#love vintage when I’m kid so so much

[oh-stars]

Now that I’m back working retail, I can’t get the image of Corroded Coffin becoming one of the vintage band tees you see on graphic tee walls. They’d be up there with Metallica and Black Sabbath, made for everyone to wear for the fashion of it rather than their love of the band.

Everyone would expect Eddie to be outraged when it first starts to happen — all these fake fans and posers wearing his merch without knowing who he is at all. And at first, sure he didn’t love it but at the same time… money is money and he’s got kids to put through school. His own are already out of college, with their fancy degrees and stable jobs, but a slew of nieces and nephews, and a few great ones now (Jesus Christ he’s old) from the Party that are even smarter than their genius parents and those tuitions aren’t cheap. Famous Uncle Eddie feels like it’s his duty to help with their tuitions to the ivys or whatever, so if Jenny, the wine mom from down the street, wants to wear a brand new, yet distressed tee with the logo he designed across the chest? Let her!

That being said, he doesn’t start loving it until they eventually reach the toddler section. Suddenly, Eddie — who previously had no opinion on whether or not his kids had kids — is begging all three of their kids for grand babies. And he’s not being subtle about it either. He buys the onesies and toddler tees, leaving them where Steve and the kids can see, shipping new designs to his kids “just in case.” All he wants is to see a baby, preferably one he knows, all done up in his merch, repping the band in a matching metal outfit. It’s not his fault all his own babies are two decades past the baby phase!

Steve doesn’t intervene, no matter how much their kids beg and plead. If anything, he thinks it’s hilarious that suddenly Eddie’s the one all baby crazy after the years of him laughing at Steve’s baby fever. Sue him.

#steve harrington #steddie #stranger things #eddie munson

[nervoussagittarius]

hey, let’s not be alone tonight

matt sturniolo x reader

summary: matt introduces his girlfriend to the world through a video on his personal channel, request

warnings: extreme fluff, maybe some swearing who knows lol

matt sat in the driver seat of his car looking down at his lap. his face displayed a slightly distraught look as he glanced up into the camera.

“hi guys welcome backs to my personal channel…god i hate filming by myself.” he said with a sigh.

his gloomy look soon brightened into a smile as he stated “luckily i’m alone tonight” and turned the camera hoping both of you were in frame. you simultaneously laughed at his little bit before realizing that the camera was in fact very much crooked.

“hey matt,” you said pointing to the lens.

“oh fuck, let me fix it. hang on guys” he said holding a hand up to the camera in a “wait” motion .

matt quickly got out of the car making his way around to the front. he conducted you on which way to move the camera so both of you were evenly in the frame.

you tried to concentrate at the task at hand, but everytime you looked at matt for direction he made a funny face back at you, making you laugh.

“is that good? i can’t tell” you said calling to matt. he sent you a thumbs up in response, and made his way back to his seat.

matt and you were in sync as you looked at each other, then to the camera, and then back to each other.

“you ready?” he questioned reaching down to hold your hand over the center console.

“absolutely” you replied.

“guys, you were all wrong…. i’m coming clean and telling you that i’m still as single as i’ve ever been” matt said with a very serious look on his face.

“what?” you exclaimed with a slight giggle, looking at matt. he tried not to break character, but didn’t last very long as you poked his cheek getting him to smile.

“i’m just kidding,” he said “this is my girlfriend y/n. all of you have been speculating so we thought it was time to announce it.”

”you can talk you know” he chuckled softly squeezing your hand.

“i know, i just didn’t want to cut you off” you whispered, looking into his blue eyes as they softened at your statement.

“hi guys, i’m y/n” you finally repeat waving at the camera.

matt couldn’t take his eyes off of you. you looked so perfect sitting under the lights of his car. he didn’t want to pressure you into having to succumb to parts of his lifestyle, but your willingness to participate in a video with him made him love you even more.

matt was very private with his personal business. he didn’t like people speculating or starting rumors. for the longest time he didn’t want to expose you to the hate that came from his job, but he wanted nothing more then to be able to show you off to the world. you were everything to him and he wanted to celebrate that.

“matt..” you said softly, grabbing his attention. “do you want to tell them what we’re doing today?”

“oh yeah, so i was gonna make an instagram story asking you guys to ask us questions, but i couldn’t figure out how to do it, and then i realized it would spoil the suprise. so nick and chris wrote us a couple questions that they figured you’d want us to answer.”

you released your hand from matt’s with a giggle at his statement, picking up your drink. this caught his attention as he quickly grabbed your drink from you, putting it in your other hand, and grasped the left one back in his.

this made you give him a “really?” look but he just responded with a shrug and a brief kiss to your cheek.

“alrighty” he said dragging out the y. “we’re gonna start out simple and take turns answering questions. y/n is going to go first with the question ‘how did we meet?’”

you laughed, “so matt and i actually have different views on how me met, but nick cleared it up for us because he has a better memory of the situation.” matt jokingly rolled his eyes and he looked at you intently.

“i know that we originally met at a vintage thrift store when i had complimented nick on his shirt. i was wearing this vintage leather jacket and he loved it, so he wanted to show matt and chris. that’s actually when we met, but matt claims he wasn’t there for that, so to him we met at a small gathering one of our mutual friends had for their birthday.”

“i promise i was not there when you first met nick and chris”

“how did they get to that vintage store then matt? you drive them everywhere.” you broke out in laughter at the dumbfounded look on his face.

“okay you may have a point, but i’m still sticking to my original story.” he said passing you the phone to ask the next question.

“okay baby, whatever you say.” you patted his cheek as he once again rolled his eyes at you lovingly.

“how long have we been together?” you asked.

he pretended to think for a second before saying “seven months. literally the best days of my fucking life.”

“really?” you said looking up at him with a small smile on your face.

“of course. i love being with you”

you guys stared at eachother for a few seconds before you cleared your throat looking away with a slight blush on your face.

“okay, next question.” you got out quickly, not being able to make eye contact with matt.

you and matt have been together for a decent amount of time, yet he still manages to suprise you and make you nervous daily. he thinks it’s cute, but you find it a little frustrating. he loves seeing how he can still make you blush just by looking at you. it boosts his ego and tells him he’s doing something right.

“how do you manage a healthy relationship? i feel like nick and chris are asking this questions for themselves because neither of them can stay in a relationship” matt laughed.

“i think it’s all about how you communicate and developing a flow that will bind both of your lives without disrupting the previous routine.” you said through giggles.

“it’s definitely important to make time for each other, but you also have to make time for yourself. especially with matt’s job being very time consuming. we’ve done a lot of trial and error to figure out what’s best for us and our relationship. matt and i also have a rule that we can’t go to sleep mad at each other so it kinda forces us to figure our shit out.”

“i agree.” matt says looking at the camera giving them a slight head tilt. he leaned his head back on his seat turning to look at you.

“okay last question for the night. would we ever start a channel together?”

“do you want to answer this together?” matt asks. you nod.

“on three” you reply.

three counts are made before you both answer. “fuck no” “absolutely not”

the serious faces you’re both making are soon broken as you fall into eachother laughing. a few seconds pass before matt lifts his head first placing a kiss to your hair.

“listen, we’re not saying that y/n will never appear in a video again, but neither of us want the hassle or the constant publication of our relationship on the internet”

“yeah, we’re definitely not one of those couples.” you say with a smile, still leaning your head on matt’s shoulder.

matt finally released your hand, grabbing the camera off the dash. you took this time to take a sip of your drink as matt placed the focus on you.

“any last words for the viewers?”

“we love you all and i hope you’re prepared for matt’s constant talk about me, because nick and chris complain about it all the time.”

you grabbed the camera pointing it at matt.

“and what are your last words mr. matthew sturniolo?”

he looked over the camera to you and then back to the lens.

“let’s kiss the camera, babe” he said.

you both leaned forward to place a short peck on the camera lens. pulling back, you both laughed at the fog and matt wiped the lens clean as he ended the video.

“do you think they’ll like it?” you asked softly.

“i think they’ll love it because you’re perfect, and funny, and beautiful, and i love you.” matt rambled.

“i love you too, matt,” you smiled.

you took his hand, once again, as he started the short drive back to his house.

comments:

i’ve never seen two people more perfect for eachother

the fact that matt wouldn’t let go of her hand the entire time did something to me

i don’t blame y/n. i too would get nervous if i was in the presence of matt sturniolo

nick and chris being the biggest supporters of their relationship and making them questions is so cute.

i can’t wait to see all of the posts matt makes about y/n now

crying at how adorable they are

an: i’m in love with this one and them. i hope y’all enjoyed it as well��🤍

#matt sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo imagine #matt x reader #sturniolo fanfic

[charcoallbaby]

fake marriage

smuttyyyyy ofc so 18+ also a lil toxic

tired asf i’ll do a spelling check tmrw thx for reading!

having a fake marriage was definitely one of the best thing to ever exist especially since i get paid to pretend to love a man who is basically heartless, well to most people he is.

i get to live in a giant penthouse in the city of boston, i get a huge bedroom, with a ensuite plus a balcony, free clothes, mostly everything gets handed to me.

as much i love being in this fake marriage, there are some cons mostly because of matt. i mostly hate hearing him fuck girls in the room next to me, when i can’t do anything like that, he’s very protective of me, he gets jealous very easily, he doesn’t really let me talk to any male being while he’s with me. he punishes me by not paying me that week which doesn’t really effect me, the amount of money i’ve made since this marriage is insane, it would take me months to run through it. but in matt’s eyes he’s somehow “punishing me.”

tonight was a black-tie event for one of his many company’s. he got me a vintage chanel dress from the 90s. it was the most beautiful dress i’ve ever laid my eyes on, i knew the price of the dress would be nothing to him, he just wantedme to look good standing beside him.

“ready?” matt asked while fixing his cufflinks on his wrist. “yeah, i just need to get my heels on.” i grabbed my silver heels from my collection of different types of heels.

“the cars outside y/n.” he looked me up and down. “fuck, can you grab my bag?” i asked slipping myheels on. he rolled his eyes and grabbed my bag off my vanity. “thank you.” i took my small clutch from his hands and made my way to the elevator.

“behave tonight,” matt whispered in my ear before placing his hand around my waist, smiling for the cameras. “i always do.” i say through my teeth. “we’ll see about that love.” he pressed a light kiss to my cheek.

everything is for the cameras and i mean that. the touching, the kissing, theres no contact between us at home. before today i hadn’t spoken to matt in probably 3 days. not that he would talk to me anyway. he only talks to his parents, his 2 brothers, the maids who clean the house(mostly flirting) and the girls he fucks in the guest bedroom, matt would never dare to fuck a girl in his own bed, he’s really weird about that type of thing, he hates when anyone goes into his room well everyone but the maids, as i said he flirts with them a lot, just to make them blush, it boosts his already massive ego. after i come home from picking up some groceries up or going to visit my friends, i hear him making up some story of how he saved an animal or how much money he gives to charity which i know he does. but he hates people, hates them other than the couple people he talks to.

mine and matt’s hands were interlinked as we walked into the building.

“how long have you guys been married?” the older women infront of us asked. i looked up at matt before speaking, “well me and matt have been together 3 years, married for 1,” i gave a fake smile to the women. “that’s just so beautiful!” she chimed. matt gave the women a small smile. “wait!” “what about kids, do you have kids?” matt’s let go of my hand and put the hand i just holding around my waist. i cleared my through before awkwardly laughing. “no, no,” “not as of right now,” i smiled. “maybe soon,” matt finally spoke. “oh really!” she exclaimed. “yes matt really!” i looked up at him, he looked down at me before looking back at the women. “maybe not soon, but in the future.” he licked his lips. “wonderful!” “it was nice talking to your mr and mrs sturniolo, i’m going to find my husband he wanders off!” she laughed. “you too.” matt gave her a straight lined smile. “bye.” i smiled.

me and matt watched her walk away. “fuck,” he took a deep breath. “having kids soon are we?” i turned to him. he moved both his hands around my waist as he looked down at me. “only said that for people to have something to talk about,” i could feel his warm hands through my dress. “it’s crazy how such a cold hearted person can make something up like that,” i teased him. he looked away from me, chuckled before looking back at me again. “you look good.” he licked his teeth. “yeah you too.” i touched his right bicep.

“thank you everyone for coming tonight,” matt awkwardly had his hand in his pocket as he gave a speech. “i would like to thank my team and my wife,” “thanks.” he awkwardly put his drink up in the air before taking a sip.

the room was filled with people loudly clapping.

“what’s wrong?” matt asked as he came down by from the stage. “my feet hurt.” i whined. “y/n baby, i didn’t marry you to whine about your feet come on let’s get a drink.” he put his hand on my back and guided me towards the bar.

“what would you guys like?” the bartender asked. “scotch on the rocks,” “y/n?” matt asked. i looked at the bartender. he smiled at me. i gave him back a small smile. i cleared my throat. “i’ll have a-” “she’ll have a glass of white wine,” matt interrupted me. “alright, that’ll be coming straight up,” he looked at me. “are you trying to piss me off?” he leaned down and whispered into my ear. “no,” i gulped. “you were flirting with that guy,” “matt i just smiled.” “we’re going home, come on.” he grabbed my hand.

the car ride was silent. matt was on his phone making the back of the SUV slightly light up. i looked out the window, mostly trying to notfall asleep.

matt pressed the button for the elevator. he stood there my heels in his hand while looking down at the marbled floor on the lobby floor.

the elevator opened, no one inside. we both walked in. matt pressed the number for our apartment before leaning his head against the wall behind him, closing his eyes. he looked so sexy, his jawline was sharp as fuck, his long hair falling over his eyes and his tie wrapped around his shoulders, he took it off when we got in the car. i pressed the emergency button making the elevator immediately stop. matt’s eyes darted open. he looked at me.

“why’d you stop the elevator y/n?” he groaned. “why are you so overly protective with me matt?” “you know i don’t flirt with guys especially in front of you, you love to make shit up did you see me flirt with that bartender?” “i simply smiled at him as a nice human does,” i crossed my arms. matt rolled his eyes. “what would you like to pretend that i don’t care?” “y/n, you think i care about who you flirt with?” “i actually couldn’t care fucking less, i just you know like to make this marriage look a little bit realistic,” he leaned over and re-pressed over apartment floor button. the elevator began moving again. “this marriage would be a little realistic when i have people over for you to not be fucking some girl,” i looked down at my nails. “what’d say?” “you heard me loud and clear,” the elevator doors opened. “thanks for holding my heels baby.” i grabbed the heels from his hand and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek just to piss him off even more.

i made my way to my room before matt grabbed my arm turning me around. “who do you think you are?” matt asked. i shrugged my shoulders before turning back around. “y/n!” matt yelled, pulling me back and pressing me against the wall beside us. “come on baby, tell me,” matt roughly held my waist. “i’m your wife matt,” i looked up at him. “your my wife y/n and i would like if you actually listened to me when i talked to you,” his grip on my hips became softer. “i’m sorry, i promise i’ll listen better next time daddy,” i batted my eyelashes. his eyes rolled into the back of my head. “i’m going to bed.” he backed away from me. “sweet dreams husband.”

after the little scene matt made, i changed out of my dress and walked into the kitchen to find a snack to eat.

i sat myself down at the kitchen island, a bowl of ice cream in front of me, my phone in my left hand, the spoon in my right. i had been thinking of eating this ice cream all day and now i finallygot a chance.

i was nearly half way through the bowl before shirtless matt walked into the kitchen, he had those plaid pj pants he loved with of course the waist band of his boxers sticking out. i rolled my eyes before focusing back onto the ice cream. i could hear matt open the fridge. i quickly looked at his back. it was so defined, his tattoos making it way hotter that it actually had to be.

“do we have any spare batteries anywhere?” i spoke. matt turned around, opened-water bottle in his hand. “why?” he asked. “for my vibarator,” i popped the spoon into my mouth. matt choked on his water. “do you know?” i asked. he cleared his throat. “yeah, there’s some in the uh-in my office on my desk.” he swallowed. “okay thanks!” i cheekily smiled. matt mumbled something i couldn’t make out before walking back to his room.

i opened matt’s office door to find him sitting on one of the couch’s controller in his hand playing his playstation. hm coincidence.

“sorry i just need to grab those batteries,” i walked past him and looked around his desk. i couldn’t see them. “matt where are they?” i turned around and looked at him. “they should be there,” he said not taking his eyes off the tv. i rolled mine while looking back down at the desk. “matt it’s an empty packet,” i held it up. he finally looked at me.“oh shit yeah- i was just being a nice husband, i already put the batteries in for you there sweetheart,” he flashed me a smile before looking back at the tv. i stomped over right infront of him. “i can’t see the tv princess,” “pause it then,” i bit the inside of my cheek. he paused it, placing the controller beside him. “you went through my stuff?” “you held my viborator!” “yeah, it was a nice one,” he smirked at me. “what the fuck!” “your insane!” i yelled. “eh,” “i’m not that bad love.” he opened his legs, man spreading.

i exhaled. “why would you think that would be a good idea?” i put a hand through my hair. “it was a nice gesture, don’t you think?” he poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue. i groaned. “it’s fucking weird!” “your not even my real husband!” “well if this makes you feel any better i did it so it would make the marriage more realistic,” he titled his head at me. “don’t bring that shit back up matt!” i whimpered.

“come on, it’s okay,” matt pulled himself more towards me. he placed his hands on my waist while looking up at me. “matt what are you doing?” i groaned. “it’s okay.” he pressed his warms lips against my stomach. i slowly closed my eyes. his lips stayed on my stomach while he slipped a finger up my shorts and into my underwear. he slid his finger into my soaking core. i let out a moan. he moved his finger inside me. after a few seconds his finger left me. i opened my eyes. his finger in his mouth. “oh fuck, you taste good,” he moaned. “let me eat you out,” he pulled me by the waistband of my shorts towards him making me fall down onto his lap. i quickly felt how hard he was underneath me. “lay there,” he said moving the controller onto the coffee table in front of us. i nodded my head. i layed myself down. matt licked his lips before pulling my shorts and underwear off. he placed himself between my legs. he was quick to slowly suck my clit. i cried out. “all you do is touch yourself y/n, i bet your dying for this,” matt groaned against me. he slipped his tongue into my licking up all my juices like it’s the best thing he’s every tasted. my hands were pulling onto his hair while parting my mouth open in pleasure. “ma-matt!” i cried out. “nearly there baby?” he pulled away from me making his warm breath hit off the pool he was between. “mhm.” i mumbled.

matt gave me one long stride between my folds before pulling away from me. i opened my eyes and whined. i was on the edge of coming. “i wanna fuck you,” matt said feeling his hard on through his pants. “okay-okay.” i breathed out. “not here, in my room.”

matt placed me down onto his bed, his lips softly meeting mine. we’ve kissed before around people but not alone, it felt so much more different this time.

