#those are short but I think they convey enough | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jamminvroomvroom · 1 year ago

Text

everything.

ln x fem!reader

in which you’re his best friend until you’re something more

hi! here you go lmao. probs the fluffiest thing i’ve ever written and i am obsessed with the concept! thank you for being here and baring with me - i loved writing this one and i’d love to hear what you think! huge shoutout to my girlies @mcmuppet and @lavenderlando ily both!

songs that set the mood: pink and white by frank ocean, daylight by harry styles, angel by finneas, enchanted by taylor swift, hate to be lame by lizzy mcalpine

warnings: 18+!! minors dni!! smut, language, friends to lovers brain rot, slight corruption kink, readers first time, qatar angst

6.4k words

“do you wanna talk about it?” you whispered softly, your hand resting on lando’s sagged shoulder.

your eyes were fixed on the third place plaque on his table in front of you, his very much fixed on the floor.

“no.” his reply was short and sweet, his tone conveying exactly how deflated he was.

you’d only flown in to qatar this morning, the october sun hitting you hard as you walked into the paddock, drastically different to the london climate you’d grown accustomed to. lando had all but begged you to come, your evening before spent on the phone, and you knew that he needed a friend, otherwise he never would have asked you to fly halfway around the world.

friends. that’s what you were.

you’d hugged him tight and told him that the weekend had to get better, and then his teammate put it on pole and got his first win. so, yeah, maybe it wasn’t going to get better and not even the podium could cheer him up.

his radio messages had hurt your heart, your chest aching as he self deprecated in the cockpit. he owned his mistakes, sure, but he’d taken it a step too far and you knew you had a job to do. you’d do anything, quite literally anything, to cheer him up.

you’d always found a way to be there for eachother, your friendship spanning five long years after you’d knocked a coffee over a guy you quickly recognised as the new mclaren driver. both nineteen and awkward as hell, you’d um-ed and er-ed and danced around one another in the busy pret in central london, chucking tissues at him, attempting to mop up the frothy mess all over his white sweatshirt.

eventually you’d just burst into laughter, lando immediately following suit. your cheeks were hurting from smiling at the curly haired stranger, intrigued by the very way his faced moved when he laughed, and he’d looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky, not like someone that had just destroyed a brand new hoodie.

and just like that, a connection was born.

you’d gotten used to having a friend for only half the year, but he never let you feel the distance. paddock passes often fell through your letter box and you could usually be located in the background of his streams when he was home long enough to do them, the amount of times you’d been wrongfully accused of being his girlfriend a list as long as your arm. even in those moments of awkwardness, friendship prevailed and you both managed to crack up together about the conspiracy that you were more than friends.

and what an intriguing conspiracy it was.

“we should get you back to the hotel, you need to get some rest.” you told him, standing from the sofa and offering him your hand.

lando grabbed it, squeezing, his own special way of telling you he was grateful for your presence, and let you pull him up. as he tried to walk towards the door, you stopped him, hands on his shoulders. you wanted to shake him, tell him how fucking great he was. you didn’t think he’d appreciate that after an intense session in the car.

“hey, look at me. you got this, okay?” you smiled reassuringly, managing to get the smallest crack back from him, his lips upturning ever so slightly. something in his eyes told you that you’d succeeded, a small glimmer of an emotion that you didn’t know how to unpack.

friends.

that’s what you were.

you tried to ignore how touchy lando was being. you figured he just needed some comfort, physical touch not out of bounds in your friendship, but a new level had been reached.

on the entire walk through the paddock to his car, his hand sat comfortably on the small of your back, despite the endless amount of cameras pointed at you. his hand skimmed your thigh in the car, accidentally, you told yourself, and you had to avert your eyes when his hand graced your headrest as he reversed out of the parking space. knowing that he needed you in qatar so desperately that he’d flown you out was one thing, the way he was treating you once you got there was something else.

he’d opened your door when you pulled up at the hotel valet, helping you out of the car, his hand tucked in yours for a second longer than necessary. once again, his hand seemed to be glued to your lower back the whole way to the elevator.

the ding of the lift had you both shuffling out onto your floor, trailing towards your rooms in a heavy silence, something more left unsaid in the air.

you reached your door first, coming to a stop and shuffling around in your bag for your keycard.

“um, i need to be at the track early tomorrow. breakfast?” lando asked.

you turned to look at him, nodding your head profusely.

“of course, just drop me a message and i’ll come down and meet you.” you affirmed, your fingers finally grasping the piece of plastic that had, of course, fallen to the very bottom of your tardis of a tote bag.

you expected him to leave, but he lingered, as if there was something else on his mind.

“you okay?” you raised an eyebrow, unlocking your door. lando seemed to snap out of it then, awkwardly running a hand through his curls that had taken a brutal hit from the humidity. you liked the look on him, nonetheless.

“yeah, i- yeah, i think i just need some sleep.”

“okay, well, goodnight. let me know if you need anything.” you disappeared through the door then, the tension getting the better of you. you slumped against the shut door, wondering what he so clearly wanted to say.

the clock read 1:32am on your bedside.

a faint tapping had woken you up, and you groggily scanned the room, trying to find the source of the noise. you deduced that it was coming from your door, letting out a groan as you threw the cosy comforter off and trudged towards the disturbance.

you cracked it open, peeking through the gap and coming face to face with your best friend.

“lando?” you croaked, opening the door further.

“i’m sorry, can’t sleep. can i come in? it’s okay if not, i just didn’t know what to do.” he sounded so shy, something you didn’t recognise in the man stood before you, and you quickly swung the door open, ushering him inside.

“come, sit.” you waved for him to follow you across the room to the foot of your bed. he sat down beside you, the mattress dipping.

you patted your lap and he instantly knew what to do, laying down with his head in your lap. it’s something he did quite frequently when you were sprawled on his sofa at home, watching a shitty movie that neither of you were really paying attention to. you’d often be looking at him, praying he didn’t notice, and he’d be playing with your fingers, tracing the palm of your hand.

you couldn’t help yourself, running your hand through his curls. you didn’t mean to, stomach instantly twisting with embarrassment, but it was quickly twisting with something else. his eyes fluttered shut, a low groan falling from the back of his throat. it made your thighs clench, and he must have noticed, the tiniest smirk on his face.

“you okay?” lando asked, his eyes still shut, a look of relaxation finally on his face.

you coughed awkwardly.

“yeah, sorry. are you comfy?” you said teasingly, trying to cut the growing tension in the room.

“i am now, could fall asleep here.”

“you can, you know.” you whispered. his eyes flew open. your heart was hammering in your chest. this was new territory and you were worried you’d fucked up. sleepovers were also a norm, but one of you usually retired to a guest room, not the other side of eachothers beds.

“you want me to stay?” his voice rose in surprise.

“well, i mean, you can if you want, like, there’s space and-“ you rambled.

“do you want me to stay?” he repeated.

“is it gonna help?” you questioned cautiously.

“yes.” the confidence in which he replied did something to you.

“then stay.”

you crawled up the mattress, falling back into the place you’d so comfortably occupied just minutes before. you laid so still, watching with quiet curiosity as he slipped his hoodie off. his shirt came with it ever so slightly, riding up over his back, and you had to pry your eyes away, the ache between your thighs still ever present.

what on earth were you doing, allowing your best friend to crawl into bed with you? emotions were running so high, but it felt like a switch had been flipped ever since you hit the tarmac in qatar. every look, every touch was fuelled by something different to what it had been before and you weren’t sure if it was a good thing or not.

lando turned towards you, making his way back over to the bed. he looked apprehensive, as if he was thinking the same thoughts as you, wondering if there was any logic in what was about to happen. he seemed to come to the conclusion that this was, in fact, happening, crawling into bed beside you.

“is this okay?” lando breathed into the darkness of the room, his hand brushing yours. you were both as still as planks, mere centimetres separating you, the only light coming from the lamp beside the bed.

“yeah,” you took a deep breath, preparing for the words that were about to come tumbling out. “i’ve just never done this before.” you spoke quickly, sucking in another breath as you finished.

“you’ve never…”

“i’ve never shared a bed… like this.”

“like what?”

“with a… a guy?” your anxiety riddled words came out more like a question than an answer.

“oh. oh.” it seemed to dawn on lando then. “so, you’ve never… oh. i mean i can go if you’re uncomfortable.”

“lando, no, i just wanted you to know. i’m always comfortable with you.” you said, quietly baring your soul to him.

you weren’t sure why you’d basically told him you were a virgin. it held no relevance, he was just here to sleep, for some friendly comfort. he was not here for any other reason. and yet here you were, spilling the beans, all over the bed you found yourself sharing.

“i didn’t come here to, you know. i just needed you.”

you tried to ignore the pang in your chest and the annoying, minuscule butterfly springing to life in your belly.

“god, yeah i know! i didn’t think that you wanted to, well i mean not with me because why would you want me like that anyway, i get why you’re here, lando.” you rambled into the empty air. you heard yourself, groaning in embarrassment and dragging the cover over your face. lando laughed, pulling it back so he could see you again.

he was leaning over you, perched on his side, resting on his elbow.

“trust me, i’m more than happy with any part of yourself that you wanna give me.”

“don’t tease me, lando.” you scoffed. he was joking, right? right?

“i’m not! i promise, this is the one place i want to be.”

“why? why with me? i mean you could’ve called max. all he does is stream when you’re not home, think he misses you.” you were half joking, half deadly serious.

“come on, it’s you. it’s just… its been so hard this year, being away from you so much more. and then you came all the way here…” lando trailed off, averting eye contact.

you turned on your side to face him, placing your hand over his affectionately.

“you needed me.”

“exactly. i needed you. you.”

he gave you a look, one that you didn’t recognise, but you understood what it meant. it said more than anything had done since this confusingly beautiful interaction began. you got it, then, why you were here.

“lando-“

“i know that i shouldn’t tell you this and i can’t just spring this on you in the middle of the night, but i-“

“lando!”

“what?”

“kiss me.”

and god, he kissed you. the air was sucked out of your lungs, dragged out of you by the way he put his hands on your body, so urgent.

you sunk back into the mattress, his body over yours, a hand cupping your cheek while the other rested on your waist, stroking the skin there, exposed from your ridden up top. your hands were in his curls, and you revelled in the way that you could shamelessly touch them now.

he paused for a second, nose brushing yours, breathless and grinning down at you, a knowing smile that was so beautiful that it rendered you speechless.

“you have no idea how long i’ve waited for this.” lando breathed, scanning your face as if he was trying to take it all in. you, panting beneath him, coy smile, cheeks flushed. you’d never looked so gorgeous to him.

you leaned in to kiss him again, slower this time, relishing in the moment. you were lost in him, thinking back to the very first time you’d locked eyes and how you never thought it would come to this. this, the way he was holding you, was the best surprise.

lando pulled away, peppering your flushed cheeks with kisses, a dazed giggle passing your swollen lips.

he flopped onto his side, grinning at the ceiling mindlessly. you hadn’t seen him smile that big all weekend.

“are you tired?” you whispered, lips brushing his cheek, his light stubble rough against you. you wondered how it would feel elsewhere, scratching over your bare skin.

“no.”

