#AND THE LINE WORK IS SO GORGEOUS 💖

[whoahoney]

Unbelievable

Eddie Munson x friend!Reader

Summary: reader has a crush on eddie and plans to confess her feelings at the bar, when she finds him sitting with a gorgeous girl, she doubts herself… what will she do?

Warnings: minors DNI, unwelcome advances, drinking, jealousy, anxiety, making out, allusions to smut

A/N: dedicated to the lovely @easy-peasy68 and this awesome request she sent in! I hope you love it, darling! 💖😌

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Tonight was the night—you were certain.

Tonight you’d worn your best clothes and redone your makeup twice. You prepared to drink until you were drunk of sorrow or happiness, one of the two.

“You’re not allowed to say that.” Robin chided over the phone as you walked to the bar and roll your eyes, “Think positive! He’s your friend, if he doesn’t return your feelings, how mean could he be about it?”

“I know he won’t be mean, Rob, he’s perfect!” You whine. “If he’s gonna let me down I know he’d do it in the sweetest most earth shattering way.” You watched the sidewalk pass beneath your feet and tried not to imagine the look of disappointment on his face.

“I have it on good authority that people can still be friends even after one rejects the other! Just look at me and Steve. We’ve been sailing this platonic love boat for years now! His dorky love confession is just a blip in the past now—“

“Whoa, wait, my love confession was not dorky—“ You hear Steve in the background and roll your eyes as you come to a stop before the sticker covered door that you’d grown quite fond of, this being Eddie’s favorite spot.

“Alrighty, Rob. I’m here.” You mumble and lean against the building.

Robin gasps, “Okayloveyou, call me after please, byeeeeee!” She almost sings as you end the call.

You take a deep breath and pull the door open. You’re so distracted looking for Eddie that you nearly blow right by the bouncer, sat at his laptop watching Lord of the Rings as he checked IDs.

You roll your eyes as he shoots you a questioning look, comparing your birthdate to your face before handing it back to you. You mumble a thanks and let your eyes scan the seats along the bar, where Eddie always sat.

You wondered if you beat him here for once, if you could be the one with two drinks waiting in front of you to be shared when he sat down like he’d always had with you.

You wonder if he’ll compliment your outfit, if he’ll even notice it. He typically always had a little compliment at the ready for you, about your hair or perfume, simple words that made you wanna shudder and savor the feeling forever.

A group of people grabbing drinks from the bartender caught your attention. They laughed merrily with each other and grabbed two tall glasses each to take to their awaiting table of friends, but when they moved, they also revealed a scene you never wanted to see; Eddie sat at the bar, and a gorgeous girl in your spot next to him.

Your heart ached and sank in your body, the beating of it suddenly so powerful it thudded in your chest. You wanted to swallow the lump in your throat, but your mouth was so dry you couldn’t, it just added to the sandpaper feeling prickling all the way down.

You wanted to cry at the way Eddie’s shoulders shook with a chuckle, facing the wall of bottles while she faced him, leaning closer on her hand and letting her ample cleavage show. She wore a red dress, one you wouldn’t even dream of wearing. Her lips were painted the same color and her eyes were lined with black so thick it reminded you of the music videos that sometimes played at the music store Eddie worked at.

She was perfect. And you suddenly felt as if you were not.

You feel someone bump into your shoulder and realize you were standing in the middle of traffic, grabbing a place at the bar with shaking hands, on the other side of three large old men that frequented the bar too.

Your mind was reeling and spinning without any alcohol to fuel it, so you opted for a water to collect yourself. When the bartender sat the tall glass in front of you, you take three big gulps of it and then some deep breaths. “Just go on over there, honey.” A gruff voice said.

“Yeah, that’s your spot!” Another said.

You turn to the right to see the old men looking at you, their leather vests, fading tattoos, and bald heads usually intimidating you, but when you saw them now, looking at you, you only saw concern in their eyes. You shake your head, “I don’t know what you mean.”

The men chuckle kindly, “Sweetheart, we know that’s your boy over there. And that broad has been buggin him for the last ten minutes about buying her drinks.”

Your brows push together and you lean over to view the two down on the other side of the man that spoke to you. Eddie had a tense smile, one he used when he didn’t wanna be rude.

“He could be nervous. She’s awfully pretty,” You think.

Another one of the men notice the skeptical look on your face, “He’s here to see you, ain’t he?” He asks incredulously through his thick mustache.

You shrug and nod, “We come here every week. W-We’re just friends though, so I should leave him alone.”

The men chuckle again before the third one pipes up, “Uh-uh! We gotta pool goin on how long it’ll take you guys to kiss. Poor boy always looks like he’s gonna make a move and doesn’t.” He rolled his eyes and his friends agreed.

Your jaw dropped, amusement on your face, “He does not!” You quietly chide before sneaking another glance at Eddie’s almost cowering figure as he kept his body facing straight, barely turning his head to respond to the girl.

“Between you and me,” the man closest to her almost mumbled, “if y’all kiss after this week, I lose—so it’s now or never.” He tsked and took a swig of his bottled bud light. You blush crimson and close your eyes. “If you go over there and plant one on loverboy, I’ll give you $50.” He held out his hand for you to shake.

You try not to chuckle when you notice these old men have you almost convinced. You take a deep breath and shake his hand, “I have to right now?” You ask.

“You just have to go over there right now, okay? And if it don’t work out, you gotta seat right back over here.” He nodded and gave you a firm pat on the back that almost knocked you over as you picked up or water and climbed off the stool. As you pass by them, you hear their rumbling cheers while they no doubt watch you.

You keep stepping towards where Eddie and the girl sat, Eddie’s hair practically a curtain between himself and her.

“You’re just shy, aren’t you?” She purred when you got close enough. She reached out to stroke Eddie’s hand that rested on the counter only for him to drag it away into his pocket.

“Nah, no, I-I’m typically not.” He said with a dry chuckle.

The girl tsked and leaned forward as you stepped up right behind her, still undetected, “Aww, so you just act this way for little ole me? All cute and shy?” She flattered herself and giggled in a way that you figured was supposed to be alluring.

As Eddie turns his head to face her, you step over next to him and put a hand on his shoulder, “Actually I think you just make him uncomfortable.” You remark, as you look her over and school your face to look unimpressed with the girl before you, as if you hadn’t envied her at first sight.

You look at Eddie, who stared at you with brown eyes wide with awe. Your lips twitch when they attempt to smile at the two waiting glasses in front of him, sips yet to be taken. “Can I have my seat or do I need to sit in his lap for you to understand?” You look back at her coldly.

She scoffs and looks between you two as she stands with her purse and returns to her table of friends in the corner.

You exhale deeply and look over at your biker friends who had heard the whole exchange. They raised their newest glasses to you and drank with hearty laughter.

“Friends of yours?” He asks with a uneasy chuckle, checking out the old men skeptically before he spotted their patches and smiled.

You shrug, “New friends.”

He nodded. You lingered by Eddie, your hand still on his shoulder before you move to sit in your spot, “My lap, huh?” He chuckled, amused and impressed at your display of courage he’d never seen before.

You plop down, the seat pleasantly warm from the bitch that previously occupied it. “Yeah, sorry about that, you just seemed…” you shook your head as he nodded gently.

“Thank you.” He looked you over, his eyes growing large again when they paused at your chest. “You look… fantastic, wow.” He says with a dumbstruck smile as he took you in again.

You chuckle and shake your head, “Oh, this old thing. Just threw it on, y’know, but, uh, I’m-I’m glad you like it!” You smile at him, feeling the difference in the air between you tonight. It felt good. Full of possibility.

Eddie clears his throat and slides your drink over to you. “A toast— to my best friend;” he started as you lift your glass with a quirked brow, “The bravest, wittiest ….” He hesitated, peering into your eyes, “…prettiest girl I know.” He nodded as he finished.

“Here, here!” The familiar gruff voices echoed behind you in agreement, lifting their shots before throwing them back. You guys chuckle and sip your beers, your nose wrinkling at the first taste as you usually did.

Eddie chuckled at you as you set the glass down, foam on your upper lip. “What?”

“You got a little…” he pointed at your mouth, but didn’t give you a chance to clean it yourself, bringing his thumb up to wipe it off with one gentle swipe. “There… much better.” He said softly, his face inches from yours. His touch sending pins and needles where he touched. He’d never touched your face before—not to mention your lips.

You look down and blush, finding your knees between his and his body leaned close to yours. He looked so much more like himself now, that ornery glint in his eye, his boyish smile that always said ‘trouble’ when he flashed one your way.

You watch his ringed hand rest on your knee, stroking in loving circles before you look up at him, his gaze more serious, yet not stone. Something else was hidden in the look he gave you, something that felt familiar to you.

He whispers your name, “—Tell me something.”

You cock your head and give him a single nod, “What’s to tell?”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes before taking a drink, “S’gonna be like that, huh?” He looks at you again, playful smile on display as he leans closer to you again.

“Like what?” You chuckle, enjoying this game. Eddie rolls his eyes with a smile and goes to turn back forward when you catch his knee, “No, no,” you pat him before turning him to you by the knee in your grip, Eddie’s gaze darkening as his eyes flicked back up to yours. “No need for that.”

You go to withdrawal your hand, but he catches it., “Were you jealous?” He asked, his hand stop yours.

You can’t help but balk, your mouth opening and eyes widening before you can pinch your brows together and shake your head, “N-No,” you find yourself in the lie, “I just—“ you shrug, finding his eyes on yours expectantly, obviously working hard to keep his mouth straight and resisting the smile that threatened to curl up at the corners.

“Just?” He prodded.

“Like—ugh, the way she was touching you. And looking at you—”

“And… that’s not jealous?” He broke a little, one side of his smile lifting as he bit the other cheek.

Your cheeks blossom into magenta, your avoidant smile rising up on your face as you grab your drink as a buffer, not daring to move your other hand from his grasp. Eddie watches you as you gulp the brew and set down the glass, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Okay, maybe a little..” you shrug before looking up at him from under your lashes, your eyes darting back down when you saw his smirk.

Oh, great. It’s a joke to him.

“But if it was a guy, okay,” you start, “And if I was you, and I was looking the same way you did, you’d do the same thing, wouldn’t you?” You shrug in question. “You’d wanna protect me from an unwelcome conversation, right?”

Eddie nodded, “Yeah, absolutely.”

“See?” You go to move your hand from his, turning to face the bar when he catches you again.

“To protect you, yes.” He said, hidden urgency in his eyes as he squeezed your hand gently, “—But also because I’d be jealous.” He smiles at your hesitance to believe him as you gently shake your head in disbelief.

“So.. now would be a good time to tell you about my feelings?” You ask quietly.

“Feelings?” He asks in feigned incredulity. You fight the blooming smile as he teases you. “Feelings about what?” He mocks you at your own game.

You roll your eyes and push at his chest, smiling when he caught your wrist and released your other, turning his hand to face palm up, his fingers lingering on yours in the hope you’d wind your fingers through his.

And you do, just as he’s begun stroking his thumb over your hand, the one he caught on his heart.

“Tell me.” He says just above a whisper despite the chaotic barroom.

You nod, “I… I like you. A lot. An embarrassing amount, actually— since the day we met.” You stumble, looking down at the rings on his hands you’d never brought yourself to play with, though you thought about it a lot.

You’d never held hands like this before, always sure to stay in your own bubbles. But tonight, everything was different, and you both knew it wouldn’t ever be the same.

“I was hoping you’d say that.” He said casually.

You look up at him in surprise, to find him leaning forward and releasing your hand to hold you steady as he pressed a kiss to your lips. Your eyes melt closed and you kiss him back, not shying away from the urge to touch his face and neck.

You barely hear the cheers behind you until Eddie breaks the kiss to glance at your friends a few seats down the bar. You turn shyly to find them paying their tabs and handing cash to the man that convinced you to come over here in the first place.

He saunters over to you, cap on his head and a new dip in his mouth, the lump bulging beneath his bottom lip. “Here ya go, darlin, take your new boyfriend out on a date.” He dropped a fifty in front of you and shoved his winnings away in his pocket.

Your jaw drops and you go to hand it back to him, “Sir, I can’t take this—“

“The hell you can’t!” He said as his friends joined him, one of them taking his free hand. “I’m $200 richer because of you, let me share the wealth!”

“Gary, you leave them alone.” The man chided. “Congratulations, you two,” he said when he turned to you, “Seeing you guys here these last few months had us thinking about our old times—Gary and I have been coming here with our friends since ‘82.” He beamed at his partner and it was only then you noticed the pride flag patch, beneath the Satyrs Motorcycle Club emblem, along with a BACA patch to boot.

You smiled warmly as Eddie took your hand again and swiftly pocketed the $50 for you. “Well, we owe you fellas drinks the next time we meet!” Eddie said.

You smile at his heart and nod in agreement, “Thank you, so much.” You smile at Gary who nodded.

“We wish y’all the best—treat her right, pretty boy, she knows where to find me.” He pointed a thick callused finger in his direction with a teasing wink and a final pat on the back as they departed, hearing the unmistakeable revving of their friends preparing to leave.

Eddie looked back at you as you sighed, the tension from the last couple weeks finally falling away with each careful stroke of his thumb over your hand.

I could get used to this, you think.

“So…” Eddie said, in the way he always did when he had a new plan of action, “How about… we blow this popsicle stand, grab some food and then.. maybe spend the night at yours.” He said, looking down at your hands as he spoke, the way he did when he was shy.

You smile and think about the advantages you have now that your best friend might just be your boyfriend, how well you know each other already. How easy this felt since you said the words that felt like wire bristles coming out of your throat.

“Spend the night?” You ask with a hand pressed to your chest. Eddie blushes as he meets your eye, not bothering to clarify the sentiment of spending the evening at your place like you’d done plenty of times before.

But never spending the night.

You bit your lip before letting it slip out of your teeth, “You wanna?” You ask quietly.

His eyes shift again, that darkness taking over again as his mischief fell and lust took hold of him. He nodded.

“And before our first date!” You say in a theatrical gasp that had him giggling and shaking his head before taking a drink.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to—“

“Who said that?” You scoff, taking a sip of the water you brought over with you as Eddie chuckled into his now free hands, shaking his head and groaning, “you’re unbelievable.”

“I bet it won’t be the last time you say that tonight.” You say daringly.

Eddie’s mouth drops open before he lurches off his stool to pay your tabs. As he stands in line his gaze keeps drifting back to you, knowing you’re watching him with a coy smile he’d never gotten to see before now. He figures now you must’ve been too nervous and it makes him chuckle as he looks you over again.

You notice this and shoot him a look, narrowed eyes and a suspicious smirk, only able to guess what he’s thinking about you.

Your eyes shift behind him to find the girl from earlier still sitting in the corner, her eyes on you with curiosity. You wonder if she saw your kiss, or how Eddie held your hands. Before you can think too much about it, Eddie’s obstructing your view as he approaches and holds out his hand for you, something else he hadn’t done before.

You take it gratefully and smile as you fix your purse. You step forward and feel his hand at your lower back, almost bringing you to your knees at first. You gathered yourself quickly and smiled when you saw his hand shoot out from behind you to grab the door, ushering you through into the warm night air.

His hand slips into yours and he pulls you closer to him. His smile is set on you and he wraps his arms around you, staring at you for just a minute.

“Thanks for my drink.” You smile, finding a hand on his chest and the other stroking the column of his neck.

He chuckles, “Of course. More than happy to cover my girl’s drinks.”

“Ooh, your girl.” You sing teasingly.

You feel him stroking your back at the edge of your shirt where a sliver of skin was exposed. “Yeah. Unless your mind has changed about me in the last five minutes—“

You’re quick to cut him off with a shake of your head and a “Mm-mm, nope!” That sends him smiling wider as he pulls you over to his car.

“You didn’t drive, did you?” He asks as you approach the Kia. You shake your head again and catch his smirk.

“You dirty dog.” He tsks and puts his hand against the passenger door you leaned against.

“What??” You ask through a giggle.

“You came here with a plan didn’t you!” He leaned in close, til his nose brushed yours and you could smell the alcohol on his breath. You thought he was going to kiss you before he pulled back and appraised you. “What—plan A I’m your ride, plan B, you Uber?” He asks.