“you on the pill?” he asked pulling his boxers down. i nodded my head. “i’m gonna fuck you without a condom cause to be fair, i don’t really care if i get you pregnant, your my wife after all.”

matt was inside me, not moving. i was trying to adjust his size. “you can do it, i know you can, matt whispered into my ear. “mhm,” i mumbled. he started to move inside me slowly but then started to pick it up. his arm was hovering over me, grabbing the headboard for support “fuckkkkkkk,” he moaned. “y/n, i’m gonna fuck you until the sun rises okay?” he grunted. “y-yeah.” i let out. “such a girl good for me.” he placed a kiss to my lips. his necklace that had a horse pendant was dangling over me, i got him it for his birthday that he claimed to only wear when we have to put our act on but he wears it all time.

i clenched around matt for like the 4th time in the last 2 and half hours.

matt dropped himself down beside me. “it gets better every fucking time y/n i swear.” matt said before sucking a nipple into his mouth. “mhm, i know baby.” i closed my eyes and put a hand through his hair and down his neck.

he popped my nipple out of his mouth before looking up at me. “you wanna order food, we can fuck inbetween don’t worry, i just hungry as fuck when i have sex,” he leaned his chin between the gaps my boobs. “yeah i could eat something i’m starving,” i ran my hand over his cheek. “your choice to pick.” he said before kissing my lips and getting up to throw his pj pants back on. i looked up at him sprawled out on his bed, naked. “am i the only girl you’ve had in this bed?” i asked. “pretty much,” he grabbed his t-shirt from the ground. “i feel special,” i grinned. he jokingly rolled his eyes. “don’t worry, not gonna happen again,” “that’s what you say until you hear me moan your name while my vibartor is between my thighs,” i sat up. “you think of me?” he chuckled. i nodded my head. “my wife actually thinks of me while masturbating, im a lucky man.”

“yeah, no more sex.” i spoke before rolling my eyes.

#matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #imagine #smut #matt sturniolo smut #pov

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

hey ari, i’m truly having an awful night. there’s a free pass for anything that involves someone being protective against a shitty guardian/parental figure. i wish jason todd would’ve kicked my dads ass tonight.

Lee took to Alfred much more warmly, peppering him with little boy questions about dinosaurs and oddly enough... piccolos? Which made the butler wonder if there was not a single neurotypical person in the entire family.

Adorable. He was enchanted. All dimples and curls. He'd carried Alfred a mug of tea managing to only spill half of it on the floor for the boxer and the wolf hound. And to get under your feet nearly causing you to fall twice- managing to get exiled to play outside with his dog.

It was a lovely afternoon. Watching Jason be so... soft. So helplessly in love with his wife and his children. Excited to be a new father. He enjoyed doting on his wife and fussing over his kids. He was comfortable in the vintage kitchen and the narrow halls. He liked the routine. Coming home to something stable.

When you started stretching your back in your kitchen chair, Jason smiled a little, "C'mon, let's get you on the couch."

"I'm fine, I just needed to-"

"Let's please not have to take you back to the hospital," Jason coaxed, helping you to your feet. "I'll tell Lee he needs to run in sight of the bay window every so often."

You snort and let him help you, grateful that he's strong enough to catch you if you need him to. It's comforting. He's comforting. Between his bulk beside you and Boris behind you. By the time he has you on the sofa you already feel better. At least until your phone rang.

"Hello?"

Jason frowned. He could tell from the look on your face who it was and he got Alfred seated listening with half an ear. Your biological father wanted money. Again. Either to have it put on his books or your sisters.

It hardly mattered. The divorce happened. Battle lines got drawn. You chose mom Mandy chose dad. Now you raised Mandy's kids and got "everything handed to you" as far as she could tell. Never mind trusts and adoptions. Or love. Or duty.

He gave Alfred a meaningful look and took a deep breath. Your biological dad and your sister were both banned. They both had no contact orders. And the second they upset you he'd be hanging up.

Your voice cracked. And tears fell.

And gently but firmly Jason plucked the phone from your hand, "If you're that fucking worried about Mandy's books use store brand instead of name brand for your meth and cut costs. Figure it out. Call here again and I'll report you to your PO." But before he could reply he hung up.

"Jay-"

"Shh," he soothed, "don't cry baby girl."

"God I hate it."

"I know," he hummed, wrapping his arms around you. "But you're doing good. Just breathe." He broke off and wiped your face, kissing your forehead, "I can't get you a shot but I can get the baby a snack," he teased, "what do they want?"

"Milk chocolate sea salt caramel truffles," you tell him.

He grinned and kissed your nose before standing up, "Alfred, did you feel up to going to the store with me or do you want to stay and keep Y/N company?"

"Well obviously," Alfred said sipping a fresh cup of tea, "I'm going to stay here and be nosey."

"Ky it is," Jason said, "I'll take a kid and a grocery list... then maybe we won't come home with half the cereal aisle."

"We hope," you tell him smiling.

"Shh," Jason said. "Be nice to me and I'll buy more than one bag of truffles."

"You should probably do that anyway," Alfred observed. "For practical reasons."

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #ask answered #minors dni #reader insert #disowned!verse

[jiminrings]

good day miss jimjiminieerings 🫡 i hope i’m not being a bother for asking this but may we 😍 with deepest humility and pleasantries 🥹 have a tiny tiny sneak peek of your brothers bff single dad au 😍👉👈 😍? again if it’s not a bother miss jimjiminieerings!!! feel free to ignore this ask if u are unable to post– im just excited 😍🙏😅🥹

fail-safe (sneak peek)

pairing: yoongi x reader

wordcount: 8k

glimpse: growing up, your brother's best friend always berated you for not having a passion in life outside of loving him from afar. when yoongi leaves everything he's ever known for everything he's ever wanted, trying to move on from him becomes your biggest aspiration.

alternatively, yoongi left when you needed him the most, and comes back home at a time when you love him the least.

[ part one, intermission, part two, intermission 02, finale ]

[ a Lot of angst, eventual fluff, brother's best friend AND single dad au, So Much Yearning, unrequited love (initial), jealousy, self-deprecation, a lot of talk abt passion in an empty n hurtful way that most impassioned youngest children feel (it's a specific feeling idk!!!), eventual redemption in the next parts ]

sneak peek 01

You don’t mind getting hand-me-downs.

As a matter of fact, you love receiving them. The wear and tear of the things that came before you is only proof that it’s been loved enough to be passed on to you.

You adore your mother’s dainty vintage watch that she wore throughout college, the hardware and sentiment behind it being pretty enough that you don’t mind constantly getting the battery replaced. You like Namjoon’s shirts that he’s outgrown, even through the numerous phases he’s had wherein only denim and tie-dye filled his closet.

You don’t mind the history behind the numerous things you have in your home, unbothered that you’re probably the only house in the block with the oldest possible rice cooker. The chips in the staircase aren’t covered up with marker ink and neither are the loose stitches in the couch quilt snipped off. It’s home to your mother and Namjoon — if it’s good enough for them, then it’s already the best for you.

Even on top of everything, you don’t mind your family almost always getting you shirts and shoes that have an allowance in them. Your mom would go to Seoul and pick out the exact pair of sneakers you wanted that are atleast three sizes bigger than your actual feet, and you’d barely bat an eye.

You don’t mind the coziness of things that are brought to you, because even if they weren’t offered, you’d seek them yourself.

So when Yoongi mentioned that he’s decluttering his room and needed someone (read: you) to vacuum it up for him, you jump at the chance. You take a grocery bag with you, wear the nearest pair of slippers within your vicinity, and book it to his house as soon as he finished talking.

“Go crazy, kid. Almost everything in that pile is garbage so you can take anything.”

“I feel like I should be more offended than how I feel right now,” you hum, furrowing your eyebrows at the pile in front of you. It’s a mound of Yoongi, or atleast everything he’s ever wanted up until he decided to do a general cleaning of his bedroom.

Yoongi chuckles, going through his pile of clean laundry for him to fold on the side while you scavenge for his things. “It’s either I have you take them or I get ripped off at the thrift store, then I see somebody’s uncle wearing my shirt as an added insult.”

You huff, rummaging through his heap of belongings while conveniently trying to ignore that you may look like somebody’s uncle the moment you wear his clothes. Everything is him; every distressed cap, every unfinished embroidered shirt, and every item of old significance with his initials branded on it.

The thick gray hoodie you’ve been eyeing (along with its owner) for the better part of the last few years surfaces into your field of vision, your gasp audible enough to make him jolt because he thought you’d gotten hurt.

“No way, this too? But this is your favorite,” you half-complain and half-rejoice, turning the hoodie inside-out eagerly in the fear that there’s a catch to it belonging in the pile.

“Eh. I know it looked good on me but I don’t think it’s my favorite. Besides, I’ve bulked up! Wanna feel?” Yoongi grins, his segue eerily similar to your brother’s at every given chance. A neighbor from down the block recently opened a small-time gym, and the both of them have not been able to shut their mouths about it since. From their gossiping alone, Yoongi and Namjoon have generated enough advertising already.

“You and Namjoon really have to stop asking random people to feel your biceps.”

There’s random knick-knacks throughout the clump in the middle of his bed, some being too good and actually useful that you snag them. Yoongi lets you do what you want anyways (most of the time), not having to turn his head to berate you on what you’re only allowed to grab from his stuff.

You’re not greedy — you already have his hoodie and that should be enough on its own. But there’s that handkerchief with his initials embroidered on it, then that Rubik’s cube he swore his relative got for him from New York, and even the little butterfly knife he got from a souvenir shop when his family when to the beach.

There were those and there is this, looking up at you in all of its glory.

“Yoongi.”

“What now?” he sighs at your dramatic gasp, looking up from his folded laundry to see what you were going on about. It takes a second for him to fully realize why exactly were you so pumped.

“Are you serious? Your helmet?” you squeal, already hugging the shiny red mass close to you. “Does this mean you’re passing your motorcycle to me?!”

“Are you crazy? Fuck no,” Yoongi rolls his eyes, snatching his helmet back from you. He doesn’t miss the bratty frown that fills up your entire face; he’s not exactly the biggest fan whenever you were upset or angry; maybe even both. “Obviously I forgot I even put my helmet there when I made that pile.”

You whine, stomping your feet in exasperation. You would dramatically plop down on his bed if only it wasn’t full of his shit. “Come on! You told me you were teaching me as soon as you finish teaching Joon.”

“Teaching you how to ride my scooter is not the same as giving you it. Why would I just hand you what I bought with my hard-earned money?” Yoongi scrunches his nose, tone sharper than what he intended.

“But you still haven’t taught me,” you murmur to placate yourself and dissuade yourself from the delusion that Yoongi would even exert such an effort for you because of course — why would he do that for you?

You have an inkling that you’re being irrational for all the wrong reasons, perhaps even projecting your need to be looked after… by him.

Yoongi notices your mood that turned sour quickly, the silence between you becoming loaded. He didn’t mean to be that blunt. “I don’t think you’re even old enough to have your driving permit,” he adds in consolation, voice considerably softer.

You snicker lowly, still looking at your feet with your arms crossed. “But I’m old enough to backpack whenever you need me to carry shit that can’t fit in your carrier.”

He immediately groans at your comeback, his furrowed eyebrows mirroring yours. “You’re so stubborn.”

“You’re a hypocrite,” you retort, knowing for a fact he’s known how to drive even before he was eligible for permits and licenses and whatnot.

Yoongi takes one, two seconds to himself to regain his composure, clearing his head in the process. You’re still not looking at him and you’re pouting and you don’t even notice the latter, making him crack a small smile.

“I will teach you next week.”

“Oh my-…”

He cuts you off, raising his hand in emphasis. “Provided that you listen to everything I say and wear full gear at all times. You clearly don’t have a job yet-…”

“Ouch.”

“And I don’t have the extra money to buy full gear for myself, so what you’ll do is bundle up with your padded coat and the thickest jeans you have,” Yoongi enunciates every word, eyes keenly on you. They’re too wide and alert, you actually feel like listening to him.

“You go on rides wearing your pajamas.”

“Just say ‘thank you, Yoongi’.”

“You haven’t done anything yet,” you trail off, head tilting in confusion.

You’ve had a million conversations like this with Yoongi before but of different fonts; worn, familiar, and warm.

“Thank you, Yoongi,” he mouths, nodding at you to do the same. He won’t stop until you utter them back to him, and you know you won’t go home either without giving him your gratitude as you always do.

“Thank you, Yoongi,” you relent, the grin that breaks through your lips being infectious enough that he laughs lowly to himself.

He exhales all the worries he has and could possibly ever have seeing you ride the motorcycle (or for you yearning to do everything that he does), grasping at whatever sanity he has left from looking after you.

.

.

sneak peek 02

In the grand scheme of things, you realize that Yoongi was right — nothing valuable was left for him in your hometown anymore. He was as right as you were wrong every time he went on a monologue of how he thinks there’s no problem in him admitting that he’s full of envy. He had been right for being bitter that there’s people who have and get much more than him, more than what they deserve, by not even putting a fourth of the effort that he does.

In the same way that he was right, you were wrong for thinking each time that Yoongi would soon outgrow his ambitions and instead, see things for what they are. You were wrong for thinking Yoongi would stoop down to your page, much less ever think of it.

Yoongi was right for saying that his stomach’s made of steel, and you were wrong for trying to convince him otherwise. He’s always had the appetite for more, the digestion of whatever life throws at him coming easy. Yoongi can choke down the reality of leaving Namjoon, your brother, who’s been buddies with him even before they could talk. He could forgo the only brother figure he’s ever had in his life if it means making something of himself.

He doesn’t get constipated from the reality of no longer having the homemade meals your mother would make that the younger, more innocent, and less ambitious version of him would literally jumps fences for. In fact, Yoongi’s palate craved something more foreign and sophisticated; not familiar, hearty meals served in dinnerware dulled from years of routine.

His stomach doesn’t turn thinking about how the skyline he said he’d never get tired of, wouldn’t appear in his new side of the world. The little, unassuming, and far too comfortable version of him who used to chase sunrises with his bike as a child and chase sunsets with his car as a teenager, doesn’t feel like he’d be poisoned if he were to see the sunlight in a high-rise instead of a run-down pavement.

Yoongi’s right when he said he had a tolerance because he doesn’t even get heartburn when you cry for him to no longer leave. You’re not in the position to beg him to stay (and you probably never will be) because as you’ve come to realize, he would only stay for the big things.

The only thing that would anchor Min Yoongi into place and dissuade him from chasing more is by being the most. One would have to be extremely significant, even bigger than Namjoon’s brotherhood, your mother’s impact, and what your hometown has to offer. You can’t even hold a candle to the aforementioned.

In Yoongi’s grand plan that’s as big as the galaxy, you’re merely a speck of dust that had the luck of hovering around him. You realized it back then when you blew over and fought with him right before his flight; right when Yoongi was clutching his one-way ticket, right when one foot was already out of the door.

“But the future that you want is not easy, Yoongi!” you gritted through your teeth, the grip you had on his suitcase too visceral that it bends under the pressure. Yoongi snatches his luggage from you in a blink, nostrils flaring in annoyance.

“Of course you’d be the first to say that,” he seethed, eyes wild and unforgiving. He drills his finger into his temple, inching towards you with an anger he had never shown before. “You don’t work as hard as I do, Y/N! You always settle. You always go for mediocre. You never put your head into anything because you’re too immature for any of this shit!”

“I’m not immature, you asshole!”

“Yes you are, you dipshit!” Yoongi scoffed, throwing his head back. “You cave and you bend and you let the whole world fuck you over, then you come running to me whining. You don’t have a passion in life, Y/N! You’re begging me to stay in the same predicament that you’re in now, what’s not immature about that?”

“When you leave now and decide to come back one day, Yoongi,” you spat with resentment, the tears that pour down your cheeks no longer out of sadness but instead, out of promise. “Nothing will ever be the same.”

“Good,” Yoongi clipped, turning his back on you for the last time. “Good for me.”

In the grand scheme of things, you realize that when Yoongi left five years ago, he also took the large chunk of your soul that had been shaped over and over again the entire time that he stood by you. He’d gotten his hands on the security and contentment you used to take pride in, weaponizing it against you.

You’re unsure if you have to thank him for that, the uncertainty being on par with the insecurity you had felt when he left you with his truth.

When you visit your mother for her birthday and see Yoongi emerge from your childhood bedroom, hand-in-hand with a toddler that looks like an exact carbon copy of him, you’re unsure of what to do either.

You’re not hysterical in the same way you stood before him when you even considered ripping up his plane ticket, but on the other hand, Yoongi’s inconsolable in the way he flounders before you.

“Y/N,” he says breathless, the lump in his throat even bigger than the tiny fist that grips his hand. “I… I-I didn’t-…” Yoongi tries again, his mouth dry at your appearance. “You came home.”

“I’m only visiting,” you answer, the curt smile on your face that Yoongi recognizes to be the one you’d give to strangers making his blood run cold. “I don’t plan on staying.”

.

.

.

ruh-roh new series alert :O wanna read the entire first chapter of fail-safe now + intermission 01 + chapter two + gain early access to succeeding chapters + read other exclusive content?? subscribe to my patreon :D

also to get ahead of the questions: yes, this is a general fic aka it WILL be posted on tumblr too!!!

#sneak peek

[littlejuicebox]

Beach babies.

Man oh man Dadstarion! My mind could probably come up with a thousand scenarios for this theme.

This one might make you all cry. But like, happy tears? Maybe?

Summary: It’s a day at the beach with toddler Gale, pregnant Tav, and Dadstarion. Gale loves his Papa and always wants to look just like him; this presents a problem.

Tags/Warnings: fluff, light mentions of Astarion ptsd/trauma, in game spoilers, kids, parenthood, toddlers, pregnancy, light angst w comfort, comment if you see anything else I’m missing

*

Astarion didn’t particularly enjoy the beach. It was often crowded, feeling coarse grains of sand stuck between his toes unnerved him, and it was impossible to find a good vintage for miles unless you brought it yourself.

Which, today, he did.

“Loving the sun and loving the beach are two different things, entirely, my sweet.” The elf drawls as he takes a sip of wine from his goblet.

You, Astarion, and almost-three-year old Gale are all sitting on a woven blanket inside a rather ostentatious canopy tent, taking a respite from playing in the water with the toddler. The canopy had been Astarion’s choice — he’d refused to have any beach days without it this year. As it was Gale’s last summer as an only child, and your first born adored the beach, you’d reluctantly agreed to the ridiculous shelter in exchange for two more planned beach days on behalf of your toddler.

Astarion remarked that perhaps you should have used your strong negotiation skills rather than your community service as the main focus of your political platform all those years ago.

And then you won the familial negotiation. Though you still think your old camp tent would have sufficed just fine.

You sigh at your husband, “I suppose. But I seem to remember you being quite content with rolling around in the dirt once upon a time.”

You’re watching Gale as he scoops sand into a bucket. His face is covered in the remnants of fruit juice from his lunch, and his little silver curls are bouncing around in the wind. He’s wearing a thin, white cotton shirt and striped cotton swim trousers — the outfit is basically a child’s version of your husband’s.

Daddy and his mini-me.

Astarion chuckles, “Yes, well… we didn’t have much choice in the matter back then, did we, little love. And for the thousandth time, I did have a blanket set up in that clearing—“

“I never saw it!” You interject, “So for all I know, you’ve simply decided to tell me that to cover your ah— butt.”

A huff from your husband as he rolls his eyes at you, “My love, have I ever lied to you?”

Your eyes narrow, and you open your mouth, about to retort when the elf catches his mistake and is quick to amend his statement.

“Have I ever lied to you after our talk at Moonrise Towers all those years ago?” He asks, cocking his head just slightly, convinced he’s proven his point.

You pause as your mind plays through years of memories. And then you grin playfully, “Yes! The night you proposed and told me you found those gold coins on the dock.”

The elf scoffs incredulously, “You are a pain in the ah— butt. You know what I mean, Tav. Have I ever lied to you to intentionally hurt or manipulate you since then? Or to gain your favor?”

You chuckle and turn yourself slightly — it’s no easy feat, given the size of your pregnant stomach — moving to peck your husband on the cheek, “No, my love. I don’t suppose you have.”

Astarion hums happily as he finishes off his goblet, “Very well then, dear. I trust that means you believe me when I say I did have a blanket in that clearing and you simply couldn’t keep your hands—“

“Mommy! I too hot!” Gale suddenly cries.

