#dollface fanfic

[sassykattery]

Dollface, Pt 10

We are nearing the end... what will she choose?

CW: MC is afab, uses she/her pronouns. Smut: piv, multiple rounds and creampie, breeding kink (but no mention of offspring), size difference, f! receiving penetration. Passion/romance driven sex. Hair pulling. Explicit mentions of male and female genitalia.

The main character is afab, uses she/her pronouns. This story is meant to be somewhat curvy/plus-sized reader insert, but the main character is given a physical description, but it's not crucial to the story or mentioned often after Part 1.

Characters: Main Character. Diavolo. Mammon. Satan. Beel. Belphie. Levi. Asmo. Lucifer. Barbatos.

Themes: Romance. Magic. Adventure. Sex. Smut. Diavolo x fem! MC.

Minors and ageless blogs DNI

18+ only

Masterlist

Enjoy

Diavolo got up from the master's cabin on the plane. He remembered waking up briefly as his human lover came to bed late in the night, but his bed was empty when he woke. Curious, he looked around the rest of the cabin, still finding the rest of the brothers scattered around as they slept. It was only when he reached the far end of the plane that he found her sleeping on Lucifer's lap. He was surprised, to be sure, but he merely stood there for a moment, watching. There would be most certainly a conversation later about this, and he quietly snapped a picture on his D.D.D. to remember, and to refute any sense of denial.

"I have always wanted to go to Japan, I'm excited," she replied to Diavolo as he helped her down the steps off the plane. He nodded and smiled.

"Well, I'm happy to be the one to take you," he replied. He then leaned down and whispered into her ear. "I'd be happy to take you to all the places your heart desires. Anything you want is yours, my heart." She received a kiss on the temple as he stood straight and escorted her to the fleet of black cars waiting for them.

"Wait! Why don't we get to ride with her?" Mammon griped as he saw Diavolo helping the woman into the car. He noticed it was a much smaller one only meant for two. Diavolo merely smiled and Lucifer shot a glare towards his younger brother as he walked by to the next car in line.

"Stop whining," Lucifer snapped as he got in. Mammon groaned and stepped into the same one, with all the brothers getting into the other cars.

"Wow," the woman rasped as she craned her neck back, gazing upon the towering hotel across from her as Diavolo helped her out of their car.

"I love seeing your expressions..." Diavolo murmured. "You're truly an adorable being."

She turned her head to look up at Diavolo next. "You said this is yours?"

"Indeed. I own the Corvo Hotel franchise," he explained, walking her into the front lobby. The footman bowed to Diavolo and his partner as they walked in and proceeded to take their bags without a single word exchanged. Her brows raised, and she was quickly seeing the power Diavolo held at work. The Demon Lord continued to escort her into the hotel lobby, and she was stunned by the interior design and architecture. She tried to keep her mouth from being slack as she looked around. The ornate designs and modern touches definitely appealed to her, and Diavolo happily bathed in the awe and pleasure she radiated.

Once up in the penthouse, Diavolo showed her around. There were several bedrooms, bathrooms, a gorgeous gourmet kitchen, stunning dining and living areas, and an unbeatable view of the city below. She walked along the wall of windows in the living room, looking out into the beautiful scenery. However, she still listened carefully as the other guests moved throughout the space. She heard the various baritone and tenor voices talking or arguing about their spaces and occasionally looked over her shoulder as the demons moved about the area.

They really are like a family, she thought.

Looking back out the windows, she felt a warm hand on her shoulder followed by the familiar scent she'd become accustomed to as a sign of comfort. Diavolo leaned down and murmured in her ear, "There's someone I'd like you to meet."

Slowly, she turned as Diavolo slid his arm around her shoulders. Before her stood a tall but slender man in traditional-looking robes. His skin was ivory with dull green hair that had a bright turquoise ombré to the ends. His eyes matched his hair, and they glittered with repose under the lights. He was the epitome of class and refinement.

"Hello, my name is Barbatos. It is lovely to meet you, my lady," the man stated, coming closer and placing his hand on his sternum as he bowed.

"Oh," she murmured, her brows raising. "It's... it's wonderful to meet you too. Diavolo told me a lot about you and... I felt like it was important to meet someone so prominent in his life," she replied.

"My master is too kind," Barbatos answered. "I was looking forward to meeting the young woman who charmed my lord into submission. After all these millennia, I obviously still cannot get him to stay in one place, as much as I would like and have asked him to. You'll have to tell me your secrets."

Her eyes widened further. "Oh um, no I–" she started to stammer, and Diavolo laughed heartily at her reaction.

"She is rather special, Barbatos," Diavolo stated in a cheeky tone. "I think you're right. No one quite has a hold of me like she does." He then turned to look at her more. "He means that I tend to get into some trouble even when attended to. He's impressed you've kept me in check for this long." The blush splashing her neck and chest was rather obvious to her thoughts. "Well, in the way you're thinking... he would be incorrect," he added with a suggestive edge to his voice.

"I think you're flustering the poor girl," Lucifer said as he walked by with a suitcase, disappearing again.

"Indeed. Might we sit and talk?" Barbatos suggested. "I've made tea and cookies."

Diavolo nodded and guided the human woman to sit as Barbatos brought over the snacks. The prince sat next to his lover, across from Barbatos.

It was the beginning of a very long explanation as to what happened to Diavolo. She was impressed by how little the butler's expression changed as they spoke. Occasionally, his brow or the corner of his mouth would twitch more than anything.

"My lord, while I appreciate that you've been able to relax and find peace within mortal living, I do have to urge you to return to your duties as soon as possible. It has been a task and a half to keep everything going in your absence. While it's not hard to run things, I can only keep dignitaries and the nobledemons at bay for so long before they start to spread rumor of an unoccupied throne," Barbatos explained, setting his cup down. He then looked to her. "And what of you, my lady? What are your plans?"

She sat there in silence and thought about it. "I haven't decided yet. I wanted to come meet you and visit with you all a little longer before I did," she answered softly.

The butler nodded and sighed. "I suppose that's fair. At the latest, we must all return to the Devildom within three days. That gives us time to finish our tasks in the human world, and hopefully enough time for you."

She slowly nodded in agreement wordlessly, feeling apprehensive about a three day deadline. Barbatos bowed his head and stood, collecting the dishes.

"Please feel free to ask anything of me, my lady," the butler added before walking away.

Diavolo looked down at his partner and felt his own smile fall. He didn't like the sullen look on her face, so he took her hand as he stood.

"I'd like to show you something," he murmured, gently pulling her to her feet. She followed him quietly, past all the doors in the penthouse until they reached the end of the hallway.

Once inside, he led her in and she looked around the master bedroom. It was as grand as the rest of the penthouse, if not more so. The windows on the walls went from floor to ceiling, the Alaskan king bed was on a platform with lowlights, and the floors were a brilliant marble with comfortable rugs scattered around. He then led her to another door in the room and simply gestured his hand toward it. She opened it and gasped when she entered the walk-in closet big enough to be a living room filled to the brim with clothes, shoes, handbags, suitcases, jewelry, and accessories. It wasn't just Diavolo's things, like the suits and loafers clearly suiting his tastes. There were gowns, power suits, heels, clothes with name brands she'd never dream of touching.

"Who's is this?" She asked a little skeptically, drawing closer to the women's clothing. She didn't want to assume, but then why else would he bring her?

"Mine. Yours. Ours," he murmured, coming up behind her and placing his hands on her hips.

She reached up and found everything still had tags on them, and upon closer inspection they were all her size.

"I told you I would repay you for your kindnesses. This is just the start. I had everything custom ordered just for you," he explained, looking up at his work and then back down at the top of her head. "You deserve so much more, and I plan to give it to you."

She was quiet as she took it all in. After a few minutes, she finally turned to face the prince.

"You didn't really have to go through all the trouble. I mean... we're together," she tried to explain.

"I did need to, and I will continue to do so. Darling, I want to take care of you. I see how you deny yourself the pleasure and comfort of luxury... yet you crave it," he purred to her. He sank to his knee to be eye-level with her. "It's a noble thing, to be sure, to be so modest, but... with me, you can indulge. You can have what your heart craves. You don't have to deny yourself when you're with me. You can have everything."

Her heart was pounding with his words, her mind racing with contradicting thoughts. She nearly felt sick from how excited her body had become. But then Diavolo pulled her closer and cupped her cheek.

"I know it's a lot. I know I am a lot. But I tell you all of this so you don't feel as conflicted in your decisions. When it comes to your desires, they are as much yours as they are mine. Whatever it is you choose, I'll make it work. Whatever you want... I'll make it happen," he further stated. Tears pooled in her eyes, and he clicked his tongue while smiling and wiping her tears as they fell. "I love you."

"I love you... and thank you," she replied.

He nodded and leaned in for a kiss. She instantly reciprocated by deepening the kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck. His lips curled into a smile, and he gripped her waist in his large hands, pulling her in closer. Carefully, he detached from the kiss and pulled her into an embrace as he reached behind her for something. She felt his shoulders moving around her head, and when he pulled back to look at her, he was pulling around the pendant of a necklace he clasped around her neck. She looked down and saw a beautiful Y-shaped diamond chain with a rather sizeable pear-shaped diamond pendent at the end.

"My dream is to bathe you in my riches and love..." he murmured, looking down at the necklace as he still knelt before her. "As I said, I know this is a lot, and please don't feel like this is a bribe to sway you in my favor. But know you'll lack nothing with me. Beyond the riches and clothes, you'll always own my heart, and there will never again be another like you for me."

She brought her hand up, much smaller than his, to gather the necklace into her palm and bring it up to look at it. It was clear this was no average necklace. The weight alone told her this was worth more than the house she lived in with her parents.

Diavolo saw the look on her face as she inspected the piece of jewelry. "It's not wrong to want these things, my love. You're allowed to want a certain lifestyle for yourself." He then bent his index finger and took the knuckle beneath her chin to raise her gaze to his. "I'm more than willing to give you that life or any life you want. You can be my princess or simply mine, no title necessary. If the royal life is too much, then you won't worry about it. But... if it's something you might be interested in, I'm happy to share it with you. Just know you have options as well. Loving me and choosing me won't mean you're stuck."

It was still several minutes before she reacted to everything he'd presented to her. He could tell she was thinking very deeply about everything, to which, he was glad. Diavolo wanted this to be her decision and her decision only. He was happy with whatever he could do for her. She looked around the closet and then back at her prince. He waited for her; he'd wait a thousand years for her because the truth was, he'd already waited this long for her... his entire life, that is.

Finally, she nodded and kissed him again, wrapping her arms around his neck again and beginning to sink downward. He wrapped his arms around her waist as he brought his second knee down to the floor, pulling her to straddle his lap.

The sound of fabric moving and soft moans and sighs filled the room as they started to undress each other. As much as they felt the need to make this a quick and needy fuck, simultaneously, they didn't. And for this time, they took it slower.

Using his suit jacket, he balled it up and placed it beneath her head. He was much more tender this time, placing gentle and slow kisses across the span of her chest and up her neck. She refused to spare any caresses for him and stroked his internal inferno in the way only she knew how. Their hands worked in tandem to bring each other greater pleasure and a little teasing, too. Her soft, small, delicate hands worked his inhuman sized cock, while his giant hands carefully worked to stretch her out on his fingers.

After a few looks of unspoken but clear approval and consent, he helped support her back by sliding his arm beneath her rear and lifting her hips up. He knelt in front of her with his legs tucked beneath himself as he pulled her thighs up and around his hips. Guiding his leaking cock into her entrance, they both groaned with little shame. He gave a few slow and deep thrusts followed by softened grinding to truly stretch her out, and she was squirming and writhing with pleasure in mere seconds.

"Are you comfortable?" His question came out in a murmur. She focused for a moment on his gaze and finally shook her head, no.

He snapped his fingers and swept her up into his arms. She was in awe of the grace and strength he had to pick her up from laying down all the way to his feet to carry her, all while keeping her sheathed on his dick, over to the black velvet settee that appeared. He laid her back with her head on the decorative matching pillow.

