3]

that one awful tiktok where a girl unironically bashes a guy she had a date with because they were supposed to meet at 6 pm at a restaurant and she messaged him at 6:10 pm she is on her way and by the time she got there at 6:50 pm he was nowhere to be found but with ghoap where soap is the guy and ghost is a waiter at the restaurant who approaches the sad looking soap and tells him 'they don't deserve you' and steals soap for a date after his shift ends.

It takes Ghost all of ten seconds to predict how this man's night would go, after witnessing his patient smile fall away for a saddened look only moments after glancing down at his phone screen. Ghost casts a look at the clock in the kitchen, reads 6:10, then turns to take the plates of another order sat in the window out to be served.

He's seen this sort of thing happen countless times before.

At some point, it just becomes a classic scenario for any waiter—one person shows up for their date, diligently on time, then lingers alone at their table for ten minutes longer than they're meant to. They receive a text—if they're even that lucky—then they wait another twenty, then finally realize they've been properly stood up.

If a waiter pities them enough, they might get a free drink or an appetizer. Nothing will be mentioned of the fact that they are unintentionally alone at a restaurant, because that is simply not a waiter's business.

That's just life with the godawful modern day dating scene. Ghost has seen the situation play out more than enough times to decide that it probably isn't for him.

Probably.

Because he finds his gaze continually drifting back to the man alone in his booth, and a tiny, shameful part of Ghost's brain is holding onto the hope that the date never shows up.

And because, when the man is finally resigning himself to slip out of the booth as it nears seven o'clock without the slightest hint of an appearance from his promised date, Ghost finds himself travelling over to the table before the man can leave, with a very stupid proposition in his mind and primed on his tongue.

Ghost clutches the laminated menus he had collected just prior with clammy hands, even as he projects an air of casualness like his heart isn't in his throat the second he meets eyes with the man.

Whoever had stood him up would surely have to regret doing so.

The waiter clears his throat as he realizes he's been staring too long at the man caught halfway through getting out of his seat.

"Sorry, I just... wanted to say that I think you deserve better company."

A brief look of confusion passes over the man's face before he glances to the empty spot across from him, shoulders hunching in on himself as his face goes lax, if not a bit irritated. He shrugs. "Nothin' I can do. Not looking for..." He sighs, peering up at Ghost with a strange expression crossing his face. He swallows. "Not looking for pity."

"I'm not here to offer pity," Ghost amends hastily. "I see this shit happen all the time, I get it." A deep breath. He never gets nervous like this, but something about the stranger was just so striking. "I was actually looking to ask you on a date. A real one."

The man blinks. "Oh?"

"My shift's over at seven. If that's something you're interested in."

The man seems to genuinely mull the idea over. His eyes flicker to the name tag pinned to Ghost's chest before looking back up at the waiter's face. "Don't see why not," he finally says. "Simon."

Ghost decides already that he likes the way this man says his name.

A smile tugs at the corners of Ghost's lips, only a faint pull. "Alright. I'll see you in ten minutes, then...?"

"John."

Ghost nods. Echoes, "John." Then returns to the final minutes of his shift with an odd sense of giddiness in his chest.

And later, during their date, when John receives an angry text from the woman that was meant to meet him wondering where he was after they had long left the restaurant, both him and Simon are able to laugh about it with a much better night to make up for the rest.

#ask #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #ghost mw2 #soap mw2 #ghost x soap #soapghost #ghostsoap #ghoap #writing

[explorevenus]

toy cars & princess tea parties ♡ steddie x reader

nsfw (18+) - minors dni !!! srsly i will scream

word count - 4.8k

description - a few years after the (non-canon) events of season four, steddie and reader are grappling with the implications of adulthood-- eddie comes home from work with an interesting idea to take their relationship to the next milestone...

tags/warnings - polyamory, pet names (baby, princess, angel, doll, etc.), praise, threesome, breeding, fem!reader, eddie being mischievous bc he 100% planned this, steve playing right into eddie’s hand and going absolutely feral, p-in-v ofc ♡ also one use of (Y/N) which i didn’t know was a problem for some people but apparently it is so there’s ur warning

a/n - ok i’m sorry but ever since my first time witnessing the six lil nuggets speech i cannot get over the CANONIZED FACT that steve harrington is INTO BREEDING. it’s canon to me and u can ARGUE WITH THE WALL. that being said i felt it was my civic duty to rope eddie into it bc i physically cannot help myself and here we are ♡ i hope u enjoy, i will repent later ♡

p.s. i used the stand-in name ‘jennifer’ for them to refer to a random npc classmate of theirs bc apparently that was an incredibly popular name in the 80′s so if ur name is actually jennifer i am sorry in advance but the name is only mentioned like two or three times at the beginning so

my masterlist ♡

my ao3 ♡

fic under the cut, thanks so much for reading and i hope u enjoy ! ♡

-venus ♡

It started out as a quiet, normal evening.

You were curled up on the couch with Steve, drifting in and out of naps as he played with your hair and absently watched whatever was on the TV. You were both off work today, and unsurprisingly, it was rather quiet without Eddie around. He'd been working late shifts at the record store lately-- something about a coworker needing a schedule change to coincide with her college classes.

So, there the two of you sat, your hair messy with sleep as you slumped into Steve's chest, his strong arm closed tight around your shoulder, thumb caressing your exposed arm where your blanket had slipped down. It was cozy, it was lazy, it was sweet.

A stark contrast to what you didn't know you were in for that night.