When the two of you turn to acknowledge the toddler, he’s thrown his shovel and started thrashing his feet, kicking up grains of sand in the process.

Today was sweltering in comparison to the other days you’d spent at the beach. The canopy was unable to protect all three of you from the worst of the mid afternoon heat.

You sigh and hold your hand out to the toddler, “Gale, come here and let mommy take your shirt off. It’s too hot to be—“

“NO!” The little boy shrieks before standing up and stomping on the sand castle he’d just spent several minutes building, “I want look like daddy!”

“My love, you and daddy will still be in matching pants even if your shirt is off.” You coo, hoping your voice will soothe Gale, though you know the logic is far beyond what an almost-three-year old can understand.

Astarion does not take his shirt off in public. He hasn’t since your days in camp all those years ago, when it had been an unfortunate necessity from time to time. But he always hated it.

His scars are not something Astarion is particularly fond of revealing; even your former campmates have never caught sight of his back since the old days. You know as much. So your only choice, really, is to try and reason with the child.

It’s not working.

Gale is crying now, and his growing frustration is quickly making him overheated. His face and body are both turning red as he wails. Despite the magic dampener around his neck, you both know there will soon be a gust of wind knocking the entire tent down if he isn’t soothed.

“Gale, darling, won’t you please let mommy—“

You’re cut off by a shrill scream. The toddler becomes more red; large patches of crimson are splotched across his face and arms. The breeze is starting to pick up quite suspiciously. It won’t be much longer before—

“Look, Gale! Look at daddy!” Your husband exclaims, and when you glance to the side, you see that Astarion has willingly ripped off his own shirt. The muscle feathering in his jaw shows his discomfort, despite the fact the tent is shielding his back from any potential onlookers.

This catches the little boy’s attention. His green eyes snap open and he begins to relax as he examines his father and realizes the older man is, in fact, shirtless. Gale giggles and then tries to rip his own shirt off, though it gets caught around his neck and Astarion has to lean forward to help him.

The toddler grins at his father, “We match ‘gain, daddy!”

And then he’s back to playing in the sand, the entire tantrum all but forgotten on his part.

You quietly watch your husband, where he is still sitting nearly frozen, clearly working through something in his own mind. He’s wearing that faraway, glassy look in his eyes. The look has become exceedingly rare over time, but still rears its ugly head every once in a while.

Your hand finds its way to Astarion’s, where he’s dug it down into the sand, simply trying to clutch onto something in an attempt to keep himself together.

When your fingers brush against your husband’s, his eyes snap to you, and he’s pulled from whatever thought had been racing through his mind as he threads his fingers through yours. Now he’s clutching onto you.

“You’re a good father, you know.” You murmur, focusing your eyes on your husband’s as you rub the back of his hand with your thumb. A moment of silence passes between the two of you as he simply nods in acknowledgment, unable to bring himself to say anything as he sits in discomfort. Gale is singing happily as he scoops more sand into his bucket, oblivious to the two of you.

You flash a wide grin at Astarion and his eyebrows crinkle as he watches you, not understanding why.

“I think the twins think so, too, daddy.” You whisper, and you bring his sandy hand to your stomach, where the first few flutterings of movement can barely be felt beneath the stretching skin.

For just a moment, Astarion forgets himself as he beams and moves to place a kiss on the swell of your abdomen. Anyone looking at your family might have caught the quickest glimpse of his scars in that single, fleeting instance. But then the moment is gone, and he lays down with a sigh, obscuring his back completely.

“I just did it because I couldn’t be bothered to pitch the tent again if Gale accidentally blew it down, my love.” Your husband says in that offhanded, airy way of his that he uses whenever he’s feeling particularly vulnerable.

And right there, you think that may be the second lie Astarion has ever told you since your discussion at Moonrise Towers all those years ago.

But you’ll let that one slide.

#astarion fanfic #astarion x tav #baulders gate astarion #astarion fic #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x f!reader #astarion x female reader #astarion reader insert #dadstarion #dadstarion fic #Papastarion

[diorsluv]

feather , part 5

“ then you pull back ”

series m. list previous chapter next chapter

( socialmedia!au )

yourusername

liked by rutgermcgroarty, _alexturcotte, trevorzegras, and 45,886 others

yourusername what a fancy vintage car ⁉️

view all comments

colecaufield do you ever take insta pics where you’re looking directly at the camera 🙃

→ yourusername IT’S NOT MY FAULT IT’S MY BROTHER WHO TAKES BAD PICS

→ jamie.drysdale MAYBE YOU’RE JUST UGLY

→ yourusername I’M TELLING MOM YOU CALLED ME UGLY

→ jamie.drysdale FINE YOU’RE JUST NOT PHOTOGENIC 😑😑

username24 i’m down HORRENDOUS for this woman

lhughes_06 wow the color of the car really makes your eyes pop

→ dylanduke25 are you dumb

→ mackie.samo bro u can’t even see her eyes in the pics

→ _alexturcotte istg this kid

→ yourusername thank u lukey 😭😭

trevorzegras okay hear me out

→ yourusername no.

→ trevorzegras I HAVEN’T EVEN SAID ANYTHING YET

→ yourusername immediate no

→ _quinnhughes this is why you’re my favorite drysdale yourusername

username79 now tell me she isn’t the most beautiful girl in the world

username6 god if only i lived in michigan

luca.fantilli he’s asking for a close up of your face

→ yourusername what who 💀

→ luca.fantilli u know who

→ markestapa he says he doesn’t wanna say anything bc then it’ll just reveal who he is 😂😂

→ edwards.73 it’s luke dumbasses

this reply has been deleted

username13 OH MY FUCKING GOD DID ANYONE SEE ETHAN’S REPLY TO LUCA’S COMMENT THREAD

→ username50 I KNOW MY DRYSHUGHES SHIP IS SAILING

→ username25 DID HE DELETE IT?

→ username98 YES I THOUGHT I WAS GOING INSANE

yourusername

liked by edwards.73, mackie.samo, lhughes_06, and 37,993 others

yourusername bc cole thinks i don’t take full face pics 😒😒😒 (are u happy now???????)

jamie.drysdale you’ve had those earmuffs since you were like 10

→ yourusername NO they’re new ☹️

→ jamie.drysdale clearly you’ve gotten too attached to your 10 year old style choices 😬

→ yourusername why are you being so mean all of a sudden 😔😔

colecaufield OKAY i said you didn’t take pics of your face whatsoever, not full face pics

→ yourusername ARE. U. HAPPY. NOW?!?!?!?!?!

→ colecaufield YES I’M HAPPY GOOD GOD

username64 i need the makeup tut rn

username73 she’s so petty i love it

dylanduke25 cole’s not the only one that’s happy

→ yourusername oh my god this better not be about who i think it is

adamfantilli did you dye your hair lighter or am i going blind

→ yourusername you’re going blind

→ yourusername not too good for your hockey career babe

→ jamie.drysdale BABE????

→ yourusername NO NOT LIKE THAT OMFG jamie.drysdale

→ jamie.drysdale you better treat my sister right. 🙂🙂 adamfantilli

→ adamfantilli no no no it’s not like that i swear

→ dylanduke25 i take it back, cole’s the only one that’s happy now

→ yourusername DUKER STOP

next chapter notes ) i’m enjoying these a little too much 🤭 always gotta add in those little luke moments for yall AND WHEN I TELL YOU I LOVE THISSSSSS (jk i came back after i wrote it and i kinda hate it) and i said i’d be gone for finals week but.. i’m speeding through these bc they’re too fun so i’m choosing to feed yall 🤍🤍🤍

#luke hughes #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes x y/n #luke hughes fic #luke hughes fanfic #quinn hughes #jack hughes #cole caufield #alex turcotte #trevor zegras #jamie drysdale #mark estapa #mackie samoskevich #dylan duke #ethan edwards #rutger mcgroarty #luca fantilli #adam fantilli

[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

[meiliarotten]

Lingerie Headcanons (All Mercs!)

🔞Minors DNI🔞

The Masterlist

👟 Scout 👟

Honestly I see scout as the kind of guy that gets worked up if you just happen to wear a bra and panties that match.

He just likes the idea that you put thought into what you were gonna wear for him

If you really wanna play to a fantasy though…

Playboy Bunny suits

It’s stereotypical, but people find those outfits sexy for a reason, so can you really blame him?

Favorite colors- he would claim to like the typical red and black, but I honestly think he has a soft spot for pink.

And he definitely doesn’t know shit about lingerie styles (tbh, neither do I. I’m looking at charts and cosmopolitan articles as I write this) so a simple bra and panty set suits him just fine

🦅 Soldier 🦅

Just dress up as the Statue of Liberty, he’ll be all over you

Ok, I’m kidding. Kinda. On to the serious stuff.

I think less is more with Soldier. I’m thinking vintage pinup aesthetic really gets him going

I know it’s not technically lingerie, but hear me out

Wear a dress or top that shows off your chest or “accidentally” drop something only to bend over in a skirt that’s conveniently just a bit too short

Bonus points if your wearing some actual lingerie beneath that skirt, flashing a bit of lace

Tease him, see if you can crack that strict drill sergeant demeanor her tries so hard to maintain

Once you're in private just know he’s not going to hold back on you.

favorite colors are red white and blue. No, I will not be backing down on this.

🔥 Pyro 🔥

the more colorful, the better with this one!

That goes double for frills.

Honestly the two of you could probably make a whole day out of you trying on different outfits and strutting around like a runway model, much to their delight

Pyro is like your own personal cheerleader

May also enjoy sexy costumes (nurses, French maids, etc), but I don’t see them as being much into roleplay, so those are probably more for fun

The fashion show usually ends when an outfit is just too hot for them to resist 😏

Because Pyro fucks and I will die on that hill

Their favorite colors for lingerie would be shades ranging from fire red to pastel pink

Favorite style is either babydolls or rompers. They just think you look so cute in them!

💥 Demoman 💥

He probably has the most ‘traditional’ lingerie tastes of everyone

Nothing too fancy, just a silk chemise or a pair of lacy black panties will do just fine

He definitely loves being surprised with it now and then. Undressing you to find that you’re wearing something special is always a turn on

Sometimes he’ll even save up to buy you a pair for special occasions like anniversaries.

He always gets super flustered when giving it to you, though. It’s really freaking cute

That said, if you really want to get him going, wear a pair of his boxers

You know those guys who think it’s hot as fuck when their partners wear their boxers or briefs?

Yeah, Demo’s one of those guys, 100%

Plus, you get to wear comfy, loose underwear. It’s a win-win!

🥊 Heavy 🥊

Heavy doesn’t have any need for fancy lingerie

Honestly he’s kinda terrified of tearing it. That stuff is expensive!

That said, he does enjoy the way you look in a teddy.

When he learns the name of the garment he’ll call you his “little bear.” It quickly becomes his favorite pet name for you

Favorite colors- doesn’t really have any. He thinks you look pretty in any hue.

That said, one thing that gets him even more worked up than lingerie?

Is when you wear one of his shirts- obviously way to big for you, fitting you like a nightgown- and nothing else.

🔧 Engineer 🔧

this is gonna be stereotypical as hell

And honestly he’s very aware of how stereotypical it is and he’s a little ashamed of it

But if you wore a sexy cowgirl costume he would be on you in a nanosecond

But let’s run with that- I think Engie likes costumes

This man has a secret knack for roleplay, I’m telling you

Naughty nurses, feathery show girls, a college student with a low cut blouse who would do anything for a passing grade

He does have some more vanilla tastes as well though. For example I think he loves the simplicity of a camisole or nightgown

Favorite colors would include white and baby blue

🏥 Medic 🏥

I will PERISH on this hill- Medic is a thigh man.

He LOVES the way stockings hug your legs. (In fact I’ve written a fic about this exact scenario)

He would also go feral over a sexy nurse outfit. Is it stereotypical? Yes. But it is also very hot. (I have also written a fic about this)

He’s definitely bold enough to just outright ask you to wear something for him, perhaps a blood red bustier and some matching garters (to play into that thigh kink I mentioned)

However he leaves it up to you when you will be wearing said thing, maintaining some element of surprise.

Once he actually sees you in it, perhaps waiting for him in his private quarters after a long day of work, he will take his time to admire you, making you do a little spin for him

He’ll definitely tease you and refuse to undress you until you're begging for his touch on your bare skin.

🦘 Sniper 🦘

Sniper is not a picky man when it comes to sex

That said, lingerie is always a welcome surprise

His only preference comes down to the style of the lingerie- he prefers crotchless designs.

He doesn’t see the point of wearing something sexy if he has to take it off to fuck you

Styles where the bottom of the panties can be easily pulled to the side also work for this

I think he also enjoys silkier textures.

He’ll run his hands over the fabric both during and after sex, almost as a way to soothe himself and come down from the high

Neither of you really know why this calms him down so much

🌹 Spy 🌹

Spy has sugar daddy energy and will probably buy lingerie for you

Expect the fanciest, silkiest garments that money can buy.

Chemise, robes, and negligee (which is basically the “wealthy widow whose husband died under mysterious circumstances” robe, according to the internet)

Most often they would be in traditional black, but I feel like a deep violet or midnight blue could also be appealing to him.

Oh and get ready to be teased to hell and back.

Spy likes to take his time, especially when you’re wearing something nice for him. After all, what’s the point if he just strips it off of you immediately? (plus this stuff is expensive so he’s gotta get his money’s worth out of this.)

He loves teasing you

#tf2 x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #merc x reader #minors dni #smut #tf2 smut #team fortress 2 #tf2 #tf2 headcanons #headcanon #headcanons #team fortress #team fortress two

[sofiaispunk]

The Bakery Crush - PART (1/2)

Joel Miller x Reader, Ellie Williams x Platonic!Reader

summary: Just two fools clearly in love, pining over each other because ... well, they are fools.

words: 3kish

warnings: angst, JEALOUSY, Joel being a fool, smut, pining, age gap, bad puns, heartbreak, 18+

You enjoyed the little things in Jackson. The little fairy lights that brighten up the street and making Jackson almost feel like a magical wonderland, the vibrant colors of the changing leaves in autumn, the sound of the flowing water from the nearby river, but what you enjoyed the most was the smell of freshly baked bread from your little bakery on the corner in Mainstreet.

Shortly after arriving in Jackson Maria assigned, you to baking duty, since you were a professional baker before the outbreak, and showed you to your new working place.

It was a charming little bakery that had been abandoned for years but as you peered through the dusty windows, you immediately saw the potential. 

Tommy, Maria’s husband, helped you turn the rusty shop into your dream bakery. You spent countless hours painting the walls a warm shade of yellow, installing new cabinets and countertops, and laying down fresh tiles.

You were determined to make the bakery stand out, a place with a warm atmosphere where everybody felt welcomed. You even found old wooden crates to use as shelves, hung vintage baking utensils on the walls, and added some decorative flowers for the ambiance.

That was a year ago and since then your bakery has become the favorite place of the residents of Jackson and Jackson became your home.

-

You were busy kneading a batch of dough when you heard the familiar jingle of the bakery's bell. 

"Hey there, Ellie!" you greeted her with a smile. "How was school today?"

"It was fine," she replied, shrugging off her backpack. "But you know what would make it better? A freshly baked blueberry scone."

You chuckled. "You never change, do you? One blueberry scone for my favorite customer coming right up."

As you handed her a warm scone on a napkin, Ellie grinned mischievously. "Thanks, (y/n). This looks berry delicious!”

You couldn't help but chuckle at her pun. "That's a good one, Ellie. You really do have a way with words."

She grinned. "Thanks, I try. I mean, it's not like I'm rolling in dough like you are." She waggled her eyebrows at you and took another bite of the scone.

You laughed lightly, continuing to work on your dough, "You're too much, Ellie. But you always make me smile, that’s why you my favorite, y‘ know."

"Well, that's what I'm here for," she said with a grin. "To brighten up your day and eat all your delicious scones."

You rolled your eyes playfully. "You're lucky I like you, kid."

Ellie finished up the last of her scone and sighed contentedly. "Man, that hit the spot. I don't know how you do it, really. Your scones are always so flavorful and yummy."

"It's all about using the best ingredients and putting my secret ingredient in … love." You answered playfully, slightly cringing at your cheesy answer.

Ellie just groaned silently but nodded. "Well, it shows. You know, you really raisin the bar when it comes to baked goods."

Now it was your turn to groan. "That one was a bit of a stretch, Ellie."

"Hey, I can't help it. I'm on a roll today."

You both laughed as she grabbed her backpack and headed over to you to give you a small hug and a quick kiss on your cheek "Thanks for the scone. I’m off to Dina’s. See you, tomorrow.”

And with that Ellie rushed her way towards the exit.

"Take care, Ellie," you called after her with a smile. "And keep those puns coming, kid."

-

It was getting late and you were closing the store front for the day. You packed up the leftover treats from the bakery and couldn't help but think that maybe Joel would want to enjoy them. So you gathered up some pretzel pieces, bread, two scones that Ellie loves, and some croissants and made your way to Joel's house.

The evening sky painted in different hues of orange and pink. The streets were quiet as most people had retired for the night. You walked leisurely towards Joel's house, taking in the sights and sounds of the town you had grown to love.

When you reached the house, you knocked on the door and waited. Ellie opened the door with a surprised look on her face.

"Hey, Ellie. Sorry to drop by so late. I thought maybe you and Joel would want to have some of these leftover treats," you said, holding up the bag of the baked goods.

Ellie smiled, "Of course we would. You know he can never resist them, and neither can I. Come on in."

As you followed Ellie to the kitchen, you couldn't help but notice how cozy and warm their home was. The living room was dimly lit, and the only source of light came from the candles on the coffee table.

“Joel's not home yet, though.“ She said while tearing up a piece of croissant, “I don't know where he is, and it's kind of weird because he's never out this late."

Your eyebrows furrowed with concern. "Really? That's strange. Do you want me to stay with you until he gets back?"

Ellie shook her head. "No, that's okay. I'm sure he's just caught up with something. Thanks for the offer, though."

You nodded and headed over to the door, "Sure, no problem. Let me know if you need anything, okay kiddo?"

Ellie nodded and bid you goodnight and you made your way home, in desperate need of a warm shower after a long day at work. 

-

You stood under the warm shower, the water cascading down your body, the stream slowly relaxing your muscles, allowing yourself to let your mind wander. Thoughts of Joel flooded your mind. You couldn't help but think about his chiseled physique and his strong, defined features. His nose, perfectly carved, led down to his plush lips that always seemed to be turned down in a permanent scowl. 

But then, there was his smile. The one that could light up an entire room, the one that made your heart skip a beat. The way his face changed, softening, and becoming almost boyish, when he talked to Ellie. His soft brown eyes crinkling with laughter every time Ellie tells one of her many jokes. It was like seeing a completely different side of him, that almost felt like was just reserved for you and Ellie.

You let your soapy hands glide over your body pretending they were his big, calloused ones exploring your body. Steam filled the bathroom as your moans and whimpers echoed though the small room. 

You drew tight circles on your most aching part while imagining the way his broad shoulders would feel under your hands, and his strong thick fingers, that always seemed to be working on something, replacing yours. His lips sucking and licking on every part of your body, consuming you.

"Joel,” you let out a final moan, your voice not much above a whisper, as you reached your peak, your walls clenching around nothing.

The water started to cool as you tried to catch your breath, bringing you back to reality. You took a deep breath and stepped out of the shower, wrapping yourself in a fluffy towel. You knew you needed to push these thoughts aside, but a part of you couldn't help but think about Joel and wonder where he could be at this hour. You just prayed that he was okay.