She sighed and smiled as her back and hips relaxed again, and Diavolo could feel it in the way she melted with him. Keeping one foot planted on the floor and the other tucked beneath him while sitting on the settee, he began rocking his hips back and forth with his hands back on her waist, smiling and groaning. "There's my girl. You feel so good every time for me," he murmured, nearly in a trance from being pussydrunk.

"Mm, Diavolo," she moaned his name, and he swore no one could be more worthy to say it than her.

His gaze fell back to hers, and he took in the whole scene before him before the corner of his lips curled up. "I believe this is the most beautiful I've ever seen you look: naked, on my cock, and dripping with diamonds," he stated breathlessly. He left the necklace on her and realized, indeed, he wanted to cover her body in gold, silver, platinum, rhodium, diamonds, rubies, whatever he could get his hands on and she would accept from him. There was a certain pride he felt in looking down at her like this. Never again would there be a soul and vessel quite like this.

And to her, she could see all of these thoughts and emotions as she gazed into his eyes. The deeply profound desire and love he held in his expression made her heart melt and core throb. He could say the same with how she looked at him, always so eager yet tender, downright debauched but always loving. Every fiber of his being wanted to explode with all the feelings and sensations, but all he could do instead was use that energy into making love to her. His thrusts became slower and deeper. His hips rolled with precision. He slung her leg over his elbow and leaned in to press deeper.

"D-Dia!" She whined as he started to reach that deep spot inside her. The head of his cock began tapping that spot and she saw stars burst in her vision as her orgasm came on so quickly. "Oh fuck!" She screamed out. A rush of her release flowed out, drenching his dick and flowing down her ass.

"That's it, that's my baby," she heard him grunt, his own brows pinched as he fought to stave off his own orgasm but continue to deliver hers. The pleasure was so immense he even moaned louder, his eyes squeezing shut. "Fuck..."

"Where'd the lovebirds go?" Mammon asked, looking around the living room where his brothers all sat. Levi, Beel, and Belphie all watched the giant flat-screen television mounted above the fireplace while Lucifer and Satan read quietly. Asmo was doing his nails at the coffee table.

"I saw Diavolo take her to the master suite a little bit ago. She looked a bit tired," Lucifer answered. Everyone paused and glanced over at the eldest, but he chose to ignore their questioning gazes.

"Ooo, I bet they're having sex now–" Asmo chirped, finishing the top coat.

"Asmo," Lucifer warned, rolling his eyes.

"I mean, they've been quiet. Maybe they did take a nap," Satan mused, turning a page in his book.

Belphie finally looked around as well. "Shouldn't we be preparing to go home? Why would Diavolo be napping?"

"I mean, what's the rush? It's nice here," Mammon quickly tried to steer that conversation in a different direction.

"No, Belphie is correct. We ought to be making arrangements for home," Lucifer answered with a sigh, folding his papers and setting them down. He stood and began walking toward the main hallway of the penthouse, and his brothers began to follow.

"Yes baby, cum inside me again!"

All seven came to a halt, stunned by what they heard coming from the end of the hall.

"... Maybe they did not, in fact, take a nap..." Satan deadpannned, walking away immediately.

"So they are having sex! I knew it. I bet they're so hot together. I just want to–" Asmo started to rejoice until Barbatos grabbed his outstretched hand that was heading toward the doorknob to the master suite.

"I highly suggest you not act so impulsively, Asmodeus. You would embarrass her and disturb both my lord and the young lady," Barbatos explained tersely.

"Oh, but Barbatos!" Asmo whined fruitlessly as the butler dragged him away, the rhythmic pounding of the headboard fading.

Diavolo huffed as he ground himself deeper into her. This was their third consecutive round, and he wasn't quite used to going this long with her. It was a happy surprise, to be sure. Sweat was building in his hair, a slight sheen forming across his muscular body and glimmering below the lights of the room. He moved them to the bedroom for more comfort after realizing that even she wasn't quite done after just two rounds on the settee.

"My sweet love," he groaned, feeling the ache and fire swirling in his abdomen. "You'll be the death of me." His head was next to hers as he laid on top of her, his body practically covering hers. Both her legs were laid over his inner elbows, only giving her the deepest thrusts. He barely pulled back before thrusting forward deeply and grinding the head of his cock against that sweet spot all the way back. His kisses were sloppy yet sweet against her face, neck, and shoulders.

But so long as she wanted to keep going, enjoying every pleasure he had to offer her, loving every orgasm she was brought to, he wouldn't stop. He felt the overwhelming desire to keep going even longer than that, but at the end of the day, her pleasure is all that mattered to him.

However, he didn't anticipate his thoughts starting to wander as he made love to her. He didn't expect to start doubting their moments together. It was eating at him until he finally chose to speak up.

"I can't be apart from you, my love. I... I can't give this up," he murmured in her ear. He lifted his head back and looked at her with a painfully serious expression. "I... I love you too much. To not have this... to not have you, I wouldn't be complete. I can't live without you. If I go back home without you... it won't be home to me." He looked up at her, his eyes all glassy with emotion. "You are my home, love."

"Oh honey..." she murmured, cupping his cheek. They stopped moving and held still as they gazed at one another.

"My love, I will respect your decision no matter what, but... please don't stay. Come with me. I want you at my side," he pleaded with her. He propped himself up on an elbow, caressing her face and neck.

She chewed on her lip and looked askance. "I... I'm just scared," she confessed. "I don't know what it's like and... I'm not naive, Diavolo. A place full of demons isn't exactly a place for someone like me, is it?"

"I'll make a place for you, at my side, my heart. You'll have the protection of me and the seven brothers. But, you're right; the Devildom is not the best place for a human right now, but I have dreams to make it hospitable to anyone who comes into my domain. This includes you. I want to share my home with you," he answered, all the fondness and love in his eyes for her.

"But... I won't live forever," she added as well. He shifted and nodded, knowing this was another valid concern.

"I know that, my love. That's what makes every moment so precious with you. I cherish every minute of our time because it's far more valuable than anything else I'll have possession of," he replied. "And... we can discuss that more when the time comes."

She sat there with what he had said for several minutes. At the end of it all, she knew he was sincere. She knew he'd take care of her, treat her well, and protect her. Everything he'd said so far, at her core, she was convinced he could do. She was just so afraid of the unknown, the uncertain, that it made her hesitate. But... when she looked up into his golden gaze, she couldn't deny herself, or him, in this moment. All she found was love and honesty in his expression.

It was enough for her.

"Dia..." she murmured. He froze a bit, looking down at her when he heard the serious tone she used. "I'll go. I'll come with you."

His eyes widened, and he looked almost taken aback. "Y-You will?" He stammered, his pitch high. "You will?" He asked again, this time regaining composure.

"Yes... I want to see your home. You got to see mine and experience it. If we're going to be together... I want to experience your life and your home too. And if it means I stay with you... then I'll stay for as long as I can," she replied.

Diavolo searched her eyes, nearly in disbelief of what he heard. He was astounded by it all. She could scarcely believe it herself, to take such a leap of faith to leave all that she's ever known for a man, a demon man, who started as just a doll but became so much more: a friend, a lover, a soulmate.

He kissed her passionately then, his lips hard and forceful on hers. His arms slid under her back to pull her upright as he rose to his knees on the mattress. She could feel how hard he was breathing and more of his unparalleled strength as he held her upright. When she was low on oxygen, he rasped and pulled back. "I can't thank you enough. I promise, you'll have everything," he finally answered back.

The prince sat back onto his rear and helped her to straddle him properly and more comfortably, all while still sheathed on his now throbbing cock. "Just one more," he muttered, taking her arms and looping them over his shoulders and around his neck. His own hands landed on her waist and he began guiding her up and down on his dick, making them both moan together. The obscene schlick sounds coming from her pussy running rivets of sticky arousal between their joined bodies came back that much louder.

He pressed his forehead to hers, his hot breath fanning her face. "I love you, my treasure. Thank you for being mine," he murmured, sounding strained with pleasure.

The woman merely nodded as she clung onto him, moaning louder with every bounce. His hands greedily ran all over her body as she took over the rhythm and movement, and he squeezed, groped, and gripped onto every inch available. From her the tops of her shoulders to the fat round globes of her ass, it was his to lay hands on.

"Fuck, I love you, sweetness," he grunted. "You're going to make me lose myself."

"Then lose it," she rasped. She rolled her head backwards and arched her back deeply as she rode his cock.

He growled and placed one hand back in her waist while the other went up into her hair, grabbing a generous amount of it in his fist. She moaned softly at first, and then much louder when he gave it a good tug. They increased the pace together as fast as she could go until he could see her energy finally starting to wane. Quickly, he shoved her onto her back on the mattress again and began pounding into her.

"I'm never letting you go," he rasped in her ear. "You're mine. For eternity."

She gasped, and a vibrant shudder ran down her spine in response to his sudden possessiveness. She turned her head up to look at him, seeing determination and deep-seated desire in his eyes. He was all she could see in this moment, her view entirely comprised of his face and upper body.

"Close, baby?" He asked, feeling her walls start to clamp down and more of her slick sliding over his cock. She nodded immediately and clutched him tighter. He grinned and cradled her in his arms while he continued to thrust deeply and gaining speed. "Let go for me. Give everything you have, and give it to me. Lose yourself in me and only me."

Her breathing started to quicken, and her claw-like nails were digging into his back. "Fuck, Diavolo–" she whined. She just needed a little more. And he knew just what to do.

Placing his head next to hers, he began murmuring into her ear. "I'm going to cum so deep inside you, letting everyone know that you're mine. When we're home, I'll breed you anytime you want. I'll make sure you're so full of me, my seed will be dripping for days. Everyone will know you belong to the Demon Lord. And I'll make you my sweet little wife to take care of for all our days," he whispered to her, grunting between words occasionally.

That's what did it for her. A cascade of raw pleasure burst throughout her body, causing her to give a short wail. She trembled beneath him as more of her cum gushed over and around his cock, dampening the sheets further. Her fluttering walls, the way she whined and moaned, and how she clung to him made him finally lose himself, too.

He gave long, hard thrusts before locking his hips forward, unloading every spurt and drop of hot cum deep inside her. His own pitch raised an octave, hardly believing how this sort of pleasure could feel any better than before, but it was. Maybe it was knowing he was keeping the love of his life, but nonetheless, this was unlike anything he'd felt before. He felt so in-sync with her, experiencing her flow of pleasure mixing with his own. A small whimper managed to escape his lips, so he hushed himself by kissing her neck and hear her soft moans better. He continued to softly grind himself into her, still hard as a rock, to extend their pleasure a bit longer.

After several minutes, he felt her body slacken. Her hands slid off his back and down at her sides, and her legs fell open as she relaxed. It was almost a struggle for him as well as he propped himself up on one elbow.

"So perfect..." he murmured, smoothing her hair back out of her face. "Thank you," he added with a small smile.

"Why?" She mumbled, her eyes barely open.

Diavolo chuckled and shook his head. "I'm thanking you for being mine, for being so perfect for me, for being you," he answered. "You are everything to me, and I'm happy you're going to be with me."

She nodded and finally sighed. "I'm tired," she whispered weakly. He chuckled again.

"I was afraid you'd want more, and I'd have to be the one to tell you no."

She smirked and rolled her head to the side. "I mean, there's always later, right? I like it when you fill me up."

His eyes widened, and his dick throbbed again at those words. He groaned and gripped the sheets. "I mean it, you're going to kill me one day through words alone."

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed. <3

Post made by sassykattery. Do not repost. Reblogs and comments appreciated.

Tags: @flemmingbamse @delphi-dreamin @l-d-8 @itsmeninerz @biteable-pink-pixie @themythicaldisaster @marvelous-maniac @attic-club-sandwich

#obey me #obey me shall we date #sassywrites #sassystories #obey me fanfic #obey me diavolo #obey me smut #diavolo x female reader #diavolo x f oc #diavolo smut #dollface fic #dollface #doll fic

[imagining-in-the-margins]

S.R./Autistic!Reader Fic Rec List

Hey friends! I've wanted to make a collection of headcanons and fics involving an Autistic Reader for future reference. Everything is Spencer Reid unless marked otherwise.

