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casicroaks · 5 months

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At the insistence of his new friends, Woody finally opens up about his life previous to Andy. Meanwhile, as Bo discovers there was so much that was left unsaid between them, she resolves to follow his example -and tell him what she truly went through, between being taken to a new family and finding her own capacity for independence.

CHAPTER 1

[ CHAPTER 1 // CHAPTER 2 // CHAPTER 3 // CHAPTER 4 // CHAPTER 5 // CHAPTER 6 // CHAPTER 7 // CHAPTER 8 // CHAPTER 9 // CHAPTER 10 // CHAPTER 11 // CHAPTER 12 ]

The carnival was moving to a new town. The toys were staying at one of the carts –one where the main pieces of machinery were kept, filling the place with nice little nooks and corners to sleep and sit and lean onto. Bo, having parked her skunk-cycle safely against a couple of iron beams, lit a small lantern she carried for these opportunities, and so her gang gathered around the light. Ducky and Bunny were trying to play cards without letting the other see theirs (which, being joined at the hands, was not an easy task) while Duke Caboom, who had found a little forgotten tube of lipstick, was attempting to repaint some parts of his motorbike. In the meantime, Bo and Giggle talked excitedly about what the new town would offer, what type of children would be there –and new emergency plans in case of dogs, which were much more common than cats and, if they swallowed Giggle or found Bo Peep, could start a whole situation that could easily end up in disaster.

As they did all this, Woody kept his distance, staying against the wall, gazing through a crack in the wood of the cart walls at the clear night sky. Despite the speed of the train the stars could be seen perfectly, twinkling bright against the pure dark blue. The trees raced along them, their leaves lit silver by a beautiful full moon. He moved away from the wall and wandered around, lost in thought. Bo noticed, and walked up to him, her sheep following her close by.

"Hey… You okay?"

"What?" Woody snapped out of his daze. "Oh, yeah, I'm okay. I'm doing okay. You okay?"

Bo chuckled. "What's on your mind, cowboy?"

"Nothing, I was just…" Woody let out a little laugh, petting Goat (or was that Gruff?), knowing how corny he would sound. But with Bo, he was never really afraid of being a bit corny once in a while. "I was thinking of Andy again. When I went on car rides with him, I never looked out the window. I didn't care what was outside. But now, out here… The trees are so beautiful in the moonlight, and so is the lake… I don't know," he sighed. "I guess I'm noticing all I've been missing out on."

Bo rubbed the back of his neck. "You sure you're okay, honey?"

"Yeah," Woody said, smiling at her. "Don't worry about me."

"Okay, alright then. Hey everybody, gather up!" said Bo, and her sheep bounced back to her side. "Let's plan for tomorrow, shall we?"

"Yeah, there's no fun in this. Ducky's a serial cheater," said Bunny, throwing his cards down.

"Don't you dare call me that!" cried Ducky. "My eyes just happened to set on your hand! It looks a lot like my hand!"

"Sure –main difference being that my hand's looking a lot better than your hand!"

"Guys, c'mon," said Giggle. "That's a silly thing to argue about."

"Silly? Imagine your partner being a serial cheater, then tell me if that seems silly to you."

"I have never cheated! In my life! I am absolutely honest and… Hey, wait a minute. How did you know your hand's a lot better than my hand?" said Ducky, and gasped. "You've been the cheater all along!"

"How dare you!"

"Guys!" said Giggle. "Please!"

They both left their cards and hung their head in shame. Bunny sighed. "She's right. I'm sorry, Ducky. I never meant to hurt you. You know I love playing with you. No matter how hard it gets."

"No, I'm sorry, Bunny," said Ducky. "I shouldn't have been taking cards out the deck each time you looked at your deck. That's too close to actual cheating, you know. And I'd never do something like that."

"What are we gonna do, Peep?" asked Duke. "Plan the next playtime?"

"I've thought so…" Bo looked at Woody, who had sat on the floor around the lantern, staring at her. Bo then had an idea. "But I'd also like to do something different tonight. You all know Woody, of course."

"The ex-sheriff," said Ducky.

"Were proud of you for leaving the pigs, comrade," said Bunny.

"Hey!" cried Giggle. "You know I'm head of pet patrol!"

"Aw, you know you're different, Dimples," said Ducky.

"Yeah," said Bunny. "You're like a vet –a pet cop –a vop –a pop –copet –vetpetcop –pet enforcer..."

"No," said Giggle in a deadpan. "That's even worse."

"What would you prefer, then?" asked Bunny. "Animal catcher?"

"I thought copet was the best one," commented Ducky.

"What I mean to say," continued Bo. "Is that we all know each other pretty well –but I bet you still have some questions about Woody."

"Yes, I have one –what is Woody short for?" asked Duke. "Woodrow? Woodbert? Woodinson? Woodpecker?"

"How did you get to be a sheriff?" asked Ducky.

"Have you ever jailed anyone?" asked Bunny.

"How many years have you on the job?" asked Giggle.

"I meant more like questions of who he is," said Bo, trying to stop the flurry of inquiries. "Many of us spent a long, long time not being played with, but for Woody playtime comes natural."

"Well," smiled Woody, quite flattered. "I wouldn't say natural..."

"Hey –hey –I still have a question," said Ducky. "How did you get to be a sheriff?"

Woody sighed, but it was at least a question he could answer. "I was made as a sheriff. I've had the role and my badge for as long as I can remember."

"I knew it," said Ducky to Bunny, lowering his voice. "He's inherited the job. Dang nepotism..."

"What else can you remember?" asked Giggle.

"Huh?"

"Yeah, what's your real story, cowboy?" she insisted.

"I already told you," smiled Woody. "And I've made my best to add as much detail as I could recall."

"No, I don't mean that… I mean the before. How did you get to Andy's room in the first place?"

Woody, still smiling, looked up at Bo. She looked back, with a questioning glance and a slightly worried look on her face. Woody took a deep breath.

"I don't think… It's not a very interesting story. It's long, and tedious, and boring, and long…"

"Come on!" said Giggle. "How long could it really be?"

"Yeah, sheriff," added Duke. "I mean, look at me! I'm an old boy like you, made for the Great Christmas Demand of 1975—"

"I was made in 1952," said Woody quietly.

Everyone turned at him in surprise. Woody wished he had kept his mouth shut.

Giggle let out a nervous chuckle. "Oh my," she said. "In that case it's truly crazy that you've gone so long without some real wear and tear. Am I right, Bo?"

"Why don't I know that?" blinked Bo, confused. "Did you… Did you ever tell me, Woody? Have I just forgotten…?"

"Well –Jessie and I told you, we and Bullseye were originally characters from a TV show..."

"Yes, but I thought you were reproductions," said Bo. "You know, newer toys made to look just like the originals…."

"Oh, yeah," said Duke proudly. "Beware the knockoffs. Marge had to send me to a specialist historian to make sure that I was the real deal."

"But –did you ever tell us you were made so long ago?" Bo asked Woody.

"No, no, it's just…! I never told anyone."

Giggle glanced at Bo. She didn't return the glance.

"Alright. I mean, it's not like we haven't seen some serious elderly folk at Second Chance…" said Giggle.

"Yes, Woody," said Duke sympathetically. "No prejudices here. We won't judge you on your age."

"Thanks, guys," said Woody. "Well… Do you really want to know? I'm more interested in what you all did before getting into Second Chance –like, what about you, Duke? How did you get here all the way from Canada? And you, Giggle? I bet you've got quite a story—"

"Just tell us, Woody!" said Bo. "We got time. If we get bored, we'll tell you."

"Yeah, don't worry about that," grinned Giggle.

"Alright. Alright," said Woody. "I… Gosh, it's been a while since I haven't… It was a very long time ago…"

Sunlight streaming through clear windows, specks of dust floating around –that was the first thing Woody remembered. There was the gentle twang of guitar music from a radio, and an old man wearing a striped shirt by the cash register was reading a newspaper. There was an assortment of blurry colors in the store, of brightly painted dolls, cars, guns and soldiers, all type of figures and shapes, made irregular by the layer of slightly-crumpled, see-through plastic between him and the outside. He was still, in his box, watching everything silently. As the sun left and the store went dark, the old man left too and locked the door, and some toys –those who were not firmly packed in their respective boxes –ran across the checkered floor, chatted among them, went to the window and gazed out of it, to the twinkling world outside, just like Woody –just like the other toys still in their packaging. And then morning came –everyone went back to their places –and the old man would unlock the door and the store would open.

And every day, like clockwork, just by the time the shadows in the store became long and the sunlight was particularly yellow, children –shorter, smoother-skinned versions of the old man that guarded the store –pressed their faces against the window glass, watching in, excitedly. Some of them pointed at the dolls, at the hula hoops, at the toy guns –and some, several in fact, pointed at Woody –and he felt a twinge of pride, of satisfaction. For some reason, those children seemed so happy to see him. And he realized how happy that made him –their glee felt contagious. Sometimes children would rush inside, making the little bell by the door ring relentlessly, and they grabbed at everything, and crowded around the brighter, more colorful toys, and looked around and called each other's attention; and many gazed at him longingly, and Woody felt like a million bucks.

A few weeks went on like this. People –truly, mostly adults –came and purchased boxes of Woodys that looked exactly like him, and they were put into a bag and left through the ringing door, hopefully to some loving home. Finally a tall man in a suit came into the store, glanced around, and as he came across Woody he smiled. He asked the striped-shirt man to pack and wrap it for a present, and so Woody's box was taken from the shelf, was wrapped in darkness and taken on a bumpy ride somewhere that would become his new place.

The box was opened by a short, stout freckled boy, and as soon as his gaze fell on Woody, his face lit up and he let out a delighted gasp.

"Sheriff Woody! He looks just like he does in the show! Aw, thanks Pops!"

The boy gave his father a big hug, as the mother laughed.

"Now, Davy, there's one more gift for you..."

But the boy, Davy, only had eyes for Woody. As soon as he was excused he went to his room, clicking his tongue to make the sound of a galloping horse. He pulled Woody's string to hear him say in a clear, resolute voice, You're my favorite deputy!

The following years were some of the happiest in the young pair's life. Davy didn't have the whole set of Woody's Round Up toys, but he did have a tin toy horse named Applebite, which became Woody's new steed. Davy also had several small papier-mache figurines he made himself, of different little critters Woody was often saving from some dastardly plan concocted by the evil Professor Atom –an old, flaky wooden puppet covered in shiny crumpled tin foil. And, of course, Davy also made amazingly detailed sets of cardboard locations for playtime: a saloon with a working door, several tables and stools made of real balsa wood, a bar with tiny cups and bottles, and a functioning toy piano on the end of the room, next to a set of stairs leading nowhere; a lair for the villain, full of shelves where he kept his weapons –all made with papier-mache as well; and he painted them all with careful strokes of leftover chalk paint.

Davy always took Woody with him when he watched TV, always at the announced airing time, each week, to catch the latest episode of Woody's Round Up or The Lone Ranger. Mom didn't allow him to watch too much TV, "it'll rot your brain into mush", she always said, and when he was alone Davy repeated the phrase, and even made it the concept behind one of Doctor Atom's super-rays. As Mom didn't have a job like Pops did she stayed almost exclusively at home, doing at least two of her usual activities, which would include cleaning, washing, vacuuming, ironing, cooking, talking through the phone, sitting by the window, staring at the wallpaper, drinking, and giving orders to Davy. Davy would read his Frontiersman comics strips, trying to ignore his mother, receiving the orders in silence. And this would make Mom even angrier.

"Wash your teeth, stand up straight, chew with your mouth closed! Stop mumbling, stop running around, stop complaining all the time!" mocked Davy when her mother wasn't nearby, when he came home from school and was playing with his toys. "You should be happy you don't have a mother, Woody…"

And Davy always talked to Woody as if, for some reason, he knew Woody could listen. He commented on his friends and parents' behavior and told him about his day almost as if they were lifelong friends. When he had nightmares and couldn't go back to sleep, late into the night, Davy told Woody about his fears and held him tightly, either until his tears dried or until he fell asleep again.

The other toys –Applebite and Professor Atom, especially –were the most helpful at understanding how to be there for Davy. Applebite had been around since Davy was a baby, and knew exactly what comforted him and what made him anxious. Usually, as Woody found out, Davy liked having something soft to hold on to when he was nervous, angry or scared, whether it be a pillow, a piece of cloth or even Woody's own soft ragdoll body. When Davy was happy, he liked having everything in sight, easy to spot and move as he saw fit. He became distressed when his room was too messy, and Woody never discovered whether it was because of his own desire for order or because of a fear of being punished by Mom. Not even Applebite knew.

Professor Atom, on the other hand, hadn't been around for so long, but he was incredibly attentive and had a good ear and eye (metaphorically speaking; both features' factory paint was peeling quickly) to detect things not even Applebite could notice. Professor Atom was an old puppet that Davy had fished out of a garbage bin on the street; he used to be called Marvelous Merlin, a wizard for a puppet show depicting King Arthur's adventures. Time had not been kind to him, but his naturally chipped and rotting wood were perfect for a supervillain; Davy had only needed to wrap him up with tin foil and repaint some of his features to have a terrifying puppet to serve as the antagonist to Sheriff Woody's heroics. Despite the absolute change of his identity, Professor Atom was grateful for his second chance at being played with; as he laid on that garbage tin, wet by rain and eaten by bugs, he told Woody, he had truly expected it to be his end. And even if he could be rather noisy when trying to spy on the family's exchanges (wood limbs are not nearly as quiet as plastic nor rag), he had a worldliness that made Woody deeply admire him.

"Mom has some deep underlying issues," Professor Atom used to say, perched on Davy's bedroom window, watching the street. "Look at her. Look how she's staring down the road."

"Is she missing Pops?" asked Woody, sitting beside him. He knew Davy often missed his father; as soon as he arrived from work, Davy would run up to him and tell him everything Woody already knew, how class had gone, what games he played, what happened in the latest TV episode.

"Pff. Of course not," said Professor Atom. "Look how she keeps glancing at her watch. Look how she taps her heel. She's gonna whoop his ass as soon as he brings it home."

"Oh, that's bad news," said Woody. Davy was very sensitive to when his parents argued –which was pretty often. All toys could hear the rumble going down in the kitchen, the yelling and the cursing, and Davy would try to cover his ears and shut his eyes as hard as he could. In these moments, the need to silence the world was so strong that he couldn't even hold Woody for comfort. "But why is Mom so angry at him? What did Pops do wrong?" he asked. "Or is it like with Davy –she just likes nagging for nagging's sake?"

"Beats me. But I do have a theory," said Professor Atom. Mom was now lighting a cigarette, as the light faded and the street turned dark. "I think Mom's not happy here. I daresay she doesn't even love Pops."

"But why wouldn't she?" insisted Woody. In the TV shows, Moms and Pops usually loved each other. Yes, they often squabbled, but by the end of the episodes they usually made up. "Pops' the best, Davy says so. He's smart, he's strong, he's crafty, he's a hard worker…"

"Yes, but that doesn't mean he's a good partner," said Professor Atom. "Listen, sheriff: I remember clearly, King Arthur and Guinevere. On stage, they were as lovey-dovey as can be. But off the stage… Whoo, these two were impossible. King Arthur was a complete diva; it was as if everyone else was there to serve him. Jeez, he treated me like a damn butler," he grunted. "But with Guinevere… It was different with her. He actively tried to sabotage her, to win the affections of children. You see, Guinevere was one of the most beautiful puppets ever, even prettier than Iseult. And she knew it. When she appeared on stage, accompanied by this enchanting flute theme, all the kids had eyes only for her. And Arthur was green with envy. He wrecked Guinevere's dress, forcing her to sleep outside the box, prey to the moths. He insulted her every time the show ended, criticizing her performance, telling her how she had overacted, how she was barely fit for her melodramas. And once, in pure anger, Guinevere shattered Arthur's crown."

Woody stared at Professor Atom, holding his breath. Besides being quite knowledgeable, Professor Atom was also really good at keeping others on the edge of their seats.

"Arthur almost destroyed Guinevere after that. And I don't mean destroyed in a symbolic way. He destroyed her in the only way he could ensure he would stay the star of the show; he grabbed a thick branch, while our owners were sleeping. He went to Guinevere… And smashed her head until she was nothing but a bunch of splinters. Her body remained, but her head, her beauty… There was nothing left. In the end, our owners had to cut out her character completely. And Guinevere… Who knows where and in what state she is now."

Woody tried to imagine it, but he couldn't. The process from puppet to nothing… It was something that his mind couldn't fathom yet. "So do you think…? Do you think Mom's going to destroy Pops?"