“then why did you stop?” you asked, the words falling off your tongue slowly, sinking all over him like honey. you felt the way he tensed up, the suggestion that laced the seemingly innocent question making you tingle.

“i didn’t come here for that.” he reiterated.

“and i didn’t let you in for that. but here we are.” you weren’t ashamed of what you were asking, the moment was right, the one, and you knew it.

“it’s too soon.” lando was apprehensive. he was always overly protective of you, previously as his friend, but this, god, this was an entirely different ball park and he was proceeding with caution, against every natural instinct in his body screaming at him.

“says who?”

“it’s your first. it needs to be special.”

“everything about this is better than i could have ever imagined.”

“are you sure you want it to be me?” there it was again, those unrecognisable nerves that made everything inside of you flutter.

“lando, there is no one else i could ever want to do this with more than i want to do it with you. i want it to be you.”

“but… now? are you sure? i don’t want you to regret this.”

“the only thing i regret is that this didn’t happen sooner.”

“one last time. i just need to hear it one last time.”

“i want you, lando.”

and with that, the air changed, charged with a different kind of tension. lando pulled you on top of him, hands firm on your body, the action itself gentle. you steadied yourself, hands on his shoulders, his resting on your waist.

“can i take this off?” he tugged at the hem of your shirt. you nodded profusely. “words, sweetheart. i need you to use your words.” lando cupped your jaw as he said it, squeezing ever so slightly, enough to turn you into putty in his hands.

“please. yes.” you said shakily.

he smiled softly, slowly peeling the material off of your body, up over your head and tossed carelessly onto the floor. he kept his eyes on yours, despite the fact you were now left bare, aside from the white cotton panties that separated you both. he pawed at your sides, kneading gently at your soft hips.

“we’re gonna start slow, okay? gonna take my time with you.” he muttered, eyes on yours before they trailed slowly down, across your face, neck, collarbone, further and further until he was taking all of you in. he began to stroke the underside of your breast with his thumb, watching the way your body tensed under his feather-like touch.

“okay.” you choked out, head tipping back as he placed a kiss to the base of your throat.

his kiss trailed further down your body, peppered in the valley of your breasts, and then you stopped breathing, the air caught in your throat because he was looking at you, really, truly looking at you, as his tongue found your nipple. you couldn’t take your eyes off of him, not when he was looking at you like that, not when he was making you feel this good already.

lando pulled away, just for a second, just so that he could shift you from his lap onto his thigh. he was still fully clothed beneath you, totally in control, and you craved him in a way you didn’t know was humanly possible, so much so that you didn’t need the encouragement he was giving you to start rolling your hips, pussy grinding down on his covered thighs, the friction of your underwear driving you insane.

“oh, baby. you want me so badly, don’t you? should’ve asked me sooner. m’gonna make you feel so good.” his hands were on your hips, guiding you backwards and forwards on him.

“it feels so- oh, god.” you whimpered, fingers tangling in his curls, back arching further into him as your thighs clenched around his. he licked over your collarbone oh so slowly, a shiver running down your taut spine.

and then he was kissing you again, tongue slow over yours, his fingertips surely leaving marks where he was controlling your pace. the kiss was filthy, untameable, and you found yourself dragging against him slower, harder.

“i need you.” you panted, forehead falling on his shoulder as you pulled away from his lips, goosebumps pricking your sweat slicked skin. you were so close to an orgasm, desperate to feel him everywhere.

“i want you to come for me like this first, okay? can you do that for me, baby?” he cooed, bouncing his leg ever so slightly. “look at me.” and you did, somehow mustering the strength to pull yourself back up and find his darkened eyes.

you were a mess of curses when you let go, your body convulsing, collapsing into him as you came. you were throbbing on his thigh, one glance down at where you were grinding against him displaying your slick. his arms went around your body, flipping you onto your back so that you were resting against the mattress.

“you did so well, baby.” lando crooned, resting over you on his forearms. you stared up at him in awe, blinking away the haze. “do you want more?”

“i want everything.” you breathed, pulling him against you. you smoothed your hands over his shirt until you reached the hem, dragging it up over his back. he helped you take it off, and then it was lost to the room. you grabbed at his shoulder blades, smooth, muscular planes of bronzed skin so warm under your touch. you felt insatiable, like nothing was enough, totally intoxicated by him and everything he was managing to make you feel.

lando’s hand slid down your body, searching for the band of your underwear. when he reached his destination, he toyed with the lacy edges, letting them snap against the pudge of your belly, teasing you. you bucked your hips, frustrated, and he used the opportunity to cup your pussy, feeling where you’d soaked through the cotton. the groan he let out was carnal, animalistic, almost needy. he could feel all of you, how you ached and dripped, how you needed the everything that you’d requested.

“you’re so fucking good for me, god.” lando almost slurred his words, voice lower than you’d ever heard it. you keened at the sound, pushing your hips further into him.

lando didn’t give you much time to dwell on it, mouth latching onto your underwear where it met the crease of your thigh. he was so close, so tantalising close to where you were aching for him and you were just about levitating off the bed when his teeth grazed your inner thigh. you couldn’t see him looking at you, losing it, inhibitions out the window. your eyes were already squeezed shut when he began mouthing over your cloth-covered pussy, spit further ruining the sodden material.

“take them off.” you cried out, tugging hard at his curls that you hadn’t even realised you were clutching for dear life. and lando was a good listener, because he complied immediately, tearing the lace down your legs like a starved man.

his tongue was on you then, everywhere all at once, running through your folds and over your clit. you didn’t know if you were dead or alive, a different kind of pleasure than anything you’d ever experienced coursing hot through your veins. lando switched between long, slow licks, his tongue flat against you, and rapid kitten licks, burying his face in your cunt.

everything was moving in slow motion, your hands grasping frantically at anything you could reach; his curls, the sheets, his shoulders. you could barely make out what he was saying, his words muffled, lost to the soft flesh between your legs. it seemed to echo, every lick, stroke, word. you snapped out of it, finally, when he pulled away.

“more? you want my fingers, baby? gonna get you nice and ready for me.” you just nodded, voice lost to the air of the room.

one arm locked around your thigh, pinning you still, and the other snaked up your leg until he reached the mess between your thighs. he took a moment to take it in, how wet you were, how fucked out you looked, knowing full well he must have looked the same, unhinged as he gave into your shared desire that he’d tried his best to keep hidden. he’d never felt more stupid in his life for holding back, as he took in the ethereal delight sprawled under his touch.

when lando slid the first finger in, your stomach twisted deliciously. he watched you carefully, searching for discomfort but all he could find was sheer bliss, written all over your face as clear as daylight. he worked the digit in and out, nice and slow, curling against your walls. he could feel how tight you were, clamping around just one finger and he thought his head was gonna explode. he added another finger, watching the way you took him in, twisting his fingers.

“are you gonna let go for me again, sweetheart?” lando punctuated his words by putting his mouth back on you, teeth grazing your clit as he sucked.

you were thrashing, a silent scream building from the fire in your belly. you could just about make out the way he was spurring you on, his mouth running as you spilled over the edge, covering his fingers. you saw white, maybe god, ears ringing, and when you finally mustered the energy to look at him, you could have come for a third time. lando looked feral, lips red and coated in everything you had to offer him. his eyes were glazed over, a hazy grey that sent a jolt through your body, the aftershocks of the orgasm setting in.

“christ.” was all you could sigh out. a lazy smile painted your face, your eyes blown out, everything a little blurry. everything except him.

you could feel him scaling up your body, crawling over you until he was level with your face. he placed a kiss to your throat, your jaw and finally your lips; when he pulled away all that was left was shared giddy smile, both of you suddenly shy. you couldn’t stop the roaming of your hands, exploring all the parts of him that you could reach. when you found the waist band of his joggers, your hand grazing his abs as you did, he sucked all of the air out of the room, a sharp inhalation making him tense up.

“you still want all of me?” he breathed, his shaky breath fanning your face. lando was obsessed with hearing you say it, obsessed with how you wanted him as much as he needed you.

“all of you. lando, this is… you’re perfect.” you admitted, lips brushing his. your hands pushed the material down his hips, nails raking over him as you did. he couldn’t seem to wait any longer, kicking them off the rest of the way, his boxers quickly following suit.

you couldn’t help but stare, all of him bare against all of you. your nipples brushed his chest, his hands holding you close, your hands threaded through his curls. it was like you were sussing each other out, eyes watching lips and hands getting lost. you stayed like that for a moment, pressed together, closer and closer, until he was slotted between your legs like he was coming home. lando searched your face one last time, hunting for a smidge of discomfort.

“are you ready for me?” he whispered.

“yes.”

the initial stretch burned, but he slid into you smoothly, his cock slipping through your folds with ease. he felt you clamp down on him, his head thrown back as far as it could go, thick neck exposed to you. you bit down on his shoulder, where it met the base of his throat, trying to mask the gasp of pleasure that sent your eyes rolling back in your head. he grunted at the sensation, enjoying the sting.

“oh, fuck.” he was shuddering, trying to keep himself in check.

“don’t, oh god,” you started, meeting the roll of his hips. “don’t hold back.”

“we gotta go easy.”

“i don’t want easy.” you tightened around him then, and he saw stars.

“you’re so fucking good.” lando groaned, an edge of excitement in his voice, and then he unleashed everything that he’d held back. how much he wanted you, and a bittersweet weekend of frustration versus success came crashing down and he couldn’t do anything except give himself to you exactly how you wanted.

lando was a delicious weight on top of you, the drag of his hips slow, meeting yours hard. the pressure made you lightheaded, his body moving against yours like the thick drip of honey, smooth and sweet. you couldn’t make sense of it, of how fucking good he felt, grinding deeper and deeper into you like he’d found buried treasure. the overstimulation had your third orgasm building nice and quick, waves of pleasure making you dizzy.

“you like it like this? like when i fuck you nice and hard?” yes you did. “don’t think i can go without this now, you know that? such a good fucking girl.” you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, just let his words wash over you. “so beautiful, taking me so well.”

you couldn’t process that this was your best friend lando. this was a different person, it had to be. yet, somehow, it made sense that the man you knew, the one who spoke his mind, mischievous and troublesome, would be like this, a god above you as he fucked deeper into you with every thrust. he was filthy and gentle, brutal and sweet. it didn’t make sense, but it also just did.

“are you gonna come for me? one more time, baby. need to feel that perfect fucking pussy.” well, his wish was your command, because then you were gushing. the one thing you could feel was him, none of your other senses worked, you couldn’t see past the tears that fell, couldn’t get any words past your lips. maybe you screamed, you weren’t exactly sure.

lando was kissing you everywhere. each hip bone was met with his lips, your stomach, over your ribs, breasts, clavicle, neck. your face was covered in kisses next, your cheeks, forehead, a dainty peck to your nose.

“can you look at me?”

your eyes cracked open slowly, the exhaustion hitting as you came back to reality.

“was that okay?” there he was again, this shy version of lando that you couldn’t get used to.

“okay? lando that was…” you shook your head in awe. “that meant everything to me.”

he smiled then, that gorgeous, gorgeous smile, the one with the crinkles by his eyes and his teeth on full display. you melted.

