#doey x reader

[dodgeballstuckonthegymceiling]

Doey reacting to the reader saying they're proud of him? Give him that bit of reassurance that he's doing great 🥺🩷

I'm currently working on something really angsty, so consider this an early apology for that! >:)

If you like my work, please consider commissioning me or leaving a tip on Ko-fi (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

Player telling Doey they're proud of him

★ When you first told Doey you were proud of him, he gave you an unreadable look, followed by a moment of silence. "R-Really?" he murmurs. Not being used to praise like that, especially from someone who looks out for him the way you do.

★ He tries not to cry and fails. His eyes well up with a more liquid version of his doughy body. Drops of blue falling to the concrete floor as his lip quivers. He looks fragile like this. Despite being the most dangerous person in this part of the factory.

★ Without even thinking, Doey reaches out for a hug. Like a child seeking comfort from a trusted adult. "Thank you… thank you so much. I really needed that." He says, you can hear the gratitude in his voice.

★ This moment reminds you of who Doey really is. He's just 3 scared children stuck together, made to look after other children who weren't as lucky as him. Without much help.

★ After this, you should probably remind him that he can ask you for help if needs it. He shouldn't need to handle everything on his own. You're the adult, not him. He doesn't need to take care of his friends all by himself. Not anymore.

[wakebymoonsleepbysun]

When you start seeing the anime love bubbles, you're really done for.

(I use my sona in place of YN when I draw cuz self-indulgent, but YN in Second Chances has no canon appearance/race/gender.)

Alt of the second to last panel:

[arimbaudspierre]

siiighhh. scrapped 2k of the doey/reader fic to try and fix some pacing issues that would have really bothered me/set the whole story in a weird direction if i'd left it. it happens >:( fanfic problemsss maybe after the whole thing is done i'll do a big post with all the scenes that got edited out-- there are a lot, but this one is definitely the biggest to get the chopping block. oh well!! let this be a stepping stone to a better, tighter narrative

[potatobugxo]

Hi I have an idea

Imagine the reader got all the toys from Safe Haven, Doey, Poppy, Kissy and Yarnaby out of the factory and make their basement the new home and how life would be like because I imagine all the toys need a wash, they probably forgot about privacy or knocking before entering so would lead to embarrassing moments like Yarnaby walking into the bathroom while the reader is showing and just joining them not understanding that it's wrong but the reader would make a huge meal of pancakes, bacon, sausage and eggs as soon as they're out of there no matter what time of day it is

Sorry if this is long just thought it was a good idea

this is such a silly idea I love this 😭😭

pairings: platonic!doey, poppy, kissy, and yarnaby x player!reader (plus smiling critters!)

-after everyone escapes the factory (and nothing bad happens!!) you take the toys back to where you live, as that would be the safest place for them now that they're out of the factory!

-lets hope your basement is big enough to fit all these critters bc if not, there might be some capacity issues sgfhs

-doey and poppy have the easiest time settling in compared to the others, as they're the most sentient/human, while the other toys are a bit like animals you just brought back from the adoption shelter lol

-the toys are all extremely grateful you saved them and are now giving them a safe place to live outside of the nightmarish factory

-but be warned, they WILL raid your fridge, these guys are starving 🥺

-yarnaby immediately dominates your bed, taking up the entire mattress with his body, so everyone will have to sleep around him. kissy will probably curl up beside the bed with poppy while you and the smiling critters pile up onto yarnaby

-they cannot be without you for more than ten seconds apparently, especially yarnaby and kissy, they are always following you around like lost puppies and wanting your attention!

-say goodbye to privacy because now with giant toys in your house, you never get an ounce of alone time lol

-yarnaby likes whenever you play music, he'll lay down and purr and listen to it for hours!

-poppy is glad to finally have the chance to be a real girl, and asks you if you'll teach her ways about the real world so she can fit in someday!

-doey helps you a lot with chores, since he's the most mature out of the toys. he also feels like they're all a burden to you but you assure him they aren't, and that you appreciate his help!

-the smiling critters kinda just chill, they don't cause too much trouble, aside from climbing all over the place, especially the fridge to reach the sugary cereal you put up high!

-they all LOVE it when you cook breakfast for them, or any meal really! they've only ever eaten scraps from carcasses in the factory, so getting to taste bacon, eggs, and pancakes for the first time is a wonderful experience for them!

-overall the toys are very happy to be at your side, as now they get to live a happy life, away from the cursed playtime factory

[voxslays]

PROTECTION CHARM — POPPY PLAYTIME

SUMMARY: How the cast of Poppy Playtime would protect the player. PAIRINGS: The Doctor, Doey, Kissy, Dogday x Reader.

THE DOCTOR

✮ This man has eyes everywhere. His multiple feeds through the darkened hallways, due to his high tech security cameras and monitors. Although, he would 100% prefer to accompany you. This man is tall and strong. Harley Sawyer isn’t afraid of a fight.

✮ But, if Harley can’t be with you for some reason (working on a classified and undisclosed project with the prototype), he will send Yarnaby to protect you. Some protection is better than none at all, right? He’s still spying through the cams though…

KISSY MISSY

✮ Kissy is a lover not a fighter, which is one of the reasons she was so damaged in the first place. Unlike many of the angry, animalistic, and monstrous toy experiments roaming the abandoned factory, Kissy hasn’t killed anyone—and never will.

✮ However, if you’re in danger? She will pick you up with those long fuzzy arms of hers and run away as fast as she possibly can, her feet squeaking with every step she takes. It would be incredibly cute if you weren’t seconds away from death.

DOGDAY

✮ Dogday doesn’t like fighting, but will if he has to. In the past, he wouldn’t waste a second before attacking if he or someone he had grown to care about was in danger. But now that he’s lost all his limbs from the torso down, he can’t.

✮ It annoys him more than anything, especially now, since Poppy practically forces you to run a bunch of ‘mindless’ and ‘pointless’ (as he would say) tasks that risk your life—and he can’t be there to protect you, which scares him more than he’d care to admit.

DOEY

✮ When Poppy asks you to do her bidding and do small tasks for her, it deeply frustrates and infuriates him (specifically kevin, lol). Doesn’t she know how dangerous the factory is for a human? It’s dangerous enough for a toy already, and being a ‘fragile’ human isn’t much better.

✮ Doey understands your limits—which is one of the reasons he insists on going with you. What if the prototype attacks you, and you’re too exhausted to fight back? Doey is a very laid back guy, but as seen in chapter four, he can and will attack threats.

[car-o-line]

HII wondering if you could do Matthew hallard as readers best friend when they were both in the orphanage?1?1?1 you could add anything else 😼 im not forcing ANYWAY HAVE A GOOD DAYAYAY

I literally SCREAMED I’m so excited to do a ppt request because chapter 4 was amazing, and because of my ppt brainrot I’ll do Kevin/Jack as well! AND I HOPE UR DAY IS JUST AS AMAZING AS THIS REQUEST🧡❤️💛

Being friends with Matthew/Kevin/Jack(before/after Doey)

Part 2 <3

Matthew Hallard:

Probably the nicest teenager anyone’s ever met tbh.

Whether you’re younger than him or around the same age as him he’ll treat you like his little sibling. There’s no stopping it.

Always puts your needs above his and he won’t compromise that at all.

Oh you’re thirsty? He suddenly has an apple juice box in his hand! Hungry? Well now he suddenly has a bag of chips in his backpack!

(They were supposed to be for him but shh)

Makes sure all your homework’s done, if not then he’ll scold you for it.

But then he’ll feel bad and help you do it.

If you were around his age you'd probably know about his parent’s accidents he couldn’t prevent.

If you were younger he’d save that topic for when you were older, if only he had time left.

He’d be worried sick when you were taken away because you were “sick”.

Once you came back you seemed hazy, it made him nervous so he held your hand just to let you know that he was there, until you were officially “adopted.”

Later he really found out through his own “sickness” what “adoption” meant.

He hates what the scientists did to you, did to him. It gives him a reason to keep going as Doey.

Kevin Barnes:

How??

Like actually how.

Kevin doesn’t know why he considers you his friend ngl.

The scientists were definitely interested in how you and Kevin got along without you running away from him.

They couldn’t care less about the friendship part but they want to know how it started.

It was easy actually, he randomly tackled you to the ground even though you’ve both never talked before.

You didn’t cry, or scream, instead you reacted like it was a game. Which it was, kind of.

Kevin won in the end because of his physical ability but you thought it was really fun!

So now every time he gets bored he tries to find you and tackle you again.

Other than that he cares for you in his own way.

Like when the scientist took you away because of your sickness?

He wouldn’t let go of your arm no matter how hard the scientists tried to pull.

And the more they did that the more times he’d yell at them that you were fine and didn’t need them.

But they got you when he was sleeping, and when he woke up a new toy appeared in the Playtime Facility.

He never saw you again, even after he was “adopted.”

Jack Ayers:

While he wasn’t an orphan he did go on a visit to the Playtime Factory.

He met you through there, he was really excited to make a new friend.

He asked you so many questions about the orphanage and the facility.

In exchange you got to ask him about his home life and how the outside was.

“You haven’t been outside?”

“This area is considered the outside silly!”

“Really..?”

He felt bad for you and suggested that his parents adopted you!

(they said no)

Instead you just took him to see “Home Sweet Home” and showed him your room.

Then Jacks trip to facility was over and he had to leave, but before that his family was watch the process of making Doey.

Jack leaned over the railings to have a closer look but fell into one of vat machines that were making dough.

But the last glimpse of his consciousness he saw a what looked to be a kid with h/c walking with a scientist to one of the offices.

[bumblehoneybee]

Imagine Doey, or DogDay, or Kissy and Poppy stumbling upon Angel after finding out they're not a real person, but another of The Doctor's creations, spare parts put to use.

They sit there on their knees, documents or a tape about their creation in hand. Perhaps given by The Doctor because they just couldn't believe it.

Angst. :3

What Makes A Person

It's. . . not right.

Doey doesn't know you as well as Poppy, but he can tell you're not right, knelt on the floor in a circle of papers and photos. His reasons for coming to this place, sneaking so close to where the Doctor lies, are lost to the back of his mind.