You nod.

“I’d never let you get into an Uber.” He scoffs and opens the door for you, guiding your body around the door and into the car.

He watches you buckle up, and waits patiently til you look up at him in question, wondering if he asked something you didn’t hear.

“What?” You ask softly, trying not to melt at the way he looked at you.

He shakes his head gently, “Nothin,” he leans closer to you, “Just… glad I don’t have to pretend anymore. Feels nice.” He smiles again. You nod in agreement. “Plus I need a kiss from my girlfriend if she wants a ride home.” He pauses right in front of your lips waiting to you to close the rest of the distance.

“Is that how it’s gonna be, Munson?” You ask.

He nods, “Oh, yeah, I’m capitalizing on it. I’ll do anything for you if it means I get a kiss.” He looks down to your lips and back up again.

You smile and push your lips to his, with more fervor than you did in the bar, his lips warmer and wetter than before. Eddie practically drops to his knees to keep the kiss going, internally debating on climbing inside the car this way until—

“Excuse me? Excu—Excuse me!” A voice said from in front of the car. You’re the one to pull out of the kiss, Eddie following you before following your gaze and finding the girl from earlier, her friends behind her as she holds her keys in her hand, “Can I get into my car please?” She asks in uncomfortable calm.

Eddie stands up, “Oh, yeah, for sure!” He shuts your door and jogs around the front of the car without another look in her direction, scrambling inside the car and starting it just to turn to you and pull you in to continue your kiss.

You crack your eyes open to find the girl’s friends opening the back doors to her car and piling in, as she remained frozen to the spot, her mouth dropped as she watched how Eddie kissed you. You close your eyes and open your mouth just a bit more and feel Eddie’s tongue slide inside, and you hate that you hoped she saw it.

You moan into his mouth and let him explore before tangling your tongue with his. His taste was intoxicating, even after the beer. Kissing him in his car was a different feeling than kissing in the bar, this was more private—special even.

You’d spent a lot of time in the passenger seat of his car, smoking, telling secrets, singing together, crying after hard days, eating take out when neither of you feel like cooking, it was another one of the places that was special to you because it was somewhere you shared with Eddie. And now you got to share this in here too.

Eddie let out a savoring groan before parting his lips from yours. “Now that, was unbelievable.” You said as he smiled in the same goofy way he always did.

You giggle and look away as he turns up the music and put the car in reverse. “Bet it won’t be the last time you say that tonight.” He says before sticking his tongue out. You look over at him with a glimmer in your eye and a smirk that had him driving 15 over the speed limit and kissing your hand every few seconds, like he had waited for this just as long as you had.

And just in case you’re wondering—Eddie had you calling him unbelievable (and a few other things) by the end of the night.

-

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#honey wrote #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson request #modern!eddie x reader #modern!eddie munson #eddie munson au #best friend!eddie #bestfriend!eddie munson #eddie munson x best friend reader #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fic #eddie x reader #eddie x you

[adams-angels]

Talk to me

Adam X f!reader

🎸I hope I do you all justice. Don't be mad if this isn't very good. I generally am not very good!🎶

💖 Please send me requests! Send me your own headcanons! I will draw! I'm obsessed rn!💖

Smut below. Minors dni thx

This isn't the first time you and Adam argued. It sure as hell won't be the last but today was a little different.

It's started off fine. You were at Adams apartment for the weekend. You made him breakfast, he showered you in kissed, shared a bit of banter... And that's where it went wrong. You said something which made Adam say something unexpected and worse. So an argument ensured. It ended when Adam had been called into work.

The last thing you said was "fine, I won't say anything ever again." It was petty! You were being petty. It's not like you hadn't said it before but you always did speak again, of course you did! But no. Today was different. You were keeping to your word.

Adam got ready to leave. "Okay. I'm going now." You looked up and nodded. Not even a kiss goodbye was had. He left the apartment scowling while you stayed up and sulked.

As the day went on her texted you. "Ugh, work is so dumb. Idk y they even wanted me in 🙄" you picked up your phone and read it. You made sure to read it. So he would see that you saw it. Petty.

Now you know Adam. You know Adam needs attention 24/7. Even if you're not together you need to text him back. You need to make sure he knows you're still there. You're still his.

So of course he saw the read receipt. He knows you have your phone in your hand. "What are you ignoring me?" Read. "Don't be so pathetic." Read. "Why are you doing this?" Read. "whatever! You think I care?! I'm FUCKING ADAM! I'M THE FUCKING DICK MASTER! I DON'T NEED YOU!" Read. "ANSWER ME?!" Read. "Haha, check out this meme." Read. "Please say something." Read.

You had him reeling. His trust issues taking over his mind. What if you've left him? What if fucking Lucifer's got his tiny ass claws into you?! "NO!" His wings flare, he charges towards the nearest window and takes flight. He can't stand you ignoring him. He can't stand the thought of you leaving him.

He lands on his apartments balcony, you're not in the livingroom. His heart pounds in his chest. Opening the sliding door he enters his apartment. A very broken "hello?" Escapes his lips. No response. The silence is too much.

He explores his apartment, a bead of sweat forming on his temple. "Y/N?" He heads towards his bedroom and there you are. Lying in bed. You're not asleep, you're on your phone, still ignoring him. You could of swore you heard a sigh of relief. It doesn't take long before he's back to his arrogant self. "What up sugartits? Still not talking?" That cocky smirk fills his mask.

He hops into bed next to you. You glance up at him, that stupid smile. "What? I didn't do anything, babe. C'mon, why don't you just say something?" You respond with a glare. He sits up, his smile waivered slightly at your resistance. He brings himself close to your ear, placing a hand on your shoulder. "I know how to get you to talk."

His hand slides down your arm, to your waist then your thighs. You know where this is going. With no resistance from you he moves one of your legs, spreading them. His fingers trace along your pantie line, just to tease you. You can feel your face flushing. "You're too cute, babes." He muttered, causing you to look up at him. As soon as your eyes locked with his, he moved your underwear to the side. Sliding a finger between your folds. He can see you holding back a whimper. "Wow, you're already soaked? Thinking about my cock all day, huh? Of course you were."

He continued sliding a finger between you, gently hitting your clit cause you to twitch. But still no sounds from you. He frowns slightly. "Why don't you tell me how much you want it, Gorgeous." It was so hard not to break. How much your wanted to tell him you wanted him. But no. Then he would of won. He always wins! You hold strong. "Fine." He grunts as he gets up. He crawls between your legs whipping off her robe revealing his, always surprising, massive cock. Throbbing with anticipation.

"I'm gonna make you beg." He grumbled. He wasn't happy you were still not saying anything. At this point he missed your voice. He missed your laugh. Your tuts. Your groans. Anything. Any noise! He wanted you do make a single sound. You watched as he positioned himself and got ready for him to thrust into you. He grabbed his member and lined up with your entrance and stopped. You looked up at him confused. That smirk was back.

He began jerking him against your aching cunt. His tip brushing against your clit you can't help but whimper. You quickly cover your mouth. "What was that babe? You want me to fuck you?" He asked with that shit eating grin. You nod, looking at him with desperate eyes. "Use your words, baby." You furrowed your brow, positioning your feet you buck your hips to try and get him inside of you but he's too smart for that, pulling himself away. "Nuh-uh. Words, y/n. Use them." He purred, teasing you. He moved back, continuing rubbing himself off on you.

You whined in frustration and desperation. "Fuck 'm getting close, babe." Your eyes widen. No way was he close, but his brow twitched which told you he wasn't lying. He was going to cum soon. "Fuck me Adam! Please fuck me! I need you!" You begged. "ah, you want me now?" "Yes, please. Please Adam?" It didn't take him long before he was inside you. Feeling your walls clenched around his thick member. You moan in ecstasy. Adam, gripping your waist, pulling you as close as he can so he can get deep inside you. "Fuckin' feel so good~ such a good girl." He grunted, pounding into you.

It's hard to read his true expression with that damn mask on, uou managed to get your fingers under the chin of his mask and pull it off. You can see his flustered face, how desperate and needy his eyes are. "Sso p-pretty anh~!" "Shut up.." he burrows his head in the crook of your neck, embarrassed, small whimpers escape his lips as moans roar out from yourself.

"Fuck, y/n-!" His arms wrap themselves around your waist as he holds you down and close. Filling you with his seed. His head still pressed against the nook of your neck. "'m sorry..." He whispered into your skin. Your arms slid round to his back, gently running your fingers up and down his back. "Please don't ignore me again." He mumbled. "I won't. I'm sorry." You reply, holding each other close.

～⁠♡✧⁠｡ I really hope you enjoyed this one shot. It was fun to write! I'm not a writer by any means but I appreciate any support I receive so thank you for reading! ｡✧⁠♡～⁠

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel adam x reader #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin adam #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel smut

[ilwonuu]

-‘๑’- don’t you wanna? -‘๑’-

↬ kim seungmin (read camping trip after)

ꙮ pairing- nonidol!seungmin x fem reader, established relationship,dom!seungmin x sub reader

ꙮ summary- your boyfriend loves for other people to hear how good he makes you feel.

ꙮ warnings- slight voyeurism(???)(, hyunjin, jeongin, and chan are listening to them…), unprotected sex (no one is surprised), dirty talk, seungmin is crazyzysyys, riding, hickeys, kissing, lmk if i missed anything

ꙮ a/n-literally no one asked for this.. i wrote this while high(im crazy while high) I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE HAPPY 600💖💖

seungmin has been playing video games all day you assume. as soon as you come home from work he’s at his desk playing. his eyes getting darker when he sees you come through the door.

“hi min.” you say as you lean down to hug him. he’s pulling you on his lap with a half smirk. “hi gorgeous.” his hands are wrapped around your waist now as you straddle him.

“how was work?” you shrug with a sigh laying your head on him. “tiring?” he asks you as he plays with some of your hair. you nod with a smile.

“i could help you relax.” he says loud enough for you and his friends on the call to hear. seungmin hears chan laugh nervously through his headphones. he moves one of the headphones off his hear as he hears jeongin voice.

“are you really doing this with us on the call?” you hear jeongin’s question through his headphones which causes you to shoot a look at seungmin. “that okay baby?” he asks you quietly.

“y-yea.” you don’t know why you agreed so easily. did you want his friends to hear you? maybe.. but seungmin loved the thought of his friends hearing your moans from him. you felt your body heat up at the thought.

“hyunjin is on the call too.” seungmin admits looking at you for your reaction. you nod taking your shorts off. seungmin’s smirk is just getting bigger.

he pulls his sweatpants down look at you take your underwear off. “come sit on it baby.” he shrugs his underwear down. you straddle his waist as you feel him line you up with his tip.

he fists some of you hair as you finally sit down on him. he is quick to start bouncing you up and down. “seu-min oh fuck-“ his mouth is sucking against your neck as he moves your hips.

you can’t hear any of the boys on the call but thinking about them hearing you, you got wetter and seungmin loved to call you out.

“you’re so w-wet shit. what are you thinking about huh? you thinking about how they can hear how i’m fucking you like a good girl? i bet you wish they could see you too huh? fucking slut.” your already unable to form words to respond.

“look at you. doing anything to take my dick. i bet you were thinking about this all day.” he teases you as he starts to thrust up into you.

“seungmin- too much!-“ he just smirks at you. “you love being fucked like a slut tho, huh? say it.” he grabs your face to look at him. “i-i love it! p-please.”

he smirks pulling you into a messy kiss. “ride baby- fuck just like that.” the three other boys are not sure what their reactions should be.

but their all obviously hard. your moans and obvious sounds of your arousal is filling the room. “you guys- shit hear her? so fu-fucking good.” he says the last couple of words while watching you go completely dumb on him.

“gonna cum slut? let go baby.” he’s guiding your hips along with his thrusts up. his thrusts hitting deeper. your eyes are rolling so far back, seungmin just watches you with a smirk.

“min- mm coming.” he just groans. “cum baby. fuuck- good girl.” he watches your leg twitch as you cum on his dick. “want my cum slut?” he asks already knowing the answer.

“please seungmin-“ his thrusts are fast and sloppy as he cums deep inside you. “shit- you take all of it- fuck baby.” the two of you trying to catch your breath. “let me get off call then we can shower?” seungmin asks you before you hear muffled voices from the headset.

“what are we supposed to say-“ hyunjin asks through the call with his voice sounding kinda shaky. “idk it was kinda hot.” jeongin admits with no shame.

“im getting off the the call. i’ll get on tomorrow.” your boyfriend chimes in. “uh bye-“ chan begins to say before you hear him cut the call.

“did you like it?” he asks as he slowly pulls out of you. “of course-“ he’s cutting you off with a kiss. “i knew you would. let’s go shower.”

#skz fluff #seungmin fic #seungmin fluff #stray kids seungmin #seungmin #skz smut #skz hyunjin #skz #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz fanfic #skz jeongin #skz chan #skz scenarios #stray kids fic #stray kids smut #stray kids bang chan #stray kids #stray kids hyunjin #stray kids jeongin

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 39

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: I slept a lot better so you get a touch longer chapter today.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You sit in the mud, mortified. You want desperately to leave but you don’t have the strength to do so. Your flight might be seen for exactly what it is; cowardice. You don’t have much but you have a sliver of dignity to you.

So you pretend. Just like those years you went to school and pretended everything was okay. That your father wasn’t awful and your house wasn’t dingy and smoky. All this time you’ve put your head down and obeyed Mr. Laufeyson as if you had no other purpose. You can do it.

You mimic Sif and stay reclined. You close your eyes and try to enjoy the soft harp music plucking from speakers. You should’ve gone with Frigga. A bit of sweat is better than stewing in dirt and shame.

Your mind races. How long is normal? When can you leave without giving away that doubt gnawing in your stomach? Why would you want to leave? So you can go back and face Mr. Laufeyson? What will you tell him? Do you tell him?

“Thank you, babe, marvelous,” Hela’s silky voice interrupts the din. You open your eyes and look over as her lithe figure slinks in like a cat, “where is she? Ah there you–”

Hela stops short as her eyes flick from you to Sif. The other woman remains silent, eyes closed as she is unbothered by the disturbance.

Hela sets down the glass on the ledge of the tub next to hers and swipes off her robe, handing it over to the attendant behind her. Her skin is rosy and damp already.

“Sif Sigmund,” Hela declares as she lowers herself into the mud bath, “what a coincidence.”

“Is it?” Sif opens a single eye, “what with Walpurgisnacht coming so quickly, you must be hard at work.”

“I didn’t know you were back in town.”

“Nor I you,” Sif rebuffs, “I always thought you loathed it here.”

“Passing through,” Hela dismissed, “family.”

“And the help?” Sif suggests as she opens her other eye and looks at you.

Hela snickers, “the help?” She echoes, “some of us can be friends with other women, honey.”

“Friends?” Sif squints, “I never knew that to be a line with you.”

“Don’t be jealous, it looks awful on you,” Hela retorts.

“Jealous? You Odinsons always thought so highly of yourselves.”

“So highly you wanted to be one of us,” Hela snipes and lifts her glass, “babe, this is a spa, I’ve come here to relax, not argue with homewreckers.”

Sif’s lips press tightly. You gulp and peer between the women, confused. There’s animosity there which both reassures you and worries you. Despite Frigga’s praises, it doesn’t seem the gorgeous black-haired beauty left on the best foot. Or rather, this a show of how the Odinsons can be vengeful to those who do not fit into their pretty little picture.

Your eyes meet Sif and her thick brows slant. She scoffs and shakes her head.

“Not much of a home to wreck,” she mutters before she takes a sip.

You look away and resist the urge to drown yourself in the mud. Will she be attending Walpurgisnacht? Should you warn Laufeyson? Your chest racks at the thought. You don’t think he would take it as caution, he might even be upset at the mention of her.

Better to just keep your mouth shut and do as you’re told.

✨

You return to the Odinson abode less than refreshed. As Frigga and Hela glow, you feel a dark cloud around you. You keep thinking about that woman; Sif. Just the thought of her name makes you shrivel up. So tall and sleek and elegant. You don’t know why you care so much, you and Laufeyson have an arrangement, not a relationship.