“me too. you’re fucking beautiful. so, so fucking beautiful. should’ve told you sooner.” he murmured.

his words made you think, way too hard for your current state. what happened next? lando had said some things, some pretty big things that you didn’t know how to comprehend. it was crazy, how scared you were to bring it back up to him, considering he’d just been inside of you.

“sooner?” you whispered, hardly audible. lando was midway through tucking you both into bed, pulling your flushed, naked body into his own under the duvet.

“yes. a lot sooner.” he replied, not a trace of doubt in his voice.

‘how much sooner?’ you thought to yourself, unable to stay awake any longer to agonise over it, your dreams haunted by the way he touched you so well. it was magnificent to fall asleep in his arms, and you couldn’t help yourself from wondering when it would happen again.

you woke up tangled with him, fingers stroking your cheek, smoothing your hair out of your eyes.

lando was always so warm, but now his tanned skin radiated sunshine, a beacon of light in your bed. you smiled, eyes still shut, shielding yourself from the streaks of light casting over the room from the crack in the curtains.

“what time is it?” you croaked, bringing a hand to your eyes to rub away the sleep.

“gone eleven. i need to go, baby.”

baby.

you hadn’t gotten a chance to take my notice of the things he’d called you last night, too caught up in the way he played with your body. now that you heard it, in the calm after the storm, it made you swoon.

“already?” you tried to hide your disappointment, not quite ready to detangle yourself from him.

“need to get to the track. i think i’m already late. i just wanted to be here when you woke up.” lando sounded so soft, not as groggy as you, and you wondered how long he’d been awake, watching the soft rise and fall of your chest.

“thank you.” you knew that you’d have spiralled waking up alone, and you were immensely grateful that he’d stayed.

lando began to get up, wincing at your whine of protest.

“i’m sorry. i’ll have someone pick you up later, okay? i’ll see you soon, i promise.”

you knew he had to work hard today, knew how much analysis he needed to do before the race. he was starting further back than anyone would have liked, and he had something to prove as well, oscar starting too close to the front for lando’s liking. there were places to make up and hard work to be done to get back to the front.

“don’t apologise. i hope it goes smoothly today.” you smiled at him, watching him collect his long forgotten clothes. you were entranced by the way his body moved, the lines and shapes that tensed and rippled as he dressed himself.

“i’ll message you.” he promised, creeping back over to the bed. you weren’t sure what to expect, but the soft kiss to your lips, almost apprehensive on his part, could have killed you off, your heart pounding.

your grinned like a fool when the door shut behind him.

the shower was burning hot, loosening up your muscles. you cleaned yourself slowly, examining your body, the same one that you’d given to lando. he’d taken you apart, piece by piece, and put you back together, the traces of him that he’d left behind delectably apparent.

you followed the trail of marks he’d left, starting with the love bite below your right breast that you couldn’t even remember him leaving, making your way to the litter of fingerprints that were tattooed into your hips. your fingertips ghosted over your swollen lips, the kiss that he’d left at the junction between your neck and your shoulder, reminiscing the evening. you seemed to ache everywhere, the dull pain setting into your bones so nicely.

you prayed it would happen again. you felt like it would, everything between you had changed now, changed from any possible return to the norm. you wanted it to change, you couldn’t fathom the idea of staying friends when the lines had blurred like this, when he’d kissed you so deeply, touched you so intimately.

the shower was much needed, refreshing your body that was now tainted by him in the best way. you tried to keep a clear head while you got yourself ready, taking your time to make yourself presentable to the paddock. the time of your departure was looming, the pink and white sunset outside your window indicating that the race was only a few hours away. the air had cooled slightly, and you knew you needed to make your way to the lobby.

your phone dinged in your hand as you were packing your essentials into your bag. you glanced down at the device, unruly smile gracing your face.

see you soon, the text read, an orange love heart punctuating the short but sweet text. it was safe to say that the butterflies in your belly were well and truly alive.

the screen beeped as you scanned your paddock pass, and you slipped through the gate, making your way into the paddock. it was beautiful in qatar, they’d outdone themselves with this structure, the glass ceilings and jungle of greenery an expression of wealth and elegance.

you made a beeline for the mclaren garage, greeting lando’s pr officer who smiled warmly at you. you recognised oscar smirking as you appeared in the garage, and as you got closer you realised why.

“nice to see you. looking for lando?” his monotonous voice held an amused twang.

“hey oscar, great job last night!” you said, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “yeah, is he around here somewhere?”

“yeah he’s just doing press i think. extra spring in his step today.” oscar gave you a knowing look, one that made you blush.

“what do you know?” you deadpanned, fighting back laughter.

“i know that this was a long time coming.” he smiled, and then he was gone, lost to the bustle of the garage.

you stood there, probably in the way, lost in thought about what oscar had just said. he was right, this was a long time coming.

you jumped a bit when a hand landed on your waist, relaxing instantly into lando’s body when he pressed himself against you, head on your shoulder.

“i’m so glad you’re here.” he whispered, pressing a secret kiss under your ear, and then he, too, was gone, before you could even react.

your nerves were shot, ushered to the back of the garage where you found a headset. you chewed your nails, anxious about it all. the race, the changes that you were surely coming. you wanted it, wanted everything from him that he’d give you, willing to commit to all of it, to him. the distance, borrowed time, chaos of his world. last night had changed everything and you couldn’t have asked for more.

eventually the lights went out and the fight was underway. you found your hands clasped together, sweating in the dry heat and the anxiety. you clapped every time he made an overtake, storming through the field. when he made it into p3, picking the pace up on oscar, the nerves resurged and you prayed for a clean end to this race.

lando’s radio messages flooded your ears, and your leg bounced uncontrollably, your shoe slapping against the floor.

“be sensible, lando.” you muttered under your breath, resting your chin on your tightly clasped hands. he would be on the podium, but you knew it wasn’t enough for him, it never was. would you be enough for him?

eventually he agreed to hold position, thank fuck, and you could breathe again. he’d driven a beautiful recovery drive, bringing the car onto the podium, and you rushed out with the team to congratulate him. you lingered at the back of the pack behind the metal barriers, watching in quiet admiration as he jumped out of the car. he slapped oscar on the back, hugging his younger teammate before bounding towards the team. his head was darting around as if he was looking for something, but you couldn’t make it out with his helmet still on. and then the helmet came off and it became clear.

he was looking for you.

lando pulled away from a hug with a mechanic, leaning over the barrier right in front of you. you gravitated towards him, somehow moving through the swarm of team members until you were pressed against the metal too. he was beaming, eyes brighter than they had been all working weekend, and then his hands were on you. the hug he pulled you into was tight and you clung to one another for a moment, unbothered by his damp race suit, or the tickle of his sweat slicked curls.

the kiss he pressed to your cheek was far less secret than the one in the garage, so was the one he pressed to your forehead, but the one he pressed to your lips, as quick as it may have been, was the one that really took the cake. you were blushing when he pulled back, a mischievous grin on his face. you shook your head in disbelief at his boldness, unable to tame your bewildered smile.

“what are you doing for dinner, baby?” he called out to you as he walked away. the podium high had clearly set in.

nothing, you mouthed back, not quite confident enough to shout across parc ferme.

“good, we’re going on a date.” lando winked and then he was gone, pulled into the chaos of post race duties.

tears pricked your eyes when he stood on the podium, a much happier man than the one you found when you’d arrived. you couldn’t put it into words, how one night had changed everything, giving you everything you didn’t realise you wanted.

then again, lando was always good at beating expectations.

hehe the end

taglist

had to remove some tags that aren’t working! let me know if you wanna be added or removed xo

@boysthatgovroomvroom @thegirlinthefandoms @welld0nebaku @mcmuppet @japanesekel @vinvantae @ggaslyp1 @dr3lover @smiithys @turningxstrange @rachstash @infinitebells @multilovebot @fizzpopsnap101 @gaily19 @icecoldtires @mysticalnightenthusiast @thatchickwiththecamera @oyesmendes @disneydaydreameralways @yeolsbubbles @canyouseethesainz @ferrarifwendvale @fcbformulaeri @tony-stank3 @maih23 @nokiaholland @soleilgrec @carolineworld @anthonykatebridgerton @allywthsr @iamasimpingh0e @ophcelia @lovelynikol16 @coffeehurricanes @jennx03 @organasith @micks-afterglow @blueflorals @juno-1610 @lqvesoph @wilmasvensson @sidcrosbyspuck @better-dead-than-smeg @buendiabebeta @h0e-xoxo @mattxxamryli @pjofics @kovalcin @wintergilmore3

6K notes · View notes

lilreidgirl · 13 days ago

Text

Perfect

Summary: You`re insecure and your boyfriend, Spencer, thinks the absolute world of you, he trys everything to make you see what he sees.

Warnings: fem!reader, insecure reader, bad body image, comparing to fictional charecters, kissing, hurt/comfort?, not proof read, if i forgot anything; let me know, English is not my first language

WC: ~1k

A/N: I won`t be posting for about the next two weeks cause i have three exams, once exam season finally ends, Ill be able to post my many ideas that just seem to keep on coming. Until then, here`s a short Spence hurt/comfort fic MWAH

Perfect.

A word that feels as foreign to me as an alien language. It’s something I’m definitely not. No one is perfect, of course. But I feel like I’m standing several miles farther from it than most.

Spencer calls me a lot of things: beautiful, pretty, cute, smart, hot, exquisite, funny, tantalizing, sexy, insatiable. The list is endless. If it’s complimentary, he’s said it at some point.

Except perfect.

Spencer is a man of science and logic, and logic dictates that perfection doesn’t exist. It’s an unattainable ideal, a concept too flawless to have a place in a messy world like ours. And yet, standing next to him—this near-perfect person—I feel the ache of falling so much shorter than the mark.

There are people, though, who seem to come dangerously close.

One of the many things I love about Spencer is his love for books. He reads endlessly, often with the same devotion he gives to solving puzzles or understanding the human mind. He’ll bury himself in stories until his eyes droop, refusing to let fatigue stop him from finishing just one more chapter. And I know the women in those books, how they’re described: Silky hair, impossibly soft skin, hypnotic eyes, lips meant to be kissed, figures sculpted to perfection, and smiles bright enough to light up the darkest corners.

That’s what perfection looks like, isn’t it?

It’s certainly not me.

I see myself every day in the mirror. No silky hair here—just strands that seem to have their own rebellious personality, refusing to fall in place no matter what I do. My skin? Far from flawless. My eyes? Ordinary, nothing mesmerizing about them. My lips are… lips. Not the kind poets write about. My body? Just a body. Functional. Unremarkable. My smile doesn’t light up rooms; at most, it’s enough to convey, Hi, I’m friendly, please don’t ask me for directions.

Yet somehow, here I am, dating Spencer Reid—a man who feels carved by the hands of something divine. It’s almost painful, how unfairly beautiful he is. I’ve searched for his flaws, scoured every inch of his personality, his quirks, his habits. Nothing. If they’re there, they’re too small for me to see. He’s just… him. Perfect in all the ways that I’m not.

Two soft knocks on the door break me out of my spiraling thoughts. They’re gentle yet deliberate, spaced so perfectly it feels like they were timed with precision. Of course, they were. This is Spencer we’re talking about. Even his knocks are perfect.

