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jexnkookie · 3 months

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BTS: In the Secret (Idol! Jungkook x Reader) [Chapter 5]

Summary: Big Hit announces a new season of In the Soop with a twist; one lucky Army is going to join the members for an entire summer of filming, picked by a random poll. You were selected, and ready to have an amazing summer. But what happens when you win something else that's a bit more complicated; the heart of the group's maknae?

Rating: M (18+)

Chapter Warnings: None.

Tag List: @cassies-cookies @hoeinthehouse @jjeonjjk7 @kaitieskidmore97 @laylasbunbunny @leetha43 @rrosiitas @whoa-jo @1-in-abillion

While you were sleeping, Jungkook did what he did best when he needed to clear his head; he boxed. After slipping on his gloves and getting into position, he let it all out on a punching bag. Again, his thoughts settled on you; how you felt in his arms, how you gazed at his lips like he gazed at yours, giving him a glimmer of hope that just maybe you wanted to kiss him, too. He needed to get you alone again, and away from the cameras.

It was something he had thought about while working out. All the cameras on the property were filming every move the members made. Of course, that’s what everyone signed up for. No surprise there. But that means everything will be up to view soon, and Jungkook didn’t know what would be aired, and what wouldn’t. Would their short-lived game of truth or dare, where you gave Taehyung a quick kiss, be seen by fans? Or your movie day together? What about him carrying you to bed? He hoped not, knowing how some fans react to just a dating rumor. He didn’t want you to be on the receiving end of one of those storms. Whatever heat he got, he could take it, and would take it, if it meant protecting you.

So he continued thinking; how can he get you away from the other members, and away from the cameras, to have privacy with you? How can he keep this a secret, while still properly confessing? A grin came to his face as he hatched an idea, but he’d need a little time to think through the details. That wouldn’t be now, however, as you walked into the door of the gym.

“Hey.” You greeted him with a wave. “I’m so sorry I fell asleep. That was so embarrassing, and I feel awful.”

“Don’t, it’s ok.” He said, his voice going soft once again, as became a habit around you. “You were tired.”

“And um…thank you, for bringing me to my bedroom.” You blushed, walking closer to him as he had paused his workout. “That was really sweet of you.”

“Any time.” He smiled.

Figuring out where to move the conversation to, because you didn’t want to stop talking to him, you glanced to his boxing gloves.

“Y’know, I’ve never boxed before.” You smiled. “It looks fun, though.”

“I can show you.” He grinned, always ready to play. Jungkook began removing his gloves, before raising his sparkling eyes to yours. “Here, put these on. They’ll probably be too big but it’ll work for now.”

Standing very close to you, he helped you put them on, as you had never done so before. You felt as though you couldn’t breathe, and like your heart had paused in your chest. How is it even possible for someone be that beautiful? He stood tall over you, and you wanted him to put his arms around you so badly. Little did you know, he wanted to, as well. He focused solely on your gloves, but being so close to you and feeling your eyes on him made him more nervous than he’d care to admit. He wanted to lean down just enough to kiss you, but he knew it wasn’t the right time.

Not yet. Not in front of the cameras, and not on the property.

He had an idea, and he wanted to stick to it.

“Ok!” He smiled. “I’ll show you how to throw a punch, then you’ll hit me.”

“I don’t wanna hurt you!” You laughed.

“I really doubt you’re going to hurt me.” He teased, smirking at you.

“We’ll see. I can be mean!”

“I seriously doubt that.” Jungkook giggled. “Let’s get it, c’mon!”

You threw punch after punch, while Jungkook blended teasing words with encouragement. He loved your competitiveness and playfulness, as it matched him so well. He thought to himself, as he was laughing with you, how easy it is just to be with you. Although you were a fan, that’s why you were selected, you treated him like a normal person. Someone to joke with, someone to just hang out with. He felt like he never had to try around you, and he appreciated that you didn’t seem to try hard to impress him, either. Everything just felt so natural.

“Alright, Kookie, I’m taking you down this round.” You giggled through deep breaths, collecting yourself.

“Yeah?” He grinned. “You’re confident?”

“Mhm.” You hummed. “Watch.”

With that, you went back in with a fierceness, making him smile and coo to himself, watching how you were trying so hard but still couldn’t even knock him back. Moving in closer to him, you both began laughing as it was clear that this was going nowhere for you. Jungkook “fought” back, moving forward towards you, making you back up despite your cute complaints. (“No fair, you’re bigger! I’m punching above my weight!”) Without paying too much attention, caught up in the fun you were having together, you were backed against the wall, trapped by Jungkook.

“Fine! You win!” You laugh, throwing your head back to the wall.

Jungkook was somehow even closer than he was before, with your body resting against the wall. While you both caught your breath, grinning over your silliness, Jungkook’s hand instinctively came up to brush strands of hair away from your face as your eyes were gazing into his.

You stared at each other for what felt like hours, just enjoying being close. The moment felt fragile, as though if either person moved too quickly, it would shatter.

“Hi.” He whispered, breaking the silence.

“Hi.”

“I…” Jungkook started without really understanding what it was he needed to say. “That was fun.”

“Yeah.” You smiled warmly, biting your lip nervously before adding, “I like hanging out with you.”

“Yeah?” He grinned. “I like hanging out with you, too.”

And just like that, it was present again; another fragile moment. Eyes glued to each other, butterflies in his stomach, and a racing heart in your chest. Words that you both weren’t quite sure how to say, or if you should say them, lingering in the air, making the room feel heavy. The attraction was immediate, but now the spark is glowing, as well. It was something you both knew, but didn’t understand how to approach it.

“I, uh, think we may need a shower.” Jungkook said softly. “Before Yoongi-hyung finishes dinner.”

“You’re probably right.” You smiled, sighing internally that the moment couldn’t last.

“You go first. I’ll clean up here, and meet you later, ok?”

“Ok.” You replied. You looked over his features one more time before leaving for your guesthouse.

Jungkook was grinning uncontrollably, feeling electric from the interaction. He knew he couldn’t mess this up with you, but he needed to tell you how he felt. There was something between you two that was almost magnetic, drawing him to you in ways that felt unreal. He understood he needed to act, but it needed to be private and personal, and just right.

He quickly reached for his phone, and looked for the answer to one question;

How long until a lake clears after a flood?

A week passed, and it seemed to fly by. You had discussed your favorite records with Yoongi, painted a bit with Taehyung, beaten Jin at Mario Kart (much to his dismay), and gossiped over drinks with Jimin. The latter of which you increasingly became closer with, thanking multiple glasses of wine and late night conversations for that.

“Are you single?” Jimin asked. It was 4 a.m., and the cameras were turned off for the night, allowing you to speak more freely.

“I am.” You responded. “Honestly, I wouldn’t have come if I wasn’t. Spending a summer with 7 men alone… I don’t think a boyfriend would appreciate that, you know? What about you?”

“That’s true… And, me too.” He said. “The last one, I don’t know… we just didn’t work out.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s ok. It’s in the past now.” Jimin smiled kindly. “Can I ask about you?”

“My last boyfriend?” You rolled your eyes at the memory. “I broke up with him. We just never had any fun together, you know? It grew stale very quickly, like we were stuck in this routine, and he took himself too seriously to try anything new.”

“He doesn’t sound like your type.”

“Yeah?” You grinned at his response, pouring more wine. “What do you think my type is?”

“I think you like someone you can have fun with.” He stated, leaning back into the couch, a mischievous look gracing his features as if holding in a secret. “I think you’d like someone who can make you laugh and who will play with you, but he can also be sensitive and take care of you.”

“You almost sound like you have someone in mind for me.” You giggled.

“Not really.” Jimin smiled, looking down at his glass. “Just guessing.”

At the end of the week, Jungkook had come to your bedroom door, knocking to wake you. It was late; late enough where the cameras were turned off and the other members were sleeping. You furrowed your brow wondering who would be coming to get you at this time, and why.

“Jungkook?” You whispered. “What are you doing?”

“Y/N, I have a surprise for you,” He whispers, his eyes somehow dazzling in the dark. “Should you choose to accept it.”

“You make it sound like a video game side quest, Kookie.” You giggle. “I accept. What is it?”

“Put on some shoes, and come with me.” He responded with a boyish grin. “I have something to show you.”

You did as you were told, and Jungkook led you though the dark to the ATV on the property. Attached to it, somehow, was a bottle from Yoongi’s whiskey stash and a blanket. You were suddenly thankful for the cover of the night, because you could feel your cheeks blushing as you gathered what he could be up to.

“Get on, and hold on tight to me, ok?” He explained. “I found something I think you’ll like.”

After getting onto the back of the ATV, you got comfortable and hugged him tightly from the back. Jungkook smiled at the feeling of your arms, and he hoped it was the first of many times he’d feel you wrapped around him. He took off, checking to make sure the members and the staff weren’t paying attention, and took you down the road. The drive was short, and you wondered what Jungkook could’ve possibly found, as you were in the woods.

But as he drove up to what seemed to be a perfect, private oasis, your eyes grew wide. Tucked in a cleared spot, there was a lake with the moonlight reflecting off the cool water. It was peaceful and serene, with only the occasional sound of crickets breaking the silence.

“It’s the lake that the staff members mentioned may flood.” Jungkook explained as he helped you off the ATV. “I wanted to bring you here for a few days, but it needed to clear first.”

“This is so pretty.” You said.

“Come on, let’s go sit down.” He said, carrying the blanket and the wine.

“I feel like a teenager.” You laughed as Jungkook spread the blanket on the ground. “Sneaking out of the house late with a boy, stealing alcohol from the kitchen.”

“We’re rebels.” Jungkook laughed. You sat next to him, and he popped open the bottle of wine. “Meaning we drink from the bottle, too…and totally not because I forgot to grab glasses.”

“I love this.” You giggled. “Thank you for bringing me out here. This is nice.”

“Anytime.” He replied softly. “I’ve been thinking… this could be our place, y’know? If we need to get away from the cameras, from the set, we can just come here.”

“That sounds amazing.” You said. Jungkook looked over at you, admiring your features and how they glowed in the moonlight. “Oh, look! We can see stars so clearly here.” You laid down on the blanket, and Jungkook followed.

“I can see… the moon.” Jungkook joked, making you laugh. “I don’t know much about stars.”

“Tell me your zodiac, and I’ll show you where it is.” You smiled.

You began pointing out to Jungkook where his corner of the sky was, and where yours was alongside it. While you spoke about stars, Jungkook had some of his own in his eyes, hanging on every word you said. The atmosphere of the lake, the red wine buzz you both felt, and your sweet voice right next to him made him so, unbelievably happy. You spoke about his corner of the sky, but he felt like this little place he found was meant for both of you. Your little corner of the world.

“Hey.” He whispered, cutting you off softly.

“Hey.” You whispered back.

“I…” A brief pause, but unlike that day in the gym, he knew what he needed to say. “I just want to tell you, that I meant what I said. The day I met you, I said you were so pretty. It’s true… I think you’re beautiful.”

“T-Thank you.” You stuttered, blushing profusely at his gaze and attention.

“Can…Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“The day we were watching a movie, and the day we were boxing… I felt something.” Jungkook explained nervously. “I felt a.. I don’t know, a spark or something, if that makes sense. Did you… Do you…”

“Yeah.” You smiled warmly. “Yeah, I feel it, too.”

Once again, a fragile moment appearing. The warm, summer air feels heavy once again, and a rush of vulnerability passes through. The quiet part weighs on you both now that it’s been said out loud; he feels something for you, and you feel it to. Not love, not yet. Not enough to dive in head first. But enough to be a promise of something, or the hope of an exciting possibility.

“Can I kiss you?” Jungkook asked, gazing down at your lips. You nodded your consent, and he slowly brought his hands to your waist, pulling you in closer to cuddle with him on the blanket. He brushed a strand of hair out of your face, just as he had done back at the main house, but the action felt different this time. More real, knowing its intention.

He smiled, as did you, at the tension of the moment.

Then, he leans in, eyes closed. You closed yours as well, anticipating the touch. He lingers nearby, nerves taking over, but Jungkook wouldn’t miss his chance. His lips grazed yours, before connecting fully. Your hands came up to touch his chest softly, encouraging him to go just a bit further. So he did, deepening the kiss and savoring how your lips locked with his for the first time.

After spending some time together, feeling high off of whatever this connection was, you both knew you needed to get back before the members and staff realized you were missing. Jungkook packed up and drove you back, but noticing the time and knowing the cameras hadn’t turned back on quite yet, he took your hand in his to walk you back to your bedroom.

“Please get some rest, ok?” He whispered, leaning in close again, not able to get enough. “I’m sorry I kept you out so late.”

“It’s ok.” You smiled, reaching up to wrap your arms around his shoulders.

“Y/N, listen.” He whispered, his tone more serious as he placed his hands on your hips. “I don’t want either of us to feel pressured by anyone about this… about us. I don’t want anyone jumping to their own conclusions about us before we even know for sure what we are. I just want us to spend time together, y’know? So when the cameras are on, and the members are around, let’s keep it between us.”

“Ok.” You said, your voice a bit sad.