-

The next morning, while you were getting ready to open the bakery, you noticed Joel and Ellie walking in. To your surprise Joel was carrying a bouquet of flowers and a bag of coffee beans, which caught you off guard.

"Good morning, (y/n)!" Ellie chirped, her eyes sparkling mischievously.

"Morning, Ellie. Morning, Joel. What brings you guys in today?" you asked, trying to sound as casual as possible.

Joel smiled warmly. "I just wanted to say thank you for the bread and scones yesterday. They were delicious. And I thought you might like these flowers and coffee beans as a small token of my appreciation."

Your felt your heartbeat race as he handed you the small bouquet of wildflowers. "Thank you, Joel. That's very thoughtful of you."

Ellie nudged you with her elbow, a sly grin on her face. "Looks like somebody's got a secret admirer… well, not so secret," she teased.

"Ellie, please. That’s enough" Joel gave Ellie a stern look. Ellie just shrugged innocently in return and skipped off to the display case, leaving you alone with Joel.

"Listen, I don't want to keep you from your work. I just wanted to let you know how much I appreciate what you do for me and especially for Ellie.  And, well, if you ever need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

“Thank you, that means a lot, Joel” you blushed slightly.

“Anytime, darlin’,” he placed his warm hand on yours and you felt a flutter in your stomach at the contact of his skin.

As if reading your mind, Ellie sauntered back over, a chocolate croissant in hand. "What's going on over here? Are you two making googly eyes at each other?"

Joel laughed. "No, Ellie. She and I were just having a friendly conversation."

But Ellie wasn't convinced. "Uh-huh. Sure, you were. Well, I'm going to go enjoy this delicious croissant. You two keep doing your thing."

As she walked away, Joel turned back to you with a warm smile. "Don't mind her, darlin´. She's just teasing. But, really, thank you again for everything."

As Joel and Ellie were about to leave, Ellie turned to you, "I almost forgot to ask you if you wanna come to the community hall tonight and watch a movie with us?"

"Really? You want lil’ old me to come with you?" you teased.

Ellie rolled her eyes. "Duh. We wouldn't have asked if we didn't want you to come. We're watching this old western movie that Joel loves. You know, to keep up with his cowboy persona."

Joel chuckled. "Ellie, you know I'm not a real cowboy. But, yes, we would love it if you came. “

You grinned. "I would love to come. And I'll bring some blueberry scones."

Ellie's eyes lit up. "Yes! I knew you would say that. Those are my favorites."

-

You made your way to the community hall, the twinkle lights hanging above the entrance, casting a warm and inviting glow. The hall itself was a modest, single-story building with wooden walls and a sloping roof. Overall it was a cozy space and pretty much the center point of your little community.

As you entered the hall, you were greeted by Tommy and Maria , who were standing by the door, handing out programs for the evening's event. They both smiled and greeted you warmly.

"Hey there, (y/n)!" Tommy said. "Glad you could make it."

Maria chimed in. "Yes, we're all excited for the movie tonight. Have you seen it before?"

You shook your head. "No, I haven't. But I've heard good things. Ellie seemed excided."

You made some small talk about the movie and the bakery before you spotted Ellie and Joel sitting in the front row. You made your way over to them, feeling a sense of excitement and anticipation.

"Hey, guys," you said, sitting down next to them. "Looks like we got good seats."

Ellie grinned. "Of course, we did. Dad always gets here early to get the best spot."

Joel chuckled. "That's right. Gotta be prepared."

Joel was holding a big bag of popcorn and handed it over to you, your fingers barely touching, sending shivers down your entire body. "’M glad you could make it.” he whispered into your ear. You felt his breath lightly tickling your earlobe.

"Oh, I have a small favor," Ellie exclaimed, turning back to you, causing you to abruptly snap out of your trance. 

"Dina's birthday is next week. Do you think you could make her a cake?" Ellie asked shyly. “Only if you want of course and only if you have enough spare ingredients. I know it’s a lot to ask from you but Dina is not just any friend … well…  she is my friend of course but she is my best friend and special and I want to do something extra special for her. I am sorry, just forget I said anything. “ Ellie was visibly distressed.

You smiled and put a reassuring hand on her arm to stop her rambling. "Of course I can. What kind of cake were you thinking about?"

Ellie's eyes sparkled with excitement. "She loves chocolate. And... wait for it... peanut butter."

You laughed. "Well, it sounds like we'll have to come up with something extra special for her then."

Ellie hugged you tightly and you couldn’t help but feel so much adoration for the girl. In the short timespan you knew each other she crawled her way into your heart and became part of your family.

Ellie nudged you. "Oh and look, there's Karen and her grandkids. She's been raving about your cinnamon rolls all week." 

You looked around the hall and were surprised to see how many people had shown up for the movie night. There were families with kids, elderly couples, and even a few teenagers.

You smiled. "I'm glad to hear that. Maybe I'll make some for the next movie night."

The lights dimmed and the movie began, Joel and Ellie sat on either side of you, munching on popcorn and occasionally making side comments about the movie. You were immediately drawn into the Western that was playing, with its sweeping landscapes and rugged cowboys which kind of reminded you of Joel.

About halfway through the movie, a woman sat down next to Joel and began talking to him, completely ignoring the fact that you were in the middle of a film. Ellie let out an annoyed huff and shushed her, but the woman didn't seem to get the message.

You turned to Ellie and gave her a gentle nudge. "Hey, now. Let's not be rude," you whispered.

“She’s the one being rude. “Ellie rolled her eyes but quieted down and turned her attention back to the movie.

You on the other hand found yourself growing more and more distracted by the conversation between the woman and Joel. They laughed and chatted, and Joel seemed to be thoroughly enjoying her company. 

Your curiosity was piqued, and you couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy. Who is that woman? How do they know each other? Did he invite her to watch the movie with him? You tried to focus on the movie, but every time the woman laughed, your attention was drawn back to their conversation.

 Your thoughts didn’t seem to quiet down and raced through your mind, and you found yourself feeling increasingly agitated. At the corner of your eye stole a glance at Ellie, who was engrossed in the movie. 

You strained your ears to catch snippets of the conversation between Joel and the woman and immediately noticed the flirtatious undertones in their banter. The woman was playing with her hair, and Joel kept stealing glances at her. You felt a knot forming in your stomach as you watched them. 

At one point, you heard the woman mention something about a rodeo, and Joel's face lit up with a smile. "Oh, you were a natural on that bull," he whispered, chuckling.

The woman grinned. "Yeah, until I fell off and almost broke my arm," she replied, playfully punching Joel in the arm.

Then, the woman leaned in close to Joel and whispered something in his ear. You couldn't hear what she said, but Joel's eyes widened, and he let out a low chuckle.

She leaned back in her seat. "What do you say, cowboy?" she asked, winking at him.

The credits rolled and the lights came on, and you quickly stood up and you couldn’t wait to get out of there. You couldn't bear to be in the same room as Joel and the woman any longer. You didn’t care how childish you were behaving or if somebody would notice your weird behavior. The jealousy and hurt were too much to bear in this moment.

You hugged Ellie tightly, not wanting to let go. "Thanks for inviting me, Ellie. I had a great time," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Ellie looked up at you with concern in her eyes. "Hey, you ok, right?" she asked, sensing that something was off.

You forced a smile and nodded. "Yeah, of course, Ellie Bellie. Just a little tired," you lied.

Joel and the woman looked over at you, and you nodded in their direction goodbye, unable to meet their gaze, and quickly made your way out of the hall.

Once outside, you steadied your breathing and tried to compose yourself. You felt foolish for letting your emotions get the best of you. Afterall, Joel was a free man, and he was entitled to date whoever he wanted. You knew this, but you still couldn't shake the feeling of disappointment and hurt.

 Suddenly the sky opened up and it started to rain heavily. It felt like the world was crying with you. The raindrops were mixing with your tears, and you couldn't tell the difference between the two. The wind was picking up, and you felt cold to the bone. It was as if the weather knew the pain you were feeling and was trying to make it worse.

 Your body was shaking uncontrollably, and you felt foolish for thinking that there could have been something between you and Joel. How could you be so naive? Joel was just being kind to you, and you misinterpreted his kind gestures and turned it in some twisted delusional romantic idea.

How pathetic of you for even considering the possibility that Joel might have had feelings for you.

You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to hold yourself together as the rain continues to beat down on you.

At the end of the day, Joel Miller, was nothing more than your stupid little crush.

Part 2

#joel miller fic #pedro pascal #aesthetic #joel the last of us #joel x reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #ellie tlou #ellie williams #the last of us hbo #tlou fanfiction #joel tlou #pedro is daddy #pedro almodóvar #pedrohub #pedro gonzalez #jealousy

[nexility-sims]

𝐍𝐎. 𝟕   ❛ 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭 ❜   |   AUGUST 1991

❧  𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲  /  𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠  /  𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬  /  𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭.

Trish Fitzpatrick wore many hats, but her favorite was “freelance journalist.” Her area of expertise grew directly out of myriad side gigs: what she called portrait pieces of interesting people. Outlets clamored for them—or, they had since she’d buttered up famous, neurotic opera singer-turned-starlet Prudence Boone into revealing she had a glass eye, a secret runaway daughter, and a hair-eating habit. Of course, Prudence was basically a stranger. They had once had a fifteen minute conversation on the deck of a yacht, bonding over the fact that neither actually knew to whom the vessel belonged. Prudence thought Trish’s outlandish suggestions were funny enough to remember her when she called to pitch the piece. It had gone the same way with Renzo. Of course, they had met while fighting over a scarf in a vintage clothing store. Trish considered letting him win to be a debt, one for which she would demand recompense at the ideal time. Opportunities passed, and then August 1991 proved to be the time.

❧ i got the irresistible urge to do renzo backstory, which was meant to be an outtake, but then i was like, "uh, no, this totally works as story proper if i put leonor in it," so here we are ! context and such. given the amount of work, this might be my magnum opus until further notice ... it was also just fun to do :^) checked off the sex, drugs, and rock-n-roll boxes ?? where's my prize. in conclusion, i love my white boy of the week or whatever

𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭 ↓

I grew up in a tiny town—Petunia. Petunia? You say it differently. It’s the country coming out, I guess. Not “pee-tyoon-ee-ah,” it’s “puh-toon-yuh.” Petunia. That’s it. So, how was it? Fond memories? In retrospect, maybe. I wanted to get the hell out of there from day one. What I remember is being very unhappy—dispositionally sullen, not just a pouty kid, but fully down and out. Born that way, probably. And your parents? My parents … Life had the upper hand, man. They were good at losing. I didn’t want that life.

My dad professed to be a traveling salesman—What, he wasn’t? I mean, he didn’t know jack shit about vacuums or whatever the fuck. I don’t know. But, he wasn’t around a lot, it sounds like? Gone for weeks at a time. Just me and my mom. How was she? Not really there either. When I got home from school, she’d pop her pills and be gone until morning. She wasn’t avoiding me; she was avoiding life. She did what she had to do in the mornings—you know, I had what I needed, the bare essentials—but she was checked out. You had a lot of unsupervised time, then. Oh, did I. Too much. I mean, I had books to read, and I got into music early—From her? No. My dad’d blow into town and bring pity gifts. Not kid-appropriate shit, now that I think about it. Heavy, gritty stories. A guitar I was too little to use. Flip lighter. But, you know, I was a kid. I wanted to run and play with everyone else, too. Of course.

Here’s the thing: it was hard to be a scrawny kid named Lorencio in Petunia. Shit, I can imagine. What was that like? … Hard, like I said. Well—Details? I got the shit kicked out of me. Regularly. What do they call it—um—“school of hard knocks”? Yeah. I remember, one time, I limped home on a Saturday. Mom was out of it, but she leapt up when she saw all the blood. Cleaned me up. It’s like I’m there now—in that bathroom with the dirty tile, her burning me with peroxide … She didn’t really talk, you know, not in a serious way? But she did then? She said, in Uspanian, “‘Don’t roll over for anyone.’” Interesting. So, that’s the lesson? Part of it. I realized that summer it didn’t matter if you were scrawny, if you talked funny, if you were poor. What mattered was not being a pussy. [Laughs] Oh, yeah? If you want credibility, if you want respect, sometimes you gotta be able to take a beating. Don’t roll over. That’s right.

I think it also helped when the growth spurt hit. You must’ve still been scrawny. [Laughs] String bean. So it goes. Adolescence . Now, you grew up fast, is what I’ve heard. You could say that. My life changed when Marty got out of lock-up—Sorry, what?—for “teen offenders”; he set his grandparents’ car on fire—oh, I see, regular kid shit—Uh huh. We hit it off. He introduced me to other guys, including Jesse. They’d huff gas together. Oh my God. Not whippits? Sure, but less convenient. That’s—No good, yeah. Fun though. Have you—? I’ve tried everything, Patricia.

Jesus! So, Marty and Jesse…? We got on like a house fire. [Groans] They were into petty crime for the thrill of it—Now, Renzo, is arson petty? He did it one fucking time. Everyone overreacted. They got into trouble for fun, and for you it was—? Money. Not a lot. I was too dumb to consider the risks. But, you did other things for money, too? Don’t say it like that. I wasn’t hooking. [Snorts] I worked a lot. I was cutting school to work, getting paid under the table, all of that. Maybe—hear me out—some of it was thrilling for you, too? I won’t tell anyone. [Chuckles] What can I say? Credibility.

I feel like I’m mischaracterizing … I love Marty and Jesse, to this day. Jesse’s daughter is your godchild, right? Yeah. Marty went back to Petunia in … ‘88? Jesse and I had better luck, or maybe we were just more desperate. Either way, my point is that delinquents get a bad rap—With good reason! Sure, okay. Both of them were deeper and more complicated than that. You’re not an outlier. No. We’re a dime a dozen. No one gives them the chances you got. Uh huh. So, we bonded over that—feeling down and out, like I said, but also the fact that we loved music. Marty’s family had money, so they’d bought him a nice bass guitar. But, Jesse’s mind … He’s so fucking creative. He wasn’t a reader, but I could tell him about something I’d been chewing on, and he’d have a song inspired by it within the hour. He has an incredible voice, too. He does.

I guess it’s not surprising that you guys did what you did. There was nothing for us at home, you know? Packing up and heading out west didn’t feel like a risk. And your mom understood that? Better than anyone. I know people judged her—shit, I judge her, too—but I always knew she was trying. That’s sweet. Is it? I mean, I think so … She met my dad at a bus stop three weeks after she arrived in the country and made the mistake of getting off at his stop. That’s it. That was her crime. Well, I’m sure she’s doing better now, huh? She lives in a nicer house in a nicer city, but that doesn’t cure depression, now does it? I suppose not. There was this woman whose lawn I’d cut all the time … A real bitch, but she was extra nice because she felt bad for me. Hated my mother. I think she was just jealous because my dad was her high school sweetheart. Isn’t that just how it goes? Damn foreigner stealing a real catch from her. [Scoffs] Sticky fingers when she invited me inside for lemonade—cigs and quarters from her purse, Valium from the cabinet, that kind of thing. [Laughs] Casual. It was pretty brazen, honestly. Fucking dumb kid.

Alright, so, you come out here with Marty and Jesse to make music, and now you’re a serious actor with a name and a big career ahead of you. How’d that happen? It was completely accidental. While we waited for a record deal, I did odd jobs, like auto work—you know, in a body shop. It was decent. Had you worked on cars before that? So, I got familiar, uh … [Chuckles] We’ve established I was a rascal. We could get under the hood of a parked car and make a few dollars off parts. I can get you in so much trouble, Renzo! [Laughs]

Don’t tell anyone, come on! I was a kid. Have a heart. I guess it paid off. But, alright, body work? What’s the connection? It’s kind of convoluted. When business was slow, the guy I worked for loaned his employees out to another mechanic. This guy, long story short, brought me along to assist him on a movie set. I guess he was a known quantity? Everyone knows the right guy! That’s everyone’s explanation for where they end up. Me, too. Uh huh. I don’t know why they let me do it, but—Somehow it worked out. Yeah, it did. Right place, right time.

You’re in the spot. How did you get into it, though? This is embarrassing as hell but, fuck it, I’ll be honest. Please. Don’t stop now. [Chuckles] I got a shot because I’d been chatting up this girl who, as it turns out, was the director’s kid—or, in fact, she approached me. I had no idea who she was or why she was there. Of course she did! That’s not surprising, is it? I think I was the most disinterested person there. I don’t know. Anyway, we talked a couple times, then—out of the blue—someone asked me if I wanted to hop into a scene, say a line, ten seconds flat. She did that for you? I don’t know what she did. No one mentioned her. Maybe she thought you looked like a movie star. [Snorts] Fuck. I hope not. Did you want to do it? I wanted to make music. I wanted to finish reading my book. I wanted … I mean, I said yeah. Can’t decline that. Makes a good story, right? What happened with her—? Oh, hell. Sorry! Moving on, for now. [Groans]

I got a call several weeks later about an audition. How did that feel? Bizarre. We’d done a demo for a producer once, but this was different. Were you excited? I was terrified. But, I went. Didn’t get that part, although everyone was perfectly nice to me. How disappointing. You always remember your first … But, hey, you have to look at it this way: I didn’t want to be an actor. I thought it was cool, but it felt like … ? Go ahead, give me a good metaphor. Like when you’ve been craving your favorite food, but then someone offers you a helping of something different, new, appetizing. How’s that? Passable. C-plus. [Laughs] Fuck you, Pat.

Okay, so the road didn’t end there. No, it didn’t. I got another call, and that one went well. This was for … Sugar Sweet? That’s the one. Cornball, but I love that movie. Never seen it. What! How is that possible? You were in it. You went to the premiere screening. There are pictures. Saw my first scene, excused myself to go piss, didn’t come back until the applause had started. Wow. Everyone has opinions about that movie these days—very contentious, whether or not Alicia was in the wrong when she left me and stole my lifelong dream. What do you think? Me, Renzo? Good for her. I thought it was kind of bitchy. It’s peculiar how many women say that. I wonder why … ! Billy’s so dreamy. Please, ask me about something else, Pat. So, this romantic comedy is your launching pad. It leads to the television show. The television show blows up immediately. Walk me through what that felt like?

Also terrifying. I really cannot emphasize enough that I didn’t want attention. I wanted money and time to support my music, and acting seemed like a good way to do that. Just didn’t account for the side effects. Like fame? Uh huh. I was a nobody in Sugar Sweet, and the pay was shit, but it felt like a miraculously good deal at the time. What it did is put me in the running for more serious work. I think, even then, sometimes the casting folks were hesitant to take a risk on someone with no experience whatsoever, even if they had—A spark? Talent? Sure. It was unsettling, the idea that I was some kind of “natural,” and I compensated by working really hard. Well, you’ve established yourself as a hard worker. Sure. I guess they saw that—the improvement, in addition to the fact that I had a resume to speak of by then. Or, eh, they saw that you were pretty. Right, of course, you don’t need talent if you have Teen Mag’s favorite cheekbones. [Snickers] I joined a cast with other people who had very little experience, and we bonded over that. I just didn’t expect to be … What, the center of attention? That, yeah.

You know what’s fucking weird? Huh? Signing your name on a picture of your own face that belongs to someone else. That they’re going to take it home and pin it to their fucking wall or frame it on their bedside table. Someone’s kid treating you like their school crush, blushing and shit while they’re asking for you to do it. That does seem like a strange experience. Over and over again. Teenyboppers, goddamn. You were in the magazines for them. I read a couple interviews. No the fuck I was not. I did not do those. No? What they do is take quotes from actual, consented conversations and stitch them together for their own use. It’s legal. That’s fascinating. Maybe I should try that. Less work. [Laughs] Yeah, alright, flush your “exclusive access” privilege right down the toilet.