I drag myself toward the door, feeling the weight of my imperfections in every step. My fingers fidget with the hem of my sweater as I go. It’s oversized and rumpled, the fabric hanging well past my wrists. My sweatpants cling stubbornly to my thighs but sag around my ankles. I’m a mess, right down to the fluffy socks that glide across the floor I haven’t bothered to clean in three weeks.

When I open the door, the sight of him steals my breath as it always does. Spencer.

His hair is perfectly disheveled, a chaotic tumble of curls that somehow looks intentional. His features are sharp, striking, and utterly unfair. His eyes hold the kind of depth that makes you feel like he sees every part of you, even the parts you’d rather keep hidden.

“Hi,” he says, his voice soft and warm, and that smile—the one that makes me feel like I’m standing in the sun—graces his lips.

“Hey,” I manage, though my voice feels embarrassingly small in comparison.

“I missed you so much,” he says, stepping inside before I can respond. His arms wrap around my waist, pulling me into a hug that feels like home. He lifts me slightly, spinning us in a slow circle, and I can’t help but laugh softly at the gesture.

“Me too,” I whisper, the words barely audible as my lips brush against his neck. When he sets me down, I press a kiss to his lips. It’s brief but firm, enough to feel the spark between us ignite.

He pulls back just enough to look at me, his dark eyes roaming my face. His pupils are wide, the dim light of my apartment making them expand until they almost swallow the brown of his irises. He looks at me like I’m something precious, something worth studying and memorizing.

“God,” he breathes, his voice low and filled with something I can’t quite name. “You’re perfect.”

The air leaves my lungs. For a moment, it feels like the world has tilted on its axis. I open my mouth to respond, but the words won’t come. My thoughts are spinning, but all I can focus on is him, standing here, calling me perfect.

Could perfection exist after all? Maybe it does. Maybe it’s right here in front of me, holding me, looking at me like I’m something extraordinary.

Or maybe perfection isn’t about appearances. Maybe it’s about this feeling—this warmth that spreads through me whenever Spencer is near. Maybe it’s about the way he sees me, flaws and all, and still calls me something I never thought I could be.

Perfect. That’s him.

Perfect. The word he used to describe me.

Perfect. The way I feel, despite my imperfections, whenever I’m with him.

I blink back the tears threatening to spill, a soft laugh escaping my lips as I finally find my voice. “Mm… so are you,” I whisper, leaning into him as his arms tighten around me.

And in that moment, I believe it. I believe that maybe, just maybe, perfection isn’t about being flawless. Maybe it’s about being loved by someone who makes you feel like you are.

@emma-e-a

#spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fic #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds comfort #spencer reid comfort #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds x you #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff

444 notes · View notes

essycogany · 4 months ago

Text

Rare But Not So Rare Sonic Moments

Sonic Swooning Over Amy

So, Sonic’s been kind of the driving force of Sonamy recently. Let’s analyze that.

I’ll show Sonic having feelings for Amy in almost every media aside from Fleetway and the two cartoons she isn’t in. I’ll also present the “whys” in more detail then just “Amy calmed down.” While that’s part of it, I’d like to add my own can of worms. And possible headcanons too. Bear in mind I never grew up with Sonic, so forgive my mixed opinions.

While I love Amy having a crush on Sonic like the energetic sugarplum she is, nowadays Sonic’s oddly been the drive of their dynamic. Any examples of it beforehand? Let’s look outside of the games first.

Sonic X

This Sonic takes more time to himself. He’s introverted, so his feelings for her isn’t displayed as obviously as the others. In fact, most people think he didn’t like her in this show because of how much he runs away. He even manipulated her by flirting in one episode. In my opinion this show has Sonic running away from Amy more often than not. Hot take: Sonic and Amy never had a real conversation either. They don’t��talk like they do now. Unless you count,

“Oh, Sonic I love you!” “Ah! C’mon, Amy. Knock it off!” No, it wasn’t constant but still common.

From my point of view, the conversations were short lived to none existent. It was the same in the earlier games too. Compared to how they talked to other characters or now, you might be able to notice. At least until Sonic And The Black Night were he talks to both The Lady Of The Lake and Amy. The two would also have visual gags of Sonic getting aggressively hugged by Amy. Or Amy falling on her face while trying. Aside from one moment in Sonic Riders where Sonic put Amy in danger, it wasn’t good or bad. Just cartoony for lack of a better term.

Maybe I’m just insane. You decided.

Anyhow, their dynamic in X is clearly built on actions. Like Amy giving Sonic a seashell bracelet and Sonic giving her a rose. Those little things. While I do prefer them being able to hold longer conversations, I don’t mind how X handles them. But let’s get to Sonic’s crush. I assume in Sonic X Sonic is conflicted. He’ll run away from Amy or try to pull from her on most occasions and others Sonic would constantly hold onto her when he doesn’t have to. For a long period on time no less. Amy’s the same way. One moment she’d be head over heels and other she’s bashful. Goes to show how young they were I guess. I have no clue as to why Sonic liked her back because there wasn’t much to go off of. Except the bracelet moment or her general kindness like feeding him one time. She was a bit much to him and most characters back then.

It’s possible Sonic just liked her and that was it, but I’d imagine due to all of the hand holding and small reciprocated gestures were enough to convey something was there. Straight forward and simple like the show itself. I headcanon this Sonamy being where the boyfriend gets dragged into a relationship and is fine with it. This version of Sonic’s attraction seems to be chaotic pink hedgehogs apparently.

Sonic Boom

Should I even explain it? Might as well because not only do I have something different to say, but these two haven’t been brought up much. Sonic and Amy’s romance mostly is played for laughs. Not saying their love for each other means less because of that, but the humor is the main reason they exist. Much like why in the main canon they started out the way they did. Regardless, I’ll dive deeper into Boom!Sonic’s affection for Amy to the best of my ability.

Boom!Sonic is egotistical, so whenever he thinks Amy’s crushing on someone else, it bothers him. Apparently he’s the only one she’s allowed to like. No “Radical Speedsters” or “Celebrities” can take her attention away from him. Like in Sonic X he tries to keep his crush to a minimum. Even though both him and Amy are terrible at it.

The moment in “Fortress Of Squalitude” a episode where everyone is a bit rude to Amy, close to the end Sonic says, “We may have a hard time saying it Amy. But…well you know.” Then she responds with, “Yeah, I know.” It’s such a sweet moment. Not as powerful as most moments with them but for Boom it’s very nice. Sonic and the others still value her as part of the team, but it’s Sonic who expresses it out loud. Goes to show how much he cares about her for even attempting to open up in this instance. Didn’t even have to finish the sentence. Amy understood perfectly. I also noticed how much he tries his best to impress her. When he needs to returned her book back, finds her hammer in Archie, (Vector did it in the show and Sonic got jealous) shows off randomly or dreams about her, and stopped racing to get her some eggs in one episode.

The funny thing about this Sonic is how much of a people pleaser he can be. Especially since the towns people are very spoiled and ungrateful. He wants to be needed and that’s possibly why he goes out of his way to do special things for Amy like go out on picnics, implied dates, and comforts her. She’s very take charge in Boom and Sonic has no problem calling her out when he needs to. Much like Amy in the show and games. Sonic will even put effort into doing things he doesn’t feel like doing for her. How honorable of him. Sure, sometimes he tries to make her jealous and isn’t perfect, but he tries. I believe Sonic likes Amy because again like Sonic X Boom isn’t canon, so more outright reciprocated feelings are allowed in this case. Not to mention the dude likes being shipped with her in the show. Which is a win in my book.

Sonic enjoys bugging Amy much like a playful boyfriend. He probably admires her leadership, but I’m saying this by observation. It could be for anything. Maybe he thinks she’s cute when she’s mad and finds her temper amusing. It could also be for her stubbornness. Some people like each other because of how much they can relate to their partner and in Sonic Boom’s case they’re two cuts of the same cloth. Although still different, due to the show’s theme, they carry the same condescending, slightly self centered, hotheaded, stubborn, and humorous traits. But they’re still good hedgehogs with a heart of gold and usually makes reasonable decisions. Not to mention they’re both equally shy about their crushes. In Sonic Boom, Sonic and Amy is that married couple who doesn’t get along much, but when they do you’ll understand why they stay together.

Reboot Archie Sonic

I haven’t read the comics (unless you count watching a few dubs and internet reviews) but I’ll give my limited thoughts. Luckily there’s not much to say. Although most people believe it was unintentional, I don’t think it’s too much of a stretch that someone from Archie thought it was a fun idea to have Sonic crush on somone in this reboot. Maybe it’s unintentional but it doesn’t seem that way.

I’m basically using this part of the post to ramble about how Reboot Archie’s Sonic still manages to be a casanova. He’s like a mixture of his old self and how he is in the games. That’s also why he acts the way he does around Amy. Could it also possibly mean he’s meant to like her canonically too? Reboot Archie did have to follow a more accurate way of writing Sonic after all. Anyways, let’s run down the list of Game!Sonic if he was allowed to be down bad for Amy like they’re already dating. Which is how I view this continuity. It’s basically if Boom and X had a weird fusion and this version of Sonic’s crush was the result. Except here he manages to be more bold and upfront. He knows what he’s doing. Here’s a run down.

First of all, THIS. No joke, more of these interactions would send me to the moon. I would explain why but the panel speaks for itself.

Sonic says, “I was worried about you.” Which he hasn’t admitted to her before this to my knowledge. He states this by giving her a side hug. Along with other out of nowhere physical affection and flirting. Not to single out Sonally fans. Sonic and Sally clearly have a close connection people appreciate and I respect that. In any case, Sonic and Amy in Reboot Archie also matches energies so much. They’re both clearly running off the same brain cell. You’d think they were together. They’d be a chaotic couple that’ll do the most outlandish things and somehow manage to survive them. After willfully risking their lives they’d do it again because being normal and safe is boring. I promise you, this version of Sonamy would be a huge force to be reckoned with.

-I’d also like to mention my friend Salty showed an example of Sonic being jealous of Knuckles coming with Amy on a mission and it’s brilliant. Dude gets all bratty about it too. Archie!Sonic does not play around. The post in question.

Sonic Prime

Already talked about this in another post, but I want to mention it again. Prime!Sonic is the most sensitive version of the character, so it’s no surprise he displays his admiration for Amy freely and out loud.

This moment says enough on its own. Sonic’s like this throughout the entirety of Prime and even changes the tone of his voice when speaking to or about her. It’s so authentic and adorable and makes him stand out against other variants.

Amy’s crush on Sonic in Prime is up to interpretation, but I don’t think she likes him in that way personally. Like other characters, Amy tends to be done with Sonic’s childishness. Guess she thinks he’s probably too immature to be boyfriend material whether she has feelings or not. Sonic on the other hand, acts how you wouldn’t expect. I personally see him as his own interpretation, so I’m fine with it. If he wants to have goo-goo eyes for Amy in Prime, it’s cool.

Prime!Sonic has it bad and I wouldn’t be shocked if he’d be the one wanting to go out on dates. Maybe he’d cook dinner for her sense he cooks in the show. I’d imagine Amy declining at first, but does it after his constant begging. They’d be swapped version of most emotional to least emotional. Prime!Amy would be a girlfriend who feels more like a parent than a partner.