Your sleepy eyes blinked open at the sound of the front door to your shared apartment opening, and you and Steve both turned your heads to see Eddie walk in. Eddie tossed his keys on the counter and stretched his arms up with a dramatic, satisfied groan before kicking his boots off, and his dark chocolate eyes soon trailed across the room to you and Steve.

His lips were quick to upturn into a smile. "What a sight to come home to. Aren't you two just adorable?"

"Says you," You mumbled tiredly, opening up your arms so as to coax him to join you on the couch. "How was work?"

Eddie's posture softened and he wasted little time giving into your command, plopping down on the couch beside you and joining Steve in playing with your hair. "It was fine. Work's work, y'know."

You hummed in acknowledgement, just about to drift back to sleep at the added warmth of his body before he spoke up again.

"Do you guys remember Jennifer from high school?" Eddie asked.

Steve pondered for a moment. "Jennifer... which Jennifer?"

"Chess club Jennifer," Eddie confirmed. "She came into the record store with her boyfriend today, that guy Todd? Well, I guess he's her husband now. Anyway, she was like, super pregnant. Isn't that weird to think about? People we went to high school with are having kids now."

It certainly was weird to think about. High school felt like it was a lifetime ago just about as much as it felt like yesterday, and classmates getting married and starting families were just another harsh reminder that you were all well and truly adults now.

"Yeah... wow. That's a trip," You mumbled, reaching up to rub the sleep out of your eyes. "Sometimes I forget we're not 16 anymore."

"Yeah, seriously," Steve hummed in agreement, and you could have sworn you noticed his muscles tense beneath you.

"Well, good for them," You added, hoping to cut through some of that tension. "They've been dating since like, freshman year. I guess it was only a matter of time."

Eddie let out a little breath through his nose, grinning as he stared forward at the TV, but it was evident he wasn't really watching.

You raised an eyebrow and nudged him. "What?"

Eddie shrugged, drumming his fingers on your hip and stealing glances between you and Steve. "Only a matter of time, huh?" He asked. "Good to know."

Eyes widening, you quickly straightened your posture and stared at him in confusion. "What do you mean?" You pressed further. Steve was watching him too, reaching for the remote and muting the TV without even looking. The silence was deafening.

Eddie shrugged again, face smug with amusement. "I don't know, it's just... seeing them all happy together and starting a family, it just kinda got me thinking, y'know? That could be us someday."

Steve's hand froze on your arm, and now you could hardly read his expression. You just stared between them with eyes so wide you were sure they could see right through them and into the cogs turning in your head.

"Just think about it for a sec, okay? Indulge me for a minute," Eddie continued. "Little Munsons and Harringtons running around, Saturday morning cartoons, bathing fat little babies in the sink... wonder whose seed'll take first," He chuckled to himself.

But that comment alone got to you. Your face burned, and now it was you pretending to watch the TV, even with the sound off. Heat pooled in your core with an embarrassing quickness, and it felt nearly impossible to fight off the image of trying, Steve and Eddie fucking you into a sobbing mess and filling you up to the brim, competing to see who would knock you up first. You swallowed dryly.

"I-I need some water," You stammered, peeling yourself out of their arms and abandoning your blanket as you disappeared into the kitchen.

You had never really talked about having kids before. Steve had always shown an interest in starting a family, but you weren't really sure where you stood, and Eddie didn't seem like the type. You always figured it would be a conversation for another day, a day in the distant future when you were all finally adults working big jobs, picket fence and whatnot.

Yet here you were.

"You alright there, baby?" Steve's voice broke you out of your deep thought and you realized your glass was full beneath the tap, cool water spilling out over your fingers shortly after he'd spoken.

You flinched and turned off the water, setting your glass down and reaching for a rag to dry your hands. You couldn't quite bring yourself to look at him as you replied, "I'm fine, just... thinking."

"Thinkin' pretty hard, it looks like," Eddie teased, coming up behind you with a squeeze to your hips and a sweet kiss to the crown of your head. "Didn't mean to freak you out, doll."

"I'm not freaked out! I promise," You were quick to clarify, taking a big sip of your water with a shaking hand. "Just... caught off guard, I guess. I've never really thought about having kids before."

Eddie let out a little pff. "Oh, come on, I don't believe that. You've never thought about it before? Not even one time?"

You shook your head.

He turned you around in his arms, taking the glass from your hand and returning it to the counter, ensuring he had your full attention. Steve was leaned on the door frame listening, observing. Watching your reddened face.

"You're blushing," Eddie chuckled quietly, leaning down to brush his lips over your forehead before turning over his shoulder to look at Steve. "Help me out here, Harrington?"

But Steve looked just about as flustered as you did. "It would be nice," He admitted. "I've thought about it. A lot. You would make a beautiful mother, (Y/N)."

"See?" Eddie smirked. "Harrington agrees with me."

"Don't you guys think we should wait? I mean, the apartment works just fine for the three of us, but it's a little small to raise kids in, and we're still so young," You said, though you weren't fully sure whether you were trying to convince them or yourself. "It's just a really big decision. I don't think we should rush into it."

"We can get a house!" Eddie grinned, brushing your hair away from your face. "I'll work overtime at the record store, book extra gigs at The Hideout. Whatever I need to do to make that happen. We'll find somewhere real nice, fenced yard and all that. Maybe we can even talk Steve into building a treehouse." 

"I don't know, Eds..." You sighed.

You fully expected Steve to back you up on the absurdity of that suggestion, but he didn't. "That's not such a bad idea. I've been saving up from my paychecks since we graduated. It was meant to be a safeguard if Vecna came back and we all needed to hit the road, but it's been a few years now. Maybe we should just do it. Real estate's pretty cheap around here, given everything that's happened."