If you write/already have a fic involving an Autistic!Reader, please let me know and I’ll add it here!

Fem!Reader

Different Dialects by me: Spencer is trying to tell Reader he likes her, but it feels like they speak entirely different languages.

Funny Thing Fate by me: Reader is tipsy and lost in D.C. when she spots a man she thinks might be able to help.

Porcelain by me: Reader has a meltdown in the cafe. Luckily, there is a Dr. Reid nearby.

Baggage Claim by me: Reader has a hard time at the airport. Spencer notices.

Piece of Paper by me: Spencer and Reader discuss Autism evaluations.

Wife by @specialagentlokitty : Spencer’s wife comes to visit him at work.

He Knows by @specialagentlokitty : Reader has a bad day at work and Spencer tries to help.

Meltdown by @prodigyspencer: Reader has a meltdown out eating with the team.

Look at Me by @yurimura: Reader works at the BAU and has a hard time making eye contact with people. A certain Dr. Spencer Reid picks up on it.

Their Resident Genius by @assassinmidnight: The BAU is called in by Scotland Yard to help with a case, Spencer becomes intrigued when he hears that they have their own resident genius.

Daughter Headcanon by @letarasstuff: If Spencer's daughter was Autistic.

Daydreams Turn to Reality by @spencerreidscoffeecup: [NSFW] Reader has a meltdown at the office.. Thankfully, her teammate Dr. Spencer Reid was nearby to help.

The Absence of Rain by @inactive-luv: Reader meets a stranger in the rain.

Surrounded by @c-m-stuff : Reader is overwhelmed by the press, and begins to panic.

Virginity by @beautifulbrainrot :[NSFW] Spencer and Reader experience something new together.

More under the cut!

GN!Reader

The Living Weighted Blanket by @venusianelf: Reader had a crush on Spencer for the longest time but have managed to keep it fairly hidden... then they had to share a room.

Male!Reader

Lovers Do by @undeadspeeds: Reader loses his noise cancelling earmuffs and gets ready to have a very messy flight. Spencer cares more than he knows.

Understanding by @x-reader-theater : Reader is nonverbal and gets frustrated trying to communicate with Morgan. Luckily, Spencer’s there to help.

Stars by @reidmycriminalmind: Reader and Spencer stargaze.

Other Characters

The Tea Effect by @underworld-of-imagines: (Hotch, Fem) Reader expresses her love for green tea, and Hotch realizes his feelings for her.

Comfort Kittens by @reidgraygubler : (Wes, GN) Reader goes to visit Wes at the clinic and gets overwhelmed.

Potato Chips and Cupcakes by @reidgraygubler : (Chip, GN) Reader is oblivious to Chip’s flirtations, until he asks them out.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid autistic #autistic reader #spencer reid x male reader #male reader #spencer reid x gender neutral reader #gender neutral reader #chip taylor #wes dollface

[patientlibrarian]

"Yup, it's Monday!"

Hello everyone, everywhere, he's just confirmed that it is Monday! Not sure which decade or century but it is Monday! Hope your day goes as you would want it to be.

Summary:

AU. Lucy and Flynn are together and Flynn's worried about something and won't tell her. Adorable behaviour from Flynn. Team togetherness. Slight poignant reminder of future hopes. Sexual references. Utter, utter, fluff and coffee break cheer (I hope).

#patient librarian fanfic #timeless fanfic #dollface tv series #er tv series #timeless tv show #garcia flynn/lucy preston #garcia flynn x lucy preston #garcia x lucy #garcia flynn #garcy #flynn x lucy #flynn gifs #luka gifs #gorgeous goran #goran visnjic archive #goran visjnic gifs

[999null999]

this fandom has so little jerome content to go off of about his backstory/personality so we just have to post headcanons like “jerome would have loved the vine boom sound effect” and if it’s something everyone generally feels is right then we all just mutually decide it’s canon to his personality

#jerome valeska #gotham #and now everyone mutually includes it in their fanfic #a good example is the dollface thing #did he ever say dollface once? no. #does the idea of him saying dollface make 100% total sense to me?? yes

[matrixbearer2024]

Blips In My Routine

Vox x CollegeStudent!Reader

A/N: A slight interlude in the "Get Off My Screen!" Series to keep you guys entertained while I write it's continuation. I apologize that it's taking so long! School's kind of been kicking my ass recently and I've had to focus more on work than my fanfics. Don't worry though, I'll still be writing more Vox content(Lord knows we don't have enough /j) as long as you guys want to see it!

A/N: I love 🥭 Anon's idea and tbh I don't put it beyond Vox to do it either, I'm not sure if this is as good as the other installments but I hope you guys enjoy it nonetheless. Btw, reader is in college so she's somewhere in her mid to late twenties. Happy reading!

You glanced at the ticking clock above the whiteboard.

It was just five more minutes before the bell would ring and free you from this boring lecture.

You fought to keep your eyes open as your gaze wandered back to the teacher's PowerPoint.

You hated this subject the most, not even because of the topic itself.

Rather, the professor could be kind of an old-timey asshole.

Thankfully though, it wasn't all that bad.

Not when you had to deal with an equally irritating digital companion anyhow.

Somehow you'd rather take Vox's bullshit over your professor's-

Speaking of, you both had fallen into a somewhat odd routine in the following months.

From greeting each other when you woke up or went to sleep-

To checking up on the other every so often within the day.

Not to mention spilling gossip when anything remotely interesting happened.

Either on his end or yours.

Like that time you saw someone's skirt snag in their locker door and just rip.

You could only snicker at their panic and shame.

The bitch highkey deserved it anyway.

Vox couldn't stop laughing when you eagerly told him all about it.

He knew you could be vicious if you wanted to.

Even if he was aware how much more inherently kind you were compared to the likes of him.

Sometimes the fact you found his companionship worth maintaining-

Or at least tolerable enough to keep-

Genuinely surprised the tech overlord.

Especially because you'd both been communicating for a little over a year by now.

It was nice interacting with someone else that weren't Velvette or Valentino.

Not that he'd ever openly admit to it.

It wasn't like Vox hadn't seen or heard you either, despite the fact he couldn't directly mess with the microphone or camera on your devices.

Your photos and files had more than enough stuff.

You often left him imagining your reactions and voice whenever the both of you chatted.

After all, most of your interactions were practically texting.

Sometimes you even wondered if Vox was constantly bored to end up finding companionship with you.

Or maybe he was lonely, who knows.

You genuinely couldn't be fucked.

He was an interesting guy and that was all that kind of mattered to you at the moment.

Your notepad window popping up snapped you out of that train of thought.

Glancing over at your laptop screen, the small desktop pet Vox gave you merely sat in the corner pointing at the notepad.

Oh it could do angry emotes too-

A slurry of words started pouring into the blank open text window, you figured Vox was probably having another shitty day.

Geez, who would've thought that hell would actually be absolutely crappy?

Well, let's see what he's complaining about this time...

This man was really typing way faster than you could read-

You were able to garner pretty quick what he was bitching about though.

Even if you kind of found the source of his irritation quite childish and kinda stupid.

"It's so dumb! The fact I can only talk to you with this goddamn thing is driving me insane!"

"Aaaand? What's wrong with the notepad? You also have the desktop companion."

You definitely started calling it that only because Vox was getting pissy that you were referring to it as a 'pet'-

"It can only do so much dollface, it's just glorified texting at this point. Besides, the tiny version of me is just an animated emoji keyboard."

"Well you already mess with my software regardless of what I tell you, what's stopping the great 'Technology Overlord' from hacking my camera and microphone?"

"Haha, very funny doll. Don't you think I would've done it already if I could?"

At this point you kinda just wanted to laugh at the whole situation.

Vox, a demon, one who could control electronics to his every whim-

Or so he claims.

Was being pissy about not being able to talk to you properly.

You couldn't tell if that was supposed to be endearing or hilarious.

He always got worked up over the smallest inconveniences.

You saw it as him being just very observant-

But it could also highkey be from his captain control freak tendencies.

"Then just make an app or something, you'll figure it out. Mess with the software settings or whatever."

That was the last message you wrote before the school bell suddenly rang out loud and clear.

You didn't even read his reply before shutting your laptop down and arranging your belongings.

Soon enough, you were the first one out of the classroom and more than ready to go home.

Vox knew you'd shut down your laptop after he got hit with his custom Voxtech screensaver.

Similarly to the wallpaper, he'd changed your screensaver to something more on brand.

While he did take your suggestion into account, a part of him wondered why he didn't bother trying in the first place.

But given the issues with him trying to access the built-in camera and microphone-

Vox felt a little concerned that modifying your devices too much could corrupt them.

That alongside all of your files and the data you had stored.

Wait...

Concern?!

He didn't actually care about your shit did he?

Oh fuck it!

He'll do whatever he wants to!

He was still careful not to really change much, he knows how annoying file corruption is and he didn't want to actually damage your data in case it had stuff you needed.

You weren't surprised that he'd taken your words literally-

You noticed a peculiar looking app appeared on all of your devices when you had arrived home.

That's a really fancy looking V design, was this Vox's doing?

Upon opening the app, you were greeted to a slightly odd looking interface.

It looked kind of like a more... sci-fi-esque styled chat room?

You wanted to say it lowkey looked like an Omegle room-

Before you could really nitpick at the design though, a text notification popped up on your phone.

You had just set everything up too, it seems like it came from the new app.

"Testing, testing. Are you getting this (Y/N)?"

To say you were amazed at what Vox had done was an understatement.

He was able to do so much in just so little time-

Just- how???

Oh, right- you should probably reply to that-

"Yeah yeah, I gotchu."

"Fucking finally! Working around your firewalls and antivirus was an absolute nightmare!"

Aaaaaaaand here came the usual ranting and bitching-

You just threw your phone on the bed and left to take a shower and freshen up while he kept at it.

Vox was actually quite proud he got the app to work.

Especially without affecting the existing system on your computer much.

If anything, it wasn't any different from the games or social media applications that already existed on your computer.

Granted, when he first booted the app to try it- the darn thing kept crashing and glitching.

But that was easily and swiftly dealt with.

Well, after much frustration and screaming but yes- taken care of.

By the time you came back, you saw an animated version of your wallpaper appear windowed in the app.

Right... that was supposed to be his face.

"Hello? (Y/N)? Can you hear me?"

What-

What the fucking FUCK-

Apparently, the thing you thought that was just a gif or an emoticon was actually a livestream of Vox's face.

And that was how he sounded like?

Okay that seemed pretty on brand for a telecasting television now that you think about it-

But how the hell did he manage to do this-

"Vox?! What the hell!"

You yelled out in retaliation, only growing more confused when Vox didn't reply or just kept repeating if you could hear him.

So he couldn't hear you, but he found a way to sort of project himself into your device.

What kind of upside-down thing is this?

Picking up the phone, you quickly used the chat-box to reply.

"I can hear you, but I don't think you can hear me?"

Vox just audibly cursed from what you could guess was frustration, staying silent and presumably typing out a reply.

Just how long had he been trying to fix this problem?

"I can't access your cameras or microphone whatever I do dollface, this was my last resort."

Seeing his live reactions allowed you to notice the genuine frustration and exasperation he had with the situation.

It kind of made you feel a little guilty for just brushing him off all the time now.

You always thought it was quite... old-timey for Vox to want to talk to you face to face.

Hold a "proper" conversation as he put it.

But maybe that was just because he grew that fond of your company.

Geez, what a sap.

"It's fine dude, I'm glad you made a specially designated space for our conversations though. My notes were starting to get cluttered with our conversations stuck in there with my school stuff anyway."

You could swear the small smile you saw on his face made saying all that worth it.

There really wasn't any reason for you two to switch mediums, but the new app wasn't unwelcome.

You were really starting to care more about this dumb TV head.

As you and Vox went back into comfortable regular conversation, you found solace as both you and your companion once again fell back into the odd routine you grew used to.