Unleashed/Black Night

No one can bring up Sonic Unleashed without the lovely Amy meeting the Werehog scene. I love how Sonic didn’t like Amy hugging him, but right after she left he solemnly mopes around for probably the first and last time. He’s never in any game slowly moped around disappointedly before. Proving he only has certain reactions when it comes to Amy Rose. At least in some continuities. Unleashed gives you a choice to go on a date with Amy or not. Then the next game Sonic Team followed through with it, but ended up having Amy mad at Sonic for missing it. At least Sonic tried. Not to mention his reaction to The Lady Of The Lake and him flirting is fun to watch.

See how Sonic still likes her back but it isn’t because she’s “calmed down?” She’s still the same excitable love strucked Amy. There must be something more to it. Other than the obvious answer with Sonic Team wanting to do something with the pear. I have no idea why but having multiple hints even in the past must’ve been done for the fun of it. “We created this love interest but then railed back to Sonic not reciprocating her feeling. But we still want to market them as a couple in some way.” This franchise never cease to confuse me.

Amy encouraging Sonic in one of the cutscenes could’ve been where he started liking her back. Not in the way he does now, but he admired her none stop compassion and might’ve wanted to return the favor. “Eh, she’s sweet. Maybe a date won’t be so bad.” The fact he went out of his way to get her a chilidog and flirted with a different version of her should tell you enough. Of course it would take a while before anything else happened.

IDW/Sonic Frontiers

Yeah, after issue 2, Sonic’s never felt the need to run from Amy. From the comics to Sonic Frontiers there’s a lot of moments of Sonic being somewhat emotionally candid. Not by much, but close. I believe Amy’s the reason for that in a way. Sonic’s not afraid to hang out with her anymore. He even hugs her back on some occasions. “Ames” was a nickname from fanfics and Boom which became canon over time and he occasionally calls her that.

Sonic wishes to share an umbrella and spend more time with her. He also gets excited to see her more often. It’s like Reboot Archie but slightly toned down. At least up until the hard to trigger lines from Sonic Frontiers. The same game where he outright admits to being worried about Amy and smiles back at her with a Coco looking between the two. Then he supports Amy’s decision to leave etc. We all know where we are now.

Crazy how the more you look into this franchise the more tiny details you notice. It’s also crazy how much Sonic’s been into the love interest he originally was already supposed to love. To me, Sonic had a crush on Amy in Unleashed but fell in love with her in IDW. What makes Sonamy gripping though is how unique it is compared to most romantic relationships. Leaves it to be more entertaining whenever something unexpected happenes. It keeps you engaged.

Why Sonic Crushes On Amy?

1. Amy doesn’t want to slow him down. Obviously because of IDW issue 2’s love confession with Amy saying “I can’t change you. I don’t want to change you.” Amy joins Sonic and he includes her more often because of that. His speed is no match for her persistence anyways.

2. She shows compassion and love for those around her. Not just to Sonic, but everyone. She’s the definition of soft hearted. Even for people Sonic and his friends would be weary about. Think about now in the recent comics and games where Sonic’s trying it out. I do think it should be more of Amy’s thing then Sonic’s but it just goes to show how much she probably inspired him. Who knows? Even in the past he had respect Amy for her tenderheartedness.

3. Amy’s energy matches Sonic’s. Though sometimes she can be overly enthusiastic compared to him. Even before now, Amy’s always been adventurous and that’s probably something Sonic liked from the start. Not in a romantic way, but in a respectful way. If he were to have a partner he’d need someone to keep him grounded and be on the same level. No exceptions.

4. Her loyalty. No matter what Sonic does (including times she disagrees) she’s one of Sonic’s most loyalist companions. Obviously other characters are too, but Amy has her being a long time childhood friend/Sonic 06 and Unleashed going for her. 06 for trusting Sonic over Silver and Unleashed for still loving Sonic despite his transformation. Heck, before she knew who the Werehog was she wasn’t disgusted. Amy’s commendable for that.

From all these points here physical attraction isn’t included. What I like about both characters is their crushes don’t stem to how they look. Though it is worth mentioning Sonic has called Amy “Radiant” in TMOSTH, but that’s probably the closest we’ll ever get to an outright physical compliment. From Sonic at least.

- Side note thanks to @saltynsassy31 again, Sonic and Amy’s dynamic can be summed up as not a relationship but rather a situationship. Yes, it’s a real word. What does it mean? Basically two friends who has crushes on each other but doesn’t do anything about it. Just a fun detail for you guys.

Why Did Sonic Run From Amy In The Past?

I’ll make this quick, but the reason Sonic ran from Amy wasn’t because he didn’t like her. On the contrary. Sonic always could’ve ran at his normal speed to get away from her. Sonic’s the fastest thing alive. Why would he let someone he “didn’t like” catch up to him? I personally think he enjoyed the thrill of the chase. It’s why I believe he misses it nowadays. Though I do understand Sonic didn’t often treat Amy like a friend. Not in a way I can understand at least. Not that I think their relationship was bad, but from what I’ve seen, it was more told then shown due to Sonic and the gang not including her on missions. Amy normally had to catch up with them which was a running gag. Especially in SA2. It might be why some prefere her in stuff like Reboot Archie, Boom, IDW, and Frontiers. Because Amy’s friends includes her on adventures now. At least in my opinion. Correct me if I missed anything.

Final Headcanon

Since Sonic in the games has been the one to push the Sonic side of Sonamy much more then Amy does for herself, I’d like to think in most cases (especially as their dynamic grows) Sonic would start carrying other versions of him traits like trying to mess with her.

He’d want to get her to chase him more often and Amy would probably ask once or twice, “What’s going on and why are you acting weird?” He’d definitely play it off as him fooling around. Sonic doesn’t know much about romance, but he does know what Amy likes. Maybe he’d ask her out or go on a bunch of traveling missions. Anything to get her to pay attention to him again. After all, there’s been examples of the guy feeling ignored by her in and out of canon. It’s possible.

-There’s also a consistent detail where Sonic’s finally ready to open up but has to deal with Amy doing her own thing. Or when he’s face with different variants of her, he’s flirtatious with them. For the fastest thing alive, he has terrible timing when it comes to making his mind up.

Conclusion

Welp, there you have it, darlings. Examples of Sonic crushing on Amy more than some would think. It’s a Sonic character analysis and Sonamy post all in one. I know there’s more, but I think this gathers examples from the actual content.

Stay Creative! 💜

713 notes · View notes

moonstruckme · 4 months ago

Note

hi! i was wondering if you could make some more bartender!sirius x reader stories! anything works really! i love love love your writing 💞

Thanks for requesting ml!

cw: attempted sa, police are called (but don't worry, everything is fine)

bartender!Sirius x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

Sirius isn’t ashamed to say he’s had his eye on you tonight. You’re a sweet-looking thing, with sparkly eyes and a big, genuine smile that you’d beamed right at him as you ordered your drink. You got your first couple from Marlene, but most recently you came up to him. You’d leaned your elbows on the bar, looked at him with those lovely eyes, and said all the pleases and thank yous and may Is that always make Sirius want to climb over the counter and hug the customers who use them. He'd have comped your drink if you weren’t clearly here with someone else.

And that someone else seems to be infatuated with you. Appropriately so, Sirius thinks. He takes your hand to lead you over to a couch along the wall, and he nods so eagerly while you speak that it looks like his head is on a spring, and when you turn to look at something he’s pointed out he reaches over and—

“Hey!”

Several heads turn at Sirius’ shout, but the important part is that yours does. Not before your lips close around the straw of your drink, though. Sirius doesn’t have to work to convey urgency in his expression—that comes quite naturally. He waves his hand to beckon you back to the bar.

You obey, not looking upset but rather tentative as you make your way through the crowd. Your date stands with you, but something in Sirius’ face must tip him off. He disappears towards the exit. Sirius wants to go after him and strangle the bloke with his own two hands, but he’ll have to worry about that later.

“Don’t drink that,” he says once he thinks you’re within earshot.

You’re not, evidently. “What?”

“Give it here.” Sirius leans across the bar, reaching for your drink. It’s only the caution in your expression that reminds him to say, “Please.”

You hand it over, eyebrows raising when he brings it behind the bar and immediately pours it into the sink.

“Erm…am I going to be refunded for that?”

Sirius shakes his head, but managing a breathless, frazzled, “Yeah.”

He feels so far out of his depth. Nothing like this has ever happened during one of his shifts—at least, fuck, not that he knows of. Sirius isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do.

He starts by looking you in the eyes. “The bloke you were with put something in your drink.”

Your lips part, brows twitching together. “What? No, he…” You turn your head, clearly expecting your date to be right behind you. Sirius watches your face change as you realize he’s nowhere to be seen.

When you turn back to him, he can see the beginnings of fear in your gaze. His hand makes its way across the bar of its own accord, squeezing your wrist before tugging you gently towards the nearest barstool.

“I saw it happen,” he says firmly. “Do you want to sit here with me for a bit?”

“I don’t…yeah, please.” You look dazed. Understandably dazed, in Sirius’ opinion. You slide onto the stool and slouch to rest your elbows on the bar. “I don’t feel any different. I only had a sip.”

“It might not be enough to do anything,” he agrees. “I’m not sure, honestly. But it’s probably a good idea for you not to be alone just in case, yeah?”

You nod hesitantly. Sirius strokes a short line into the inside of your wrist, and when you look up at him those pretty eyes are wet.

“I’m already drunk,” you say, quietly, your voice on the edge of breaking. “How am I s’posed to know if it’s working?”

“I’m sure you’d know,” says Sirius, though honestly he’s not very sure of that himself. Guys don’t learn much about these things, not the way girls have to. “You’re alright, darling. We’ll take care of you up here, you’re totally safe. Do you mind if I phone the police?”

Your eyes widen to glossy saucers, the true gravity of your situation seeming to sink in.

“It’s just standard procedure,” he adds quickly.

“Right.” You blink, sniffling. “Um, sure.”

“Beautiful.” Sirius shoots you a smile. “Be right back. Marl,” he gets his coworker’s attention, “keep an eye on her, yeah?”

Marlene looks confused and then intrigued as she spots you weeping at the other end of the bar, but she makes her way to you.

Sirius’ call with the police is brief. They make him regret tossing out your drink before it could be tested, but they tell him to keep you at the bar and they’ll be there soon to question you. When he goes back inside, you look far better than he’d left you, face tearstained but dry and nursing what looks to be a plain coke topped by a mountain of cherries.

“Blimey, did you ask for extra?” Sirius asks, taking his place in front of you. Marlene, helping a customer at the other end of the bar, shoots him a grimace that lets him know you’ve told her what happened.

“I asked for a few,” you say, picking one of your cherries up by the stem and popping it in your mouth. “I think she feels bad for me.”

Sirius laughs. “No, Marlene doesn’t feel bad for anyone. She probably just likes you.”

“Really?”

“Yup. Almost as much as she hates our manager.” He winks at you. “Her latest plot is to rob him blind by way of bar napkins and maraschino cherries. But you didn’t hear that from me.”