"No, that would be illegal. You know, like in the TV? No, she won't bash his head into tiny pieces, but Mom's gonna try to do something similar –destroy him in a symbolic way. She'll make sure Davy doesn't like Pops any longer –she knows how Pops wants Davy to like him. And if Davy doesn't like her, well…"

"Woody, look what I've bought!" Davy's voice reached them from the hall.

Professor Atom and Woody went limp. Davy picked Woody up, a huge grin on his face, and showed him his purchase. "Look, it's a little guitar I saw on discount at the store today. Isn't it perfect? It's just like the one in the show –now you can play and sing us your songs –and look!" Davy strummed the little strings. "It sounds like a real guitar too!"

Davy sat on his bed, put Woody on his lap and the small guitar on Woody's lap. Davy let out a chuckle. "It's… A little bigger than what it should be, but I think it'll work just fine. So, why don't you sing us a song, sheriff?" Davy pulled the string, and Woody said I'd like to join your posse, boys, but first I'm gonna sing a little song…

Instead of a song, though, there was the sound of heeled footsteps approaching. Davy looked up, and his mother was there, looking tired, with a cigarette between her fingers.

"Well, bucko, looks like you father's not coming for dinner tonight –again," muttered Mom, dropping the ashes on Davy's room floor. "Come on now, before the stew gets cold."

"But –I wanted to tell Pops all about how I won today as baseball –and about Johnny's trip to Hawaii –and –and…!"

"He don't care about any of that, David," said Mom. Davy's excitement went out like a candle. "If he cared about anything you do, about anything I do, then he'd have the decency to come at the time he is supposed to come home, to eat the meal I prepare for him. Of course, if I'm the one who's late on the dinner roast I'm the lazy one, I'm the one who's done nothing for this family, despite—"

Davy stared at his mother. Mom sighed.

"Just… Come have dinner," she said. "And wash your hands. I'll know if you haven't."

Davy looked down at Woody. He sighed, and followed his mother out of the room.

"See? I told you," said Professor Atom to Woody from the windowsill. "Divide and conquer."

Situations like these were common, and became even more frequent as Davy grew older and Mom and Pops' patient grew thinner and thinner over the years. They began arguing in front of Davy, something they didn't dare do before. Broken dishes, flying insults and slamming doors were something to be expected nightly.

Davy, despite how excitedly he played with his toys and how jolly he seemed, was truly a very sad boy. He would sit on his carpet quietly, listening to the hurtful words his parents hurled at each other. He couldn't focus on playtime. Sometimes Davy told Woody about how the other kids would tease him for being short and chubby; he told him how he wished he was a strong leader like Woody was, unafraid of facing adversities, of putting his life on the line for others. He wished to be heroic, but there was no chance for him to try to be so. He was not as confident as he wanted to be, and the kids at school knew that and took advantage of that; he wasn't as strong nor as bold to dare confront his bullies.

"I wish I could take you to class with me, sheriff," Davy told him, before leaving him to catch the school bus. "Then you might help me be a bit braver."

Woody wasn't allowed to be taken to school with him; and so he stayed home, like Mom, and could easily listen to her talking to her friends, complaining about the boy and the hubby, as she sometimes called Pops in a scornful tone. And other times, paying no attention to Applebite and Doctor Atom's warnings, Woody climbed down the stairs, out of pure curiosity. More than once he saw nothing truly interesting, besides Mom sitting on the couch, completely still. Woody was then reminded of one occasion in which Davy went to a carnival for his birthday, and among many prizes there were some very pretty dolls that he asked Mom for –Woody wondered at the time if he had the intention for the doll to be his "damsel in distress", like pretty girls were often in the TV shows. Mom said certainly no, very angrily, but then Davy took Woody closer to his chest and muttered, just low enough so Mom couldn't hear him:

"Mom looks just like one of those dolls though, doesn't she? All pretty-looking but with nothing to say… With those glassy, empty eyes…"

Woody hadn't understand what he had meant then until he had seen Mom alone, in the kitchen, meaning to finish frosting a cake but having dozed off, lost in her thoughts. Sometimes she just stayed like that for almost an hour, petrified, barely blinking. Woody recognized this same strange sort of trance that Davy sometimes slipped into. He wondered why they did that: he knew he simply had to keep still sometimes, like the rest of the toys, when there was a person nearby. But why, exactly, Mom and Davy had to do that was still a mystery.

Once, Woody remembered quite clearly, Davy had been playing on the living room. It was a rainy Saturday, and as such everyone was inside. Mom was fixing supper and Pops was watching TV, a show Davy didn't care for. So Davy had been playing with Woody, sitting him on Applebite, humming the Lone Ranger theme as they explored the cupboard, the coffee table, the carpet, the mantel, whistling as Applebite galloped next to the ornamental porcelain birds that hang from the wall. Both Mom and Pops glanced at Davy from time to time, but neither wanted to be the one to start the scolding. So they let Davy go on playing.

"Look, Pops! Look what Woody can do!" cried Davy. He had found a piece of cord he had practiced using as a lasso for Woody to brand. Davy tied the knot, put the end of the cord on Woody's hand, and began swaying it around, over his head. "Look! It's like a real lasso! Johnny taught me how to do it…"

"That's nice, bucko," said Pops, glancing at him briefly, then looking back at the TV.

"No –Pops –you missed it!" said Davy, as the knot had slipped. "I'll try again –but please, look! Look –now, Woody's got it, and he's gonna catch something, just you see…!"

"Don't shout, Davy," said Mom, whisking something blueish in a bowl, making an annoying little noise.

"Leave the kid alone, Doreen," groaned Pops. "Let him play…"

"Look, Pops, look!" Davy threw the lasso and, by a stroke of luck –Woody liked to think it was due to their shared lassoing skills –the cord wrapped around the glass figurine of a swan with wide open wings, that rested on a shelf next to the old family photos. "I've caught something…!"

"Good, well done," said Pops in a monotone.

"Pops, you're not looking…!" insisted Davy, and he pulled the cord –and the swan came down its doily –and made an awful, high-pitched crashing sound as it shattered on the floor. Davy gasped and jumped back. Pops immediately raised his head to see what had happened, and Mom brought a hand to her mouth. Davy looked at both of them, still, in shock. He looked down at the tiny sparkling shards of the glass swan. Its long neck was still hanging from the lasso in Woody's plastic hand.

"David, come here," said Pops. "Now."

"I… I'm sorry –I didn't mean to—"

"I'm not gonna repeat myself, David," said Pops, now in a threatening tone. For some reason, he began unbuckling his belt.

Davy gulped. He left Woody on the couch and walked to his father, avoiding stepping on the broken glass. Mom hurried and brought a broom and a dustpan to clean the mess. While she swept the tiny pieces, making a soft clinking sound as they hit one another, Woody could barely see where Davy was going. From the sound of their footsteps, and by the sound of the closing door, Woody assumed they were in Pops' studio. And then, as Mom threw the remains of the glass swan into the bin, there was a loud noise –like something soft being slapped hard –and a quiet sob. It repeated over and over, and Woody became nervous. After a while the footsteps were heard again, and Davy picked Woody up from the couch pillows. His eyes were red, his nose wet with tears. Woody's heart broke at the sight of his boy in such a state of despair.

"You better think about what you did, David," said Pops, behind their back.

With his head hanging, Davy went to his room and closed the door. Outside the rain was still pounding against the windows. He pulled the sheets of his bed aside and crawled in, and covered his head, and cried, hugging Woody tightly. Woody wished he could hug him back, find some way to comfort him better, to let him know everything would be alright. But in the end, he knew well, the best thing was to let him cry it out.

"I'm… I'm such a knucklehead," sobbed Davy. "Pops was right, I shouldn't be playing around with fragile things… Mom will never forgive me. I'll be grounded til Christmastime, and who knows if not for even longer…"

Davy looked down at Woody's smiling, unwavering face. The boy smiled, straightening his toy's cowboy hat.

"Y'know? We could make it on our own. We don't need no one else. I could pick some cheese, some bread, some wieners… A few Rocky Roads… Pack my lunchbox and never look back. We could go west. Whaddya say, partner?" he asked Woody, pulling his string, and he said Yee-haw! Giddy-up partner! We've got to get this wagon train a-movin'!

Davy let out a small chuckle, wiping his eyes.

"It's still raining, though… Bad weather for journeying through the desert," said Davy. "But tomorrow's when the sun'll come out, surely. Tomorrow, then. Is that alright by you, sheriff?"

Woody, as usual, didn't answer. It was alright. Davy was smiling now.

"Tomorrow'll be a new day."

And tomorrow came indeed, and the next day, and the next.

One golden autumn day Mom left home, for some reason Davy wasn't made aware of. When he came back from school, she simply wasn't there, not in the living room, nor in the kitchen, nor in the bathroom, nor in her bedroom. Next day she wasn't there either, and to confirm what was already obvious, Pops quickly told Davy that Mom wouldn't come back. Professor Atom had his theories, but Woody only knew that Davy, while being annoyed that he had to do even more chores than before and had to learn to cook for him and his father, didn't miss his mother very much.

"Do you think she had another family?" Davy asked Woody, as he laid awake in his bed. "I heard something like that in the news. Some woman had two families: two husbands and two sons. Imagine having to clean and cook for so many people," he chuckled. "It's weird, though. Now I kind of realize how much she did. You know, Pops always called her lazy. And yeah, she'd be stuck yammering on the phone all afternoon, but… I keep my room clean, because I like it that way, but…" And he lowered his voice. "Pops isn't very much like that. He kind of expects someone else to take care of his mess."

Davy sighed. He took Woody's hat off, left it neatly on his nightstand and turned off his bedside lamp.

"When I marry, Woody, I'm not gonna leave all the messes to my wife," he said, quietly, in the dark. "I'll be a good husband. Heck –I'm learning to cook already. Good thing Mom left her recipes on the cupboard."

Woody, wrapped by Davy's arms, could feel the boy's racing heartbeat.

"I hope I can be a good husband," said Davy. "Otherwise… I guess my wife'll get someone else to be a wife to. Don't you think?"

Davy looked down at Woody, and let out a little laugh. "Of course, you don't have to worry about it. You're a sheriff –a cowboy –a lone ranger. Nothing ties you down. You don't have to worry about things like wives and cooking and cleaning and taking care of someone… Dang," said Davy, taking a deep breath. "Wish I was as free as you are."

Woody didn't feel as free as the boy believed he was. It was undeniable that, when Davy felt sad, he couldn't help but feel sad, too, and a strong desire to make it all better. Sometimes, even though Davy often insisted that Pops was the best, Woody thought that if Pops was really as good as his son claimed then he wouldn't make his boy cry; Woody was certain that, if he was a father, if he was Davy's Pops, he'd always keep him happy, and tell him what a great, creative and funny kid he was.

Since Mom was no longer around, evenings became awfully quiet. When Pops came home from work, he didn't need to tell Davy to be quiet; Davy knew what would happen to him if he raised a ruckus. So he'd take Woody to the living room, sit beside his father and watch TV. Then they'd had dinner, and sometimes, if Pops was in a good mood, he'd complain about something from the office that Davy usually didn't understand very well, and then Davy would carefully choose which daily occurrence he'd share. Woody didn't miss the arguing at all, and yet something was clearly missing in the Oakley house. Davy complained much less, even to him; and since a good portion of his conversation was venting and voicing his fears and feelings of anger, Davy became a much quieter boy. Pops had caught Davy talking to Woody more than once, and he had told Davy that he seemed positively bonkers, talking to his ragdoll, and that he was too big to keep doing stuff like that. And so, as the days went by, Davy talked to Woody less and less, until he only talked to him –or more precisely, talked for him –during playtime, which was also becoming more and more infrequent.

Playtime altogether soon was a thing of the past, as Davy finished elementary school and was close to beginning high school. It surprised Woody, how long it had been since he had first arrived to Davy Oakley's life –and how quick time had gone by, to the point the short freckled boy that had been so happy to have him was now a studious, serious young man. Since Davy had stopped playing with him and with his other toys, everything had subtly changed: Davy had gotten a part-time job, and spent less time in his house; he got himself a girlfriend, which was also something that kept him away from home; and then the girlfriend left him, so he tried to keep himself as busy as possible as to not think of her and to not feel how his heart was aching. The cardboard saloon and the evil lair, with all the hand-made balsa wood furniture, were thrown in the garbage. Professor Atom was left in the bottom of a drawer, along with a bunch of children's storybooks and Davy's paintbrushes and sketchpads. Applebite remained untouched, gathering dust, in a dark corner of the bedroom, almost hidden behind the bookshelves. Woody was the only toy that was still more or less present, if only because Davy had moved the cowboy from sleeping in his bed to sitting on his nightstand –and, in the few opportunities Davy had friends over, a shelf that kept Woody out of sight.

Since Davy was no longer in the house so often –and his father had become almost a ghost –Woody and Applebite spent some time talking, wondering what Davy was doing in high school, and playing poker –Woody had found a set of cards in Davy's backpack, and for some reason Applebite knew how to play. Whole afternoons passed like this, with Applebite often talking about what he thought about what little he could manage to see through the bedroom window. Woody, being a bit more mobile, began venturing more often into the living room, and a few times even dared to watch TV without Davy. There were new shows –a lot of them –that Woody really enjoyed, like Zorro, Gunsmoke, Rawhide, Lassie, Mister Ed, The Phil Silvers Show and I Love Lucy –and afterwards he'd go back to Davy's room and tell Applebite all about the latest episode, running gag, cliffhanger and plot twist. Once he had opened Professor Atom's drawer, and asked him if he'd like to go down and watch TV with him; but Professor Atom, as a respected thespian, thought that television was a low form of entertainment and insisted that, for some unexplained reason, he preferred to stay locked up in that dark drawer. Woody thought at first that Professor Atom was just bitter because Davy had put him in there, but Applebite told him that he thought it was because Professor Atom simply didn't find a reason to stay out of it, since the result was the same. Davy simply was not going to play with them.

Woody felt bad for Professor Atom, of course, and for Applebite and especially for all the papier-mache critters that were also dumped some months ago. But no matter how it embarrassed him to admit it, there was a sense of pride on being still kept on Davy's nightstand, and even on his shelf. He felt like Davy wasn't ashamed of having Woody, and that even if he was probably not going to play with him –and Woody did really want to have one more opportunity to be played with, as unlikely as that seemed –just by keeping him around, available, Davy might just pick him up, one fine day, and be Woody's favorite deputy one last time.

But that was a wish Woody held deep inside, and while nothing could stop him from hoping, even against his better judgement, the truth was evident. Davy was no longer a child.

David Oakley, a teenager now, spent his last few days of high school cleaning his room and choosing what he'd keep and what he'd throw, as he entered adulthood and was expected to behave as such, and do away with any useless things. He'd gotten brand new sheets, painted his bedroom walls white, got a few different pieces of furniture that he considered more proper to a fella his age. Davy was getting rid of the books he no longer wanted, when he happened to open that forgotten drawer where Professor Atom had been for these last few years. And when Davy saw him, making a little grimace at noting how damaged the old puppet was, he brought a bigger cardboard box and put Professor Atom and Applebite in it. He threw some storybooks and a couple children's encyclopedias in there, too, but kept the Frontiersman comic strips, and saved them in another drawer, where he would surely forget about them for the next few years.

Davy left the room for a moment. As soon as he disappeared behind the doorframe, Woody jumped to the bed and peeked into the cardboard box. Among all the old junk and dusty books, Professor Atom and Applebite sat and looked up at the cowboy.

"What's happening?" asked Woody. "Why did Davy put you here?"

"We're leaving Davy, sheriff," said Applebite. "And it seems like this is when we say goodbye."

"But… Why? Why are we…?"

"No, Woody, we," said Professor Atom. "Applebite and I. You're a lucky one. It seems Davy's got a soft spot for you."

"What do you mean?"

"Children grow up… They grow less interested in their toys."

"I know –Davy doesn't play with us anymore," said Woody. "But that doesn't mean you should be taken away!"

"That's just the way it is," said Applebite, giving a strange horse version of a shrug. "This moment was to come, sooner or later. We've come to terms with it some time ago."

"That doesn't mean you'll never be played with again," said Professor Atom. "Nor Applebite. You two are still in mint condition; you'll stay with Davy, Woody, and Applebite will probably be sent to a charity shop or to a garage sale."

"A garage sale?"

"I'll be given a new life, with a new child!" said Applebite, excitedly. "And I'm gonna be played with again. I just can't wait."