But, look, I’m not disparaging the fans wholesale. That’d be unfair. And, ouch, ungrateful? Yeah. The initial couple years were fucking insane, but I was with people I liked, and a lot of the fans we actually met were … Normal? Uh huh. Not a hysterical, handsy, screaming blob. You got grabbed? Groped, Pat. Oh boy. We don’t like grabass, I guess. Well, hold on now, just not like that—You keep sidetracking me. What kind of interviewer are you? I’m having fun with my buddy! Sue me. [Chuckles] You got it, baby. What was I saying? The fans? Yeah. The ones we met one-on-one were cool, usually. They had deep thoughts about the show, you know? Ideas about the characters, the plots—filled in holes in the shitty writing. No offense to Jack and Reuben, I hope! Don’t print that, Pat.

If I’m being honest, having to answer their questions made me think deeply about the role. That’s stayed with me. I don’t like being walked up on in public, but sometimes it’d go fine. The first time someone came up to me in the wild, her mother looked so fucking apologetic that I decided, “Cool it, don’t be a jackass.” She wanted to talk about the book I was buying. Same thing would happen to Frank, Perry, Vicky. How about the show itself? That was a three year commitment.

It was alright. In retrospect, I understand that television isn’t for respectable actors, which made the transition hard. Harder to have been on a show for teenagers. But, you made that switch in Uspana. So, did that play into the calculus at all? I lucked out, in the sense that the show was co-produced, and I got to do the dubbing for the Uspanian version. I wasn’t a total unknown, even if they thought my Uspanian was shitty. Is it? Losing an accent is hard, in my defense.

When my contract ended, I hit the road. You didn’t think about staying on? I thought about it with horror, yes. [Laughs] You’d keep shit-talking the whole production if I let you. Maybe. So, in Uspana? It was like exhaling for the first time in a while. I did nothing for a couple months. All that hard work, being a beloved TV star … Throw me a bone, Pat. But, anyway, I didn’t even see my mom’s family again for a few weeks—You knew them, though? Yeah, we’d met, during the press trips. Beach life by yourself. Luxury.

You know, I needed to reconnect with myself. That’s how I felt. I felt like I had been an imposter, then I felt like I had to be someone I wasn’t, and now … You could go a different way. A fork in the road, for your career. Your life, really. Right, yeah. I went to Canarís like any good tourist. I had more money than I’d ever had in my life. I had no plans. Sounds like a dream. It was.

Crucially, I was out of my mind most of the time. Kite high. So fucking high. I swear I almost drowned twice, at which point it was politely suggested that I stop using the pool. Did you politely agree? Fuck no. [Laughs] Troublemaking aside, I ended up taking phone calls, making plans with people—Industry people? Yeah. There were people I knew already, but meeting the ones I really wanted to work with happened kind of organically—parties, premieres for other films, cafes. At the Morningstar Cafe in Canarís? Right, exactly. Same way I ended up finding The Den. Someone at the cafe had worked with Karolina Teague, and she took me there one evening after we all got tossed out of some poor son of a bitch’s house. Sounds rowdy. Can’t blame him. It was after midnight. And? Well, it was a lunch that’d started at eleven in the morning, so. [Chuckles]

So, I have a question. You’re pretty consistent—in terms of behavior. “Behavior?” [Snorts] Yeah, okay, I understand. What was that like, with cameras on you? The photographers in Uspana definitely aren’t less aggressive. That’s part of it. I don’t know if I’d call it an epiphany, but I left Canarís for Nakawe with the understanding that I was going to just do what I wanted to do. Oh boy. Within reason, fuck. Reason. Sure, yes. You didn’t feel like a dumb kid anymore. I mean, I guess I have more fun with the camera guys here. They can get away with more, ergo, so can we.

I distinctly recall you got arrested for—I barely touched that guy or his fucking camera. Did him a favor, if I did. Dogshit quality device. [Chuckles] Not sure he saw it that way, but the charges were dropped. I mean, don’t get me wrong, shouldn’t have reacted that way. I kept thinking about my mom seeing those pictures … The one time I got picked up, she backhanded me in the middle of the station, right in front of the cops. Jesus. In the car, she goes, “If you get caught again, I’m going to rip your ears off.” Empty threat, I guess.

The Den—I want to talk about that. Please, let’s. Your first time there? It was with Karolina, like I said, and there was a local band playing that night. They’d wrapped up their set by the time we arrived and were just … jamming on the stage, taking feedback and requests from the people who were still there. Some kind of funky jazz mash-up. I liked it. How did it come to you? It opened in ‘57 as a bar and, at some point, it turned into more of a music venue open to a certain segment of Nakawe. The guy who owned it gave exposure to a lot of people who went on to really do something with their art, and that’s why it ended up being a somewhat exclusive spot. Celebrities already knew it and brought their friends. Uh huh. I could stroll up, and the cameras weren’t with me because they were already there. He got tired of that, I think—He was an older fella, right? Yeah. But, really, he managed other properties, and The Den wasn’t his passion project the way it’s become for me. So, you had the money and took it off his hands.

What goes on in there? [Laughs] Pat, you’ve been inside. Well, not for me! If I’m going to describe it to people who’ll never go inside, what would I say? I mean, it’s a hangout spot. It’s a performance venue. We had, uh, mimes last month. Truly gifted, those people. [Laughs] Really? I don’t come up with all of the ideas myself, but I only agree to the shit I’m interested in. It’s kind of selfish, but I guess I’m lucky to know a lot of people who’ll toss in five dollars to enjoy it. It’s something. Compelling. I mean it. Thanks. That’s not all, though. I mean, you describe it as a “haven.” It’s very private. Some of your regulars are troubled individuals. Damn, Patricia, just say it. I feel like a cop! “Do you condone drug use in your establishment?” nonsense. But, well … I’m not explaining it. Either you—they, whoever the hell—get it or don’t. Come for the music, come to unwind however you like, doesn’t fucking matter to me as long as you’re coming with an invitation. I like to go in the back room, close the door, let the music and noise seep through. Muffled. You don’t really strike me as a partier, frankly. You never have. I wouldn’t argue with that. I like parties, but I don’t need to be at the center. Some do. That’s fine. This place is for us all.

Maybe it works out because of that, that you’re curating this space but not necessarily always in it? What do you mean? Well, you reopened it and then, if memory serves, immediately went off to do a film. The party kept going. You just like to know it’s happening. Alright, sure. That’s true. Knowing it’s there … Yeah. I like it. I was in that back room, thinking about the script, when I decided to do it, actually. Life felt like it was falling into place. It was a good time to take a leap. “’You are going to be a cowboy?’” “’No, I’m going to be a farmer.’” I had that conversation a thousand times. Reporters, man. Hey! Everyone was so surprised. I think they thought the premise was … I don’t know, that it just wasn’t something I would want to do? Or, worse, that the filmmakers wouldn’t want to work with someone like me? Unflattering assumptions, sounds like. Can’t blame them. I had a lot to prove. Still do.

How was six weeks in Texict? Fucking heaven. I loved it. My mother’s from the northwest so, even when I visited family, it wasn’t anywhere close. No reason to visit until we dropped in to do the film. Every day, I woke up happy to be alive. Happy to be doing this job. Gorgeous. I’m gonna go out on a limb and guess it wasn’t just the location, was it?

No, you’re right. I felt like I was really acting—for the first time, seriously. Maybe the cast helped? I’d worked with established actors before. The leads in Sugar Sweet were—well, you know who they were. I learned a ton from them. But, yeah, I guess Sasha was the first person I’d worked alongside who had me sweating. Oh? I wanted to impress her so fucking badly. I wanted to keep up, you know? So talented. So raw. She rips every line out of her chest with her bare hands. Bloodbath of emotion. The premise was new, too. Not a lighthearted romance this time. No. We were young parents of a ill child—stressed as fuck, trying to make life work, struggling separately to be together. Can’t lie, I ate that shit up. So did the critics. Hell yeah.

Every nomination felt surreal. The recognition was incredible. Validating. Sasha and some of the others swept up. I was just honored to be up there with them, honestly. Okay, well, let’s talk about Sasha. Do we have to? Yes. Indulge me! [Grumbling] I mean, all I can really say at this point is that I was obsessed, and it wasn’t until it was over that I had the clarity of mind to really wonder, hm, “Was I in love with Sasha, my coworker, or was I in love with Sasha playing Lucy, my wife?” That seems like an occupational hazard. I wouldn’t describe it that way. You take sensitive, delusional, beautiful people, pay them to get vulnerable and intimate with each other … It’s special, even if it’s … Not genuine? No, it is that. It’s not real, but it is genuine. How else can you say, “Well, our schedules don’t line up anymore, but I’ll have this scar of our initials forever?” You do not! No, I don’t. The letter S is really hard to cut without fucking up. Not a sober man’s idea. No.

Since I have you on the topic—hey, no, absolutely not—I’m obligated to ask if there’s anyone in your life right now. How’s that? Women’s magazines can snap this up and stitch it together for themselves. This is a public service. Patricia … Yes, Lorencio?

Look, I know you do your research. I do. I’m very good at it, too. What’s that like, princess pus—Pat. Pat, I’m begging you—Are you obsessed? The letter L is easier, I bet. It is. Would you go with another L or an R?

I’m not talking about this—not for you to print, anyway. Well, talk to me as a friend, then? I’m not just professionally nosy. We’re friends? Who else calls me Pat and gets away with it? You haven’t been Trish in a long time, it’s true … [Sighs] Fuck. Someone can be precious, right? Lovable. You can hold them in your hands and think, “This person matters to me. They’re special. I like to be around them; I like to listen to them; I want their affection.” You can really, genuinely cherish someone.

But? Maybe you find their life to be completely fucking repellent. Unbearable. … Damn.

There’s parallels, though, right? I mean, fame is fame, there’s got to be value in relatability, and—There’s an open mic going on downstairs in the hotel bar right this minute. Let’s take a break, Pat, what do you say? Let’s just go watch some of it. I’ll let you print dick measurements and my deepest, darkest secrets if you say yes. [Laughs] Well, if that’s on the table—

#just gonna toss in a cw #cw drugs #long post #ts4 story #sims story #sims 4 story #royal sims #simblr #ts4 legacy #1992.story.post #1992.a1 #1992.e04

[tinyywriterr]

WHO WILL IT BE?

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{Nanami + Toji + POC Reader}

∘°∘♡∘°∘𝓒𝓗𝓐𝓟𝓣𝓔𝓡 𝓣𝓔𝓝 ~ 𝓡𝓞𝓤𝓝𝓓 𝓣𝓦𝓞∘°∘♡∘°∘

⟿ Song to Go with the Chapter: Cockiness (Love It) by Rihanna AND OR Lollipop by Lil Wayne [Nanami + Toji + Reader theme song for this chapter] {both of these songs use to be my jam as a kid 2000 kids STAND UP}

⟿ Word Count: 5,200 +

⟿ Toji + Reader short smut scene | Nanami + Reader smut scene & Toji watches | plot building + dialogue

⟿ Summary: A couple hours later you’re ready for round 2 not knowing what you’d get yourself into. Once you were asleep Nanami asks Toji a random question that might change a lot for everyone involved. Will Toji accept? And will you be okay with the decisions being made behind your back?

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𝓒𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓽 𝓦𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰: contains smut, pet names, the use of every hole, cream pie, fingering, oral sex, dom/sub, soft dom vs semi hard dom, threesomes, light BDSM, fem reader, black fem reader/you, and etc. [please don’t read if easily triggered or not 18 +]

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𝓐𝓾𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓻𝓼 𝓝𝓸𝓽𝓮: 18+ please & please don’t copy and paste my story anywhere else. This chapter is slightly shorter than the last chapter sadly but I hope the smut makes up for it. ANYWAYS, this is my first tumblr fic so if you leave a heart, reblog, or comment it’s greatly appreciated! If there are any errors I am open to anyone correcting me in the comments, leaving feedback, or dming me. I hope you will enjoy this as much as I did when I wrote this!

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*𝒲𝒜𝒦𝐼𝒩𝒢 𝒰𝒫 𝒜 𝒞𝒪𝒰𝒫𝐿𝐸 𝒪𝐹 𝐻𝒪𝒰𝑅𝒮 𝐿𝒜𝒯𝐸𝑅 | 𝒴𝒪𝒰𝑅 𝒫𝒪𝒱✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

 

 

You open your eyes slowly looking around as you do. You look to your left and right and see the two big men lying next to you. They opted to put their boxers back on but you’re still naked sandwiched between the two of them. Not wanting to move you just look at Nanami who’s sleeping peacefully while hugging on your waist and one leg hooked around your leg. Toji has his arm around your neck and another in your hair playing with it as he’s awake. 'Fuck, I forgot my bonnet!' You think to yourself slightly frustrated at how you keep forgetting.

 

 

“Finally up I’m itching to smoke one,” Toji complains while rubbing his temples now. You chuckle softly before fully sitting up and moving Nanami’s limbs slowly so as to not disturb him. You scoop down and throw your dress back on; it’s a long one touching the floor made of cotton, solid black, and strapless.

 

 

“Come upstairs we can smoke one real quick before Kento wakes up.” You whisper trying not to overuse your voice as it was hoarse all because of Toji. You walk out of the room beginning to walk upstairs and you feel Toji staring you down as he follows closely behind you. You get to your shared room with Nanami and swing the door open. You waltz to the bathroom to freshen up really quickly since everyone’s juices are dry on your body. You wet a rag as you pull your dress up over your butt and wipe yourself up recounting the fun morning you’ve had so far.

 

 

‘Who says it has to stop here,’ you think devilishly to yourself before walking back out. Toji’s sitting on your bed now and looking around your room examining it; making sure to take in every detail.

 

 

“You like to decorate or clutter a space but it’s cute,” he blurts out as you sit next to him. You lean over to your bedside table and open the vintage cigarette dispenser, Toji raises an eyebrow. “Now I need one of those.” He points out as you hand him a cigarette. He pops it in his mouth and you light it for him loving the intimacy between the two of you.

 

 

‘I wonder if Ken would be okay if I asked for a second boyfriend. Toji would be a great addition,’ you think to yourself as you put the cigarette between your lips.

 

 

“Let me light that for you,” Toji suggests grabbing the lighter not really waiting for a response, and lighting your cigarette.

 

 

You take a long drag and smile as you exhale; “I had fun with you today. I'd hate for it to end.~” You tease lustfully while leaning on his shoulder which makes him tense up slightly. You look up at him and he’s blushing softly trying to just smoke his cigarette.

 

 

“How did you know I liked you?” Toji inquires taking another long drag and exhaling just as quickly.

 

 

“You turned down Angel, practically melted when I gave you a lap dance, and lastly you couldn’t keep your eyes off me all night whenever I was working. Same as Kento,” you explain in between a couple of puffs of your cigarette. Toji looks at you flabbergasted as he didn’t think you’d notice.

 

 

“I uh, can’t deny you’re beautiful and I’d do anything to protect you. But I’ve been wanting to tell you that I um, have a son,” Toji explains trying not to look at you until you force him to by grabbing his face.

 

 

“I don’t care if you have a kid or kids Toji. I bet you’re an amazing dad, what’s his name anyway? What’s he like?” You ask sincerely turning your full attention to him.

 

 

“Well, his name is Megumi. He’s a smart kid, but quiet not as loud as me. He is a good mixture of me and my ex. I’ve finally been able to get him into a private school and he’s made some friends like Yuji and Nobara. I haven’t always been a good guy or a great father at that. I used to be a hitman for a crime boss named Ryomen, Sukuna. I was just doing it for the money and because I was good at it. I wasn’t able to keep my kid while I was doing it which ruined our relationship and he’s somewhat wary of me now. Mainly because I’d come and go a lot sometimes coming home hurt no kid should go through that so I sent him to his mom. Also, I felt I was losing myself just wanting money and enjoying the killing I was doing so I decided to stop. I was gambling a lot and for a while, once I quit but then I met Nanami. It was a random day at a boujee club I had no business being at just gambling money away and getting drunk as all hell. Nanami offered me a job to be his on-hire bodyguard whenever he needed or for whoever. It’s really helped with getting on the right track and beginning to be able to provide for my son.” Toji recounts heaving a sigh as he finishes venting along with his cigarette putting it out and passing it to you. You turn to put the cigarette butt away in the ashtray and smile at him as you turn back around holding his hand with your free hand.

 

 

“You did what you thought was right, even if it wasn’t. People will do a lot in order to know their family is okay and financially taken care of. I’m glad you met Kento when you did and were able to get back on the right track. I bet your ex and Megumi are happy that you’ve elevated yourself,” you say reassuringly rubbing the back of his hand now. You turn to put your cigarette out and to toss it into the ashtray but as you turn back Toji is inches away from you now.

 

 

“I haven’t opened up to anyone like that, before. You bring out the soft side in me no one’s been able to do that besides my ex and my kid,” Toji explains looking at your lips as he starts to bite his. You lean in closer and so does he so soon enough your lips collide. Toji is rough, full of desire, but it still has a hint of love behind it. Both of you kiss each other feverishly exploring each others lips trying to memorize every movement. Toji pulls away biting your lip as he softly places his hand behind your head. Once apart you look into each others eyes searching for answers. “You’re an amazing kisser and lover,” Toji praises rubbing your head softly before falling into the bed. You follow him lying down as well crawling over to your side as Toji has picked Nanami's side.

 

 

“Thank you, you as well Toji…” you say as you both curl up and Toji starts to cradle you in his arms. You both fall silent enjoying each others company until you feel something poking you. You look down and see the growing tent in Toji’s boxers. Looking back up at him he has a devious look on his face as he slowly pulls his boxers down. You feel the hot appendage smack you on the thigh and you can’t help but chuckle softly. Once done Toji tosses the boxers across the room as he crawls on top of you, you can’t help but stare at his muscles. Particularly his arm muscles how cut and defined they are it’s like you could see each one. You return your attention to his face as he smirks down at you simultaneously pulling your dress off. Once off he stares at your naked body under him so curvy and soft. Toji begins to lick from your neck down to your stomach and back. After a couple of times, he goes down to your sore pussy all swollen and puffy. He blows cool air on your slick opening making you squirm slightly.

 

 

“You’re still craving to be stuffed brat? I’m going to change that for you,~” Toji coos before going straight in and devouring your pussy. He’s sloppy and feverishly as he eats you out. Sucking and licking everything with no real coordination but it feels good. It’s different from earlier and the past men you’ve had. Toji sticks 3 fingers into you hooking into you immediately making you gasp as he continues to sloppily suck on your clit and folds. You moan loudly arching your back as he’s quickening the pace pulling up for air and using his free hand to torture your clit now. “Look at you melting right in my hand you’re such a slutty brat. Cum for me brat. I’m ready to stuff you full of me and have you all to myself,~” Toji teases before kissing up and down your thigh making you squirm and buck your hips as he adds a new sensation to the torture. Your stomach tightens and you squeeze your eyes close as just hearing him talk to you like this makes you go crazy. You grit your teeth together before howling loudly arching your back like you're in the exorcist. Toji laughs loudly as he sees you becoming a mess under him soon after he pulls his fingers out of you making you groan. Toji swipes his dick at your slick entrance one time before just shoving it in deep inside of you making you gasp for air. You claw at his back as he grabs your legs pulling them apart further before leaning more on top of you. Now chest to chest he slams into you making you yelp as he starts to thrust into you at the same depth and speed. You drop your arms as your strength is leaving you but instead, you grip onto your sheets tightly. Toji begins kissing your jawbone nibbling on it before getting to your neck and practically biting you not truly caring about the sore love bites already there. Your moans echo throughout the room and probably the whole house but you could care less. This pleasure was amazing but nothing was better than you and Kento. There was a certain connection you two have that no one could top but Toji was fairly close. Toji pulls away slowly before grabbing your legs again and propping himself on his knees. You without thinking hook your legs with your arms to make it all easier for him. With your knees to your shoulders now Toji grins as he grips your hips and love handles. He slams into you again hitting your already bruised cervix making you groan loudly. Returning back to his original pace Toji drills deep into you making you dig your nails into your own skin. The sound of his balls slapping on your ass echoes throw the room making you smile softly. Soon Toji shifts slightly to the side to hit it at a different angle making you lose your grip on your legs but he grabs them just in time. Using one hand he grips your legs to keep them in place and chokes you lightly with his other hand as his pace quickens. “Fuck your tight brat you feel so good,~” Toji praises as he tilts his head back. But with his words you clench around his dick moaning loudly with pleasure. Causing Toji to go silent as he loses control and slams into you at an unbelievable speed. He keeps this up for a couple moments before releasing deep within you maybe even into your actual womb. You whimper as he stops moving and pulls his dick out suddenly standing up just as fast. He smacks your ass loudly as he watches cum spill out of you and stain the bed.