Perhaps they had a point, although selfishly, you sort of wanted them to keep trying to talk you into it.

"That's great, but have you guys really thought this through? Like really thought it through? Babies are a lot of work, and our relationship is hard enough to explain as it is, people are going to have so many questions--"

"Then let ‘em ask," Eddie interrupted you, planting a sweet kiss on your lips, though he quickly became distracted by your throat, tipping your chin up with his pointer finger. "I don't give a fuck. It doesn't change anything. They'll just be jealous that they don't have an extra parent for their kids like we do, right Stevie?" He spoke between increasingly sloppy kisses to your neck, teeth nipping at your warming skin.

"Exactly," Steve smiled softly, crossing his legs where he stood, and you almost could have sworn you saw the front of his sweatpants tightening. "We're already better off than most couples, if my math is right."

You were quickly melting under Eddie's attention, and Steve's lustful gaze. While you might have initially hoped that excusing yourself for a drink of water would help you cool off, it was entirely obvious now that such an attempt was in vain-- you couldn't fight with yourself anymore. They'd successfully convinced you.

Swallowing thickly, you tangled your fingers into Eddie's messy curls and could hardly bring yourself to look at either of them as you spoke in a near-whisper, "O-Okay, let's do it..."

Eddie froze, pulling away from your neck with a parting nip of the flesh so that he could stare at you with stars in his eyes. "What did you just say?" He asked.

Shyly, you glanced between them, a giddy smile tugging at your burning cheeks. They both looked truly in disbelief. "I said let's do it. Let's try for a baby."

Eddie hardly had a chance to react before Steve crossed the small kitchen and took your face in his hands, pupils blown wide as his mouth collided with yours. You stumbled back into the countertop at the force of him, gripping the edge with one hand and fisting his old Hawkins High gym shirt with the other. Eddie could do little but step back and observe, and unbeknownst to you and Steve, since you were preoccupied, Eddie had quite the satisfied smirk resting on his face. Truthfully, he knew this was what Steve wanted and that it likely wouldn't be much of a challenge to get you both going, the devil that he is. There was nowhere better to start than to just witness the fruit of his efforts.

"You have no idea how long I've waited for this," Steve spoke against your lips, letting one hand drop down to slide up beneath your shirt-- a shirt you'd stolen from Eddie's side of the closet-- and you shivered at the feeling of his warm skin on yours. "No idea how long I've wanted to hear you say it, princess..."

"S-Steve--" You gasped, but he wasn't finished yet.

"Say it again," He grunted, hips rutting into yours, and... yeah, his grey sweatpants were definitely getting tight. "Say you're gonna make me a fuckin' daddy, sweetheart."

Eddie watched with anticipation, palming impatiently at the front of his jeans. He knew Steve wanted this, but he didn't know he wanted it this badly.

Breaths quickening, you briefly took Steve's bottom lip between your teeth just to drive him that much crazier before giving in to his request, voice soft and sweet. "I'm gonna make you a fucking daddy, Steve..."

Steve let go of your face to hike one of your legs up over his hip, driving his clothed cock into the seat of your thin pajama shorts. You let out a choked whine, feeling a rush of wetness pooling in your panties, head swimming with need.

"Forgetting someone, angel?" Eddie interjected smugly, eyebrow raised, working himself stiff over his jeans.

Panting against Steve's hot, wet kisses, you barely managed to get the words out. "G-Gonna make you a daddy, Eds... gonna give you a baby..."

Steve groaned against you, lips sloppily trailing down your chin as he lifted you up in one quick motion, peeking his eyes open just enough to orient himself so that he could carry you towards the bedroom. You grabbed at Eddie's free hand as you passed, dragging him along with you, although he hardly needed any convincing-- he'd been waiting for this all day, resisting the urge to feign a sudden onset illness just to skip out of work and fuck you dumb, even though it appeared Steve was determined to beat him to it.

Steve shoved the bedroom door open with a heavy hand and wasted no time pinning you to the bed, tugging at your shirt like he'd die if it didn't come off, and in your eagerness to be touched by them you were quick to lift it over your head for him, exposing your soft chest to the cool air of the room. Steve's teeth dragged over your collarbones and down to the swell of your breast, sucking a harsh mark there before he took your nipple into his mouth and swirled over it with his slick tongue.

"F-Fuck," You sighed, taking a fistful of his thick hair.

Eddie shed himself of his t-shirt and jeans before joining the two of you on the bed, smoothing your hair out of your face with one hand and stroking his hardened cock with the other. "You're gonna look so pretty with a baby in you, dollface," He mused, taking his bottom lip between his teeth. "Everyone's gonna know you're fuckin' ours, huh? Ours forever."

You nodded hazily, reaching out to grab at his thigh, your nails pressing little crescent moon shapes into his alabaster skin. He sucked in a sharp breath, pace of his hand faltering. Eddie didn't want to cum just yet, for obvious reasons, but it was hard to stop himself from jerking off as he watched you writhe under Steve's touch. He found himself having to exercise some serious self control.

Pulling away from your breast with a soft pop, Steve slid his hand beneath the waistband of your shorts and ran two fingers over your drenched panties. "So good and wet for me already," He praised, watching with lust thick in his eyes as you inadvertently bucked into his hand. "You just can't wait, can you? Want me to fuck a baby into you so bad..."

"Y-Yes, Steve, please," You whimpered, shaking hands carding through his hair. "W-Want it so bad..."

"Easy, Harrington," Eddie chuckled breathlessly. "It was my idea. I'm goin' first."