"As for me…"

Woody gazed at Professor Atom's ancient eyes. Just then did he notice how long it had been since Davy had given him a fresh coat of paint, or wrap him in new tin foil. Professor Atom now looked more like a pile of driftwood than like a puppet. Woody realized what this meant.

"No. Please, Professor Atom…"

"That's just the way it is," sighed the old puppet. "I was living on borrowed time, ever since Davy found me and took me in. But now… I've been a piece of trash for several years. It's time I leave and be gone forever."

"You're just being dramatic," said Applebite, but Woody knew when Professor Atom delved into theatrics, and when he was deadly serious. "You're just going to be alright, probably in a new puppet company…"

"Look at me, you silly horse!" cried Professor Atom. "Look at me and tell me if you could see me, in this state, on a stage."

Applebite lowered his head. "Well… Perhaps with some paint and a new arm…"

"Cheaper to be thrown away than to be rebuilt," muttered Professor Atom. "Cheaper to be replaced."

Woody gulped. Would Davy ever replace him? Would he ever be so damaged that it would be easier to be thrown in the garbage?

"But don't worry, sheriff," Applebite hurried to say. "That's not gonna happen to you…"

"At least not soon," added Professor Atom. "So enjoy every playtime like it's your last. You never know when it could be, after all…"

Applebite neighed in frustration. "Why you gotta be so intense? Woody's the chosen one. We should be happy for him. You should be glad Davy's gonna keep you!"

"I don't feel glad," said Woody miserly.

"Imagine, you'll get to play with Davy's kids…" said Applebite. "And Davy's grandkids… And Davy's grandkids' kids… And Davy's grandkids' grandkids…"

Footsteps. Applebite gasped.

"So long, sheriff! The best of luck to ya," said Applebite, disappearing into the box. Professor Atom reached out his crumbling carved hand for Woody to shake.

"Goodbye, Woody Pride," said Professor Atom. "It was an honor to play your villain."

Woody nodded. He had to be glad. He had to be strong. "It was an honor to play your hero, sir," he said. "Thank you for everything."

Professor Atom gifted him a small smile, and went inside the box. Davy came into the room and without giving it a second look he closed the cardboard box and taped it shut. For a moment, his gaze lingered on Woody. He picked him up, turned him around, as if it was the first time he saw him. Davy pulled his string, and Woody said Reach for the sky!

Davy smiled. "Yeah, pictured you'd say something of the sort."

It turned out that Davy had been planning to turn his father's old office into his very own studio. There, on a shelf just above his desk, Woody was carefully seated with his hands on his knees, his polished sheriff badge and his hat firmly set on his plastic head. From that vantage point, Woody could see clearly how Davy spent every afternoon working of house designs. Friends came over to see his sketches, said he was going to be a great architect, and Davy smiled, and Woody felt happy for him. Every few weeks Davy would dust his studio, vacuum the carpet, clean the small window, and in that moment he'd pick Woody up for a moment and clean the spot where he was seated, he'd clean the dust on his hat and nose and hands, made sure the badge was properly pinned and he would sit Woody again on the shelf, and he'd go back to ignoring him until the next time. As much as Woody wished for it, for one more chance, that brief moment of contact awoke nothing in Davy. Sometimes he would let out a little smile, possibly remembering how they used to play. But most of the time he'd be with his eyes on his work, on the girlfriend that occasionally entered the studio, on letters and homework and essays and books, on the things that adults had to be focused on. Years passed like this, having a brief moment of Davy's acknowledgement, then going back to the shelf, left to watch his boy as he grew older and taller and more tired.

But one day, one marvelous, special day, Davy's girl –whose name was Lillian, if Woody's memory was to be trusted –walked into the studio with an unmistakable bump on her belly. At the sight of it Woody felt his hopes rise in a way they haven't been for what felt like centuries. TV had taught him that if a lady had a bump in the belly, that meant a baby was on the way. A baby meant someone who would have to be distracted, played with, and comforted. Woody thought of what Applebite had told him before leaving, about him having the chance to stay and get to play with Davy's children…

"How're my two darlings?" Davy asked Lillian, kissing her cheek and placing a hand on her belly. Lillian smiled.

"Kicking already. I tell you, it's a rowdy one," she said, resting her head on his shoulder, trying to see what he was working on. "How's that coming?"

"A bit late… But hey, better late than never, I guess," sighed Davy, scratching his head.

"It's gonna turn out great, dear," she said, and kissed his temple. "Don't worry so much."

Lillian looked up and around the studio. Davy glanced at her. "What're you thinking?"

"This could be the baby's room, right? When they grow up enough to be in a room of their own…"

"Yeah, it's a bit small…" said Davy, embracing her girl –her wife, more precisely, as Woody could see a wedding ring on Lillian's hand. "But if it's a small child…"

"They're not staying in our room forever," smiled Lillian. "Just promise me that."

Davy laughed. "Yeah, just the first few years…"

"Years?"

Davy and Lillian left the studio. It was nice to see them so happy together –compared to Pops and Mom, Davy and Lillian seemed like the most loving relationship there could be –and Woody was of course very happy to learn –albeit probably a bit late –that Davy had married, but nothing could really distract him from the fact that a baby was coming, and that his days on the shelf would soon be over, and he would be played again, loved again, and so he began to imagine how this new child would be, whether they'd be a boy or a girl, what games they'd like to play, whether he'd stay a cowboy or he'd go through a transformation like Professor Atom did –this was the only thing that rather unnerved him –and this pondering and dreaming became his new favorite distraction.

Every time from then on that Lillian came to the studio, either to call him to dinner or to just have a chat with him, the bump got bigger, to the point she had to walk with a hand on it just to keep balance. Woody wondered when the baby would finally come, and so he listened more closely –he had become used to keeping an open ear, either to listen to the TV or to the radio as a way to amuse himself –and finally –finally –he heard gasping and groaning, and a rush through the stairs, and the car starting, and soon they left the house.

They returned home some time later with a swaddled bunch of soft blankets in Lillian's arms, what Woody guessed was the baby. They weren't allowed in the studio yet, so all Woody knew about them was that their name was Jenny and that she loved to scream and cry to the top of her little but powerful lungs. The fifth or sixth night that the baby was already home, and by the joined efforts of Davy and Lillian their daughter had been put to sleep, Woody decided he needed to see the baby for himself. Of course, it was dark in the studio and while Davy was still very neat that didn't make climbing down the shelf any easier. There were many papers, books, pencils, all carefully aligned and prepared –but so many things could go wrong, he worried. Even a little tumble may wake Jenny up. Woody took a deep breath and, grabbing onto the edge of the shelf, dangled his legs down until he could be sure he was stepping on something sturdy. Then, it was a matter of grabbing the next shelf down from him, descending slowly, and then finding something else to step on that wouldn't fall and make enough noise to wake either the parents or the baby. It took him a while, but luckily he managed to get onto the desk, and from there to the chair, and from there to the floor.

He went to the living room, which under the dim moonlight seemed so different from when Davy was a little boy. The lamps had a strange shape, there were new paintings framed on the walls, and the TV was new and slightly bigger; there were no photos of little Davy on the mantel, as they were replaced by smiling pictures of older Davy and Lillian together, including one where she was dressed all in white and he was dressed all in black. The radio was also new, and very different than before. There was a record player now, too, also much more modern than the one Pops had that Davy wasn't allowed to touch as a boy. And the magazines on the coffee table showed people dressed in extravagant fashions –colorful stripes, circles, flowers, plaid and checkers. Woody wondered how many years he had been stuck in that studio.

Woody climbed the stairs as quietly as he could. He reached the first floor, and heard the snoring from the bedroom, and stepped into the dark bedroom, which was still and silent beyond the snoring. There was another sound, though. A soft low music, coming from a device suspended over the baby's crib. The cowboy looked up. From the device dangled yellow felt stars and blue and white felt clouds, which turned around in a slow-moving circle. It was a hypnotic, gentle sight.

Woody reminded himself what he was doing there. He approached the baby's crib and peeked at her through the bars.

Jenny was a big-headed pale creature, chubby and rosy, her small hands closed in little tight fists. Woody gazed at her, holding his breath, wondering what she was like, who she would become. So far she seemed like all the babies he had seen on TV or through the window –small, slightly smelly, a bit weird looking compared to adults or children. Her round, almost bald head appeared to be so heavy, and she was so plump that she was surely quite heavy, and yet Jenny also appeared terribly fragile. Davy, and probably Lillian too, had looked like this someday. Woody certainly didn't; a baby was a curiosity to him, as were many things that often seemed like they belonged to the world of the comic strips and television shows, things that just didn't happen to him or to any other toy. Woody stretched his hand to touch little Jenny's hand. She let out a little whimper but continued sleeping, to Woody's great relief. Her fingers wrapped around his plastic hand, squeezing tightly. It reminded him so much of when Davy held him, so long ago, for comfort. He smiled. That little baby would soon be his world.

Just then he noticed a small fluffy thing set by the other side of the crib. Woody frowned. The fluffy thing produced a pair of black eyes, which stared at him in horror. Woody gasped –as the fluff ball swiftly climbed over Jenny and frowned at him.

"What on Earth you think you're doing, cowboy?" hissed the fluffy thing, that just then Woody could see was a pink puppy plush toy, with black beady eyes and a little red felt tongue just peeking out of her furry mouth. "This is my turf. Why don't you go back to your ranch?"

"What?" said Woody. He thought the baby wouldn't have a toy yet –if she did, he would be that toy. "I'm just –I wanted to see Jenny."

"You've seen her, alright," said the pink puppy, climbing down from Jenny's chest and putting her paws on the baby's hand. "Now leave! This is my baby…"

"She's not yours!" cried Woody in a whisper. "At least, not only yours!"

"I'm here in her crib! You're probably some old forgotten thing that saw an opportunity, and tried to take it from a hard-working toy like me. You surely heard the cries and thought you had a chance. But look at you! You'd poke a baby's eye out with that nose."

"Hey!"

"Mom and Dad made their choice," said the pink puppy. "This is my baby, and my place is with her. Your place is wherever you came from –so go back there."

Woody knew that the puppy was right, and slipped his hand out of Jenny's grip. But the plush toy had been incredibly rude, and as an older toy –Davy's favorite, no less! –he thought he deserved some respect.

"Listen here, you…" Woody interrupted himself. "What's…? What's your name?"

"What do you care?" said the pink puppy. "I don't have one. I don't need one. Babies don't speak, you dunce!"

"Who do you think you are?" said Woody, growing angrier. "Listen here, pup, I'm not arguing that you are Jenny's current toy. But what do you have against me also being played with?"

"What do you think? You think you can replace me –yeah, I can see it in your greedy bug eyes," said the puppy. "You want the baby all for yourself. You want to take the playtime away from me… But I have it now!" And then the puppy grinned –or seemed to grin –it wasn't easy to know under all that pink fur. "If you even think of staying here in the crib, I'll wake Jenny up. She'll start crying and Mom will see you're here! And she'll take you away –she'll throw you into the dumpster!"

"Shh!" cried Woody. "Alright –alright, there's no need to wake anyone up. If you're Jenny's current favorite, then there's nothing I can do about it," Even though he really wanted to take that unbearable plush toy's place. "I'll leave, okay?"

And so Woody walked away from the crib.

"Yeah, you leave, you plastic-head," muttered the puppy. "You'll get your chance, and who knows if I… Let others have fun too."

Woody turned to the puppy. "What'd you say?"

"Nothing. Go on, leave."

"No, you said—"

"Plastic-head," smiled the puppy. "Why? Does that push your buttons?"

"No –well, a bit –I mean, you said 'and who knows if I…'"

"… Yeah. So?"

"So what did you mean by that?" asked Woody. "You're Jenny's toy, you'll always have a chance to be played with."

The puppy huffed. "You don't know anything, plastic-head. I'm a baby's toy –I'm small and soft and just perfect for her age. Afterwards? Who knows if she'll still keep me. Surely she'll want dolls, with those brushes and dresses and shoes, and other plastic-heads like you…"

Woody thought it over. It was true that Davy had had a few plush toys that he had met not long after being first brought to his boy's life; but those toys were eventually forgotten and also disposed of. Perhaps she was right. He did want to be part of Jenny's playtime –desperately –but if Davy hadn't given him to his daughter, then it meant it was not yet the right moment. No matter how much he wanted it to be, Davy –now renamed Dad, apparently –was the one who decided who Jenny would play with.

The pink puppy didn't look as angry anymore –just frustrated.

"So let me be happy for a while. Okay?" she said, snuggling against Jenny. "I don't have much time with her, you know. By the time she's four… Or even earlier, maybe."

"Alright. Just remember… She's not yours. Not yours alone," said Woody sternly, just to make sure she understood, still trying to keep whatever authority he remembered once having. "Who knows –maybe one of these days Davy –I mean, Dad –will drop me into that crib."

"Yeah –keep dreaming, cowboy," barked the pink puppy, but her voice sounded unsure. "Let us sleep. Go back to the shelf."

That last phrase felt so deeply hurtful that Woody briefly considered entering the crib and pull the pink pup's furry paws off Jenny. But he had no choice but to obey, go down the stairs, into the studio, and back to the shelf, where he had to sit and wait, and wait, until his playtime came.

#toy story #toy story 4 #fanfiction #woody pride #bo peep

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choilaura · 2 years

Text

Stained Glass Heart

When a sudden presence of icy white blue figure crashes into the Eiffel Tower,in Paris, Peter Parker seeks, and finds..but will he like what he finds? Or will his fragile glass heart shatter once more, after all he'd been through? Set after the events of NWH Peter Parker had gotten his wish. The world had forgotten who Spiderman really truly was. It had been three years, and Peter had escaped New York, to take time off to breathe. Everything had been so traumatic, and Peter had decided to go as far away from home, calling Paris his home. He laid low in the quartier latin, next door to the famed Luxembourg Gardens, not that...he needed to. No one in the whole world knew who he was, and Peter slowly became happier. He laid in bed at night, his mind racing through many things, waiting for his phone to blip at the slightest disturbance in the city, to which hardly nothing happened, until tonight..

He planned to go out, he hadn't had a chance to explore the city properly, least not at night, but tonight, his mind wandered back to things he'd like to forget. Peter looked outside; the weather didn't look too good, and Peter stayed bundled up in his blankets, on his bed, mindlessly channel hopping through french channels he barely understood, trying to take his mind off of his messy past. The hours slowly ticked by, and Peter had fallen asleep to the droning on and on of some french lady on the tv, talking about some festival coming up near the champ de mars.

The hours ticked by painfully slow, the searchlight of the Eiffel tower lit up the buildings of the city as that light patrolled, keeping the city safe, when that searchlight was interrupted by a sudden rush of blue and white energy. It made its entrance utterly spectacular, crashing into the radio masts and broadcast equipment, and, that searchlight, before continuing its decent, landing in the town square of Notre Dame Cathedral, with an almighty crash. The cathedral was in tatters already, after a fire a few months back.

Conveniently, Notre Dame wasn't too far from where Peter was, and he could see from his window, the afterglow of where that....thing had hit. This was the perfect opportunity to do some crime fighting, and Peter was hurriedly pulling on his suit, before opening the window. He looked outside, standing on his small balcony, he could see the top of the Eiffel tower had been completely destroyed, helicopters racing around it, attending the scene as lightening lit up the night sky, following a heavy bout of rain showers from blackened skies.

Peter soon took refuge in the sanctuary of Notre Dame Cathedral, blending in with the shadows. This place was being held up literally by iron beams of scaffolding, it was the skeleton of the cathedral whilst restoration works were carried out so far this year, and Peter inhaled the smell of the dust and the old burnt out incense that' long been put out. He wasn't the religious type, but found this place...comforting. The cathedral was recovering, as was he, and Peter soon found himself scouring the metal beams, standing in the middle of what was one of the Rose windows of the church. Peter looked at it curiously, lost in the rosy hues that told stories of ages past, before that tingle alerted him again.

This tingle was intense, and it made Peter drop to his knee's infront of the rose window, his head in his hands. His head throbbed and he could suddenly see in his mind, the moment Mr Stark left him...left them all. Peter felt his eyes sting with emotion, sensing that presence yet again! Was it some sort of creepy ass ghost?!

"You're lost..aren't you...?" A voice spoke to him. It seemed to come from one side of the church, so close...yet far away,and that voice was so familiar, it made Peter cry, bowing his head.

"You've come here for...sanctuary...or is it..forgiveness...?" The voice said again, only this time, making itself known to Peter, by coming to stand infront of him now.

It was a man, clad in a silver and blue suit with bright neon inter woven into that suit, the strong form loomed over Peter like a statue of old, and the other looked at Peter with piercing blue eyes.