Your lips twitch into something dangerously close to a smile. You draw a line across them, pretending to zip them shut.

“So,” you say, looking down to fish another cherry from your glass, “did you give the police my regards?”

Sirius smiles at your forehead. “I did. They said it’s been far too long, and they’d like to come here to chat with you themselves.”

You huff a laugh. “That’s funny, you’d think they’d’ve gotten their fill of me when I was in the nick last week.”

Sirius laughs, delighted.

You look up with a wry smile. “Kidding,” you whisper.

“Oh, I’m so disappointed.” He props his chin on his hand, letting his head loll to the side. “And here I was thinking you were a rebel outside the law.”

You shrug, smile fading as the melancholy turn your night has taken seems to take you under again. “Sorry to lead you astray,” you say anyway.

“No, don’t worry about it.” Sirius studies you. You look understandably worried, a tad wistful too, but still that same sweet girl who’d come up to order from him at the bar. “If you are concerned about the cops catching onto your jailbird alter-ego, I could always stay with you when they get here. If you want company.”

Your expression melts into gratitude, the fretful line of your brow softening and your eyes filling with relief. They start to go shiny again. “That would be great,” you say. “Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it, doll.” Sirius reaches across the bar, giving your hand an awkward pat. “Just don’t cry again, please? It kills me a little bit.”

607 notes · View notes

koyagifs · 3 months ago

Text

𝓱𝓲𝓭𝓭𝓮𝓷 𝓶𝓮𝓼𝓼𝓪𝓰𝓮

pairing: san x reader au: idol | friends to lovers genre: fluff word count: 825 words summary: san had tried confessing through subtle messages but he finally had enough. warning(s): -

You laid on San couch, wearing his t-shirt as well as some shorts as Byeol laid on your chest. San had invited you over, saying he'll meet you there after he had finish up a few verses with Hongjoong. As you laid comfortably, San was standing by a flower shop, wondering which one to get for you.

The amount of times San had tried to confess, he had lost count.

As you relaxed on the couch, Byeol curled up on your chest, her soft purring creating a soothing rhythm. The afternoon light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow around the room. You smiled, feeling content in this little moment of peace.

San’s playful banter echoed in your mind—how he always teased about bringing you flowers. It was sweet how much thought he put into it, even if he struggled to actually confess his feelings. You could imagine him standing there, deliberating over the vibrant blooms, his brow furrowed in concentration.

What would he pick? Maybe daisies, bright and cheerful, or perhaps roses, classic yet romantic. You chuckled softly, imagining him overthinking the choice as he always did. He’d probably think about what you might like, what would make you smile.

Your thoughts drifted, imagining what it would be like if he finally found the courage to tell you. The way he’d smile shyly, those deep brown eyes sparkling with hope. The anticipation of that moment felt thrilling and terrifying all at once.

Just then, you heard the door click open. San stepped in, a goofy grin on his face, a bouquet of sunflowers in hand. “I figured you could use a little sunshine,” he said, his voice bright and teasing.

You couldn’t help but smile back, your heart racing a bit. “You know me so well,” you replied, glancing down at Byeol, who was now wide awake and curious.

As he approached, you could see the way his cheeks flushed slightly, a hint of nervousness creeping into his demeanor. “I… uh, I’ve been meaning to tell you something,” he started, his voice wavering just a bit.

Your heart skipped a beat. Here it was—the moment you both had danced around for so long. You met his gaze, feeling the weight of the unspoken words lingering in the air, and waited for him to continue.

San took a deep breath, his fingers nervously twisting the stem of the sunflowers. “I’ve been thinking a lot about us,” he said, his voice dropping to a softer tone. “About how much I value our friendship and… how much I wish it could be more.”

The words hung in the air, a mix of hope and vulnerability. Your heart raced as you searched his expression, wanting to convey your own feelings without breaking the moment.

He stepped a little closer, his eyes locked on yours. “I just… I really like you. Like, a lot. And I’ve been too scared to say anything because I didn’t want to ruin what we have.” His cheeks were flushed, the honesty of his confession making him even more endearing.

You felt a wave of warmth rush through you, and a smile broke across your face. “San,” you started, your voice steady despite the excitement bubbling inside. You sat up, moving an upset Byeol as you left the couch. San looked at you nervously, but was soon at ease when you took the flowers from him.

“i knew the whole time," you said, smiling up at him.

San’s jaw dropped in surprise, his cheeks flushing an even deeper shade of red. “Wait, really? You knew?”

You nodded, a playful grin spreading across your face. “Yeah! All those little hints? I might be slow sometimes, but I wasn’t completely oblivious.”

He let out a soft laugh, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “I thought I was being so subtle!”

“You were cute about it, but not as subtle as you think,” you teased. “Like the time you kept bringing up that café with the cute flower arrangements. I saw right through you.”

San huffed, " does this mean you like me?"

As you wrapped your arms around San’s neck and pressed your lips to his, the world around you faded away. His surprise melted into warmth, and you felt him lean into the kiss, his hands gently finding your waist.

The moment was electric—sweet and tender, yet filled with the weight of all the unspoken feelings that had been building between you. When you finally pulled away, breathless, you looked into his eyes, which sparkled with a mixture of shock and joy.

“Wow,” he breathed, a grin spreading across his face. “So that’s what you meant by ‘liking’ me.”

You chuckled softly, feeling giddy. “Yeah, I think that qualifies.”

San let out a breathe he didn't realized that he held in, making you giggle. He placed another kiss on your lips, his heart racing as he finally got the girl of his dream.

#ateez san x reader #san x reader fluff #choi san x reader #san x reader #ateez fluff #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez oneshot #ateez x y/n #choi san fluff #choi san

313 notes · View notes

jewelleria · 9 months ago

Text

I don’t usually talk about politics on here, if ever. But it’s been almost six months since the conflict in the Middle East flared up again, and I’m finally ready to start. Here are some of my thoughts.

I say ‘flared up’ because this has happened before and it’ll happen again. Because, even though what's currently going on is absolutely unprecedented, those of us who live in this part of the world are used to it. Let that sink in: we are used to this. And we shouldn’t have to be.

But I use that term for another reason: I don't want to accidentally call it the wrong thing lest I come under fire for being a genocidal maniac or a terrorist or a propaganda machine, etc., etc.—so let’s just call it ‘the war’ or ‘the conflict.’ Because that’s what it is. Doesn’t matter which side you’re on, who you love, or who you hate.

This post will, in all likelihood, sit in my drafts forever. If it does get posted, it certainly won’t be on my main, because I'm scared of being harassed (spoiler: she posted it on her main). I hate admitting that, but honestly? I’m fucking terrified.

I also feel like in order for anything I say on here (i.e. the hellscape of the internet) to be taken seriously, I have to somehow prove that a) I’m “educated” enough to talk about the conflict, and b) that my opinion lines up with what has been deemed the correct one. So, tedious and unnecessary though it is, I will tell you about my experience, because I have a feeling most of the people reading this post are not nearly as close to what’s happening as I am.

How do I explain where I live without actually explaining where I live? How do I say “I live in the Red Zone of international conflicts” without saying what I actually think? How do I convey the fear that grips me when I try to decide between saying “I live in Palestine” and “I live in Israel”? I don't really know. But I do know that names are important. I also know that, due to the various clickbaity monikers ascribed to the conflict, it would probably just be easier to point to a map.

I haven't always lived in the Middle East. I've lived in various places along America’s east coast, and traveled all over the world. But in short, I now live somewhere inside the crudely-drawn purple circle.

If you know anything about these borders you probably blanched a bit in sympathy, or maybe condolence. But in truth, it’s a shockingly normal existence. I don't feel like I've lived through the shifting of international relations or a war or anything. I just kind of feel like I did when COVID hit, that dull sameness as I wondered if this would be the only world-altering event to shape my life, or if there would be more.

I've been told that, in order for my brain to process all the horrific details of the past six months, there needs to be some element of cognitive dissonance—that falling into a sort of dissociative mindset is the only way to not go insane under the weight of it all. I think in some ways that’s true. I have been terrifyingly close to bus stop shootings when my commute wasn’t over; I have felt my apartment building shake with the reverberations of a missile strike; I have spent hours in underground shelters waiting for air raid sirens to stop.

But. I have also gone grocery shopping, and skipped class, and stayed up too late watching TV, and fed the cats on the street corner, and cried over a boy, and got myself AirPods just because, and taken out the trash, and done laundry on a delicate cycle, and bought overpriced lattes one too many days a week. I have looked at pretty things and taken out my phone because, despite it all, I still think that life is too short not to freeze the small moments.

So I'd say, all things considered, I live an incredibly privileged life—compared, of course, to those suffering in Gaza—one filled with sunsets and over-sweetened knafeh and every different color of sand. One that allows me to throw myself into a fandom-induced hyperfixation (or, alternatively, escape method) as I sit on the couch and crack open my laptop to write the next chapter of the fic I'm working on.

But there are bits of not-normalness that wheedle their way through the cracks. I pretend these moments are avoidable, even if they’re not.

They look like this: reading the news and seeing another idiotic, careless choice on Netanyahu’s part and groaning into my morning coffee. Watching Palestinian and Jewish children’s needless suffering posted on Instagram reels and feeling helpless. Opening my Tumblr DMs to find a message telling me to exterminate myself for reblogging a post that only seems like it’s about the war if you squint and tilt your head sideways.

These moments look like all the tiny ways I am reminded that I'm living in a post-October seventh world, where hearing a car backfire makes me jump out of my skin and the sound of a suitcase on pavement makes me look up at the sky and search for the war planes. They look like the heavy grief that is, and also isn’t, mine.

Here's the thing, though. I know you’re wondering when the ball will drop and my true opinion will be revealed. I know you’re waiting for me to reveal what demographic I'm a part of so that you, dear reader, can neatly slap a label on my head and sort me into some oversimplified category that lets you continue to think you understand this war.

No one wants to sit and ruminate on the difficult questions, the ones that make you wonder if maybe you’ve been tinkered with by the propaganda machine, if you might need to go back on what you’ve said or change your mind. We all strive for our perception of complicated issues to be a comfortable one.

But I know that no matter what I do, there will always be assumptions. So, while I shudder to reveal this information online, I think that maybe my most significant contribution to this meta-discussion spanning every facet of the internet is this:

I am a Jew.

Or, alternatively, I am: Jewish, יהודית, يَهُودِيٌّ, etc. Point is, I come from Jews. And, like any given person, I am a product of generation after generation of love.

I'm not going to take time to explain my heritage to you, or to prove that before all the expulsions and pogroms, there was an origin point. If you don’t believe that, perhaps it’s less of a factual problem and more of an ‘I don’t give weight to the beliefs of indigenous people’ problem. But, in case you want to spend time uselessly refuting this tiny point in a larger argument, you can inspect the photos below (it’s just a small chunk of my DNA test results). Alternatively, you can remember that interrogating someone in an attempt to make their indigeneity match your arbitrary criteria is generally not seen as good manners.

Now, let’s go back to thathateful message (read: poorly disguised death threat) I received in my Tumblr DMs. I think it was like two or three weeks ago. I had recently gained a new follower whose blog’s primary focus was the fandom I contribute to, so I followed them back. I saw in my notes that they were going through my posts and liking them—as one does when gaining a new mutual. Yippee!