Steve shot him a look that could truly kill, dragging his fingertips over your clothed clit just to make you squirm. "What are we, twelve?" He scoffed.

"Whatever. Don't make me push you off the bed, Stevie. Move," Eddie grunted, expecting Steve to put up more of a fight, but he didn't. He simply rolled his eyes and withdrew his hand from your shorts, clambering off of you to busy himself undressing for now.

Eddie crawled atop your trembling body, kissing down your chest as he dragged your panties and shorts down with a hooked finger. You hastily kicked them off and let them drop off the edge of the bed, leaving you completely bare for them. Eddie took a moment to soak in the sight of you with adoring, hungry eyes, dipping a calloused finger into your folds to ensure you were as wet as Steve said-- you definitely were, in fact, even more so than he'd been led to believe.

With a proud smirk and shaking hands he took hold of your hip, dragging the reddened, weeping head of his cock up the length of your pussy to slick himself with your arousal. You flinched at the stimulation, bucking toward him with a soft mewl of his name, a coded plea for him to get on with it, and he chuckled.

"I've got you, baby," He soothed, gifting you a sweet kiss. "Gonna fuck you real good, promise."

Your jaw dropped in bliss as the head of his cock breached your entrance, and without even thinking about it you hooked a leg around him and drew him deeper into you. He was trying to be gentle, considering they hadn't prepared you quite as well as they usually would, but he was impatient and clearly, so were you. His hips jerked into yours as he lost himself to the feeling of your plush, soaked walls hugging him tightly, and as he buried himself in to the hilt he let out a low growl that was almost animalistic.

Eyelashes fluttering, you whimpered in pleasure at the feeling, holding his soft biceps to ground yourself. "Fuck, Eddie..." You sighed, rocking into him.

"Jesus, baby, you gotta be patient, or I'm gonna bust and then neither of us will get to enjoy this," He chuckled breathlessly, fingertips pressing into your hips as he slowly began to move. "Fuck, you feel like a dream..."

Your head fell back into the pillows as the pace of his thrusts picked up and steadied-- he'd quickly found his rhythm, watching your tits move with every snap of his hips against yours, and he could hardly believe his luck that he'd found two people as perfect as you and Stevie, let alone that you'd agreed to start a family with him. Just the thought of it drove him crazy, and he could barely look at you anymore or he would finish way too soon. Screwing his eyes shut, Eddie let his own head fall back similarly to yours as he submitted himself to the feeling, and the sinful sounds of your slick cunt taking all he would give you.

Steve, newly naked, sat beside you on the bed, taking your breasts into his big hands, thumbs skimming over your pebbled nipples as he watched Eddie fuck you. "Takin' him so well, sweetheart," He mused, resisting the urge to reach for your clit. "You're such a good fuckin' girl, aren't you?"

"S-Stevie," You whined, speech slurring with pleasure as you reached weakly for his hand. "Feels so... so good..."

He hummed, taking a hold of your hand, lips brushing over your knuckles. "I'll bet it does, princess. Gonna let Eds make you a mama, huh?"

"Mhm," You nodded, squeezing his hand. "A-And you too..."

Steve chuckled softly, kissing your knuckles again, more affirmatively this time. "That's right. That's my good girl."

With the combination of their filthy words and the near bruising feeling of Eddie's engorged cock prodding at your cervix, you were ashamed to admit that you were already nearing the finish line too. You desperately clenched around Eddie in an attempt to hold on, but it would seem as though the action brought him that much closer to his own end.

His rings were cold on your hot skin as one hand moved from your hip to the lower part of your stomach, applying just enough pressure to intensify the feeling of his swollen cock inside you. Your mouth fell open in a near silent cry, and Eddie couldn't help a breathless little laugh at your reaction. He just couldn't believe how adorable you were, how perfect you looked even while he was fucking you like a touch starved teenager.

"Right here," Eddie groaned, taking his lip between his teeth with a wild grin. "That's where our perfect little baby is gonna grow, right between these gorgeous fuckin' hips of yours, princess..." His inked skin glowed with sweat in the low bedroom light, and your cheeks burned.

It was in that moment that you started to realize that Eddie really must have been thinking about this for a long time-- running into a classmate of yours at work was just a convenient excuse to bring it up. Regardless, you couldn't help but be glad that he did.

"S-So close, Eds, m'close... please," You whimpered, feeling that knot begin to tighten deep within you, but in his concentration it would seem Eddie had barely registered your plea.

No matter, Steve was certainly paying close attention. He gently brushed your hair away from your face so that he could admire you properly before allowing his hand to travel down the length of your stomach, dipping in the space between you and Eddie so that he could toy with your clit. Mewling in pleasure, you gripping Steve's wrist with a shaking, white knuckled hand as your high crested over you-- you felt your walls pulsing around Eddie's thick cock as your cum seeped out around him.

It would seem that alone was enough to push Eddie finally over the edge. His fingertips bore deeply into your skin, pace of his thrusts faltering as he buried himself as deeply inside you as he could manage and shortly thereafter, you were graced with warmth and butterflies as his hot seed flooded your cunt. The deep, broken moan that fell from his lips was unlike anything you'd ever heard from him before, primal and satisfied like he'd never had an orgasm quite like this. With stilted movements he continued to fuck his seed into you for just a moment until he was absolutely positive you'd drained him dry, and only then was he able to will himself to pull out.

"Jesus, sweetheart, you drive me crazy," He huffed, catching his breath as he reached forward with his thumb and caught a stray globe of pearly white that was threatening to slip out of you, pushing it gently back into your sensitive pussy. "Can't waste a single fuckin' drop, now can we? Not 'til you're good 'n knocked up, huh?"