As you pass through the front door, Frigga proclaims that she’ll have some iced tea and snacks put out on the veranda for the evening. You nod and wave your bag wordlessly, you’ll hang your dress upstairs and return.

You scurry up the staircase and slip through the double doors of the bedroom. You linger at the threshold, looking around. Something seems amiss. Something’s… different but you can’t place it.

You go to the wardrobe and hang the dress within, but itself. Your hand flutters over the sewn on silk flowers. It’s so pretty, you don’t know if you should even wear it. You’ll look like a child playing dressup. Maybe you should ask Laufeyson if you should even attend; you could stay in the kitchen and help like you did with Corissa.

You close the wardrobe and flit back out. Before you can reach the stairs, you hear a familiar thunderous timbre. You stop at the rolling voice.

“Father, I have been on my best behaviour. I don’t see why I shouldn’t have my reward…”

Your eyes round and you quickly press on. You shouldn’t be listening. That’s none of your business. Besides, the last thing you need is to run into Thor again. Especially alone.

Downstairs, you find the house desolate. You go into the kitchen and see the elder maid at the counter, stirring ice into a deep blue mixture. Gertrude, you remember. You give a measly hello and rush through to the veranda doors.

Hela is already sat, her head tilted up to the sun as her eyes are hidden beneath her big blocky sunglasses. She doesn’t flinch as you claim a seat of your own, nearly curling up in a ball atop it. He fans herself with her long fingers.

She sighs as Gertrude emerges to serve the iced tea, declaring it wild blueberry before retreating. You fidget but don’t move to pour a glass. You’re thirsty but too distracted to worry about your chalky tongue.

“Did you have a productive conversation with Sif?” Hela frightens you as she sits straight.

“Um, I didn’t say much,” you shrug.

“I wouldn’t think, but did she?”

You shake your head. She didn’t say much of anything. You suspect you aren’t worth her breath.

“Hm, nothing about my brother… brothers?”

“Well… she introduced herself and told me to send her regards to Mr. Laufeyson–”

“Oh, babe, don’t do that. Surely don’t,” she warns. “Ugh, what a pot stirrer she is.”

You frown. Of course you wouldn’t have carried that message. You couldn’t bring yourself to even say her name to Mr. Laufeyson. You’ve seen how his eyes darken when he hears it.

“Look, babe,” Hela plants an elbow on the armrest of her chair, “we should clear the air.”

You tweak your head to the side. What does she mean?

“I know I got carried away when we first met. We both did. I sense there is some tension left between us but we must move past it, yes? It was a bit of fun, nothing more. I can’t have you getting confused,” she flutters her fingers, “I see a pretty thing and I want to play with it but I’ll spare you the pain, you’ve enough bother with my brother. I have a rather short attention span.”

You blink, “oh…kay.”

“So we’re agreed, as fun as this would be, it’s simple to messy,” she smirks, “not that I mind a mess.”

You nod and reach for the pitcher to distract yourself. That day flashes in your mind; the clothes, the mimosas, her lips… you almost forgot it all in the whirlwind of the last few days. You think she may have too until that very moment.

“Darlings,” Frigga emerges in deep pink cotton, “oh, look at this, delicious.”

She sits and uses the tiny golden tongs to serve herself a plate of artisanal crackers then uses the knife to scrape on some of the soft cheese. You watch her, your stomach growling even as it turns. You’re too anxious to eat.

This whole thing is ripe to be a disaster. No, you will be the disaster.

✨

You excuse yourself from the table. You need to lay down. You’ll retreat and hide until Mr. Laufeyson comes to find you. That’s all you can do. 

You’re cautious as you climb the stairs, almost wishing you’d ask for an escort. You listen for the same boisterous echo as before. It’s quiet. You let out a breath; no Thor. 

You let yourself through the double doors and close them firmly. You turn the lock and it schlocks into place. The house is so still and silent, it’s ominous. You blame your addled wits and the long day. You’re on edge after the chaos of it all and that to come.

You go to bed and sit. You hang your head and sigh. You rub your cheeks and slowly raise yourself up, looking around as you once more feel something is off. Your luggage… you left it against the wall, still unpacked, and now, it’s not there.

You stand and peer around, spinning. Where would it have gone? Did Gertrude or Frida, the maids take it? You go back to the wardrobe, it’s still empty. As you turn and near the dresser, a click makes you wince. You look at the doors, they remain locked and sealed.

The clearing of a throat draws you around to face the bathroom door. You hadn’t noticed before that it was closed. Now it’s open but still filled. Mr. Laufeyson surprises you as he wears only a robe and smirks at you. Has he been waiting?

“Mr. Laufeyson,” you titter as you mash your palms together. “I didn’t know you…”

He puts a finger to his lips to hush you, a coy smirk twisting his lips. He turns his hand and curls his fingertip, beckoning you across the room. Shakily, you pull your hands apart and march over to him. He backs up, opening the wide door with him to reveal the sparkling bathroom. You enter hesitantly, unsure, eyes scanning frantically.

You stand in the doorway as he backs up. Your eyes bounce around the space desperately and finally stop as you find your laptop, the laptop he provided you, open on the counter. You shift uncomfortably, a tide of confusion welling over.

“Mr. Laufeyson, what’s…”

He hushes you again, this time with a hiss. You snap your mouth shut and swallow your voice. You look at him, not in the face, but at his throat and how it constricts.

“Pet, you are such a diligent worker. I admire that about you,” he begins, his voice like the distant threat of a storm, “truly, you’d not be here if I didn’t. You’ve ever been so thorough.”

There’s a mocking lilt in his words. Your shoulders slump and you wilt, waiting for the truth. Waiting for the insults you know must dance on his tongue to escape.

“But I didn’t expect you to be so…exhaustive in your research,” he goes to the laptop and taps the space bar to wake up the screen. You frown as he waves you closer. 

As you step up, your heart clenches at the first noise. A man’s growl. You don’t understand until you see the screen clearly. You’d watched the video on mute but you know it by sight. That shower one he’d nearly caught you with before. You didn’t even think to erase your history.

“Pet,” he angles to you and touches your cheek. You flinch and hug yourself, “you are a naughty little minx, aren’t you?”

“Mr. Laufeyson,” your voice is hollow and quiet, “I didn’t… I was curious…”

“If you are so curious,” he lets his hand trail down our neck and along your shoulder, “well, you could always ask me.”

He grips your upper arm and pulls it from across your chest. He makes you face him as your heart batters your ribc age. You’re lightheaded as the colours of the screen move in your peripheral and the low volume tickles in your eardrums. You sway as Mr. Laufeyson holds onto your arms.

“Pet,” he drags his hands up and down your arms, “you needn’t be so shy. Didn’t we have a wonderful night?”

You bat your lashes and nod. It was nice but… you’re still not her. You’ll never be her. You’re just a thing to him. Like Hela said, ‘a pretty thing’ or ‘creature’, as Thor taunted, a ‘maid’.

“Well, pet, I’ve reviewed your research,” his hands move to the front of your blouse and he tugs on the fabric, “and come to my own conclusions.”

He yanks as you stand paralysed. You only raise your arms as you sense his frustration. You stare straight ahead, barely processing what’s happening as he undresses you. Your skirt falls down your legs as he traces its path with his touch. He rolls down your stocking and circles around you to unhook your bra.

He pauses as he dips his thumbs under the fabric of your panties and bow to growl along your crown. He rips them down and lets them drop to your feet. He wraps you up in his arms, groping your chest as he rocks you. You feel his arousal, his need. You wouldn’t think of it as desire; he doesn’t truly want you, he wants what he can do to you.

“Pet, why don’t you run us a shower,” he slithers against your ear.

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson,” you eagerly escape his embrace as he lets you go.

You focus on the easy task. You go to the shower and slide back the glass door. You crank on the faucet, testing the water with your fingers until you have the right temperature. You are deliberate in each step, ignoring his movement behind you.

You squeak as he’s right against you again, his robe gone. He urges you into the show and slides the door shut in his stead. He holds you flush to him, an arm hooked around your middle as his other finds your chin. He turns your head as he leans his own around to meet your lips. His hard dick presses into your back as he groans into you.

His tongue delves deep into your mouth, his kiss sloppy and greedy. You let him do whatever he pleases, doing your best to play along. Your skin speckles with more than the heat of the shower as it reminds you of that video. 

What did he think when he discovered that? Why had he been nosing through your things anyhow? Well, they aren’t truly yours, they belong to him, just like you do. Just another possession among his collection.

His hands rove up and down your body, exploring it as the showerhead slakes you in hot water, furling your bodies in steaming. He feels along your stomach and down your pelvis. His fingers crawl down to your cunt and urges your feet apart with one of his. He rubs you until you gasp.

He pulls his mouth from yours as tiny wisps puff from your mouth. You shake at the buzzing thrum of his touch. You don’t want to feel but you feel everything. He’s stealing that from you. Using you any way he likes.

And you let him. That’s your job. That’s what you agreed to.

He shifts back, coolness filling the space between your bodies as his hand slips from your cunt. He grasps your thigh and lowers himself to his knees behind you. You let out a strangled noise as he grips your hips and leads you backwards.

“Put your hands on the wall, pet,” he demands.

Obedience. That’s your only skill. You take orders. You do what you’re told. You do what’s expected.

He trails his hand around the back of your leg as he bends you at an angle. He keeps his other hand firmly around your hip as he plays with you, swiping up and down your folds, poking and prodding and swirling. He stops along your entrance and you clench as he delves into you.

One finger he presses his thumb to your clit. He rocks his hand, quickly stirring your pleasure. Then another finger, the strain making you whimper. Your fingers curl against the tile and your thighs quake. He pushes into you, over and over, until you’re panting wildly.

As if he senses you teetering on the precipice, he pulls his fingers from you. You quiver as the emptiness tamps the rising swell. He edges you back further so you bend deeper, keeping your palms to the wall. His hand swerves back around the front of your leg and he glides between your folds once more.

Something tickles against your cunt from behind and suddenly a warmth mingles with your own heat. You squeal as you realises what he’s doing. He buries his face into you from behind, tilting your hips as he sloppily laps at you, replacing his fingers with his tongue. The coil in you twists back into place.

Oh god. It’s even better. You’ve never felt like this before. Hot and cold at the same time, shaky and willowy, unable to think as you’re swept away completely. You close your eyes, throwing your head back as you arch your spine, welcoming him.

He groans and growls as he drinks you up, pushing you closer and closer, fluttering his fingers against you between the flick of his tongue. Then, all once, he stops. You’re there, ready to take the plunge, ready to dive into the sheer pleasure coursing through you like a river, and he just stops?

“Say my name,” he nips your bottom, “say it when you cum.”

You gulp, “Loki..” you utter uncertainly.

His only assurance is him diving back into you. His tongue furiously flicks and swirls and laps and begs for more. You feel your slickness smearing across his lips, flowing onto his tongue, and that adds to the vibrant effect of his eager tending. You choke and gasp and let the rise overcome you.

“Lo… Lo…” you quake as your insides knot, “Lo…ki.” You puff and whine as it all erupts, “Loki!”

Your thighs tremble as he purrs through your orgasm. He delights in you pouring yourself into him, surrendering to him as you stand on your toes, leaning into the wall to keep yourself from collapsing. But he doesn’t stop. Not this time. Even as you're ready to scream and slap him away.

He keeps going. He keeps going even though you can’t bear it. He’ll keep going and you’ll let him. That’s the deal. Your body is his but your mind is your own. You’ll just do your best not to think too much.

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #maid au #dirty work #avengers #mcu #marvel #thor

[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

[rayroseu]

Masquerade Malleus Vignette Spoilers✨

Cuz I only managed to groovify it rn ☠️☠️

its always implied that Malleus is strict with anything but seeing it on full action... makes me think that this is how Lilia taught him as he grow up... strict and unrelenting nsiwnkns🥹🥹🥹

it makes me ache because we know in contrast to Silver's upbringing, Silver got the softer version of Lilia's teaching 😭😭😭😭

Also as a deuce kinnie... Malleus as a strict person will be the nemesis of my weak asf attention span frrrr😂😂 my productivity will thank him loads though...🥹🥹

but heyyyy atleast youre gonna hear ✨malleus draconia sing the same specific lyric over and over✨ despite being trapped in diasomnia indefinitely lol

YSBIHWBIBID I LOVE THIS LINE MALLEYUU IMPLICATION LETSSGOO

Oh but now i want a scene of Malleus ruminating about his NRC invitation now 🥹🥹🥹 gahhh imagine him being all prideful and thinking "a human magic school have the audacity to educate him about magic" who areyou kidding??? And and imagining him spending weeks about this invitation as well if he accepts it he'll be able to go outside but would the outside welcome him???

I'm getting sad that Malleus probably prepared himself to be isolated, feared, and excluded😭😭 His school experience didn't even start yet he's already prepared that its going to be desolate and not as intriguing as Lilia tells him to be... And the fact that his grim expectations is what happened for the first 2 years he had at NRC.... 😭😭😭

Imagine Lilia trying to cheer him up that it'll be better next time... That he'll surely get along with someone eventually 🥹🥹 but Malleus is tired of getting hopeful about a companion now bcs he experienced way too often that this hope is always not going to be met💔

In exception of this line being a reference to Yuu being Malleus' good friend--- this vignette is also nice because we see him work together for a performance with other NRC students without anyone making rude comments about his status 🥹🩷💝💞 like this is essentially what Lilia envisions Malleus' school years to be... A memory where he gets along with everyone 🥹✨✨

HFBWUBDUBSUBS THERE IT ISSSS MY MALLEYUU 💝💞💝💞💝💞 i love his smile beneath that mask, hes so cute aarghhh hsgib🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

He doesn't even process that he's so delighted to hear people liking his gift, that how much he's so happy 😭😭😭💖💖💖

malleus why do you seem surprised at the thought of you looking happy... 🥹 Im feeling so emotional about the fact that Yuu notices his core emotions ALWAYS nfibcjd like when he resists that "he isnt lonely, he's just alone" in book 7 now here in this vignette he didn't even process that he's expressing happiness until Yuu points it out 😭😭💞💞💞

WE CAN DANCE FOREVER IF YOU WANT TO AAAAAA 💝💞💝💞💝💞💝💞💝💝💞💖💖💘💘💘💘

My angel of music... He's so gorgeous in this groovy and it perfectly matches the animation too like the sparkles after the thorns unveiling him.... It feels like he teleported infront of us magically and offered his hand for a dance🥹✨💝💞💖💖

#twst #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twistedwonderland #malleus draconia #lian notes #twst glorious masquerade #FINALLY FINISHED WHAT I WANT TO POST ABOUT THIS EVENT 😭😭😭 #SAW A MAN SO BEAUTIFUL I STARTED CRYING #twst disney #disney twst #twst malleus #twst event #twst yuu #twst analysis

[justjams2003]

Fast Pace- 14

I'd just like to thank @multi-universe21 for the Spanish Translations for these last two chapters.

Summary: You're a hard-working Chef in Paris and after a freak accident run-in with Carlos Sainz, your life makes a 180. Let's just say with a certain agreement, you get your bills paid and in return stand in as Carlos' girlfriend for the press. But will you be able to handle the pressure and ensure the lines don't blur?

Pairing: Sugar Daddy!Carlos Sainz x Sugar Baby!Reader

Warnings: I've aged up Carlos, he is 33 in this fic. Smut (Actually this time!!), sexual themes, age difference, manipulation, control, slight obsession, the word 'daddy', nudity, i guess Instagram posts?? Tell me if I missed any

Taglist: @httpjeonlicious, @f1lov3r, @messersandmesses, @hollie911, @oriconde08 @thehufflepuffavenger1 @fanboyluvr @thatgirlmj @whyamireadingthis @oriconde08 @depressedriches @roseseraj @skepvids @sain55wifey @distinguishedvoidlady @amatswimming @sachaa-ff @lightdragonrayne @lazybot @formula1mount @fangirl-dot-com @saintslewis @carlossainzwho @lordpercevalcharles @topguncultleader @kitixie @serp3ns0rtiae @hangmandruigandmav @therealone4r @keii134 @dark-night-sky-99 @jax-the-oregonian @hachrinnen @formulaal

Word count: 3,4k

Masterlist

Part 13 ~Part 15 (coming soon)

Glamour 

“Y/N Y/S/N; the new ambassador for Armani Beauty.”  