Come morning however, you were seriously reconsidering giving Vox the idea about making that custom application.

It was a stupidly large can of worms that you didn't even realize existed-

Notification after notification, you wondered just how much time the technology demon had on his hands to constantly bother you.

"Vox, I know you're happy about your app but can you stop spam sending me memes for five seconds?"

"Eh, not feeling it."

"Go to hell you dumb picturebox."

"Already here dollface, already here."

You facepalmed.

What an idiot.

Well, he was your idiot.

A/N: I'm leaning towards this being more than a just friends thing, dunno if I'll make it romantic or not in the continuation but I'd reckon that Vox and reader would get pretty close by now sooooo hahaha have fun y'all :D

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin vox #vox #vox x reader #hazbin hotel vox x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin vox x reader #vox x you #x reader #Get Off My Screen Series

[tomatopers]

❝ What I call my lover? ❞ [Genshin Men edition]

im actually going to use this as a list to remember the pet names they use in my genshin fanfics too lmaoooo

Men included as of 04/06/2024: Albedo, Ayato, Baizhu, Capitano, Childe, Cyno, Dainsleif, Diluc, Dottore, Kaeya, Kaveh, Kazuha, Pantalone, Pierro, Thoma, Tighnari, Venti, Wanderer, Xiao, Zhongli

➥ Albedo;; Dear (he read it in a book), Button (there's a fic tied to this in my drafts)

➥ Ayato;; Darling, Love, Sugar

➥ Baizhu;; Darling, Dear, Angel

➥ Capitano;; Not only does he forgo pet names, he also rarely uses your name. To be fair, he isn't much of a talker.

➥ Childe;; Comrade 💀, Doll/Dollface, Tiger, Firecracker, My Lady/Lord

➥ Cyno;; Sunshine, "Meow meow" (he thinks it's hilarious), Pookie (see prior reason), Teddybear (see prior reason again), Love bug (he thinks he's hilarious)

➥ Dainsleif;; ...maybe Dearest. Rarely, as a treat.

➥ Diluc;; Angel, Darling, Dove

➥ Dottore;; Pet. Other ownership type names too, probably.

➥ Kaeya;; Sweetheart, Sugar, Baby, Honey bunch, Cutie

➥ Kaveh;; Lovebug, Precious

➥ Kazuha;; Sunshine, Love of my life, My love

➥ Pantalone;; Precious, Darling, Poppet, Silly thing

➥ Pierro;; Dear. That's all you get.

➥ Thoma;; My Princess/My Prince, Beautiful, Buttercup (only once, upon saying it he realized it sounded incredibly cringey)

➥ Tighnari;; Rosebud, pumpkin, sweetpea

➥ Venti;; Dove, My muse, Pumpkin, Cutie, Honeybear

➥ Wanderer/Scaramouche;; Brat, Angel (once in a blue moon), Pest, Freak, Weakling (affectionately... probably?)

➥ Xiao;; Your name. Nothing else. Sorry not sorry. Maybe he calls you pretty once or twice, but that's about it.

➥ Zhongli;; Beloved, Darling, Dearest, Treasure, Precious

#genshin x reader #genshin #genshin impact x reader #kaeya x reader #diluc x reader #zhongli x reader #childe x reader #fluff #pet names #genshin imagines #persimmonwrites

[battlekidx2]

I'm making this post purely to shout out some incredibly talented fanfic writers from the Hazbin Hotel fandom and my favorite works of theirs.

Did anyone ask me for this? No. Will I post it anyway? Absolutely. The writers in this fandom are too good.

The first fanfic writer I want to shout out is @prince-liest (ao3 link)

I absolutely love their get cared for idiot (Alastor) series (not the official name but they called it that in one of their asks jokingly so it's now the default in my head).

Knock, Knock! It's Your Worst Fucking Nightmare! (this fic gets it!!!! This is what I meant when I said Alastor is growing a heart and part of him is raging against it. He still has ulterior motives and a massive amount of pride and part of him feels like that growing fondness is getting in the way, but he can't stop it. I need to stop before this becomes a long ramble. I've written a couple thousand words on this idea, but this fic is just a better use of your time than any meta I could ever write and way more entertaining :D )

Happily Ever After, and Other Shit Nepotism Can't Buy

The Last Bus Stop in Hell, Now Boarding (Please look at the tags for content warning. Angel and Alastor body swap story.)

They're amazing at balancing on that razor's edge with Alastor where there's a heart in there (really deep) and he's unintentionally growing attached to the hazbin crew, but he doesn't lose his edge. He's still manipulative and an asshole and can easily be the scariest guy in any room. He's in hell for a reason. A+ characterization at all times.

They're so good at writing the complicated dynamics he has with the residents, especially Charlie, and I enjoy how they expand on Alastor's potential dynamic with Angel Dust.

Anything they write from Lucifer's POV is gold too! My favorites are:

Take Two and Leave a Voicemail!

The Care and Keeping of Homo Angelus

I am also 100% here for their Aro!Alastor agenda and I'm enjoying their fic I Love Her, I Love Her Not so far!

The second person I want to shout out is @grayintogreen (ao3 link)

Their series Red Roses and Dead Things consistently gut punches me.

Just like Princeliest, they are also fantastic at balancing on that razor's edge with Alastor. A+ characterization for everyone and I love how they write HuskerDust. It's so soft, especially in the aftermath fic for Learn that Even Death May Die called If My Love Is Tomorrow, I've Forgotten Yesterday (that fic hurt in the best way).

The way they explore the aftermath of Learn that Even Death May Die is incredibly impactful. They capture the unique grief that comes from the reality that there are some things you won't get closure for so well that it's painful.

I can't say enough good things about their series. Genuinely go read it.

I found @lediz-watches (ao3 link) before the first season of Hazbin Hotel dropped (I've been a fan of the hellaverse for a few years now and have been enthralled with the Hazbin Hotel pilot since I first watched it in 2020) and I really enjoy their fics.

My favorite is Suffering Kindness. I love the Charlie and Alastor dynamic they explore in this story. I think I'm just a sucker for the Charlie and Alastor dynamic in general, but this fic hits all the right notes for me. (written pre-season 1 but man is it good. 100% recommend)

LeDiz also has a lot of one-shots/collections of one-shots that are very fun.

The Cure for Inexorable Boredom

Dollface (one-shots about Alastor theories. My favorite is the 3rd one. So fascinating!)

Choice Words (one of the few explorations of Alastor and Vaggie's dynamic that I've found in the fandom)

Don't Say It

I have to shout out @ckret2 (ao3 link) and their phenomenal fic You’ve Got a Face for Radio. This is such an amazing aroace!Alastor fic. (Embarrassingly it was this fic that made me realize I was most likely aroace myself. I’d had fleeting moments of suspecting it but it wasn’t until I saw my experiences laid out in a character explicitly written to be aroace that I put the puzzle pieces together. -_- some of these passages were too relatable.) I cannot express how much I love this fic.

I also like their fics Dumpster Baby and Bitter Grapes.

I have one last writer I want to mention because this is getting really long (whoops). The last one is tiredoflofteranditsshit and their Assume He Has a Heart series (because my favorite character and how I interpret them was not obvious enough already with the fics/authors I've recommended. I had to make it more obvious).

These fics are massive (17k and 26k words) and so much fun. Definitely worth the read. Yet another series that follows up season 1 and explores Alastor’s growing connections and how he lies to himself and pushes against it. Love this series and there’s a lot to sink your teeth into :D

#hazbin hotel #Hazbin hotel fics #alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #the radio demon #angel dust #husk #huskerdust #charlie morningstar #I love all of these fics #these writers are all so talented

[sweets4dolls]

Hiiii could i request a twst fanfic of vil with dollification? I think it would be really cute if he got her all dressed up just to ruin her ♡

pairing: vil + fem!reader

content warnings: smut, dollification, doll pet names, vil kinda being mean lowkey, dacryphilia, oral (f! receiving), not proofread!

notes: yesssss first twst fic! (⋆ˆ ³ ˆ)♥

every morning, vil likes to be the one to wake you up, his little dolly.

dragging you to the edge of the bed as you sleepily mumble a "g'morning" to him, he slowly dresses you by rolling thigh-high socks over your plush thighs, grazing so close to the hot hollow of your groin, before pushing you into his favorite lacey bra and cotton dress, decorating your hair with a ribbon in the signature color of his dorm.

"open your eyes, doll" he demands softly as he twists open a tube of mascara, bringing the wand up to your eyes and brushing it over your luscious lashes, coating them with the clinging blackness. accidentally, he pokes you in the eye, prompting tears to well up as you yelp out "ow!"

seeing the tears start to roll, he starts shushing you, bringing a hand to your face and gripping your jaw as he brushes away tears mixed with the mascara that had bled away with them. by the seconds, he becomes more annoyed as he watches how you mess up his work, still not stopping your tears as he presses his lips over them.

undoubtedly, he likes to see you cry, but not like this. "doll, you mess up your face when you act like this," he sighs, not stopping peppering kisses all over your face. "m' sorry," the words tumble out of your mouth as he continues kissing over your flesh, slowly moving down your jaw to your neck and collar bone.

as tears cloud your vision, you feel his smooth lips find their way in between your thighs as he pushes your dress up to your tummy. "stupid doll, ruining your dollface," he murmurs condescendingly as fingers slip beneath the bands of your panties, revealing your glistening cunt to him.

not wasting time, he presses kisses against your warm, sticky cunt before slowly licking a stripe up your slit, tongue glazing over your clit. you mewl and squirm, prompting vil to grip your thighs and press you closer to his face so you couldn't get away, watching you writhe as he presses his tongue deeper into your soaking pussy, wet with a mix of his saliva and your juices.

"v-vil" you whine breathily, making him let out a small smile as he looks up and sees how your tears from pain have turned into tears from his tongue. consequently, he suckles on your swollen clit, making you cry and jut your hips in an uncontrollable movement as he continues to fuck you on his tongue.

thick tears stream down your face, leaving streaks mixed with mascara that ruins your pretty face as vil continues to lick and suck at your pussy. miserably sensitive, your thighs tense and try to squeeze shut as you get closer to cumming, but vil holds them open with a slender hand against the flesh of your inner thigh, getting you closer at his pace.

at once, you cum deliciously, making a mess on the chair you had been sitting on. With pretty tears falling down your rosy cheeks, vil licks at your hole to gather and swallow your essence, dragging more tears from your glassy doe eyes.

"dumb little doll, just had to make a big mess, didn't you?"

#vil schoenheit #vil x reader #vil shoenheit x reader #vil twst #vil twisted wonderland #vil smut

[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

[rangerbarbz]

Losing Bets

Disclaimer: So this is not a Ford fanfic because I need to show my man Stan some love. Sorry about that. Also, I’m going to post the whole thing just to tumblr and to ao3, so you won’t have to click on a link to read it. This is a smut btw

Summary: Reader bets that Stan can’t go a whole day without touching them. It’s a win win situation 😉

If there was one thing about Stan Pines, he was a handsy man. You had been dating him since you first got a job at the Mystery Shack working the check-out counter when Wendy wasn’t working. There wasn’t a day that went by where he didn’t squeeze your butt as he shuffled behind you or grab your hips while you restocked. You didn’t mind it one bit, though. Stan always made you feel sexy and loved. He was a good man, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. However, you also knew he was a gambling man, and you were looking for fun.

It was a slow day at the Mystery Shack, and you were putting snow-globes on display when you felt a hand snake around your waist. “Lookin’ good, sugar.” When you weren’t expecting Stan’s voice, it always managed to give you butterflies. You smiled and set the one in your hand onto the unsteady wooden shelf in front of you.

“You talking about the snow-globes or me?” you teased, looking over at him. His eyebrow raised as his hand moved from your waist down to your ass. He cupped one clothed cheek in his big hand.

“Both,” he answered. “I love these shorts on you. Can’t help myself.” He had a devilish grin on his face and was staring into your eyes. God, he was so handsome. He had an almost intoxicating aroma of cigars and cologne that you wanted to drown in.