“Hey, Y/N, c’mon.” Jungkook cooed, pulling you in close to hold you. “Trust me, I want everyone to know about this, but just not yet. I’m not hiding you, I’m protecting you. I promise. Please, just trust me.”

He looked down at you, giving you a soft, slow kiss and feeling relieved when he felt your smile.

“Goodnight.” You whispered, before turning towards the door.

“Goodnight.” He replied. Jungkook struggled to let you go, wanting to hold you in his arms longer, now that he actually has you.

You reached for his sweatshirt that night, wearing it to bed like you had done so many nights before. But somehow, it felt softer than ever.

Next Chapter Coming Soon...Thank you! x

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook x y/n #in the soop #bts in the soop #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #smut #jungkook angst #jungkook fic #jungkook fics #jungkook imagine #jungkook is whipped #bts: in the secret #idol!jungkook #reader insert #fem reader

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scoonsalicious · 30 days

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Unwanted: Chapter 26, Unsurprising - Pt. 5

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, mentions of miscarriage, mentions of sex.

Word Count: 1.4k

Previously On...: Nat gave you some very interesting, and disturbing news.

A/N: ::giggles like school girl::

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917!

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

Taglist: (Sadly, tag list is closed; Tumblr will not let me add anyone new. If you want to be notified when I update, please Follow me for Notifications!) @jmeelee @cazellen @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @blackhawkfanatic @buckybarnessimpp @hayjat @capswife @itsteambarnes @marygoddessofmischief @sebastians-love @learisa @lethallyprotected @rabbitrabbit12321 @buckybarnesandmarvel @fanfictiongirl77 @calwitch @fantasyfootballchampion @selella @jackiehollanderr @wintercrows @sashaisready @missvelvetsstuff @angelbabyyy99 @keylimebeag @maybefoxysouls @vicmc624 @j23r23 @wintercrows @crist1216 @cjand10 @pattiemac1@les-sel @dottirose @winterslove1917 @harperkenobi @ivet4 @casey1-2007 @mrsevans90 @steeph-aniie @bean-bean2000 @beanbagbitch @peachiestevie @wintrsoldrluvr @shadowzena43

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“Buck,” you hissed, shaking his sleeping form. You hadn’t been on the phone with Nat for that long; there’s no way he should be sleeping this deeply already. “Wake the fuck up!”

He groaned and rolled over, looking at you through sleepy eyes. “Pocket?” he groaned, bringing up a hand to rub at his forehead. “I told you, I’m not just gonna fuck you if it doesn’t mean anything.”

You shoved him. “That’s not why I’m here, asshat!” you hissed. “Something’s happened!”

Bucky bolted upright and flipped on the bedside lamp. “What is it?” he asked, looking alarmed as he ran his eyes over your frame. “Are you alright? Are there complications? Do you need to go back to the hospital?” You were surprised that his immediate response was concern for your welfare, though you shouldn’t have been– Bucky had always been protective– until it came to protecting you from his actions, of course.

“No,” you said, reassuring him, “I’m fine. Something happened at the Tower. With Carthage.” You quickly recapped what Natasha had texted you, adding the sparse details she’d provided during your call.

“So, she quit?” he asked. “That’s great!”

“No, baby,” you said, and if either one of you noticed the endearment that slipped out, you didn’t acknowledge it. “Fuck… I’m just gonna say it because I don’t know how to put it delicately: Jade’s an undercover Hydra operative and her mission was to bring you back to them so they could reclaim you as their asset.”

You weren’t sure what reaction you had expected from Bucky– shock? Anger? Tears? Any one of them, or, hell, a combination of all three, would have been more than appropriate and expected.

What you had not been expecting, however, was fucking laughter. You looked at him blankly for a minute, wondering if you’d looked this crazy when you’d started laughing after Dr. Carson had informed you of your miscarriage.

“It’s not funny, Buck,” you said, annoyed.

“It’s fucking hilarious, doll!” Bucky gasped, tears coming to his eyes from how hard he was laughing now. “She’s a Hydra agent? She’s got TicTac followers, for Christ’s sake!”

You could feel your blood pressure rising in your veins. Oh, you were getting angry at him, now. “First of all, it’s fucking TikTok, and I don’t know why we have to keep having that conversation! And second,” you took a breath, knowing this was probably not the most appropriate time to start something, but not being able to let it go, “I cannot fucking believe that, after everything, all the bullshit you fed me tonight in the living room, you’re still taking her side, taking her word over mine, as if I would make an accusation like that without any fucking proof!”

Bucky’s demeanor sobered up in an instant, as if you’d physically knocked the laughter out of him. He reached for your hand, and you let him take it. “Oh, sweets, no– that’s not… that’s not why I’m laughin’. I believe you; trust me, I learned my lesson there. No, it’s fucking hilarious, because of course she’s a Hydra agent. It explains everything, actually.” He didn’t need to elaborate for you to catch his meaning– of course she would have only pursued him so aggressively because it was her mission objective to do so. He must have felt himself so foolish to think that she would have had real feelings for him. You thought for a second that the realization should make you angry– you hadn’t needed a secret agenda to love him, after all, but then, he probably thought you didn’t love him anymore, either; you’d certainly given no indication of it. Even now, he still viewed himself as so completely undeserving of affection, and that just made your heart heavy with sadness.

“I don’t think it was just her mission,” you said, not really sure why you were about to come to the defense of the woman who’d made your life a living hell, but also knowing that you couldn’t stand for him to think he was unloveable. “She had the perfect opportunity to incapacitate you and bring you back to them on the Russia trip.” Ugh, just saying those two words left a sick taste in your mouth. “You were alone, in their territory, and she… she had you in an extremely vulnerable position. It would have been so easy for her to incapacitate you there, deliver you to them. But she didn’t. Whatever her mission objective is, I’m pretty sure she’s got one of her own, and I think it’s just you.”

Bucky studied you quizzically. “Are you… trying to reassure me? Because trust me, Pocket, it’s no skin off my back if she never actually cared about me, though it does make me regret everything even more.”

“I just…” you struggled to find the right words. “I just don’t want you thinking the only reason someone would want you is because they were told to,” you said after a minute. “That they were pretending. I’ve seen the way she looked at you, and it drove me absolutely crazy, because I know that’s how I look at you, too. I’m just saying, in her own fucked up way, I think she does care for you, whatever that means to her.”

Bucky’s head tilted as he looked at you, eyes gone gooey. “Present tense,” he said softly.

“What?”

He held your cheek into his big hand, rubbing a thumb along the line of your cheek bone. “You said that’s how you look at me. Not looked. Present tense, not past.”

You snorted; you’d walked right into that. “Just because I stopped trusting you doesn’t mean I ever stopped loving you,” you admitted.

“Pocket,” he said, leaning closer to you, “I’m gonna kiss you now, okay? If you don’t want me to, just say the word, and I’ll stop.”

“What happened to not wanting to be intimate with me if it’s not going to mean anything,” you exhaled. He was impossibly close now, but you hadn’t told him to stop. Not yet.

His breath teased your lips. “I think we both know now it’s anything but meaningless,” he said. His lips brushed across yours in a whisper of a kiss. “Tell me to stop,” he said again in a final warning, but you both knew you wouldn’t. You couldn’t. All you could do was close the millimeters of distance remaining between you until his mouth was on yours, begging for you to let him in.

So you did. And it was like a sudden summer downpour after a drought. A ray of warm sunlight breaking through the chill of snow clouds. The first blossom unfurling from the ground to signal the true arrival of Spring. It was finally coming home, all encompassing and everything you’d ever needed, a promise of sweetness and new beginnings. And it was over all too soon.

Bucky broke the kiss, chuckling as you greedily chased after his lips with your own, a pitiful whine escaping them at the loss of contact. “Come back here,” you grumbled, reaching for him to bring him closer, but Bucky leaned away from you.

“Told you, sweetheart,” Bucky said, pulling down the covers next to him and beckoning for you to join him in the bed, “I’m not gonna have you if I can’t have all of you. Now get in bed.”

Son of a bitch. He wasn’t playing fair. “Not sure how that translates to me getting in bed with you, Barnes,” you said, definitely crossing your arms over your chest.

Bucky rolled his eyes and picked you up, gently depositing you in the space he’d made for you inside his covers, and you couldn’t help but let out a little squeak. “If you think I’m gonna let you sleep on your own when we have no idea where Carthage is, you’re crazier than I thought,” he said, pulling the sheet and blankets up around you. “Now go to sleep.”

If you hoped he was going to wrap you in his arms and hold you close while you drifted off, you were in for disappointment. Instead, he left a respectable distance between the two of you, then, checking behind the nightstand to make sure his gun was where he’d left it, turned off the bedside lamp. “G’night, sweets,” he called softly before settling on his side, facing away from you.

“Night, Buck,” you whispered into the dark, more confused than ever before.

<- Previous Part / Next Chapter ->

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #mcu bucky barnes #james barnes

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rubyreduji · 11 months

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my boyfriend's in a band — kmg

summary: there are many things you hate about your boyfriend

tags: established relationship, fluff, minor angst, gn!reader, idol!mingyu, stylist!reader, non-linear timeline, they’re so annoying w.c.: 4.2k a/n: based off 7 things by miley cyrus (they’re out of order from the song fyi) but the title references brooklyn baby by lana del ray 🤩🤩

You hate Kim Mingyu. Which is probably a strange sentence to claim when he’s been your boyfriend for two and a half years. The thing is that in those two years you’ve compiled a long list of things you deeply despise about your boyfriend. Some of those include the way he leaves his socks in the living room instead of taking them to the hamper, always forgetting to put the toilet seat down, and his awful time management. Those are just the top of the barrel though and they don’t even go into what really grinds your gears.

Albeit some of it isn’t just Mingyu but rather the air of his job. Some of it truly is Mingyu though. The hatred for the man started even before you were dating, back when you two were just coworkers.

01|

At the shout of your name you look up to see Kim Mingyu approaching. Kim Mingyu is…well he’s a famous idol, and you’re his stylist.

“Good morning Mingyu-ssi.” You nod at him politely. You and Mingyu are complicated. To put it simply, Mingyu is a flirt and even though he promises he “likes you very much” he doesn’t want to do very much about it.

“You know, you don’t have to be so formal with me Y/N.” Mingyu cracks a smile at you as he gets up on the platform for his fitting.

“You’re late,” you say to him, instead of addressing what he said.

“And you’re mad at me, okay,” Mingyu sighs as he starts to pull off his street clothes.

“I’m not going to discuss this with you right now. I have a job that needs to be done.” You move around the room to grab the few outfits you need to fit Mingyu in. When you turn back to Mingyu he’s dressed down to his underwear. If you weren’t used to seeing the man practically naked for your job, you would probably be flustered.

You and Mingyu make little to no conversation as you go through his fitting. You make notes about each outfit before you release Mingyu. As Mingyu is getting dressed he turns to you.

“Y/N. Can we please just talk?”

“About what Mingyu?” You swing around to glare at him. “About how you asked me on a date and then didn’t show up? About how I was waiting for you for two hours before I decided to just give up? It’s been like this for months, Mingyu. I’m so sick and tired of believing in you and thinking that maybe this could be something more than you just messing with me.”

“Y/N, please just let me explain.”

“I don’t want to hear it anymore, Mingyu. Please just leave me be. I get it, I’m nothing more than your stylist who you like to play with,” you sigh.

“I promise I do like you.”

“You can’t use that excuse forever. This isn’t the first time this has happened and you can be cute and flirt all you want, but I’m over it,” you say as you start to put everything away.

For the past few months Mingyu has been playing with you. Flirting and asking you on dates but then not showing up or not even acting like he knows you outside of the fitting room. You’re done with him. You decide in that moment you hate Kim Mingyu, and you’ll never fall for his tricks again.

02 |

The first time you met Mingyu you decided you didn’t like him.

You were young and just started off as a stylist. Getting to work with an idol group like Seventeen was a literal dream come true. That is, until you had your first appointment with Kim Mingyu.

When he first walked in everything seemed…fine. You noted he didn’t bother to introduce himself or catch your name either, but that’s not something you can dwell on too much. The problems didn’t really start until after you started to fit him for his clothes.

“Hmm,” Mingyu hums, looking at himself in the mirror.

“Is there a problem?” You ask, ready with your clipboard to write down any changes needing to be made.

“Can this be sleeveless?” He asks.

You frown. “Uhm, no. The concept requires all the members in matching outfits and it was decided everyone would be wearing long sleeves. Is there an issue with the long sleeves?”

“I just really wanted to show off my arms. I’ve been going to the gym a lot and I think the Carats deserve to see all my hard work.” Mingyu flexes, still looking at himself in the mirror. You roll your eyes, of course that’s the reason.

You did some research on the idol group before starting the job and everything seemed to come up positive for the tallest member. You know he’s one of the main visuals of the group but you didn’t realize it would come with such a cocky attitude.

“Yes well, there will be plenty of other opportunities to show your arms off, but for this particular vision, the sleeves have to stay on,” you inform the idol.