"E-Eds," You whimpered, jolting beneath his touch and finding yourself unable to do much more than make grabby hands at him, craving his affection.

Flopping to the bed on the other side of you, his lips brushed over your sweaty temple as he soothed, "M'right here, princess, m'not goin' anywhere."

Steve was kind enough to allow you a moment to come back to Earth before reminding you of his presence with a soft touch to your thigh. "Are you ready to go again, sweetheart?" He asked, kind words juxtaposed by the absolute carnal hunger in his eyes, pupils blown wide as he soaked in the pretty sight of Eddie's seed leaking from your cunt.

Just the sight of him hovering over you, careful hands spreading you open by your shaking thighs was more than enough to reignite the flame in your core, bringing a renewed wave of need. You nodded lazily, reaching for his hand.

Steve laced his fingers in yours. "Use your words, princess."

"I-I'm ready, Stevie," You sighed with a sweet smile, your hips working off of a mind of their own as you bucked gently toward him. "Want your cum... n-need it so bad..."

You almost could have sworn you saw his eyes roll back into his head in pure bliss at the sound of those words leaving your lips. In no need of any further convincing, Steve softly kneaded your quivering thigh in his large hand before taking his woefully hard cock in the other, lining himself up with your entrance in a way which took special care to push any stray seed of Eddie's back into you. Your head fell back with a quiet whine, already sensitive from having came already, but equally so your mouth was watering and you could hardly think coherently through the thick fog of need that clouded your fucked out brain.

Steve drove into you as carefully as he could manage in his eagerness, cognizant of your sensitivity but all too anxious to give it all to you. As he bottomed out inside of your slick cunt his eyes screwed shut, almost overwhelmed by the feeling of your cum-soaked walls pulling him in. 

He groaned deeply, hips snapping impatiently forward. "S-Six..." He muttered, perhaps to himself, but the utterance did not go unnoticed by you or Eddie.

"Huh?" You mewled, squeezing his hand as you rocked on the bed. "Stevie?"

"Six," He said more clearly now. "I've always wanted six... six cute little terrors, and you're gonna be their mama, huh?"

"Six?" You gasped, but were quickly subdued by the pleasure of his thick cock rutting deeply inside of you, threatening closer to your cervix.

Eddie chuckled. "We could handle it. I mean, we've had plenty of practice."

Now it was you squeezing your eyes shut, head lazily shaking back and forth on the mattress. "Uh-uh," You moaned. "T-That's... s'too many..."

"Jus' think about it," Steve grinned. "Three boys, three girls. Toy cars and princess tea parties, road trips in Eddie's van..."

"S'too much," You slurred, though at this point neither Steve nor Eddie could tell if you were still referring to the six kids thing or if you were just getting overstimulated. They silently figured both were possibly true.

Eddie smoothed your hair away from your forehead. "Doin' so well for us, princess. Just a little longer, m'kay? Stevie's gonna take good care of you."

Tears pricked at your eyes as your second high of the night continued approaching all too quickly. Every last movement Steve made pushed you closer and closer to the edge, beckoning you to finish once more, and it felt so horrifically good that it almost hurt. You could hardly think straight, unintelligible moans tumbling from your lips as you squeezed Steve's hand like he'd disappear if you let go.

"Don't fight it," Steve said breathlessly, squeezing your hand in return as an acknowledgement of your inability to speak up. "Just cum for me, honey, just let go and cum for me..."

His words alone sent shivers down the length of you that glittered and bloomed at the base of your spine and brought your legs together, inadvertently pulling him deeper into you as you cried out and gushed over his hard cock. Your whole body shaking, you hardly even noticed that your free hand was reaching for Eddie's.

"Aww... you're okay, you're alright," Eddie cooed, taking your hand while Steve continued to rut into you, though it was evident he wasn't far from his end, either. "You still with us, pumpkin?" Eddie checked in.

It took you a second to fully process what he'd asked of you, but once you did, you nodded hazily.

"That's my girl, all fucked out and dumb," He praised. "Aren't you just the cutest, hm?"

Eddie brought your hand to his lips, pressing a sweet kiss to your knuckles, and when you pulled his hand towards yourself he expected you would return the affection-- instead, you took his thick middle and ring fingers into your mouth as if to pacify yourself.

He nearly came again at that motion alone.

Steve, who watched this exchange occur with lust-blown eyes, drove into your cunt hard, white knuckling your hips as his jaw dropped in a jagged moan and he emptied his seed as deeply inside you as he could physically manage. For a moment he couldn't bring himself to pull out, rocking into you just a few more gentle times as if to fuck it further in. You were a quivering, whining mess at the hand of his ministrations.

Once he had properly descended back to Earth from his high, Steve leaned down to kiss the blushing bridge of your nose, and then Eddie's ringed knuckles that rested just before your lips. You blinked absently, tears bubbling in your lashes, but even so you couldn't help but smile at how sweet they could be in the aftermath of acts that would reasonably deny you entry into heaven.

"You're so good for us, sweetheart," Steve mused, steadying you by your waist as he unsheathed himself from you, slowly so as not to waste any of their seed. "I can't wait for us to have our own family."

You sucked softly at Eddie's fingers, gazing up at Steve with hazy doe eyes that wordlessly pleaded for him to join you on the bed. Typically he would make you say what you wanted out loud, but neither of them felt the need to bother tonight. After all, you were gifting them something they couldn't get from anyone else, something they only wanted from you.