You giggled and patted his chest. “Stan Pines, you’d still find a way to get your hands on me even if you were handcuffed.” You picked up the empty cardboard box at your feet and carried it to the check-out counter to break it down.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Stan purred, following behind you as you flattened the box. You shot him a look that caused him to chuckle.

“You need to behave,” you playfully chastised him, bending down behind the counter to get your to-do list out. You set it next to the register and checked off the box next to “Unpack Snow-globes.” “There we go, that was the last thing I had to do.”

Stan set his elbows on the counter across from you. “Ah, I actually added something else for you to do. Should be at the bottom,” Stan stated.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What? Really?” You picked up the notepad to see “Stan Pines” scrawled at the end of the lined paper with an empty box next to it.

Stan burst out laughing at his own joke. “See. I put my name there because I want you to do me,” he explained while you rolled your eyes.

“You’re so dumb.” You couldn’t help but laugh with him, though. “You know this reminds me; I have an idea for a bet. That is if your up to it.” Your eyes glimmered with mischief. You and Stan were always betting on trivial things, so this was a normal request.

“I’m all ears, dollface. Shoot.”

“I bet that you can’t go a whole day without touching me.”

Stan’s head perked up. “I better get something really good if I have to go the whole day without touching you,” he grumbled, crossing his arms.

“If you can go a whole day without touching me, I will do that thing you’ve been begging me to do for an entire week,” you declared.

He gasped. “You mean you’re going to cook me stancakes naked every morning for a week?” he asked incredulously.

You chuckled. “Yup, but if I win you have to come to karaoke with me at Greasy’s every Friday for a month.” At that, Stan groaned and rubbed the part of his nose where his glasses sat.

“Jeeze, you had that one ready didn’t ya, kid?”

“Oh, yes,” you replied. “You accept the bet, old man?” You extended your hand towards him. He flashed that million-dollar smile at you before shaking your hand in agreement with the bet.

“Deal.”

                                                                                ~ The Next Day ~

You looked in the mirror at your outfit you had prepared to tempt the “Man of Mystery” himself. You were prepared to play dirty to get karaoke nights with Stan. You were wearing a tight t-shirt that was tucked into some daisy dukes. You also were wearing some boots that went up to your knees that you knew drove Stan wild. He was a confirmed leg man for sure. You fluffed up your hair and applied some light makeup. It was nothing too crazy but just enough to have you singing BABBA with him Friday night.

When you were satisfied with how you looked, you walked out of your bedroom and down the hall to the gift shop. Stan was giving a tour outside, so he had no idea what you looked like just yet. You went about your job as usual restocking the freezer, sweeping the floor, and pricing new items. It was about thirty minutes later when Stan entered the gift shop with a group of tourists behind him.

“Step into our gift shop and marvel at the quality of the Mystery Shack’s merchandise. Such beautiful craftmanship is deserving of your money, so make sure to spend a lot of it,” Stan’s voice echoed throughout the room. Some tourists “oohed” and “ahhed’ at the new shirts you had just hung up on the wall while the others piddled about the store. You sat at the register waiting for customers pretending not to notice Stan ogling you from the other side of the room.

When you finally decided to give him your attention, you gave him a coy smile and a little wave. His mouth was slightly agape, and his eyebrows were raised. He looked you up and down as he approached you.  It was go time; you got him.

“Y/N, you look smoking!” Stan exclaimed, his hands reaching for your hips. They stopped just inches away from them. He frowned and let his hands drop to his sides. “Damn. Forgot I can’t touch you.” He sounded disappointed. You were about to respond when one of the tourists got his attention by asking him about his newest taxidermy creation. This might be harder than you thought.

You exhaled through your nose in defeat. You couldn’t ponder on your plan too long, however, because a line of people had quickly formed in front of you. They held fistfuls of cash and novelties waiting to be paid for. It took a while, but finally everyone had picked an item they wanted and purchased them successfully. You couldn’t see him, but Stan had been eyeing you all over.

Once the last person left the shop and Stan reminded them about his “No Refunds” policy, he turned the “Open” sign on the door to “Closed.” You tilted your head at him and walked from behind the counter towards him. “Stan, why are you closing the shack? Are you-‘’ You were interrupted by him quickly turning around to face you and throwing you over his shoulder. You yelped in surprise as he bolted down the hall to your bedroom. You were not expecting this. He kicked the door open and dropped you on the bed.

“You like to play dirty, don’tcha?” Stan growled, grabbing your ankles and dragging you to him. “Dressing like that in front of me knowing I can’t touch ya. You’re such a tease.” His lips crashed into yours, his beard tickling your neck. You moaned into his mouth, letting your hands explore his thick, gray hair. The passionate kiss turned into a hot, open-mouthed one. Stan’s tongue slipped past your lips as you gripped his back. You grinded against him to get some friction going but to also see how hard he was. He was rock solid, his bulge pressing against your thigh. You wrapped your legs around his waist to bring him closer to you, earning a groan from him.

His lips parted from yours and he began to pepper kisses along your neck, stopping to suck at your collarbones. “Stan…” you whined.

“Use your words, baby,” he murmured against your skin. “Tell me what you want.”

“You.”

You felt Stan’s lips curl into a smile. “That can be arranged. But these,” he tugged at your shorts, “will have to go.”

You looked him in the eyes. “Then why don’t you take them off for me?” you asked, grinning at him.

“With pleasure,” he responded. He removed your boots before undoing the zipper of your shorts and pulling them off. You lifted your hips up to help him get them fully off your body which revealed lacy red underwear. He wasn’t a huge fan of any particular color, but he loved red on you. He let out a low whistle. “Sweetheart…You shouldn’t have.” Stan’s tone caused blood to rush to your throbbing clit.

His hands slid up the side of your legs to grab your thighs. “God, I love these legs,” he whispered, his thumbs rubbing into your inner thighs. His long, calloused fingers were splayed over the side of them as he admired the way they dug into your flesh. He adored the softness of them.

“Can’t wait to have them around my head,” he breathed, moving his hands over your underwear and under your shirt. “But first, I gotta get this off. Been wanting to get my hands on these.” You blushed as he pulled your t-shirt over your head. You were revealed to be in a matching red bra that pushed your breasts up to make a delightful cleavage.

“Fuck,” Stan said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Come here, sexy.” His hands found your waist and guided you to his lap. He began peppering kisses on the top of your breasts as his hands fumbled to remove your bra from the back. He eventually succeeded causing the straps to fall down your shoulders and exposing your hard nipples. His pupils were dilated and filled with lust as he gazed at your body. He took his time, letting his eyes wander.

Stan slowly exhaled before letting his lips make contact with your skin once again. His tongue licked across your nipple gently and cupping your other breast. He massaged the tender flesh and let his thumb drag over the nipple as he began to suck the other one. You hissed, raking his hair between your fingers. He repeated the same action but on the opposite breast causing your hips to instinctively grind down on him. You were so turned on you were becoming light-headed.

Stans arms encased you as he lowered you onto the bed, kissing in a line down your stomach. You knew what was coming next, and butterflies were already beginning to form. “Mind if I take these off, doll?” Stan asked gruffly, his eyes meeting yours. You nodded your head in response. His fingers hooked around the band of your panties and removed your last garment of clothing. He began to bury his face against your thighs, giving them little pecks. Your eyes rolled back in your head from how his mouth and stubble felt against such a sensitive area. He then removed his head away from your core to look at you.

“Let’s see how much I’ve riled you up,” Stan said, letting one of his fingers enter you. He slid in easily due to your wetness. He let out a shaky breath. “Shit, baby.” He began to pump his finger back and forth. You cried out in pleasure, letting your nails rake along his muscular forearms.

“Oh, God, Stan,” you whimpered. If he kept going like this, you were going to cum before his dick was inside you.

“As hot as it is to see you like this, I just gotta taste ya.” Stan muttered, removing his finger and lowering his head back down to your bottom half. “I’ve been craving you all day.” His tongue slid into you as his big hands held your legs around his head. He moaned into you as you gripped the bedsheets behind you. One hand travelled upwards to play with your breast as he used the tip of his tongue to manipulate your clit. Stan continued to lap at you, bringing you closer and closer to an orgasm. He knew you were close too. You were bucking your hips on his nose to help relieve yourself. He loved it when you did that; he wanted you to use him to get all the way.

“I want you inside me,” you pleaded. “Please, babe.” Stan stopped what he was doing to give you a sloppy kiss. His mouth and nose were covered in your slick which was now partially on you. He stood up to unbutton his shirt while you scrambled to unbuckle his belt.

He laughed cockily. “Someone’s eager,” he teased, waggling his eyebrows.

You glared at him. “Shut up,” you retorted, taking off his boxers to see his painfully erect dick. You slid off the bed and onto your knees. You started to suck on his balls and rub along the bottom of them. Stan moaned loudly; his hands were now in your hair. You licked a stripe of the base of his dick to his tip before taking him into your mouth. You went slowly at first, creating a suction with your cheeks.

“Y/N…” Stan breathed, pushing your head onto him, wanting you to go faster. “Okay, okay. I can’t go anymore. I wanna feel you,” Stan interrupted, holding your face. “Put your boots on. Those were so damn sexy.” You chuckled and put on the shiny, leather boots from before. You were entirely naked other than your feet.

“Alright, hot stuff, you ready to ride the Stan O’ War?” Stan asked, throwing your legs on his shoulders. A boot was on either side of his head.

You giggled in response. “Yes, captain,” you answered.

He lined up with your entrance, and finally was inside you. He stretched you out painfully good. He wasn’t the longest, but, God, he was wide. That’s how you like it. He held onto your boots for leverage as he pounded into you. His breathing became ragged as he went back and forth inside you.

“You feel s’good,” he groaned. “So fucking good.”

His voice sent you over the edge making your body start to quake and pulse. Your legs shook around his head which, in turn, caused Stan to cum. Your convulsions were enough to make a “dead man come back to life” as Stan would describe. As you both rode out your highs, Stan laid on your chest as you twirled his hair. You laid in blissful silence until you remembered something.

“So…does this mean karaoke Friday?”

His face scrunched into his signature grumpy frown. “Can you just let me enjoy what’s left of my dignity until I lose it all?” You giggled at his answer as he laid his head back on your chest. You kissed the top of his head and leaned your head back on your pillow. Little did you know, he was more than happy to sing cheesy songs with you in public. He would just never let you know that.

#pines family #grunkle stan #stanford pines #stanley pines #gravity falls #grunkle ford #ford pines #ford pines x reader #imagine #stan pines x reader #stan pines #smut #female reader

[sassykattery]

Dollface Pt. 8

CW: Main Character is afab, uses she/her pronouns. Profanity. Smut scene: piv sex. Creampie. Rough sex. Monsterfucking.

The main character is afab, uses she/her pronouns. This story is meant to be somewhat curvy/plus-sized reader insert, but the main character is given a physical description, but it's not crucial to the story or mentioned often after Part 1.

Themes: Romance. Magic. Adventure. Sex. Smut. Diavolo x fem! MC.

Characters: Main Character. Diavolo. Mammon. Satan. Beel. Belphie. Levi. Asmo. Lucifer. Mention Barbatos.

Minors and ageless blogs DNI

18+ only

Masterlist

"Darling? Are you alright? You acted like something spooked you," Diavolo commented after sipping on his macchiato. They were a couple minutes from her house. He sniffed his coffee silently, trying to place the peculiar smell he detected.

"A man approached me at the store... and he kinda weirded me out," she confessed and then drank her cold brew, keeping one hand on the wheel.

"You could've come and got me," he replied with concern, forgetting about his previous thoughts.

"It's fine. I just don't like men approaching me out of nowhere," she answered, sounding even more despondent then.

"May I ask, did something happen?" He inquired softly.

"Throughout my life, men have seen my apparent kindness as an invitation to flirt with me, or they want something from me. Most of the time, it hasn't ended well, and it's either because they wanted sex or just to use me for some other reason," she replied matter-of-factly.