"Hey. . ." He starts, but you turn, killing the words in his throat.

You stare at him over your shoulder, face half obscured by the ridges of your GrabPack. Your eyes are dull, not looking at him, shining in the low lights.

A TV cuts on. Doey snaps to it, hand out towards you, not that you even move as voices crackle through the old speakers. The screen is blurry, filled with static, but he can see familiar tables and tools. The scenes cut around, the table filling with more and more parts, pieces stitched together into a new, familiar shape.

When the head is added, Doey looks to you. He doesn't know what to say, mind filled with shouting and confusion. Instead, he points one stubby finger to the screen, to the body that lies there.

You face your documents, your photos, your history. The pain holds you there, bent over and forced to face it all. Not even the cool touch of dough eases the burn of humiliation that engulfs you.

Doey eases down onto the floor, carefully sinking his weight into your back. He can feel your heartbeat, fluttering and fast, and wonders if he knew the owner. Every bit of you is from someone else, someone he might have known, before all of this.

You know it too, no doubt.

It's not fun, the realization. So Doey sits through it with you, holds you down when the anger flares, and keeps you up when it melts into devastation.

And for the time, his head is quiet. Focused on you, and the grief that drowns you.

[theoneandonlysourcandy]

PLATONIC DOEY X YOUNG TOY READER

Art creds: Paper-Starz (if the name is wrong pls tell me)

I need more brotherly doey x reader dude HES LITERALLY MY BIG BROTHER ☹️ in this the reader is 5-7 years old, and this is whenever the hoppy vhs tape took place

🧸- Doey had noticed fairly quickly that you acted younger than most toys. It made his heart absolutely ache thinking of how young you might’ve been, going through so much pain. He made an effort to look out for you, just in case he was right about his suspicions.

🧸 - He hated that he was correct. When out looking for supplies one day, in one of the offices, he had found a document about you. Kevin was furious. But, Matthew had managed to calm him down.

🧸 - He’d want you to stay in the safe haven most of the time, not wanting you to have to face any more horrors. He can be a bit protective of the other toys at times, but with you, that’s cranked up a bit.

🧸 - If your a bigger body? He’d convince the others to not have you scavenge with them.

🧸 - He’d definitely love reading books to you and the others, and in his free time would help you with reading too. His favorite is definitely adventures of the word wizard.

🧸 - Sometimes he’ll think about how the toys had to live before he found them, and it makes him really sad, so it HURTS thinking of what you might’ve lived like. Someone so young and all alone, hurting so much-he has to force himself to get distracted by something to stop thinking about it.

🧸 - Maybe you and doey would play shop together or something at that little lost and found thingy, if it’s just a pretend thing the toys made up.

🧸 - might let you wear his hat if you ask nicely. MIGHT. I headcanon that he absolutely loves his hat.

🧸 - Jack would like to play with you, and read stories together.

🧸 - Matthews definitely the one helping you with reading, and the most devastated by the document.

🧸 - Kevin would try his best to be more gentle around you, but sometimes he just can’t help it.

[bunji-enthusiast]

I had this in thought alot! (It's gory if you don't mind!)

Poppy playtime player becoming so hungry at this point that their losing their sanity and thinking of eating the corpses For survival so the rest has to hold player down from eating the corpses!

(I know its gory and so sorry if it made you uncomfortable)

𝐖𝐚𝐲 𝐃𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐖𝐞 𝐆𝐨

Sypnosis [The tempting smell of the corpses becomes more and more frequent, it eventually became too hard for you too ignore due to your increasing hunger. Luckily, you had some allies to help you resist it; even if forcibly.]

Characters [Kissy Missy, DogDay, Poppy, Doey The Doughman. (Seperate)]

Note || you didn’t make me uncomfortable at all! Don’t worry, but it’s a topic I tried to write with care. This shit is a very real thing that can happen, and should be treated with caution and respect.

Kissy Missy

You had never imagined it would come to this: an insatiable hunger gnawing at your gut, unrelenting as the hours passed. You, once a proud employee of Playtime Co., found yourself trapped in the eerie, decaying remnants of the factory, alongside strange, monstrous beings that had once been your colleagues. The stench of death lingered thick in the air, a heavy reminder of the atrocities committed during The Hour of Joy, but now it did more than just disgust you. Now, it tempted you.

At first, you fought against the gnawing cravings that threatened to overtake you. How could you—someone who had worked here—ever think of consuming the bodies of the very ones you had once known, even if they were twisted remnants of their former selves? And yet, each passing hour made it harder to resist, each sight of a fallen figure, each whiff of their decaying flesh, made your resolve falter. Hunger, once a mere inconvenience, became a ravenous beast clawing at your insides.

But you were not alone in this misery. Kissy Missy, who had once been just another experiment under Playtime Co.'s cruel reign, was there, always by your side. Tall and slender, her pink fur now marred by the scars of countless battles, she seemed almost... human in a way. Her blue bow and yellow hands stood out against her once pristine pink fur, now tattered from years of neglect and violence. She had been through her own trauma, the burns on her right side proof of that, yet she still managed to offer you a strange sense of comfort, a reminder that you weren't the only one left with so much lost.

You hated the hunger, but it was her presence that kept you from succumbing. Despite her own pain and injuries, she remained strong, acting as a barrier between you and the darkness threatening to overtake you.

Kissy's efforts were not subtle. She could see the desperation in your eyes as you edged closer to the corpses scattered around the facility, the lifeless remains of those who had been victims of the Prototype’s reign. She had already seen what the hunger could do to a person, and she would be damned if she allowed you to fall victim to it.

"Don’t," she would warn, her voice surprisingly gentle despite the fierceness that radiated from her. "Stay with me."

You hated that she had to intervene, to hold you back with both her force and concern. But you knew deep down that she was right. If she weren't there, you might have already given in, becoming something far worse than you already were. The hunger was more than just physical. It was a pull, a drive to consume the very thing that you had once been, the remnants of a life that had crumbled away into twisted, grotesque shapes.

Each time you got too close, her grip tightened around your arm, pulling you away from the gruesome temptation. There were moments, though, when you could feel your resistance weakening, when the hunger surged so strongly that it drowned out every other thought. At those times, she was not gentle. She would force you back, pushing you away from the remains, her sharp eyes filled with a mix of sorrow and fierce determination.

It was only then, in those moments, that you saw the lengths she was willing to go to keep you from crossing that line. The force she applied was not cruel but necessary. You were no longer yourself, a mere shell of who you once were. And she, though herself a victim of this cruel factory, refused to let you become something even worse.

"You’re not one of them," Kissy would say, her voice laced with a fierce protectiveness. "Don’t lose yourself."

There was something strange about the way she said it, as though she knew something deeper, something that had been lost to you. You were not just another victim of the Prototype’s horrific games—you were something else, something worth saving.

The hunger didn’t go away, not entirely. But you fought against it, clinging to the memory of who you used to be. And as each day passed, as each battle with your own cravings grew more intense, you realized that you weren’t alone in this anymore. Kissy Missy, despite her own pain, was there, holding you back from the abyss, keeping you tethered to whatever humanity you had left.

She would do anything to prevent you from falling, even if it meant pushing you to your breaking point. And in the end, you knew you owed her more than just your survival. She had become your anchor in a world that had long since drowned in darkness, guiding you through the factory’s nightmarish halls with a strength that you had long since lost.

But even then, there were moments when the hunger threatened to overtake you, and in those moments, you understood just how far Kissy Missy was willing to go to save you from yourself. She was more than just an ally; she was a reminder of the last shred of humanity that existed in this forsaken place.

Would you be able to resist the temptation forever? Could you both survive the horrors that awaited you in the depths of Playtime Co.? Only time would tell, but as long as Kissy Missy was there, you felt a sliver of hope that you might just find a way to escape the darkness together.

DogDay

You stagger through the cold, decaying corridors, your stomach gnawing at you with an unbearable hunger. It's been hours since you last found food, and your body is betraying you. The thought of cannibalism has been creeping into your mind, tempting you like a forbidden fruit. The idea repulses you, but with every passing hour, that same thought grows more and more alluring. Your lips are dry, your body weak, and every fiber of your being is screaming for sustenance. You grit your teeth, trying to push the urge down, but it rises again, a terrifying whisper in the back of your mind.

"Why not?" it asks, a cold voice that isn't your own. "What else is there? Food is food, isn't it?"

You stumble forward, your vision blurred from exhaustion. The floor beneath you seems to shift, as if the very foundation of this forsaken place is alive. You know you're being driven mad, but your hunger, that primal instinct, is overpowering. The walls seem to close in on you, their decay a reflection of your own deteriorating state of mind.

Just as you're about to give in to the temptation, a voice, soft yet commanding, cuts through the haze of your thoughts.

"Don't," DogDay says, his monotone voice a calm anchor in the storm that rages inside you. His words are a gentle plea, a reminder of the bond you share with him.

You turn to see him, his disfigured form standing in the shadowed corner of the hallway. His orange fur is a stark contrast to the darkness surrounding you, and despite his monstrous appearance, there's a sense of comfort in his presence. His body is a grotesque mockery of what it once was, bisected at the waist and held together with leather straps, yet his eyes, black and expressive, seem to convey nothing but concern for you.

"DogDay..." you mutter, your voice hoarse, as you struggle to stand. "I can't... I don't know how much longer I can hold on."

DogDay's head tilts slightly, as if he understands the torment you're going through. He knows. He's been there before, though perhaps in a different way. His stitched-together body speaks of an existence far more painful than yours could ever be. And yet, he chooses to help you, to guide you through this madness.

"I won't let you," DogDay says firmly, his voice barely above a whisper. "You can't. This isn't the way."

You can feel the weight of his words sink into you, and for a moment, you close your eyes, trying to push the hunger down again. But it lingers, gnawing at your insides. It's tempting, so tempting to give in.

But DogDay is here. He always has been.

You turn to him, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you take a step back. Not just from the hunger, but from the madness that has consumed you. You're not alone. DogDay is here, and though he can't move as freely as he once did, he is steadfast in his support.

The moment passes, but the hunger is still there, lurking beneath the surface. It's waiting for you to falter, to give in. But DogDay won't let that happen.