Catching his breath, Steve brushed his hair away from his face and laid on the other side of you, drawing your shaking body into his warm chest. Eddie scratched your back lovingly as Steve played with your soft hair.

A few moments of comfortable silence passed while you all regained proper consciousness, but that silence was broken by Eddie.

"I hope it’s a boy.”

"A boy?" You gasped, turning over your shoulder to look at him with raised eyebrows. "Like there aren't enough of you already?"

#venustext #sintext #stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie x reader #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x reader #steve harrington x eddie munson x reader #steddie smut #steve harrington smut #eddie munson smut

[ghosthunterbuck]

the most important thing

(pre-buddie) (862 words) (7x06 spec) what are weddings for, if not completely ignoring the fact that you're in love with your best friend

It’s a glance, at first. And then a longer look, when he’s sure no one’s looking back. It’s the slope of Buck’s shoulders that catches Eddie’s eye.

There’s an ease there that he hasn’t seen before. An ease he’s never really felt himself, either. And a part of him wonders – is it really that simple? He tightens his grip on Marisol’s waist and spins her around, smiles at the high peal of laughter she lets loose into the cool evening air.

Eddie allows his eyes to drift, following the line of Buck’s shoulder down his arm and to his hand. He watches Buck’s thumb pull slowly across Tommy’s jaw, sees the way Tommy’s mouth ticks up into a small smile, like his lips are following the motion.

He drags his eyes away then, feeling like he’s intruding on something.

“Oh, I think I need a minute,” Marisol gasps as the song comes to an end.

“Me too,” Eddie says with a chuckle. “Can I grab you something?” He gestures vaguely towards the refreshments table.

“Some water,” she says, punctuating her request with a soft kiss pressed into the corner of his mouth, “would be wonderful.”

Eddie smiles and fights the ever-present urge to wipe the kiss away. “Water. You got it.”

Buck finds him trying to balance a cookie between two cups and takes it from him with a grin. “You can come back for it, you know?” he asks with a teasing sparkle in his eye.

“You’re just jealous your date’s not bringing you a cookie,” Eddie replies.

Buck’s grin grows even wider. “My date,” he says, “is braving the bar for me.” He tilts his head towards the throng of people crowding around the single bartender.

“Alright,” Eddie laughs, “Tommy wins. You’ve got a better date than Marisol does.”

“Eh, don’t sell yourself short.” Buck bumps his shoulder into Eddie’s, a familiar gesture that makes him feel warm, even on a chilly spring night. “He hasn’t asked me to move in with him yet.”

“Bet he hasn’t asked you to move out, either.” Eddie says wryly.

Buck’s eyebrows shoot up. “You—”

“Yeah,” Eddie interrupts. “But we didn’t—we’re just going to take things a little slower.”

“Slower,” Buck repeats. “Yeah, that’s – that’s probably not a bad thing.”

“I think it’s good,” Eddie says. “I think—I never give myself enough time, you know? Even with Shannon—we hardly knew each other when we first got together, and then—”

“I get it,” Buck says softly, and Eddie knows he does.

“I just need to get to her, really get to know her. I think… I need us to be friends before we can really be something else.”

Buck’s expression changes into one Eddie doesn’t know how to read and he swallows. “Yeah, that’s—friends. It’s a good idea. It’s—that’s the most important thing, isn’t it?” It’s not a rhetorical question, Eddie can tell.  It sounds more like some kind of revelation.

Eddie glances over Buck’s shoulder and sees Tommy on his way back, a drink in each hand. He returns his gaze to Buck. “I think it is,” he says softly. He nods in Tommy’s direction, then turns to head back towards Marisol.

He doesn’t remember the cookie until he’s nearly back to her side.

“What were you to talking about?” Marisol asks after taking a long sip of water.

“Just—tonight. The wedding,” Eddie answers, and it almost feels true. He takes a sip of his drink and allows his eyes to wander again.

“I’m glad it all came together,” Marisol says. She takes his hand, and Eddie tries to ignore the way he immediately wants to pull it away.

“Me too,” Eddie replies. “It was touch and go for a minute, there.”

“It’s a good thing you had an extra suit,” Marisol says, playfulness in her voice. “And a brand new one, no less! Did you have a special occasion in mind?”

Eddie grimaces. “I’ve had it for a while, actually. Just, never got around to taking the tags off.”

“Well, I’m glad you finally did. You look wonderful in it.”

“Thanks,” Eddie says. The skin beneath his collar starts to crawl.

Across the dance floor, Eddie watches Buck laugh, then tuck his face into Tommy’s neck. A part of him is jealous, Eddie realizes. Of the easy way they touch, of the comfort that’s settled between them with just a few drinks to aid it on its way. It’s not a feeling he knows, not like that. He’d like to, though. He turns back to Marisol.

“What’s your favorite movie?” he asks.

She furrows her brow. “My favorite movie?”

“We said we were going to take it slower, right?”

Marisol nods. “We did.”

“Well,” Eddie asks, letting go of her hand so he can spread his apart, “what’s slower than a first date question?”

Marisol covers her mouth and laughs. “Fair enough,” she says. “Ask me again.”

Eddie puts his drink down and looks her in the eye. “Marisol,” he asks, “what’s your favorite movie?”

Inexplicably, he finds himself thinking that, if it were Buck sitting here across from him, he wouldn’t have to ask.