"Shh...don't you cry, Mr Parker...I've been searching all universes for you..and this city...has led me to you.." the voice was smooth, and the Superior Iron man reached out to wipe Peters cheek, tilting his head up, forcing Peter to look at him..

shit!

To be continued...

#superior iron man #ironspider #starker #marvel #peter parker #tony stark #mcu #spiderman #tony x peter #eiffel tower #paris #france #sim!IronMan #marvel cinematic universe #avengers #marvel movies

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angry-geese · 2 years

Text

Tremors

Reiner Braun x reader

Warnings: not sfw/mdni. light angst with a happy ending. porn with plot (mostly plot tbh). tender sex, clothed sex (kinda??), fingering, oral (fem receiving), size kink (if you squint), breeding mention. Fem reader.

mikasa and gabi are briefly mentioned. light aot manga spoilers since this does take place a few years after the ending

synopsis: a pretty fluffy piece where reiner breeds his wife

Word Count: just under 4k

You remember the first time you stepped foot outside the walls. Then the sight of the ocean. The feeling of that sand beneath your toes. The view of a land made of water so vast your mind truly couldn't comprehend it. So salty and cold. Like nothing you've ever experienced before. How you took off your boots and ran and ran until the water came up to your waist.

Higher powers weren't something you believed in. There was no grand scheme of things in your eyes. You always thought the followers of the walls were lunatics. There couldn't really be anything in the walls, could there? And most were, but this was different. It was a truly religious experience.

You wrote your name in the sand thinking it would be there forever, but the waves would soon come to wash it away. And any mark you left on the land was long forgotten.

You still wonder about that beach. There's times where you consider going back, but life has kept you too busy from ever fulfilling that thought.

Speaking of which-

You narrowly miss the plate as it's knocked off the counter by the cat. You’re quick enough to brace it’s fall with your foot, keeping it from shattering entirely, but there is a small chip on the edge. You suppose that’s what you get for bringing out the nice dishes, instead of the tin ones. The cat sits atop her rocking chair-and-quilt throne, of which she doesn't look remorseful at all. You cast her a scowl, though she seems unbothered. It's a miracle she hasn't managed to knock a pot off the stove yet. Though maybe that would teach her to stay off the counters.

When is that damned Braun going to wake up?

Reiner tends to sleep, and sleep, until a nightmare—or you—wake him. Most days it's a nightmare. Some he wakes up in a silent terror. Others wake him up kicking and screaming. As time goes on, these grow fewer and further between. They've not disappeared entirely.

Both of you suspect they never will. They only get quieter.

He’s still asleep by the time you poke your head through the door of your shared room. The covers have long since been shoved aside, despite the bitter cold last night. Over the span of a few days, temperatures have plunged. You watch the steady rise and fall of his bare chest, illuminated by the light that streams in through the door.

“When are you going to get up, Braun?” You ask. “It's well into the day-”

Sleepily, he cracks an eye open. “When are you going to stop calling me that?” He asks.

“Never, Braun,” you say with a grin, “now do you want some breakfast or not?”

Slowly he removes himself from the covers, pulling on a shirt. Reiner tosses a few logs onto the dying fire, trying to breathe some life back into it. The little sky he can see out of the window is grey; a storm must be coming in. The wind was picking up quite a bit last night. Maybe you're bound for some snow.

“How long have you been up?” He asks.

“Not long,” you say, setting your fork down, “got up a little before the sun came up. The fire was out so I threw some wood on it.”

You dish him up some eggs, and a slice of bread with butter. No bacon today. You’ve been out for a few days. That's what sparked your trek into town. You’re low on flour, chicken feed, and meat. Fresh meat is a bit too pricey, unless you hunt it yourself. Which is fine by you. You’ll eat the salted stuff and hunt what you can. The scraps from the garden are hardly enough to feed the chickens, especially so late in the year; so proper feed is needed.

It's been a while since you've gone hunting, though. This weather will be no good to hunt in; you’ll have to wait for the weather to clear. The animals are only out and about right before a storm. Plus, the full moon should be coming soon. It's so light out at night that the animals are out and moving then, and bedded down during the day, which are the hours you hunt the most.

“I want to be back before Gabi stops by,” you say, “you know her—she always has to be early. I was thinking we’d invite Mikasa over for dinner sometime this week, I haven't seen her in forever.”

Reiner nods along idly as you chat. He’s not certain how glad she’ll be to see him, but at least she’s always liked you.

Once he’s done, you clear the plates away, leaving them in the wash basin to soak. You don't feel like doing dishes now. That’ll be a chore for when you get back.

It's an hour’s ride into town by horse. Typically slower if you’re dragging a cart behind you. But there's no need for that today. Between both your horses, you should have plenty of space to store supplies. Not to mention, the ground is so muddy and slick from last night's rain that you’re not certain you’ll be able to make it back with the cart.

Town itself isn't particularly busy. Typically not many people are out at this hour. Those who are, are usually at work, or school. Still, it's a lively enough place. The bell is ringing in the courtyard. People are out, doing menial tasks; shopping, chores, or just chatting with one another.

You go from shop to shop, making sure to spread your money across as many stores as possible. Your final stop is a fruit stand, so small you almost walk right by it. The pickings are pretty thin, seeing as how late in the season it is. You're surprised they're even open at all. But one thing catches your eye; a basket full of oranges, each bigger than your fist. Most of the fruit you eat you grow yourself. What you can't grow, you often buy dried. You buy one; Reiner gets a quarter, and you get the rest.

“We should sit and eat,” you say, motioning to a clear spot in the grass, under the shade of some trees, “what about over there?”

It's dry enough, albeit not very warm. Though it's overcast, it’s not raining, but the wind is beginning to blow. It’s looking as if it’ll storm later.

You settle down in a spot in the grass, nestled right in front of a tree. Down goes your cloak, spread across the ground so as to not get your dress dirty.

You each get a slice of bread, topped with goat cheese, and a slice of orange. Goat cheese is cheaper than cows, but if you're being honest, you prefer it over the latter. The woman that sells it—an older woman by the name of Maria—always sets aside a loaf for you. You're certain you could find it cheaper elsewhere, but hers is the best. And over the years the two of you have come to a silent agreement.

The bread you can bake yourself; but the dense, dark loaves you make with the local grain hardly compare to bakery bread. This one’s still warm. The goat cheese melts right into the bread, and the juice from the orange makes everything sticky and sweet. You're tempted to pay the vendor for a glass of the stuff juiced, but you’re too comfortable in your spot in the grass to move.

“What should we do for dinner?” You ask. It's your turn to cook tonight, anyway. Gabi isn't a picky eater, but you want to make something special. Maybe something from the garden. Roasted beets. Or maybe potatoes. Definitely something with some salad greens since those won't last after the first frost.

“Something with fish,” Reiner answers. “That salmon isn't going to last much longer…”

A smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he watches your face scrunch. Most of it was smoked, dried or canned for the upcoming winter. The leftovers you assumed you would use up. But you can only eat fish so many different ways before you get sick of it.

“I'd be content if I never saw a fish again,” you say.

He laughs, his arm snaking around your waist. A full stomach, combined with the warmth of Reiner’s body next to you makes for the perfect conditions for a nap. Your head falls against his chest, letting the scent of woodsmoke comfort you.

“Looks like it's going to rain,” says Reiner, gently nudging you awake.

With your supplies, you load up the horses, and set off for home. You’re lucky enough to make it back before Gabi arrives. There still looks to be a few hours of daylight left.

From the garden comes some ripe beets, and a mix of greens for a salad. Both get washed, along with the dishes from this morning. Reiner gets to coaxing life back into the fire. You set aside the ingredients for dinner and settle into a warm spot in front of the fireplace. It shouldn't take too long to put everything together. You’ll start it right when she arrives.

A set of arms wrap around you from behind, followed by a kiss pressed to your bare shoulder. You feel the roughness of stubble as his chin comes to rest on your shoulder.

Reiner has put on a healthy bit of weight. His cheeks are no longer so gaunt, and time has made his muscles less defined, but still there. Time may have softened him, but it has not made him weak. You’ve spent many nights tracing your fingers across those harsh planes of muscle. The scars left from years in scout training; even more from the warriors.

He was just a child then. He didn't know any better.

It's hard to really think for yourself when you've been spoon fed a lie. It's even harder when those who came before you believe that lie themselves.

Strong fingers find themselves tangled in the strings of your corset. Though they do nothing yet, you know with a word he could have it off you. In one swift movement, the garment could be in tatters.

“We have enough time before Gabi comes by, don't you think?” He asks.

“Don't tempt fate, Braun,” you warn.

Warm lips press against your shoulder, then your neck, then the corner of your jaw. Goosebumps rise along your exposed skin. You crane your neck to look back at him. He looks back at you with such adoration that it makes your chest swell with affection.

A set of strong arms pulls you to sit in his lap, your knees on either side of his thighs. His lips crash against yours, your teeth clashing together uncomfortably. You nip at his bottom lip, and as his lips part, your tongue presses into the warm cavern of his mouth. The sweet taste of orange still lingers on his lips.

Reiner’s touch is fleeting, and gentle. He's always held you like you were something that could easily break. And there was a time where that was the case; not in the sense that you were breakable, but he was so clumsy that he couldn't help the accidents that would sometimes happen. You remind him constantly that you're not made of glass. That you're not nearly as fragile as he treats you. Yet he holds you with a strange tenderness that you’ve never felt before. Reiner, so soft and big, cups you in his hands like a small bird fallen from its nest.

When you pull away, a string of saliva connects your lips to his. “Bed,” you say, “now.”

He laughs, softly, hauling you into his arms bridal style. It's only a few steps from the living room to the door to your bedroom, but he carries you the entire way, as if the trek is too much for your legs to handle.

You land on the bed on your back, and Reiner is quick to climb on after you. In favor of taking off your dress entirely, you bunch the skirt up around your waist, taking fistfulls of the soft fabric. Your corset is loosened, and the neckline of your dress is shoved below your breasts. Your nipples harden when exposed to the cold air. Reiner takes one of the pebbled nubs between his lips, nipping gently, drawing a sharp gasp from you.

One of his hands finds your breasts, the other dips between your thighs. His thumb finds the swollen bud of your clit, gently grazing across it. Reiner is flushed from his forehead to his chest. Red tints the tips of his ears, his nose, and the bit of his chest visible under the collar of his shirt. The top few buttons of his shirt have come undone, and one strap of his suspenders is falling off his shoulder. He moves to rest his chin on your lower stomach. Swollen lips find the inside of your thigh, leaving a trail of kisses up it.

“Can I…”

“Reiner, you don't have to ask to eat me out,” you say.

Your words send a throb right to his hardening cock. Honey colored eyes move to meet yours, staring up at you through blonde lashes. He has a look in his eyes. It looks like he could eat you. And you might just let him. A few years ago your words would have an entirely different connotation.

Reiner licks a stripe from your belly button, to your mound, tongue barely brushing across your clit as he pulls away. You whine, your fingers burying in golden locks of hair. His arms hook around your thighs, pulling your body flush to his. The scratchiness of his stubble is the first thing you feel. Then a hot tongue running up your slit. Reiner laps and sucks like a man starved, and finally presented with a meal.

“There-” you say, your grip tightening on his hair.

He lifts his head up just enough to ask “there?”

You nod. Reiner lets out a muffled sounding laugh as you nudge his head back down.

Two fingers press against the soaked entrance of your cunt. When one slides in without much resistance—if any—he adds a second, prodding against your slick walls. He’s slow with his movements. Like he’s studying your body. Memorizing how you feel, how you sound, how you taste. As if this is his first time, and not his hundredth. No touch you’ve felt is truly as loving as his when he’s worshipping you like you’re some higher power. Like you're a truly divine being. He looks at you in such a way that others are convinced you’re some divine creature.

The hand that isn't buried knuckles deep inside of you comes to rest on your stomach. Your fingers move to lace with his, and the moment your hands touch you swear you can see him shudder. With a final grunt, you cum hard, your thighs tightening around his head as a moan tears through your body. Despite this, Reiner doesn't pull away, taking advantage of your post-orgasm bliss to keep his head cradled between your thighs; for it's one of the few places he feels he truly belongs.

It's not until overstimulation sets in that you push his head away. And he does so reluctantly. The lower half of his face glistens in the dim light of the room, his eyes half-lidded, and cloudy with lust. Reiner is painfully hard; his cock straining against the confines of his trousers. He can't help it. Not when you're laid out in front of him like a full course meal.

You palm at the growing bulge in his pants. "Let me take care of this."

He swallows hard, eyes trained on your face, studying the hungry look in your eyes.

You're slow to undo the buttons of his pants. Soft. Diligent. Amber eyes are trained on your hands as you undo each button one by one. His pants are shoved down his hips just enough to free his hardened cock.

The head is an angry shade of red, and leaking precum all across his toned thighs. He's not too large as to be painful, or even intimidating, but he certainly isn't small. The action of sheathing himself inside your cunt is nearly enough to make him cum on the spot. His teeth find the fleshy part of your neck and sink into it. Not hard enough to leave a bruise, but hard enough to draw a surprised gasp from you. His lips press against the faint teeth marks he's left in an attempt to soothe the mark.

It's another moment before he moves. Despite all the prep, he wants to give you a bit to adjust to his size. Not only that, but he’s certain if he starts fucking into you now, he’d cum too soon.

Heat radiates off his skin like a furnace. He’s always run a bit warmer than the average person. Your arms move to loop around his neck, guiding him to press his chest against yours.

“Move, Rei,” you say, “please.”

Your words are enough to send a shock of pleasure right up his spine. His hips snap against yours, pulling a gasp from you. “Like this?”

You nod. “Like- that.”

That gentleness translates over into how he fucks into you. His movements are slow at first. Experimental. He's taking his time. It doesn't matter if this is his first time, or his hundredth. He studies your body like a book, taking great care to figure out just what makes you writhe. Nobody knows your body nearly as well as he does; the only exception being yourself, but that’s a given.

You can only tremble under the large body on top of yours, driving his hips against yours relentelesly. How he cradles you so gently as soft, sweet words fall past his lips. Walking a thin line between roughness, and softness. For Reiner is a soft lover that wishes nothing more than to show you the same gentleness you show him.

There's something so oddly intimate about having someone know your body almost as well as yourself. To have them understand how to make you come undone with just their hands, or a few sweet words, or a skilled tongue. You think you’re less talented in such delicate manners. He doesn't seem to be complaining, though.

Reiner can't tear his eyes away from the way your tits bounce with each thrust. How your chest heaves with each breath you take in. His eyes follow a bead of sweat as it rolls down the valley between your breasts. He's not certain which part of your body he likes the most. But he does certainly favor your thighs, and the action of being buried between them.

Jumbled words of praise fall past his lips, in short, choppy sentence fragments. The pleasure of being buried inside of you seems to disrupt any coherent thought he’s had. In this moment only the two of you exist; your bodies becoming close to one.

Never in his life had Reiner imagined he would give himself to another person this way. To allow himself to come undone entirely in the presence of another. To put so much trust in them. To hold another human being so close. The action of allowing himself peace is new to him.

His thrusts grow sloppier as he nears his release. You can sense it in his breathing. How each breath grows heavier. How warm it feels against your neck.

“Fuck! I can't—m’ gonna-”

“Cum inside.” You say. And who is he to deny you.

It's as if a set of floodgates have been opened. A set of teeth find the junction where your shoulder and neck meet, and sink into it. You sport a little crescent-shaped mark to show for it. His large body shakes against yours as he gives one final thrust, painting your womb white.

You can tell when exhaustion sets in. Reiner's shoulder slump, and his body falls against yours. His forehead is sticky with sweat. Faint blush dusts the tips of his ears, and his nose.

Even years later he can hardly fathom the idea of giving himself to someone else in such a way. Living a life in such a way. Living in peace. To let himself love and be loved in such a tender way. It's taken him years to truly let himself rest.

He never expected himself to have a happy ending. Hell, Reiner hardly expected to make it this far. He often finds himself clueless as to where he’s meant to go next. Despite his indecision, you remain right by his side. You guide him through it where you can. All that can be said, has been already. Sometimes it’s better to hold him, than to try to talk things out. One is better comfort than the other.

Reiner is slow to untangle his body from yours. He rolls onto his back, his arm over his eyes. Then panic sets in.

He forgot to pull out.

Mortified, he pulls away, eyes wide, and trembling.

“Shit,” he says, “I just- you just… felt… too good.”

“It's alright, Rei.” You say with a laugh. “Honestly I wouldn't mind having a brat running around.”