“Shame,” Mingyu mutters. Then he turns to you, finally looking at you for probably the first time since he walked through the door. “Are you sure there’s nothing you can do about it? Do it for me?” He shoots you which you assume is his award winning smile, but your face doesn’t change from the neutral position it’s in.

“I’m sure, Mingyu-ssi.” You’re trying to maintain a professional tone of voice. You know you have a short-temper and it really wouldn’t be the best if you accidentally got too annoyed at the idol.

Everything you saw online talked about Mingyu’s goofy, sweet personality and nothing about him using his good looks to try and get what he wants. Apparently you can’t trust content that’s so heavily curated to build a good image. Who would have guessed?

“But I’m the visuals. The Carats need something nice to look at, and that something nice is me. Do you know how much better this concept would do if I got to show off?”

“I’m sure it would, but our designs have already curated everything and the only changes we can make now are taking it in or out to fight right. So if you could just confirm it fits correctly, you can be on your way and I can move on to my next appointment.”

Mingyu sighs, almost whines, as he stares at himself again. He flexes a couple more times and you finally allow yourself to roll your eyes, as Mingyu’s back is turned to you. This is going to be a long contract period.

03 |

You stare at yourself in the mirror. You frown at your hair, not happy with it for some reason though you just spent an hour trying to style it. You then huff at your reaction, mad that you care so much about putting in so much effort for Kim Mingyu when he’s probably just going to stand you up, again.

You don’t know you even agreed to this date. That’s a lie, yes you do. His stupid adorable pleading face with the big brown puppy eyes that you couldn’t resist because you knew if you did he would whine and you’d feel guilty.

You head out the door and when you exit your apartment building, you’re shocked to see Mingyu standing next to a car. He’s got a mask on, but it’s unmistakably Mingyu. Your heart flutters at the sight of him and you have to remind yourself not to trust him just yet.

Cautiously, approach the man. “I thought we were going to be meeting up at the restaurant.”

“We were, but I wanted to prove to you that I would actually show up. I want you to know I’m serious about this. About us.” Mingyu reaches over to grab your hand in his, squeezing it tightly. His large hands envelope yours easily and you stare down at them. His hands are warm and soft but his grip is firm and leaves tingles against your skin.

You know Mingyu can be charming (it’s why you keep falling for him despite all of the issues that come with it) but this is a whole new level of weaseling his way into your heart. You force yourself to pull your hands out of his, crossing your arms over your chest instead.

“How do you even know where I love?”

Mingyu at least has the decency to look sheepish at the question. “I may have asked Soonyoung-hyung.”

You sigh. Soonyoung once drove you home after a long day at the company building. You felt bad making the idol take you home but he claimed he didn’t mind. You’re not sure if it’s a good or bad thing he told Mingyu.

You eventually let Mingyu open the door of the car for you and you slide into the passenger seat. While Mingyu drives you do your best not to stare at him. He’s dressed nicely in a pair of dress pants, a dress shirt, and a blazer. You’ve seen him wear plenty of outfits in a similar fashion, but you’re usually the one putting him in them.

Mingyu made dinner reservations at some place only celebrities can get into. He hands the keys off to a valet when you two pull up and he wraps his arm around your waist to help lead you into the building. You’re glad for your job and the ability to know how to dress or else you would be wildly underdressed right now. Even the hostess is in a basic evening gown, elevating the opulent atmosphere of the room.

After Mingyu pulls your chair out for you, you have to admit that he is being the perfect gentleman and you start to let your guard down.

The doing goes…surprisingly well. You and Mingyu spend the whole night talking and you remember why you keep giving Mingyu so many chances. You can’t help but be drawn to his adorable demeanor. After the first few bumps in your relationship, you’ve realized over time that Mingyu is a sweet guy and you can see more of that side of him tonight.

After dinner Mingyu decides to take you on a walk along the river. It’s late enough that not many people are out. The reflection against the water pairs nicely with the cool breeze in the air and Mingyu’s hand in yours.

“And then my grandma would always-”

“Mingyu!”

Mingyu’s story is cut off with the shout of his name and Mingyu quickly drops your hand. When he turns there is a group of girls running up to you and the idol and Mingyu quickly slips a charming smile onto his face.

Your heart starts to sink as you watch Mingyu interact with the fans, entertaining their questions and taking photos with them. You’re not sure why it’s bothering you so much. It’s his job, of course he has to have a good public presence. It still makes your stomach churn and your throat close up.

When it’s clear that Mingyu isn’t even trying to get away from the group you roll your eyes and start to walk off yourself. It doesn’t matter how much Mingyu claims he likes you or how perfect he acts, he will always be Kim Mingyu from Seventeen, and that will always come first.

You call an Uber home and when you get a text from Mingyu later in the night, you swipe the notification away before going to bed.

04 |

“I think we should break up.”

You look up from your phone to stare at your boyfriend incredulously. You’re sitting on the couch in your apartment, your legs thrown over his lap as you two try to find a restaurant to get takeout from.

You scoff. “You’re fucking with me, right?”

“No, I’m being serious!” Mingyu whines. You’re not sure how he can even be whiny in a situation like this, but leave it to the overgrown puppy of a man to figure out how.

You laugh right in Mingyu’s face, a mix of disbelief and cruelness. “You’re really trying to break up with me? Right now?”

Mingyu straightens his posture in an attempt to get you to take him more seriously. You still don’t. “Yes I am, and I’d appreciate it if you stopped laughing.”

“I’ll stop laughing when you stop being an idiot. Give me one good reason why you’re trying to break up with me, after pursuing me for how long?” You and Mingyu have only been dating a few months and he chased you for nearly a year before getting together. He has to be absolutely out of his mind.

“I just don’t think this is working anymore,” Mingyu tells you, gently pushing your legs off his lap. He stands up, pacing the living room. “I’m always busy and it’s like I never see you unless we’re at work.”

“We’re seeing each other right now. Not at work.”

Mingyu ignores you, talking right over you. “And like we have nothing in common.”

“Opposites attract.”

“And we’re always fighting.”

“We’d fight less if you weren't so stupid.”

“Can you just let me break up with you!” Mingyu shouts. “Stop countering all my points.”

“I will when you give me an actual reason to break up.” You’re starting to get fed up with Mingyu. And he wonders why you two are fighting all the time.

“Fine, you want a reason? You’re neurotic and bossy and mean and always have to be right about everything to the point you never let me win. You’re jealous all the time and I swear I can’t do anything without you breathing down my back and -” Mingyu’s voice finally breaks when he sees the look on your face.

A lump has grown in your throat and you’re on the brink of tears. At some point your arms have snaked around your body, hugging yourself as your fists clutch onto the fabric of your shirt. “Well then. I guess those are some real reasons. I-” You can’t choke out the rest of your sentence, tears starting to stream down your face.

“Wait, wait, no!” Mingyu quickly runs back to the couch. He tries to grab you but you shove him off.

“God, just leave Mingyu. Isn’t that what you want?”

“No, wait, baby, I’m sorry.” Mingyu is still clinging onto your hand even though you keep kicking at him. “I didn’t mean it.”

“You didn’t- what the fuck is wrong with you Kim Mingyu?” You’re still crying a bit and your voice is strained as you yell at your boyfriend.

“I don’t know! I just wanted to push your buttons a bit, I didn’t mean to say all those things! Like I mean, they’re all true, BUT that’s what I love about you.”

You stare at Mingyu incredulously, not sure how to respond. “What?”

“I love everything about you, and I love that you’re bossy and possessive and mean. I just wanted to see if you would actually let me go, make sure you didn't secretly want to break up with me, but I took it too far. I’m sorry, I’ll do anything to make it up to you.”

You’re still a bit shook by the whole conversation and you glare at the man still trying to cling to you. “Fine, you can break up with me.”

“What? No! I don’t actually want to break up!”

“So? I do. You can ask me out again next week, but this week you’re getting dumped for that stunt. Get out of my apartment.” You stand up and pull Mingyu over to the door. He whines the whole time but you’ve already set your mind to it. “Maybe next week I’ll be done hating you for that.” With that you push him out the door and shut it in his face.

05 |

In the almost year and half of knowing Mingyu, you’ve never seen him this nervous before. He’s basically trembling as he stands in front of you, a bouquet of flowers clutched in his grip. You’re sure he’s bent a couple of stems with how tightly he’s holding them.

His face is red, most likely from exertion of running or walking up the stairs to your apartment, and his hair is a mess. You stare at him with a slightly annoyed face.

“What do you want?” You know your tone most likely isn’t going to help the worried look on his face, but he is bothering you at one in the morning, so you’re not that sympathetic.

“I- can I come in?” Mingyu’s voice is a bit strained and you can’t tell if it’s because he’s out of breath or because he’s about to cry.

You glare at him slightly but still step aside to let him into your apartment. You tell yourself it’s just so he doesn’t bother your neighbors standing in the hallway. Once you close to the door and turn around you come face to face with Mingyu staring at you intently.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Your jaw drops. You and Mingyu aren’t even officially dating, let alone on L-word levels. “Excuse me?”

Mingyu also looks a bit stunned. “I- that wasn’t supposed to come out. I, uhm, well so-”

“Spit it out already. If you don’t remember you have work tomorrow, meaning that I have work tomorrow. It’s one am and you woke me up pounding on my door, I’m sure my neighbors heard and now you’re rambling about nonsense so-”

“Can I be your boyfriend?” Mingyu cuts your own rambling off.

You snap your mouth shut. You and Mingyu have only been on a couple dates, and most of them have ended on a sour note. You can list maybe two or three dates where things sailed 100% smooth. It doesn’t mean that you don’t like Mingyu, but you don’t think you two are at a place to be making it official.

“No,” you finally tell him.

Mingyu visibility deflates. “Really? No?”

“Yes really.” You sigh before continuing, “Mingyu, I like you, I really do, but we just aren’t at that place yet. I want to keep dating you but I don’t want to rush into things and put us in a situation that could go sour too quickly.”

“Is this because of Kook?”

You blanch a bit at the question. “Jungkook? What does he have to do with this?”

“I just, I saw you two talking the other day and you two seem pretty comfortable, and I know that he thinks you’re pretty.”

You snort at that. “Jeon Jungkook thinks I’m pretty?”

“Yeah! A lot of people do. I do.” Curse Mingyu’s adorable puppy eyes and soft voice.

“No, this isn’t because of Jungkook. I was actually talking to him about you, you idiot.”

“About me? Then why are you rejecting me? Did I do something wrong? I promise whatever it is I can fix it. I know I’m clumsy and loud and sometimes I forget my manners and I’m a giant idiot but-”

You walk up to Mingyu and grab his face. The feeling of your palms against his jaw makes him shut up. His eyes widen a bit as he looks at you. “You are an idiot, but I unfortunately like it. You need to learn how to listen though. I like you Mingyu, I just don’t want to rush this. I want you to be my boyfriend, we just need a little more time, okay?”

Mingyu takes a moment but he nods, his face still in your hands.”I just thought that maybe I did something wrong, or there was someone else. I didn’t want to lose you.”

“You’re not going to lose me, okay? And stop being insecure, it’s not a good look on you. I like it when you’re a bit cocky,” you admit.

Mingyu raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

You let go of his face and roll your eyes. “Not too cocky though. Now c’mon on.”

“What? Where are we going?”

“Bed? It’s one am.”

“You’re letting me stay the night?”

“Do you not want to?” You cock your hip, sending him a pointed look. “Aren’t you the one always begging to cuddle.” That gets Mingyu moving, quickly scooping you up and carrying you to your bedroom.

06 |

“Gross,” Chan mutters as he watches Mingyu place a wet kiss on your temple. You also cringe a bit at the feeling, wiping the saliva off your forehead.

“Aw, leave them be Channie, they’re in love,” Jeonghan coos.

You roll your eyes. Working with Seventeen and dating Mingyu means you’re around the boys all the time which means you’ve also become susceptible to all of their teasing. Instead of addressing the other two, you move over to where Mingyu is now trying to put charms in his hair.

“Stop that,” you tell him before dropping the charms back onto the table.

“Isn’t your job to make Mingyu look cute?” Joshua asks as he messes with his own hair in a mirror.

“My job is to make Mingyu look nice. He doesn’t need to be too cute, the Gyuldaengies are already too obsessed with him.” You reach up to brush Mingyu’s hair out of his eyes.

“Awww, you’re jealous,” Soonyoung teases and everyone else starts to join in.

“You’re all jerks,” you grumble.

“Yeah, leave my partner alone!” Mingyu steps up and you scoff.

“You’re the worst of them all!” You give him a playful shove. “You entertain the fangirls too much.”

“I do not!”

“Yes you do!” Jeonghan pipes up again, always the instigator.

“It’s because he likes seeing you jealous,” Joshua snickers. You glare at your boyfriend who doesn’t look guilty at all.

“Oh don’t act like you don’t also make Mingyu jealous,” Jeonghan says.

“I do not!” You shout. All of the boys give you a look and you glare at them. “I hate all of you.”

07 |

It’s been months, months, since you’ve seen your boyfriend in person and you’re practically bouncing off the walls waiting for him to get back. Seventeen has just wrapped up their latest tour which means you can finally have your boyfriend back to yourself and you can’t stop seeing thirst posts about him on your social media feed.