Elle Magazine 

“Y/N Y/S/N looks simply gorgeous in the new Armani Beauty: My Way perfume ad.”  

Vogue Magazine 

“Y/N Y/S/N puts new handbag brand DeMellier on the map with a stunning ad.”  

Us Weekly 

“Does Y/N Y/S/N deserve her new found fame, or has it been sped up by boyfriend Carlos Sainz?”  

Us Weekly 

“Y/N Y/S/N’s fame has skyrocketed in the past view months, going from a mere 200 followers to 2 million in 3 months.”  

E!News 

“Carlos Sainz and his girlfriend seen in Madrid. Her Instagram shows them moving in together.”  

Y/N’s_username  05 October 2023 

Liked by: CarlosSainz55, Charles_Leclerc, Alexandrasaintmleux, francisca.cgomes and 556,794 more.  Caption: What more could a girl ask for? The perfect birthday, the perfect boyfriend and the perfect life. 24 Years but this one has been the best, all thanks to you, Mon amour. 💘  Tagged: CarlosSainz55   Comments:   CarlosSainz55: So much love for you Mi amor, happy birthday 💝 

Charles_Leclerc: Happy Birthday Y/N, you make Carlos so happy.  

Charles_Leclerc: P.s. Carlos, you’re setting the bar too high.  

Alexandrasaintmleux: Happy Birthday, gorgeous! 💕 

Francisca.cgomes: Happy Birthday, you amazing girl! So happy to have you part of the wags. To so many more get aways during those boring media days. 👀💖💖 

Username1: Y/N’s getting that princess treatment👀  Username2: Is it princess treatment or is she getting that sugar baby money?  Username1: No way, look at them! They’re in love.   Username2: What I can’t look past is that age gap👀 

Username3: The nicknames they have for each other? When is it my turn😭 

Username4: That’s a ten year age gap! That’s not right.   Username5: I think it’s hot. 

Username5: Someone play Lana Del Rey. 

Y/N’susername  13 November 2023

Liked by: CarlosSainz55, Charles_Leclerc, Alexandrasaintmleux, francisca.cgomes, LandoNorris and 493,618 more.  Sun, beach and the love of my life.   Tagged: CarlosSainz55  

Comments: 

CarlosSainz55: What more could I want?  

Username1: Dead. She’s killed us all.  

Username2: I’d love to be those rocks. Lurking.  

Username3: She’s living my dream life 😭 

Comments have been limited.  

F1News 

“Carlos Sainz’s car is wrecked after driving over manhole cover.”  

F1News 

“Carlos Sainz receives penalty after having to replace his Chassis.”  

F1News 

“People are enraged after Carlos Sainz’s got recked during the train wreck that is the Las Vegas GP.”  

Your heart is pounding as the loud bang rings through the entire paddock. You hadn’t been watching the practice, you’d been enjoying a drink with Alex. It is Las Vegas after all, you’re there more to party than to watch the race. But the sound has you disregarding the drink entirely. Your eyes scan all over the hospitality, trying to find a tv or something to see what happened.  

But when you do see that classic red Ferrar with the stripped 55 painted on illuminate in a huge cloud of sparks, your heart sinks into your shoes. That’s a lot more than normal, not to mention the sound has you panicking. You run through the hospitality sector all the way to the garage, right in time to see him box.  

Carlos doesn’t climb out instantly, he just sits there in the seat, his head lulled back on the headrest. It makes your heart race even more. He said on the coms that he’s okay, but this isn’t much of a good sign. You can hear Caco in his hears telling me that he’s okay and everything will be alright. But, it’s not the same.   

Eventually though, he does climb out. Slowly at that, each of his movements happen at a snail’s pace. Even with his helmet off, he doesn’t instantly find you. He just kind of stands there, still in shock. So instead, you find him. Not caring for the engineers. You wrap your arms tightly around him, he weighs heavy in your arms as if he’s leaning all your weight on him.  

“Are you okay? You scared me half to death.” He lets out an airy chuckle. “I’m sorry, mi futura esposa, I’m sorry.” Carlos’ voice is just as heavy as him. “What happened?” Caco comes next to you, more worried for his cousin than the formula one driver. Carlos sighs, his arm still wrapped around your waist, with you close by his side.  

“I don’t know. I hit something on the road and all of the suddenly I couldn’t feel my legs and all I saw were sparks.” His eyes seem more scared than usual. “Come on, we’ll go get you checked out.” He agrees with you. 

 “The engineers say the car is fucked. Completely shred the floor, your seat was exposed to the track. They say you’re incredibly lucky that you made it out unscathed.” Caco reports to Carlos while he’s being checked by the doctor. Carlos’ eyes finds your form when Caco says he’s luckily. “They say you won’t be able to drive fp3.”  

The driver sighs and just nods, he hasn’t let go of your hand but refuses to meet your eyes. “Carlos, you seem more shaken up than usual.” You rub circles on his back after the doctor cleared him and told him to rest. The driver again sighs, “I don’t know what it is. I couldn’t feel or control my legs and it scared me. I couldn’t control the car and all I could think about was you.”  

Now finally his eyes peer into yours. You can see tears on the back of his eyes. Fear and worry all mix into one. You coo and pull him closer to you. “All I could was what if I become paralyzed? I can’t provide for you anymore. I’d rather have died than have you see me like that.” You have to stifle a laugh because to you it seems almost silly.  

You pull his head against your chest, wrapping your arms around him and your fingers deep into his locks. “Don’t you remember, Carlos? We’re more than just money now. We've talked about it before, marriage, kids, the whole thing. You know I’d be with you, even if you were on the streets. It seems that crash really did a number on you.” You ruffle his hair with your fist, forcing his giggles out.  

“This is so fucking stupid!” His voice booms through the garage. People run to hide, trying not to be on the receiving end of Carlos’ anger. Or even worse, make him even angrier. Not you, you sit right where you are. Everything in you wants to go and comfort him, but you know that’ll only make it worse, he hates it when you see him angry. He says it’s not for you, you should only see him angry, when you want him angry. He’ll find you when he’s ready. 

Not this time. He finds you, in the middle of taking photos with you assistant. Carlos grabs you by the arm and begins to drag you. “Come.” It’s all he says and you’re struggling to keep up with his pace. “Carlos, what happened?” He doesn’t say a word but soon enough you hear the door slam shut. Your back is shoved up against the same door with the same aggression that it was slammed shut.  

Carlos’ lips attack yours with a vigour. While yes it’s true that ever since you kissed him at the Singapore Grand Prix, its been hard to keep his lips off you, it’s never been this assertory. He’s pressed his body hard against yours. His tongue is roaming your mouth. His hands wander about your body, until it starts creeping up your shirt. It’s as if he’s trying to become you, fore himself into your shoes. That’s when it has to stop.  

With a gentle push against his chest, and the call out of his name, he stops. His brows pulled together, fury still sharp in his eyes, but not towards you. “Carlos, I know this isn’t how you planned this. I won’t mind, but I don’t want you to jump the gun just because you’re upset.” His gaze goes softer before he pulls you in for the tightest hug.  

His head is in the crook of your neck, “I’m sorry, mi futura esposa, it’s just such bullshit.” There is that nickname again, he forbade you from googling it. “What is?” He sighs and then lets go of you. He takes off his hat and rakes it through his hair, all while taking a seat on the couch. “Ten place grid penalty. After I would’ve been in second.”  

Carlos looks so beat up, completely hopeless and you just want to take away all his hurt. Even feeling the need to cry for him. This has been a great year for him, and now such nonsense. “I’m sorry, Mon Amour. You’re right, it’s not fair. It’s their fault, can’t you appeal?” He nods but still with a puff of air. “We are appealing, but it’s unlikely that it’ll change.”  

You push out your bottom lip, he chuckles at your reaction. “Come with, I’m sure your pout will make them change their mind.” He pulls you closer by the waist and rests his head on your stomach. Clearly he’s exhausted. Your hands rake through his hair, hoping it helps even just a little. “Carlos?” He doesn’t even bother to raise his head, but he does hum in reply.  

“You promised you’d go clubbing with me, but I don’t want you to go if you’re too tired.” He raises his head and then shakes it no. “Don’t worry, mi futura esposa, it’ll help be burn off some steam.” It warms your heart that he always does so much for you. “You mean it?” He stands up, and gives you a peck on the lips. “Of course, mi futura esposa, you can wear that new necklace I got you.”  

Sweaty bodies push against the other. You don’t notice, because only one body is touching yours. Carlos’ hands are on your hips as you move to the rhythm. He’s got his shirt buttoned down low, and he just looks so delectable. As if he should be the perfume model between the two of you. You can tell he’s already starting to feel better.  

Neither of you have really drunk anything, you’re just high on each other. Enjoying the other’s touch and the music. Soon though, the few mocktails you had catch up to you, Carlos waits outside the bathroom. You can still hear the music, but it doesn’t thud as loud. You can finally her your own thoughts and someone calling your name.  

Only to turn around and see Jasmine and Ilsa. They both greet you with smiles, “Y/N, what are you doing here?” They ask, wanting to go in for a hug but you just give them the cold shoulder. “It’s the Las Vegas Grand Prix, why else would I be here? Better question, why are you two here.” Their smiles falter just a bit.  

“We’re on a girls trip. We wanted to invite you, but you blocked us on everything...” Jas explains, you don’t remember doing that. Maybe Carlos did, he does have access to everything after all. If he decided to block them, then it’s the better option. You haven’t missed them one bit, after all you rarely saw them anymore.  

You cross your arms, “You planned a girls trip to Las Vegas, on the weekend of the GP and didn’t expect to see me? Strange coincidence huh?” They grimace at your words. “Did Carlos buy you that?” It’s Ilsa this time, her words are more sour. You touch the diamond necklace sitting comfortably on your neck and nod.  

“It was a birthday present.” She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “No, Y/N, it was the cost of your family. You’ve sold off every sign of yourself just for the glamourous life.” Her words are sharp like the diamonds you’re wearing. But what does she know? Never before have you been happier. You have nothing to worry about.  

Your assistant books your modelling jobs, takes your photos, makes the videos. Carlos takes you everywhere with him, and you don’t even have to plan a single thing. You haven’t thought about money or the cost of something in months. Not to mention you’re healthier than ever. You haven’t gotten sick this whole time and your confidence has sky-rocketed. And all you really have to do in return is be yourself.   

“Really? Is that how you see it?” She glares you down for your words. “It’s true though, isn’t it? You gave up us, your family, your future and passion for cheffing. All for what? Some diamonds and dick?” What? Is that really something she just said? Losing them was clearly the better thing to do.  

“If you guys had really known me, you would’ve known that cheffing has never been my true passion, so clearly giving you and that up was the better choice. And I haven’t lost a family, I’ve gained a better one. Because the Sainz has welcomed me with open arms and have treated me better than those fuckers ever did. So excuse me for living a happy life, and not choosing to suffer like you lot!”  

Us Weekly 

“Y/N Y/S/N says she has met her idol after talking with Madeleine White at Las Vegas GP.”  

Us Weekly 

“Carlos Sainz and his girlfriend seen blowing off steam after horrible first practice.” 

Glamour Magazine 

“People are shocked as Y/N Y/S/N is seen wearing $300k worth in diamonds, sources states it’s one of her many birthday presents.”  

Gossip Magazine 

“Y/N Y/S/N’s party looks this Las Vegas Grand Prix: 

Y/N’susername  9 December 2023 

Liked by CarlosSainz55, landonorris, charles_leclerc and 539,072 more  It is such an honour that Dior allowed me to wear one of their vintage dresses. Much more to come between us. So proud of Mon amour for all that he has accomplished this year. Next year will be our year, Ferrari. 😘  Tagged: CarlosSainz55 

Comments: 

CarlosSainz55: So honoured to call you mine. You looked gorgeous, mi amour.  

CarlosSainz55: Also you promised you wouldn’t post that last picture😭  Y/N’susername: But you look so cute😫   Y/N’susername: Not to mention, I need to give the people what they want! 

Charles_Leclerc: These two were inseparable🤚 

LandoNorris: Y/N, you’re taking my spot 😭  Y/N’susername: Don’t worry, he still talks about you all the time.  LandoNorris: That’s not enough😭 

Username1: Mother is mothering.  

Username2: That caption can’t mean nothing👀  Username1: Mother is a mastermind...  

Username3: Y/N x Dior coming soon??  

Comments have been limited.

CarlosSainz55  26 December 2023

Liked by Y/N’susername, LandoNorris, Charlec_Leclerc and 639,706 more  Our first Christmas together and I loved every second of it. Missing the racing, missing the fans. Can’t help but feel loved.   Tagged: Y/N’susername  

Comments: 

Y/N’susername: 💖💖 

Y/N’susername: Hope you enjoy your present😘 

Username1: Missing F1 so much😭 

Username2: Damn...Carlos got himself a baddy👀 

Username3: No one cares about her, we just want more Ferrari!  CarlosSainz55: If you care about me, you have to care about her.   All replies have been deleted.    

Y/N’susername  26 December 2023

Liked by CarlosSainz55, Charles_Leclerc, Alexandrasaintmleux, francisca.cgomes, LandoNorris and 497,309 more  It’s a nice car and all but all I really wanted for Christmas, is you😘  tagged: CarlosSainz55  

CarlosSainz55: But the car was a pretty good present, wasn’t it?  Y/N’susername: I won’t lie, I love it so much😍 

Alexandrasaintmleux: How did you get Carlos to do the last photo? 😆  Y/N’susername: He does just about anything I ask 🤷😝 

LandoNorris: Damn, Carlos, she has you whipped 😆  Y/N’susername: You know it😉  CarlosSainz55: Who wouldn’t be😍 

Comments have been limited.  

The sun is blazing down on you, you’ve gotten a much more golden colour since you’ve been with Carlos. Even so, he insists that he wears sunscreen. Not that he needs the sun. As he stands now, chiselled and defined, glowing like a hot flame, he’s the perfect advertisement for Spain and lust.  

Lust especially, when he looks at you as he does now. He hasn’t looked away from you for the past few minutes now. Carlos is drinking up every inch of your form. Soon enough, his trance is broken as he makes his way to you. His hand follows the curve of your leg all the way to your middle.  

“Have I told you how beautiful you look today?” He whispers into your ear, handing you the mojito he had just made for you. You hum, “Only in passing, but never in enough detail.” He chuckles but then looks so giddy. “Let me make that right then.” He takes your free hand and places a kiss on your knuckles.  

“I’d like to think your beauty surpasses that of any other. The Greek statues in Athens, we’re all modelled after you. But none of them achieved, because they haven’t truly captured you. The statues do not smile, they do not laugh, they do not love me the way you do.” His words are like sweet melodies, but like said before, it’s much more detailed than before.  

But the reason for it is revealed, when from his swim shorts he pulls out a velvet red box, now you really notice than he is down on one knee. The tears pool in your eyes. “This might seem crazy, and I know it’s only been six months, but you told me yourself you like a fast pace.” A chuckle escapes the both of and you can see happy tears in his eyes.  

“I’m crazy about you, absolutely obsessed. You’ve changed me, changed the way I think, forever, and I can only imagine the man I’ll be if we spend forever together. So, will you become mi futura esposa and marry me?” The answer slips out before a thought even makes it way through you. “Yes. Yes, of course, yes.”  

He slips the ring over your finger, not fast enough for your lips to find each other. His passion is even more than the night in Vegas. So, so much more. But this time, it’s filled with so much loved. Placed intention of showing you that you won’t regret this decision. Before you know it, his arms are under your legs and he places you on the only bed in the yacht.  

Carlos’ lips are all over your body. His hands expertly slip your bikini from your body. “Joder, nena, he esperado tanto para esto.” He says in between kisses, his lips leaving marks wherever he goes. Before long, his hands cup around your boobs. He pulls and plucks, sparks of pleasure roll over you. “English, Carlos.”  