"Stay with me," he urges, his voice as steady as ever. "I know the darkness calls to you, but you're stronger than it. We just need to keep moving. Keep moving, and we'll find a way out."

You nod, wiping the sweat from your brow. The hunger doesn't go away, but for now, it's bearable. You can withstand it. With DogDay by your side, you will survive this.

As you walk together through the decaying corridors, the weight of the past still hanging heavily on your shoulders, you can't help but wonder just how far DogDay has come. He was once part of a group, the Smiling Critters, living in harmony with the experiments, but all of that changed during The Hour of Joy. The chaos, the bloodshed, it shattered everything. DogDay was left behind, a solitary figure in a world gone mad. Yet, through it all, he remained resilient, steadfast in his determination to help you.

"I was not always like this," DogDay says quietly, as if reading your thoughts. "I had a family once. A purpose. But that was taken from me, just like it was taken from everyone else."

His words hang in the air, heavy with grief and longing. You know the story, of course. The Smiling Critters' revolt against the Prototype, their deaths, and DogDay's subsequent imprisonment by CatNap. It was a tragic tale, one that left DogDay scarred in both body and mind. But despite it all, he chose to survive.

And now, he chooses to help you survive.

The thought is enough to steel your resolve. You can do this. You will not succumb to the darkness. Not while DogDay is here to keep you grounded.

The two of you move forward, one step at a time, the silence between you comfortable, yet filled with unspoken understanding. The hunger still claws at you, but for now, you resist. With DogDay by your side, you know you can make it through this.

Poppy

The atmosphere in the factory was suffocating. The low hum of machines, the distant clattering of metal, and the unsettling silence in between all gnawed at you. You'd been walking for hours now, your stomach growling like an angry beast inside of you, each hour dragging the hunger closer to the surface. There was a time when you’d had a deep hatred for the idea of cannibalism. But now? The thought didn’t seem so absurd. Every inch of your body ached with need. The edges of your vision blurred with hunger, but still, you resisted the impulse.

"You need to hold it together," you muttered to yourself, your voice hoarse and desperate. You couldn't let your mind go there, couldn’t let the gnawing hunger take you to such a dark place.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw her—Poppy. A doll, yes, but one that seemed to hold some kind of strange power over you. She was small, porcelain skin cracked, but her eyes... her eyes were too real. Too alive. The crack running across her face only seemed to add to the unsettling, almost haunting nature of her presence. Yet she was there, watching over you, her concern evident even with her painted smile.

"Are you okay?" Poppy's voice, though childlike, held an unexpected firmness, as if she knew exactly what you were going through.

"Do I look okay?" you snapped, frustration bubbling to the surface. "I'm starving. I'm dying. And you're... just a doll. What could you possibly understand?"

Poppy didn't flinch. She merely tilted her head, her glassy blue eyes reflecting your pain in a way that only made the hunger worse. But there was something else behind those eyes. Understanding? Sympathy? It was hard to tell.

"I understand more than you think," she said quietly. "You don't want to go down that path. Trust me."

Her words held a strange weight. Despite her being a mere doll, she exuded a certain authority—like she was guiding you, almost protecting you from your own darkness. It was unnerving and, yet, comforting at the same time.

You stepped back, wiping your brow, but the hunger wouldn't let you go. It clawed at you, deep within, screaming to be fed. Your hand instinctively reached towards the nearest source of food—a small, half-eaten rat carcass lying in the shadows.

Before your fingers could wrap around it, Poppy's small, porcelain hand shot out. "No," she said sharply, her voice cutting through the fog in your mind. "I won't let you."

You froze, staring at her, confused. "What... what are you going to do about it? You're just a doll. What power do you have?"

Poppy's eyes narrowed. "I have more power than you think. And I will stop you."

Before you could process the words, Poppy was suddenly in front of you, her small hand placed firmly on your chest. You felt a strange warmth spread from the spot where her hand met your skin, and for a moment, the hunger seemed to ebb away, replaced by something else—something deeper. But just as quickly, the warmth was gone, replaced by a biting cold as Poppy stepped back.

"You don't understand," she said, her voice softer now. "I won't let you become like them. I won't let you become like... him."

You stared at her in confusion, your mind too clouded with hunger to process what she meant. You'd heard the whispers about the Prototype, the monster who twisted everything around him, but you couldn’t focus on that now. Not with the gnawing ache in your gut.

"I can't hold on much longer," you whispered. "I need food. Real food."

Poppy took a deep breath, her porcelain face still. She seemed to consider something before her eyes flickered to the side, as if she were contemplating an action. Then, with a sudden, sharp motion, she grabbed your wrist.

"You will not fall to this. Not while I’m here. Not while there’s a chance."

The intensity in her voice stunned you. You'd never expected a doll—a toy—to show such determination. But it was there. Her unwavering resolve was impossible to ignore.

"You don't understand," you said again, more urgently this time. "You can't stop me. You don't know what it’s like to be on the edge like this... to be so desperate."

Poppy's eyes softened, but her grip on your wrist tightened. "I do understand," she whispered. "I've seen the consequences of desperation. I've seen what it can turn you into. And I won't let you become that."

You looked into her eyes, seeing not a doll, but something much more complex. Something alive, struggling with the same darkness you were. She was just as broken as you, perhaps even more so, trapped in this hellish place for who knows how long.

"I will fight this," you rasped, voice trembling.

"You will fight this," Poppy repeated, as though reinforcing the promise to yourself. "I won't let you lose."

The hunger still gnawed at you, but there was something in Poppy's words—a lifeline. A chance. You weren’t sure if it was enough to save you, but you weren’t alone anymore. She had no power over your body, but in this twisted game of survival, she had become your tether. Your reminder of something you had long forgotten: humanity. You just had to hold on.

And for the first time in hours, you didn’t feel entirely alone.

Doey The Doughman

It had hours, maybe even more then a couple days—you couldn’t tell anymore. Time had become a blur, and the hunger gnawed at you with an intensity you could hardly describe. Your stomach was a hollow pit, and every hour that passed, the sensation grew worse. You hated it. You hated the very idea of what you were beginning to consider. But your options were running out.

The factory, once a place full of life and color, now stood desolate, a rotting carcass of what it had once been. Its walls, dim and cracked, seemed to close in on you with every passing moment. Your search for food had been fruitless, and what remained of the once-thriving operations was little more than discarded remnants of forgotten lives. Desperation had begun to seep into your thoughts, and with it, a temptation you never thought you would entertain.

Cannibalism. The idea lingered in the back of your mind like a whisper in the dark. You knew it was wrong, morally abhorrent, but the hunger—it was becoming unbearable. You couldn’t deny that the flesh of another being, even one of the toy creatures that had once roamed this place, might offer a solution. You didn’t want to think about it, but your body cried out for sustenance.

It was then that you heard the soft squish of footsteps approaching. You turned, blinking against the fading light, and saw him: Doey.

The dough-like creature was an oddity in this forsaken world. His body, made of multicolored, clay-like dough, seemed to shimmer in the dimness. His long arms—orange and yellow—hung at his sides, his short, stubby red legs moving with surprising speed. The blue bowler hat perched on his head was almost comical against his mismatched features, and his simple, expressive face, with a line for a mouth and two holes for eyes, always seemed to radiate an air of cheer, even in the darkest of times.

"Hey there," Doey’s voice was calm, but there was an undertone of concern that you couldn’t ignore. He could always tell when something was wrong, even if you hadn’t spoken a word.

You had never been one for speaking about your feelings, especially with a creature like Doey. You didn’t trust anyone—not after everything you’d been through. But there was something different about him. Something about his kindness, his willingness to help, even when it meant putting himself in danger.

"I know you're struggling," Doey said, his eyes narrowing as he read your expression. "But you have to resist it. You can’t let the hunger take control of you. Not like this."

You swallowed hard, feeling the knot in your throat tighten. "I don’t know if I can hold on much longer," you muttered, your voice barely a whisper.

Doey stepped closer, his large arms almost seeming to engulf you in their reach as he gently placed a hand on your shoulder. "I’m not going to let you fall into that darkness," he said firmly. "I promised you. I’ll help you resist, even if it means doing things you might not like."

You blinked, looking at the doughy figure in disbelief. "What are you talking about?"

Without warning, Doey’s expression shifted from that of a friendly companion to something far more serious. The playful demeanor that usually characterized his every move was gone, replaced by a cold determination. "I’m going to stop you if I have to," he said, his voice stern, yet full of understanding. "I won’t let you give in to it."

Your breath hitched, and for the first time, you felt a flicker of fear. It wasn’t from Doey himself, but from the fact that you knew, deep down, he was right. If you gave in, it wouldn’t just be your body that suffered—it would be your soul, too. But the temptation was so strong. It was almost impossible to push it away.

"Don’t make me do this," Doey warned, as if sensing your internal struggle. "You don’t want to go down that path."

The hunger inside you raged, a beast that tore at your insides. Your thoughts were clouded by the vision of the soft, tender flesh that could satiate you. You tried to push the thoughts away, but they clung to your mind like a shadow.

You took a step forward, your hands trembling as you gripped a nearby piece of metal, your mind flickering with the thought of using it, of ending the misery that had overtaken you.

"Don’t," Doey’s voice was sharp, his body blocking your path. "I will stop you, even if it means I have to restrain you."

He wasn’t threatening. He was determined. And in that moment, you knew he would do it.

You locked eyes with him, the weight of your internal battle becoming unbearable. The hunger had made you weak, both physically and mentally, but Doey was your anchor, a reminder of the better part of yourself. He wasn’t just a friend; he was a lifeline.

"Please," you whispered, the word escaping you before you could stop it. "I can’t—"

Doey didn’t give you a chance to finish. His long, orange arm shot out, grabbing you by the wrist with surprising force. "I won’t let you go there," he said softly, but with an unmistakable firmness. "You’re not alone in this. Not anymore."

For a moment, you struggled, but the strength in his grip was like nothing you had ever encountered. He wasn’t trying to hurt you—he was holding you, not with force, but with care.

"Just breathe," Doey said, guiding you to sit down on the cold concrete floor. "We’ll get through this. Together."