Normally you would have just gone on tour with them, but then a family emergency came up and you had to sit out. It’s been driving you crazy not seeing your boyfriend everyday and you've been irritable in the past few days and you know it’s all because of Mingyu’s absence.

You pace around the room anxiously. You know they’ve landed in Korea already (nearly an hour ago) which means he should already be here but he isn’t and it’s starting to piss you off. You know there’s probably traffic or paparazzi or something annoyed because he’s an idol and he has to be good for the cameras but really he should be dropping everything and rushing back to you.

You don’t have to wait too long because soon the door is opening and Mingyu walks in. Your heart pounds in your chest at the sight of him but it doesn’t stop a glare from spreading over your face.

You’re mad at him. You’re seething with rage and you want to just wring his neck. You stare at him as he stands there and it fills you with even more anger. He reeks of that cheap ass cologne he always buys despite being a rich K-Pop idol and his outfit is comprised of all black but none of his blacks match and it grinds your gears to no end. You’d think after how many years of being dressed by professional stylists and having a best friend like Minghao he would know how to dress but he still apparently doesn’t.

Your blood is boiling as you approach the man and you don’t even let him speak before you grab him by the collar and pull him into a searing kiss. His lips taste like orange Fanta Lip Smackers and that too makes you angry, just because it does. You don’t pull away from the kiss though, pulling him further into you. He doesn’t complain as he holds you tight against him, kissing you back just as passionately.

When you finally do pull away you’re panting and a frown finds its way onto your face. “You need a haircut.” Your fingers tug at the grown out hair at the back of his neck.

Mingyu snorts. “You know the Carats like my hair like this.”

“Yeah sure,” you mutter.

“You’re so jealous,” Mingyu teases. “You know you’re the most important person in my life.”

“And you’re the biggest pain in mine,” you retort.

“Aw jagiya, I love you too,” Mingyu coos. “Now drop that grumpy act, it won’t work on me anymore. You think after being apart for so long you’d be nicer to me.”

“That’s why I’m so grumpy,” you grumble. “I hate you, you know. If you didn’t make me love you so much I wouldn’t miss you as much.”

Mingyu giggles. “I’m so sorry, I’ll be more considerate of you and your feelings in the future.”

“You should be! Call me more.”

“I won’t have to call you, because I’m here now. You have me all month.”

“A whole month?” Your face finally lights up and Mingyu smiles back and nods. “Just to myself?”

“Just to yourself. Though…I thought you hated me,” Mingyu teases.

“I do. But now you have a whole month to remind me why I love you too.”

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kivino · 6 months

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KIVI, YOU SWEET ANGEL YOU.

can you write a price x gn!paramedic!reader where price is on leave, and maybe he gets into a car accident that isn’t too bad so he refuses to go to the hospital, but the cute paramedic keeps insisting on at least checking him out in the ambulance……….. 😋

DOUBLE VISION || JOHN 'BRAVO 0-6' PRICE X PARAMEDIC!GN!READER

Word counter – ~1.9k

Tags/Warnings – mentions of car crash, intoxication, medical examinations, fluff, first meeting, and lack of medical professionalism, lmao.

A/n – PLSS I HOPE YOU LIKE IT POOKIE, IT TOOK ME A HOT MINUTE TO GET TO THE REQUEST I’M SORRY MWAH. also credits for the name go to @mockerycrow as well, they’re a genious and have the biggest brain out of the two of us.

ao3 link for this fic

It’s always a slow process for John - getting used to the slow, civilian ways when he finally gets his leaves approved. When he spends so much time on the field, more often than not he starts to forget about “the other side” of life. Lack of noise, mundane mornings, and silent nights come and with them, the all-encompassing feeling of loneliness starts to set in his gut. John gets reminded about the lack of anyone’s presence in his life. No one is waiting for him back home, and no one will probably be any time soon, with how work takes over most of his free time. And then the captain remembers he’s not getting any younger.

Of course, he had plenty of experience and relationships before, but none of them lasted until now when his hair was already graying and wrinkles were starting to riddle his face here and there. John wasn’t insecure about his age, no, because that would be foolish, really, rather it was the fact that he had no one to share with all the years that were ahead of him.

What John also had a hard time getting used to was driving the busy streets of London with its crazy drivers after months of not getting behind the wheel, which brings him to this moment. Well, it really was on him for trying to get somewhere after happy hour in all the pubs in the area ended, he should’ve probably anticipated some drunk idiot would want to drive back home today. John wasn’t in the right headspace at the moment to fill out all the paperwork and figure out who was in the wrong. His thoughts were far away from here. Probably all the impact from the airbag and the hit.

He’s had it worse before, of course, so some bruises and scratches here and there wasn’t something he couldn’t handle. John felt some pulsing pain in his knee, making it harder to stand upright, and a bit of an ache in his neck from the whiplash, but again, it wasn’t as bad as getting thrown into the wall by an explosion or falling out of a damn helicopter.

So now he has to spend the whole evening working out things with the police and that drunk idiot who bumped into him, freezing his ass off in the rain. Just perfect. John feels a surge of annoyance and exhaustion wash over him, he pinches his brow, letting out an impatient sigh. Cops have arrived on the scene already and started examining the two collided vehicles, after putting around some traffic cones so some other lucky fellas don’t decide to join in on the fun. From his spot on the sidewalk, John can also see the paramedics, who had to get involved because as soon as cops started questioning that drunk guy, he decided to scrunch into himself and show the world all the contents of his stomach. As if it needed to get even more complicated than it already was.

“Excuse me, sir? You’re the other…driver involved in the accident?” John suddenly hears a voice, a bit on the quiet side, which brings him out of his thoughts that involve strangling somebody in a variety of different ways. And oh, his nights instantly become tens, if not thousands of times better when he sees the owner of said voice.

Judging by the identifying markings you were a paramedic, and a very cute one at that, with your dull green uniform and a big jacket on, brows tied together in a concerned expression. Oh, and your eyes, they looked absolutely lovely in the low streetlights. Price is taken aback for the moment, forgetting every word in his vocabulary. He feels his heart starting to beat faster, blood flowing through his veins so fast he’s sure if it wasn’t for the evening darkness he’d most likely resemble a tomato. But then John realizes he must say something because just staring at you would just make him seem like some old creep. And he absolutely didn’t want that.

“Yes, that would be me.” He speaks up after clearing his throat. You nod to that, attentive gaze still on him. John then adds on after a short pause, which took him to let out a deep sigh. “You need me for anything?” Anything. Something. Please.

“Just checking up.” John feels his heart melt at that small smile that grazes your lips, making it obvious you’re satisfied with his answer. “You seem to be holding up better than the other driver.” You joke in an attempt to either lighten up the mood, which John appreciates, or to calm yourself a bit. It didn’t escape him how you seemed a little shaky. It was Friday night, so today’s shift might have been rough on you. Always the Friday nights.

“Well, anyone would hold up better than that bloke.” He jokes with a bit of abandon, a low chuckle escaping his lips, as he starts to overthink himself. John suddenly feels like a dumb teenager, which is never a good sign, especially when there is someone he’s interested in right in front of him. Price feels like his laugh is too rough, stance is too relaxed and everything is just a bit too much when your eyes are on him. Oh, he’s so going to embarrass himself.

“True, but let’s not tell him that.” You give a quiet laugh and John’s worries die down a little. Not completely, but enough to let his eyes get glued to your face. “How are you feeling? Is there any abnormal pain, anything unusual or out of the ordinary?” Oh, so you’re the type to get straight to business, huh? Interesting. Price liked that. “If there’s anything wrong we’ll get you right to the hospital.” Price declined when he got asked about the hospital before by another paramedic because there was no way he was going to spend even more time out of his house because of some minor scratches. But if it meant you’ll be there, he’s calling dibs on the seat beside you in the ambulance truck, dear lord.

“My knee’s complaining a bit, love.” John can see your eyes going as big as two shiny coins when you hear that pet name, which, to be fair, slipped out completely unintentionally. However, by the way you instantly light up in another shy smile, he can tell you don’t really mind it, so his nervousness caused by this… “happy accident”, comes down again. “Some bruises, but I’m not about to hold you up because of those.”

“Oh, well, that’s alright, come with me and I can check you out…” You stutter over your words while talking a bit too quickly and once you understand what you said, an annoyed groan comes out of you. Way to embarrass yourself. “I mean, check your knee out in the ambulance, alright?” You again shoot him a smile. Which probably is in vain, since he’s a patient at the moment, and you’re at work, and that’s very much frowned upon, but what can you do? You don’t meet a man like that everywhere. He looks a bit rough around the edges, but that’s part of the charm.

“I’m sure your hands are already full with that hero of the day over there, I’m good.” What. The fuck. Are you doing. John. The only chance he gets to talk to you and he’s blowing it, for fuck’s sake. He didn’t know why he said that. Maybe not to seem desperate in a very self-sabotaging way, but that’s just. Oh, John, you’re too old for playing some damn games with someone you like.

“You know what? I insist.” Your voice is lower and rougher. And when you top it off with another one of your sweet smiles and a gentle touch on his shoulder? John is a gone man. Turning into a much, a putty, if you will. God, for this perfect smile he was ready to smash and repair every single house appliance and pipe in your house.

“Alright then. Anything for you, love, lead the way.” And you did, with your hand resting softly on his back, helping him forward. John wished you would’ve been bolded with your touch, so he could feel more than just a light graze, but still. It felt good.

And then he finds himself in the back of the ambulance truck, this cramped, tiny space making him hold his breath from being so goddamn nervous in your presence. You told him to take a seat while rummaging through some cabinets and various medical bags for something. Seemingly not finding anything that you needed you spoke up to him again.

“Okay, now let me see your knee, sir.” You mumbled while kneeling in front of him, your eyes concentrated on the man. He didn’t mind you calling him sir at all. John was so used to being called that, but right now it just spread that very pleasant warm feeling inside of him.

“Well, I’m not taking my pants off. Not without a dinner first.” Price chuckled, as he tried rolling up one of his pants legs. And, well, his statement wasn’t that far from the truth. The whole deal with examination was a bit awkward to begin with, so he didn’t want to make it even worse.

“I’ll think about it, big guy.” You chuckle, as you finally start looking at his knee, small, feather-light touches sending sparks over Price’s skin. So, you enjoyed teasing him like that, huh? In combination with that nice, sweet smile? Oh, John is sold. He definitely should you invite somewhere while he still has time on his leave. But before he can open his mouth to make a brave offer you speak up again. “Looks like you have a minor sprain in here, your knee’s all swollen. I’ll apply some elastic bandages, that you’re going to have to wear for some time and redo yourself. But overall you seem to be doing good” Price couldn’t help but feel like that last remark wasn’t about his health.

“Yeah. Yeah. That’s all fine with me, love. Do what you have to.” You only nod in response, spending some time rummaging in the cupboards once again and emerging victorious with a roll of elastic bandages in your hands. You return to your previous position in front of John, and adjust his knee with a firm hand, mumbling a quiet “Hold still, please”. Oh, he’d freeze for centuries if you had asked him to. But he does, and as you wrap the bandage around his knee, which just kept pulsing with hot pain, he couldn’t help but admire you. The trained movements, the concentrated gaze, the warm touch…Maybe he really should act on his thoughts. Maybe it’s his chance. Maybe something can work out and this accidental meeting will become…something more.

Price wanted it to become something more.

His imagination ran rampant, picturing you wearing some nice and fancy, in case you do agree on a date. John totally should not be thinking this when you were right there, finally putting some finishing touches on his knee bandaging, so he forced them out of his mind and cleared his throat. Here goes nothing. But before Price can even utter a single sound you’re already being called over by your colleague. Guess he’ll just have to wait until you’re free of your duties, huh?

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geminisecrets · 10 months

Text

You First

Warnings: 18+ ONLY! NSFW! Explicit sexual content, coarse language, oral sex, unprotected sex, mild drug and alcohol use, dirty talk idk I think that's it???

Word Count: 4750

Summary: friends with benefits turns complicated when someone's keeping a secret <3

Authors Note: It has been a long time!!! We really are amazed with the writers on here who never lose motivation and always put out the bangers, you guys make it look so easy and that's really cool!! But, alas, we have missed this and are happy to be getting back into the swing of things! We love you guys :')

Y’all are super duper fuckin' rad for telling us what you think about our stuff. ☯️

Requests are open :)

Join our tag list ✨

*disclaimer: apparently the gemini constellation is only seen in Dec/Jan but just pretend you can also see it in July gaslightgaslightgaslightgaskightgaslight!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“Jake, just tell me!” I laugh as Jake digs his fingers into my side, causing me to squeal louder.

“Some secrets are better kept…secret”, he responds with a grin on his face, finally easing up on me as I push him away. “Trust me.” I sit up straighter on his lumpy, familiar couch, but he doesn’t give me any more personal space. He has a way of doing that. Taking up my space. And I wish I could say it bothered me. “Besides, what if I was the one annoying the fuck out of you until you told me your deepest, darkest secrets?”