He chuckles and shakes his head, “No, no mi prometida, my brain can’t translate now.” You laugh but it quickly turns into a moan when he cups your groan. His fingers find your clit within an instant. He has you moaning and begging his name quite easily. Luckily for you, you’re in the middle of the ocean and can be as loud as you want.  

“Hmm, nena, quiero, quiero, taste you. But, no puedo esperar más, need to be inside you.” His tongue is struggling to keep up with his mind. His languages mixing into one big mix because you’re the only thing he can focus on. It doesn’t help that each time he rolls his r it makes you even wetter than he already has you.  

He slides his swim shorts off, and your eyes go big at his sheer size. You’d eye him in race suit before, but it’s nothing compared to the real thing. But his lips swallow your worries. “No te preocupes, cariño, you can take me, I’ll be gentle.” He lines himself up with you, then holds onto you shoulders and guides himself inside you.  

It’s as if you fit together like puzzle pieces. Yes, it does burn at first, but complying with your pleas, he begins to moves. A slow gentle pace, te sientes tan bien, mi amor,” he comforts by your ear. Whispering praises, “You’re so tight,” along with his kisses and nibbles. He has you in the seventh heaven.  

All you can feel is him buried deep inside you, along with his gentle touches and longing kisses. All you can smell is him, he doesn’t smell like burnt tired anymore. No, he smells like the ocean and the new perfume you got him for Christmas. All you can hear is his praises, him whisper about your wet self and how you’re his. “Mine, only mine.”  

Soon enough, the knot in your stomach makes itself known. And he too, begins to increase his speed. In a sudden and rapid rise, you both reach your climax. Maybe you sooner than him, but there is little control or judgement now. All that there is love for the other. And the bliss of finally be able to feel his body warm in yours.  

What could possibly ruin this?

Lemme just say, this chapter and the next took forever to make, just because of all the Instagram posts. Just a props for all the fic authors who do this as their primary works. So nervous for the feedback on the Instagram posts, I've never done them before!

Also, shameless plug for my Landing: @CreativeRobot_

If you want to be added to the taglist, just ask!

Although there is only one chapter left...

#Fast Pace #carlos sainz #carlos sainz jr #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz smut #sugar daddy!carlos sainz x sugar baby!reader #sugar daddy!carlos sainz #sugar daddy!carlos sainz x reader #formula one #formula 1 #f1 #f 1 x reader

[vettelsdarling]

Hello, can you please do Charles Leclerc/Carlos Sainz x doctor!reader? Insta AU, like they are really proud of her or something like that? Because i'm a doctor now and many people in my family bashing me for being a doctor lol. Thank you, Love.

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐝

Lissie note… Firstly, I understood this as both drivers x reader— I hope that’s what you meant! Secondly, you should most definitely be proud of being a doctor! 4 years of med school and so much training and hard work? You’re a saint!! Thank you for the idea, it’s a really good one!!!

Few things to note:

Reader is a general surgeon

Reader is in a casual/open relationship with both Ferrari drivers

Reader is the sister of Carmen Mundt

No set time line, but there’s of course a jump in time between each post!

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x Doctor!Mundt!Fem!Reader x Charles Leclerc

Warnings: Medicine and all that isn’t my scene

Here’s the playlist recommendations! For this, I recommend fluff, CS55, CL16!

y/nmmundt

Liked by carmenmmundt, carlossainz55, charles_leclerc and 283,398 others

y/nmmundt Throwback to med school shenanigans🫶

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carmenmmundt Can’t believe you’ve come so far❤️❤️❤️

Liked by y/nmmundt

charles_leclerc You’re incredible❤️

Liked by y/nmmundt

carlossainz55 Looks Like the grape survived, no?

y/nmmundt It was a close call, but Mr. Grape survived :)

francisca.cgomes You and that skeleton have so much chemistry🥰

carlossainz55 Says who?

y/nmmundt me

user1 She’s so gorgeous WHAT😭😭😭

user2 Fav wag of them all

user3 I second that

user4 Charles and Carlos are LUCKYYYY

user5 I would literally get in accidents all the time if it meant she’d be operating on me

user6 ur so real for that

user7 fr I would do the exact same thing

user8 No bc they’re so lucky to have someone with TALENTTTT

charles_leclerc and carlossainz55

Liked by carlossainz55, y/nmmundt, pierregasly, and 759,399 others

charles_leclerc Had some dinner before her night shift.

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y/nmmundt See you guys tomorrow❤️

carlossainz55 Have a nice shift, corazón❤️

maxverstappen1 Night shift? That’s tough.

charles_leclerc She’s tough unlike you, mate

user1 As much as I love Charles and Carlos.. I WANT HER SO BADDD

user2 Literally😭❤️

user3 Ugh she's so pretty AND she's smart?! Pleaseeeee

user4 Can someone break my leg?

user5 Felt

y/nmmundt just posted a new story

wagsf1

2,378 likes

wagsf1 When she's a doctor with style✨

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user1 Charles and Carlos are really out here living my dream

user2 Exactly😭

user3 She's so lana del rey vinyl but make it medical✨

user4 For realll

y/nmmundt

Liked by carlossainz55, charles_leclerc, carmenmmundt, and 673,829 others

y/nmmundt May dump🌸✨

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francisca.cgomes Okay but when are we meeting up for drinks🥂

y/nmmundt Soon enough😘

charles_leclerc ❤️

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carlossainz55 ❤️‍🔥

Liked by y/nmmundt

user1 She's literally a goddess wtaf😩

user2 Right???

user3 Best wag on the paddock❤️

user4 Her and Carmen>>>

user5 Real

user6 Parents💖

user7 They're my fav on the paddock fr😭❤️

carlossainz55 and charles_leclerc

Liked by charles_leclerc, y/nmmundt, maxverstappen1 and 746,228 others

carlossainz55 This is the woman who saves lives daily, sleeps in until the sun starts going down, and accidentally puts a shirt on backwards. @ y/nmmundt you make us prouder and prouder every day. Happy birthday❤️❤️❤️

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y/nmmundt 💗💗💗

charles_leclerc We're really proud of you❤️

y/nmmundt Thank you❤️

francisca.cgomes My pretty best friend💖

y/nmmundt YOU are MY pretty best friend💕

𝗥𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗼𝗽𝗲𝗻...

𝘾𝙝𝙚𝙘𝙠 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙪𝙡𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙧𝙚𝙜𝙪𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙗𝙚𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚!

𝙃𝙚𝙧𝙚’𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

©vettelsdarling

𝗣𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲 𝗱𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗿𝗲𝗰𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝗼𝗿 𝗮𝗱𝗮𝗽𝘁 𝗺𝘆 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸 𝗶𝗻 𝗮𝗻𝘆 𝘄𝗮𝘆, 𝘀𝗵𝗮𝗽𝗲, 𝗼𝗿 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗺— 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗺𝘆 𝗽𝗲𝗿𝗺𝗶𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻.

#fanfiction #fanfic #f1 #formula 1 #formula one #x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #reader insert #fluff #instagram fanfic #f1 instagram au #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc ferrari #charles leclerc f1 #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz ferrari #carlos sainz #carlos sainz f1 #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz fluff #f1 2023 #scuderia ferrari #ferrari #f1 fic

[seanchaidh7]

This close up, Draco can see the differences that have occurred over the years. Harry's hair is longer, although it's as unruly as ever; his forearms are well-muscled and decorated with ink; and there are small lines by his eyes that look like they would crinkle if he were smiling. Which, at this moment, he most definitely is not. He looks like he's worn the same clothes for three days and just rolled out of bed, yet Harry's so unfairly gorgeous it makes Draco's heart ache.

"What do you want, Draco?" Harry asks, his voice resigned.

The question snaps Draco out of his reverie. "A divorce," he proclaims as he opens his bag.

Thank you to @nerdherderette for always being such an amazing collaborator and giving me such cool art prompts! This fic is amazing and I was honoured to be paired with you on it 💜 💖

#lightscameradrarry2023 #lightscameradrarry #drarry art #drarry fic #drarry #draco malfoy #harry potter #harry potter art #draco malfoy art #my art #LCDrarry2023 #LCDrarry 2023

[bluebeary-jay]

hiii!! I LOVE ur writing so much especially your fluff sooooooo

fluff w this prompt?

“fine, keep acting like you hate me.”

CONGRATS ON 1K U DESERVE ITTT ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

HIIII MY FIRST LOVELY 1K REQUESTER 💕💕💕

Okay okay okay so you didn't specify which character you want so I picked Javi cause I already have a few Joels in my ask box buuut I'm actually really happy with how it turned out so I hope you'll like it!! ((There's so much fluff in this one though it's only 1.4K words))

Thank you again, darling, happy reading and i love youu!!! 💖

Javier knew that he made a mistake.

Maybe not a mistake – mistakes so very often had grave consequences in his line of work. More like a miscalculation. A stupid prank.

“A mistake,” Steve told him sternly. “You absolute moron.”

Peña just flipped him off.

Okay, maybe flirting with that secretary in your plain sight was a dumb move, but at the time it seemed like a perfect retaliation. And really, it was you who started all of it by wanting to prove to Javier the night before that he does get jealous when it comes to you.

He didn’t. He doesn’t. What he felt when you let that man at the bar flirt with you for at least twenty minutes had nothing to do with the fervor of hot kisses and passionate words that poured out of Javier after he whisked you back home.

“You were practically green,” you said softly later that night when you two were lying in bed. You had your head on Javier’s chest and he was stroking the skin of your back softly, trying to silence the whirlwind of conflicted emotions inside of him.

“F’course I wasn’t. Just had to make sure that guy wasn’t gonna try anything with you.”

“If you say so. But I think you’re full of it.”

You acted so smug about it, and only stopped after Javier completely tired you out. But what he tried to hide by biting your ear gently and kissing his way down your body was how true your words really rang.

Because deep down Javier Peña knew that he was jealous. He had a good reason for it, of course – you were fucking gorgeous, after all, and maybe he was still slightly insecure about what such a sweet angel was doing with a sinner like him. And besides… This was the first serious relationship he had in years. It was hard to separate the wary side of him that instinctively denied any sentiments and kept everyone at bay from the new him who tried to embrace the warmth and safety your love was giving him.

So that was probably why he decided to get back at you.

And the next day when you stepped out of the chief's office, you were greeted with a sight of Javier tucking the hair behind the ear and complimenting the earrings of the new secretary he was talking to. He made eye contact above her shoulder and sent you a wink when you squinted with disregard, obviously knowing what he was up to.

He also made sure you saw him swiping his bottom lip slowly with his thumb – a move he very well knew always got you hot and bothered.

Though when he looked up again, you were gone.

Maybe he could’ve guessed it’d end like this, Javier thought as he casually (and not at all nervously) walked around the embassy, looking for you. It was supposed to be a payback – for what exactly, even he didn’t know – but it backfired immensely when after his little stunt you opted to avoid him the rest of the day.

And that was a low blow. Because while your attempts at ignoring him were futile, only serving to get Javier going and making him eager to rile you up and see you break, it didn’t give him the same satisfaction when you weren’t there to witness his teasing.

Since you worked in the same building, you couldn’t exactly avoid him forever, but damn if you didn’t try. It took Javier half a day to finally escape work and manage to corner you in one of the file rooms.

You didn’t look up even when he locked the door, obviously aware that it was him you now were trapped with.

“You sure are good at hiding from a DEA agent, cariño,” Javier rasped, a little breathless but weirdly excited from the chase.

But you didn’t move, still casually gathering necessary files. A hint of a smile was dancing in the corner of your mouth and that was the thing that confirmed his suspicions that you weren’t actually mad at him, but only beating him as his own game.

And honestly, as Javier’s eyes wandered over your silhouette, admiring the beauty of the woman he fell in love with, he was willing to let it go.

He slowly sauntered to you, feeling all hot under his suit the closer he got. You always seemed to have this effect on him.

“Are you still mad?” he asked huskily, circling you like you’re his prey. You lifted your shoulder in a half-shrug, and your fake disinterest only turned him on even more. He snaked his arm around your waist, pulling you against him and humming with satisfaction when he saw you pressing your lips together to suppress a smile. “Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, querida.”

You didn’t take the bait like he hoped for, and Peña groaned in small frustration when you continued to give him the silent treatment.

For fuck’s sake, you really had him wrapped around your little finger.

“Fine,” he murmured, breathing hot air on your ear and smirking with delight when he felt you shiver slightly against him. He pressed his lips to the spot below your ear softly, and then continued to go down the column of your neck. “Keep acting like you hate me.”

You didn’t move or acknowledge him in any way, but Javier could see your hand, which was previously sorting through some papers, gripping the shelf as if you tried not to lose yourself in his ministrations. It made him smile to himself and wrap his arms more securely around you, forcing you to take half a step back so that your bodies fitted together perfectly.

“We both know that’s all it is. An act,” Javier murmured, peppering your neck and shoulder in slow, tender kisses. He sighed heavily, with peace he rarely experienced these days, and closed his eyes as he felt your form melting into him. “Serás mi muerte, bebita.”

You stifled a laugh and leaned your head back on Javier’s shoulder, glancing at him with twinkling eyes. “What are you even doing here, agent Peña? Didn’t you have some unfinished business with that secretary?”

“Why, you jealous?” he asked, nibbling at your skin, and you snorted.

“You wish,” you replied but then squealed when he bit your neck unexpectedly.

“Mi nena terca.”

You stopped hiding your beautiful, radiant smile and turned around in his arms, leaning back against the shelf. Javier kept his hand between the small of your back and the harsh metal, not wanting it to dig into your skin uncomfortably.

“You didn’t last very long,” you said, but now your tone was soft, with no traces of mockery or playfulness he heard earlier. “I thought that given how things once were, I’d be the one to eventually seek you out.”

“It’s ‘cause I don’t wanna go back to how things were,” he whispered, his eyes boring into yours, trying to convey to you that he meant every word. “I don’t care about anyone else, bebita. You are the one for me and I want you to know that.”

“I know, Javi,” you reassured him gently, brushing some hair away from his forehead. “You don’t need to explain.”

“Still.” He nudged your nose with yours, inching his lips closer to where he desperately yearned to put them. “Let me make it up to you. Take you out. Somewhere romantic, not that dingy bar like the last time.”

“Because you don’t want to see me flirting with strangers?”

Your seemingly innocent question made the hold he had on you tighten, and Javier exhaled heavily through his nose.

“Fuck, bebita, have you seen yourself? Of course I don’t. You are mine, and mine alone.” He planted a soft kiss on your lips, not looking away for even a second. “And I’m yours.”

It didn’t feel weird, anymore, to say it. It felt right and warm, and wonderful. Javier never would’ve guessed he’d feel like that about anyone, but here you were – so perfect and standing right in front of him.

“I really wanna kiss you,” you whispered, and he mirrored your bright smile, something very few people have ever seen.

“Just to shut me up? Or have you perhaps missed me, too?”

Your lips surged forward, smashing into his eagerly and not bothering to answer him. Agent Peña let the overwhelming love for you guide his movements as he cradled the back of your head and pulled you closer and flush against himself.

Seemed that from the very beginning he didn’t need to feel jealous.

It was clear that you were his and his only.

Serás mi muerte, bebita - You’ll be the death of me, baby

Mi nena terca - My stubborn baby

#javier pena x you #javier pena fluff #javier peña x reader #javier pena x reader #javier peña #i actually dont know spanish so if my translations are wrong im sorry ❤️ #bluebeary-jay's 1k party

[prince-kallisto]

Okay, I’ve been convinced BAHXJSH. Hana recommended me to play Ikemen Villains- it’s been a while since I played an Otome or romance game in general, but I’m really a sucker for fairytale themes and dubious morality characters so😭🙏 I was recommended to try this because there’s a character that’s like Crowley…👀💖

*This is not spoiler free, it’s whatever my thoughts are as I play along 🌸🐦‍⬛*

Anyway, here we go ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

Completely off topic, but did anyway else play this one Alice in Wonderland Otome many years ago? “Guilty Alice” from 2016 I believe…Ah, the memories- the graphics looked better in my memories (´∀｀*) I’m fairly sure my love for fairytale and Wonderland themed media bloomed from there.