"I'm sorry, my love," he replied, reaching over for her hand once she set her drink down in the cup holder. She held his in return as she turned down her street.

"That's alright. Most of the time, I either avoid the confrontation or keep a distance so they don't feel inclined. That's also why you often see me with what we call a "resting bitch face," too," she added.

"I don't think that's very nice," he groaned as she pulled into the garage of the house.

"I suppose I self-deprecate a bit," she mused, turning off the car and closing the garage door with a smirk.

Both got out of the car and headed into the house. Once inside, Diavolo went into her bedroom, and she went to the front of the house to look through the mail on the counter. Her parents weren't home, away on some family reunion vacation with further removed family.

The doorbell suddenly rang, and she grabbed the mail to continue reading as she approached the front door. Unlocking it with one hand and still looking down, she opened up and heard,

"Hey there, uh, I gotta question," a male tenor stated. She immediately looked up and froze. Keeping her hand on the doorknob, using her index finger to lock the knob silently. She looked him up and down. It was the white-haired man from the coffee shop.

"Did you follow me home?" She accused, sounding defensive.

"Ah, well, uhh..."

"Just a heads-up, women don't like that, creep! Now get lost before I get my boyfriend," she snapped harshly, closing the door more so she was partially hidden behind it. Mammon backed up, raising his hands.

Diavolo's ears perked up at the sound of her raised voice. He approached the bedroom door and listened closer.

"I just came to ask if you've seen my friend!" Mammon shouted.

"And I'm telling you, you shouldn't have followed me home! And I'll call the cops if your other friend shows up here, too!"

Mammon leaned in closer. "Just let me finish–"

"DIA!" She screamed.

Immediately, Mammon high-tailed it off the front porch and into the silver sports car that sat on the side of the street. He quickly got in and sped off while she slammed the door shut. Diavolo was at her side just as the door clicked, hands on her waist and standing in her space.

"My love," he murmured, looking out the stained glass window on the front door. He looked back down at her and saw how she trembled, and it broke his heart. Taking her hand, he led her to the couch and sat her on his lap to console her. He briefly thought he smelled that peculiar smell from earlier but quickly dismissed the thought in favor of consolation of his human.

"Who was that?" He asked, running his hands up and down her arms to calm her down.

"A guy from the coffee shop! He followed me home!" She huffed, burying her face in his neck.

Diavolo instantly huffed and held her tighter. "I'm sorry, my darling. You should have had me talk to him," he murmured in her ear, caressing her trembling form. He took hold of her as he swung his legs around to recline back on the couch cushions, holding her on top of him.

"Thank you," she mumbled into his shirt.

All seven demon brothers were sitting in the penthouse of a hotel. None of them had been to this area of the United States, and they were starting to get closer to finding their lost prince.

"You moron! Now, if she sees you again, she's going to run for the hills!" Satan barked at Mammon.

"Oi! I didn't want whoever her boyfriend was to show up with a knife or somethin' in case he was crazy!" Mammon retorted, folding his arms.

"You're so stupid. A knife won't kill you," Belphie groaned.

"No, but if Diavolo thought I was some weirdo and he was actually there, he might have killed me," Mammon grumbled.

"Are we sure that's even her?" Levi asked, playing his handheld game.

"It seemed like it was. There aren't too many humans that look like her," Beel replied, eating his ill-gotten cheeseburgers. He had run off while Mammon and Satan were at the coffee shop to get cheeseburgers, to which he ordered thirty of them and managed to not pay for them as he wasn't given any money for it.

"There is one that does look like this one. She's a famous human makeup guru. You have to give it to this one. She's pretty good at it," Asmo declared, admiring the security footage photo of the woman in question.

"Run that by me again, Mammon," Lucifer commanded, standing at the window overlooking the city, interrupting the conversation.

"When she opened the door, I said I had a question. She accused me of followin' her, and when I didn't answer, she started yellin' at me that women don't like it when they're followed home before threatenin' to get her boyfriend," Mammon recounted the situation.

"Then?" Lucifer pressed.

"She screamed somethin' and I ran off to the car," the second born replied.

"The boyfriend's name? Did you catch it?" Satan inquired.

"All I heard was -ia," Mammon answered, looking nonchalant.

Lucifer turned and stalked up to the second born, smacking him upside the head. "Idiot! She probably said Dia!"

Mammon tched his older brother but realized he was ultimately right.

"Well? What do we do?" Satan asked.

"Can't we just break in her house and see if he's there? What if she's holding him hostage?" Belphie mused.

"One, no, we can't just break in. If he's not actually there, we'd be in a heap of trouble and don't need the exposure," Satan replied. He then held up the security photo of a man that looked like Diavolo and a woman holding hands while walking. "Two, I don't think she's holding him hostage judging by this."

"I suppose it's my turn to talk to her," Lucifer finally replied, walking towards the door and grabbing his overcoat.

"We don't have much time left."

Late one afternoon a couple of days later, she was in the city grocery store looking for things to make her birthday cake. Diavolo had requested to make one with her, wanting the experience of doing so while performing a task together, something he learned was important from his research on humans. While she was in the baking aisle, she had reached down to a bottom shelf to grab some flour when she found herself on the floor, ready to catch herself, but someone had taken hold of her sides to keep her from falling completely down.

"My apologies, ma'am, I didn't meant to run into you, forgive me," a very deep, slightly nasally and airy voice called to her right into her ear.

Once she was upright, she looked at the offender and cranked her head back to stare into a set of darkened eyes, and if she wasn't mistaken, they had a crimson hue to them, framed by jet-black locks with gray streaks on the ends of his face-framing pieces, stark against his ivory skin. The man was nearly as tall as her boyfriend, wearing a black turtleneck, black slacks, a dark blue overcoat, and a set of glasses hanging on chains around his neck.

"Um, thanks. It's fine," she quipped, stepping away from the man and grabbing onto her shopping cart.

He gave a rather charming smile and softened his gaze. She gave him a wary look, glancing from his shoes to his head several times. What she didn't know was how he had been following her for going on two days to find out more about her, or potentially see Diavolo, but came up with nothing and lost his patience. However, when he was finally close and in her space, he realized he had actually made a mistake.

Oh.

"Ah, I must apologize again for staring. You are quite magnetic," he purred.

She frowned then, looking up at him under her brow.

"Thank you, but I'm committed to someone," she retorted, her body angled away from him.

"What a lucky person they are," he replied with an endearing smile, but she wasn't having it. The longer she stared at him, the more suspicious she became.

"Right, well, bye," she replied curtly.

Lucifer's gaze hardened again, a frown tracing his lips. She huffed before completely turning away and stomping off with her cart.

The eldest sighed, folding his arms and calculating his next move.

"Diavolo? What are we doing?" She asked with her hands out, searching blindly as the prince held his hands over her eyes. The demon let out a chuckle as he walked behind her.

"Just a few more steps... stop," he answered. "Alright, ready?"

"I guess," she mumbled, putting her hands down to her sides.

He lifted his hands off her eyes, and she blinked a few times to adjust. Looking down, she saw a book in front of her on her bed, one that was brown and leather bound with no title or markings. She reached to open it and saw photos of the last month or so with the demon, all the cherished life's moments held in singular photos. It was a photo album.

"I'm rather fond of these back at home, and I wanted to make one featuring my favorite person," he murmured in her ear. "Happy Birthday, baby."

She shivered as his breath tickled her neck and ear. There weren't many, but they were all the ones she had taken with her phone since he came into her life. His first coffee run with her, outings to dinner and movies, and selfies randomly taken throughout the day.

"Thank you," she turned and faced him, wrapping her arms around his waist.

He kissed the top of her head. "I'm glad you like it."

"Love it," she mumbled into his sternum.

"Well, I think I have something you'll love more," he murmured softly to her.

"Hm?" She chirped, picking her head up to look at him.

He took the opportunity to cup her cheek and kiss her passionately, his other hand purchasing her waist. She hummed happily into his mouth, letting his tongue gain access to hers.

That afternoon, neither left her bed as he kept her completely occupied with his hands, mouth, and body.

A happy birthday indeed.

A couple of days later, she had been out running errands when a certain demon decided to run into her again. She was looking through some stationary at the office supply store when she dropped her pens she selected. With a sigh, she started to set her stuff down when she turned to find a pair of crimson eyes at her level, just as he was starting to stand at full height again.

"Well, it's you again," he beamed again.

"Yeah..." she mumbled. He handed her the pens she dropped, and she took them from his large hand, noting the red nail polish and long fingers. "Thanks."

"My pleasure. If you don't mind, would you be willing to show me which pens you like here? I'm rather picky and not from around here, so I'd like someone else's opinion," he murmured to her.

"Sure..." she replied, grabbing her things and walking around to the aisle with the pens. Setting her things down, she reached up and picked a couple. "I like the glide on these for taking down notes, and they're fast-drying so they don't smudge. These I prefer for making edits on things, the sharp color is really nice and I don't have to press too hard to get it to work." She continued on, showing him the different ones, but he quit listening the moment she started speaking. Lucifer was too busy admiring her form, appreciating her looks and expressions. She could make something as boring as pens seem interesting.

"So?" She asked.

"Pardon, I was considering which ones to get. What did you ask?" He asked smoothly.

"What's your name?" She asked again.

"Luci is what you may call me," he replied, bowing his head slightly. "And yours?"

She replied what hers was, and he repeated it like it was sweet honey on his tongue.

"I apologize if we got off on the wrong foot before. Thank you for helping me. If you don't mind, I'd like to treat you to coffee," Lucifer stated. She narrowed hers eyes, so he added, "As acquaintances."

"As acquaintances," she echoed.

"Thanks," she replied, taking her cold brew from Lucifer's hand. He nodded and sat next to her, drinking his own.

"So, tell me about yourself," he said.

"I just finished some university classes, but I'll be taking on a full-time job until I get into professional school," she replied quietly, looking around the coffee shop.

"Ah, a student," he mused. He thought for a moment and then asked, "Do you have siblings?"

She cocked her head and swirled her drink thoughtfully. "Just one sister. Older. We're not close. You?"

"I have six brothers, all younger," he replied, sounding despondent.

She smiled then. "Being the oldest of that many must be tough. You probably almost feel like their parent," she mused in return.

"Indeed, and by all means I practically am," he said with a sigh.

"As the youngest, it's not easy either. Even if you're bright, attractive, or anything else that's favorable, you'll always live in the shadow of your older siblings. Yes, most of the time, people are quite lenient with us, but knowing you'll never amount to your sibling is difficult when you pride yourself in your accomplishments... and nobody else does except you," she declared quietly.

Lucifer looked at her openly then, studying her face. He hadn't ever considered such a thing, but it made sense as to why his youngest brothers may have felt jaded when it came to him.

"I appreciate your perspective, actually. That's something I suppose I never have to deal with," he finally replied after she stared back at him. She nodded and took a drink.

"What do you do for a living, Luci?" She inquired, looking out the window.

"I work in the government as well as in education," he replied. "Though, looking after my brothers is more of a full-time job than anything else." He paused for a moment and then continued. "You said you have a partner, tell me about them."

"Ah, well, we've only been seeing each other for over a month, but we're incredibly happy. My parents adore him, and he's really just... something else," she replied with a sweet smile on her lips. The demon tilted his head at this, trying to calculate his next move, while also sorting through why he would be jealous in this moment, but that was for later.

"You sound very happy with him. How'd you meet?" He asked.

"It was kind of strange how we met... He just showed up one day, and he's been with me ever since," she replied dreamily.

Lucifer felt conflicted then. If this was Diavolo she was talking about, it sounds like he's not in trouble and likely has been playing house with this human. But, certainly, the prince wasn't kidnapped or in harm's way. He had managed to find himself a sweet woman who just liked him, maybe even loved him.

"I really should get going. Thank you for the coffee, Luci," she stated, coming to her feet while looking at her phone. "Maybe we'll bump into each other again."

Lucifer watched as she stood and walked away. A glimmer on her ring finger caught his eye, but he wasn't sure if maybe just the sun was playing tricks on his vision. Even after weeks in the human world, he wasn't entirely used to the blazing light.