“First of all, drama queen, you never said this was a deep or dark secret, second, you know everything about me, I’m sure of it. I’m an open book. A free bird,” I respond enthusiastically, getting up off the couch and spreading my arms out like wings.

“Okay, free bird, you first. Are you going to admit you were faking your orgasm last night?” he asks, slouched into the couch, legs spread and hands folded in his lap. That same miserable grin is back on his face. I feel blood rush to my cheeks, coloring me guilty, immediately.

“Fine,” I shrug, attempting to appear unbothered. “Yes, I did. I was tired and you were taking too long.” His grin widens slightly, but his eyes squint as he reads me. It’s times like these, I wish he didn’t know me as well as he did. I really and truly do wear my heart on my sleeve and my emotions tend to play on my face, like a movie screen. “Your turn,” I shift, crossing my arms over my chest.

Jake stands and closes the gap between us in two long strides. His nose is practically brushing mine, he’s so close before he says, “Nice try,” and walks past me into the kitchen.

“I’ll pry it out of you one way or another”, I say, following him begrudgingly.

Jake and I have known each other for years. He was my first crush in middle school, who turned into my first boyfriend in highschool and after graduation, my biggest heartbreak. We tried the whole dating thing, but it was bad for both of us. Jake is very demanding of time and attention. He’s passionate and jealous and honest. I, on the other hand, have always been more free spirited, tending to go with the flow. We’re completely different. Fire and ice.

I could sit here and tell you all the ins and outs of how he hurt me, how I hurt him, and all of the baggage that comes along with young love, but I’ll spare you the sob story. Just trust me when I tell you that Jake and I don’t do relationships well. Neither of us. I couldn't tell you the last time I had a boyfriend for longer than a month before it crashed and burned. And Jake? Jake’s exact words to me the last time I asked were, “I don't really do girlfriends.”

That hasn’t kept us from ignoring the obvious, though. No, we’re well aware of just how well we do fit together physically. Without saying it in so many words we’d become friends with benefits, fast. When I’m home from school and he’s in town, there aren’t many nights we spend without each other. Jake might be too prideful to admit the same, but I can say, honestly, that he’s by far the best sex I’ve ever had.

“What time is everyone supposed to be here?” I question, as I watch him unload the dishwasher, stacking his coffee cups in the annoyingly particular way he always does.

Jake’s throwing a small party tonight with some of our old mutual friends from home, since most everyone is in town for the fourth of July. The usual suspects will be here, I’m sure of it. We’ll fall back into old habits. Playing stupid drinking games until half of us can’t see straight and have to Uber home with our heads hanging out the window in a desperate attempt to dispel the nausea.

I however, know without a shadow of a doubt, as much as I stand at the mirror and tell myself I won’t, that I will be in Jake’s bed tonight instead of the Uber in question.

As if on cue, the doorbell rings. “Come in!” Jake belts out.

“Long time no see!” Jake’s twin brother, Josh, calls from the front door with a lick of sarcasm under his tongue. He shuffles into the kitchen and unpacks what appears to be half of the entire liquor store onto the counter top.

Followed by Josh are Danny and Sam and their usual posse.They all say their hello’s and waste no time making their way into the kitchen to get the drinks flowing.

An hour later, the house is full and the laughs are loud. I’ve missed this. I’ve missed the banter, the blaring music, the escape from reality and the ability this house, this town, has to make us all forget how much distance there really is between the lives we live now and the ones we left behind.

When it’s finally dark enough outside, we gather in the middle of the cul-de-sac and try our best to dodge the sparks flying off the dozens of fireworks Sam and Danny haphazardly detonate. Whoever decided to give control of the explosives to the two drunkest party guests should be criminally charged.

The party quiets down a little bit and migrates to Jake’s backyard. We sit around his dingy homemade fire pit and watch the rest of the fireworks go off all around the neighborhood. The joint being passed around mellows most of us out and we sit there with our heads on the backrest of our camp chairs, tilted to the sky.

“That right there is Gemini,” Sam says, pointing up towards the stars.

“Huh?” I overhear Jake question.

“The Gemini constellation, stupid. The twins?” he scoffs, sounding truly offended, as if this is common knowledge for just anyone.

“You sure you weren't just seeing fireworks?” Jake teases. Sam rolls his eyes into the back of his head and grunts out a rebuttal.

I think in Sam’s past-life he was some kind of hippie astronomer. He knows far too much about the cosmos for someone who decided against post secondary education. However, it’s a helpful tool to gauge just how far-gone Sam is. He always wants to talk about astronomy when he’s had one too many drinks.

The conversation merges into talk of the ‘Good Ol’ Days’ and it’s just a matter of time before–

“Remember when you and Jake tried dating?” Josh yells from the opposite side of the firepit, gesturing to me. There are a few chuckles and eye rolls from the group. Josh loves this story. Loves making me blush and riling his brother up.

I usually ignore it, but it drives Jake insane for some reason. He doesn’t always know how to keep his cool when he is annoyed, especially with his brother. “Is something funny?” he chides.

“Uh oh. Did I poke the bear?” Josh taunts, throwing me a wink.

I am all too familiar with their typical twin banter bullshit, I’ve been around it for years. They like to egg each other on until the other explodes, and if Josh keeps going, he’s going to get exactly what he’s wanting out of Jake.

“Come on, Josh, that topic is so tired, what about your tryst with that one guy…” Danny steps up to save the day and change the conversation as Jake turns to me.

“I’m tired,” he says quietly, yawning widely. Jake has a very small social battery and when he’s done, he’s done.

“Me too,” I breathe, catching his contagious yawn. As we stand to make our way inside, the rest of the party seems to naturally disperse as well. One by one, the party starts to fade out, until there is no one left but Sam.

“I have about $5 in my bank account so uber isn’t an option. Cool if I just crash in the guest room.” Sam says.

“Let me go grab my stuff out of there,” I offer, moving past him to reach for the door handle.

“Oh, shit, sorry I don’t want to put you out if that’s where you were planning on sleeping tonight,” Sam interjects.

“Sam, just go to bed,” Jake orders. I can’t tell if his curt response is due to the fact that I know he’s tired or if he doesn’t want to get into the logistics of exactly where I’d be sleeping instead.

Sam begrudgingly obeys and drags his near lifeless body into the bedroom. I follow him, flicking on the light and collecting my bag off the bed before wishing him goodnight. Before I even have the door completely closed, the light flickers off and we hear a loud thud.

“Jesus, it sounds like he catapulted himself onto the mattress,” Jake huffs out a lazy laugh, wiping away the sleep from his eyes and meanders into the bathroom.

“If I had nine shots of tequila and a rack of beers to myself, I’m sure I'd be doing the same”, I yawn, grabbing my bag and making my way to the living room.

I’ve almost got a little bed completely set up on the couch when Jake snatches the blanket from my hands.

“Come on,” he says, dragging my blanket down the hallway towards his room without muttering another word, let alone giving me half a second to respond. I follow him anyway, stopping in the doorway to watch him shuffle out of his jeans.

“Jake,” I nearly whisper. “If I sleep in here, will you tell me your secret?” I ask as coyly as I can muster at this ungodly hour in the middle of the night. His movements come to a halt when he pulls his shirt over his head, glaring at me.

“I think I’d tell you just about anything to get you to let me sleep,” he groans, but the upward tilt of a smile on his lips reassures you that there’s no real malice behind his words.

I roll my eyes and finally close the door behind me. By the time I take my makeup off and change into a t-shirt, he’s already in bed with the lamp off and the TV on, playing his usual reruns of Shameless. I crawl into bed next to him, and make myself comfortable.

This is…new for us. Sure, I’ve been in bed with Jake before, but not like this. This feels… domestic. Intimate in a way I’m not sure I know how to process. I peer up at Jake, watching him for a few moments as he watches the TV.

“So… this secret…” I coax.

“Hmm,” he barely acknowledges me.

“A deal’s a deal, Kiszka,” I remind him, shifting up on my elbow, my head in my hand, waiting for him to come clean.

“I don’t remember making any deals with you, succubus,” he suppresses a grin as he lazily tosses his arm up and under his pillow, eyes still fixed on the TV.

“I’m in your bed, aren’t I?” I ask, “Now it’s your turn to–”

“I’m pretty sure my exact words were ‘I’d tell you just about anything’. Emphasis on the ‘just about’ part.”

“Are you—”

“You’re gonna have to work a little harder than that,” he breathes out, no longer attempting to hide the smile that’s creeping onto his lips.

I let out a ‘humph’ and fall flat onto my back, arms crossed. I lay there awake for a moment, staring at the ceiling, listening to the ever soothing sounds of Southside Chicago from the TV.

There’s a kind of tension in the room that I don’t think either of us can really place. Sexual tension is not something Jake and I are strangers to. I’ve felt that with him since the day we met. This is not that. This feels tethered to something much deeper.

I think about giving up and calling it a night, but the longer I lay there the harder it is for me to fall asleep. Jake and I don’t do feelings. We’re friends, sure. Friends who have casual sex, but the boundaries we have in place are all unspoken.

I finally work up the courage to break the silence by rustling the sheets as I change positions to lay on my side, facing him. Lazily, he turns his head to look at me. His expression is blank as he waits for me to say something and I become increasingly aware of how close his face is to mine.

“What are you hiding, Jake?” I ask as I intertwine my leg with his under the covers. I feel my breath bounce off of his lips and back on to mine. He scoffs, turning his face back toward the ceiling and pinching the bridge of his nose as if I’m pestering him like a small child.

I maneuver myself even closer to him, my lips latching on to his neck, peppering kisses in a routeless path between his ear lobe and collar bone. I hear him exhale through barely parted lips as he relaxes into my advances.

“Sleepy?” I ask, not-so-subtly propositioning him.

“Not anymore,” he responds, tucking his hair behind his ear and sitting up on his elbows.

I shrug the covers off of myself and maneuver on top of him until I’m straddling his waist. His hands palm my naked thighs as I reach for the hem of his worn t-shirt, pulling it up and over his head.

I let him pull mine off as well and his hands latch on to my breasts almost instantly. Shaking my head, I peel them off of me and place them at his sides, holding them down tightly at the wrist. He gives me a look of confusion and I try and fail to suppress a grin as I lean in to kiss him.

His lips move slowly but persistently against mine and part for me immediately as I lick into his mouth. His tongue slides against my teeth and I take the opportunity to bite down on it gently, causing him to groan into my mouth.

“Jake,” I sigh into his mouth, swiveling my hips against his as I feel him, semi hard between my legs. His hands twitch under my grip.

“Let me touch you,” he breathes, biting down on my lower lip as he pleads.

“No,” I whisper back, kissing him harder as I fall into a rhythm with my hips. Reaching between us, I pull my panties to the side and position myself directly on top of his hard dick, the only thing separating him from my wet core is the thin fabric of his boxer briefs.

“Oh, fuck,” he mutters, eyes squeezing shut.

“No, no,” I reach my free hand up to take his jaw in my grip, the other hand still holding his arm down at his side. “Eyes on me.” His eyes meet mine again as my mouth falls open. A silent gasp escapes me as I slide my wet core against the material of his covered cock. I release his wrist and jaw in favor of placing both hands on his bare chest. “Oh my God, Jake,” I whimper, closing my eyes and tossing my head back. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t putting on a bit of a show. “You’re so hard,” I sigh.

“Can I please fuck you?” he asks breathlessly beneath me, hands knotted obediently in the sheets at his side.

“Hmmm,” I consider, “how could I let you fuck me when you’re keeping all these big secrets?” He glares at me before reaching up and taking me by the waist, knocking me on my back until he’s hovering over me.

“You like secrets,” he reminds me, lips at my ear, sucking on my earlobe before licking a stripe down my neck.

“Do I?” I question, letting myself fully melt into the feeling of his lips and tongue and hands on me while he’s not seeing just how much I’m enjoying it.

“Mhm…or did you want Sam to know what we’re up to in here?” He asks, right hand tugging at my nipple while the other still holds me around my waist, trapped between me and the mattress. I roll my eyes, causing him to pinch my nipple tighter. The sound I let out is somewhere between a moan and a yelp and I clamp my hand over my mouth instantly. Jake giggles, letting his head drop to my chest, kissing at the skin he’d just pinched. “See, secrets are fun. Necessary, even.”

He continues kissing down my body until he reaches my underwear. Looking up at me through his eyelashes, he takes the elastic between his teeth and pulls them down as far as he can before finishing the job with his hands.

When I’m bare and naked before him, he parts my legs wide enough for him to settle between them. “How do you want it tonight?” He asks. This is new territory for us. We don’t… take it slow. We don’t ask questions and, in fact, this is only maybe the second time we’ve ever hooked up in an actual bed. Closet, car, tent, couch, sure. The bed feels… intimate. Where we’re usually rushed and frantic, simply trying to get each other off, we’re now slowing down, touching softly and intentionally.

“Uhm,” I start, not sure how exactly to answer the question. Feeling out of control, I panic, sitting up and taking his face in my hands. My lips crash against his and he’s caught off guard as I press him back against the mattress.

“Not what I was thinking, but I’m not complaining,” Jake smirks, relaxing into the mess of bed sheets, his eyes still tracking my every move.