His eyes are wide enough to resemble dinner plates. Your much smaller hands move to cup his cheeks.

Reiner knew this topic of conversation was going to come up at one point. There's no living with another person in the way he lives with you without the thought of children. You can only be with someone for so long without questions like this being asked.

You’re quick to pull your dress back up over your breasts, and tighten the laces to your corset. On your neck are faint signs of a bruise. It's a perfect match to the shape of Reiner’s teeth. He grimaces. He didn't think he bit you that hard. Reiner gathers a spare rag, using it to wipe down the mess between your thighs. The action is more for himself, than out of a want to clean. But such tender things as aftercare are for both partners, not just one.

You lay back, legs parted just enough for him to settle between them. He drags the clean cloth against your skin. Slowly. Lovingly. With such care that if anyone were to look in from the outside, they would be convinced you’re made of glass.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You ask.

“You're just… beautiful.” He says.

“Says the man who’s just cum.” You say. His words make you blush far easier than any lewd act he’s done.

“I mean it,” he says. Even when he’s not buried inside you. “You look pretty like that. That dress looks nice on you.”

Your arms stretch out, and you make grabbing motions towards him with your hands. Reiner moves to rest beside you on the bed, looping an arm around your waist, pulling you to lay against him. Idly you toy with one of the buttons on his shirt.

“I wasn't lying when I said I wouldn't mind having a kid,” you say, “we certainly have the space for one.”

“You would…”

“You don't have to give me an answer today,” you say, “but if you want one, I’d be more than glad to give you one.”

You swear you hear his heart drop off for a moment, before picking up in pace. He blushes far brighter than you, or any sinful act you could do to him.

Far too much is going through your mind to allow you to sleep. But you're too warm and content against his body to move. Your eyes trail to the ceiling, following along cracks in the boards.

“Let’s stay like this for a while,” you say.

taglist: @syntheticseratonin @eru-lloyd

#aot x reader #snk x reader #attack on titan x reader #reiner braun x reader #reiner x reader #aot #snk #attack on titan #reiner #reiner braun #not osha compliant

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furblrwurblr · 3 years

Text

Kaeya x reader, nonsexual body worship

Warnings: nudity, kissing of feet (not at all fetishized), heavily implied sex, explicit mention of intimate body parts, if you tag this as foot fetish I'm blocking your ass /srs

Reblogs are appreciated!

Blue hair, blue eye, blue vest. A blue gem glinted in the moonlight, leaving flecks of starlight across his cheek. Candlelight flickered across his features, bringing the soft indent of his dimple in and out of view. He was smiling softly, eyes calm and loving.

His calmness was a pleasant surprise, given his normal reaction to you stripping before him. You hadn't done anything special, only going a bit slower than usual to gauge his new and unexpected reactions. Even as your undergarments hit the floor, his lovesick eyes never shifted. When all clothing was shed, you took a moment to truly look at him.

He had pulled a wooden chair to the foot of the bed, posture relaxed. A blue vest, cape, and pelt were draped nicely over the chair's back, leaving his low-cut button-up, tight black pants, and field boots. Your lip quirked upwards at his shirt being cuffed; it was nothing out of the ordinary but ever since you expressed your appreciation of his exposed forearms it felt more special seeing his sleeves rolled up.

"So," you breathed, bouncing on the balls of your feet. "This isn't our usual routine."

He laughed, lips settling into a lazy grin. "Hmm, check me out all you like but we're doing something a bit different today, lovely."

The nickname made your heart swell and he could see it on your face.

"Get on the bed, darling. Nothing fancy, just get comfortable over the sheets."

The mood shifted into something more intimate than carnal. Your heart wasn't pounding as it normally was when he uttered that first command, but it was clenching and soaring all at once.

You settled atop the sheets face-up, elbows supporting you in order to look at him. He rose from his seat and leaned over you. With a stern hand, he pushed you down, laying you flat against the bed.

"Now don't you move, love. Let me do the moving for you," he said before settling back into his chair.

Your brow raised at his even tone, but you were slowly getting accustomed to the reverent mood he was setting. A contented sigh parted your lips and your eyes drifted shut.

He hummed in satisfaction. A smile made it's way onto your face as you heard him open what sounded like a large jar. His hand suddenly and gently grasped your left ankle, causing you to tense a bit before relaxing once more. He lifted your leg a bit, cradling your Achilles' tendon.

"You've been working so hard, my love. Helping so many people," he began before bringing his other hand to your heel. "Even the knights have heard praises of your work for the Adventurer's Guild."

His free hand slathered something, presumably the contents of the jar, onto your heel and up the bottom of your foot and began working it into your skin. "I've missed you. And while I may be a bit upset my favorite adventurer doesn't seem to have time for me between commissions, the kindness you've done for Mond cannot go unrewarded."

Once he finished working the oil into your skin, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to the bottom of your foot, where you knew there was a decent-sized freckle. It tickled, and even though your eyes were still closed you could feel how he smiled at your abrupt giggle. He set your leg down gently, then repeated his actions on your right foot, this time pressing his lips to the dark mark on your heel. The bed shifted under his sudden weight, feeling one hand dip the bed next to your leg and the other move to the back of your left knee. Bringing his lips to your calf, he laid his lips on your shin.

"I'd forgotten about that one," you half-mumbled, drunk on the overwhelming feeling of his love.

You felt his smile just before he pulled up just enough that his warm breath still rolled over your leg. Wordlessly, he moved to kiss your thigh, hardly pausing to brush his lips against the freckle on your left knee. The hand under your knee glided upwards, coaxing your leg to shift and grant him access to you. His thumb caressed the inside of your thigh in slow, deliberate strokes, all meant to tease the sensitive skin. He crooned at the goosebumps his actions produced.

You felt his hot breath quicken ever so slightly as he neared your sex, grazing his open lips over the dark mark that rested just where your sensitivity began. A gasp escaped your lips, jaw slack in anticipation. Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth, your chest heated, body responding to Kaeya's presence— until he lazily pulled away, whispering a laugh. Your eyes slowly opened and you looked down at him.

"Tch, lovely! So impatient," he huffed, a large grin on his face. As he dipped his head once more, you expected his lips on you again, but they didn't come. Instead, he pressed his nose to the soft tissue between your thigh and hip, heaving a sigh. For a moment, you believed his heavy breath as contentment, until he spoke once more.

You strained to hear it. "Please," he whispered. "Let me have you." Heart throbbing, your right hand carded through his hair, eliciting another, lighter sigh. Once he gathered himself, it was as if nothing had happened. He raised his head once more after placing your hand back onto the bed, keeping his fingers loosely wrapped around your wrist. He looked up at you with clear intent to continue, but you could see the longing in his smile. You let him resume his doting wordlessly, closing your eyes again at the firm kiss he pressed to the freckle outside your hip.

He shifted to straddle your hips, just low enough that any stimulation wouldn't come from him. Carefully, his grip on your wrist tightened and brought your wrist to his mouth. He kissed the freckles up your arm, leaning over you as his affection went up your body. Wrist, elbow, bicep, shoulder. His breath teased your neck before his head dipped to your chest to lay a kiss on the freckle that rested on your chest. Lips open, he left a gentle trail of wetness before breathing an open-mouthed kiss beside your nipple. He smiled at the way you arched into him, enjoying the momentary tango of push-and-pull, never pulling away but never giving you the kind of solid contact you craved.

All at once, his presence over you left. Opening your eyes, he was still seated above you, this time reaching for your left hand. You met him halfway, curling your fingers between his. His expression softened (an impressive feat considering how star struck he looked already) as he ran his thumb over your pointer finger before pressing a kiss to the freckle that rested there. Another smile, but this time he looked into your eyes.

His deep blue gaze pulled you in like the depths of the sea, broken by crystal highlights of moonlight filtering through his earring. Flecks of dust floated through the air only served to make him look more ethereal, as if the world itself had become a churning mass of blue and he was your refuge. He continued down your arm, and chuckled at the mirroring of your marks. Wrist. Elbow. Bicep. Shoulder. Nestling his nose into your neck, he paused. You were happy, comfortable underneath him and content to receive his affection— he quickly attacked the four freckles on your neck, sharing light laughter between you both.

You felt his wide smile relax against your skin before he trailed his nose up your jaw to breathe hot air onto your ear and nip the freckle there with his sharp incisors, causing you to shudder in pleasure. His presence was heavy now, his head casting a shadow over your closed eyelids. He softly pecked the last freckle, on your forehead, before you felt him settle above you.

"...Hey."

You cracked an eye open to meet his. "Hey," you giggled.

He let out an airy laugh before wrapping his arms around you and breathing you in. Head in your neck, he spoke. "I love you," he whispered, voice veiling the same broken tone he'd had earlier. Again, your hands were in his hair, and you held him close. He'd been so kind to you and you thought to return the favor. You allowed him a short respite before flipping him beneath you, and for a moment he looked surprised before his suave walls reared their heads.

"I'm going to repay your kindness, my dear captain."

"Are you now? Am I to expect repayment in full?"

"No," you said in mock-thought. "With interest."

A hand trailing down his low-buttoned shirt slowly began to unbutton it. Just before the mood shifted, a loving smile spread across your face at his hearty laugh.

You'd gotten up for a drink of water after all was said and done. Facing him, you laid down.

"No," he mumbled, half into the pillow, "turn around."

A strange look was the only protest given. His playful embrace took you by surprise.

"I can't believe I missed two!" He kissed the last two dark marks on your right shoulderblade. You two stayed like that the entire night, feeling you'd properly made up for lost time.

#kaeya #furblewrites #genshin kaeya #kaeya x reader #genshin x reader #kaeya alberich x reader

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aizawashoutaa · 3 years

Text

ᴊᴇᴀʟᴏᴜsʏ’s ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴ ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴜʀᴇ

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ; ᴅᴀʙɪ x ғ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ; 𝟷.𝟽ᴋ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs; ᴇxᴘʟɪᴄɪᴛ ɴsғᴡ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ, ᴍᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴏᴜᴛ, ᴊᴇᴀʟᴏᴜs sᴇx, ᴄᴀʀ ᴀsᴋᴇᴅ, ᴅɪʀᴛʏ ᴛᴀʟᴋ, sᴏᴍᴇ ᴘʀᴀɪsɪɴɢ, ʟɪɢʜᴛ ᴅᴇɢʀᴀᴅɪɴɢ, ғɪɴɢᴇʀɪɴɢ, ғᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ᴅᴏᴍ!ᴅᴀʙɪ, ᴜɴᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ sᴇx (ᴡʀᴀᴘ ɪᴛ ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ʏ’ᴀʟʟ ɪᴛ ʏ’ᴀʟʟ!)

a/n; this is a rework from my hq!! blog (@sugawarasbimbo)

The human mind was truly a complex thing. No matter how hard Dabi tried to make sense of your behavior, he couldn't bring himself to find a reasonable explanation as to why you were seemingly flirting with another guy across the bar. He wasn't even gone for five minutes, but you couldn't resist the urge push his buttons just a little bit. After all, he made it so easy.

He watched as you placed a delicate hand on the man's arm, a gentle laugh coming from you after he told what was probably a stupid ass joke. Dabi was well aware of your little plan. He knew what you wanted, and he was determined to let you have it, however, this just meant that now he could have his own fun as well.

With drinks forgotten, the heavy bass from the music reverberating throughout the crowded bar thrumming in his ribcage, and a sadistic smile on his face, he approached where you sat next to the man who was trying (and failing) to contain his excitement as you leaned in to whisper something in his ear. The sight made Dabi’s blood boil. And the fact that you maintained eye contact with him while you proceeded to whisper god knows what into the other man's ear just solidified your punishment.

His lips were pulled into a loose smirk, his eyes conveying every promised intention he planned to put you through made you falter in your smooth movements. Dabi never looked away from you as he came to stand next to you and the man you were currently toying with.

"Where's my drink, babe?"

"I think you've had enough to drink tonight."

You visibly pouted, flashing your puppy eyes at him before casting a sidelong glance towards the bar top, "I didn't even have that much yet, you're no fun."

The man paid no mind to Dabi, but was quick to offer to buy you a drink instead, an offer that brought a sickeningly sweet smile to your features. Your boyfriend scoffed when you accepted, his tongue coming to run across his bottom lip. You were in for it tonight.

He watched as you took a sip of a sugar-rimmed drink, clearly enjoying yourself. When the man laid a hand dangerously close to the small of your back, he broke his façade. A quick hand slapped away the man's touch, and he leaned down to whisper into your ear, his lips grazing across the shell of delicate skin, "I think it's about time we go home, don't you, babygirl?"

That was your code. You couldn't deny the heat that filled your abdomen, sending small jolts to your core at the mere thought of what he may do. All you do, though, is sigh a little before shrugging with faux indifference. "I suppose we could head out."

You didn't miss the disappointment that flashed across the other man's face as he watched your boyfriend wrapped his arm securely around your waist. It would've been foolish of you to think Dabi would actually wait until you got home to teach you your lesson. As soon as you made it outside, his arm fell away from your side. He walked to his car and you followed closely behind him, anticipation building in the pit of your stomach.

"Get in the back, now."

You obeyed, watching as he cast a single glance over his shoulder before opening the door on the other side and climbing in. He had your back pressed the corner of the seat and the door, his face dangerously close to yours and it takes everything not to swear under your breath as you watch him lick his lips. The small metal staples lining his jaw glinting in the dull light of the distant lamppost made your core clench around nothing.

Dabi brought a hand to cup your chin gently, titling it ever so slightly before leaning in to plant warm kisses against the soft flesh of your neck. He alternated between gentle pecks and bites across your throat. Your thighs came together, working to gain any sort of friction. The man above you chuckled at the vain attempt of satisfaction. He brought his face up to stare into your eyes, his other hand between your legs, fingers slipping beneath the material of your skirt to rub circles against your clit, scrutinizing you when a stifled moan left your lips.

A soft whimper came from your chest as he pulled his hand away to rest on your hip. "You really think a brat like you should get any satisfaction after behaving like a slut in there? Hm?" He groped at your breast, groaning when he realized you weren't wearing a bra. "Damn, you didn't even wear a bra. What a whore." His words tickled your lips, his own just barely ghosting over.

You moved to kiss him, but he moved back, eliciting a whine from you. "Please, Dabi. Touch me."

"I'm not sure I'm convinced, babygirl." He licked a strip up your neck, the warmth of his tongue causing goosebumps to form across your skin. "Look, at you, such a mess already."

You had to take a breath to steady yourself as his hand suddenly slipped past your panties, hissing at the feeling of his fingers against the slickness of your folds. "Dabi, oh my god. Please, fuck me, please."

"That's right, beg for me baby, and maybe I'll consider giving you what you want," he groaned. The image of you writhing beneath him, begging for him to touch had him going feral, but he keeps his composure. You still have a lesson to learn, he's can't have his way with you just yet.

"Please, baby, please fuck me. I want you inside of me, only you can make me come. Please make me come, Dabi," you begged, wanton needs slipping out of your mouth with such desire it left you reeling.

Your wish became his pleasure as you felt two fingers easily slip into you. The sudden addition left you clenching around his digits with breathless moan. Dabi groaned at the feeling of his fingers being sucked in further, lewd sounds filling the cab of the car as he pumped them in and out of you.

Your head rolled back onto the headrest, your eyes watching Dabi became obsessed with how you looked wrapped around his fingers. "Your cunt is always so tight for me," he bit his lip, watching as your chest heaved with a particular flick of his fingertips, "such a pretty little cunt."

You were close, so close. You could feel your thighs begin to shake with every stroke of his fingers deep within you, hitting the spot that leaves you seeing white. The sensation quickly becomes overwhelming as his movements sped up, causing a loud string of moans and curses to leaves your lips as your orgasm hit you like a wave. High pitched, breathy whimpers of his name left your swollen lips.

"That's it babygirl, you look so pretty when you come. I want to see you do it again." He leans down, allowing his lips to finally meet your own in a heated clash of tongues as he licked into your mouth. "Fuck, the things you do to me."

You could hear the sound of his belt hitting the floor of the car. He pulled you down so you were laying with your back pressed against the seat, the cramped space making it difficult to maneuver with ease. He hovered above you, his hand anchored by you head to support him as the other shoved his pants to the middle of his thighs. He brought his lips down to yours again, this time kissing you with such tenderness it took the air out of your lungs. "You gonna take my cock like a good little slut?"

"Yes, please, Dabi. Fuck me."