 

 

“Awww, I missed all the fun,~” Nanami teases from the door looking straight at you with eyes full of lust and a tinge of jealousy.

 

 

‘When did the door open? I bet he heard me from downstairs, fuck,’ you think to yourself as you’re still a mess on the bed trembling from all the sensations. Toji slips his boxers on and sits in a chair in perfect view of the bed.

 

 

“Aw, don’t be like that Nanami I was prepping her. I’ll just sit back and watch,” Toji teases as he leans back into the chair smirking. Nanami walks over to you silently looking at the cum spilling out of you before smacking your sore pussy not too hard but enough to make you whimper softly.

 


“You had fun without me princess. I don’t know how I feel about that,” Nanami says bluntly running his fingers up your leg before swiping your entrance making you squirm. “What to do to you? What to do? Toji can you grab some nipple clamps and a vibrator from downstairs.” Nanami requests as he looks at you smiling as he can’t help but love how spent you look. He crawls on top of you kissing you passionately while nipping at your lip as you moan wanting more of him. “So impatient and so oversexed,~” Nanami teases flicking your nipple which makes you bite your lip. “You know you are mine right?” Nanami asks coldly looking deep into your eyes.

 

 

“Yes, daddy,~” you say softly returning the eye contact trying not to be flustered under his gaze. But, within seconds you crumble and you couldn’t help but get shy all of sudden. You still couldn’t go toe to toe with Nanami. You turn your head as heat starts to explode in your cheeks.

 

 

“But I don’t mind sharing, my love. I just get a little jealous, you understand right?” Nanami says tilting his head slightly before kissing your ear and biting your earlobe softly. Toji returns with the toys Nanami requested placing them on the bed and sitting down again. Nanami slyly grabs the nipple claps and vibrator before pulling away and putting the nipple clamps on you. You moan softly as the cold metal actually feels good on your sore nipples. With the vibrator in hand, he crawls back down to your pussy placing the vibrator on your clit. “Hold the vibrator, my love.” Nanami requests not waiting for the answer as he turns it on to the highest speed with a remote he has next to him. You gasp at the feeling of it being turned on and buck your hips slightly into Nanami. In response he sticks his tongue into your cream pied entrance. It shocks you but you don’t have a lot of time to soak it all in before he begins licking at your folds switching between the two. With his free hand, he tugs on the chain that is connecting the nipple clamps making you yelp while simultaneously bucking your hips in his face. Nanami laughs before pulling his mouth away and shoving 4 fingers deep within you fingering you at an insane pace. You moan as the sound of the juices being pumped out of you is so erotic. Nanami turns the vibrator down trying to torture you and make you beg for mercy. You mewl loudly and look at Toji who’s watching and stroking his dick. All the while he’s licking his lips at the sight he’s seeing. Nanami uses his hand that was tugging on the chain to force you to look at him. “Don’t forget that I am here princess. Don’t hurt my feelings,~” he teases turning up the vibrator speed and picking up the pace of fingering you. He lets go of your face tugging on the chain again gaining a deep guttural moan from you as your stomach starts to tense up. Out of nowhere, you spray Nanami’s lower torso and fingers coating them in your juices. He pulls his finger out of you and licks them seductively before smacking your ass. “Keep that vibrator right where it is, my love. And bend over on the bed feet flat on the ground.” Nanami commands crawling off of you and pulling his boxers off before coming behind you bent on the bed. Without warning or question, he shoves his dick inside of you making you gasp softly gripping at the sheets with your free hand. He bucks his hips deep within you as Toji’s cum coats his dick which made you 10x more slick. Grabbing your love handles he plows into you making you groan with each thrust as it keeps hitting you’re demolished cervix and walls. Nanami leans down so his chest is on your back and he grabs your neck practically lifting you up with his dick fucking up into you which gives him an idea. “Drop the vibrator give me your arms.” He commands so you do as he says and he starts to pull on your arms slightly as he leans back. Your feet are off the ground now as he pulls you all the way down his length to the point you feel his pubic hair on your butt. Nanami thrust deep into you fucking up into you filling you up and giving you no way of running away. Your moans grow louder as each thrust breaks your mind.

 

 

“You feel so good Ken fuck. Pump me full of your cum daddy,” you request in a breathy tone and Nanami doesn’t respond just focused on demolishing you to the point you can’t move. You groan loudly as you cream around him again but there’s no tightening or warmth in your stomach as it was just flowing out of you at this point. You’ve cum so much today that you’re starting to go numb from the bottom down. Your clit practically has a heartbeat as you continuously cum on Nanami’s dick going silent as you are overstimulated. Nanami stops all of a sudden as he groans loudly saying your name like a chant within seconds he cums deep within you. He doesn’t let go though but bucks his hips as if he’s trying to make sure it’s all in there. Still inside of you, he leans down picking you up from the legs and getting into bed.

 

 

“Toji if you are done grab the tin box in her bedside table and spark it she’ll need it. And come lay with us, I think she likes laying with the both of us.” Nanami asks as you tremble in his arms and not coherent at all. Toji does as the man says upset he didn’t get to get his nut off as he has come accustomed to your touch not even wanting to beat himself off; it didn’t feel the same. Pulling his boxers up he gets in bed puffing on a perfectly stuffed joint you have rolled Toji then passes it to Nanami as he exhales slowly.

 

 

“Shit, I haven’t smoked in a while that shit is good,” Toji says as he caresses your face but looks and speaks to Nanami.

 

 

“Ya, I got a friend to start dropping off here. He gets it from Amsterdam and brings back here I hated the shit she was smoking before it was dirt,” Nanami says chuckling softly as he takes a couple of puffs before putting it in between your lips. Like it’s part of your computer programming you inhale taking a long drag before using an un-trapped hand to pull it out to exhale.

 

 

“Fuck..” is all you can muster up to say before taking another long drag from the j feeling the effects immediately thankfully it made your legs not hurt as much. But your sore pussy is still being stretched as Nanami is still inside of you bucking into you every now and then when you clench around him.

 

 

“You’ve had a good day today?” Nanami inquires watching you take a couple more puffs before passing it to Toji.

 

 

“Yes, daddy,” you mumble sleepily thinking about how all you’ve done was get fucked. You snuggle into Nanami as he’s being passed the joint all of you smoke in silence as you slowly fall asleep leaving Nanami and Toji to finish the j and talk.

 

 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*𝐼𝒩 𝒯𝐻𝐸 𝐵𝐸𝒟 | 𝒩𝒜𝒩𝒜𝑀𝐼 & 𝒯𝒪𝒥𝐼 ’𝒮 𝒫𝒪𝒱✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

 

 

After finishing the joint with Toji Nanami slowly slips out of you as his dick has gone flaccid and watches as the cum leaks out of you. Standing up suddenly he slips on his boxers and you moan softly at the new emptiness and the coldness you felt in your sleep. You shift a little but thankfully don’t wake up and begin to snoring slightly. Nanami chuckles sitting back down slowly and Toji stands up completely and then fully gets out of bed. You groan as it starts to get cold shuffling over to where Nanami was sitting.

 

 

“I guess I can’t leave. But thank you for doing this I don’t know how she would’ve felt if you rejected her.” Nanami says turning to you to rub your side to keep you asleep.

 

 

“Like I said I’ve dreamt about a day like this. I hope I didn’t offend you when I said that it’s just your girl is beautiful and so caring I was shocked that she even brought it up to you.” Toji says crossing his arms and looking out the window as the sun has begun to set now.

 

 

“No, you didn’t offend me I understand it completely. I was the same way with her when I first saw her. She’s so enchanting I just had to know her and she made me think about things I tried to push out. But I have a feeling she’d want to keep this going honestly. She loves you very much I bet she’d want to have us all be together as a couple.” Nanami explains in between chuckles as the thought of that was interesting, to say the least. The two of them are two completely different people in a relationship with you an ethereal woman.

 

 

“I mean, that’d be cool. We’d share her and get to make her a mess almost every day that’d be a dream.” Toji says not thinking before he spoke shaking his head as he replayed what he just said in his head.

 

 

“We do get along pretty well and she’s spent from today. If we were to become a poly couple I could connect you with more work opportunities and it’d be great to have someone here to keep her company while I try to start this small business.” Nanami explains like he’s actually thinking about it. He never saw himself being in a polyamorous relationship but he’s found out a lot of new things about himself recently. “Toji, I’m serious it’ll be like a little surprise for her she won’t see this coming from either of us at all. You could stay here and even bring Megumi she’s great with kids and it’s not far from Tokyo. I don’t know your co-parenting schedule or situation right now but I bet we could work something out.” Nanami states trying to sell the idea to Toji but he’s still looking out the window starting to contemplate his decision.

 

 

‘I mean it’s better than living in that shoebox of an apartment. Megumi could bring his friends over and actually have fun. I’d be in a throuple and I get access to seeing y/n more and get to fuck her whenever with or without Nanami. It’s not the worst idea…’ Toji thinks to himself rubbing his chin as he runs through all possibilities and outcomes.

 

 

“I’m in but I am keeping the apartment I have just in case,” Toji explains looking at Nanami now smirking softly. “You must really love her..” he says softly looking at you now sleeping so peacefully looking like an angel.

 

 

“I do, I really do but I can also tell you do as well. I noticed as well as time went on and I even became jealous. But I thought to myself maybe I’m just being selfish and controlling maybe I am not but still. I don’t want to stifle your feelings and make you not experience what I am experiencing. I see she brings out that side in you Toji, she does the same for me. Who am I to rob you of that experience? And when she told me she wanted to fuck you or have a threesome with you it turned me on thinking about us both demolishing her.” Nanami explains looking at you as well you scrunch up your nose and groan softly before shifting again.

‘So beautiful and perfect how could I not share you, my love? Maybe I’m jumping the gun but everything has gone so fast and has felt so right this feels no different than when I asked her out.’ Nanami thinks to himself as he bites the inside of his cheek as anxiety grows thinking he possibly could mess the whole thing up.

 

 

“Wow she really has changed you, man I need a drink this is something..” Toji teases walking out of the room and downstairs. Nanami kisses you on the cheek covering you with the covers before following behind Toji meeting at the base of the stairs. “I’m gonna grab my clothes and put them on real quick.” Toji explains dipping into the sex room and re-entering wearing his grey sweatpants and black shirt handing Nanami his clothes. Nanami slips them on shaking his head as he didn’t realize he was just walking around with his boxers on.

 

 

 

“Follow me, my office has all the whiskey in it,” Nanami explains guiding Toji to the office and swinging the door open showing a clean and orderly room. His office is dark with one big window in the middle of the wall facing the street. Nanami pushes out a whiskey cart and sits down on a couch that’s conveniently positioned across the room in a nook. Toji plops down next to Nanami heaving a sigh and picking up a cup Nanami pours him a generous amount of ‘Hibiki 30 year old blended whiskey’; Toji nearly jumps out of his skin taking his first sip.

 

 

“How the fuck are you drinking this neat also isn’t this an almost ¥1,000,000 yen Nanami!?” Toji exclaims puckering his lips trying not to spit out the alcohol and Nanami just nods ‘yes’ as he laughs and takes a sip. The two men sit in silence both thinking about what they both just agreed to. “You won’t try to kill me if I get her pregnant right?” Toji teases trying to break the silence and taking a smaller sip from his glass.

 

 

“No, I wouldn’t but she’s on the pill so I am not too worried about it. But she would look even more beautiful pregnant,” Nanami says daydreaming about you pregnant and glowing. “I will control my jealousy but we can give it a trial run to see how you feel about it by the end of the week. You don’t have anything planned or jobs lined up this week do you?” Nanami inquires twirling his cup as he thinks about how this will all play out.

 

 

“No, I’d be happy to fuck your girl all week and see if I wanna commit.” Toji teases laughing softly as the drink and joint were affecting him.

 

 

“Then let me know by Friday how you feel about it,” Nanami says ignoring what Toji just said but just smirks shaking his head. “You are a devious dog aren’t you,” Nanami teases this time taking another sip of his drink and finishing it off.

 

 

“You saw what I did,” Toji replies taking another small sip trying not to waste the drink. “We had her trembling like a leaf and before you barged in she was spent,” he explains pointing at Nanami.

 

 

“You saw her she wanted me,” Nanami says grinning from ear to ear now. They both chuckle thinking about how you were so ravenous for the both of them.

 

 

“Serious question, do you want to marry her Nanami? Like you said she has made you think, change for the better for yourself, and you even seem happier around her. Why not just take her completely off the market now.” Toji inquires just chugging the rest of the glass and coughing a little bit once he was done.

 

 

“I do actually she really brought out a new Nanami Kento one I never expected. I’ve always been gentlemanly but this go around courting her I enjoyed doing it. Even if I wanted to devour her right then and there. But she was amazing and fun to be around even if I wasn’t fucking her yet. She was refreshing to be around I didn’t feel like I had to show out for her. I just was me and she adored that even if I was in my growing stages when we started to talk seriously. Also ever since I met her I wanted to protect her don’t get me wrong the past women I was with I’d protect them. But I never truly worried about their feelings or ambitions. I would die for y/n.” Nanami explains staring into his empty glass recounting how you two first met, when he came over to your house, when you guys went on your first date, and the first kiss. Nanami began to feel heat rush to his face so he bowed his head trying to hide the bright red blush covering his cheeks.

 

 

“Wow, that was deep Nanami I understand how you feel. Just protecting her for those few months was enough for me but when I saved her from Geto and Gojo something shifted in me. The last time I felt like I’d die for someone was my kid and ex wife. It’s definitely a refreshing feeling and she’s so heartwarming it just makes you melt,” Toji explains talking with his hands as spoke.

 

 

“Ya, she does that to people I don’t know how but she makes people feel comfortable around her,” Nanami says standing up now. “I’m gonna lay down that glass and joint have hit me all at once. There’s a guest room right next to ours you can rest there.” Nanami explains as he walks out of the office waving ‘goodbye’.




“Thanks,” Toji says as he leans over and puts his elbows on his knees.

 

 

‘I can’t believe this is happening honestly. Nanami has changed so much since when I met him. He was so cold and straight to the point but now he’s smiling.’ Toji thinks to himself before getting up and walking up to the guest room. As he closed the door he turned around to see a huge bed calling his name. Toji strips again down to his boxers and plops into the bed throwing the cover over him. ‘This will be a story I tell my grandkids 'cause this is insane.’ Toji thinks to himself before slowly drifting into a deep sleep.

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

Once again I hope you enjoyed this one and can’t wait to upload the next chapter! Also let me know how you guys like the smut in this chapter. I liked the dialogue in this chapter so I hope y’all do as well! I’m so happy people on here actually like this story or smut it warms my heart. And IM HERE FOR ALL THE NANAMI & TOJI LOVERS! ♡ But, don’t forget to comment, leave feedback, leave a note, or anything truly. It’s all appreciated! (・ω<)

© ™TINYPROPHETT

[Please don't copy or plagiarize my work thank you. I don't own any rights to JJK and all photos are from pintrest or here I'll try to tag people if I can]

⟿ Link for my AO3 lovers: {also it’s 24 chapters posted on here}

⟿ Credit for the inspiration for the Chapter:

#Spotify #jjk #ao3 fanfic #ao3 author #jjk fanfic #jjk smut #nanami kento #toji fanfic #toji smut #toji fluff #threes0me #toji x reader #toji x nanami x reader #nanami thirst #nanami smut #nanami fanfic #toji fanart #long fic #ao3 writer #ao3 #ao3 link #nanami x y/n #dilf toji #toji x you #smut #jjk fanart #fanfic #multiple chapters #ao3 recs #ao3fic

[erospandemos]

Impromptu Sleepover

Happy Valentine, my friends. For the little of you who already have a special someone, show them how much you love them! For the brave ones who have yet to make a confession, do it! Be prepared for rejection but don’t fear it: you miss all the shots you don’t take.

As for all the others who are lonely in the pink and red holiday, we’re in this together: here’s a little story to cheer you up. I hope you’ll enjoy.

Signed,  Eros

-

Three hours and sixteen minutes. 

That’s how long you’ve been stealing glances back and forth between two lovers and your dream girl, in this small apartment that smells faintly like cherry and cookies and Hayoung’s soft, delicious scent. And that’s how long you two have been silent. Wholeheartedly silent.

You were sitting beside your best friend as you watched her softly lit face by the movie playing in the background. A cinema wasn’t necessary when you already had the best seat, shoulder-to-shoulder with Hayoung. If you were looking at her every ten minutes, Hayoung was every eight, casually meeting your eyes at times and turning around to the screen like it was just by chance, flustered.

You did this a lot of times before but why was your heart beating so fast? You were sure she didn’t notice how your cheeks flushed whenever her hands brushed against yours, whenever your shoulders touched, whenever your legs met, and whenever her star eyes lit up your dark pupils. 

Actually, maybe she noticed—you swear you saw her grin when you jolted up from embarrassment at her face being too close to yours. 

“I need to get some water,” you said and run to the kitchen. 

Hayoung lets herself fall on the warm spot you left on the couch and kept following the movie.

You bet she isn’t even thinking about it. 

You bet she doesn’t care. 

You bet you were the only one in distress, nervously fiddling with your fingers, sulking to the vintage notes of  “The Portrait” while she’s excitedly rooting for the two lovebirds to kiss, completely entranced. 

What do girls even think about all the time? 

What does she think about? 

Food? Puppies? Songs?

Does Hayoung even fall in love? Or was it just the guy falling for her? 

She might not have realized it, but maybe some other boy quietly took a liking to her and maybe, in the smallest chance, microscopic probability, unlikeliest percentage, she also—sort of—maybe liked him?

You shiver, wondering who that might have been. Wondering whether the crush she might not even have would be extraordinarily lucky or—

“It’s so good, isn't it?”

You turn so fast, you feel a muscle pull. “What?”

“I can't believe you've never watched this movie before,” she says.

“Oh, the movie you mean.” 

You massage your neck. She stares at you with glittering eyes.

“It's such a classic, I just... Well, I'm glad you decided to watch it with me, even though, you know, you didn't have much of a choice. It's all good, at least you can say that you've watched it now and people won't laugh at you.”

“Hey.” 

“I'm just kidding, I'm just kidding.” 

You think she’s biting the inside of her cheek to avoid bursting out laughing. 

“I don't think I've had a Saturday night as lovely as this in so long. I know we went out last weekend but that was different, you know.”