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to lean into him. The hunger was still there, gnawing at the edges of your mind, but with Doey by your side, the battle didn’t seem so hopeless.

You weren’t alone.

And that, you realized, was more than you could have hoped for in a place like this.

[snowyduck]

The Safe Haven was eerily quiet, save for the soft sounds of shifting clay. Doey sat close, watching as Player curled up on their cot, exhaustion evident in the way their body refused to move any further. Their breathing was slow, uneven, their limbs trembling from overuse.

Doey huffed, his clay shifting around him. “You push yourself too much,” he muttered, almost annoyed, though there was no real bite to his words. He wasn’t used to worrying about someone else.

Player blinked up at him, their expression tired but otherwise unreadable. They didn’t respond—not that they ever did. They never spoke. Never made a sound.

Doey had gotten used to it by now, filling the silence himself when he had to. Still, their lack of response bothered him tonight. They were too drained to even gesture.

With a sigh, Doey extended his clay, carefully adjusting the blanket over them. It wasn’t perfect, but he wasn’t about to just sit there and do nothing.

“You’re lucky I like you,” he mumbled, half-joking. “Otherwise, I’d let you suffer for being so reckless.”

Player’s fingers twitched slightly, the closest thing to a response they could give.

Doey rolled his eyes but stayed put. His clay shifted around them both, forming a protective layer over the entrance. If anything tried to get in, it would have to go through him first.

“Just sleep,” he muttered, quieter this time. “I’ll keep watch.”

For once, Player didn’t resist.

[dodgeballstuckonthegymceiling]

Hii, I don't know if you've already written something similar to this, but could you write what it would be like if the player had anxiety attacks in front of dog day or doey?

I've never had an anxiety attack, but I have had plenty of panic attacks. They are kind of similar but not entirely. So, I wrote about the Player having a panic attack instead.

If you like my work, please consider commissioning me or leaving a tip on Ko-fi (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

Dogday and Doey & Player who's having a panic attack

Dogday

★ As the Player's panic attack sets in, Dogday's heart sinks. He approaches the player with a calm, steady voice. Gently taking their trembling hands into his own, if the Player is comfortable with being touched, that is.

★ He uses distraction techniques to help shift the player's focus away from what troubled you. He might ask them to describe their surroundings, name five things they can see, or count the things around them that match a certain color.

★ Though it's hard, Dogday helps you through the worst of it. Remaining by your side and talking you through it. "I'm right here with you. Nothing bad is going to happen." He pauses to squeeze your hand "Try not to let your mind wander too far."

★ Dogday doesn't let go of your hand, even as you begin to relax. Understanding that you might need some quiet time to fully calm down. Dogday might lay his head in your lap like a regular dog and let you pet him. As weird as it sounds, it kind of helped.

Doey

★ When you curl into yourself as everything feels like too much, Doey lowers himself. Trying to look as small as possible so he can avoid overwhelming you. The last thing he wants is to add to your anxiety.

★ Doey would guide the player through simple breathing exercises. With Mathew taking the reins for this one. His voice is as calming as he can muster to try and reassure the Player. "Breathe in for four seconds… hold for four more… and breathe out. There you go. Just like that."

★ He won't touch you unless you ask him to or initiate the touch. If you want to be held, he'll do just that. Enveloping you with a hug that makes you feel protected. If not, Doey stays outside your personal bubble. Respecting your need for space.

★ As the panic attack starts to fade, he stays by your side to make sure you're really feeling better. Bringing you a cup of water and blanket to try and lift your spirits. Throughout the rest of the day, Doey makes a point to check in on you.

[alley-cat-y2k]

doodles I did of doey when I was bored in class ╮(─▽─)╭

[wakebymoonsleepbysun]

Untitled Doey X Reader Ch 1

Update: Now on ao3, updates will be posted there (and linked via tumblr) -> https://archiveofourown.org/works/63346465/chapters/162287860

So uh. Decided to do this. I'll put it up on ao3 eventually (with slightly more editing maybe), probably sometime after I get chapter 2 written. And after I figure out a title.

Summary: After the destruction of the Playtime Co factory, Doey finds what little remains of himself falling through the cave systems and into a river, where he's brought practically to your door.

----

Doey had been so sure he’d been killed.

He’s died three times after all. It’s a familiar feeling.

Darkness. Numbness. A chilling cold that reaches through his body and wraps around his very consciousness, pulling him down…down…down……

Surely this time he won’t be pulled back. Who’s left to even try? The Doctor’s dead, Doey’s family at Safe Haven are all dead…whatever few remain alive in the factory’s underbelly are probably close behind, if Poppy has anything to say about it.

Doey’s not sure how much time passes between that thought and the explosion. A minute? An hour? A week? A year?

He’s not formed enough to see, nor to hear. But he feels the depths of the factory, of the very caves themselves, shudder and then quake as a fierce explosion rips through the labs. Fire and smoke rush through the lab, then the prison, then Playcare, and finally the factory proper, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake.

Not everything is burned. Much of the lower levels are made of steel and rock, after all. The heat that does pass over the puddle of dough that had once been Doey is intense, and would probably leave humans and plush toys singed, but it only serves to dry Doey out ever so slightly. Not enough to make much difference though. He’s still too weak and liquified to pull himself together, assuming he could even care to try such a thing.

Silence settles over the factory and the caverns below. Once again Doey is not sure how much time passes before the peace, if it can be called that, is broken.

Something, some support or load bearing wall, finally gives way somewhere in depths, starting a chain reaction, and the whole wretched place begins collapsing in on itself, just as Poppy had wanted. What the fire had spared the collapse does not, and the floor below Doey slants, causing him to slide along it as gravity takes hold.

He doesn’t even try to stop himself from spilling down through the caverns, the bits of dough that still contain hints of who he used to be rolling and tumbling down the crevices. Even the unpleasant sensation of sliding into a frigid underground river can’t motivate him to try and re-form his body.

Doey fades in and out of consciousness, each time wondering if he’s fading in and out of existence. The water eventually warms, and Doey’s aware of occasional glimpses of light as the river carries him out of the underground.

After awhile, the rushing river fades into a shallow, trickling creek. Doey’s dough bumps numbly along the smooth pebbles of the creek bed for a time until getting caught on a fallen log.

He can almost muster the strength to be surprised that he’s made it out of the factory. Almost. But he can’t imagine he’s meant to survive much longer.

So he waits. Waits to sink just a little bit further into the cold, to sink far enough that he won’t be pulled back ever again.

Time continues to pass. Several days, maybe even several weeks. He still can’t bring himself to stay conscious long enough to mark time, but it goes from dark to light and back again more times than he can count.

He lets the days pass, feeling the creek wash over him. He begins to hear again, just a bit. It’s muted from where he is beneath the water, but he can still make out some noises. So he contents himself with listening to the babbling of the creek, the chirping of birds, and the wind through the leaves. He thinks he’s in some kind of forest. How far from the factory he is, how far away from anything he is, he can only guess.

Maybe this is what death is. A drifting, vague awareness…barely aware of his own body, his own senses, but just feeling the world pass by around him.

It’s not terrible. Certainly not the worst thing he’s been through.

Doey has just enough time to adjust to his new existence when he hears something he hasn’t heard in a long, long time.

Voices.

*

Hiking through nature is always the first thing people seem to want to recommend to you when they sense you’re dealing with some kind of struggle. Especially those who realize you live on a few acres of mostly forested land.

To be fair, they aren’t entirely wrong…though admittedly you do find it a bit tedious to be recommended the same thing over and over when it’s already been a habit of yours for a few years.

Especially when you hadn’t asked.

But what are you to do when your main source of stress actively--physically--follows you on said hikes?

Ethan Barlowe, who owns the acreage just to the west of yours. You’re not sure how long he’s owned it, but it’s at least a few years more than your family’s owned your plot of land.

He’s roughly middle-aged, a bit older than your parents would have been, you think. He’s taller than you and decently fit, usually wearing some combination of flannel and denim. His face has the slightly weathered look of one who’s spent most of their life outdoors.

“They can even divide up the plot so you can keep your house right where it is,” he’s saying. “You don’t even have to move!”

A sales pitch you’ve heard dozens of times before…and it’s no more compelling today than it had been six months ago.

“Ethan, I said no,” you say for what feels like the millionth time. 

“Oh come on! It’s not good for a kid your age to be living alone, without even any neighbors,” he protests.

You give him a deadpan look. Do you point out that, at twenty-four, you’re not exactly a “kid” anymore? Or tell him he’s currently doing a terrible job of selling you on the idea of neighbors in general?

“Look, I’m sure your dad would have rather the house itself stayed with you, even if the land doesn’t.”

That’s a new one.

You stop so abruptly he almost crashes into you. “I think I knew him better than you, Ethan,” you say tightly.

“In some ways, but--”

“In every way!” you shout, actually causing his eyes to widen for a brief second as he takes a step back.

It’s that shout that attracts Doey’s attention. He’s so used to intervening in fights in the Playcare as Matthew, then in Safe Haven as Doey, that it doesn’t even occur to him to do differently now. He immediately begins re-forming his body, listening closely to the conversation as he does.

You suck in a shaky breath. “Get off my property. Don’t ever come here again,” you say coldly.

Ethan stares at you in stunned silence for a moment before scoffing and shaking his head. “You can’t do that. Your dad and I had an agreement about the pond--”

“Yeah, and that’s done,” you say tersely. “Now leave, or I’ll be calling the cops.”

Ethan scoffs. “Right, because you have such a great track record with them,” he sneers.

Doey’s body reforms, and he realizes with a surge of dread that there’s not nearly as much left of him as he’d been assuming.

He’s barely six inches tall!

He’s not sure what he’s going to do now…although, in retrospect, he’s also not sure what he would have done before. You and Ethan would have been too shocked by the nine-hundred pound dough creature for Doey to have done anything in the way of mediating or intervention.

…Though it definitely would have ended the argument.

You and Ethan are a few feet away, on some kind of dirt path. The type that seems to be formed from repeated hikes rather than a deliberate attempt at making a pathway. The path runs alongside the creek, and Doey currently stands hidden in some tall grass and reeds that grow at the edges of the water.