This game also had several warnings for mature themes and having an age rating. I’m unsure of the actual extent of this (it listed the warnings but you know) but I will add content warnings above the cut in my posts when necessary 🌸🐦‍⬛

o(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)o ANYWAY, I am liking this theme of our character believing in the ideal of never doing a “bad thing” to ensure a happy ending. It would be nice if that was the guarantee, no? But even then, what can be considered bad versus good? Does this “force” behind the fairytales care about the circumstances of the trouble you get into? I literally just opened the game BAHXHD so I don’t know if the story get, but I’m getting the vibe that our character follows more…”simplistic” fairytale logic, as in the sort of picturebook fairytales you’d read to children for morality of bad versus good, and the concept of karma. But the villains we romance are more of the classic fairytales (the lines of Grimms Fairytales), of darker themes and never a guaranteed happy ending no matter the protagonist’s suffering and trials for love.

Robin is so cute what? 😭🙏 At NRC, if I work a black version of this uniform, could I be called a raven? 🥺

…May I help you? Abdjsjx, he looks interesting 🌸 Very vampire, I love his cape. It’s always a funny trope to me in Otome where we always meet A Man by dropping something or bumping into him…and then that classic “…” from him because he thinks we’re interesting! 🤣

AHXHDHXHDBD VICTOR IS THAT YOU??? AUGU ROMANCABLE CROWLEY I NEED YOU! AH HIS LONG HAIR!!!!😭🙏 Anyway, do you see what I mean? “Red-eyed man” has to comment about us even though we bumped into him for two seconds 🤣

Part one of the prologue! 🎉 ^_^ I like how it’s cut into sections. “Between good and evil” is giving The School for Good and Evil energy lol. Victor is giving all the Crowley vibes with the castle in the background 😭🙏

I feel so intrigued by this game…the art style is very gorgeous and I love the fairytale theming I have a good impression of it so far- I want to romance Victor already 🥺 (he ISNT A ROMANCEABLE OPTION YET WHICH IS TYPICAL OF ME ANDHDJD)

I’m also open to any other mobile Otome or romance games anyone recommends ^_^

#not sure how to tag this haha #kallisto plays Ikemen villains #not a creative tag but I’ll use that for now 🤣🤣🤣 #ikemen villains #kallisto rambles #kallistopost

[redheadspark]

Hi! How are you? Could you do a fic with Joseph Quinn with the prompts 15 and 35 where the reader is a bit insecure after seeing him work closely with an other girl that she thinks is prettier than her? The reader is not a celebrity.

A bit angsty maybe?

Thank you, hope you have a great day xx 💖

A/N: Oh this is a cute one! Thank you for the request!

Believe Me

Summary: Being Joseph Quinn's girlfriend wasn't always easy. Especially in his line of work and who he worked with on a daily basis.

Warnings: Some angst in this one, but a sweet fluffy moment in the end. it's long a sappy and just...GAH! I hope you like it!

From the moment you said yes to being Joseph Quinn's girlfriend, you had to make a promise to yourself to not be a needy girlfriend.

You weren't going to hound him on what he did throughout the day at work or who he hung out with, nor would you never doubt him and grill him with his actions and conversations on who he worked with. Since day one you knew he was an actor, and that he would have to do certain roles that were questionable and perhaps risky. Not to mention working with other females that were insole attractive. You weren't naive, you knew what you were getting into.

You made peace with it, until one day.

Finishing up at work a bit earlier than usual, you decided to got to set and see how Joe was doing. He was in the middle of Les Miserables, one of his favorite projects he's ever worked on and it's been giving him the right amount go buzz to go further in his career. This role was huge, he would come back everyday and talk about his day and what they worked on. You've only gotten to set a few times since your work schedule was intense. Joe didn't mind, always wanting to hear about your day after he talked about yours, that's what you loved about him the most. He never was cocky as an actor, he was still boyish and new to it in his mind.

So when you went to the set and said hi to the usual crew members you became friends with, you poked your head around the corner and saw Joe in the middle of a break between scenes. He was talking with a cluster of other co-stars, all of them in their period pieces and looking lie they jumped right out of the book. You were about to walk over and surprise Joe, when something happened that made your heart drop.

One of the female co-stars, touched his arms and leaned in a bit too close to him as he said some kind of joke and she laughed.

Now it shouldn't be a big deal, but you were staring in silence and with a solemn stare since the co-star was pretty. More than pretty....beautiful even. Her caramel hair and heart shaped face, bell shaped lips and bright eyes with barely a blemish on her face. All in all, she was perfect, and yet she was leaning in on Joe as if it was nothing and she was laying in thick with him,

Your voice was lost and you felt lower than the ground beneath you.

Joe never once made you feel terrible or negative about your own image. You were no model, but you also took good care fo yourself. It helped when joe was encouraging in his words of affirmations, calling you "Gorgeous" and "Enchanting" when you would dress up with him for a premieres or an event he was invited to. It wasn't your scene, but Joe was still loving on you in those moments. Not once did you feel insecure about your image and body.

Not until then, seeing that gorgeous girl on your boyfriend's arm.

Everything from then on was slow motion, your thoughts were flooding you with doubt and your vision almost started to blur. Something inside of you was making you panic, making you doubt and making you wish to run away and flee. It scared you and shook you in how that one split moment made everything inside of you crash to the floor. Before you knew it, a tear fell on your cheek and you pushed it away aggressively.

"Hey, Joe! Isn't that--" one of his other co-stars said, pointing to you and then looking in shock in how you were trying not to cry. Joe looked too, seeing you there and his face fell. As soon as you locked eyes, you turned your heel and walked away, not wishing to look more like a fool and be seen in tear over something that could be innocent. Maybe it was, but as you were rushing off of set and you hear Joe calling out to you, you felt like you were sinking.

Man, insecurity was a bitch.

The bedroom door opened, you were still under your covers in your bed as the small light from the living room. You didn't realize that you were bone tired after crying in your bed, thinking as though you were alone enough to get it out of your system before Joe would come home. But perhaps it was because you were only home for an hour, not for several.

"Baby?" Joe asked from the foot of the bed, sounding like he was in pain. You were simply a mound under the covers, making it look worse than it was. Now hearing him call out to you with such gentleness and a hint of pain. Now you were cringing as you heard him walk over to the side of the bed, hovering for a moment before a gentle hand that seemed so fragile was against your shoulder.

"You alright?" He asked, sounding more concerned than ever, "You left before I could say hi.....what's wrong?"

"I-i-it's nothing," You stammered, trying to move your tears away before he could see it.

"It doesn't like nothin' to me, luv," he worried to you. You took in a long breath, feeling that infamous question on the tip of your tongue and heavy on your heart. It would be burden to ask him, thinking that it was selfish for you to ask such a thing for someone as sweet and loving as Joe. But before you could stop yourself, it slipped out.

"Do you think I'm pretty?"

It was out in the open, exposed to the world and between the pair of you as you regretted asking it. How could you say such a thin to Joe, who always loved you and never made you feel less of yourself? You were about to apologize for asking him when he moved the covers away. You were watching the wall, afraid to move or say anything before Joe finally kneeled down to be in front of your view, on his knees on the side of the bed as he was staring at you,

You saw it on his face, concern and some pain.

"What makes you think that?" He asked, his voice was leveled and calm, but you heard the small amount of sadness there in his voice. Even in his eyes he seemed more solemn, which was not like him at all. You inhaled sharply, shaking your head sightly.

"It's nothing," you replied, thinking that it would be meaningless to tell him what was on your mind, "I just....when I came to see you early today and you were with your co-stars...one of them was really pretty and leaning you and it made me feel a bit....out of place I guess,"

Joe kept his calm stare on you, but leaning in a bit more to you as you were watching him carefully. You both were honest all the time in your relationship, neither one of you wanted to hide what was eating on the inside. But tell him something that seemed so silly and so juvenile, so stupid to worry about, you worried he was going to judge you or make you feel small.

But Joe, he went the opposite route with one sentence.

"I think you're the most beautiful woman I have ever met in my life," He stated, you pausing and gazing at him with wide eyes.

"You...you do?" You meekly asked, Joe grinning as he nodded his head. You sat up on the bed, moving your legs to sit on the edge of the mattress as Joe was still kneeling in front of you. He took your hands in his own, tracing your palms with his thumbs as he kept his loving stare with you. "First of all, Chloe is merely a co-star...and I happen to like her boyfriend very much. And yes, I've always thought you were beautiful," he explained, then moving his hands to rub your arms up and down as he went on, "From the very time you bumped into me 3 years ago I was smitten, luv. No one ever came close to you and no one will. What does makes me sad though, is that you don't see yourself like I do,"

You cringed a bit, rubbing your face a bit as Joe never took his eyes off of you, clearly wanting to know all that was in your mind and what was haunting.

"I don't know Joe! I just....I get that you have to work with girls all the time and sometimes you have to get close to them, but maybe I'm making myself feel worse when I try to carry on and not worry about it. And maybe...maybe it would be better for we just--"

"No," Joe immediately said, you slamming your mouth shut and looking at him in shock as he was looking at you with a stern look, "Don't. Don't say it, luv."

"But Joe.." You were about to try again, but Joe once again stopped you.

"If there's one concrete thing in my life it's you," he said to you simply, sounding very sure about himself as he was staring at you with both love and determination, "I'm in a career that changes all the time, and it makes my head spin and I don't know if I'll work the next day or ever again. But having you in my life, it makes it bearable. I need something in my life that's stable and concrete, something that makes me leveled and feel confident. And when I met you....it all made sense and clicked together for me. You keep me sane, baby."

Your heart warmed from hearing him tell you what he was feeling. It was sincere and honest, laced with love and devotion to you and only you. Joe laced your fingers together, holding your fingers tight.

"I'm not letting something as simple as that separate us," He explained simply, "You mean more to me than anything. I don't want anyone else but you, and I'll work on giving myself more space from other girls on set if it'll make you stay,"

You sighed, leaning over to wrap your arms around his neck and hug him close. Joe's arms engulfed you, making you feel that love in his hold against you. Perhaps it was wrong of your to even think of breaking up with Joe because of your own insecurities, when you knew deep down that Joe would never stray.

"I can take a break from acting and just be with you, work on us for awhile," he suggested against your head.

"Don't do that," You countered, "I don't want you to do something like that for me,"

"I mean it, luv. You are worth, you are more than worth it," He explained against your hair as he kissed the side of your head, "I can walk away for a few months if I need to, anything to make you stay with me and know how much you mean to me. Just say the word and I'll do it,"

You merely pulled back a bit and kissed him, feeling him lean into you with one hand on your neck and the other around your waist as your own hands framed his face. Kissing Joe, being with Joe, was the feeling of home. Even in the small moment of doubt and insecurity about your now image, Joe made you feel beyond beautiful with so much self worth and love.

But Joe was a dime a dozen, and there was no way you could ever let him go.

The End.

Reassurance Prompts Found Here.

#joseph quinn #joseph quinn x oc #joseph quinn imagine #joseph quinn x y/n #joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn x reader #stranger things fanfic #stranger things 4 #stranger things

[leiawritesstories]

LEIA CONGRATS ON 500 🥳🎉🎉💓❤️💘❤️💖🩷💓🩷💞❤️💖

you know what my prompt is 🤭

THANK YOU SO MUCH MARIA MY LOVE 🥰💕❤️😁😍

context: maria and my dm's are insanely chaotic. somehow we were talking about almond milk? and one of the things she sent me went like this: "now i need a fic where rowan's a foreigner learning the common tongue and he asks aelin for some nut milk." that's the prompt hehehehehe

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: inappropriate jokes, swearing, innuendo, badly concealed horniness

Enjoy!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Romance books were horrible liars, it turned out.

Not a single one of the many, many romances Aelin had read in her lifetime had prepared her to meet the love of her life in a random aisle in a grocery store. No, all the books she read either involved small town meet-cutes, dreamy historical romances, arranged marriages that became love matches, and the occasional toe-curling bodice ripper. Love In Aisle 24B? She was convinced that would never happen.

Yet here she was, hand in hand with a man who was every single one of her dreams brought to life, leading him into her house.

But she was getting ahead of herself. Where to begin....?

~

Rice, flour, spinach, carrots, hot cocoa mix, espresso pods, almond milk. That was Aelin's list for her quick stop at the grocery store on her way home from work. She loathed shopping at five PM, knowing that the place would be overrun with harried parents, just-off-the-clock workers, and every single person in the vicinity who'd opened their fridge and realized they needed food for dinner.

Luckily, a parking spot opened up just as Aelin pulled into the parking lot, and she waved gratefully at the mom in the minivan who'd just vacated a spot that wasn't terribly far from the store entrance. She parked, got out, locked the car, and steeled herself for the chaos of dinner-crowd shoppers. It's just a quick trip, she reassured herself as she strode through the parking lot. Fifteen minutes, tops.

Entering the crowded store, she grabbed a basket and headed for the produce section, easily finding the spinach and carrots. Check, check. She wove through the maze of people and carts, muffling more than one curse, and ducked down an aisle to grab a bag of rice. Check. The baking supplies aisle was mercifully much emptier, and she found the brand of flour she liked and placed the familiar paper sack into her basket. Check. Hot cocoa mix was only a few paces away--and no, she didn't care that it was impractical for the late spring. It was always hot cocoa weather at Aelin Galathynius's house.

She braced herself as she stepped into the coffee and tea aisle and found it far too heavily occupied for her liking. Rolling her eyes, she decided to go grab almond milk and loop back to pick up espresso pods on her way to the checkout lines. Those would probably be their own nightmare, but she'd deal with that when the time came.

Aelin dodged shoppers pushing overfull carts and mothers desperately trying to keep a hand on their rambunctious children and made her way to the aisle with the non-dairy milk. Blessedly, it was empty, and she strode over to the almond milk section, found her favorite brand, and placed three cartons in her basket because it was on sale. She paused for a moment at the end of the aisle, sighed, and trudged back towards the coffee.

Just as she was about to turn into the coffee aisle, a hand tapped politely at her shoulder. "Excuse me?"

She turned, finding herself face to face--well, almost, since he was a good six inches taller than her--with a mouthwateringly gorgeous man wearing a shy half-smile. "Yes?"

"I do not mean rude, but you have the..." The man pronounced the words carefully, his voice bearing a distinctly foreign accent. Clearly he was still learning the language of Terrasen. "The...meelk? The milk! Milk of the nut."

Aelin spluttered a cough, stuffing down the lewd comment she immediately wanted to make. "I--um...I'm so sorry, I have the what?"

The man blushed, only making him more endearing. He pointed to the almond milk in her basket. "The nut meelk."

Understanding clicked in her brain. "Oh! The almond milk." She enunciated the words carefully.

"Al-mond meelk," he repeated, smiling in earnest. "Thank you, ma'am." He gave her an eccentric little dip of his head. "Please, show me where to find?"

"Of course!" Smiling back at him, she led him to the non-dairy milk aisle. "Here it is." She showed him the brand she bought. "I like this brand, but there are more options here."

The man picked up a carton of the same brand she bought; it looked comically small in his large hand. "Thank you," he said again, relief coating his accented words.

She grinned. "You're welcome..." She let the pause trail on, hoping he would give her his name.

"Pardon!" he exclaimed, then mumbled a few words in his native tongue. "I am such rude. I am Rowan."

"So rude," Aelin instinctively corrected. "We say so rude." She shook his offered hand. "My name is Aelin."

"Aelin," Rowan repeated, the syllables of her name turning thick and sweet as honey on his accented tongue.

Her blood turned to fire at the sound of his voice.

"Gods," she gasped, glancing at her watch. "I really need to get home, this was just supposed to be a quick trip."

Rowan stepped aside so she had a clear path. "Do not let me stop you," he grinned. "Thank you again, Aelin."

"You're very welcome, Rowan." Flashing him another grin, she headed towards the checkout counters, pausing briefly to grab espresso pods. The checkout lines were unbearably long, so she joined the much shorter line for self-checkout, waited for a few minutes, and went up to the machine when it was her turn. Efficiently, she scanned her items, placed them in her shopping bag, paid, and tore the receipt from the printer.