Damn. Barbatos is going to be absolutely livid when he hears about this, he thought to himself as he watched her car leave the parking lot. He quickly stood to leave the shop and follow her in his red sports car.

"In the kitchen, darling," Diavolo called out to her as she came in the house through the garage. She bounded up to him and wrapped her arms around his waist from behind after finding him.

"Hi," she purred.

He was standing at the stove, making a stir-fry for dinner while her parents were out of town. Though the moment her body collided with his, he straightened up and turned his head to the side.

"What..." he mumbled to himself. Diavolo put the spoon down and whirled around to look at her.

"What is it, b–"

"Were you with someone?" He asked defensively, looking her over. A particular smell radiated off of her, the smell he was finally able to place after being amongst the hunans for this long, one with a warning known to only demons. One that said, "Back off."

"What? I mean, I got coffee with someone, and I was just about to tell you about it. What's wrong?" She asked nervously.

"You..." He started to say and then pulled her into him. His brows were tightly knit, lips pressed into a thin line.

"I didn't do anything, I just–" she started to tremble, afraid he was mad. The demon deeply inhaled the scent from her hair, trying to place its familiarity.

"Who did you meet?" He asked roughly, his arm tightening around high on her waist.

"He said his name was Luci. Diavolo, what is this about?" She started to whine slightly.

"The scent of a demon followed you home, an intentional one at that," he murmured. He rubbed his chin back and forth across the top of her head, his other arm slithering around her. He growled ferally, a deep sound coming from the pits of his core, vibrating all across his body.

In a quick series of moves, he grabbed her by the waist and sat her on top of the bar across from the stove. His lips were on hers, furiously lashing his tongue against her mouth. The prince's hands were everywhere all at once, grabbing and caressing every which way across her body.

"You're mine," he snapped, kissing her neck and sinking his teeth into her delicate flesh.

"Baby, I'm sorry, p-please," she whimpered.

"I'm not–" he panted, "Not mad at you. Just let me take you, my love. Let me claim you again, make you mine."

She relaxed slightly and finally reciprocated his touch. "O-Okay... Yes, please," she whispered. He yanked off her shirt and tossed it. Not wanting to do it there anymore, he picked her up and quickly carried her to the couch in the living room, laying her back against the seat cushions while he worked her pants off and then her undergarments too.

"Mm, I love your body, your skin..." he purred, grinding himself against her. He swiftly tossed his shirt aside, followed by pulling down his lounge pants to release his hard, throbbing cock.

"Take me, Dia, make me yours," she murmured sweetly against his cheek.

"You're sure you're ready for me?" He asked a hit hesitantly, kissing her jaw.

"Now," she commanded, wrapping her legs around his waist.

He groaned and took hold of his length, rubbing the head up and down against her clit, spreading their fluids together and making them both moan. The head popped into her entrance with ease, opening up the rest of her cunt for his cock. He groaned again, his cock fully seated inside her, like it was his throne, like she belonged to him.

"Oh, my love," he rasped, a wicked smile threatening to cross his lips.

"Fuck me," she whimpered softly, clinging onto him.

"Gladly," he grunted, taking her legs onto his shoulders and pressing down into her. His thrusts started slow but deep, quickly building to a harsh pounding. Her moans quickly turned into wails of pleasure.

"You're all mine," he growled, leaning down to kiss her roughly. She blinked and suddenly he was in his demon form again, and she felt his cock thicken and throb inside her, causing an orgasm to barrel through her like a bullet train. This spurred him on to fuck her faster, gripping her thighs firmly as he folded her further into the mating press.

"Dia! It's too much!" She cried out, feeling another orgasm already burning within her core.

"Just–" he grunted, "A little– aghck, more." He was completely feral, watching her so intently with his glittering golden orbs fixated on her beautifully wrecked face.

Suddenly, he pulled her up, still sheathed on his cock, and he turned to kneel down to the floor, carefully laying her back, a move so tender, it was juxtaposed to how hard he fucked her once she was settled with her legs on his shoulders again.

"I love you," he groaned, feeling his inner knot begin to coil and start to snap.

"I-I l-l-love you-u!" She stammered back.

"I'm close," he rasped. He laid himself fully down on her, kissing her lips and trailing down to her breasts to lick and suck on her nipples. Her body curled in around him, a silent scream befalling her mouth as her whole body went rigid with pleasure.

"Dia, Dia, Dia!" She gasped, sounding strangled and pitiful.

"That's it, tighten down on me, make me yours too," he grunted. She turned her head and bit gently into his neck, feeling feral herself. It caught him by surprise, especially with how good it felt for her to mark him in return. It was enough for him to fall down the pits of pleasure, chasing his high and pounding his cock into her as he released spurts of hot cum.

His labored breaths filled the space around them. Carefully, he lifted himself up to look at her, suddenly a heavy weight of guilt on his chest.

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed

Post made by sassykattery. Do not repost. Reblogs and comments appreciated

Tags: @delphi-dreamin @itsmeninerz @biteable-pink-pixie @flemmingbamse @themythicaldisaster @marvelous-maniac @attic-club-sandwich

#obey me #obey me shall we date #sassywrites #sassystories #obey me fanfic #obey me diavolo #obey me smut #diavolo x fem reader #diavolo smut #diavolo x fem oc #diavolo x female reader #diavolo x fem! mc #dollface #dollface fic #dollfic

[mizarsta]

Sketches I drew after reading Party Trick by dollfaces on AO3, except the shaunajackie was just a funny sketch based on that vine and a post from someone who had never seen the show lol. I highly recommend the fanfic!

#yellowjackets #yellowjackets showtime #traditional art #sketches #charlotte matthews #natalie scatorccio #laura lee #vanessa palmer #shaunajackie #jackieshauna

[multiwreckedmess]

February Filth Fest - Day 16

Pairing: Jongho x fem!Reader Prompt: Sadism WC: 2.1k Summary: TW/CW: DEAD DOVE DO NOT READ FFS aged up, mafia/gang, gunplay, knifeplay, slapping, spanking, object penetration, aftercare. this one is going to be rough and for sure i’m not going to be able to tw/cw it all. It’s DARK. it’s sadism. I have additional notes/spoil it at the beginning under the cut for those interested.

SPOILER: At the end this is revealed to be a scene between two consenting adults making it more cnc than straight up nc. that said the set up for this is not shown, only the aftercare. scenes like this require setup and trust between the parties that isn’t fun or sexy to write out as a one-shot fanfic.

“Are you afraid?” Jongho leans back in his chair, legs up on his desk casually. You sit opposite him, hands and feet tied to a metal folding chair, jaw set and staring defiantly at him. Your eye twitches. “I’d understand if you were scared. You’ve certainly gotten yourself into a predicament.”

He’d been meticulously cleaning his revolver for the past hour, stripping down almost to nuts and bolts to delicately scrub each nook and cranny with a tiny hard bristle brush. Glasses perched on the end of his nose, occasionally glancing your way. Neither of you speaking, locked into a cold war. 

“I assume you know why I had my men so rudely pulled you from your sheets at this hour?” He spins the unloaded barrel, flicking his wrist casually to lock it in place. Aiming at you from between his spit-shined Chelsea boots he mock fires the gun, recoiling with a smirk. You suck your cheeks in, unflinching. It’s not that you’re unaware of your extremely precarious position, dragged to the boss’s office at an ungodly hour wearing only your silk slip, slippers having been promptly removed by force at the door. You are acutely aware of the ledge at which you are perched. It’s that you can’t do anything about it. Your eyes hollowed from interrupted sleep you’ve totally dissociated.

You’ve totally dissociated and Jongho is not happy about it. His smirk fades to a sneer. “Certainly you didn’t think you’d get anywhere in the organization sleeping around my circle of underlings? Loose lips for a loose woman?” His cackle cracks like a whip through the cold atmosphere. “Dollface, don’t you think I’ve got surveillance on all my men? From my personal guards to the lowliest dishwasher. I knew about you the second you got your assignment.”

You’d agreed to be a test case in a new tactic for your department. The thought was frequently the lowest rung of the organization knew more about the true goings-on than the top brass. Janitors, servers, housekeepers, etc. anyone who might not directly deal with the dirty side of the business but certainly would be taking care of the people who did. The underpaid, overworked class of workers. By collecting your intel via friendships and relationships and tangential associations to these people you could stay under the radar longer than climbing the ladder, at least was the theory. 

Stalking your chair like a predator you can feel the heat of his gaze scanning you from bedhead to pedicured toe. Resting his revolver on your shoulder he casually leans down, aiming down the barrel at his chair. The sharp click of the hammer in your ear makes you flinch nearly microscopically. His breath on the back of your neck you can sense his silent laughter. “Very cute.”

“You’re not going to kill me.” You stare straight forward, dispassionate, direct. “So cut the dumb shit mind games.”

He steps back from you, almost offended. “You think the games are for you? Don’t you know some bears like to play with their food?”

“You’re not going to kill me,” you reiterate. Jongho sighs, running the barrel of his gun over your smooth skin, flicking the strap of your slip off your shoulder. “You’re right. I’m not. You got me there. I’m going to see how long it takes you to beg me to kill you.” Slowly he lowers his lips, kissing where your strap once lay with a sweet softness. “Alright doll?” You try to keep your heart rate steady, muscles relaxed. Keep your air of indifference as he completes his circle around you to sit on the edge of his desk. Pointed toe of his Chelsea boot secure under your chair he jerks the chair backwards, your head snapping forward bracing for an impact that never comes. A tiny yelp escapes your tensed lips, fingers wrapping around the poles supporting the backrest. as the front two legs of your chair hover in the air. Face burning with shame you can’t look up at him. You broke. You fucking broke and now he knew he could get at you. “I’m going to really enjoy our time together.” He slams the front legs back down harshly. 

Casually Jongho reaches behind him, opening a top drawer and unrolling a soft leather wrap case. Unfurling it nearly covers his desk, small glittering silver tools catch what little light there is in the room. It’s clear he takes care of his things. It’s just there to scare you, you silently reassure yourself. “Aren’t you going to ask what I plan on doing to you?” He smirks, leaning over to the side to catch your eyes. “What’s the point, you’ll do it to me anyway.” He chuckles, “you’re smarter than you let on.” Placing the gun on the mat he pulls a small packet from a pouch and rips it open. An alcohol pad. Your eyes flick from the pad to the man as he approaches you, warm palms sliding the hem of your slip up your thighs. Methodically he swipes up and down your inner thighs all the way up to your exposed slit. “W-what are you doing?” “Ah so you ask now,” he tosses the spent sheet away. “Can’t have my playthings getting too dirty you know.” 

The glint of a blade catches your eye. A 1950s replica stiletto switchblade. Silver and black and sleek. Jongho drags the point slowly over the freshly cleansed areas of your thighs. “What was your evaluation of me.” Tongue tied, focused on stilling your shaking legs you sit silently, breath caught in your throat. You’re ready to catch the yelp you think is sure to come, the anticipation of the sting almost worse than the actual act. It never happens. Jongho bites at your throat. The action catches you off guard and you moan, leaning into him. “Hm, interesting,” he mutters. “Trust that I already know everything you told your little piggies back at home-base. I mean, what is your evaluation of me?” Keeping the blade flat against your thigh, tip just barely pressed to the crease of your thigh and pelvis, his face is inches from yours. Your cunt leaks embarrassingly, betraying the beating in your chest. “You’re young. And fucking insane.” You nearly spit at him, teeth gnashing. Hand pinching your teeth the tip of the knife digs further into you. You hiss, chest rising and falling with each quickening breath, unable to hold it back any longer. “Is that really all?” He purrs. Challenging his gaze as best you can you don’t make any more to speak. Locked in a battle neither one of you wants to lose. The knife retracts suddenly, moaning as the blade glances your thigh. “I guess we’ll need to warm up those cute little lips of yours.” Jongho tosses the knife to the side, listening to it clatter and skitter away from you. Reaching behind he grabs the shiny revolver, placing the tip of the barrel between your pouted lips. “Suck it. Suck it or I break your teeth trying.” With a sneer you accept it into your mouth, the cool metal tangy on your tongue. Dropping his pinch at your cheeks he palms himself, working the barrel between your lips. Despite the cleaning it still smells like gunpowder and hot steel. Rolling your tongue around the barrel you treat it like a cock, letting him direct the strokes. “Just like that,” he presses the tip of the barrel to the inside of your cheek, pulling it taut, stretching your lips to the side. “See your mouth is useful for something.” He taps the bulge, leaving your cheek hot.