He kisses you as he pushes in slowly. The stretch always left you breathless, the pleasure of feeling full clouding every one of your senses until all you could think about was being filled by Dabi. A broken gasp left your lips when he bottomed out, planting an openmouthed kissed against your throat and chest, sucking on the spot as he gently began to rock into you.

"F-Fuck, baby."

He anchored himself above you, watching you come undone below him. "That's it, babygirl. Tell me who owns this pussy."

You could still feel the effects of your first orgasm building into a second one, the feeling alone making you moan loudly. A slap to you thigh brought you back to Dabi’s gaze. You threw your head back as he hit that perfect spot inside you. You moaned unabashedly, "You do… Ah! You own this pussy!"

Dabi groaned as you clenched around his dick, making him bite his lip. "Yeah, this pussy is all mine, right, baby? No one else's?"

"No!" You cry, the pleasure running through your veins, coating your tongue as you gripped at his shoulders, "It's all yours, only yours!"

Your boyfriend slammed his hips into yours with such a force you were sure the car was shaking. The condensation that had built up on the windows dripped onto the floor as Dabi’s hand was pressed against the cool glass, his own high approaching at a dangerous pace.

His other hand came to circle your clit mercilessly, the sudden sensation enough to snap the coil in your stomach. You came around his cock with a broken moan. He didn't last much longer as your walls clenched almost painfully around him. With a guttural groan, he pulled out, painting your thighs with thick white stripes of his release.

Heavy breathing filled the car as your both came down from your highs. You looked at the come on your legs. With a smirk on your face, you collected some of the liquid on your finger, making sure to maintain eye contact with your boyfriend as you brought it to your lips.

"Holy shit, babygirl, you're going to be the death of me."

#bnha #mha #bnha smut #mha smut #dabi #bnha dabi #dabi x reader #dabi smut #touya todoroki

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imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl · 3 years

Text

Unexpected Places (Pt. 08 of 11)

Pairing: Ivar the Boneless X Reader/Bjorn X Reader

Word count: 1.8 K

Summary: As a princess, you've lived in a golden cage all your life, always a piece on someone else's game. But everything changed when the Norsemen came crushing down on Wessex, like waves in a violent storm. Their king spared your life and decided to take you with him to his kingdom, in what felt more like a rescue than a kidnapping. There, you were not only confronted with a completely different culture and lifestyle, but also with two of his sons. The oldest one has his eyes set on you, but it's the youngest one, Ivar, who gets who claimed your attention since the first sight. And he seems to have an unnamed interest in you. Of course you hoped whatever that was would pass, but when unexpected feelings start to flow a different way, things begin to change.

<- Previous part (07)

Next part (09)->

{Vikings Masterlist}

Bolt of Lightning

“I can't believe I did that.” You say in between laughs as you enter the main hall. “Does your ass hurt, Hvitserk?” Somehow, while training with Hvitserk, Ivar's clutch found its way to be behind his legs, and with a little distraction and a push, you knocked him down on his ass. It wasn't an actual fight, since you know he takes things a lot easier with you, but still, it made you and Ivar laugh until you cried. And no, you won't ever let this go.

“That wasn't fair.” He says, a finger on your face. “You should be careful with me, Ice Lady.”

“Oh, now he's threatening you.” Ivar sing-songs.

“He's threatening me.” You repeat, sitting on the table and putting your feet on the bench, in between the two bothers. “As if I'm scared of you.”

“You should be.” Hvitserk doesn't enjoy much the fact that you and Ivar paried up to tease him. And you love that he hates it. Taking the jar and three cups, he passes them around, serving you but refusing to serve Ivar, who looks at him with a fake annoyed stare.

Rolling your eyes, you give Ivar your cup, taking his empty one and pouring some of the drink in it, almost spilling everything. “Skol.” You say before taking long sips.

“Skol,” Hvitserk repeats, and at the same moment, you feel your cup being pushed up, the liquid flowing out and rolling down your chin and neck. “Oh, shit.” Hvitserk laughs, and when you put the cup down, you realize it wasn't him.

“You idiot!” Shouting, you take the jar, and in a fast movement, you succeed to throw some at Ivar. But he holds your wrist with one hand, making the jar hover above his head, encircling both your legs with his free arm and pulling you down from the table, your butt hitting the bench hard. “Ouch!”

“Now, is your ass hurting?” Ivar asks, his voice messed up by how hard he's laughing.

“You're such a jerk!” You try to stand up, but Ivar has you trapped, with an arm around your waist, forcing your back against the table. So you give up trying to set free, focusing your efforts on trying to spill what's left of the drink on him. “Don't you like drinking straight from the jar? Drink this.” You mutter, just as you manage to twist your wrist, spilling it partly on the floor and partly on his left arm.

“Stop wasting it.” The loud voice makes you both stop, and you get the feeling that the eye roll is mutual. Bjorn sits on the further edge of the table, a cup in his hands.

“We have plenty.” Ivar snaps back, getting a hard stare from his older brother.

Slightly pissed, you turn around, sitting now facing the table. The atmosphere changes, but you grew used to it. Since the lake incident, you haven't been around Bjorn a lot. He did try to apologize, and despite you assuring him that's in the past, it's not enough. You don't know what he wants, but you don't care. Seeing you around Ivar doesn't help, and you're around him a lot now. “So. It's getting colder every day.” You mutter, drumming your fingers on the table, hoping to change the subject and ease the tension.

“We're in the middle of winter, what were you expecting?” Hvitserk says, with a dramatic eye roll.

Kicking his leg under the table, you giggle. “I know. But it wasn't this cold on Wessex. I'm struggling.”

“It always helps when you have someone to warm you up at night.” Hvitserk gives you a look, right before glancing at his brother. “It's better than blankets.”

“Really?” You ask him, resting your elbows on the table.

“Really.” Bjorn's laugh gets Hvitserk's attention, and whatever he was going to say, it's forgotten. “What, Bjorn?”

“Nothing, nothing.” He mutters, shrugging his shoulders. “I was just thinking that there's no reason to worry if (Y/N) and Ivar want to use each other's body to stay warm at night.” His voice is full of anger, and he gives you a hard, mocking stare.

Exchanging a glance with Hvitserk, you notice how he looks down as if removing himself from the conversation. Turning to look at Ivar, searching for some explanation, you see how furious he is, but also embarrassed. What is going on here?

“What do you mean, Bjorn?” You speak up, not willing to let this go. If he started it, he better explain it.

“(Y/N), don't–”

“Ivar is incapable of... Let's say, fathering children.” He chuckles, his face half-hidden as he drinks up.

“What–”

“Whatever sickness he has on the legs, it also affected what's up there.” He continues, and you don't understand why he's bringing that up now. Why is he talking about something that clearly affects his brother? Is he just jealous?

Taking a deep breath, you bite your lip to prevent all the curse words that fill your head to come out. “How can you be so sure?”

“He tried once.” Hvitserk whispers, clenched fists on the table.

You can feel as Ivar gets tense beside you, so you quickly search for his hand under the table, holding it tightly. “He tried once. Only once. He failed and never tried again?”

“C'mon, (Y/N). You can't possibly think–”

“You can't possibly think that saying this will immediately make me pick you instead.” The words flow out, and you don't think much. The only thing you want is to put Bjorn in his place because he can't just treat his brother like that. “Ivar is not less of a man just because he's crippled. Actually, he has to be a lot stronger than common people, and for that I admire him.”

“Are you truly in love with him, (Y/N)?” Bjorn asks, and you feel a sudden heat on your cheeks, your heart starting to pound stronger.

“It's not your business, Bjorn.” You say, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Do whatever you want. It's your life.” Putting the cup down violently, he stands up and leaves.

Ivar soon follows, letting go of your hand and ignoring when you call him. Sighing, you exchange a glance with Hvitserk. “What do I do, Hvit?” you mutter, running a hand through your hair.

“If you want Ivar despite the... Difficulties... You have to make him see that. Him and everyone else because people will try to talk you out of it.”

Nodding, mostly to yourself, you know there's truth in his words. Ivar is a force of nature himself, but he's still human. And you know that, despite his strength, things still get to him.

The rest of the afternoon and evening goes by without any other situation. You meet Helga at the market place and invite her and Floki over for dinner. During the meal, Ivar doesn't show up, but you don't ask anyone about it. You know why he's hiding away. Bjorn, on the other hand, seems pretty happy not to see his brother around, but you struggle not to say anything and ruin the mood. You do manage to have some fun, listening to Floki's stories. He also seems to be growing used to your presence, since his wife took a liking to you.

A few hours later, you're at your room, in the sleeping gown, ready to get some sleep. Your muscles are sore from training, even though half the time you spent joking around. And your mind is tired too, from all the thoughts racing through.

How do you prove Ivar you don't mind the... Difficulties? Telling him would certainly be a mess. You'd blush like crazy, stutter, and maybe even make sound wrong. You should've ask Hvitserk for strict directions instead of just the general idea. Bracing yourself, you sit on the edge of the bed. These walls fail to keep the cold outside, or maybe it's the winter, way too harsh, pushing through the wood. It would surely be nice to have someone else here, to make you warm.

The idea that comes to your head is madness. But maybe, just maybe, it would make him see that, despite Bjorn's little show, you still want to be around him. So, taking a deep breath and praying for it not to backfire, you rush out of your room, the light fabric of the nightgown doing nothing to keep the cold from creeping over your skin. Tiptoeing, careful not to let anyone listen to you moving through the place, you quickly find Ivar's room, lightly knocking on his door, hoping that he's not sleeping yet.

When you hear the door opening, you release a breathe you didn't even know you were holding. Ivar is on the ground, looking up at you. “(Y/N)?”

“Hey.” You can't tell he's still embarrassed by the way he doesn't sustain your stare. But you don't say anything, walking inside and letting him push the door close before locking it. “It's really cold. Do you mind if I stay?” Not waiting for an answer, you walk towards the bed, pulling the blankets away and lying down.

It takes a while until you hear Ivar moving, coming back to bed. With your eyes open in the dim light, you hear his breathing. You're not sure what to say to make him understand that you want him. Because you do. You haven't noticed, but now, like a sudden bolt of lightning announcing a storm, you know.

So, taking a deep breath, you toss around, moving to lay your head on his chest. Your cheeks are burning, and there's a funny sensation on your stomach. “Sorry, but I'm really cold.” You mutter, eyes tightly shut, hoping Ivar won't push you away. But when you feel his arm around your waist, you can't help but smile, your thumb caressing his skin.

“What Bjorn said–”

“To hell with Bjorn.” Cutting him off, you take a deep breath, getting comfortable. “He's just jealous, the idiot.”

“That he is,” Ivar mutters, placing a kiss at the top of your head. “So are you going to sleep here now?” The cocky tone is back, making you giggle.

“Maybe. Let's see if you can make me warm tonight. I'll give you the answer in the morning.” Shrugging your shoulders, you bite back a smile. “Now, good night.”

“Good night, princess.”

Closing your eyes, you embrace the feeling of being here. You never thought you'd be that brave, given how you were raised. But then again, you never thought you'd end up in a place like this, in someone's arms like this. But now you know, better than anyone, that the best things can come from unexpected places.

Tomorrow, you'll have to deal with what was left outside this room. But right now, there's nothing but you and Ivar, and the silence, peacefully surrounding you.

@multific @revolution-starter @crackhead1-800 @youbloodymadgenius @clown-boyyy @kitten0394 @castielsangelx-blog @goldlion07 @midnightmystic @readsalot73 @xvxcarolinexvx @momowhoo @fangfoxy @msrawog @walkingonshunshine @alytavzla @anotherfan07 @heavenly1927 @msrawog @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom

#ivar the boneless imagine #ivar imagine #ivar x reader #imagine ivar #imagine ivar the boneless #ivar the boneless fanfiction #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar the boneless #ivar vikings x reader #imagine ivar vikings #ivar vikings imagine #vikings #vikings x reader #imagine vikings #vikings imagine

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imagineabrighterworld · 3 years

Text

The Saint and the Prince pt.2

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝔀𝓱𝓸 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓼 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓴𝓲𝓼𝓼𝓮𝓼 𝔂𝓸𝓾, 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝔀𝓱𝓸𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓭𝓸𝓮𝓼𝓷’𝓽 𝓵𝓸𝓼𝓮𝓼 𝔂𝓸𝓾

You look at your mother through the mirror as she braids ribbons into your hair. Her hands flutter as they hold your locks of hair with infinite gentleness.

You were dressed in the color of persimmons and summer peaches, from the ribbons in your hair to the dye streaking your cheeks. You felt silly dressed so weirdly. It wasn't like your family to be so.. Colorful. Not on a day like this. Everyone was wearing black except for you.

You shuffle uncomfortably in your seat. Your mother was crying, and yet she was doing your hair.

“Mama?” You whisper, hating the way her hands began to tremble and lose hold of your hair. Why was she crying? What was making her so sad? “Mama you're scaring me.”

She sniffles, using the back of her palm to wipe away the wetness of her tears. “Forgive me..” The kohl lining her eyes is smeared, but she pays no mind to the smudges on her hands. “Forgive me.”

You want to comfort her but she coaxes you into staying still as she finishes with your hair. It is only when your father comes into the room that you begin to piece together what is happening. You were being taken away from her, but why? It was supposed to be a good day today. The Alshanun Iraziz, the Sun Saint was supposed to be coming to bring her blessings, just like your papa said.

Your mother’s cries of anguish grow louder now as your father guides you out of the room, his own sniffles paled in comparison to hers. The sound of shattering glass is your only goodbye from your mother.

“Papa? I'm afraid.”

He says nothing. His hand tightens around yours, the bones in your hand squeezing together, but you're too afraid to pull away from him. Afraid he might disappear, or go back home to mama, leaving you alone.

A crowd lays in front of you, the familiar black clothing of the Sun Saint’s day is before you. Why were you in color when they were in black? You felt like an ill beating heart in the crowd of bleakness.

Now, you stand in the center of your town.

The villagers around you murmur prayers as you pass them by. They reach out and kiss your palms. As if you were a saint in the books your grandmother had coveted so long ago. Whispers surround you, the sounds crawling on your skin uncomfortably.

𝓞 𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓼 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓼𝓴𝔂, 𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓻𝓲𝓼𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓼, 𝔀𝓲𝓼𝓱 𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓷𝓮𝓼𝓼 𝓽𝓸 𝓝𝓪𝓭𝓪

Your father left you behind somewhere in the crowd as he ushered you to the platform in the middle of the crowd. His face blurred among the people, but somewhere in the throng you swear you can hear his cries.

As you look down at the orangewood platform carved with prayers, you know why your mother was crying. You know why the people have to hold your father back as his cries turn to screams.

“Bueirikan kembali! Khadhnaa!”

Give her back. Take me.

“Ahfuz tifli!”

Save my child.

The high priest stands behind you as the sun begins to rise.

𝓐𝓵𝓵 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓻𝓲𝓼𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓼

The orange sky is the last thing you see as a knife is plunged into your back.

𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓵𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓶𝔂 𝓮𝔂𝓮𝓼

---

Shoto returned to the others with his mind full of the color orange.

He mostly stayed quiet for the reminder of their tour around the town, his eyes constantly drifting to the blossoms covering every inch of the buildings. Their sweet scent was almost too much. Their flowers thick with nectar.

The town felt stifling, he didn't know why, but perhaps his talk with the mysterious woman would clear things up.

Bachar leads them back to his home and holds a feast with several of the neighboring lords as guests. Shoto isn't eager to converse, but he does his part as prince and answers their questions and occasionally offers up one of his own. They spoke of trade between the kingdoms and the benefits their people might have if they worked closely together.

The Alshanun kingdom had bountiful amounts of herbal medicine, spices, and pastures full of cattle, while Todoroki’s kingdom had less greenlands. But where it lacked in greenery, it was full of libraries, a strong army to defend from invaders, gold deposits, and waterfalls that held water so clear you could see all the way to the bottom of their lakes.

A partnership could keep both of their people comfortable for years to come.

Night fell, and soon the group was off to their chambers.

“Todoroki?” Midoriya asks from behind him, his hand on the doorknob of his own room. “Where did you go? You know, earlier.”

Shoto remains quiet, his eyes shifting to his door. A phantom breeze brushes against his arm, eerily reminding him of a hand. “Nowhere.”

It wasn't in his place to question a prince, but it was in his place to question a friend. So Midoriya asks once more. “Are you sure?”

Shoto looks at his friend, his eyes roving over his face. He was worried, and it warmed his heart to know he had a friend who truly cared. But he didn't have answers yet. He couldn't reassure his friend without any information. All he had was the memory of a girl.

“I’m sure.” The corners of his lips tug upward. “Goodnight.”