“The aquarium was really fascinating,” you nod. “The dolphin show was really cool.”

“Yeah, I had so much fun. I did have a great time but it wasn't lovely, you know.”

“It’s because you had to leave your home right?” You shake your head in disappointment. “And now because you’re hibernated in your house, you’re having so much more fun.”

“Yes, I don't like going out much. Yes, I'd much rather stay inside and watch movies.”

“That makes you sob.”

“Yeah, movies that make me cry. The ones that make you feel like they're the best ones.”

You snort. “Just because it’s a little sad?”

“I just think Titanic has got such a bad reputation and it's gone down as like a cheesy love story but when you actually sit down and watch it, I mean, how can you not become invested in their story? Yeah, it's so sweet and it's based on a historical story.” You think about the situation you’re in. It’s not a date. But if it were—which it isn’t—it would be the best date of your life.

Of course, it wasn’t. But. If it were. Even when, you must admit, it almost feels like one. You had to remind yourself you were just hanging out… as friends.

“It was interesting,” you say as if you remembered even a single moment from the movie.

“Yeah, no it is, it's super interesting. And like they had an actual team that had to go and do all the diving too, you know, get all the shipwreck footage and all that kind of stuff.” Hayoung puckers her lips. “Oh yeah, and did you know that Rose was based on a real passenger from the Titanic?”

“What a geek.”

“How can you say that that's geeky? It's like general knowledge I'm sure it is. Oh my gosh, you're just being salty because you lost the bet that you wouldn’t enjoy it.” Hayoung puffs her cheeks and furrows her eyebrows in such a way that reminds you of a little bear. You don’t have the force to disagree with her.

“You are? Oh, you're such a geek.” She rolls her eyes.

“It's so nice and warm. I can hear the radiators coming on again. It's gonna be like boiling in here. Let me just stretch my legs.” Hayoung strokes her feet to collect some heat and pushes her legs onto the blankets sitting on your lap, not caring if you’d take offense at her pink rabbit-covered socks. 

“Get off me.”

Hayoung whines. “Come on, we've been in the same position for like, I don't even know how long or what time is it?”

You look at the clock on the wall. “It’s 2 am.”

“It's not 2 am.” She noticed the clock. “It is. How did it get so late?”

“Maybe because the movie was so damn long.”

“Oh yeah, I guess it was a three-hour movie.” 

“I should go home now,” you say. She stretches and her legs take more of your space but both of you then noticed the noise from outside. You look out the window and see the whole sky coming down in a thunderstorm. You thought Zeus was playing with you, after you had to suffer and try not to go insane for three hours. It was far from a blessing.

“Wow, oh my gosh, look at the rain,” Hayoung said, standing up. “Wow, that is so heavy.”

“No big deal, I can walk home.” 

“Oh, there's no way I can let you walk home in this.”

“It’s fine.” 

“No, no way.”

“It won’t kill me.” 

“No, just stay. Please. Please, just stay. Please, are you gonna make me beg you?” Hayoung whines in an adorable way. “Please don't make me beg. Oh, do you know what, I'm not even gonna ask you anymore? I'm just gonna block the door if you try to leave.” And then she got mad, pinching her eyes like how red pandas furrow their fur.

“Oh, you think you could?”

“I could take you on. I could. I'm so much stronger than I look, thank you very much.”

“Even though you’re this small?” 

“Yes, even though I'm that short,” she says. “I can't say that forever, you know. But for real, you are staying and that is that. Don't even try and argue with me, I am being completely serious right now. I am not letting you walk home in the rain, in the cold, really late at night. I'm not doing it.”

“Are you sure?” 

“Of course I'm sure, don't be silly. What kind of friend would I be if I let you walk out in that rain? If you go out, you are going to catch a cold.”

Suddenly her eyes spark again and she speaks furiously without catching a single breath. “Oh my gosh, you know what this is gonna be. I think this is gonna be like a sleepover. Yeah, a sleepover? Wow, I haven't had one of these since I was like maybe eight, or nine? I can't even remember what you do at a sleepover.”

“Well, we can either watch another movie, but I’m tired, or just talk there.”

“Okay right I'm gonna go put my jammers on and I'll grab you some extra blankets as well.” Hayoung jumped out off the couch in excitement, buzzing and jumping around like a little kid. “Okay. This is so crazy I can't believe you are actually stopping over.”

“We get to talk about the sleep things that you do at sleepovers. I can't remember but, um, what do you think? Oh, truth dare. Or we could talk about gossip. I'm not really a gossip person but we could gossip about school.”

“Nothing happens in my college. It’s just a bunch of nerds like me studying and… studying.”

“Oh, well you’ll find something or I’ll just talk the whole time.” Hayoung looked around to think and hummed. “Would that even work? Oh yeah, that would be a no.”

Your friend signaled you to come to her and you walked to her bedroom. It was just like how you expected it to be—very feminine, with plushies and small decorations. There was also pretty stationary, the kind girls use, on the desk together with all her notebooks. “

Okay. Here's your blanket,” she says, throwing it to your face. “And you can have this pillow. It's the comfiest one that I've got. I'm sure you can have it of course. You are my guest.” 

“So I sleep on the couch…?” 

“Oh well, I thought you could just sleep here if you wanted to. Well, it's really chilly downstairs so like you're free on the sofa if you sleep there and there's no way I'm gonna let you sleep on the floor,” Hayoung says not paying much attention to you because she was busy taking everything out of her closet. Things that she didn’t see for the past three years and things that sat there since she bought them. She turned around, “Well would you let me sleep on the floor if you had a sleepover at yours?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh god.�� Hayoung pouted. “You are just so mean to me.” Then she flopped on the bed, patting the place beside her. “Just get in here silly. Well, this is the bed that I've been bragging about.”

“Wow, it’s soft,” you say, sitting on the bed and bouncing a few times to test the firmness of the mattress. The way you two looked next to each other was almost comical. Your friend was there in a cute pajamas while you had black jeans and an old uni hoodie.

“Yeah? Oh, it's just so comfy. So comfy. It is warm. You're gonna warm up so quickly I promise. Yeah especially with all these extra blankets and pillows as well. Body heat. Do you need any extra pillows or are you sure you don't want some socks?”

“No, I’m good.” 

“Okay. Okay. I'm just gonna get comfy then. Hmm, that's so good.” Hayoung lays with her chin on the pillow, it was a big fat one, and she looked like a cat rolling on a ball. When she closed her eyes and relaxed, her face naturally came down to look like gudetama. She was calm and looking at her calmed you. 

“Is that how you sleep?” you ask. “Won’t you get back pain?”

“Yes, I really sleep like this. You don't snore too loud do you?”

“No, I don’t,” you hum. Hayoung seemed a little slow. Her energy was starting to leave her body.

“I'm so sleepy. Tell me something.”

“I’m really happy I can spend time with you.”

Hayoung giggles with happiness. “I'm really glad I get to spend some more time with you too. Even though we're going to be asleep for most of it. But you know, I'm really glad that you're staying tonight.”

“I really appreciate you being in my life,” you admit. “I never felt this way with any other friend before and I'm at a point where I wouldn't want to spend time with anyone else. I'm not bothered about spending time with anyone else.”

The silence lingers for a moment. The two of you expressed your feelings clearly but now, there was something on your chest that you couldn’t ignore. You were just waiting for who would say it first. And it was her.

“You want to know something really silly.” Hayoung forces her face into a smile. Her heart was doing something weird in her chest. Beating a little too quickly. “Maybe I shouldn't say it. Okay, well I'm gonna get close so I can whisper it. Because then maybe you won't hear it. Um, okay. Well, I get so jealous when I know that you've been spending time with someone else.” 

When you say embarrassing things, you only realize them after they come out of your mouth. “Did you hear that?” Hayoung blurted out. “Yes,” you said, and Hayoung felt like she was about to disintegrate into a puddle of sand. She wanted you to take it back, “No, what?” She wanted you to simply rewind as if nothing happened but it was too late now.

“I don't mean that in a weird way,” she quickly corrected herself. “That came out weird.”

You nodded, this time slowly. Trying to understand what she was talking about.

“It’s okay.” You offered her a reassuring smile but she couldn’t possibly look at you. Not a second longer. 

“I just mean... I mean, I'm so happy that you've been meeting other girls,” she murmured, feeling herself sinking deeper into the bed quicksand. “I really, I love to hear that you're so excited and you're happy and I'm so happy for you. But a part of me just hates it. I'm sorry. Oh, so stupid. You're just amazing. You are, you are.” 

You knew you were any of those things. Not by a long shot. But you think that your sweet friend only knows how to say the best of you and not anything else.

“You have this way that you look at me sometimes and it just makes you so fuzzy inside.” Hayoung is embarrassed. She rolls herself into a small ball under the blankets to protect herself, but can’t stop speaking, it was too late now. 

“Like, I can feel how much you care about me just from the way that you smile at me. It makes me melt. It makes me feel so special.” She wets her lips. “I don't know if you feel it too, but... Ever since we met, I just, I feel like I already know you. I feel like I already did know you. And every new thing that I learn about you just... I feel like I already knew it. And that, um, as you say, I just remember it.” 

You can’t believe what she’s saying. You can’t believe what you’re hearing. A part of your brain hopes that it goes where you’d like it to go but you can’t believe Hayoung was that person.

“This isn't making sense,” she laughs awkwardly. “It's just so strange. And if I'm being honest, I'm not really sure what this feeling is. Like, this feeling which is being connected.” 

“Um, I know that I'm saying all this…” She looks at you, serious and earnest like she rarely does but you know she had every intention to be so. “I don't want anything to change between us. Like, not ever. I would never want that to happen because I can't imagine not having you in my life.” 

Something surges into her as she lets these words come out of her. Something painful and delightful and confusing. Something breathtaking, rich, and frightening. Not a fully formed feeling, but an early draft of it. She wants to get a grasp of its taste before it’s gone. She reaches out, letting her words flow out.

“...which is why I'm so nervous right now, I think, but it just feels so right to say what I'm feeling. I always wonder how things could be different.” Hayoung’s skin is even redder than usual now that you notice, and she retreats farther into her little blanket nest. “And I keep having dreams about me and you. Dreams were more than this. And we're just so incomparably happy and I just can't help but wonder if it means what I feel it means, whether it means…” 

She glances at you. Your face is a blank void. Not because you were unconscious but because you were sweating balls and didn’t know what to do.

“No, I don't know. I don't know if you're asleep yet. And I'm 99% sure I'm dreaming anyway, otherwise, I wouldn't be saying any of this,” she admits. Her voice quiets down to only a whisper. “So guess what I'm trying to say is that I love you.”

“I love you,” she says again, to make sure she did. “Being with you is just so special and you are so wonderful. The way that you take the time to be joking if I'm okay. The way that you're just so in tune with who I am. The way it takes my breath away every time you say my name. I love the way that you make me feel. So many times I've just sat quietly trying to keep myself together when all I want to do is hold you.”

Hayoung hugs the pillow in front of her, tight enough to make her contain herself.

“Am I dreaming? Are we dreaming? This has got to be a dream. It's got to be.”

You were holding back until now but you couldn’t anymore and you smile. And she smiles. The smiles linger, warm, and honest, and you hear her speak again, in her soft smooth tone.

“I feel so peaceful and complete right now. I'm so glad I even my eyes and because you've got the cutest smile on your face. I can't believe I just told you all that. And you know if you don't feel the same, I completely, completely understand, you know.”

“But I do…” Your throat works miraculously. “I love you too.”

“Oh, you do. Oh, really? Wow, um, wow. And now I don't know what to say.” Hayoung makes room for you, and with a few tentative lumbering steps, you’re both under the same blanket. You feel small around her, although she’s obviously shorter than you. What made you so vulnerable? You didn’t know. She looks around, playing with her hair.

“Oh, wow. Um, um, um, can I, can I kiss you?” she asks. She holds her breath as she waits for you to speak. She’s so nervous—she keeps swallowing, and it sounds loud to her ears. Even her breathing sounds loud, even her heartbeat. “Is that okay?”

Your pupils are dilated looking at her so hard. You’re staring at her like you’ve never seen Hayoung before.

Her heart is pounding like a million trillion beats a minute as she scoots closer to you. She raises her head up and presses her lips against yours, and feels your jolt of surprise. And then you’re kissing her back, open-mouthed, soft-lipped, and at first, she’s nervous, but then you put your hand on the back of her head, and stroke her hair in a reassuring way, and she’s not so nervous anymore. It’s a good thing that she’s laying down on the bed because she is weak in the knees.

“This is just so perfect,” she says as soon as she lets you go.

“It really is,” you admit.

“I'm lying in my bed with you and I told you how I feel and you haven't run up screaming. Oh, my gosh, I never want to leave. This is the best feeling ever. I, I love you. I love you.”

“I love you too Hayoung, I’ve been holding it back for I don’t know so long but now I can say it as honestly as I can,” you say back. And she smiles.

“You are just incredible and I've always secretly felt just so lucky that you want to spend your time with me and that you care about me. It's just so, so wonderful. You are the best. And I love you. I love you. 

It just feels so nice to say. Well, I hope you have really sweet dreams. I don't need to dream anymore.” Hayoung quickly pecks you another time. Just for good measure. 

“Good night. I love you.” 

THE END

Written, 

5 February 2023 - 14 February 2023

-

Thank you @capslocked​ and @midnightdancingsol for editing this little story. 

#hayoung fluff #hayoung #fromis_9 #fromis_9 fluff #fromis_9 fanfic #hayoung fanfic #kpop fluff

[bradshawsbaby]

The Proposal

Pairing: Rooster x Girlfriend!Reader

Author’s Note: This one was requested by @raefoxiegirl​! It will soon be followed by the wedding headcanon requested by @mercury-mae​!

I’m extra proud of this one, so I’d love to know what people think through comments/reblogs!

Warnings: Mostly a lot of fluff, but also some angst that comes with parental illness and loss.

- Rooster had known almost from the very start of your relationship that you were the one. You were the only woman for him, the woman his mom had always told him to hold out and wait for.

- The thought of getting to call you his wife and, hopefully one day, the mother of his children filled Rooster with the most indescribable joy and also the most calming peace. That’s how he knew you were his forever.

- “There won’t be any fear at all when you find the right girl, honey,” his mom had often said. “That’s how you’ll know it’s her.” She’d always grabbed his face with affection and pressed a big kiss to his cheek whenever she said that. “And hearts will break all over the world when my handsome Bradley gets taken off the market.”

- Rooster had enlisted Phoenix’s help before purchasing the ring.  Thankfully, the two of you were close friends so it was easy for her to spend time with you.

- “You’re lucky that we just so happen to be the same ring size,” Phoenix grinned, reporting back to him after she had casually asked to borrow some of your jewelry.

- The ring Rooster ended up picking out was a gorgeous vintage piece, which he knew you would love. It featured a large pear-shaped diamond, encircled by several smaller diamonds which sparkled beautifully in the light. It was perfect, just like you.

- Carole had wanted to give Rooster her engagement ring, as well as her wedding band, but he hadn’t been able to bear the thought of her being parted from them. His whole life long, he had never once seen his mother take those rings off. They’d been a lifelong sign of her love and commitment to his father, even years after his death.

- “Mom, I can’t take them from you,” he’d told her tearfully, holding her hand tightly as she lay in her bed, propped up with pillows and weak from the cancer that had taken her from him. “Dad got them for you. He wanted you to have them. They’re yours,” he said gently, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand.

- “My sweet baby,” Carole whispered, reaching out to cup his face. It had broken her heart that she wouldn’t get to see the man her son would become, the woman he would marry, the family he would build, the life he would lead.

- A month later, Rooster had buried his mother, the rings that belonged only to her still firmly on her finger. He knew it was the right decision. And as much as he missed his mother, he knew she was happy to be singing and laughing with his dad once again.

- Rooster hoped that you would cherish the ring he had picked out for you just as much as his mom had cherished the rings Goose had chosen for her.

- After he had the ring, Rooster decided he wanted to get your family’s blessing. Your father had abandoned your mother, brother, and you when you were just a kid, so you didn’t have a relationship with him. But Rooster knew how much your mom and brother meant to you. They had moved to Florida, which was perfect since there were a number of naval air bases out there. It gave him a great cover for why he had to travel.

- Rooster had only met your family in person a few times, but they adored him and couldn’t have been happier to give their blessing for his proposal. “She’s going to say yes,” your mom had assured him with a wink and a smile that reminded him so much of you.

- With the ring and the blessing secured, the only thing left for Rooster to do was to plan the actual proposal itself. He racked his brain, trying to come up with something that would be creative and special, but also meaningful and intimate. You deserved nothing but the absolute best in his eyes.

- Ultimately, Rooster decided he wanted to propose at The Hard Deck. It was the place where the two of you had first met and a place that held a lot of special moments and memories for you both.

- To pull it off, Rooster enlisted everybody’s help. Penny agreed to close the bar for the night, claiming maintenance work needed to be done, so that they could have the space to themselves. Maverick, Amelia, Phoenix, and Bob helped decorate the bar with flower petals and candles. Hangman and Coyote went to pick up the champagne you loved from a winery you and Rooster had gone to. Payback and Fanboy set up the speaker system and connected the playlist you had once made for the two of you.

- The night of, Rooster told you that he was taking you out for a fancy dinner, so you had gotten dressed to the nines. You went all out with your hair and make-up, glad that you’d just recently gotten a new manicure. Feeling particularly bold, you even wore the new lingerie set you had recently purchased while on a shopping trip with Phoenix and some of your other girlfriends.

- Rooster’s eyes had nearly bugged out of his head when he saw you. Whistling, he took your hand and twirled you around slowly, admiring the view. “Baby girl, you are a wonder,” he told you, kissing you softly.

- “Don’t mess up my lipstick before we even get out the door,” you teased, nudging him playfully as you grabbed your purse. “What restaurant is it we’re going to again?”

- “Some new one downtown. Hangman said it was good,” Rooster replied casually, shrugging his shoulders. He hoped he didn’t appear as jittery as he felt. He wanted tonight to go perfectly. “Don’t kill me though. We have to make a quick stop at The Hard Deck first.”

- “Everything okay? Penny said she had to close tonight for some maintenance work,” you replied, slipping your hand into his as he led you to his truck and opened the door for you, helping you up.

- “Yeah, she just needs my help with something really quick,” Rooster nodded, hopping into his truck and driving the short distance from your apartment to The Hard Deck. “Come with me, baby. Penny would love to see you, and she’ll pour you a drink while you wait,” he grinned, helping you climb back down out of the truck.

- “It looks kind of dark in there. Is everything okay with the power?” you asked in concern as the two of you approached the entrance to the bar.

- “Oh, yeah, don’t worry about it. I got you,” Rooster winked, squeezing your hand as he led you inside.

- You gasped at what you found. The entire bar and most of the surrounding tables had been covered in yellow rose petals (yellow roses were your favorite) and soft, flickering candles. As soon as you stepped inside, you heard the opening strains of Frank Sinatra’s “The Way You Look Tonight.” It was one of your favorite songs, and the first song you and Rooster had ever slow danced to.

- “Babe, what is—”

- Before you could say anything else, Rooster was stopping you in the middle of the room and dropping down to one knee before you, which made your heart rate accelerate immediately as you covered your shocked face with both hands.

- “Baby,” Rooster began, reaching up to take one of your hands and tug it away from your face. You already felt yourself starting to cry. “I love you so much. So, so much,” he said, squeezing your hand gently as he gazed up at you with adoration brimming in his eyes. “From the moment you came into my life, it’s only gotten better. You are the very best part of me.” 