I make my way down the expanse of his chest to his cock, freeing him from those damned briefs. I don’t waste time pressing my lips to his tip, gently sucking. I watch as his breath causes his abdomen to flutter, up and down. Admiring the way his hip bones jut out on especially deep or sharp inhales. The second his hands are in my hair, I slide him down the back of my throat.

His hips immediately buck upwards as he thrusts himself deeper into my mouth, and I hear him mutter out words of admiration and praise.

“Oh fuck”, “deeper”, “slower”, he doesn’t stop. He’s always been vocal during sex and I can’t get enough of it.

I pull him out of my mouth the second I sense he’s enjoying it a bit too much; moving back up towards him. His hands are still in my hair, but move down the back of my neck, pulling me closer to him. His tongue meets my lips first and then slides under mine like velvet as he slowly repositions me until my back is pressed into the mattress; him hovering over me.

“How bad do you wanna know?” He breathes, eyes meeting mine before his head dips to press wet, sucking kisses to the curve of my neck. I feel myself losing the control I had over this situation, but I can’t seem to make myself care. He lowers himself onto his elbows so that his body is flush with mine. I can feel him, hard, pressed against me.

“Bad,” I mutter, reaching down between us in an attempt to slide him inside of me.

“Ah-ah,” he shifts his hips back, away from me. “Sounds like you’re gonna have to earn it tonight.”

“Earn it?” I ask, trying to focus as his head slowly snakes down my body until I feel his lips press warm kisses on the inside of my thighs.

“Sh”, he silences me. His two fingers dive into my core, and he scissors them, stretching me the way he knows I like. He takes a moment to pull his hair back into a loose bun and he smiles when I make a crack about things getting serious. His tongue finally licks a stripe up my center, pressing hard and flat against my clit, his fingers simultaneously pumping in and out of me.It doesn’t take long for me to get there. I’m close. So close, already.

I feel my legs tense and clench around the sides of his face and my breathing hitches frantically. He uses it to his advantage, pulling me closer by the hips and nearly suffocating himself with me. His palms press against my stomach, holding me firmly in place while I ride out my orgasm.

When he pulls away, he crawls over me and lays his chest against mine. His lips press against the shell of my ear and I feel his breath echo as I stare at the ceiling and try to gather myself.

“I fucking love the sounds you make when you finish”, he whispers as he huffs out a laugh. He uses a free hand to brush the hair off of my neck, tucking it behind my ear.

“Hmmm,” I smile a hum against his shoulder, “probably almost as much as I love hearing you whimper for me.

He scoffs, lifting his head to meet my eyes. “I do not whimper.”

“Wanna bet?” I ask, pressing against his shoulders, pushing him back against the bed.

“Be gentle with me,” he teases. Teases, because he and I both know he prefers me to be far from gentle.

Without another word, I line myself up over top of him and tease him at my entrance. His hips buck up against me immediately, and there's that little gasp. That throaty, breathy puff of air that pours out from between his lips, reminding me that at the end of the day, he really is putty in my hands.

“This gentle enough?” I ask, peeking down through my lashes at him. “Can I make you feel good, now?” I grind my hips downward, my wetness sliding against the length of him as my mouth opens, jaw falling slack, mimicking his. I nod my head slowly, grinning when I finally hear the faintest whisper of a whimper. There it is.

“So impatient,” I grin, only half joking, but he proves my point when, seconds later, he grabs my hips and slams himself into me. My back arches immediately as I let out a loud moan and I hear him gently mock me. He thrusts into me, taking back all that power I had over him, reminding me this time, that I’d do absolutely anything to keep him exactly where he is, inside me, for as long as possible.

Feeling unsteady at this pace, he’s set, I reach behind me to grab his calves for support, hoisting myself up. I let my head fall back as I feel his cock stretch me better at this angle.

“Oh my God, Jake,” I whine, “I c– I can’t–”

Before I can blink, I’m falling swiftly to the mattress below me. I squeal as he grabs my legs behind the knees and folds them up against my chest. He takes his cock in his hand and circles it around my clit, my body pulsing every time I feel the soft head of his cock pass over that ever sensitive bundle of nerves.

“So pretty,” he breathes out, “all of this for me?” He asks, more of a statement than a question, dipping himself into the pool of wetness at my entrance, causing my breath to hitch as he stretches me slowly. I look up to see him grinning and staring at my face, eager for praise and compliment. So I give him just that.

“All for you,” I respond, completely breathlessly. “You’re so good, so so good, best fuck I’ve ever had,” I gasp as he finally pushes himself all the way inside of me, right to the hilt.

I can feel his cock throbbing inside of me, even with the quick snap of his hips. My head starts to bang against the headboard and I would laugh if I wasn’t fully and completely on another planet.

Thankfully he notices without me even saying a word and drags me further down the bed with just one arm around me.

“Sorry, baby,” he grunts, “lemme make you feel better,” his thumb reaches down to press circles against my clit, and I swear to God I see stars.

“Gonna cum again, for me?” He asks, once again, knowing the answer to his own question as he knows my body better than I know it myself. “Wait for me.”

He leans down, breathing heavily against my chest as his sweat slicked forehead rubs against the beads of sweat on my neck. It’s messy and it’s hot and it’s fast as he presses wet kisses to my skin. Somehow, he maintains the perfect pace and I feel him begin to twitch as he lets out a moan, muttering sweet praises into my ear. “Yes, baby. Good girl. So good for me.”

He continues to fuck into me for a moment longer until he feels me cumming again, pushing himself deeper into me, harder, exactly how I like it. He waits a few beats as we catch our breath, enjoying the closeness. He pulls out of me and we both collapse on the bed next to each other until the silence in the room is stiff enough to choke me.

“Can I ask you something?” I question, taking his silence as permission. “Why do you let Josh get under your skin so much?” he turns his head toward me, eyebrows wrinkled in confusion, a hesitant smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“I was– inside you, thirty seconds ago and you’re asking about my brother?” A loud laugh bubbles out of me at his blunt response, but I continue,

“Sorry, timing is weird, I know, but I was thinking, like…” I swallow, directing my attention to the chipping nail polish on my pointer finger, feeling suddenly small under the weight of his stare. “I feel like every time he brings us up, you get weird.”

Jake’s eyes practically roll into the back of his head like some kind of unofficial response.

“Okay fine maybe it’s not Josh, but the subject?” I push further, daring to meet his eyes again.

“Damn, you aren’t gonna give this up, are ya?” He huffs.

“Fine, if you don’t want to talk about that, then at least give me my fair share of the deal.” I lift up on my elbow to peer down at him. “I’d say I more than earned this secret.” I smile.

He looks up at me and for a moment, I can tell he's looking at more than my face. His eyes drift to the hollow of my collar bones, the hairs falling out of the disaster of a ponytail it was in, the space between my ear and neck that he’d breathed quiet promises into just minutes ago.

“What if the two are connected?” He asks, finally. When I give him a look of confusion, he continues, “the way we used to be and– and the secret?”

“I’m listening,” I feel my heart begin to beat just a touch faster, my cheeks warming ever so slightly. He leans up to mirror my position, his eyes meeting mine at a direct level.

“I guess I was just hoping it wasn’t really a secret at all,” he says, eyes searching mine, practically begging me to understand what he’s not saying. The air is heavy and thick between us. He swallows hard as I begin to realize what he’s alluring to.

“Forget it, I–” he begins, breaking our eye contact, ready to make up some lame excuse about being tired and choosing to talk about it in the morning.

“I love you too, Jake,” I blurt out before I can chicken out.

And I will never– ever forget his face when he looked back up at me in that moment.

Because I was finally able to answer, in one sentence, the question he’d been asking for years and years. “Do you love me, like I love you?” Yes, resoundingly and conclusively, yes.

Masterlist

Taglist:

@doodle417 @gvfrry @spicedandicedtea @yeehawbesties @samkiszkalover @gretavansteph @mannick @theweightofjake @basiccortez @lallisonl @sammiejane22 @sammyslappers @gretavanfleas @jakeyboiiiiiii @keighoe @myownparadise96 @gretavanbitches @s0livagant @aconfusedhippie @jordierama @writingcold @fuzzybatpersonafan @mamalikes-gvf @laurenlovesgretavanfleet @alwaysonthemend @saoirsemaeve

#greta van fleet fic #jake gvf #jake kiszka fanfic #jake kiszka #jake kiszka fic #jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka smut #gvf smut #gvf imagine #josh gvf #gvf fanfiction #greta van fleet smut #greta van fleet fanfiction #greta van fleet fan fiction #gretavanfleet #greta van fleet #greta van smut

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chrissturnsgirlll222 · 3 months

Text

second, never first

part one | part two | part three | part four

chris x fem!reader

summary - you grew up hating one guy all of high school but suddenly become close friends, but as time goes on feelings develop, only its one sided.

warnings - underage drinking, throwing up, use of y/n, BOYS (no smut… for now lol and yes i am 18) currently not proofread or written with pristine punctuation

word count - 2500+?? (i know its long but i had a bunch of ideas for the beginning)

this is also my first story so pls be kind :) also just wanted to mention that i wouldn’t have the courage to write and post if it werent for other writers on this app so i would just like to tag and thank a few accounts who inspired me to write<3

@lovingmattysposts @flowerxbunnie @strniohoeee @lacysturniolo @strawberrysturniolo @flynnriderishot @stuniolobbg

for as long as i could remember, being the second option was all i knew. just always being the backup, never the go to.

this constant course of events led to my passion of reading and writing, pretty much consuming myself with content or sources that provided me with a sense of belonging, or just putting myself into a different reality.

i always had been drawn to romance. its a un-comforting comfort for me, if that makes sense. i love reading about it and watching movies about it but love just seemed so out of reach. im sure many people feel this way but i just believe there are certain people in the world that just go through life without any sort of romantic experiences. now while that may be true i also think thats just something i made up in my head to comfort myself from the fact that i have never had a single romantic experience, ever. i mean im 17 years old and havent even had my first kiss. hell i havent even held hands with a boy.

that of course all changed during my senior year.

“oh my god look at what cody sent me” anna says.

anna is my best friend, though at times she felt like my biggest competition. she is everything im not. constantly talking to boys, what people consider ‘boy pretty’, very out going and popular. the fun one.

i look over at her phone to see a text from one of the many boys shes talked to in the past year “i thought you guys were done?” i say

“yeah were not talking like that anymore but i still talk to him here and there” she says

“i dont know if thats the best idea, i mean if you guys keep talking hes probably going to get the wrong impression”

“your such a buzz kill sometimes” she says slightly annoyed. i stay silent. I might sound like a complete bitch here but when your friend is constantly talking or complaining about guy, a, b and c you eventually get bored and exhausted of hearing about it, I try my hardest to be understanding when she brings up guys, but I’m apparently never supportive enough to her standards. I suppose she wants me to be there and give her advice but what do I have to offer to that conversation?

we were driving through the school parking lot to park in our usual spot next to chris.

chris is, well complicated. ive known him since 7th grade and hated him up until about 3 months ago when senior year started. the friendship started off with him just parking next to my car everyday and him just pestering me all the time but the longer we kept parking together, the more we grew to enjoy our casual conversations.

we both roll down our windows.

“morning” i say waving at him, anna does the same “hey, i wanna skip first block if you guys are down” he says “you know i would never say to to that” anna says “ehh i dont know about today i have a bio project i need to work on and didnt getting the planning sheet so i should probably head in” i say

“alright, anna come on i wanna get mcdonalds” chris says tapping on his passenger seat.

“looks like its just us this morning! y/n me and chris can just go get food and ill bring you back something for lunch” anna says turning to me.

“ill see you guys at lunch” i say grabbing my bag and locking my car doors as anna gets in to chris’ car and they drive off.

if you havent caught the weird passive tone from anna, thats how she was. no matter how much i tried she always had to be the centre of attention . i honestly dont even think she does it on purpose. i love her and she is my best friend but i just find her insufferable at times, its just who she is. chris is a great friend to me but i always caught the vibe that chris liked anna or at least thought she was hot. which is also why i think he treats her with more respect than me.

now when i said we grew to like eachother i left out a slight detail.

even though i hated chris for most of high school for the way he treated me and constantly teased me, i couldnt help myself from starring at him from time to time as he talked or even looking at his hands. not only was he visually pleasing he could be really sweet and the conversations we shared were really meaningful at times. was he attractive, yes. was he a complete asshole to me for years and still hasnt apologized, yes. did i completely fall head over heels for him when he began to show me his nice side, sadly yes.

its so cliche but i fell for my “bully” so to speak. i hated myself for it but what i hated even more was how much i let my feelings for him effect how i saw myself even more as the second option. if it came down to it and me anna and him were the only people in the world he would still fuck anna before he even though about kissing me.

i know that i might only feel this way towards him simply because hes the only male thats shown me any attention at all. though it hasnt always been positive or romantic it was still something that i had never experienced from a male before.

like i said, second option.

i finish up my final class and head out to my car and wait for anna who is doing god knows what considering i drive her home everyday after school. while waiting for anna, chris gets into his car and starts it to heat up as it is the beginning of winter. i watch what hes doing through his car window as he scrolls on his phone for a sec and then storms into the backseat of my car, always the backseat.

my head whips around to look at him and he looks annoyed. “why do you look mad” i say. “look at what this bitch said to me” he says leaning up to the middle console shoving his phone in my face and i read texts from a girl hes talking to.

friday 3:14pm

alice: chris i cant keep talking to you

chris: what do you mean

alice: i mean that i cant keep talking to you what were doing is messing with my head and i dont want to be a victim of one of your fuck and dumps

chris: im sure i have many other girls who would kill to be in your position

alice: then go have them i dont want to be apart of your sick and twisted hookups

“ok wow” i say my eyes wide “i didnt even know you were talking to alice”

“well now you do, and im not anymore apparently” he says throwing his arms up as he sinks in to the middle seat. “we have been fucking since the halloween party, remember when i kissed her infront of you?” he says in a duh tone.

ah yes halloween. the night i went home crying after said kiss was shared infront of my face.