The surrounding area is dominated by the rusty browns of late autumn, the yellows and oranges have faded away as the leaves begin to fall.

Doey’d been down in the factory for so long he’d nearly forgotten that seasons even exist.

“Th-That doesn’t matter!” you protest, though the uncertainty in your tone is clear.

“Doesn’t it? You really think they’ll believe some hooligan kid over me? I got a clean slate, kid,” Ethan smirks, stepping towards you.

Your eyes widen at his menacing tone, and now it’s your turn to step back.

Doey can’t help but glower at the implied threat. He generally tries to not pick sides, but if he were to pick a side, it certainly wouldn’t be Ethan’s.

Ethan grabs your wrist, pulling you towards himself as he glares down at you, and you’re suddenly very aware that you’re out in the woods alone. The only nearby houses are yours and Ethan’s, and you left your cellphone at home.

It’s all Doey can do to keep silent as he tries to come up with a plan. If he were his proper size, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself rushing forward and putting himself between you and Ethan.

“Now listen, kid. There’s no way you’re making enough to keep this place. You think you’re fine to coast along on that little nest egg your dad left, but it’ll be gone before you know it. Trust me. I know how the world works. I’m doing you a favor.”

“L-Let go…” you finally manage to utter a meek protest.

Ethan’s gaze hardens, his grip only tightening when you try to pull away.

Doey’s eyes narrow as he resists the urge to let a low, angry growl at how this man’s treating you. If he thought running at the man only to be effortlessly kicked back into the creek would somehow help you, he’d certainly do it, but…he’s not convinced such a gesture would help.

In a split second, the solution comes to him. Well, a solution, anyway.

He steps back into the tall grass, hiding himself.

“Hey, what was that?” he calls out. He pitches his voice up slightly, hoping it sounds convincing as a second person, and answers, “Dunno, sounded like yelling?”

Ethan blanches and quickly drops your hand, taking a few hasty steps back.

Doey grins. The plan’s working! Switching back to his normal voice, he calls out, “Hey, everyone okay over there?”

“Perfectly fine!” Ethan quickly calls out. He clears his throat awkwardly, his eyes darting to you. His brow lowers in a warning glare. “Think about it, kid,” he says quietly.

With that, he turns on his heel and leaves, heading down the dirt path while you stare after him.

Doey pumps his fist in a silent cheer. That went perfectly! Better than he thought it would, in fact. He’d been hoping Ethan would simply cool it with the intimidation if he’d thought there could be witnesses. Him leaving entirely had been but a distant hope.

Once Ethan rounds the corner and disappears from view among the trees, your gaze snaps towards the voices. They’d sounded close…so close you’re surprised you don’t see any sign of the ones who’d spoken.

“Hello?” you call out, walking towards the creek.

Doey’s smile vanishes and he tenses. He hadn’t considered the possibility that you or Ethan would try to find the source of the voices.

“Who’s there?” you call. You walk forward, the edge of the shallow creek lapping at your boots as you stand only inches from Doey’s hiding spot. “N-Not that it’s…a big deal, but…whoever you are, you…you do know this is private property?” you call out timidly, only to wince at how meek you sound. You’re not exactly feeling confident about protecting your land from intruders at the moment…

Doey flinches. Shoot. Maybe tricking you into thinking there were two more people wandering your property without your knowledge or permission hadn’t been the greatest idea.

“Um, we um, won’t be staying long!” he calls out hastily.

You frown. Why did they sound so much more nervous now? Are they up to something? Or just fretting over their (presumably accidental) trespassing?

And why did their voice sound so close…and so low to the ground? Sound can carry oddly in the forest sometimes, but usually people sound further than they are, not closer…

“You’re not…lost or something, are you…?” you ask.

Something about the simple question tugs at his heart--or whatever mass of clay in his chest serves as such.

Because, he realizes, he is lost. In every sense of the word. More than he’s ever been in his entire life.

He lifts his gaze to you, watching as you continue to glance around for the source of the voice, your brow knit in worry. Worry for yourself, at the prospect of unknown strangers wandering around on your property? Or worry for said strangers, lost in the woods?

Doey could show himself and ease both worries, but that might just cause a whole new set of problems. Not for Doey, of course…unless you have some freezing gas on you, it isn’t as if you can really hurt him. So whatever your reaction, he’ll be no worse off than he already is.

He doesn’t want to frighten you…Many children in the factory, and even adults sometimes, had been frightened of him, especially at first glance. While his height is about average as far as Bigger Bodies go, he’s one of the more stoutly build ones, and his lack of fluff and fur make him a bit less approachable than many of the other Bigger Bodies.

There’s a reason Doey the Doughman was usually portrayed as tiny in the commercials.

…Actually, that’s about the height he is now. So maybe the sight of him won’t be that startling to you after all.

“H-Hello?” you call out, pulling Doey from his thoughts as he realizes he’s been silent for several moments.

“Yeah! I-I’m here!” he says quickly.

“Where?” you ask, still glancing around, clearly looking for someone closer to your own height.

Well. Time to see if he’s going to be punted into the creek. “D-Down here.”

You glance down, seeing the tall grass part. A small blue figure peeks out. You don’t for a minute assume this little thing is the owner of the deep, resonant voice you’d been hearing. You don’t think the figure itself has any sort of voice…it just looks like a little toy made of colored dough. It looks familiar, but you can’t quite place it.

You crouch down for a closer look and Doey scoots back nervously. He’s…really not used to being towered over like this. But he forces a small, awkward smile, lifting a hand in the wave. “H-Hiya!”

You hadn’t expected the figure to move so fluidly. Even his face and eyes change shape as he speaks, and there’s a slight wobble to his round belly and big arms as he moves that a mere remote-controlled toy wouldn’t have.

He’s REAL.

The abrupt realization causes you to squeak in surprise, stumbling back. Your boot catches on a rock and you fall sideways into the creek. As you try to catch yourself, your hand hits the pebbly creek bed, causing a bolt of pain in your wrist.

The creek’s only about four inches deep, but falling onto your side and then thrashing about as you try to scramble away from the creature has left you completely soaked.

Doey winces. Evidently the sight of him is still shocking, even at this size.

But…he supposes you’d’ve never seen anything like him. Unless maybe you’d gone on a tour of the Playtime Co factory as a kid, but even then…grownups almost always dismissed the living toys as some kind of animatronics, sophisticated puppetry, or other such illusion.

Did anyone outside of the factory even realize that living toys had been in existence for…decades now?

“S-Sorry, pal…didn’t mean to scare ya,” he says, holding up his hands. He slowly approaches you, much the way he would have a frightened child in Playcare…despite you being well over ten times his size. Not to mention an adult.

“Wh-What…a-are you?” you manage to stammer out. Your eyes are locked onto him as he moves towards you, but manage to resist the urge to scramble back any further.

“The name’s Doey!” he says, puffing his chest out slightly. He reaches up to remove his hat, only to find it missing. Of course, there’s no way it would have stayed with him on his involuntary journey. Pity…he liked that hat.

But the problem is easily remedied.

He forms a new hat in his hand, this one the same light blue clay as his upper body instead of the darker blue plastic of his old accessory. Hat in hand, he brightens and takes a bow. “Doey the Doughman!” he finishes, placing the clay hat atop his head.

Doey grins up at you, watching your look of fear fade to curiosity. He can almost see the tension--some of it, at least--leave your shoulders as you relax ever so slightly. You clutch your injured wrist to your chest, canting your head as you regard him.

His kind tone and jovial nature seem to be winning you over, just as they’ve won over so many orphans and factory visitors (and even a few staff) before.

“Doey the Doughman…?” you repeat. You suddenly double take, blinking rapidly as you finally place both the name and his appearance. “A-As in…Doey-Dough?”

“Yep! That’s me!” he says proudly. “And what’s your name?” he asks in the gentle yet exaggeratedly eager tone of an adult trying to get an answer from a very shy child.

“Um.”  You’re still reeling from being in the presence of some kind of…talking clay creature, so it actually takes a moment to process and answer the question. But, after a moment, you manage to speak your own name, mostly without fumbling. Mostly.

“That’s a nice name!” he says kindly, his eyes closing into happy crescents as beams up at you. His smile fades slightly, his expression growing concerned. “But that looked like a nasty fall. You alright?” he asks gently.

“Y-Yeah, I um…just tweaked my wrist a bit…” you say distantly.

“Can I see?”

You hesitate. He’s so small…not to mention being made of sculpting clay. It’s hard to imagine such a creature is even capable of doing you harm, and he’s certainly not acting like he wants to.

You’re just about to extend your arm to him when he lets out an embarrassed laugh, shaking his head. “Oh, but you’d probably wanna get out of that creek first, huh?”

Despite your shock, you manage a small laugh at the quip. Not only because you’d managed to forget you were even sitting in a creek, but…well, Doey’s laugh is more than a little infectious.

“R-Right…” you manage. You pull yourself out the creek, taking a few steps to find one of the larger, flat rocks beside the creek to sit on. You don’t take your eyes off Doey for even a second. Not because you think he’d do anything, but…this whole thing feels so surreal, you can’t help but wonder if he’d disappear entirely if he left your line of sight.

You’re debating if you should offer him a hand up, but to your surprise he stretches his arms high above his head (nearly a whole two feet) and grabs onto the edge of the rock, pulling himself up effortlessly.

“Now, let’s have a look, huh?” he asks, holding out his hands.

“I-I think it’s just a sprain…and not even a very bad one…” you say, holding out your wrist to let him examine it.

“Well that’s good!” he says earnestly, taking your wrist in his hands. Holding a human wrist that’s almost as big around as him is a bit jarring, but he doesn’t let that show as he checks over your injury.

You’re surprised that his hands actually give off a bit of warmth. Not much, but more than you’d expect from clay that’s been sitting out in the autumn chill. It also has a bit more give than you’d expected. Not quite as soft as human hands, but just slightly squishy, similar to putty or clay that’s been worked for awhile.

He holds your wrist in one hand, using the other to carefully move your hand up and down, watching you closely for any signs of pain.

“S-So um, where’s the other one?” you finally ask.