Entering his room, Shoto looks at the wallpaper lining the walls and the stumpy candles lining the window sill. With a flick of his hand, he lights them, watching as the wax begins to melt at their center. The warm smell of vanilla fills the room as he changes and soon he is in bed, drifting off to sleep.

When he wakes, the sunlight is weakly filtering in, not yet a deep gold but a pale yellow that engulfs his room. He sits up slowly and looks at the window to where the candles had long been extinguished in their own wax.

He listens for the sounds of life outside his door, but all there is is silence. Not even the servants were up yet.

Shoto sits up and pulls the sheets away from himself. He had half a mind to stay in bed and wait until the others were awake, maybe travel around the nearby towns and meet its lords. But he didn't listen to that half.

Slipping out of his room, he quietly makes his way out of the mansion after dressing in simple black clothing. It wasn't what he was accustomed to wearing, not when it was the color of mourning. But it helped him blend in with the early risers already setting up shop, helped him not feel a fool when they waved good morning to him.

Wending his way to the fountain from the day before, he sits at its edge, looking into its waters. Vaguely he could sense it, feel the way it would turn to ice beneath his touch. How its side would frost.

He doesn't notice you as you look over his shoulder at the water. Doesn't see your reflection until you're smiling at him.

“Hello again princeling.” You step back just as the stranger in front of you whips his head back. His eyes widen before they narrow, his lips a flat line.

“Hello.” He says warily, his eyes flickering to your orange and saffron clothing. “Why are you dressed like that?”

You sit next to him, undisturbed by how he looks at you. As if you were doing something out of line. He truly was a prince, one who obviously wasn't very social. “That’s the wrong question. I’ll grant you one answer.”

“Why do you speak like this? What are you hiding?”

“Wrong again princeling.”

Small ice crystals prick at his skin as a small pout forms on his face, a crease building between his brows. You hold in a smile as you see the gears turning in his head. You rarely got to have fun, and it was amusing seeing him so confused.

“Who are you?”

You let your smile show. Finally, he got it right. “I am the Alshanun Iraziz. The Sun Saint.”

“Were you always this way?”

Now he was asking the right questions, you muse as you inspect his hands that had folded themselves neatly on his lap, hiding the frost that was forming on his fingers. You could feel the power thrumming in his veins. The ice and the fire. If you were alive, you would have been concerned at how easily he might set you alight or freeze the blood in your veins. But you were an Iraziz, a Saint, and his gifts held no sway over you.

“No. I used to be just like you. Alive with a beating heart. I used to wear black, just like you. Now, all I ever wear is this.” You look at your silk slippers and the folds of your skirts embroidered with gold string. It was the most expensive thing you ever had in life. A gift from the High Priest that had ended your life, giving you this life in its place.

“What is your name?”

So much for one answer, you think to yourself. But it had been so long since you've spoken with anyone.

“I’ve forgotten my true one.” You dip your hand in the waters of the fountain, the cool waters soothing your warm skin. It was always so warm around this time of year, even when the sun was at its weakest. “I didn't know to hold it close, the day I became the Alshanun Iraziz was the same day I lost my name. I don't suppose I’ll ever get it back now.” It had been too long. Your people were long gone and replaced with their descendants. The faces you looked at now were watered down versions of your kin.

“What is your name?” You ask him, looking at his face to find him staring at your hand and the waters that didn't shift with your touch.

“Todoroki Shoto.”

You hum. “Todoroki. I’ve heard of it before. When your family was still only lords, not kings and queens.”

Todoroki’s face turns considering. “You've been alive a long time.”

“Alive is one way of putting it.”

“Then how did you come to be? Is your gift to be an undead? A shadow?”

“I’m glad you still believe I’m some form of alive, but I assure you, my life was snuffed ages ago.” There was no bitterness in your voice, you had long ago come to accept your fate. “I was sacrificed to become the new Iraziz, my people decided my fate long before your kingdom was unified.”

You feel his ice before it crawls into the water, freezing the fountain as a look of diluted horror crosses his face. “Your own people let you die?”

You chuckle. “It’s not unlike parting your meal for your gods, or offering them a glass of wine. Or how you dedicate a moment of your day in prayer for good fortune. My people gave me to the Sun, praying for a miracle. When my life was taken, a new one was given.”

“Were you.. the first?” The ice behind you slowly melts, a hiss of steam telling you the prince was undoing his work.

Now you can feel the old ache. The ghostly touch of your mothers hands as she fixed your hair, the feeling of your fathers fingers curling around your own.

“No. I wasn't.”

So many girls had gone through the same ritual. So many had their lives ripped away like pins in the hair. “I am, however, the last. After me, no other girls have been sacrificed.”

“Why?” What stopped them? You can see the unspoken question in his eyes.

“Each year, my spirit withers and turns weak, which is why they replaced the Iraziz each year with a new girl, a fresh spirit. But I’ve held onto this life, I’ve preformed miracles to show I’m still here. So no other girl has to die.”

The bubbling of the water fountain speaks for the both of you as you watch the people in their shops, readying their wares. No matter what their ancestors did to you, you held no hate for them in your heart. You could feel the remnants of rage that the girls before you held, but you had no such reservations.

Todoroki watches your people with you, his eyes distant and unfeeling. You didn't understand what he was thinking, but you could feel. Feeling wasn't your gift, not like how his gift was ice and fire, but you were always open to others feelings. So susceptible. It was heightened now in death.

“What is it you're thinking of princeling?” You ask.

“You said something when we meant yesterday. That I needed you.”

“I did.”

“Why do you think I need you?”

“You're lonely. You feel lost, like a ghost in a living body. Something is holding you prisoner.”

He glances at you from the side. “I’m not lost.”

“Then why do you have this look in your eyes, like you wish to be somewhere else. I felt a kindred spirit in you when I first crossed paths with you. Can you say you didn't feel the same?”

He doesn’t agree, but he doesn't disagree either. He simply stands up and begins to pace around the fountain, his hands clasped together behind him.

You lay down on the stones of the fountain, watching his pacing. As a saint, you couldn't help but feel pulled to the needy. It was strange knowing he needed you. That a prince could be so deeply wounded that he needed a saint’s help. But you couldn't rest until he was happy, until that dark ache inside of him was soothed.

“I.. I do not need you.” He says aloud, stopping across from you, the water fountain blocking your view of him. “I’ve already let go.”

“We both know that isn’t true.” You whisper, “I can feel you calling out. But I will be here for when you need me.”

“I don't-”

But you were already gone, and the sun was looming gold over the land.

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oikoik · 4 years

Text

—jealous (y.terushima)

warnings; explicit nsfw contents, jealous sex, car sex, dirty talk, some praising, light degrading, fingering, fem!reader, dom!Terushima, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it ya'll)

word count; 1.7k

a/n; all characters are aged up

The human mind was truly a complex thing. No matter how hard Terushima tried to make sense of your behavior, he couldn't bring himself to find a reasonable explanation as to why you were seemingly flirting with another guy across the bar. He wasn't even gone for five minutes, but you couldn't resist the urge push his buttons just a little bit. After all, he made it so easy.

He watched as you placed a delicate hand on the man's arm, a gentle laugh coming from you after he told what was probably a stupid ass joke. He was well aware of your little plan. He knew what you wanted, and he was determined to let you have it, however, this just meant that now he could have his own fun as well.

With drinks forgotten, the heavy bass from the music reverberating throughout the crowded bar thrumming in his ribcage, and a sadistic smile on his face, he approached where you sat next to the man who was trying (and failing) to contain his excitement as you leaned in to whisper something in his ear. The sight made Terushima's blood boil. And the fact that you maintained eye contact with him while you proceeded to whisper god knows what into the other man's ear just solidified your punishment.

His lips were pulled into a loose smirk, his eyes conveying every promised intention he planned to put you through made you falter in your smooth movements. Terushima never looked away from you as he came to stand next to you and the man you were currently toying with.

"Where's my drink, Teru?"

"I think you've had enough to drink tonight."

You visibly pouted, flashing your puppy eyes at him before casting a sidelong glance towards the bar top, "I didn't even have that much yet, you're no fun, Teru."

The man paid no mind to Terushima, but was quick to offer to buy you a drink instead, an offer that brought a sickeningly sweet smile to your features. Your boyfriend scoffed when you accepted, his tongue coming to run across his bottom lip. You were in for it tonight.

You didn't miss the disappointment that flashed across the other man's face as he watched your boyfriend wrapped his arm securely around your waist. It would've been foolish of you to think Terushima would actually wait until you got home to teach you your lesson. As soon as you made it outside, his arm fell away from your side. He walked to his car and you followed closely behind him, anticipation building in the pit of your stomach.

"Get in the back, now."

You obeyed, watching as he cast a single glance over his shoulder before opening the door on the other side and climbing in. He had your back pressed the corner of the seat and the door, his face dangerously close to yours and it takes everything not to swear under your breath as you watch him lick his lips. The small metal ball of his tongue piercing glinting in the dull light of the distant lamppost made your core clench around nothing.

Terushima brought a hand to cup your chin gently, titling it ever so slightly before leaning in to plant warm kisses against the soft flesh of your neck. He alternated between gentle pecks and bites across your throat. Your thighs came together, working to gain any sort of friction. The boy above you chuckled at the vain attempt of satisfaction. He brought his face up to stare into your eyes, his other hand between your legs, fingers slipping beneath the material of your skirt to rub circles against your clothed clit, scrutinizing you when a stifled moan left your lips.

You moved to kiss him, but he moved back, eliciting a whine from you. "Please, Yuji. Touch me."

"I'm not sure I'm convinced, babygirl." He licked a strip up your neck, the metal of the piercing causing goosebumps to form across your skin. "Look, at you, such a mess already."

You had to take a breath to steady yourself as his hand suddenly slipped past your panties, hissing at the feeling of his fingers against the slickness of your folds. "Yuji, oh my god. Please, fuck me, please."

"Please, baby, please fuck me. I want you inside of me, only you can make me come. Please make me come, Yuji," you begged, wanton needs slipping out of your mouth with such desire it left you reeling.

Your wish became his pleasure as you felt two fingers easily slip into you. The sudden addition left you clenching around his digits with a breathless moan. Terushima groaned at the feeling of his fingers being sucked in further, lewd sounds filling the cab of the car as he pumped them in and out of you.

Your head rolled back onto the headrest, your eyes watching Yuji became obsessed with how you looked wrapped around his fingers. "Your cunt is always so tight for me," he bit his lip, watching as your chest heaved with a particular flick of his fingertips, "such a pretty little cunt."

"Yes, please, Yuji. Fuck me."

He kisses you as he pushes in slowly. The stretch always left you breathless, the pleasure of feeling full clouding every one of your senses until all you could think about was being filled by Yuji. A broken gasp left your lips when he bottomed out, planting an openmouthed kissed against your throat and chest, sucking on the spot as he gently began to rock into you.

"F-Fuck, Yuji."

He anchored himself above you, watching you come undone below him. "That's it, babygirl. Tell me who owns this pussy."

You could still feel the effects of your first orgasm building into a second one, the feeling alone making you moan loudly. A slap to you thigh brought you back to Yuji's gaze. You threw your head back as he hit that perfect spot inside you. You moaned unabashedly, "You do… Ah! You own this pussy!"

Terushima groaned as you clenched around his dick, making him bite his lip. "Yeah, this pussy is all mine, right, baby? No one else's?"

"No!" You cry, the pleasure running through your veins, coating your tongue as you gripped at his shoulders, "It's all yours, only yours!"

Your boyfriend slammed his hips into yours with such a force you were sure the car was shaking. The condensation that had built up on the windows dripped onto the floor as Terushima's hand pressed against the cool glass, his own high approaching at a dangerous pace.

"Holy shit, babygirl, you're going to be the death of me."

#haikyuu!!#hq!!#haikyuu #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! smut #haikyuu scenarios #yuji terushima #terushima x reader

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megsironthrone · 3 years

Text

Meg's Game of Tales: Tale 6

*Familiar characters are NEVER mine! The original "Beauty and the Beast" is the work of Gabrielle-Suzanne Barbot de Villeneuve.*

Warnings: Beauty and the Beast AU. Angst. A little fluff??

Pairings: Varys x reader

Varys considered himself a man of intelligence. He was always one step ahead of most people (Tyrion excluded). So how had he ended up banished to an almost forgotten little village on the outskirts of a looming and foreboding castle that no one else seemed to notice or rather didn't want to talk about? It made no sense to him, but that little village would end up changing his life in ways in never would have expected.

Curiosity was one of Varys' more troublesome traits. He was always curious about what people would say or do in certain situations. So, when no one could tell him anything about the castle or its inhabitants, Varys took it upon himself to find out. Before he'd had a network of spies to do that for him. In this new place, he was on his own. With that in mind, he set out toward the castle on the other side of the forest.

As he traveled deeper into the dank woods, the atmosphere shifted. The air felt stifled and heavy. The light was nearly gone despite the fact that it had been early morning when Varys set out. There was something dark in that place and Varys found himself spooked for the first time in a long time. He was half tempted to turn back, but once again, his curiosity got the better of him. He had a need to know everything about everyone wherever he went. This was no different. So he pressed on.

It felt like he'd been traveling for hours when he finally made it to the castle. The air was even denser and the sky even darker. The castle itself was also dark and looked to be falling into disrepair. Stones were cracked. Walls were covered in ivy. Snow crunched under Varys' feet which surprised him. There was no snow anywhere else along his journey or in the village. That was when he truly knew why no one wanted to talk about the castle. There was almost certainly a curse upon the place.

A low growl caught Varys' attention. He turned to see a pack of wolves circling around the gate of the castle. These wolves were hunting and Varys was not about to attempt a return to the village in the middle of a hunting pack. He was sure they wouldn't attack, but wild animals were unpredictable. That left only one option that didn't lead to him freezing to death. He had to enter the castle.

To his surprise, the door opened easily. "Hello?" he called as he entered the castle. It was cold and dark except for the light coming from one room. A fire. Varys slowly walked toward the room only to nearly trip on an old clock. He bent down to pick it up.

"Will you please put me down?!" Varys nearly dropped the antique. A talking clock?! "You need to set me down and leave. Immediately! Before the master finds you here!" Varys brows furrowed. "Honestly, can't you see he's chilled to the bone?"another voice asked, "We can't just throw him out!" Varys glanced down to see a candelabra and a teapot looking up at him.

"It seems I was correct. This place is cursed," he muttered, but the household objects heard him anyway. They all looked crestfallen. "Yes…a sorcerer cursed our master, the castle, and all of us. As well as the people of the nearby village. It will take a special person to break the curse…so far, no one has been successful and it has been ten years already."

"And how is the curse to be broken?" Varys asked. There was a small part of his brain that was calling himself stupid for talking to a candlestick. "We cannot say. The curse forbids it." Varys sighed. Damn his curiosity. "Come, let us take you to the fire to warm up and I'll fix you a nice spot of tea," the teapot offered. Varys thought about declining, but he didn't want to face the snow and wolves outside. So he reluctantly agreed.

He was hardly in his seat when he heard what sounded like another growl. "Who are you?!" Varys jumped in his seat and turned around. Whatever he had been expecting, this wasn't it. Honestly he was expecting a beast. A monster of some sort. What stood before him was a person. Albeit, this person was scarred and their face was twisted into an expression of pure rage. "You are not welcome here!"

"Master, please. This poor man has lost his way. The wolves…" Your face hardened further. "So, you decided to trespass? Come to look at the monster? Well, take a good look!" Varys didn't see what you meant, but looked at you for a long time. After a while, he spoke again, "I was simply looking for a place to wait out the wolves." Once more, your expression grew fierce. Clearly the wolves were a tender subject for you. "Oh, I'll give you a place to stay. The tower."

*time skip and YOUR POV*

You found yourself sighing as you tried to read again. Your prisoner, Varys, had been in the castle for months now. Actually, he wasn't a bad person. You were simply angry. You were angry with the sorcerer who'd cursed your home, your friends, and yourself. You were angry every time you looked at the scars littering your face and arms. And you were angry with yourself. It was your fault you'd been cursed. You truly were a monster. But Varys didn't seem to see that.

After your initial anger, you let him out of the tower and offered him a room. You weren't going to let him go. You didn't want the villagers crashing down your door once he told them, as he was likely to do. He was angry at first, but you soon found yourself enjoying his company. In fact, you could say you were falling for him. But it wasn't enough. Not enough to lift the curse upon your house. He needed to love you in return. And no one could love you. That was all you thought.