She was nearly out of the store when a commotion at the self-checkout caught her attention.

"I--I not understand!" Oh gods, that was Rowan's unmistakable accent. "No money?"

"Sir," the store employee all but snapped, "the sign says 'card only.' Can you even read?"

Rowan faltered. "I--"

"Show some decency," Aelin drawled, calmly stepping between Rowan and the irritated teenage employee who looked like he'd rather be anywhere else. "You should be able to tell from the man's accent that he's not from here."

"Well--um--" The teenager floundered. "Look, I'm not--"

"Capable? That much is clear," Aelin scoffed. "I'll help Rowan here finish checking out, and you can run along back to restocking ketchup or whatever the hell else you do." Turning to Rowan, she explained, "This machine only has a card reader. Do you have a credit card?"

Softly, he murmured, "No, not in wallet."

"It's all right," she reassured him. "I'll pay."

"You no need--"

"Don't worry about it." Aelin tapped her credit card on the card reader, took the receipt, and handed it to Rowan. "There. Quick and easy."

He picked up his almond milk--the only thing he'd had to buy--and followed her out of the store. As soon as they stepped into the parking lot, he swiped her bag of groceries from her, laughing at her shocked protest. "Let me, let me," he said. "As thank you."

"Such a gentleman," she teased. "All right then, you can carry my groceries to my car." He walked beside her through the parking lot, waited for her to unlock her car, and then carefully deposited her groceries on the back seat. "Thanks, Rowan," she smiled, truly meaning it. A thought flashed through her head. "I'm sorry if this is rude, but...do you have a car? Or how else are you getting home?"

He shook his head. "My..." He spoke a word in his language. "Not know how to say. Like brother, but...of father's brother?"

"Your cousin?"

"Aye, my cousin. He has the car. I took bus from apartment to store."

"Can I drive you home?" she asked.

Color splashed across his cheeks. "No need, please, I will take--"

"The bus is never on time during evening rush hour, and you'll get stuck in traffic when it does show up," she snorted. "I promise I'm a safe driver, Rowan, and before you pull your stupid chivalrous act, no, it's not too much trouble." She leaned against her car. "I live here. I can drive you home without getting stuck in terrible amounts of traffic."

He folded. "Okay. I will drive with you."

His oddly formal language made her smile. "You're rather cute with your blush and your accent, y'know, Rowan," she teased.

"Cute?" Impossibly, Rowan blushed harder. "If I am cute, Aelin, then you are perfect beauty."

That fire in her blood burned brighter. "I'll show you beauty," she murmured, more to herself than to him.

Buckling his seatbelt with ease, he leaned over and whispered in his language into her ear. Though she couldn't understand him, she knew the thickness of his voice had nothing to do with the words he was saying. "Was that a promise, Rowan?"

His emerald eyes deepened to smoky pine. "Yes." As she started the car and reversed out of her parking spot, his hand drifted casually--naturally--to her thigh, its weight warm, welcome, and teasing.

She was in such deep shit.

~

Instead of asking Rowan for his address, Aelin asked if he was okay coming to her house, and when he breathed another Yes into her ear, this time pairing it with the faintest brush of a kiss on the side of her neck, she shivered and headed home as fast as she legally could. She parked, got out, grabbed her groceries before he could insist on carrying them into the house, and took the bag inside, placing it on the counter.

Rowan hadn't followed.

So she went back out to the car, walking around to the passenger side. "Rowan? Is everything okay?"

He nodded. "So okay," he promised. "I...I needed a breath."

The corners of her lips quirked up. "Can I show you my house?" Feeling bold, she linked her fingers with his. "The kitchen, the living room..." A pause. "My bedroom."

That got him out of the car and on his feet, a smirk tinged with desire curling his lips. "Please do."

She led him up the front steps and into her house, kicking off her shoes in the entryway. "The kitchen is right here, if you wanted to know." She gestured to her left. "You can put your almond milk on the counter." And put your rowillymilk in me, she added under her breath.

He left the carton on the counter, slid his arm around her waist, and leaned down to kiss her. Aelin rose onto her tiptoes to meet his lips, the kiss starting soft and quickly turning deeper, passionate, filled with the inexplicable desire that crackled between them. Effortlessly, Rowan lifted her into his arms, not breaking the kiss as he took a couple of steps and stopped, remembering he didn't know where anything was. He pulled away, breathless.

"Aelin--"

"Upstairs," she panted, her chest heaving. "Come here."