He glances up at you blankly. “Other? Oh!” He laughs, shaking his head. “Just me,” he says. “Figured one witness might not be enough to drive the guy off, but two probably would be.” He releases your wrist, giving your hand a light pat. “You’re all set! Just be careful with it for a couple days.”

You’d been too surprised at just the existence of this creature that you hadn’t had time to ponder the reasoning for what he’d been doing. But as you do, you cant your head in confusion. “Why’d you want to drive him off?”

Doey seems surprised at the question, mimicking your head tilt as he looks up at you. “Because he was bothering you.” He pauses, wondering if perhaps he’d misread the situation. “...Wasn’t he?”

You grip your sore wrist, lightly rubbing at it. “Well…yeah, but…you just…decided to help me? A stranger? For no reason?”

Once again he meets your confusion with his own. “It’s not for no reason…I don’t like seeing people get picked on…”

“But isn’t it dangerous for you? What if he’d seen you?”

He blinks, momentarily surprised at your concern, but then grins up at you playfully. “Worried about me? A stranger?”

You pause a moment, then give a slightly sheepish laugh. “Heh…point taken…”

“Besides…I’m pretty durable,” he says, placing a hand on each side of his head and briefly squishing it like a bouncy ball.

You don’t find the action as amusing as Doey’d hoped you would. You blanch slightly, giving a slight shake of your head that looks more like a shudder. “This…This is impossible…” you say in a small voice.

His grin falters a bit. Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised that the wonder and whimsy of a living toy is easy to accept as a kid in a toy factory…less so as an adult out in the woods.

“Where did you come from? And why are you just…out in the woods like this?” you ask. Despite the situation, there’s a note of concern in your voice at the thought of the little guy out here alone. Even if he does insist he’s quite durable.

Some fragments of Kevin and Jack stir unpleasantly at the questioning, but Doey manages to quickly still them. He’s not sure how much he should tell you…how much he could even stand to tell you. But he’s not partial to lying, and some amount of explanation would probably put you at ease.

The slight pause before he speaks is barely noticeable. “I’m from the Playtime Co factory, of course!” he announces cheerfully.

You frown. “The one that was demolished?”

His face falls. “...Demolished?”

Not demolished! Lies. Destroyed. By mean Poppy, mean Doctor, mean employee…HURTS. HURTS US.

Doey shudders, staggering back and wrapping his arms around himself. “We’re okay…you’re okay…” he mumbles to himself. To all the pieces of himself.

His pained expression pulls at your heart, pushing aside the impossibility of the situation. You suddenly realize that whatever journey he’d taken from the now-demolished factory to way out here was probably not a pleasant one.

“I-I’m sorry!” you say quickly. You reach forward, cupping a hand beside him to steady him, though not touching him. “I…I shouldn’t pry…you don’t have to tell me if…it’s painful…”

To your surprise, he slumps against your hand, a dejected look on his face. He’d seemed so bright and cheerful a moment ago…you guess you’d bumped up against quite the wound to have his mood do such a turn.

Well…you can certainly relate to that.

Doey’s not even looking at you as he stays slouched against your hand, hugging himself and occasionally muttering things you can’t quite hear.

He’d managed to slip into his old role of protector and caretaker when he’d stepped in to help you. Calming you down and easing your apprehension had been much like his time before the Hour of Joy, when he’d play with the kids of Playcare. He’d always been good at making kids feel safe…and he’d been relieved to see those techniques could work on you, even if you’re an adult.

He could almost pretend it was the old days. The setting had changed a bit…and you may not be a child, but you still needed protection from bullies and comfort for only minor, very manageable injuries.

Nothing perilous.

Nothing life threatening.

He could still be the protector, the caretaker…just as he had back when the crown had been lighter.

“Um…Doey?” you prompt gently, pulling him out of his spiral and causing him to blink up at you in confusion.

He pulls away from your hand, his own hands fidgeting awkwardly as a halfhearted smile returns to his face. “Yes?”

“You don’t have to answer if you’d rather not, but…is…is there somewhere you’re going? Somewhere I can help you get to?”

Doey’s eyes widen slightly as he’s caught off guard at the question. He laughs, waving a hand. “Oh, no no, pal, you…you don’t gotta do anything for me!”

“You didn’t have to do anything for me,” you counter. “Besides, maybe it’s…none of my business, but…the woods doesn’t seem like a great place for a little guy like you…” As you speak, a poorly-timed (or well-timed, perhaps) gust of wind cuts through the trees, making your already chilled, wet clothes positively frigid. You shiver, puffing warm air on your hands and rubbing them together. “And I think it’s going to be cold tonight…they say it’ll snow this weekend…”

Doey’s not technically capable of changing color, but you swear the blue clay of his face gets a couple shades paler as a look of pure dread crosses his face. “Well I’m…I’m not…heading anywhere…” he finally says.

“Then…would you like to come with me?” you ask, holding out your hand again.

“With you? To where?”

You laugh awkwardly. Maybe you could have phrased your offer a bit more directly. “My house,” you say.

Doey sputters in surprise, at a loss for words. “Y-Your…house?” he finally manages. “I…you’d…take me in? Just like that?”

“You did help me,” you say. “And I wouldn’t feel right leaving you out here all alone…” you add, your expression softening.

His hands fidget nervously as he glances at your open palm beside him. “If it’s…really not too much trouble…” he says, resting his hand atop one of your fingers.

You smile, shaking your head. “It’s really not,” you say kindly.

He hesitates once more, then finally climbs onto your hand. “Th-Thank you…” he says softly…almost somberly, in fact.

You slowly lift your hand, cupping your free hand near him protectively. You carefully slide off the rock and begin the walk home. 

Doey’s a bit of an enigma--in more ways than one. You should be reeling from his mere existence. Maybe you’re just in shock or something, and the staggering reality of a living clay toy will hit you like a brick wall later on.

You suppose you’ll just have to hope it’s a bit gentler than that.

But what’s mainly on your mind at the moment is his behavior. He’d seemed so at ease when you’d first encountered him. Almost more concerned about you than himself. But mentioning the demolition of the factory had shattered that.

You reach the same conclusion you had earlier--whatever circumstances had led a lone, sapient toy to be lost in the woods--so lost and alone he can’t even suggest a place for you to take him--can’t be good.

You keep the hand he’s seated in close to your body, cupping the other hand near it to keep him from falling. Not that you’re walking anywhere near quick enough for that to be a real concern. He’s actually a little surprised at just how carefully you hold him, even after being told he can’t be hurt.

“So um,” he begins hesitantly, wanting to fill the silence. “Does that guy bother you…often?”

“Ethan?” you ask. “It uh…depends on your definition of ‘often’, I guess, but more often than I’d like. He’s my neighbor. He’s been coming by during my walks to try to talk me into selling my land…I guess I’ll just have to change what time I go for walks.”

You’ve already tried that three times now. The first time had brought you a couple weeks of peace. The second had brought one week. The third had brought even less.

“He wants to buy your land?”

You shake your head. “Not exactly. He has some…housing developer or something that he’s in touch with. He wants us both to sell our properties together for a subdivision. I guess they’ll pay more if they know they can get both properties? I don’t…really know all the details,” you admit. “I haven’t been interested in finding out. I just know that I want to keep this place.”

“Is there anyone you can ask for help? A parent or a counselor, maybe?”

You quirk a brow at the “counselor” suggestion…but if he was in the factory, maybe he’s just more used to talking to children? He probably just doesn’t know what options adults out in the real world have at their disposal.

“Well, I don’t have a counselor, and both my parents passed away,” you say simply.

“Oh…you’re an orphan?” he asks, looking up at you sadly, gently resting a hand against one of your fingers in what you assume must be meant as a comforting gesture.

“Er, not exactly? Dad only died a few years ago…I was an adult,” you clarify. “People usually only say ‘orphan’ if you’re still a kid.”

“Do they? I…I hadn’t realized…” he admits thoughtfully. “Still, though…” he adds, looking up at you worriedly, an unspoken question hanging in the air.

It’s the same unspoken question that always seems to hang after you tell people your parents are dead. A question you usually brush off with some platitude about being fine and just trying to live a life that would make them proud before steering the conversation away.

But…Doey’s sadness seems so genuine. Not that you think other people fake it per se, but a lot of them seem more awkward about the potential landmines they might step on or just at a loss for words, but…Doey seems like he’s actually more concerned about you rather than any sort of social etiquette.

He’s probably worked with orphans before, you realize. There was some sort of adoption program or orphanage associated with Playtime Co. You don’t know all the details, but maybe Doey had worked with those kids?

You smile sadly. “I’m alright. They’re at peace. And I’m um…getting there,” you say. Usually you just say you are at peace, but something about his earnest sympathy invites honesty. “I just um…try to do right by their memories, y’know?” you add.

Doey’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “They’d be very proud of you. You’re very brave, you know,” he says. It’s a line he’d repeated hundreds of times to hundreds of orphans in the Playcare, and then in Safe Haven. And he’s meant it every time, including now.

You, though, are not used to being spoken to so warmly, so soothingly about the matter. Even your grief counselor had been…well, not cold but…she’d had a job to do, you suppose, so her tone and manner had seemed more…distant, than the way Doey’s been speaking to you.

It catches you off guard, to put it mildly.

You glance away, clearing your throat and pretending to scratch at a spot on your cheek so you could wipe away a stray tear without Doey noticing. “R-Right, th-thanks…” you mumble hoarsely.

It’s been years since you’ve gone to pieces in front of anyone, and you’re not going to break that streak now.

Doey frowns at your reaction. It hadn’t been quite the one he’d hoped for.

You force a smile at him, not wanting him to think you’re upset with him. “Sorry. It’s just…been a busy day. I’m a bit…um…tense right now, I guess,” you say in a flimsy attempt waving off your reaction.

“You don’t gotta apologize, pal!” he says easily, patting your hand.

You emerge from the forest and begin crossing the small patch of grass that surrounds your house, serving as the lawn. You tilt your head towards your home and Doey follows your gaze.

“We’re just about here,” you say.

Doey peeks over your fingers, following your gaze towards the house. It’s one story tall, and…well, it’s hard for Doey to guess much more of that. He thinks it’s slightly bigger than Matthew’s old home but slightly smaller than Jack’s, but between his new size and how hazy those old memories are, even that rough guess is hard to put much stock in.