Then they sent me this:

I tried to explain that hate speech is not a way to go about participating in political discourse, but the person had already blocked me immediately after sending that message. Then, assured by the fact that I surely would never see them complaining about me on their blog (because, as I said, they blocked me), they posted a shouting rant accusing me of sympathizing with colonizing settlers and declaring me a “racist Zionist fuck.” Oh, the wonders of incognito tabs.

Where this person drew these conclusions after reading my (reblogged) post about antisemitism…. I'm not actually sure. But I greatly sympathize with them, and hope that they weren’t too personally offended by my desire to not die.

For a while I contemplated this experience in my righteous anger, and tried to figure out a way to message this person. I wanted to explain that a) seeing a post about being Jewish and choosing to harass the creator about Israel is literally the definition of antisemitism and b) that sending a hateful DM and refusing to be held accountable is just childish and immature. But I gave up soon after—because, honestly, I knew it wasn’t worth my effort or energy. And I knew that I wouldn't be able to change their mind.

But I still remember staring at that rather unfortunate meme, accompanied by an all-caps message demanding for me to Free Palestine, and thinking: the post didn’t even have any buzzwords. I remember the swoop of dread and guilt and fear. I remember wondering why this kind of antisemitism felt worse, in that moment, than the kind that leaves bodies in its wake.

I remember thinking, I don’t have the power to free anyone.

I remember thinking, I’m so fucking tired.

And before you tell me that this conflict isn’t about religion—let me ask you some questions. Why is it that Israel is even called Israel? (Here’s why.) Why do Jews even want it? (Here’s why.) But also, if you actually read the charters of Islamist terrorist organizations like ISIS, Hamas, and Hezbollah (among others), they equate the modern state of Israel with the Jewish people, and they use the two entities interchangeably. So of course this conflict is religious. It’s never been anything but that.

But I do wonder, when faced with those who deny this fact: how do I prove, through an endless slew of what-about-isms and victim blaming, that I too am hurting? How do I show that empathy is dialectical, that I can care deeply for Palestinians and Gazans while also grieving my own people?

There's this thing that humans do, when we’re frustrated about politics and need to howl our opinions about it into the void until we feel better. We find like-minded souls, usually our friends and neighbors, and fret about the state of the world to each other until we’ve gone around in a satisfactory amount of circles. But these conversations never truly accomplish anything. They’re just a substitute, a stand-in catharsis, for what we really wish we could do: find someone who embodies the spirit of every Jew-hating internet troll, every ignorant justifier of terrorism, and scream ourselves hoarse at them until we change their mind.

But, of course, minds cannot be changed when they are determined to live in a state of irrational dislike. In Judaism, this way of thinking has a name: שנאת חינם (sinat hinam), or baseless hatred. It's a parasite with no definite cure, and it makes people bend over backwards to justify things like the massacre on October seventh, simply because the blame always needs to be placed on the Jews.

So when a Jew is faced with this unsolvable problem, there is only one response to be had, only one feeling to be felt: anger. And we are angry. Carrying around rage with nowhere to put it is exhausting. It's like a weight at the base of our neck that pushes down on our spine, bending it until we will inevitably snap under the pressure. I’m still waiting to break, even now.

I wish I could explain to someone who needs to hear it that terrorism against Israelis happens every single day here, and that we are never more than one degree of separation away from the brutal slaughter of a friend, lover, parent, sibling. I wish it would be enough to say that the majority of Israelis (which includes Arab-Israeli citizens who have the exact same rights as Jewish-Israelis) wish for peace every day without ever having seen what it looks like.

I wish I could show the world that Israel was founded as a socialist state, that it was built on communal values and born from a cluster of kibbutzim (small farming communities based on collective responsibility), and that what it is now isn’t what its people stand for.

I wish the world could open their eyes to what we Israelis have seen since the beginning: that Hamas is the enemy, Hamas is the one starving Palestinians and denying them aid, Hamas is the one who keeps rejecting ceasefire terms and denying their citizens basic human rights. Hamas is the governing body of Gaza, not Israel. Hamas is responsible for the wellbeing of the Palestinian people. And Hamas are the ones who are more determined to murder Jews—over and over and over again, in the most animalistic ways possible—than to look inwards and see the suffering they’ve inflicted on their own people. I wish it was easier to see that.

But the wishing, the asking how can people be so blind, is never enough. I can never just say, I promise I don't want war.

When I bear witness to this baseless hatred, I think of the victims of October seventh. I think of the women and girls who were raped and then murdered, forever unable to tell their stories. I think of the hostages, trapped underneath Gaza in dark tunnels, wondering if anyone will come for them. I think of Ori Ansbacher, of Ezra Schwartz, of Eyal, Gilad, and Naftali, of Lucy, Rina, and Maia Dee, of the Paley boys, of Ari Fuld and of Nachshon Wachsman. I think of all the innocent blood spilled because of terror-fueled hatred and the virus of antisemitism. I think of all the thousands of people who were brutally murdered in Israel, Jews and Muslims and Christians and humans, who will never see peace.

My ties to this land are knotted a thousand times over. Even when I leave, a part of me is left behind, waiting for me to claim it when I return. But when I see the grit it takes to live through this pain, when I see the suffering that paints the world the color of blood, I look to the heavens and I wonder why.

I ask God: is it worth all this? He doesn't answer. So I am the one, in the end, to answer my own question. I say, it has to be.

Feel free to send any genuine, respectful, and clarifying questions you may have to my inbox!

EDIT: just coming on here to say that I'm really touched & grateful for the love on this post. When I wrote it, I felt hopeless; I logged off of Tumblr for Shabbat, dreading the moment I would turn off my phone to find more hate in my inbox. Granted, I did find some, and responding to it was exhausting, but it wasn’t all hate. I read every kind reblog and comment, and the love was so much louder. Thank you, thank you, thank you. 🤍

Source Reading

The Whispered in Gaza Project by The Center for Peace Communications

Why Jews Cannot Stop Shaking Right Now by Dara Horn

Hamas Kidnapped My Father for Refusing to Be Their Puppet by Ala Mohammed Mushtaha

I Hope Someone Somewhere Is Being Kind to My Boy by Rachel Goldberg

The Struggle for Black Freedom Has Nothing to Do with Israel by Coleman Hughes

Israel Can Defend Itself and Uphold Its Values by The New York Times Editorial Board

There Is a Jewish Hope for Palestinian Liberation. It Must Survive by Peter Beinart

The Long Wait of the Hostages’ Families by Ruth Margalit

“By Any Means Necessary”: Hamas, Iran, and the Left by Armin Navabi

When People Tell You Who They Are, Believe Them by Bari Weiss

Hunger in Gaza: Blame Hamas, Not Israel by Yvette Miller

Benjamin Netanyahu Is Israel’s Worst Prime Minister Ever by Anshel Pfeffer

What Palestinians Really Think of Hamas by Amaney A. Jamal and Michael Robbins

The Decolonization Narrative Is Dangerous and False by Simon Sebag Montefiore

Understanding Hamas’s Genocidal Ideology by Bruce Hoffman

The Wisdom of Hamas by Matti Friedman

How the UN Discriminates Against Israel by Dina Rovner

This Muslim Israeli Woman Is the Future of the Middle East by The Free Press

Why Are Feminists Silent on Rape and Murder? by Bari Weiss

710 notes · View notes

emmyrosee · 2 years ago

Text

It’s not common to see Atsumu fuming.

Genuine anger, not the petty shit he throws at you when he decides he wants to be an obnoxious turd to yourself or his brother.

You can tell the difference, too, because a petulant pout and attitude is plastered on that pretty face of his, but when he’s genuinely mad, there’s no attitude; it’s just raw emotion and lips pulled in a straight line, his chest giving irregular, short breaths because he can’t breathe. It’s almost scary, but it happens so little that you’ve learned to manage it when it does happen.

This is one of those rare occasions you have no clue which he’s feeling.

The car door outside slams shut, sending a nervous chill up your spine, but it’s immediately squashed when you hear Hisako’s innocent laughter. You smile and turn towards the now opening door, and you give atsumu a fake, sympathetic look when his thick brows are furrowed in frustration. On his leg, Hisako’s tiny arms are wrapped around him, her legs locked around his ankle and her smile that’s missing a tooth is beaming up at him.

“You,” he scolds, looking down at his menace of a six year old. “Go upstairs. And don’t come out until you’re seventy-eight.”

“Can I hug mommy first?”

“If you must,” he growls. With that, Hisako quickly bounds over to you and reaches her arms up for a hug, and while you give her one, you watch as Atsumu paces the floor, cards his hair, chews on his cuticles, anything to make him calm down.

“Daddy’s mad,” she whispers in your ear.

You offer her a snort, “I know.” With a kiss to her head you plant her back to her feet and nudge her to go into her room, waiting until to door closes before you turn back to your husband.

“Atsumu-“

“I’m not ready for this,” he growls. “The little traitor, I can’t believe she’d do this to me- my own flesh and blood.”

“Don’t word it like that, you make it sound like she committed arson or something.”

He softens and pouts like a dog; clearly, whatever it is, it’s taking a toll, and you sigh before you walk over and plant a kiss to his forehead. “Whatever it was, I know it wasn’t on purpose; what happened?”

“She’s just not ready, okay, she just doesn’t know-“

“Sweetheart, you need to let me in here-“

“He was holding her hand!” He whines, scrubbing his face with his hands. “They-They-They were holding hands! I thought I had a few more years to prepare for this shit! Wanted to wait before I put the fear back into these damn boys! I can’t fight a six year old!”

You pause. You retract your hand and give him an absolute smirk.

“You’re kidding me?”

“Sure ain’t!” He barks, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s so mad his forehead vein makes itself known with a sheen of sweat. “Tomorrow, I’m going to that damned school, and I’m moving her classes!”

“Honey,” you say sweetly, gently grabbing his arm to ground him. “It’s okay; I’m the one who told her to be nice to this boy.”

Instantly, his head whips in betrayal. His eyes are blown wide, muscles tense and despite how angry he looks, he can’t find the words to convey it.

“YOU WHAT?”

You shake your head, “she asked me why she feels butterflies in her tummy when she sees him.” To try and soothe him, you hook your head over his shoulder and bat your eyes innocently, “and I told her that it’s the same feeling I get when I see you-“

“Don’t try to be sweet, I’m mad at you,” he snarls, but there’s a softness in his eye that makes you think he’s not as serious as he thinks he comes across. A massive hand cards through his hair and he looks up to the sky as if to ask for patience. “I can’t believe this. My two babies, the loves of my life, betraying me in such juvenile ways.”

“Atsumu, spell juvenile,” you challenge.

“Spell ‘no’,” he grumbles. You sigh and gently grab his arm to pull him to the couch, and for a few seconds he puts up a small fight, but does end up giving into you in the end.

“Sweetie, listen to me,” you soothe. “Hisako is six. She’s going to start having little crushes soon enough-“

“Fuck, stop reminding me,” he whines.

You shake your head and rub a soothing hand on his back. “And all we can do is let her express those feelings in healthy ways; it’s what we’ve always done.”