#far too much happened for me to process a coda #so please have some wedding spec instead #911 #911 spoilers #911fic #911 fic #buddie #buddie fic #bucktommy #and technically eddie/marisol BUT IS IT REALLY #abbie writes #fic

[littlexscarletxwitch]

Hi I would like to request Florence Pugh X reader where reader is Florence's brothers best friend and is secretly sneaking around with her. They fall in love and then someone catches them making out or something. Toby finds out about them and he's pissed at reader but she tells him how much she loves Flo and they end up together. Happy ending pleaseee

Love your work <3

── ༊*·˚⋆ 𝗽𝗶𝗻𝗸𝘆 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗺𝗶𝘀𝗲

paring: florence pugh x fem!reader

tag(s): best friend's sister trope, fluff with a tiny bit of angst, secret relationship, toby and r are besties, raffie is just there for the drama lol

warning(s): allusion of sex, lying, grammatical errors, unedited

word count: 2.0k

note: YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH I LOVE THIS TROPE (like ASKJSHDKSKERJAKJDLADJ). Thank you for this request, you lovely person, I hope you like it! I'm not a native english speaker, so please let me know about any sort of mistake. Hope you all enjoy. Lots of love, M <3

requests are open! + check my rules + masterlist <3

You were currently laying on her chest, listening to her steady heartbeat, as she traced small circles on your naked back. 

"This is nice," you hummed. Eyes closed, enjoying every second of it. 

"Yes, it is," Florence agreed, smiling to herself as she watched you drifting off to sleep. 

But suddenly a loud knocking, startled the both of you, breaking the bubble the two of you were wrapped in. 

"Hey, Flossie. Have you seen my yellow shirt? The one that Arabella got me," Toby said as he opened the door, your heart skipping a beat at the realisation: your best friend was about to walk in to you and Florence, his sister. "I can't find it—." 

Florence's hand was fast enough to cover up your mouth before a sound came out of it. 

"Toby, no! I'm naked!" Florence yelled, which was true. But she was more concerned about Toby finding you there, in her room, more than seeing her naked. 

Actually, it was a double concern since you were also naked and laying next to her. With just one look at the two of you, Toby would figure out everything the both of you had tried really hard to hide from him these past 3 months. 

"Oh, Jesus," said Toby, quickly covering his eyes, luckily without noticing you were also there. "I'm sorry, but have you seen it?" he tried again. 

"Get out of here!" 

"Alright, fine," his eyes were covered, but you were pretty sure he had just rolled his eyes at his sister. "Just let me know if you see it," he said before closing the door. 

The two of you stayed in silence for a few minutes, waiting for him to be really gone. The breath you had been holding finally escaped past your lips once you didn't hear Toby's footsteps anymore. 

“Is he gone?” you asked in a whisper. 

“I think he is gone.”

“I don’t hear him anymore.”

“Yeah, I think we are good.”

“You think so?”

“I think so.”

Once the two of you were sure Toby was long gone, you felt your body finally relaxed into Florence’s arms. 

“That was a close one,” she whispered, afraid that Toby would hear the both of you somehow.

“Yeah, I think we should tell him,” you turned to her. “Don’t you think?”

“I, um, I don’t know, Y/n. It’s kinda complicated,” she said, scratching the back of her neck.

“I know, but he’s only going to get angrier if we let more time pass by.”

“I just I don’t think we should tell him if we aren’t really sure that this is not just us hooking up, you know?” she regretted ever saying that as soon as the last word left her lips.

“You think we are just hooking up?” disbelief filled your tone. 

“No, that’s not what I meant. I just—.”

“Jesus, Florence!” you scoffed.  “You could have told me that I was just your ‘fuck buddy’,” you said getting up from the bed and putting your clothes on. 

“No, Y/n! I swear I didn’t mean it like that,” she said, standing up and putting on an oversized t-shirt as quickly as she could. “I just– I don’t know how you feel about me, about us,” she gestured to the two of you, desperate to explain herself before you walk out the door. “I just got insecure and over-thought things for a second. Just let me rephrase it, okay?” she said, reaching out for you.

You just let her take your hand, leading the both of you to sit on the unmade bed, and you waited in silence for her explanation.

She took a deep breath and finally let out the words she had been holding back these past months: “I really like you, okay?” she chuckled, but there was no trace of fun. “No, that’s not it. I think I might be in love with you,” she confessed her heart out to you.

“Really?” 

“Yes, really!” a thin smile formed on her perfect soft lips. “I didn't want to tell Toby because I thought that if he were to find out about this… about us, then you wouldn’t want to be with me anymore. I didn’t want to lose you,” she licked her lips. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Your lips opened and closed, unsure of what to say next, but wanting nothing else but to comfort her.

“I think I might be in love with you too,” you said once you found the words, biting your bottom lip, in a failed attempt to stop you from smiling. 

“You think?” she asked hopefully.

“Oh, no. I don't think so. I am sure of it,” you giggled, a soft red hue creeping over your cheeks. “I've had the biggest crush on you for years now. So yeah… there's that,” you looked down at your feet, unable to meet her eyes.

It took Florence a full second to jump on top of you, causing the both of you to fall on the mattress. She, somehow, wrapped her arms around your body, holding you tightly against her and started to leave soft wet kisses all over your face.

“Okay then, we tell him alright?” she said once she was done kissing you.

You nodded, a smile forming on your lips, “We tell him,” you said before taking her lips in between yours.

[...]

The both of you lied, unintentionally that is. Too caught up in your own little world, neither of you realised that two weeks had passed since your agreement and Toby was still clueless about you, his best friend, dating his sister. But lies have short legs.

“You’re so pretty,” you mumbled on Florence's lips in between kisses. 

“You're prettier,”  she whispered. 

“Flo, anyone could walk in any second,” but still your lips wouldn’t dare to leave hers.