Unzipping his pants he strokes the outline of his shaft, pressed snugly to his hip. “Now where were we?” He pulls the gun from your lips, trail of spit connecting your lips and the barrel. “Warmup. That’s right.” Pulling your ass to the edge of the chair you can feel the trail of wetness sticky on your ass. Jongho slaps your swollen mound, thrilled to see your legs fight to close, blocked by the chair. Your eyes roll as you fight down any noise, determined to remain silent. Jongho nudges the barrel against your clit, the metal having cooled already from the heat of your mouth you shiver. “Just think, all those times you were fucking some underling for an unsatisfactory five minutes you could’ve just had me.” He pushes the barrel into your entrance. It’s unyielding and cold, your muscles clench down fighting the intrusion. “Ride it. Ride it or I fire it.” “You wouldn’t,” your eyes wide you stare at him. Slowly he drags the smooth barrel in your cunt. “From what you know of me, do you really think I wouldn’t? Who are you to me?” Chest heaving you do your best to roll your hips with his thrusts. Confusing arousal and fear tear at your insides, tears welling and spilling over. The ropes at your wrists and ankles rub uncomfortably against your skin, tugging and tense. Burning with shame you sob and cum all over his freshly cleaned magnum revolver. His open palm strikes your cheek with a hefty smack. “Did I say you could cum?” “N-no,” you hiccup through tears. “Hold it.” He props the gun inside you, finally leaving your side. Clenching down you try to fight the slick surface slipping from your walls. Your stomach flexing, brows furrowed, it slowly creeps from you. Legs desperately trying to push together to catch it you squirm and pull. The flat side of a blade slides between your ankle and the metal leg, easily slicing through the taut rope, letting your thighs slap together just in time.

You thought once you were freed of your ropes you’d fight more but your body sits lax in its spot, trembling and pliant. Too mentally exhausted to run you let Jongho move you into position over his desk, variety of implements shoved to one half to make room for you. “Tell me, my first question, what your evaluation of me was. Truthfully. The full thing.” The last defiant bone in your body shakes your head by force of will. “Fuck you.” Jongho sighs, hand wrapping around the hilt of the largest implement in his kit, a cleaver, perfectly polished.

The first smack of the flat of the blade to your ass you’re unprepared for. Squealing your thighs smash into the edge of the desk with a jump. He quickly follows with a volley of four more, counting out loud for you to hear. Biting your lip you fight moans, the sting of each hit setting every nerve alight. “I see why they sent you, fucking painslut.” Nose running, your knuckles go white gripping the wood. “Fine! Fucking kill me! Fuck you!” The flat of the blade comes down again with a hefty swack, forcing a racked sob from your chest. “Gonna cum from that?” Jongho taunts you, slapping your wet slit lightly. “Yes!” The admission has you shaking beneath him, humiliated. “Good. I’m going to count to 5. Then you can cum.” You gulp and brace. Slowly he counts each hit, your legs wobbling, the last sending you limp on the desk cumming around nothing, juices running down your thighs. Grunting Jongho pulls his cock from his boxers, pumping himself quickly as he shoots all over your collapsed body. “Fucking bitch, got my desk all dirty.” He pushes the side of your head to the desk. “Clean it up and we’ll try that question again in an hour.”

The door slams shut heavily and you close your eyes, curling into yourself on the desk. Listening to your own breathing you count down from ten slowly as you exhale. It’s your house. It’s your basement. It’s an antique desk you’d found only months before. The gun is a non-firing replica. The implements are dentists tools you’d bought from amazon. The knife had been ground down dull.

Cautiously the door swings back open. Soft footsteps. A bottle of blue Gatorade with a straw is placed quietly in front of you. Gentle swipes of a warm washcloth clean your raw ass followed by soothing cream. You adjust to the new quiet breathing in the room. Straining to hold yourself up and drink you feel Jongho slide behind you, arm providing support to your ribcage. “Was that okay?” Jongho helps the straw between your lips. “I didn’t- you weren’t really scared, right?” Your face and hair are a total mess as you intertwine your lean more heavily into him. “Can I put your robe on you?” Jongho offers, rubbing the fluffy fabric against your calf. You nod, warm thick fabric weighing you down cozily. “I love you.”

I almost skipped this one full on. I’ve been writing a lot of dom!idol and just felt like i couldn’t innovate on it and didn’t know what to do for Jongho. But that said i think it turned out okay?

Honestly i felt like i needed to write the aftercare for me just as much as the characters.

#jongho smut #ateez smut #jongho x fem!reader #ateez x fem!reader #february filth fest

[sneakyboythingz]

This is silly but I dont like when people write Jax x Pomni and make him call her "Dollface" and "crybaby" bc i like to think Jax uses those pet-names exclusively for Ragatha and Gangle only.

So i prefer the fanfics where he calls Pomni by something new exclusively for her Like "pom-pom" "clown girl" "toots" "bug eyes" and etc. Smejwnsnsn

#the amazing digital circus #tadc #digital circus #funnybunny

[mr-voorhees-husband]

ANON IM SORRRY I DID A DUMB BUT

THIS IS FOR THE ANON WHO WANTED PENGUIN N HARVEY DENT X VIRGIN READER

Also I'm sorry for being like, hella dead on here. Life's been life, to put it bluntly.

How about.. Arkham!Twoface and... Reeves!Oz

Warnings/tags: losing your virginity, soft sex, very gentle, Daddy Kink (Oz), slightly ooc Harv? Idk its my hc version so..

Reader: Gender Neutral, virgin

Arkhamverse! Harvey + Harv Dent

Good god are they soft.

They were scared that you'd yet to sleep together, but, when you finally came clean? Both were so relived they didn't even realize what you said at first.

The first one to fully react it Harv, he wasn't as worried about the 'no sex' thing as Harvey, surprisingly. So while he was relieved, it clicked almost immediately.

He chuckles and grins, taking control so he can yank you to their chest and tilt your head up with his hand, Harvery's resting on your waist, "Why didn't ya' just say so, Doll? Y'know we'll never judge ya'."

Oddly gentle for such a sleazy, rough man, but it's simply because he can understand it. He technically was a virgin too, even if Harvey wasn't. Yeah, he'd know what to do, Harvey had plenty of experience, but, he'd never actually had sex before.

The idea of you both being eachother's firsts made him giddy, already planning the perfect date night to end with you three in bed.

Harvey, on the other hand, when he comes too, is so completely awestruck. He really had expected someone else to sleep with you before him.

The fact no one had though... it's kinda hot to him. Unlike Harv, he's excited at the idea because this means he gets to mold you to be absolutely perfect for them

They both get very possessive at the idea, though. This means they'll be your only frame of reference, and if they do good enough? You'll only ever want them.

"Oh, darling..." Harvey mumbled against your skin, watching in awe as you whined and squirmed on the bed. They'd been unintentionally teasing you for what felt like hours, calloused fingers stretching you open while a rough hand rubbed and stroked your most sensitive parts. "You look amazing."

"Harrv.." You whined, hoping that maybe if the other took control, they'd finally fuck you like you'd been planning for them too.

"Yeah, dollface?" Harv muttered, moving up just a bit to kiss your chest. They didn't stop their assault, though, continuing to bring you to your third climax of the night. "What'dya need?"

"You two- please-" You almost sobbed out the words, moaning as they sped up their ministrations.

"Soon, sweetheart." Harvey promised, kissing your jaw.

"We'll fuck you real soon." Harv agreed, nipping your clammy flesh with a lovestruck grin.

Over all, extremely soft and sweet about it. When they fully take you, they're muttering praises against your skin. Harvey telling you how good you're doing, thanking you for letting him do this, while Harv is growling out how good you feel, how gorgeous you look splayed out like that

Aftercare is a must, of course. If you're exhausted, they'll carry you to the bath and help you scrub off all the sweat and cum, cooing softly as they do it. They're absolutely in love right now, literally over the moon that you'd trust them both enough to take your virginity.

The morning you have breakfast in bed and a nice planned day of relaxation and plenty of cuddles.

They secretly hope you'll want to do something else that day, something a bit more sensual, but they're happy to just have you in their arms.

Reevesverse!Oswald Cobblepot

Okay let me explain, my friend's version of Oswald literally made me simp SO hard that I went looking for an Oz that was similar. I read one fanfic of this guy and he won me over. Sorry anon I declined I was wrong this guy is such daddy material, i will gladly write for him now <3

"Hm? Oh, okay, sweet cheeks."

Yeah, that's his response. It takes him a moment to fully process it, honestly, but he doesn't tease or mock you, he never really does. Instead he urges you onto his lap, kisses you softly and goes "do ya' want daddy t' change that, sweet thing?"

Immediately after you agree though, he's giving you that smile he gets when he's made a good deal, kisses you again and softly tells you to wait here until one of the girls comes to get you.

Eventually, when one of the girls do come and grab you, you make it into your room and are pleasantly surprised to see how much Oz has set it up just for you.

He'd make it overly romantic, but, in a good way. Candle are lit, some soft music in the background (or the slightly muffled music from the club below), with nice silk sheets and champagne or wine (whatever's your preference) for when you finish.

He starts it off slow, letting you set the pace so he knows for sure how you want to handle it. Getting you to straddle his thighs, hands resting on your hips as you kiss and slowly grind down against him.

He's so unbelievably sweet, the exact opposite when he's in the club. The sleeze isn't gone, but the teasing is, giving you whatever you whine or ask for in moment. You want his mouth on your neck? He'll gladly oblige, licking, kissing, and biting every inch of skin he can reach.

Oswald has to prepare you, definitely, he may not be that long below the belt, but he's wide. He won't even humor the idea of fucking you properly until you can take at least two fingers, though, preferably three.

When you're finally nice and loose for him, though, he'll ask you softly if you're 100% sure you want this. When you agree, downright begging him to fuck you already, he gets a small, loving smile and shushes you gently.

"Go slow, sweetheart." Oswald groaned out, keeping careful hold on your thighs so you couldn't try and slam down like you wanted too. "I know ya're excited, but ya' gotta go slow so I don't hurt'cha."

"Ozzie please-" you moaned softly, trying to force him deeper inside you. "Ozzie-!"

"Shhh... C'mon baby, be patient." He urged softly, lowering you down just a bit, biting back a grunt as you clenched around him. "Daddy'll get there, he's just gotta make sure ya're not gonna hurt."

"Daddy..." You whined, being met with a kiss from your lover. He mumbled softly against your lips in Italian, letting you take more of him inside you. "Daddy please.."

"Paitent baby," Oswald smiled, kissing your lips once more, "be patient for daddy and he'll make it worth it. I promise."

Afterwards, he'll help you sip on some cool champagne, before pulling you to the bathroom for a nice shower before bed. He's way more cuddly than usual, too, large arms keeping you to his belly and chest all night long.

In the morning, he'll call you both up some breakfast, and ask if you'd let him give you oral before it gets there.

"Just a snack before breakfast, sweetheart, where's the harm in that?"

An insatiable, depraved, incredibly soft and sweet man indeed.

#two face x reader #two face #harvey dent x reader #harvey dent #arkhamverse #oswald cobblepot x reader #oswald cobblepot #oswald cobblepot 2022 #batman 2022

[dniosamu]

would you actually call someone doll or dollface bc everybody assumes you would in the fanfics

Maybe, I'd use 'doll' more often than 'dollface', though, I lean towards 'dear/darling' more..

#bsd rp #bsd chuuya #bsd roleplay #bungou stray dogs chuuya #chuuya nakahara #bungou stray dogs #bsd