Still, as time passed, you began feeling something you hadn't before. Hope. Varys didn't look at you in disgust. He didn't look at you in fear. Even in the beginning. He seemed to like spending time with you until your temper got the best of you. And after his sixth month with you, you decided that you were definitely falling for him. Because of that, you could finally explain your curse.

"The wolves out there weren't always vicious. The sorcerer made them that way. He took away my biggest vice. My vanity. My pride. He used the wolves that used to protect us. He turned my people into objects that grow less human every day that passes. My castle has fallen to ruin because I cannot break the curse myself. I gave up caring. People began avoiding the castle. Avoiding me. And after a few years, they forgot all about us. Because of my selfishness and pride, I'm disfigured and angry. I'm unlovable. A beast."

For a few moments, Varys said nothing. Then, he cleared his throat, his eyes meeting yours. "What happened to you does not make you a beast. While your temper does not help, you are changing already. Since I have been here, you've become kinder. More conscious of your actions and words. I am happy to say I can call you a friend…one of the few I have. And I will help you break the curse. If I can. I hope I can."

You gave him a smile. For the first time since your curse began, you felt that your heart was full. You took a chance and reached over to set your hand on his. "I hope so, too." Your eyes met his and the feeling in your chest bloomed into something you'd never felt before. You only hoped that one day, Varys would come to love you the way you were beginning to love him.

(a/n: I apologize for the wait for this one, lovelies! It has not been a good writing week, but I wanted to get this out for you today!)

#meg's game of tales #game of thrones #fairytale au #beauty and the beast au #varys #varys x reader

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selimunfridhirako · 4 years

Text

Shinji Hirako x Reader

💜 The First Date💜

A/N: I haven't been writing much and I do deeply apologize for that, again this is my secondary account, my first is @targaryens-blog I'm no longer allowing submissions no longer accepting requests at this time but for selimunfridhirako I'll have the ask box open if anyone would like to send anons just chatting or discussing topics. now that's out of the way I am taking a break from writing bnha/mha and will be focusing on creating Bleach content! I'll be tagging a few of my favorite bleach blogs I've found while trying to find good ol bleach content writers and here's a few to list^^@shinji-slut @sexintheseireitei @seireiteisins @hirako5hinji @buriedinbleach @jazzandzanpakutos @theseireitei @thesecondcircleofkel

First I know none of us talk I'm just simply a fan of all your works and you all inspired me to write bleach again your all my favs and truly hope you never give up writing for your favorite fandoms. This is my first official time writing for Shinji Hirako and I guarantee it won't be as good lol but that's the point! I just wanna write whether it's good or not. Please enjoy this scenario! Also tagging @so---ft & @fi16ns ! Much love

-Tara

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Word count: 17k

Warnings ⚠️: minor Alcohol use

Pairing: Shinji Hirako x Fem reader

Prompt: You finally worked the courage to ask Shinji on a date after years of pinning after the male. How will this might turn out?

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*You shouldn't be this nervous. Twiddling your thumbs and eyes down casted. Your head soon followed the sound of Shinji's voice, complaining about being hungry. You giggled mostly to yourself before sighing. Your heart soars everytime he's near, shake your head when hiyori and him are having their little spats, you go out of your way to even bring the blonde new magazines to read for his downtime. Way more than you'd like to admit. Your friend nudges you and smiles. "Just ask him if you guys can talk privately, it'll be okay." They say. Oh how easy you wish it could actually be. To work up such a courageous act to simply ask a man on a date. It'd be much easier if he would do it instead. Girls don't ask boys out, do they?. Finally after minutes chewing on your bottom lip you finally stood from where you sat and casually sauntered over to where he was sitting on the couch. Face in hand, his light brown eyes scanned the room before landing on your frame. He noticed you're tense shoulders and opted to sit upright and his attention on you to hopefully ease you Of whatever nervousness you're feeling. "Shinji.. Can we go outside and talk?." He smiles sweetly before placing his magazine on the couch, forgotten and getting up to follow you out. Now here, him standing in front of you, the idea seemed far more difficult than before. His slouched position and hand in his pocket, his free hand begun scratching the back of his head not knowing what to do now. You start to feel your chest feel extremely heavy, and heart begun to drop in your stomach just by his body language. You were scared shitless on what to do now. "Nice day out, huh?." You said trying to start some small talk.*

*Shinji's head looked up towards the clear blue sky before mumbling a "Yeah." In agreement and leaning his back against the wall of the warehouse for support. Shit. This couldn't get any worse. Your eyes closed and mentally slapped yourself at how pathetic you were being choosing to play with the hem of your sweater instead. Little did you know that Shinji was watching your every move and expression in his peripheral. And decided to break the ice for you.*

*"So, whatdya need ta talk ta me bout'?." **Your (eye/color) eyes finally met his calm one's. Feeling ease creeping into your every fiber and relaxing, but only a little. "Well, I. I just wanted to know-. " you made a humming sound through your nose and rubbing your arm to calm your nerves. * *'just. Ask. Him'*

*"Date.. With. Me?." Silence. All that could be heard was the sound of the wind rustling the loose leaves on the street. Soon though, his smile grew into his signature smile and his eyes twinkled.*

*"Yer askin' me out on a date (Name)?."*

*You couldn't Shake your head any faster almost causing you to get dizzy at the eagerness. Before a soft smile shown on your features.*

*"Y-Yes! If. You want to.." Why were you so nervous? You've been on dates before? But then again asking first was singlehandedly the hardest thing you've ever done.*

*"Hmpf. Nev'a been asked by a cute girl before. T'sound nice. When is it?." His smooth voice rang in your ears and heart lept with excitement.*

*"How's 7:30 pm?."*

_______________________________________

Here now in your room, You stared at your reflection for the 20the time, finding something new that needed touched up and make-up to be reapplied. Fixing your hair and smoothing down the dress giving yourself another look over. The dress your friend helped you pick out was stunning. White knee length, with semi thick straps that connected in the back with a lace design. With floral flowers in the color of pinkish red and a sash that wrapped around your waist. Final thing to top off was a white and black laced shawl you'll use to wrap around your arms and a simple hand bag for your phone makeup and wallet. You felt that since you were the one that asked him out, you figured it be appropriate to pay for the two of you as well. Role reversed much?. You let out a soft laugh.

Hearing you're phone beep, you quickly pulled it out of your purse before checking the message

Shinji 🎷:*Hey doll, M'Here."*

A dust of Pink adorned your cheeks while you let out a giggle from the nickname he gave you, before dashing off from your room to meet him at the front door. Opening the door, Shinji turned to the sound, adorning in a white button up shirt with a black tie, suspenders, black slacks with a nice pair of white and black dress shoes and holding a dark blue jacket on his forearm. He pulls his sunglasses up on his head and gave a modest whistle. "Yer lookin great (Name). N' all dressed up fer me?." He became so comfortable with that statement that he landed a hand on your waist to pull you closer getting a wiff of your nice smelling perfume and shampoo. "Gorgeous."

You smiled looking down at the ground, pulling a stray hair behind your ear.

"You're looking incredible yourself Shinji." He scoffs.

"Nah. This ole' thing?. Ts'been collecting dust."

You playfully slapped his chest before walking down the steps to the side walk. "So I was thinking about this nice restaurant I seen walking with (friends/name), wanna check it out?."

Shinji threw his palm up to stop you.

"No darlin. This one on me. I know a good place." Taking your hand in his he throws his jacket over his shoulder and proceeds down the street to a jazz club downtown. During the walk you soon discovered he called ahead and even made a reservation. Your mouth hung open and gawked at how fast he moved. You had only asked him out that morning and already he's made arrangements? Your heart wasn't sure how much you could handle this man.

After sometime walking you made it to a building called *'Cocktails and Dreams'*. Shinji opened the door for you and followed inside. The room was not too dark, but not too light, there was red leather booths sitting along the walls and small rectangular tables wrapped in red satin silk filling the middle of the room, and at the end of the room stood a beautiful stage with red, blues, pinks and purple stage lights. A piano, saxophone, a couple electric guitars and a cello sitting on their perks with band mates beginning their routine. The smell of cigars and delicious food filled your senses as you looked around. There wasn't many people here, probably regulars and some folks sitting at the bar upon entering the building and to top off this classy place soft jazz music played. Filling your soul with something it hasn't felt in many years. Warmth and happiness.

You were brought from your thoughts when the waitress walked past you. "Your booth is this way sir." Shinji threw his arm around your waist and led you to where you'll be seated together. He leaned down to whisper in your right ear. "So, whatcha think doll face.? Yer kinda place?." Your spine shivered with anticipation and licked your lips before responding. "It's perfect." Whilst making eye contact. He smirks, when the waitress took the card off the table she gestured the two of you to sit while she asked you two what drinks to start with. Shinji allowed you to slide in first before following suit. "Ya wanna alcoholic beverage or just water fer now?." He asked leaning towards you with that smile you love so much. "Water for now please." He nodded, "Two waters."

The waitress wrote it down and set two menus for you both to look over. Even the menu was fancy. "Ya wanna talk first then order? Or jus order than talk?." You smiled before placing the menu down. Sitting your chin in both your palms you leaned towards Shinji looking directly at him. He scooted closer to the point of your legs touching and threw his arm on top the booth chair behind you. He looked easy going and relaxed. Eyes half lidded while he looked at you through his lashes. You couldn't help but move in next to him and laying your head on his shoulder. This display of physical intimacy surprised the both of you before he let out a hearty chuckle.

"Where's'tha blushy nervous cutie who asked me out this mornin? M'not sure why but I'm enjoyin this kinda attention." You laughed with him. "I don't know. I guess once the jitters wore off happiness replaced it." You felt his head tilt to peer at the crown of your head. "Yer happy?." You hummed in agreement. Before lifting to look at him face to face. "To be honest I've been pinning after you for awhile." You looked down at the table. His smile faded into a slight frown. "But.. Seeing the way you flirted with girls. I felt I'd never have a chance. Till' this morning." His smile was completely gone but he replaced it with a smirk when you looked back at him. "M'Sorry doll. Nev' expected ya ta even gimme a second glance." You rolled your eyes.

"Well of course I did!." You giggled while he feigned fake hurt. By this time the waitress walked back with your waters and placed them down. Shinji moved to collect them. But you felt the women's presence lurking. You looked up at her and she was staring directly at Shinji, "Are you ready to order now, sir?." He gave a curt nod your way as to ask you as well, when you picked up the menu you quickly picked the chef's choice, as you were nervous to take too long, Shinji picked the same one before handing the menu back to the lady. "Thank you I'll have that right out to you, sir." Before walking away. For some reason you couldn't help but feel as if she disregarded your presence and only noticed Shinji. He turned back to you.

"(Name)." You turned your head his way. "Yeah?." He held your hand in his lap tracing patterns on your skin. "Wanna dance?." You beamed before nodding excitedly. He slid out the booth with your hands still connected before pulling you to your feet and towards the dance floor. The music wasn't too fast but not too slow, and soon he begun spinning you in slow circles before pulling you close to his frame. You giggled. You could feel your hands getting clammy at the closeness as your hands moved to lay atop his shoulders while he swayed and twirled with you on the dance floor. A couple times you had accidentally tripped or stepped on his foot, mumbling apologies while he shrugged it off. He taught you a few jazz moves before doing the signature twirl and dip. His left arm wrapped securely around the mid of your back while the other held your hand. He leaned in close to your face, a blush creeping incredibly fast, heart thumping in your chest. Your eyes widened as his face kept inching closer to yours, your eyes slowly closed Before he landed a soft sweet longing kiss on your forehead and bringing you back upright to his chest. The music ended and people hollered and clapped before music transitioned into a soft melody again.

Grabbing his hand, you both sat back down while laughing amongst yourselves and by then the food arrived. Two words. Mouth watering. House salad with shrimp and steak and to top it off you both ordered a coconut breeze martini to go with the meal. Needless to say you were thankful he picked the place, you knew jazz was his thing and boy did he deliver. You both chatted about music, movies and other favorite topics. Going as far as to critique little details within each topic. His laughs were genuine and sweet. Something you never heard before now, and his body language wasn't so much as lazy and uncaring as most times, but attentive and serious while still retaining his comical behaviour. Everything was perfect, he listened to everything you said chiming in time to time to put in his opinions and comments while you did the same with him. Slight brushing of leg and arms, and occasionally leaning towards the other, lips caressing each other's cheeks while you spoke. Needlessly to say, you begun to get a slight buzz from the alcohol a red hue tinting your cheeks. Your giggles and eye smiles were the cutest thing Shinji had ever seen. You were far more relaxed and open with jokes. After two hours sitting and talking and eating, the waitress had come back for the final time to ask if you two wanted anything else, and if Shinji would like the bill. You went to reach for your purse to pay, but Shinji had moved his palm up to stop you as he did before. "It's on me darlin. I'm the man, 'mayyybe' next time ill'have ya pay." Your eyes widened for the up tenth time that night, trying to argue back that it was your treat. And then it hit you. *'next time ill'have ya pay.'*

Your hands shot up to hold your cheeks and stared at Shinji in shock. He laughed watching as you turned away with the brightest blush, *"he said next time? He wants to go out with me again?"* you squealed to yourself. Shinji watched with a soft smile as you had your monologue before seeing the waitress hand him the check, he thanked her before her hand touched his shoulder in a flirtatious way, his eyes narrowed at her gesture.

"I hope you have a nice night sir." She gave him a sultry smile and a wink before walking off to serve another round of tables. He scoffs, upon opening the check he seen a piece of torn paper with a note along with a number written on it. He scoffs again; *'if you want to spend a night with a real women, call me ;)-' (xxx) -xxx- xxxx'*

He makes quick work of the paper after writing the amount on the bill then left a note for the waitress. He didn't even bother to wait for her to collect the check before he insisted you and him leave for a walk. He slides out, taking your hand in his and helping you out of the booth and putting his hands on your hips to follow you outside.

The waitress had walked eagerly back to your tables to collect the check and plates. Quickly opening the check with anticipation before her face fell in disappointment.

*'Thanks, but I got a real women. Oh, and ya not gettin a tip :) hav'a nice night.'*

____________________________

the walk was even more peaceful, not so much chatting, just making small comments about the scenery or how well the food and music was.

Your eyes turned to look at Shinji. "I didn't want to bring this up, but I felt that the waitress-. " Shinji stiffened.

"Didn't like me very much." He hummed. "S'fine dollface. I took care of it." Your heart swelled you could hear your friends voice echoing through your head. *"Cuff him. Cuff him."*

You let out laugh to which caused Shinji to turn his head. "Wha'so funny?." You Shook your head and squeezed his hand, by this time you both had made it to your home. He walked you to your door. "Well. This is me." He begun to slouch and scratch his head again mumbling to himself. The action would've made you think he was disinterested but the light pink hue dusting his cheeks told another story. You laughed at him and placed a hand on his upper arm drawing him from his thoughts. His soft brown eyes scanned your features before walking closer to you holding your hand in his with utmost care.

"Shinji."

"Yes dear?."

"Can. We do this again?."

He smiles. "Absolutely."

It was your turn to smile. Before your hands followed his arms up to his shoulders, and stopping at where his neck connects, soft hands wrapping where his neck starts and peering into his eyes with heated passion. You sighed softly smelling his expensive cologne.

"(Name)."

"Yes?."

"May I, kiss ya now?. Fer real this time."

You stood on your tiptoes to get closer to his face. Pulling his face only centimeters away from where you wanted him the most. Your lips were parted for him, his eyes lowered from her irises to your parted pink lips.

Before finally closing the gap to a kiss as Swift and loving as the first shine of sun adorning the horizon. And left little to the imagination of his feelings towards you. You wish you could say the kiss was short but you both held it for as long as your lungs could allow, before finally parting for air at last.

Breathless and full of love.

"I'll see ya tomorrow yeah?." You nodded excitedly before pulling him in for a hug. "Goodnight shinji. Thank you for a wonderful time."

He gives you one more squeeze before letting you go and walking in the direction of the warehouse. You leaned against your front door after sighing dreamily to yourself. You should ask him out more often.

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END.

A/N: hope this was amazing unfortunately my computer is down so I had to do all of this on mobile and wasn't able to put a Read More™ link. It was supposed to be a short one shot to get me started but inspiration bug hit so I apologize for the long post. I hope you enjoyed, my ask box for this side blog is open feel free to slide in and say hi! Love you all and more works will be upcoming ~ stay tuned. Much love

- Tara 🐉🔮

#shinji hirako scenarios #shinji hirako x reader #shinji hirako #shinji+hirako+headcanons #hirako shinji #bleach anime #bleach #female reader #reader insert #imagines #short story #discourse #writing prompt #bleach imagines

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