“yes i remember” i say blankly.

“we were supposed to hangout tonight but she decided to blow me off, i was ready to get my dick wet but i guess ill just have to be fucking boring alone” he says as i make a disgusted face.

“well i dont know what to te-“ i was cut off by anna coming into the car.

“ok sorry i took so long but i was just getting the details for a party tonight!” she says out of breath. chris sits up at the news, “maybe i will get my dick wet then.” he says smirking and jokingly raising his eyebrows.

“what? alice blew you off already.” anna says turning to chris. i dont bother questioning why anna knew and i didnt because im sure i know answer.

“yep and im scoring tonight.” he says fake punching the air as me and anna giggle.

anna and i finished getting ready at her place, her wearing jeans and a hot pink tank top and me in black jeans and a white long sleeve crop top. i stare at myself in the mirror when i hear annas phone go off with a text from chris.

friday 10:27pm

chris: here

“anna! chris is here!” i yell grabbing my phone and my drinks for the night from my bag and start making my way downstairs as i hear her close behind me. i tie up my shoes as i hear her grab her drinks from her fridge and say bye her parents. i wave goodbye to her parents as well and we make our way out to chris’ car.

upon entering were greeted by matt, chris’ brother in the passenger seat.

“hey matt i didnt know you were coming out tonight!” i say smiling at him as loud music blasts from chris’ speakers.

“yeah nicks also going so i just tagged along, plus i need to drive you guys home since chris is drinking tonight.” he says lightly punching chris in the arm. “oh yeah, speaking of nick where is he?” i say. “nicks already there he came with his friends.” i nod in response and sit back starting to chug down one of my drinks. i may be a buzz kill in annas eyes but i knew how to party and loved drinking with my friends.

matt is chris’ triplet brother along with nick. i never really got to know his brothers all that well, i just know that matt has become a lot more comfortable around me and anna as we have started to spend more time with chris.

once we arrive to the party me and anna walk around to see whos there and we meet up with some of our other friends. i can see chris from across the room laughing and talking to nick and matt.

the night goes on and i finish my fourth cooler of the night and head out to the car to grab another. when i step outside the cool air hits me and i instantly regret the 2 shots of tequila i had on top of the fruity coolers i had throughout the night. shivering and rubbing my arms i continue walking to chris’ car to sit down for a sec and when i reach the backseat i see chris’ naked back and steamy windows. i take a step back once i realize whats happening.

i knew he was going to end up fucking someone tonight since thats what he said his plan was but i did not need to fucking see it. hes not mine for the taking obviously, but seeing him constantly with girls just hurt.

i turn around to walk back into the house but suddenly feel sick to my stomach. i hunch over and throw up in the middle of the road. i cough and collapse to my knees continuing to gag as strings of spit come out of my mouth. i hear a car door shut behind me as i try to stand up wiping my mouth. i feel arms grab my waist and pick me up bridal style and thats the last thing i remember before everything went black.

i wake up in a car with the same clothes on from the party, still drunk, my hair crispy and the smell of cologne. i look around me and realize its chris’ backseat im laying in but its still pitch black out.

i hear faint voices outside and the door my head is resting on swings open and my head flys back.

“holy shit chris are you trying to kill her” i hear matts voice. “shut up, i didn’t know you put her head there.” chris says as he starts pulling me out of the car.

“chris” i say quietly. “holy shit your awake” he says leaving me to sit up. “yeah i am, what happened. i think i- blacked out.” i say slurring my words.

“well i was in the middle of getting with summer-“ he says getting on his knees to talk to me better “and i just heard gagging outside the car and it was bothering me and i looked outside the car and you were bent over on the middle of the road throwing up. i just grabbed you and told summer to fuck off and put you in the car while i grabbed matt and anna.”

“oh my god” i say as i nod off.

“woah woah stay with us here, chris lets get her inside now” matt says placing my head back up.

“where is anna?” i question.

“we had to drop her home and bring you to our house since she said her parents couldn’t see you like this.”

“of course” i say

classic anna.

“what time is it?” i ask rubbing my eyes.

“2:44am” chris grunts taking me out of the car.

“ok lets get you inside” chris says pulling me up to stand. “you think you can walk inside?” he says still holding me up. “ill try.”

he lets go of me and i slowly make it up to the front of their house but start wobbling once i reach the steps and feel both matt and chris grab either side of me and help me up to the front door. matt holds on to my arm as he uses the house key to get inside and i walk in.

they walk me over to the living room couch and i slump over resting my head on the arm rest of the couch.

“where is she going to sleep?” matt says. “my room obviously.” chris says as i smile to myself.

“come on y/n” he says picking me up again and bringing me to his room to lay on his bed. “im gonna give you clothes to change into since yours are covered in vomit.” he says opening drawers. i nod my head as my eyes close.

he tosses me a big white shirt with some graphic designing on it “can you dress yourself or-“ i cut him off “yea- yeah i got it” i say sitting up right and hiccup.

he turns around so i can change into the shirt. i begin taking my long sleeve off and i get one arm off before i get stuck. “chris, help” i say quietly and he turns around to see me with my arms slouched and my eyes closed. he rushes over “lift up your arms” he says pulling my hands up. i hold them up as he grabs the hem of my shirt and slowly pulls up. i admire chris as he pulls off the shirt completely throwing my shirt across the room all while being careful not to look at me.

he grabs his shirt and places it gently over my head and then threading my arms through the shirt. “wait” he says walking over to his closet, grabbing a pair of his sweatpants and walking over to me with them. i sit there with my eyes closed smiling as i had thought about the scenario of him taking my clothes off many times, just not the me being so drunk i cant dress myself part.

he takes my jeans off and helps me in to his sweatpants still being respectful and not starring at my body. “ill be right back just sit here im going to get you water and an advil.” he say as he walks out of the room. i just sit there, my eyes still closed, still smiling and nod at his sentence.

i lay back down on his bed and wait as i hear him rushing upstairs talking to matt and nick before walking back in to the room sitting down at the end of his bed. “sit snd open up.” i obliged to his words before he places two advils on my tongue.

“im going to fill up your mouth with water so don’t breathe.” he says opening up a water bottle and slowly pouring some in to my mouth while my head tilts upwards slightly. he watches me with concern as i swallow the water.

“please never get drunk like this ever again, you really freaked everyone out kid.” he says. i don’t respond and nod at his words.

kid, the all too familiar nickname chris gave me. it always made me feel weird when he called me this as if he was an authority figure or something.

i lay back down on his bed and close my eyes and quickly drift off to sleep. the last thing i remember from that night is him crawling in to his bed next to me and turning off his light.

“goodnight kid”

thank you for reading!!!

#sturniolo triplets #sturniolo edit #sturniolo smut #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo x y/n

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starleska · 5 months

Text

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

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awkward-tension-art · 12 days

Text

Darkness on Umbara Chp.4 (Rex x Reader)

Chapter 3. Chapter 5.

Injured

cw: Rex x Reader, Reader is a medic, incorrect military procedure, graphic descriptions of injuries, blood, swearing, death and battle, Spoilers for the Umbara Arc, Pong Krell is an asshole, reader insert, Reader gets shot, POV of getting seriously hurt, reader is gender neutral, no use of (Y/N), if i miss a tag LMK

Minors DNI, even if theres no smut

You hated that you were right.

It was a total of 15 hours of marching before the battalion was commanded to stop. A quick survey of your surroundings told you that the platoons had made it to a main road.

Ah yes, Anakin’s plan. Follow the road after probing the city's defenses. The scouts ahead would tell the rest of the 501st what to expect. From there, Rex and Krell would be able to plan ahead. Knowing what to expect would keep casualties to a minimum.

“Are you questioning my order!?”

Nevermind…

You sighed, looking up from where you tended to Jock’s broken leg. You were close enough to listen to Pong Krell tear into poor Rex again. He had a holo up, showing a map of the area, and the proposed plan, “this Battalion will take the main road straight to the capital. you will not stop and you will not turn back regardless of the resistance you meet,” He threw his hands up, shutting down the map, “we will attack them with all our troops. Not some sneak attack with a few men! That is my order and you will follow it explicitly. Do I make myself clear, CT-7567?”

You could tell from Rex’s stance that he wasn’t confident in the new General’s plan, in fact, you could tell he flat out hated it, “Yes, General.” but, Rex was a captain, and Krell a general.

“Now engage!” The Jedi commanded, earning a stiff salute from the captain.

You stood, after treating the ARF trooper’s leg. It was a tad more complicated treatment, as you needed to perform a surgery to put the bone back in place. However, after using about a liter of bacta, and some well placed sutures, Jock’s leg should heal fine after some rest. To be safe, you kept him in a medicine induced sleep for the next few hours.

Kix dealt with Oz easily. The medic expertly put the kneecap back into place. The soldier gave an experimental kick and stood, “Good as new, Kix. Thank you.” Oz nodded, sounding rather happy to be back to walking. Or it was the painkillers. You watched him drape an arm around Ringo.

Definitely the painkillers.

You cast a glance over to your lover. His helmet was on and he was already informing the men. Even from where you were, you could see Fives and Jesse ready to argue. It was a stupid plan, and they all knew it.

With a sigh, you got back on the speeder. Since Krell wasn’t going to march at the front, you’d need to stay near him. From what you’ve seen, he’ll probably be at a vantage point overlooking the road. If things went south, which they most likely would with such a careless plan, you’d be a safe distance away to tend to the seriously wounded away from the battlefield.

“Doctor.” The Jedi approached, almost as if your thoughts summoned him. His hands were behind his back, “You will be with the men on the main road.”

You furrowed your brow, “General, my training and rank dictate I always remain behind cover. Usually away from any battle if I can help it. I’m not supposed to be on the front lines.”

Marching with the men was one thing. Marching with the men directly to a battle was another. Plus, you were supposed to maintain the medical supplies and keep an eye on Jock.

“Plans change, as a soldier you need to be prepared to adapt to the situation.” He shot back, tone indicating that he wasn’t going to argue.

“Sir, Jock and the medical supplies-.”

“Will remain with me. Such supplies are too important to be guarded by anyone but me.” Krell stated coldly. You were getting on his nerves and he wasn’t going to budge.

You looked dumbfounded, but saluted, “Yes, General.” Your words were defeated. Still, you had to suck it up and your steps lead you away to where Fives was seething alongside Jesse and Kix.

Rex wasn’t going to like this. You knew he took comfort in your position away from the front lines. Of course, he trusted you could handle yourself but you were a doctor first before a warrior.

“So…I’m marching with you.” You informed them as you all began to walk to the main road.

The ARC trooper practically exploded, “What!?”

“What about the supplies?” Kix sounded downright stressed. He looked back at Krell, who had gotten Appo to drive the speeder. This General wasn’t doing anything to help his nerves. Good men would die if anything happened to that vehicle and everything on it.

“Fuck the supplies, what about you? You're our doctor. Kix won’t be able to handle all of us on his own.” Jesse chimed, “especially if this goes as badly as I think it will.”

You rubbed your temple, “Krell thought it better the supplies would be near him. Keep them off the front lines. I am to remain with the battalion.” Your foot met the flat, glasslike road. If it wasn’t so fucking dark on this planet, you assumed it would look pretty, “I’m pretty sure this is him punishing me for earlier.”

“What?” Your lover had overheard and approached, steps hurried to your side, “Why?”

“Enough, what's done is done.” You sighed, crossing your arms, “If things get bad I’ll do my best to slip away and get to safety.”

“Mesh’la, let me talk to him-.” Rex’s emotions got the better of him and he slipped out a term of endearment. He didn’t want to wait, turning to find the General again. You grabbed his arm, halting him.

“So he can yell at you again?” Your voice was steady, “No, it’ll only piss him off. Besides, I’d risk getting shot if it means spending time away from him.”

Fives snickered, but Rex didn’t seem amused, “I don’t want you getting hurt.” He admitted quietly, “It’s dangerous.”

To be honest, you were nervous. Yes, you’ve seen combat. Yes, you could defend yourself. But you weren't trained for front line combat. You were trained for medical care, potentially even surgery, on the field. You were afraid of becoming a liability. Something for the others to worry about.

And Rex…clearly feared you getting hurt or killed.