And she led him up the stairs and into her room and kicked the door shut behind them.

~~~

TAGS:

@live-the-fangirl-life

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@morganofthewildfire

@backtobl4ck

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

@julemmaes

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@chronicchthonic14

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

@sweet-but-stormy

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

@darling-im-the-queen-of-hell

@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

#my writing #answered prompt #leia's 500 followers thing #rowaelin #rowan x aelin #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin fanfiction #throne of glass fanfic #throne of glass fanfiction #rowaelin spicy times

[sidsinning]

Every day I see ur art and every day I am on my hands and knees looking at ur gorgeous line work and watercolor-esque coloring/shading it pops so good PLEASE

Thank you!!! ☺️💖💖💖

#ask

[spicedrobot]

raph/harleep/tav: after *you know what* happens in the house of hope, raph replays *that thing that happened* by using harleep as tav's proxy. choking and fuckery ensues

I READ YOUR WITHERS X RAPHAEL AND ITS AMAZING AJDHAHDJS. Would you consider doing smthn for Raphael and Haarlep?? 👉👈

I got two requests for this, so I really wanted to fill it. 💖 Thank you both for your patience! I gently describe my own tav in this fic, but it's minimal. However, I'm including this graphic I made so you can envision him better if you want!

*This has slight Act 3 Spoilers*

Quiet giggling, delighted gasps, the rhythmic sounds of flesh on flesh. All quotidian features of Raphael’s boudoir, as curated as the oils scenting the bath and the Cormyrian silk sheets—or at least, they should’ve been. It wasn’t unheard of for Haarlep to entertain a revolving cast of select patrons. But said guests were always chosen by the master of the House, and that master hadn’t been around to bless this little affair. 

The anger and indignation that Raphael had been nursing flared. His return to the Hose of Hope after such a miserable defeat was akin to entering a new circle of hell. The House’s titular cleric had greeted him at the entrance, but she didn’t cower in his presence as she had before. She held Raphael’s gaze, eyes clear, unafraid. Her victory had given her new strength, whereas his defeat had sapped his own. When he had demanded a proper salutation as befitted his station, her neutral demeanor darkened. He felt her god’s power moving through her, not quite a threat. Not yet.

“This is my House, Raphael. Everyone is allowed to enter, but the dungeon always has room for one more. Up to you.”

Now that was a threat. She had certainly learned well from her time with him. Still, the bitter sweetness was only a momentary reprieve from Raphael’s historic walk of shame. He had yet to encounter the rest of his welcoming party.

Former servants and debtors, those that had once been cowering, simpering creatures, watched and whispered as he passed. A few even dared to laugh. Raphael rounded on them once or twice, but they knew as well as he how powerless he was. After all, it wasn’t everyday that an archduke of hell was dethroned, and people of all planes loved their gossip. 

Quite cross at that point, Raphael had stalked directly through the House to the one place he thought he would find some sympathy, a shoulder to cry on… and more importantly, a body to warm him. Oh, what wishful thinking! 

Across the boudoir, soft laughter devolved into sweet moaning. 

Raphael’s mood blackened even further. He wasn’t just going to wait here while Haarlep catered to someone else. Though he lad lost control of the House, Haarlep was his. 

Raphael rose to full stature and ascended the steps to his bed. Haarlep was indeed entertaining. A shapely drow was in their lap, her head thrown back, her ample breasts bouncing. The sight was pleasantly, if uninspiringly, lewd. Raphael took in Haarlep instead, a being infinitely more to his taste. They were wearing his face: gorgeous, resplendent, filled with all the glamor and vitality he no longer possessed.

Raphael couldn’t tell if the sight comforted or pained him. The drow woman gasped, her eyes rolled back in ecstasy. Pain, Raphael was definitely experiencing pain. He cleared his throat.

Haarlep took a second or two before glancing his way. They were preoccupied with their work. Always the perfectionist. 

“My dear, sweet Raphael,” they crooned, when they finally took him in. “You look terrible.”

Raphael glowered. He knew Haarlep wasn’t lying; he’d seen his own reflection in the boudoir’s pools. His skin was pallid, his eyes dull. The lines on his face were deeper, less roguish, weary. But before he had been murdered in his own home, Haarlep wouldn’t have dared insult him, jokingly or otherwise. The drow woman didn’t seem to care that they were talking. She kept carrying on. Perhaps she was ignorant to the fact that she was in the presence of the master of the House. Maybe that title was now, for the most part, ceremonial. 

“I’ve had quite the poor experience, Haarlep, as you are no doubt aware.” Raphael could not keep the petulance from his voice. He shouldn’t have to lower himself, shouldn’t have to play nice to be allowed here. “You helped them destroy me. Why?”

“You’re asking now? Can’t it wait until I’ve finished?”

From Raphael’s experience, that could either be minutes or hours from now. He crossed his arms and released a venomous sigh.

“Nary a moment, love,” Haarlep replied simply, and turned to the drow, taking her shapely hips in hand. They quickened their pace, hips gliding sinuously, all liquid grace and power. 

Through his anger, Raphael felt the beginnings of ardor stir. Haarlep was so lovely when they fucked, and Raphael imagined those same hands on him, so tender, so wicked. 

Haarlep made short work of the drow. Her soft blue thighs trembled and flexed as she came with loud, anguished sighs. When she finally relaxed, Haarlep lifted her off of them. The drow was forgotten as Raphael’s gaze dropped to Haarlep’s cock, wet and glistening, still wonderfully tumescent. By the hells, he was supposed to be furious with the incubus. Curse his lord father for choosing the perfect, most irresistible devil to warm his bed.

Haarlep sent the drow away with a kiss to her hand and a slap to her behind. She giggled and limped all the way from the room. 

“Now, my master,” Haarlep said, rising from the petal-draped bed. “Tell me your woes.”

Still calling him master, though he was anything but.

“You are quite bold, I’ll give you that,” Raphael said. He watched Haarlep with open hunger. Though duplicitous and self-serving, he couldn’t feign disinterest in them.

“Yes,” Haarlep purred. “I am made in your image, am I not?” 

Not anymore, Raphael thought. How long will it take for me to regain my former beauty? My former power? 

Familiar hellfire warmth flooded him as Haarlep took his face in their hands. Raphael slapped them away.

“Don’t coddle me, harlot.”

Haarlep shrugged, smiled their (his) devil’s smile. “Why return at all, if not to be coddled?”

“This is my room. My House!” The words echoed through the boudoir. “I come and go as I please. I do whatever I want, to whomever I wish!”

Even as Raphael spoke, he felt foolish. His booming voice, his heated words, fell flat and lifeless. 

It would be well within Haarlep’s power to turn him away. This was now their boudoir, after all. Hadn’t they remained after Raphael was defeated? Weren’t they indulging themselves on their own terms… without him?

But Haarlep didn’t turn him away. They simply tilted their head and considered him. It was an olive branch, or as much of one as a devil could offer. When Raphael didn’t continue his rant, Haarlep returned to the bed, sat down, and patted the mattress next to them.

Raphael hesitated, still nursing his anger. It had been centuries since he’d had to admit failure, since he’d had to give in to anyone. Haarlep had let those tadpole-addled fools run amuck in his own House! Had told them his secrets! And Haarlep’s betrayal… it hurt more than he cared to admit. Raphael hadn’t even thought the incubus could hurt him—unless he wanted them to.

Haarlep waited, even through this wave of stubbornness. They were patient. Though they were no longer bound to subservience, they offered something that all of his former sycophants, barring Hope, had not.

A second chance. 

Raphael sat down next to his former pet. Haarlep reached behind Raphael’s back and urged him to rest his head on their shoulder. Raphael sighed. The position was so familiar that he couldn’t help but relax a little.

“I don’t suppose we could return to how things were before? Fulfilling my every whim? Pleasing me for all eternity?”

Haarlep laughed softly. “Not a chance.” They began to massage their fingers through Raphael’s lackluster curls, working some life back into them. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy each other from time to time.”

Raphael held onto his displeasure with the stubbornness of a spoiled child. Though Haarlep had been given to him, had he not treated them kindly? Given into their every wish and desire? But that was the thing about devils, and especially a devil made in his own image: ambition was their lifeblood. What self-respecting hellspawn would be content to remain someone’s pet forever? The crawl towards power was the only eternal constant. 

Raphael rolled his lips between his teeth. Hesitated again. He could be refused, no matter how kind or cruel he was about it. Asking was an infinitely harder task to perform than demanding. He glanced sidelong at Haarlep. They wore a small, placid smile. Their eyes were downcast, ghostly gold diffused by their eyelashes. As beautiful as mercy, as hope. 

Raphael wanted, craved. And now that Haarlep was no longer his, he had to offer something in return. But he had nothing… nothing but what remained of his pride. It would have to suffice. 

“May we… enjoy each other?” Raphael asked.

The hand in his hair tightened, claws against his scalp. A touch with promise. It made even Raphael’s old, withered heart skip a beat. 

“Of course, dear,” Haarlep sighed. “How I have wished for it since your untimely departure.” Though their words sounded understanding, there was a cruel lilt to their tone. “But I have one tiny prerequisite, that I hope you’ll allow me to indulge…”

There was a taste of sulfur in the air, then a quiet, smoky unraveling of hellish glamor. Haarlep’s sinful, lacquered nails became shorter, rounded; callouses formed on their fingertips. Their stature changed, lengthened and thinned. Skin darkened, blossomed with moles and battle scars. The smell of hide and leather, the crisp touch of a forest at night, filled Raphael’s nose.

What Raphael felt and saw infuriated him, made him burn hotter than the hells. He knew these hands. He knew this smell. Hadn’t he spent every waking hour since the nautiloid fell from the sky watching them, penning their every detail in his journal? Plotting and scheming, rehearsing the moment they would meet?

Raphael yanked out of Haarlep’s hold and lunged at them. A spittle-flecked growl flung from his lips. They landed on the end of the bed, Haarlep staring up at him with the wrong face, Raphael with his hands around a throat that was too narrow and freckled to be his own. 

“You…” Raphael hissed. He was almost beyond words. “You!! Dare wear that form in my presence?!” He squeezed. The need to hurt, to kill, was indescribable. The one who had taken everything, who had lied, cheated, and disgraced him in his very House. The one who had wooed his lover into destroying him!

Haarlep only smiled. And why not? As hard as Raphael squeezed, he could not hurt them. His grip barely indented their throat. 

“I do,” they said. They slid their hands up Raphael’s forearms until they came to his wrists. Gentle, placating. “And I hope to do so much more.” With a small upwards push, they freed themselves from Raphael’s grip like it was nothing. Haarlep kissed his palms, lips lingering after each press. Raphael tried to pull free, but their hold was like infernal iron, scalding, unbreakable. “You’ll help me break this body in, if you wish to keep my acquaintance.”

Haarlep’s eyes thinned, so obviously pleased with themselves. It was a poor mimicry of the serene, thoughtful expression Tavaris normally wore. There was no hiding this wolf amongst the lambs, no matter how flawless the glamor. 

Raphael stared daggers at Haarlep, trembling with indignation. Haarlep merely kissed his hands again. “Come, darling,” they whispered, low, tempting. 

They rolled their hips once. Raphael then realized their positions, both sprawled over the bed, with him half on top of Haarlep. He felt their cock pressing into his flank. Still hard. But of course they were. It was their nature, after all. 

“Break in this new body with me,” Haarlep murmured again. Another thrust against his side. “Make him feel our pleasure.”

Raphael licked his lips. He was hungry for this, desperate, too, to reclaim what little power he had. Or maybe he was merely needy for the familiar comfort that he had so sorely taken for granted for centuries. 

What else could a devil do but give in to temptation?

-

There were a plethora of small miseries one could endure. None were painful enough to keep from a pursuit entirely, but each was felt in tandem, smarted and stung as one’s pride was hewn, piece by piece. Raphael was familiar with the rules of this game, or at least familiar with orchestrating it. This, however, would be the first time he was on the receiving end. 

The cock in his mouth was not familiar to him. It was a different shape, not as thick as his own but slightly longer. It choked him as he learned its shape, raised tears at the corners of his eyes. 

“That’s it, lovely,” Haarlep moaned. Their rough ranger’s hands were dug into his hair, controlling his motions. Raphael lied flat on his stomach, his head held in Haarlep’s lap while they remained seated, legs extended over the bed. It was a difficult position, hard on his neck, and it left him powerless to move much on his own. He was at the mercy of every one of Haarlep’s thrusts, each shove of their hands. His mouth had never been used in this fashion, like he was some cheap toy, a simple means to an end.

It was horrible. Filthy. His thoughts were inflamed, tempestuous with shame and resentment. But so, too, was his body ignited—traitorous, weak thing that it now was. His cock was hard and full, trapped between his body and the mattress, throbbing with each cruel jostle. 

“You’re doing well, master,” Haarlep crooned. “Mayhap your time in the Gate’s brothel was spent in service?” 

Raphael growled, lost his concentration, choked. His throat felt raw already, oversensitive. “Or perhaps you only needed a new obsession to stir your interest in mastering the craft.” Haarlep sped up, uncaring that Raphael struggled to keep pace. “How does he taste? Do you enjoy the hero of Baldur’s Gate stealing your breath? Claiming your throat?” 

The words, the motions, were too much to bare. But Raphael bore it. He had no other choice. Each time he was at his limit, when could stand it no longer, Haarlep would let him up, grant him a few, blessed breaths, before they forced him back down in a single, uninterrupted plunge. Saliva and pre-cum mixed on his tongue, leaving long, banding trails between lips and cock when he was allowed to breathe. 

Oh, how Raphael ached, in mind and body and heart. Hatred—and lust. The poor treatment was dizzying, maddening. He knew this, too, was in Haarlep’s power, one of their innumerable talents, but it had never been used on him before. He had never been so helpless, so subsumed by desire. 

Worse than that was the knowledge he could find these new heights with a visage not his own, with a double of a man he so despised, would torture for millennia and more if he ever got the chance. Raphael could not dwell on it now. If he were to break, he would rather it be in disgrace with Haarlep than in the wreckage of his own mind. 

He had no idea how long Haarlep had been using him. How long he bobbed, sucked, swallowed. Haarlep’s moaned praise was like a beloved’s kiss and a sharp slap rolled into one. Blunt nails scored and tugged his hair. This bawdy scene could go on for however long Haarlep wished it. They had no physical limitation in the way mortal or beast did. After a time, Raphael began to find comfort in it. He did not have to think, he could simply perform. 

He let those hard hands lead him, up, down, pressed tight to Haarlep’s stomach, cock deep in his throat, muscles flexing, quivering. His nose forced into wiry hair that smelled of sweat and leathers, an alien, botanical musk. There was no breathing like this, but he was learning, and his fear of its lack was ebbing. He knew he would have air when he needed it. Haarlep would make sure of that. Raphael’s hips rocked of their own accord, rutting into the mattress, chasing the sparks of dry pleasure that teased rather than satisfied.

“How sweet you are, how docile, my fallen lord. I should love to have you forever.” 

Yes, Raphael thought. Baulked at how quickly the agreement came. How easy it would be. How low he had fallen… how it was more and more difficult to care when faced with such sweet debasement. 

Maybe this is what he’d desired all along, after such a humiliating defeat. Mindlessness, oblivion.

Haarlep drew him off their cock, slid their thumb over Raphael’s lower lip. Praised him, pushed his head lower. Raphael knew what they wanted. He opened his mouth, drew his tongue over their balls, rolled one into his mouth to the sound of low, gracious crooning. 

Another piece carved from his pride. But Raphael was past caring as he worked his mouth. The taste was musky and deep, vaguely saline but not unpleasant. Still, there were other sensations he craved more than this.

Haarlep kept pressure on the back of Raphael’s head. Then they took themselves in hand and started to stroke their cock. The sound of it danced in Raphael’s ears. Smooth, wet strokes, made slick by his own mouth and throat. Haarlep started moaning again, sweet, little purrs that went straight to Raphael’s leaking cock. Would they come like this? Waste the seed that he could devour instead? 

I wouldn’t even have to swallow. Not if they shoved deep enough—

Raphael whined, tried to draw back. He wanted it, couldn’t stand it if he would lose the chance. Yet there was no reprieve. Haarlep’s hand was as heavy as a mountain.

“You still don’t understand, pet,” Haarlep whispered. “It doesn’t matter what you want. You will taste what I want you to taste, receive only what I think fit to give you.”

Raphael felt tears prick his eyes again. It wasn’t fair. He was being good. He deserved—

“Ah, but I forget, how hard this is on you. How unused to suffering you are. But we have all the time in the world to learn, don’t we?”

Haarlep let him up, and Raphael moved without thought, slid his mouth back onto their cock with a muffled, satisfied groan. There, just like that, a scratch finally itched. Breathing through his nose, swallowing in time, throat sore but in a delicious, arduous way. When Haarlep came, he couldn’t even taste it, only felt their quivers and contractions, his own throat clutching and massaging while Haarlep moaned salaciously. 

“Good boy, Raphael… how pretty you are… how well you have performed…”

They pulled Raphael off their cock, let him rest his cheek against their thigh as he caught his breath. The praise ruined him as much as the performance. But anticipation still bubbled, mounted. The second act would begin soon. With Haarlep satisfied, it would be his turn. He began to roll over, greedy hands loosening the laces of his trousers. 

Haarlep hummed. They did not move to help. Raphael pulled his cock free and palmed himself, throwing his head back, momentarily overwhelmed by sensation. Haarlep patted Raphael’s hair gently and stood up, knocking Raphael out of his reverie. 

“Wait, where are you going?”

Haarlep took several steps, then they turned back, poised at the top of the stairs. Tavaris’s face smiled that wicked smile. “I shall bathe, I think. This body sweats more than you do.”

“Right now?” Raphael said, perplexed, sitting up quickly. He was beginning to panic. “What about me?”

“What about you…?” Haarlep replied, tapping Tavaris’s tattooed chin. “Oh, of course. How could I have forgotten?” The incubus snapped their fingers.

The heat in Raphael’s guts burned hot and high, flaring like razed coals. He was still aroused, still needy, but something had changed. His desperation possessed a tension it hadn’t before. His gaze shot to his lower body, and his eyes went as round as a soul coin.

His cock was still hard, dripping—a normal state, given the task he had just performed. However, there was a line of fiery infernal etched around the base of it. The spell seeped into his skin, darkened into the same red of Tavaris’s tattoos. A demonic seal. They were very powerful spells, nigh unbreakable, save by their caster.

Not only was Haarlep not going to return the favor, Raphael didn’t even have the option of getting off on his own! He had thought he was at Haarlep’s mercy momentarily. Now he would be at their mercy for as long as they desired.

That indignant fury returned, but this time, it was laced with desperation. “You can’t… You can’t do this to me!” 

Haarlep’s grin softened. “Oh, my dear, haven’t you realized it yet? I can do whatever I please.” They turned and began to descend the steps. “But perhaps if you attend to me in the baths, I will be more inclined towards kindness.”

Raphael watched them depart, baffled and betrayed. Attend them? Serve them? For how long? 

He growled and tore at the sheets, made a mess of the bed, shredding silks and pillows. Fine down feathers joined the dusting of rose petals. When he exhausted himself, he fell back into the ruin he’d created and stewed in his own torment, loathsome and libidinous. His blood coursed. His mind raced. 

As he lay there panting, a thought came, parting the madness. He turned it around in his mind. Then he laughed in cruel, sheer delight.

Raphael hadn’t felt like this since he’d reformed. This shame, anger… this desire—it was a kind of strength. He felt alive again.

Servitude, Raphael realized, was its own path forward. It would fuel and delight while he bid his time. He would serve Haarlep for as long as they desired, and take what they gave. After all, he could hardly fault the incubus for their games, when they were games of his own creation. And serving outside the bedroom wasn’t much different than serving within it. Pleasure could be found in the most peculiar places. And when Raphael did get what he deserved, it would be all the sweeter for the wait.

In time, the incubus would misstep, and Raphael would be there, ready to strike, to claim what was his. And so too, the Crown of Karsus waited, somewhere out at sea, power unlimited, whispering to him. With it, at last, the opportunity for his revenge would be at hand.

In a way, he had tasted of it already, had he not? 

Raphael wondered where Tavaris had been when he had felt Raphael’s lips around his cock, if he had caused the man to whimper and flush where his trusted companions could see him. If they realized that it wasn’t only Haarlep that claimed his body and pleasure. 

Desire pooled; Raphael’s blood burned hotter, his eyes shone brighter. He had not been defeated. He had simply been delayed. 

He laid in bed a minute longer, languishing, palming himself without reprieve, just to bask in desperate torture. Then, with renewed vigor, he rose from the bed and moved towards the pools, preparing for more sweet misery. 

After all, his master was waiting for him.

#haarlep x raphael #haarlep bg3 #raphael bg3 #haarlep x raphael x tav #sorta #fics #asks #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #spoilers bg3

[le-velo-pour-dru]

How was the concert?? Tell me everything!

OH MY GOSH OKAY OKAY OKAY SO. IT WAS AMAZING :D ❤️

So before the concert started and everyone was waiting in line, I got to meet the AMAZING @mayathexpsychic and @acaesic in-person!! :D 💖 It was amazing, they're both such sweet and cool individuals, and I had so much fun chatting and hanging out with them before the show. It definitely made the wait a lot easier and a lot more fun!! ^^ 💖

When we finally got into the venue, after some waiting, we got to see the opening act, Sego!! I didn't really know what to expect, cause I hadn't heard of them, but oh my gosh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! They were AMAZING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 🤩❤️ They were so good!! 😁❤️ I'm definitely gonna have to look into their music, I enjoyed their set a lot ^^ 🫶

After that. oh my god. The wait for Dallon to come out was EXCRUCIATINGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG IT FELT LIKE IT TOOK FOREVER XD I never knew what to expect when one of the songs that was playing faded out, or when someone walked onto the stage only to be one of the people helping to set up. IT WAS LIKE TORTURE, I NEVER KNEW WHEN HE WOULD COME OUT AND IT FELT LIKE SUCH A LONG TIME X'D 💔

BUT WHEN HE FINALLY CAME OUT. OMG. HE COMMANDED THAT STAGE. THE SHEER POWER AND CONFIDENCE HE EXUDED WAS ABSOLUTELY AMAZING AS HE CONTROLLED OUR CHEERS WITH HIS HANDS. Also. HE LOOKED SO AMAZING???????????????????? HIS HAIR WAS SO PRETTYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY AND HE LOOKED AMAZING IN THAT SUIT. NOT TO MENTION THAT. HE IS THE MOST BEAUTIFUL PERSON I'VE EVER SEEN IN MY LIFE 🫢💘 LIKE. HE IS STUNNINGLY PRETTY. HE'S SO GORGEOUS FHXGVKFHXCGJHCXJCGFXJHCGGJXCCJVJCJCJCVC ☺️💘 AND WHEN HE TOOK OFF HIS SUIT JACKET AND STARTED ROLLING UP THE SLEEVES OF HIS SHIRT OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH MY 🤭💞 The moment that he first walked onstage to the first few songs are kind of a blur to me, cause I was. ABSOLUTELY LOSING MY MIND XD I WAS GOING ABSOLUTELY FERAL CAUSE THE REAL DALLON JAMES WEEKES WAS RIGHT. THERE. OH MY GOD XD ❤️ So yeah I don't really remember them cause I was losing my MIND over him during them 🤭💖

As for how the concert worked, things have kinda changed!! For one, Dallon did a lot less bass playing and a lot more moving around the stage as he sang. Mad IQs used to be special cause he ditched the bass and was just a lead singer for a while, but he did that for maybe half the songs of the concert!! And I'm not complaining at all, Dallon is very fun to watch as he moves around onstage, he has a lot of fun with it and is just very full of energy and charisma!! It's a welcome change in my opinion :) 💖 As for the backing musicians, things have changed too!! Anthony is still his touring guitarist, but there's a new musician too who. I wasn't sure if he was playing guitar or bass or both, but his name was Isaac Paul. There's also a new drummer too, whose name is Ronnie Strauss! Dallon didn't really talk about Ryan during the concert, which I think was a tasteful decision on his part, BUT. HE DID MENTION HIM ONCE 🤭 As he was introducing the musicians, he said, "Turns out you can afford more people when you aren't being stolen from." WHICH WAS SO ICONIC. OMG. IF YOU'RE GONNA BRING HIM UP, WHAT A WAY TO DO IT X3 ❤️ IT WAS SO FUNNY HFXJGCHXFXCGJXFCJGJGXGJCVXVJJGXGJCGJCVJCGJC 🤭

And can I just say, I love Dallon's charisma onstage!! He would talk in between songs, and every time, he was just so charming and personable, it was a lot of fun!! :) ❤️ He's so good at connecting with the crowd, I loved hearing everything he had to say ^^ ❤️ A couple of highlights include:

He asked us if we all had good Christmases, and when we cheered, he said, "Well, that's neat!" in the GOOFUEST voice. It was so silly X3 ❤️

Before Kiss Goodnight, he talked about having fallen in love with Breezy years ago and still being in love with her to this day, and he shared that they did, in fact, kiss goodnight that night. It was really sweet 😊💖

He said that that night, we were all his date, and he was our date (if we're into that sort of thing), which. MADE ME BLUSH AND GIGGLE AND KICK MY FEET A LITTLE HEHEHEHE ☺️🩷 I WISH I COULD BE HIS DATE XFHGJJFXJGCXVJJCVVCJJCVCBJ 🤭💖

Before Choke, he gave a whole heartfelt speech about how much it meant to him that people came to see the show, and how amazing it is that the one thing unifying a room full of strangers is the music that they enjoy, and he finished it with, "Now, if you don't mind, choke yourself to sleep". IT WAS SO FUNNY FHXGJCHJCGXFJGJCXCJGJCCGJBC, HE'S SO AWESOME 🤭❤️

Anyway, moving onto something else: I don't tend to sing along with the songs during a concert, I prefer to just listen to how they're being performed. So while I didn't sing along with most of the songs, I had a lot of fun participating during the parts where he wanted the crowd to sing, like Social Climb and A Letter!! But the absolute peak crowd participation moment HAD to be Visitation of the Ghost!! 🤩💖 From where I was standing, it was pretty hard to see him during the crowd walk... BUT STILL!! I CAN'T BELIEVE I GOT TO EXPERIENCE A CROWD WALK LIVE OMGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG 🤭💖 That song overall is just. absolutely amazing to see live, it was a incredible experience and one of the best parts of the night!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 🤩❤️

AND. OK. I REFUSE TO SAY MUCH ABOUT DOWNSIDE, BUT. I LOVED IT SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO MUCH 😁💖 I couldn't really understand what he was saying, but the vibes of the song were sooooooooooooooooo fun and I can't wait to finally hear it on the album!! 😄🩷 Speaking of which, he said a different Gloom Division song will be coming out in two weeks, and I can't wait to find out which one it is!! Maybe it'll be Kiss and Tell, he used that phrase during the concert, so. maybe that was a hint :o ❤️ That's just a guess though, idk what to expect X3

Anyway. It was an absolutely incredible experience!! :3 💖 Dallon is an absolutely phenomenal performer!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 😄🫶❤️ He's an incredible musician, he has a beautiful voice, and he has so much amazing energy and charisma up on that stage 😁🩷 It was incredible seeing one of my favorite musicians perform live right in front of me, I had so much fun, and I'm so grateful I got the opportunity to go see him!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 🤩💖 I had such an amazing time and I can't wait to see him again in April!! ^^ ❤️🫶

#dru speaks #thanks for the ask!! sorry it took so long 🤭🩷 #i hope you don't mind that it's this long of a response hehehe X3 💖 i had a lot to say!! #asks #greytoafawlt