You enter through a small side door that opens into a mudroom. You kick off your boots and step onto the kitchen. “Do you mind waiting here while I change? I can show you around a bit more once I get into some dry clothes,” you say.

“Of course!” he says easily.

You make as if to set him on the counter, only to pause. “Um, would you rather be on the counter or the floor?” you ask.

He looks amused at the question, chuckling. “Eh, you can just toss me wherever,” he says playfully, waving a hand.

You laugh, shaking your head as you set him carefully on the countertop. “I’m not going to toss you, Doey!”

Once again, something in him warms as you take far more care with him than you need to.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” you say, heading to your room on the other side of the house. You lift your hand in a small wave, which Doey returns with his usual large grin.

Once you’re gone, he glances around the kitchen. It doesn’t look much different from any of the kitchens Matthew, Jack, and Kevin had glimpsed in their time before coming to Playcare. Off-white laminate countertops and floors, brown wooden cabinets, flowery wallpaper that’s peeling in a couple places, and the usual assortment of appliances.

You change quickly, not wanting to leave Doey alone for too long. You’re still pulling on your hoodie when you re-enter the kitchen. “Are you cold at all?” you ask. “Do you need like…a blanket or anything? Something to eat?” You pause. “Erm, do you eat?”

Doey’s expression goes slack for a moment and you’re not sure what to make of the reaction, but clearly the question has struck something in him.

“I um! YES--NO!!” He cuts himself off so abruptly it almost sounds like he’s being silenced by someone else. “YES--SOMETIMES!!” He clutches at his head, clenching his eyes shut. After a moment he seems to relax, running his hands down his face to reveal an utterly exhausted expression. Somehow it even looks like he has bags under his eyes.

“Hey, it’s alright…just relax…” you say gently. You reach out to put a hand against him, only to pull back without touching him. You’re not sure if being patted by a hand nearly as long as him would really help with the whole relaxing thing.

“S-Sorry…” he mumbles, looking away shamefully at his outburst. “I um. I…I forgot how hungry I am. I…I usually just…try not to think about it.”

“So you do eat…” you say. “And it sounds like you haven’t in awhile…?”

“I…don’t have to. I’ve gone months without eating. It doesn’t seem to matter. The hunger is…it’s just a feeling. I can tune it out most of the time,” he says, not meeting your eye as he wrings his hands.

You pull back in surprise. “Doey, I’m…I’m not going to make you go hungry!” you protest, aghast.

“But…it’s just…food’s not free, right?” he asks hesitantly, finally lifting his gaze to you.

“Well, no…” you admit. “But it’s not gold bars and diamonds, either.” You smile gently. “Besides, you’re six inches tall…I doubt you eat more than I do,” you say lightly.

He gives a sheepish smile and nervous laugh, which you chalk up to general nervousness. “Heh…right…”

“I was about to make dinner…I usually make enough for a couple meals, so it’d be no trouble to fix you a plate. Whatever you don’t finish can be breakfast tomorrow. Anything in particular you like?”

Doey briefly pulls a face as if he’s literally biting his tongue to keep from speaking…though you’re not sure if he actually has a tongue. “Um. Wh-Whatever you’re eating is fine. Doesn’t have to be anything special, I…I can eat just about anything…”

He hasn’t liked any of the “food” he’s had in years. Not since Hoppy found that last box of candy up in Playcare…and even then, it had expired years before she’d found it. But easing the hunger, even for a moment, had always been such a relief that he’d actually started to forget that flavor is even a factor in food.

You rest against the counter, debating whether to press the issue. After a moment you decide not to. “Mac and cheese?” you offer.

He gives a sigh of longing that sounds halfway like a sob. “Y-Yes. That…that sounds wonderful.”

“Then mac and cheese it is,” you say warmly.

You begin the prep work, letting the conversation lapse as you wonder at your strange new guest. You’ve barely scratched the surface of who and what he is, but it still breaks your heart how reluctant he is to accept any sort of hospitality from you…especially with how readily he’d stepped in to help with Ethan.

It’s possible he just naturally has a very giving and self-sufficient personality, but you can’t help but wonder if someone, or several someones, in his past had made him feel just…undeserving.

The boxed mac and cheese you make is a family-sized meal, so even scooping out two full portions for yourself and Doey leaves plenty for tomorrow’s leftovers.

Doey’s eyes widen at the sight of the full bowl. He tries to utter a protest--you don’t need to give him that much, that just half a bowl would be more than enough, but fragments of Kevin and Jack bubble to the surface, silencing him as their hunger roars within him.

You take the bowls to the table before returning for the silverware. You’re not completely oblivious to Doey’s inner turmoil, but you don’t even come close to guessing the extent of it, assuming he’s just a bit shy about accepting your hospitality.

As you’re reaching for forks, you pause. The forks are longer than Doey himself…would he be able to use one? You open the other drawer, grabbing the smallest measuring spoon you have. It’s still a bit big--but trying to eat mac and cheese with a garden trowel is still easier than eating it with a pitchfork, you suppose.

You set the silverware on the table and return to the counter to get Doey. Before you can, however, he leaps from the countertop, causing you to let out a wordless cry of protest, scrambling to catch him.

He lands with a splat, his lower body flattening against the floor. But before you can even wonder if such an act is painful, he bounces back up, his lower body rounding back out so quickly his feet actually leave the floor for a second.

Doey gives a sheepish giggle at your fretful look. “Eheh…sorry pal, didn’t mean to scare you.” He winks, waggling a finger at you playfully. “I did tell you I’m durable, though,” he reminds you in a slightly teasing tone.

You feel your cheeks warming with embarrassment. “R-Right…it’s um…just a bit jarring to see, is all…”

“Well, I’ll be sure to warn ya next time then,” he chuckles.

You hold out a hand, assuming he’ll still need help getting onto the table. He laughs again, shaking his head as he walks past you. “You don’t need to carry me around either, much as I appreciate the offer,” he says.

Not that he’d minded being held, but…well, it’s probably not something you’d choose to do if you were aware of just how mobile Doey is, even at his smaller size.

You get to your feet as he walks past you. “Oh um, alright…” you say, figuring he knows what he’s talking about.

And indeed he does, for he stretches his arms upward, gripping the side of the table. He then lifts himself so quickly that his momentum carries him over the edge. He rolls as he lands, ending up sitting atop the table facing you. He grins widely, giving you a thumbs up.

“Heh,” you laugh weakly, returning the thumbs up before taking your seat. He’s more physically adept than you’d initially assumed…maybe his time in the forest hadn’t been as harrowing as you’d thought.

Doey manages to keep the more impulsive fragments within him in check. It’s incredibly difficult to pick up the little measuring spoon and eat with anything resembling decorum, but Doey manages to convince Jack and even Kevin that good manners will get them more meals. You’re not going to want to keep making him food if he splatters it all over the table and walls, or even if he just grosses you out with poor mealtime etiquette.

Jack is pretty easily swayed by this argument, as it matches up with his childhood memories from home. Kevin is less convinced--he wants to take all he can before you change your mind, but he’s overruled, and even he can’t completely discount how readily you offered the meal even knowing Doey doesn’t technically need it.

Still, while his manners are far more polite than not, he doesn’t even come close to hiding how much he’s relishing the meal. Each bite causes him to emit a happy little hum at the delicious flavor--oh how he’s missed flavor--and occasionally do a little bounce or kick his feet as he savors the taste.

You try not to react at first, not wanting to make him self-conscious, but eventually a small giggle escapes you, causing him to flinch sheepishly, giving you an apologetic smile.

“S-Sorry, it’s…it’s just very good!” he says with an awkward giggle.

“No sorries!” you say quickly, waving a hand. “I’ve just never had anyone enjoy my cooking nearly that much. If anything, it’s flattering!” you assure him lightly.

Well, that’s a relief, though Doey’s still not convinced flattery would be the first thing on your mind if he allowed himself to eat as greedily as he wants to.

He only eats a little more than half his portion. Not quite enough to fully quiet his long hunger, but enough to appease the fragments of Kevin and Jack. He doesn’t want to appear greedy, and despite your earlier comments, he can’t help but feel he’ll quickly wear out his welcome if he eats as much as a human, especially at his small size.

It’s still a far better meal than he’s had in over a decade, though.

“Mmm…that hit the spot,” he sighs contentedly, laying back on the table. His belly is noticeably distended, to a degree that would be concerning for a human. You debate asking him about it, but decide against it. He seems happy and content, and despite how jovial and even playful he seems a lot of the time, you’ve also seen how quickly that can turn.

Again, you can relate.

“Thank you, by the way,” he says in a more somber tone as he lays back, staring up at the kitchen ceiling. “F-For dinner, and…e-everything…”

“Thank you for helping with Ethan.”

He gives a vague hum of affirmation. “Didn’t do much…Should help with…the dishes…” he mumbles.

You quickly stash the leftovers in the fridge and return to the table. “Doey? Are you alright?” you ask, letting a bit of urgency slip into your tone.

His eyes are closed, his hands folded atop his belly. “Hmm?” he mumbles tiredly.

“You’re…um, you’re just falling asleep, right? Do you…need anything?”

“Mm-mm,” he mumbles. “Just sleepy. Haven’t really…slept in awhile…”

Your brow knits at the statement. Does he mean that literally? Or just that he hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in awhile? Or is sleep “optional” for him the same way food seems to be?

“Well, why don’t we get you somewhere more comfortable, then?” you offer.

He doesn’t answer, but you faintly hear the sound of the slow, steady breathing of someone fast asleep.

You don’t want to leave him on the table. You’re not sure how much ergonomics matter to a little dough man, but…surely a bed would be more comfortable? If only mentally.

You gently scoop him up, cradling him in both hands. He stirs slightly, but gives no indication he’s really awake or aware of what you’re doing.

He feels slightly heavier than he did before. Or maybe your mind is playing tricks on you, and you just expect him to feel heavier after that meal.

You carry him to the rarely-used guest room, gently setting him down on one of the pillows. You pull the blanket up slightly, covering him up to his waist. Covered enough that if he gets cold at night he can find the blanket and tuck himself in more, but not so covered that he’s liable to get lost in the (to him) huge blanket. 