“Just five more minutes,” she said, as her hand slipped under your shirt. 

Your back arched like a cat against the couch. It was comfortable really, the two of you, pretty much dry humping, on the tiny couch. But she somehow made it work, all because she wanted some time along for the two of you. 

“So this is what you two are up to,” you heard someone say. 

“Shit.”

“Fuck.”

“I knew it,” Raffie smiled to herself. “I fucking knew it!” She was now clapping and laughing, as if she had been told the funniest joke ever.

“Raffie, not too loud,” you said, trying to keep her quiet. 

“Shut it!” Florence said, annoyed at her little sister.

“Raffie?” but it was too late. “What are you laughing at?” you heard Toby said before walking into the living room. You watched his smile drop once he had a full picture of the three of you. 

“Toby, I…” you tried, but the words wouldn’t come out. 

“Why are you on top of her?” he asked Florence. Toby knew the reason why, but he had to ask. “Y/n, why is my sister on top of you?”

“Tobes, I swear it’s not that big of a deal, okay?” Florence jumped in. 

“My sister and my best friend…” you prepared yourself for the worst. “...had been lying to me,” and then you realised that nothing could have prepared you for that. Because Toby didn’t look angry, or resentful, or furious. He looked hurt, disappointed, confused and heartbroken.

“Toby, please just—,” his sister tried to speak.

“I don’t care that you two have been fucking around, that’s your bussines,” he said bitterly. “I care that you two lied, and only God knows for how long,” he muttered, storming off. 

“Oh, shit,” Raffie couldn’t help herself, getting a glare from her sister. “Right, sorry.”

“No, fuck that,” you run after him. “Toby! Toby, wait up.”

“Y/n, wait” Florence said, now running after the two of you. 

“Okay, I won’t miss this,” Raffie said, quickly following her sister.

“Just hear me out, okay?” you said, once you got ahead of him, making it impossible for him to leave. Actually, he could leave if he wanted to, he was stronger than you, all the times the two of you would play ‘fight’ when kids had proven it to you. But he stayed. 

“Okay,” you said, swallowing the lump that had formed on your throat. “Remember all the teasing, the jokes, the comments about me liking Florence?” you waited for him to answer but he only nodded. “Well, it was all true, Tobes. I really like her, I have for a while now,” you smiled. “No, fuck that, I love her, okay?”

Florence felt her tummy sink, she had to get used to hearing you say that you loved her. 

“Yes!” Raffie cheered to herself. 

“I didn’t tell you about us, because I didn’t want you to be upset. But now I realise that lying to you was a shitty thing to do. 

“Really shitty,” he nodded. 

“I’m really sorry that I lied to you. You are my best friend, I shouldn't be keeping secrets from you. I don’t want to lose you, Tobes,” you huffed, tears burning your eyes. “I really am sorry.”

After what felt like an eternity of silence, he spoke up. “You won’t lose me, Y/n,” he breathed out. “I get it, you like her,” he huffed. “Of all the people you could have had, you chose her,” he said, rolling his eyes, but there was a tint of mischief in his voice. 

“Hey! I’m here,” Florence pretended to sound hurt, but she was glad Toby was giving in.

He glared at her, before counting. “Still, it doesn't make up for the lying.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Just promise me you won’t lie to me ever again, okay?”

“I won’t, I promise,” you quickly nodded. “I pinky promise,” you said, raising your finger.

He looked down at your finger while a smile was forming on his lips, he remembered the first the two of you made that kind of promise: he was 6 and you were about 5, at first he had laughed at you; but then he realised how much it meant to you, and then he understood that you would always keep to your promises. It became your thing. The small gesture warmed his heart because he knew that this time it wouldn’t be any different than before. 

He looked back up at you, and after he playfully rolled his eyes at you, he hooked his finger with yours. Once the pact was sealed, you wrapped your arms around him, holding him tightly against your body. 

“I love you, Tobes. I’m really sorry that I lied to you,” you whispered into his shirt. 

“Love you too, Y/n,” he said, placing a kiss on the top of your head. “Now, get out of here,” he said, carefully pushing you away and toward Florence. “I need a drink, you guys want a drink?” he said, making his way inside the house, not really expecting an answer. 

“Well…” Florence said, wrapping her arms around your waist, as you placed yours on her shoulders. “That wasn’t as bad as it could have been,” she chuckled. 

“Yeah, I guess so,” you smiled at her before connecting your lips to hers, but stopped once you heard some clearing their throat. 

The both of you looked at the source of the noise, “Too soon?” Florence joked. 

“Oh, shit, sorry,” you quickly mumbled. 

“No, it’s okay. I will have to get used to this eventually,” Toby said, gesturing to the two of you. Before taking his final step inside the house, he looked at you with a stern look. “She’s my sister, if you hurt her I’ll deal with you” he then looked at Florence. “She’s my best friend, same thing goes for you.”

You, kind of, expected that ultimate at some point, but not for Florence to receive the same one.

“What?” he said as he realised how confused the two of you looked. “I care about the two of you, okay? Don’t fuck it up,” he, sarcastically, smiled and finally left your sight. 

“Well, that was… interesting. But now it’s over so I’m bored again,” Raffie said. “You guys want to watch a movie?”

The both of you looked at her and burst into laughter, relief washing over the two of you.

Likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated! <3

-M

#florence pugh #florence pugh x reader #florence pugh x fem reader #florence pugh x you #florence pugh x y/n #florence pugh imagine #best friend's sister trope ft toby lol #littlexscarletxwitch's fic #requests by lovely anons ‘๑’