You looked around before brushing your hand against his. In response, he grabbed it and squeezed before letting go.

Fives, the ever great friend, stood behind you both, blocking anyone's view of your brief moment of affection.

“Kids, behave.” Kix joked, earning a small laugh from you.

“Oh I absolutely knew something was going on with the both of you,” Jesse snickered.

The clone captain cleared his throat, “I don’t know what you're talking about.”

“Sure, sure.” Fives joined in on the teasing, “No sleepovers between you two. And if you go out, be home before curfew.”

Oh, his brothers did love to tease.

Rex let out a deep sigh and shook his head. You knew under that helmet he was blushing. He was most likely flustered, so you did him the favor of shushing your friends, “That's enough you three.”

The slight jovial mood was ended quickly by another voice, “Sir,” Looking back you recognized Tup walking up next to Hardcase. Hopefully, he hadn’t seen or heard anything between you and the captain. Though, judging by his next question, he most likely didn’t, “why aren't we sticking to the original plan, and probing the city defenses first?”

“We can do this. Let's take them.” The hyperactive trooper raised his weapon slightly.

Jesse scoffed, “Yeah, leave it to Hardcase to dive in head first.”

Fives let his thoughts be known by speaking up again, “The General's new plan is reckless.”

“I agree.” you nodded, “It seems like he doesn’t care about strategy. Or the lives it’ll cost.”

Another trooper interrupted you all, “You ever think that maybe the General knows what he is doing?” Dogma snapped.

“Watch the tone.” Kix retorted, silencing the rather obedient soldier.

“Enough.” Rex stamped out the small quarrel.

Fives turned to him, completely ignoring Dogma’s words, “I know you think this is a bad idea.”

“I raised my objection to General Krell's plan, but he didn't agree.” There was a sigh in the captain's voice, “So, this is it.”

You wanted to hold your lover's hand again. Comfort him. Tell him he was doing as good a job as anyone in this situation. He sounded so…tired. More so than previous battles and planets.

Krell was getting to him.

The ARC trooper argued, “What if he's wrong? Then what?”

You were about to silence him, but Rex spoke again, “This isn't the time for a debate. Right now, we have to stay alert.” He shut down any future objections.

It worked for a time. The men remained silent, paying close attention to their surroundings. It was only broken by Tup muttering, “Eh, it's too quiet out there.”

He was right. After everything you’ve seen on Umbara so far, you should have been ambushed by now. Your hand drifted to your pistol and you pulled it from your holster.

You had the worst feeling.

It didn’t go away, so you kept your head down. Your eyes had adjusted to the low light of Umbara, and now you were able to make out certain details of the road. The tiles were hexagonal, and looked glass-like. You guessed the material was this planet's version of marble. Every step you took was slow and deliberate, however, you stopped.

One of the tiles ahead of you had a very, very minor glow. It was easy to miss if you weren’t looking down.

“Doc?” Fives stopped next to you, keeping a grip on his rifle.

A cold feeling washed through your blood. The quiet made sense. The fact that you hadn’t been attacked yet made sense, “I think-” your warning was cut off.

The ground shook as two explosions went off behind you. The sky was temporarily lit up by the green fires of the traps that were set off. Two troopers cried out, getting sent flying before hitting the ground.

“Mines! Nobody move!” As if on cue, everyone hit the ground, keeping low. Rex had his hand on your back as everyone waited for something else to happen.

Your captain got on one knee beside you and pointed behind him. You stared ahead and listened as two troopers checked on their downed fellows.

“Oz is down.”

“So’s Ringo.”

“Damnit.” you hissed, looking back. Even from where you were you could tell they had died in pieces. Even if they survived, they wouldn’t have lasted long based on where half of Oz’s body lay and both of Ringo’s legs landed, “Didn’t even get a chance.”

Such gruesome, violent sights didn’t cause nightmares anymore. Instead, they only fueled your anger at this war. And right now, you were enraged by this careless plan Krell had thrown at the battalion.

“Can you sweep ‘em?” Rex helped you up as he spoke to Fives.

The ARC trooper scanned the road carefully. Within the rays of the scanner, several of the hexagonal tiles reflected the light, “There are more over here,” He informed the soldiers, “Looks like the whole road’s been boobytrapped. Watch your step.”

The march would have continued, but it felt like four steps later when another explosion went off. The ground shook violently and Umbarans burst from the thick, dark foliage. It seemed like they just teleported around you, immediately shooting. Blaster shots came from all sides.

You dove, getting behind Rex. Your back was to his, and your pistol was in your hands. You matched his steps and he matched yours with skill. If he stepped back, you stepped forward. If you turned he turned. It was a small dance the two of you entered, watching each other's blindspots, and shooting any approaching adversaries.

Above the chaos, you heard Tup cry out, “We’re completely exposed!”

“Hold your ground!” the clone captain ordered the men. He focused, shots firing rapidly all around him.

An explosive shot from one of their cannons landed too close. The shockwave knocked you down, landing next to Hardcase, who was surprisingly upbeat, “You want a piece of this!?” He called out, laughing.

You were too focused on not dying to join in on his chipper attitude. Using the trooper as cover, you managed to get up on your knees and continue shooting.

Another shot rang out, the cannon bolt hitting North directly off his AT-RT. The transport collapsed into pieces, and the ARF trooper remained still on the ground.

Using the smoldering metal vehicle as cover, you rushed to his side. It didn’t really occur to you that his head was 3 meters away until you knelt by his body, staining the lightweight plastoid armor on your legs with his blood.

North. Dead.

You mentally checked him off, needing to shut down and work. Someone screamed in agony behind you, so you hurried to them. A shiny was down, gripping his burning side.

“Come with me.” you grabbed his shoulders and rushed back to the downed AT-RT. The hunk of metal and wires was your only cover in the middle of an ambush. Your training took over, blocking out all the noise and chaos. So you worked.

Third degree burn. Bacta can fix it. Cover in bandages, but not too tight. It was a quick treatment, less than 2 minutes you had the shiny back up and fighting.

Another cannon blast, “We’re blown!” someone cried through the loud bang. The ground shook when another boom followed.

“The Umbarans are advancing!”

“Make them eat heat!”

You had to get away. Lay low until the fighting stopped. Maybe Krell would let you get back to the medical speeder…

Looking around quickly, it was clear that wasn’t an option. The Umbarans were closing in, completely surrounding the soldiers. It seemed as though for every enemy that was shot down, two more would take their place.

Dogma skidded down next to you, “They’re coming from all directions!” He shouted, wordlessly giving you his burnt wrist.

Rude, but OK. This wasn’t the time to correct the soldier on his manners, so silently you treated his wound. Once you were done, he got up again and continued to shoot. You were going to follow him, but the force of a nearby cannon shot knocked you into the downed AT-RT, hitting the air out of your lungs. The hit was hard enough to disorient you for a second.

However, you got your bearings quickly and spotted an Umbara advancing on your position.

You attempted to raise your arm, but failed. Your hand wasn’t cooperating, you couldn’t shoot. A different soldier shot the Umbaran down, saving you. Looking down, you noticed blood. Dogma’s most likely, or North’s, but why would their blood stop your arm from working?

Come on, work! You tried aiming your pistol only to drop it. Your hand wasn’t closing properly. You were shaking.

Why…?

Your brain finally comprehended what happened. The blood was yours. Your arm had been hit. A blaster bolt had knocked you into the AT-RT, not cannon fire.

Calm down. Breath. Assess later. You were conscious. You were breathing. The shot to your upper arm most likely wasn’t that bad. You quickly wrapped the wound in a bandage, deciding to deal with it later. Or shock prevented you from thinking clearly.

“We don’t have any cover!” Fives cried out, throwing an Umbaran down and slamming his fist through their glass helmet.

Rex, thankfully, was still alive. His aim was impeccable despite the stress. Everywhere he looked, he shot and everywhere he shot, he hit the target. His tone was stressed but steady as he spoke, “We need to pull back! Get them to follow us. If we draw them out, we can see them!”

“If we can see them, we can hit ‘em!” Jesse stepped backwards, continuously firing at the enemies. He paused to look down at where you were kneeling. He went noticeably rigid, “Doc-!”

“All squads, pull back now!” The captain’s command cut off the trooper.

Without much thought, you grabbed your gun with your functioning hand and ran. You followed Jesse, as he was the closest to you. Your pace matched his as everyone retreated, following the main road back out of the forest where you entered.

A cannon rang out, hitting one of the trees beside you and Jesse. The glowing plant crackled and fell, slamming to the ground with a boom. The smoking trunk offered some much needed cover. Fives leapt over it, turning and landing on his feet to continue to shoot, “Get ready, here they come!”

A soldier close to you, running with the men, was launched back. He cried out in pain, hand going to his neck as he hit the ground.

Neck shot. Graze most likely. Your training kicked in again. You were a doctor. You had a job to do.

You pushed yourself out of the cover and dove to the injured trooper's side. Above you another ARF trooper was firing from his transport, keeping Umbaran blaster shots away from you as you dragged the poor man behind a collapsed AT-RT.

“I-it’s nothin’ doc,” The trooper kept his hand on the side of his smoldering neck.

“That's for me to decide.” you responded, carefully taking off his helmet,“What's your name, soldier?” He had a scar over his lip, and a blue left eye. A blaster shot nicked the metal cover and the both of you flinched down.

“Noct.” He responded, moving his head slightly to give you easier access to the wound.

“I got you Noct.” Your words were calm and collected despite the raging battle around you. Your one hand worked as quickly as you could, getting bacta and bandages on the trooper. A cannon shot again, shaking the ground, but you adapted, being as precise and careful as possible.

It was hard, since your arm still wasn't listening to you, but you got the job done, earning a “Thank you, doc!” from him.

Once Noct had returned to fighting, you took the chance to run further back. You stopped behind Hardcase, who, respectfully, was fucking insane by standing in the middle of the road and mowing down Umbaras with his minigun, “HAHA! Where are you going!? Get back here!”

Fuck it. You remained behind him instead of finding cover, aiming your pistol and firing at the now retreating enemies. Through your haze of tunnel vision and adrenaline, you realized that more forces had joined you. Krell must’ve sent in reinforcements.

Fives stood from his location behind the downed tree, “They’re pulling back!” he cheered. As he spoke, the shots died down. Soon, it was only your side that fired their weapons until the enemies were gone, leaving only silence.

You raised your com to your lips, “Kix, triage,” Immediately, you and the medic got to work. Neither of you had time to rest as you weaved through the soldiers, checking those on the ground. Kix went to the other side of the field, tending to those there. You found a survivor, knocked unconscious with a bleeding shoulder, without pausing, you went through one of your packs and began to bandage him up.

Star on his chest. This was Pointer. You identified him. Single shot. All the way through.

Despite your focus, the yelling of Krell hit your ears, “CT-7567!” He stomped towards Rex, “Do you have a malfunction in your design!” the besalisk jerked forward, getting an inch away from the captain's face, “you've pulled your forces back from taking the capital city, the enemy now has control of this route!” He shoved one large finger into Rex’s chest, causing the clone to step back, “This entire operation has been compromised because of your failure!”

You wanted to yell at the Jedi. tell him to shut up, but your energy was sapped, your injured arm was starting to hurt and good soldiers were dying because of his fucking plan!

Fives spoke up where you couldn’t, “General Krell in case you haven't noticed Captain Rex just saved this platoon surely you won't fail to recognize that.” He spat, venom and hate dripping from every syllable.

The Jedi turned slowly, facing the ARC trooper, “ARC-555,” His words became cold and furious, and he raised one large lightsaber, “Stand down.” The glowing weapon rested extremely close to Fives’ neck. So close, in fact, you looked down, expecting Krell to flat out kill him.

Thankfully, he backed down, “Sir, yes, sir.” The ARC trooper growled, walking away.

Rex finally fought back in his own way, “Sir if I may address your accusation I followed your orders even in the face of a plan that was, in my opinion, severely flawed,” He stepped forward, keeping his eyes on the General, “A plan that cost us men, not clones, men!” Your lover ripped off his helmet to yell, finally snapping under the pressure of an incompetent leader. Even from a distance you could see the fire in his eyes.

Times like this, you remembered why you loved him. His passion. His determination.

Still, the captain continued, “As sure as it is my duty to remain loyal to your command, I also have another duty, to protect those men.” He was seething, but kept his anger under control. It was impressive as, if you were in his position, you might’ve just shot Krell and blamed the Umbarans.

His words seemed to quiet the Jedi. So you stopped listening, praying maybe he finally understood. Krell could say whatever he wanted, right now you had to focus on the injured soldiers. And there were a lot of them.

Your arm started to hurt again, so you took the chance to inject some painkillers.However, it wouldn't matter, as you didn’t have time to do anything to treat yourself. The Umbarans regrouped and attacked again.

You and Kix would have to wait before you could do your jobs and save the men.

#reader insert #star wars x reader #the clone wars x reader #captain rex x reader #star wars tcw #tcw x you #tcw x reader #captain rex #clone wars 501st #arc trooper fives #clone trooper kix #clone trooper hardcase #clone trooper jesse #pong krell #umbara arc

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