You lean against the wall beside the bed, watching him for a moment. You can barely believe he’s even real. Part of you thinks you’ll just wake up tomorrow and realize it was all some silly dream.

But…you hope not.

“Goodnight, Doey,” you say softly, finally heading out of the room, turning off the light on your way out.

You wonder if taking him in like this, letting yourself get attached, is really a good idea. You don’t know much about who he is, and you probably know even less about what he is. You don’t know what he might want or need, or what he might do. What he could do.

Then again…he’s a six inch toy made of dough. How much trouble could he really cause?

[theyanderespecialist]

Base Sapient Yandere Doey Headcanons: Goodness Turned Obsession (Poppy Playtime)

[Hello, My Sexy Muffins! I am back with another Poppy Playtime Bae Yandere Headcanons. This one has to do with Base Yanere Headcanons of Doey. Remember, in My Poppy Playtime content, the toys are not made out of children but are Sapient monster toys! Thank you! Anyway I hope that you all enjoy this!] 

(Disclaimer: Doey in this was NOT made out of Children's Souls and instead is A Sapient toy Monster! He has his own soul and mind and is aware that he is alive and can make choices! There are NO Children's souls in him!  Disclaimer: Doey is not yandere in canon and this is just for fun and not to be taken seriously at all! Simping for fictional characters and yanderes is fine! Just do not be illegal or gross about it! You know who you are! You Dirty, Flaky, Biscuits! Yanderes are not ideal partners to have in real life! Also, remember to separate fiction from reality and headcanon from canon! Thank you!) 

-Base Yandere Headcanons With Yandere Doey X Gender Neutral Reader From Poppy Playtime- 

.Doey is a good man and monster he cares deeply about the people and toys in his life. 

.He fell for you right away and knew that you were the one for him he wanted to have a life with you and to be close to you. 

.He would be very sweet with you and would treat you almost like a co-parent to the other toys. 

.He has become sort of a leader with the safer toys and since you take care of them he trusts you to be there for them as well. 

.He is a very protective yandere and would see you as the person he has to protect the most. 

.He cannot risk you being hurt and this makes him a very worried wart yandere. 

.He tries not to smother you with his worry or fears but he cannot help it when the outside world is so dangerous. 

.When you leave work and leave him he misses you and longs for you to come back. 

.He cannot stand the thought of not being near you and being away from you. 

.He does lash out at staff if they mistreat you and he is a bit of a clingy yandere. 

.He does not mean to be clingy to you he just is because he does not want you hurt and you mean the world to him so he cannot and will not let you go. 

.He is a very affectionate yandere who would adore you and love to give you handmade gifts or cool stuff he finds and brings to you. 

.You have so many small knick-knacks in your employee locker it is not funny! 

.He loves to sit with you and dare say hold your hand! He is a very innocent yandere, so the idea of just even holding your hand is enough to make him flustered, let alone the idea of kissing you or having sex with you. (Do not ask how)  .He is the type that would love sitting with you but he does not like sharing his alone time with you at all. 

.The toys that are like family with him, sure that is fine, but the staff and or toys that he is not close with? Oh no, he is not sharing his time with you with them! He rather does really bad things to them. 

.Those really bad things are a brief thought and are of his darker yandere side. 

.That is right this yandere has layers and sides. He can be from a very sweet and kind yandere which we just discussed, now let's get into his remaining two. 

.This yandere side of his is, as I like to call it, his sad boy yandere side. 

.This is where he can be a tiny bit of a manipulative yandere with you. 

.As he notices when he is sad you are there more to cheer him up and he can guilt you to spend more time with him and less time with others. 

.It also hides his darker yandere side, because why would a sweet loving, sad boy like, Doey do anything wrong? 

.He knows it is a bit mean to manipulate you like that but he convinces himself he is doing it for the greater good. 

.The last one and this is his worse yandere side, is the one where he snaps. 

.This yandere side is only when he has been pushed too far by rivals or people in the way of his love for you, and he would snap. 

.This is where he would go mainly in a blind rage and kill everyone in the way that he deemed that tried to steal you away from him and or hurt you. 

.Because he would snap if anyone hurt you as well.  .So he transforms into a lizard monster that is determined to put rivals in their place (Their grave) and to protect you. 

.Yes this snapped yandere side comes out when he is trying to protect you as well, and you are the only one who can really calm him down. 

.He might accidentally hurt you but he would never have meant to and he would feel so guilty about it! 

.When he does finally confess to you he can be sweet and loving and nervous beyond words. 

.He had to build himself up to confessing to you and if you accepted his love he would pick you up and spin you around. 

.You are the best thing that has ever happened to him and he will cherish you always. 

.If you did not accept his love he would feel broken, and run away crying, he could not let you see how much he was hurt. 

.He would be in a serious funk not knowing what to do, then came the hour of joy. 

.You were out sick so he did not see you there and he would wait for you to come back! 

.Because you had to come back, you would not just leave him, right, he would not be able to bear losing you, he just could not handle it. 

.He would be a yandere once you did leave him, he is in extreme denial about you not loving him. 

.If you did come back with or without accepting his love, something has broken in him as a yandere. 

.He is not letting you go, you are going to stay with him in the factory and he will not lose you again. 

.He waited over a decade for you and now that you are back it means you accept his love and or still love him and he is NEVER EVER losing you again! 

.He has more trauma and PTSD after what happened in the factory and his love for you. 

.This goes to show, that even good yanderes can snap and turn into bad yanderes because of their obsessive love. 

.This is where all his goodness had turned into pure obsessive love, and he is never letting you go~ 

[YASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS another chapter done! I hope you all enjoyed this, and stay sexy, all of my sexy muffins!]

[potatobugxo]

Hii! Can I request platonic headcanons of doey with a toy reader whos a child, so they could be just like him but could be the youngest

I hope its no bother! Have a lovely day/night! Thank you!

of course! I hope u have a lovely day too 💚

warnings: mentions of cruelty against children (it's poppy playtime cmon) doey being an older sibling/parental figure to reader!

pairing: platonic!fatherly!doey x child!toy!reader

-when doey found you you were trapped in the prison with the other miniature toys

-you were scared and alone and balled up in the corner of your cell, crying softly to yourself when doey approached you

-"hey, there, kiddo, are you okay?" doey asks, his deep voice soft and soothing

-you wipe your eyes and look up at him, frightened by the large doughman at first

-"it's alright, I'm a friend!" doey says. "you don't have to be alone here anymore. I can take care of you."

-you reluctantly take his hand, and he wipes the tears from your eyes with his thumb

-doey takes you back to safe haven where the other toys he rescued are gathered

-when you start to see other toys that are just like you, you start to calm down, knowing they arent going to hurt you like the others

-doey makes sure you're settled in and tucks you into one of the beds so you can get some rest without having to fear for your life

-it takes you a long time to get used to the other toys, the horrors of the prison still haunting you

-you follow doey around most of the time, clinging to him for a sense of safety

-doey always makes sure all of the toys in his care are taken care of, especially you

-even though doey presents a more paternal front, he's still a kid on the inside, and having someone like you follow him around is like having a little sibling and he loves you very much!

-he notices you're a lot more immature than the other toys are, including him, and he wonders if you were only a few years old when the doctors turned you into this toy

-it breaks his heart to know that and fuels his rage toward the doctor and other scientists, but also fuels his urge to protect you and keep you safe

[voxslays]

4 MORANT — POPPY PLAYTIME

SUMMARY: How the Poppy Playtime characters would react if the player somehow died in the factory after gaining their affections. PAIRINGS: The Doctor x Reader, Doey x Reader (platonic), Poppy x Reader (platonic), Kissy x Reader (platonic), Dogday x reader, Mommy Longlegs x reader.

THE DOCTOR

ꨄ When Harley hears the news of your death, he can’t help but feel the anger rise within his metallic body. He was ‘friends’ with the prototype—and Harley was one of the most powerful toys in the factory! How could this have happened so easily?

ꨄ Harley pushes himself back into his experiments, more motivated than ever. What experiments, you may ask? A solution to bring you back from the dead.

DOEY

ꨄ Angry. Kevin starts to come out as the other two wallow in frustration and self-regret. It doesn’t help that in Doey’s eyes, it’s all Poppy’s fault. She’s just ruined everything, hasn’t she? First safe haven and everyone inside, and now you?

ꨄ After you’re gone Doey more than likely turns into his rabid, monstrous form, consuming anyone (or toy) in his way. He Will avenge your death, with the others help or not.

POPPY

ꨄ Absolutely shocked. You had made it this far and she hadn’t expected you to die so easily, although she no doubt blames herself. Poppy would feel guilty about it. Maybe if she hadn’t pushed you so hard, you wouldn’t have lost focus and met your brutal end.

ꨄ But Poppy is a survivor, and to be a survivor in Playtime co. you have to push your emotions down—which is exactly what she does. She’ll never forget you though, no matter how hard she tries.

KISSY

ꨄ Absolutely heartbroken. To kissy, you were her best friend, and biggest supporter. She might not have been able to talk, but it was like you could just see what was going on behind those big, beady black eyes of hers. You truly saw her.

ꨄ Kissy constantly looks at one of the framed photos she has with you (kind of like what she did with that child in chapter three), never really allowing herself time to heal…

DOGDAY

ꨄ You were one of the strongest people he knew. You found him when he was chained up in the prison, stitched him up, and carried him away from the smiling critters. So when he hears the news of your death, he is more than a little surprised.

ꨄ I’d like to think Dogday grieves quietly. He seems mature enough to realize that crying won’t get him anywhere, but at the same time, he’s doing it alone in safe heaven when nobody is listening.

MOMMY LONGLEGS

ꨄ Incandescently enraged. After the hour of joy, you were one of the only people who didn’t fear her. Actually, she felt valued. You beat her challenges fair and square—which made her admittedly angry, but once you showed her kindness? She vowed to protect you.

ꨄ Once you’re gone, all the ‘beautiful emerald,’ as you had once called it, was gone from her eyes—leaving them charcoal black. Like Doey, she will feast on anyone in her way.