- You were definitely crying now, tears streaming down your cheeks despite your best attempts to stop them.

- “I–I’ve been so lonely for so long. But with you, I know I’m never alone. You make every day so special, baby. My mom—” You could tell he was getting choked up when he mentioned his mother. “My mom always used to tell me that when I met the right girl, I would know she was the one because I wouldn’t be afraid. I wouldn’t be afraid to commit to her and want to spend the rest of my life with her. That’s how my dad knew my mom was the one. And it’s how I know you’re the one for me. Baby, I don’t want to live a minute in this life without you. Will you marry me?” he asked, opening a black velvet box to reveal the most breathtakingly exquisite ring you had ever seen.

- “Oh, God, baby,” you cried, hoping you hadn’t completely destroyed your make-up, but grateful that the man before you wouldn’t care if you had. “Yes! Yes, yes, yes! A thousand times yes!” you exclaimed, your hand trembling with excitement as Rooster slipped the ring onto your finger. A perfect fit.

- As soon as it was on, Rooster rose and took you into his arms, swinging you around as you kissed him hungrily. “I love you! God, I love you,” you whispered against his lips, while his fingers ran through your hair.

- “I love you, too, baby girl,” Rooster murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead and holding you close.

- At that moment, unable to contain their excitement any longer, everyone came rushing out of their hiding places, cheering and screaming and covering the two of you in confetti.

- After getting repeatedly hugged and kissed, and sharing a champagne toast with all your friends, you and Rooster managed to slip out onto the beach while everyone else kept celebrating inside.

- “I’ve never been happier in my life,” you told him, gazing up at him as he slipped an arm around your waist. “I can’t wait to call you my husband.”

- “And I can’t wait to call you my wife,” Rooster replied, taking your hand in his and holding you close as the two of you began to sway to the music that was softly trickling out of The Hard Deck.

- Rooster knew that his parents were looking down tonight and that they were smiling.

#bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #x reader #x female reader #miles teller #top gun: maverick #request

[millenialfanfictionaddiction]

Being Nekoma’s Emo Manager

Nekoma x Fem! Manager (she/her pronouns)

Warnings: probably swearing 🤷🏻��♀️ idk if that’s even a warning

AN: this is an anon request! I realized I had it labeled from Spooky Anon but it wasn’t signed from Spooky anon 😅 so idk who it’s from.

*aggressively hits G note on piano and stares into your soul*

If you unaware of the song that made an entire generation, please google it

Also I will not argue this point because I have both age and vintage Emo on my side 😌

Now for a mini history lesson, the Emo I’m going to be referring to today was popular from the late 90s to late 2000s and into the 2010s

This means heavy black eyeliner, hair that defied gravity, neckties being used as anything but neckties

Black with hints of accent colors such as, but not limited too, pinks, orange, white, etc.

The days when TRL and MTV were the way to “stream” new music and hot topic was the source of all band t-shirts

Now that I’ve covered a small history lesson, let’s strap in shall we!

So get your check board belts and fingerless gloves ready kids!

Because it’s time to get EMOtional 😂

N E Ways- let’s just say, you classified yourself as an “Emo kid”

It wasn’t super unheard of to be different fashionably in school but you, well you were definitely a sight

Your hair was teased to the rafters, bows of every color along with skulls littered your hair

Your eye liner was the blackest black, and you skin looked like you hadn’t seen sun in decades 😅

You wore fishnet tights with vans or perhaps another skateboarding shoe

You looked pretty intimidating to most people who didn’t know you

I mean, your style doesn’t exactly scream approachable

However, the people who did know you, knew that your style of “dark and brooding” didn’t measure up AT ALL to your personality

You were a complete sunshine ☀️

A literal sweetheart and absolute Angel!

Unfortunately a lot of kids didn’t get to know you ☹️

But luckily, there was one guy who didn’t care about looks

He really didn’t care about much actually 👀

And that happened to be our favorite setter Kenma!

Because Kenma honestly does not care about looks or superficial things like that

Actually, when you first got teamed up with Kenma to work on a project, a lot of kids thought it was a strange combo

But somehow, you two managed to make it work and in fact, you got the best grade in the class

After that, you and Kenma became partners for every project

There was just something he enjoyed about you

Probably your weird similarity to Hinata honestly 😏

Soon you and Kenma started hanging out after school

You both loved video games as well as had similar styles in music

Look at me and tell me Kenma wouldn’t be into Emo rock 👁️👄👁️

Fall out boy, Paramore, Taking Back Sunday, THE USED!!!!

Anyways, soon Kuroo joins and he’s confused about your friendship with Kenma

Like you and Kenma are complete opposites but you get along super well

Eventually Kuroo starts taking a liking to you as well

Kuroo has natural Emo hair so it’s fate 💅

Kuroo soon figures out why Kenma enjoys your company as you are a literal dark ball of sunshine

Eventually you start accompanying out kitty cats to practice in order to hang out with Kuroo and Kenma

Upon entering the gym, everyone stares at you

You low key kinda scare the first years, Inuoka and Shibayama

Yaku and Kai are super interested as in why you are there

Yamamoto is just dead because there’s a girl in the gym 🙄

And Lev, well Lev can’t keep his mouth shut

“Hey you’re that weird chick that wears black and has crazy hair. I’ve heard a lot about you!” Lev screams

Yaku please 😌

“LEV SHUT UP!” Kuroo yells as Yaku kicks him

You just giggle, a sound nobody was expecting, as you say, “I’m Yn! I guess I kind of do get a little bit of a reputation but I promise, I’m not evil or something!”

“She’s actually kind of cute in a different way,” Kai says as Fukunaga and Yaku nodd in agreement.

Soon, you are coming to every practice and helping where you can

Setting up chairs, filling water balls, handing out towels

The boys quickly adore you and soon you just naturally become apart of the team

Kuroo officially asks you the teams manager which you gladly accept

It’s hard finding a club with your specific tastes and since you could still express your style and personality, volleyball club seemed perfect!

You enjoyed playing music, listening to music and writing which were all supported by Nekoma

Our progressive Kings 👑

Honestly they were so supportive of their Emo scene queen!

They loved when you added little touches of red to your outfits and even made a hair bow that specifically said “Nekoma” on it 🥹

Of course, they were still boys so they all found you super cute and adorable

Yamamoto was your personal body guard for everything

It didn’t matter what, he always walked you to every class and if anyone made any comments about you, he would challenge them to a “rumble”

Language you later learned, was picked up from Karasuno 🙄

You had heard about Karasuno and you were honestly so excited to meet them!

Kenma had told you about Karasuno’s tiny middle blocker

On the way to training camp, our sweet boys let you play the music

Honestly Coach Nekomata was way into it 😂

He was such a hip coach and he knew you kids were into some weird stuff

Please he was too 🤚🏻

Anyways, he’s just happy you bring so much joy to the team

And honestly you match Nekoma’s cat-like mysterious vibes

So when you showed up, the other teams just kind of stared at you

Obviously you kinda stood out like a sore thumb Yn, sorry to say

But don’t worry, Yamamoto is on the case 🫡

“WHAT ARE YOU STARING AT? HAVENT UOU EVEN SEEN A GORGEOUS GIRL BEFORE?!?” He screams

You rn 👉🏻😐

Yaku 👉🏻 YAMAMOTO STOP BEING AN IDIOT

You just roll your eyes and smile, bowing to the teams and greeting them

Almost instantly, they melted 🥰

Because like how are you both adorable and scary???

Literally Emo culture mkay

“Come on Yn, let’s go,” Kenma says as you wave and walk away

Eventually you get introduced to all the teams, including Karasuno

You end up making eye contact with Hinata several times as he observes you

Finally, he makes his move

“Hi there! I really like your style! I see your friends with Kenma and the pretty girl manager for Nekoma! I’m Shoyo Hinata and I’m a middle blocker!” He shouts

You smile back and greet him, “Kenma had told me so much about you! It’s so great time finally meet you!”

Kuroo and Daichi watch you both and shake their heads

“Boy short stuff really can make friends with anyone can’t he?”

“You new manager looks super sweet and outgoing, albeit a little interesting,” Daichi says as Kuroo nods

Soon you and Hinata, and by consequence Bokuto, become besties

Honestly you really enjoy hanging out with Akaashi but we won’t tell Bokuto that 😶

You share your knowledge as well as your unique style of cheering with the boys

You wrote cute little cheers and even inspirational poetry to share with the boys

Bokuto and Hinata loved your fancy words : D

And even when Bokuto went into his own Emo modes, the teams knew exactly who to call!

“YN HALPPPP!” Akaashi would silently communicate to you with his eyes

You 👉🏻 NEVER FEAR OUR SCENE QUEEN IS HERE 🦸🏻‍♀️

“Bokuto would you like to listen to some music or maybe we can talk about your feelings?” You say as you rub his back

“I could use a hug,” Bokuto 🥺

You 👉🏻😌🥰 of course-

Akaashi doesn’t get it, Nekoma doesn’t get it but they appreciate it!!

#nekoma manager #hq nekoma #kai nobuyuki #kuroo tetsurou #yaku morisuke #kenma kozume #yamamoto taketora #fukunaga shōhei #lev haiba #inuoka sō #shibayama yuuki #nekoma x female reader #female reader #nekoma x manager #nekoma x reader #haikyuu nekoma #nekoma high #nekoma headcanons #haikyu headcanons #haikyu x female reader #haikyu x manager reader

[thecameronchronicles]

All The Right Curves

TW: Smut. Language. Angst about body image. 

SUMMARY: JJ appreciates your curves. 

WORD COUNT: 2200

REQUESTED

Anonymous asked:

okaaaaaaaay so i had an idea for JJ but there’s no fucking plot >:(

there is literally no obx related smut where the reader is a little bigger or even just curvy.

I was wondering (since you’re my favorite author) if you could pretty please write smut with JJ and a curvier girl? Like maybe they’re at a party and someone makes fun of her, JJ takes her home and shows her how much he loves her body, like he literally is in love with it. I’m a curvy girl myself and i really struggle with finding guys to even talk to

*I AM ABSOLUTELY HONORED THAT YOU REQUESTED THIS FROM ME. I TRULY HOPE I DO IT JUSTICE FOR YOU! I PROMISE YOU, ONE DAY YOU WILL FIND SOMEONE WHO SEES YOUR BEAUTY!

All The Right Curves

You focused on the remaining contents of your drink as everyone else seemed to focus on her. Sarah Cameron. Kook princess. Every guy’s apparent dream from Figure Eight to The Cut. At least her beauty and charisma had entranced everyone but him. The rebel from the wrong side of the tracks, the future tax cheat; JJ Maybank. His eyes had been fixated on you from the second you crossed over onto the sand of The Boneyard. But for reasons you found the origins of your insecurities. As you attempted to hide yourself within the wrap covering the majority of your physique, his eyes adored you for it. He was desperate for even one second of your exposed physique as he found you beautiful, more so because you were unaware how truly stunning you had been. 

“Whale watch!” Some Kook spoke with the intention of being heard, giving the hot-heated Maybank another reason to hate those with the silver spoons born within their mouths. Not that he needed another reason, but with the tears forming in your eyes, it was enough for him to move to his feet and into your direction. 

“I doubt any of them have their head that far out of their asses to notice anything more than everyone kissing ‘em…” He offered his hand. “Walk with me?” He offered as you were pulling a hand from beneath your nose while sniffling, immediately looking at the usual gaggle of friends in his shadow, as he followed your gaze. 

“Did someone put you up to this?” You questioned, well aware that JJ Maybank held a reputation that rivaled that to what he was offering to you now. 

“Is it so hard to believe I could find you beautiful?” You were taken back by his words. As he had hoped they would leave you fluttering with excitement, they only made you question him further as you were well aware of cruel jokes that had begun like this with you at the crux as the butt of them. Because of this, your eyes narrowed in skepticism, even if your voice remained soft in regards to the crush you’d always had for him. 

“I don’t want anything from you.” He explained, suddenly nervous, as he folded his hands into his pockets as he moved out of view. “But to make you smile-”

“Why?” He clenched his jaw. 

“Because a girl as beautiful as you deserves to-”

“What are you getting out of this?” He was now on his knees, taking a soft touch to your knee as to test what you would allow, sensing your apprehension, before withdrawing. 

“I get to make a pretty girl smile. If you’ll let me?” He asked while offering his hand. Realizing he was doing this from his own fruition, you agreed, keeping your heart guarded, as you followed him along the surf of the beach. 

“Are you kidding?! I LIVED for those things…We all used to do them for hours…although everyone made fun of me because I always came up with the same words…” JJ explained as you bonded over a mutual nostalgia for Mad Libs, a specific brand of soda kept vintage in the offering of its glass bottles, and the favorite time of day having been the final moments of daybreak when nobody’s social status mattered and the beauty was on display by God’s hand. Of course, smaller details such as favorite bands and foods were exchanged, with a healthy difference of opinion, that left you to learn of him as he was allowed the same of you. 

“I have to confess something.” Your heart stopped along with the engine of the car after he’d insisted on taking you home, all while you prepared yourself for the line you’d grown accustomed to the majority of your life. ‘This was a joke’, ‘I only see you as a friend’-something along those lines that you were actually going to silently commend him on for confessing before taking advantage of your feelings towards him. But this was different. From the second he began to speak, it wasn’t to hurt you. And you could read that behind those cool irises focusing away from you, finding you once again as he spoke in truth. 

But as you turned to face him as your eyes were brazen enough to need to know why he remained silent, you were taken aback by the sudden force of his lips pressed to yours. A passionate kiss, one you’d only ever dreamed of was now being directed to you. Gradual in fervor, those soft lips widened your own, a tongue teasing your bottom lip, before he retreated in feeling your hesitance. 

“I told you I didn’t want anything…but truthfully, I want to make you come.” His jaw clenched as you fought to laugh, “I want to make you feel good, I mean…I want to make every painful word they’ve ever said go away when I touch you…I want to make you think of me whenever anybody says anything or looks at you in any way that makes you question yourself-” His hand was suddenly more aggressive in your hair as your eyes fell away in disbelief to the words he spoke to you. 

“I want to make you understand how beautiful you are…So please…please tell me your parents aren’t home so I don’t have to make you be quiet…because I really,” His fingers tightened that much further, “REALLY want to hear you…” You nodded in agreement as he was quick to guide you from the car and into the house, your body used as a means to close the door. 

“Where’s your room?”

“First door on the left-” Before you could offer a full answer, you were pulled to the direction of your room, suddenly insecure of the state in which you’d left it. But as the door came open and you realized only an old sweatshirt remained on the floor and a laptop kept open from a recent college assignment having sense faded the screen to black, you found his eyes only to focus on you. 

“Please let me see you, princess…” He requested, that nickname soft, but his words heavy with lust. You swallowed hard, “I’ve been dying to all night…but not just tonight…the handful of times I’ve seen you at The Boneyard…Please…” He asked, his fingers brushing your hair away from your cheek and behind your ear as you slowly nodded. Offering him this, you slowly set the cover to the floor as his jaw clenched to the sight you were slowly allowing him. 

“Can I?”

“Please…” You spoke, losing your confidence, as his fingers felt like fire in the slight trace made in the assistance he made to make you bare for him. Although he had done so slowly, allowing you the chance to stop him whenever you were revealed more so for him, it seemed swift enough to make your heart race, before you were left in only your lingerie. But as your fingers made their way to cover you, he pulled them back at your sides. 

“So help me sweetheart if you deprive me of how beautiful your curves are, I’ll tie these hands to your fucking headboard and leave them there as we dent your wall together...” He was cautiously aggressive, if such a thing could exist, vulgar but soft in the execution of such a threat. 

“Lay down for me.” He offered, standing between our legs as you breathed heavily beneath him. He cocked his jaw, shaking his head, before gliding a touch to your knees, pulled to his hips, as he removed his shirt for you to view him. 

“You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen…” He saw your eyes cast downward, your own disbelief leading your gaze astray, “And I’m going to prove what you do to me…” He explained, suddenly against your mouth again, leading every single uncertain word he spoke into validation as he lowered those lips to your jaw, down your neck, and beyond your chest, where he lingered for a moment. 

“Goddamn…” He grunted, taking time fondling the clothed breasts, teasing each nipple with a dip of his thumb within each side of the padding, before his lips continued on their path. 

“I don’t want to hurt you…” You explained as his eyes narrowed. 

“I don’t need your permission, sweetheart…And for that, I’m not going to take my time. You need to come quick so you understand what you do to me…and that I’m losing my patience-” You were pulled closer to him at the edge of the bed, an effortless glide made possible by the assistance of the sheets, as he pulled your panties to the side before leading a devoted tongue to your sex. 

“Oh my God, you’re so fucking sweet…UGH!” He growled before returning to your dripping lower lips. Your eyes rolled closed, screwing closed as one finger and then two made their way into a bend at your opening, beginning slowly and increasing in speed as he had you on the crest of pleasure before withdrawing his tongue from your clit. 

“I swear to God, making you moan could make me come…” He licked his lips, rising from your trembling thighs. 

“But the first time I make you will be on me, sweetheart…” He began to unbuckle his shorts, aligning himself towards you as you quickly sat up on your elbows. 

“You don’t want me to-”

“This is about you, baby…YOU feeling good…YOU feeling ME.” He was swift to fill you with his cock, making you wince to his width, being made aware of why he held such an ego. 

“Jesus!” He growled, fingers fisting into the sheets beneath you. 

“I want you from every angle. Every fucking one…but I want to be abel to hold you closer…” He explained, one hand eating into your hip as the other would be led to the bed beside your head for stability. It would only remain here for a minute, however, before he supplied the entirety of his own weight onto you, hiking up his knee to cause your own higher for a deeper penetration, and relying on you for that close proximity. 

“Don’t hold back, princess…I want to hear everything…I already feel it…” You moaned for him as he nodded into you, kissing your neck and fondling your breasts in approval. 

“JJ!”

“I know baby…I can feel you clenching me…I am going to make it last, though…” He slowed his paces, doing so in repetition until you were breathlessly pleading for him. Sweat and pleas existing in sporadic alteration as the moonlight came through as a means of luminescence to find his face contorting in pleasure as you struggled to simply breathe beneath him. 

“Before you come…you’re going to know what you do to me.” He led you to look at the pistoning of his cock moving in and out of you, “I’ve never been this fucking hard in my life…and it’s all for you baby…Because you’re beautiful…smart…funny…Fuck-I’m in love with your body…” He groaned, slowing his movements but somehow moving even deeper. 

“But I can’t take it anymore…so tell me you understand so I can make you come for me…Tell me you’re beautiful.”

“JJ-”

“Tell me or you can’t come, baby…Tell me, I know you’re close…”

“So close!” You explained as he nodded. “I’m-”

“You’re beautiful, baby. Just one time…say it for me, princess…please…”

“I’m beautiful-” You confessed. 

“One more-”

“I’m beautiful!”

“You know what else you are?” He asked, wincing between thrusts increasing in speed. “Mine. All fucking mine. Every beautiful curve. Every FUCKING INCH!” He grunted, pistoning behind every word, before he pulled you to that final edge. The rush of pleasure and ecstasy just beyond reach as he accelerated this by the presence of his thumb running circles over your clit. 

“FUCK!” He belted in finality, your breathless gasp speaking his name before you were made silent. But the second you were allowed the descent from that high, his lips were on you again. 

“That was one, baby.”

“One?” You questioned in winded uncertainty. 

“I’m greedy…And I said I wanted you in every position. Let me so how many I can get you in before you can’t take it anymore…” He brought you onto your stomach, kissing the back of your neck and onto its curve. 

“And then, there’s always tomorrow…”

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