“What if he hurts her?”

“He’s six.”

“What if he breaks her heart?”

“I’m sure she’ll cope.”

“What if he-“

“Atsumu.” Your hands squish his cheeks. “Calm down; she’s going to be okay.” You smile and kiss his pouted lips, “you remember what it was like having a crush at school-“

“Excuse you,” he grumbles from his squished cheeks, shaking his head from your grip. “I’ve only ever been in love with you.”

“You’ve told me about your relationship with Rintaro, trust me, that was a crush.”

“Was not!”

“Was too.”

“Was not!”

“It absolutely was.” You smile warmly, “and that’s fine. But now, you need to let her experience the same thing. She’s a big girl. Besides,” you nudge your nose with his, “you’ll always be her favorite man.”

“That’s actually Osamu, but I appreciate it.” Your words do seem to calm him down however, and he wraps a big arm around you to settle into the couch, “I just love her, baby… just want her to be safe.”

“I know; and she will be.”

The silence you get comfortable in gets interrupted by the door to your home getting flung open, and while you jump in the air in shock, next to you, Atsumu chuckles.

“Speaking of the devil.”

“What did you-“

Before you can say anything, Miya Osamu suddenly stands in the middle of your living room, the hat on his head tampered with and his apron turn on his hip, his head lined with sweat as if he ran here. Your jaw slacks in surprise, “Osamu, you did not leave work to come here-“

“WHAT STUPID LITTLE SNOT WAS HOLDING HER HAND?”

6K notes · View notes

vilhelios · 4 months ago

Text

-; LOOK AT THE HEARTS THAT YOU'RE BREAKING !

the world may scream and cheer for "crow", the silver-tongued and charismatic lead rapper of deepsp☆ce, but it is only in your arms, his place of rest, that sylus can just be… sylus.

CW: k-pop idol/group au! fluff, fluff and more fluff! slightly suggestive (because it's sylus); not beta read, small text, all lowercase letters.

there’s nothing quite as attractive as seeing sylus on stage. The l-netizens always comment on his stage presence, flooding his fancams with comments littered with little crows, heart-eyed emojis, red hearts, black ones, and— is that… just a series of typed out barking noises…?

alright, that’s quite enough for the night (although you still shamelessly liked, saved and downloaded that fancam for later viewing—though you’d sooner die than let sylus know about that). the video still plays on a loop as it’s loosely cradled in your hands, though you’re no longer paying attention to it. your head thumps down onto the pillow you’d been cuddling with a groan. damn him, damn that harness, damn his stage presence, damn that stupid gesture and that stupid smirk—!

as you close your eyes, drink in the sound of your speakers blasting with the screams of the crowd and sylus’ echoing voice through the speakers (the audio quality of the video was absolutely busted with how the bass reverberates in that stadium), you can see it: the new concert fancam that the hunters have currently dubbed ‘the sylus fancam.’ how could you not, after replaying the damn thing who knows how many times, and with the audio still playing? the image of sylus (sweat-slicked from the ridiculously difficult choreography of his solo song, bathed in red and blue from the spotlight) flicking away his earpiece, cupping his ear… the crooked smirk on his lips as he clearly hears every hunter in that sold-out stadium scream his name… you feel your face grow hot just thinking about it!

you’re too busy groaning and toiling in your embarrassed, flustered plight that you don’t hear the shower stop running, and the telltale signs of sylus getting dressed. when the bathroom door clicks open, you practically yelp, scrambling to turn that damn phone off, and sheepishly look up at sylus. perhaps it’s simply because he forgot to pack his bathrobe, but he’s in the sweater you picked out for him to sleep in. it softens his sharp edges, making him look like the kind and sweet soul that his features don’t convey. it’s hard not to stare at him for too long when he’s like this: the grit and sharp edge of “crow” ripped away, and sylus left in its place.

(sylus, who burns like a furnace on cold nights, warm and comforting and lulling you to sleep no matter how much tour jetlag gets to you. sylus, who understands the essence of every sonnet and every love song written in human history when he is allowed to be just him in the sanctuary that is your arms. sylus, who can’t sing for the life of him, but perfectly replicates those romantics of old with every track he produces meant for your ears alone.)

he raises an eyebrow at you from the hotel room entranceway, white hair still slightly wet and disheveled as he dries it off with a towel—it’s so soft and fluffy without all the hair gel to style it. “sweetie, you’re blushing.” he says, a lilt of amusement in it, and it takes only a few, long strides for him to cross the short distance between you on the couch. “whatever could be the reason, hm?”

“nothing!” you pout, a little too quick to answer him and clutching your phone tight. a huff leaves you as he ruffles your hair, and he only chuckles.

“could it perhaps…” he hums, a small smirk growing on his lips as he nods his head at your phone, “... be that my dear sweetheart was looking at something… appealing?” the smirk softens to something gentler as he sees you furrow your brows at being found out. “i could hear it from the bathroom. the walls are quite thin.”

“... i was just watching your fancam…” you admit, sighing and scooting over in the couch as he rounds it to settle beside you. when his arm is draped behind you on your shoulders, you practically melt against him and (with a hint of embarrassment) let him see what you’d been watching.

“ah.” sylus chuckles as he watches himself on the screen, red eyes glinting with amusement. even though the concert was a bit of a haze now, he clearly remembers the moment where the music guide in his ear fell away to the sheer noise of the crowd the moment he took the earpiece off. he honestly didn’t know what possessed him to do such a thing… but if it made you (and the crowd) all flustered, he wouldn’t question it. “i must say… their screams for me were… delectable.” with a final glance at the screen, your phone is clicked off and tossed to the other end of the couch.

“but… as sweet as their screams are…” he quickly adds, when he sees you huff and cross your arms. his arm gently draws you into his lap until you’re practically flush together. the tip of his nose brushes against yours, and god he smells like the cologne he knows you like. his hand finds its way to your cheek, thumb brushing against your lower lip. sylus speaks in a hushed murmur, next, though it rumbles like thunder through your entire being. “... they are nothing compared to how sweet my name sounds on your lips, sweetie.”

in another mood, those words may have made you splutter and grow warmer for entirely different reasons. but right now—with sylus looking down at you with the softest red eyes, the smallest smile upon his lips, and his heartbeat thrumming wildly against your hand and through the thick fabric of his sweater—all you can hope to do is grin up at him, and kiss the pad of his thumb. a giggle leaves you then, and his name comes tumbling out too, “sylus…”

“yeah, like that.” he chuckles (though it’s more like an amused huff). sylus plants a kiss to the tip of your nose, and then to the corner of your lips—it is a holy, reverent trail. “sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”

a/n: idol au fun!!!! i have nothing to say other than ... sylus... large... looks larger in harness fit... heart eyes... also that i wanted to explore a softer sylus bc infold needs to show us more soft mr. crow man!

#sylus x reader #sylus x you #love and deepspace headcanons #love and deepspace x reader #sylus headcanons #sylus fluff #qin che x reader #love and deepspace fluff

213 notes · View notes

oncewhenalongtimeago · 1 year ago

Note

Hiccup x reader where Hiccup is stressed over being the chief of Berk and is extra clingy to reader?

Better Left Unsaid

Pairing: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Reader

Words: 14,022

You wondered if you would ever be able to touch the sky again. You don’t talk about it.

Tags: Httyd 2, Comfort, reconnection, resolution, suggestive content, Gender Neutral reader, reclusive reader (ish), reserved reader (ish), disappointment, rebound, oneshot, ambiguous ending

“It-It’s just too much,” Hiccup stuttered angrily, hushed. He shifted his arms, gesturing lightly but frustratedly with the mug in his shand, leaning against the wall. The water inside sloshed back and forth as he settled the mug down on the table with a thin clacking noise, pushing off against the wall.

It was silent, the empty dark of night all-consuming in a way that blocked everything else out. Even with passion in your voice, you probably still couldn’t speak louder than a gritty whisper.

The Haddock house was empty and dark, the fireplace in the center of the hut untouched as it has been for many nights since the passing of Stoick the Vast. Your basket sat abandoned by the door, washed over by a sheet of blue shadow.

“Maybe you need a system,” You suggested awkwardly, caught off guard as hiccup paced, too taken by his own trouble to care for much else. This wasn’t how you’d imagined any conversation between the two of you to go.

You saw each other around, of course, but events like those usually consisted of turned cheeks. It had been so long since you last talked, and it hadn’t quite ended on good terms.

“My Dad didn’t-” Limbre fingers struggled against the straps and buckles of his armor, inelegant and terse with frustration, Hiccup’s cinched brows and an angry grimace conveying everything you needed to know.

Usually nothing short of a stupid idea from his own head would get him out of it. Or a hard hit. You did your best to give him counsel anyways, despite your unsurety. He’d probably just been swept away by it all, falling back into old habits quickly.

He would snap out of it soon enough, though if he decided just as you did that you’d rather not address anything at all, you would certainly not complain.

“Your Dad didn’t have to deal with so many trappers or dragons.” You shook your head. You had to admit that you were somewhat disconnected from the matter. The two of you hadn’t been close for years, and you kept to yourself pretty closely. This whole situation was an accident, more of a wrong place, wrong time then anything done on purpose, per se.

You moved around the table, nearly stumbling as you went, suppressing a shiver as you shifted through the cold room, like an empty void. You wondered how Hiccup dealt with it.

You snorted.

Helping him out felt like crossing some sort of invisible boundary you usually avoided like the plague. But, you had pity on him and the dark circles underlining his eyes. You didn’t think he’d notice. It wasn’t something you worried much about, anyways, not since you were in your teens. That was a sore spot you’d rather not touch on.

“Isn’t a Chief supposed to be able to handle everything on his own? If I do that, then wouldn’t…” Hiccup trailed off into a contemplative, moody silence, glaring off to the side as you did your best to pull his straps free. You weren’t much better with them than he was now, but it was workable, “I’m supposed to be- Wouldn’t that prove that I’m not-…”

He looked somewhat like his father, with that expression, though the skinny frame and his wild, scruffy hair offset it somewhat.

His father was large and tough, but something you noticed about Stoick, even from a distance, was that he was stressed. And angry, all the time. He knew what to do and when to do it but couldn’t handle a lot. Not always. You could imagine the veins bulging from his forehead now, even from beyond the grave.

You weren’t sure Hiccup was ever supposed to be like him. If he was supposed to even try. Him being Chief wasn’t ever something you imagined even as kids, just as he probably never imagined it for himself, but you were sure if he pulled something together it might be manageable.

“You’ve always been enough for whatever you wanted,” You muttered, “You’ve been enough since before the dragons and you are enough now as Chief. Coming up with some sort of system isn’t... bad. You Dad had a system,” You winced, watching his expression carefully as you brought up his Dad, though you were sure that not much would reach him when he was in this state, “Your father had a second-in-command for a reason, you know.”

“My inventions, they’re not-” Hiccup groaned. You heard the unsaid question. But wouldn’t that be cheating?

“They’re just as a part of you as anything else.” You repeated the age-old adage, “It doesn’t have to be in invention, though, if you don’t want it to be. Just… Establish a chain of command, or something.”

Hiccup threw his head back, scrubbing his face with his hands. Then he looked back at you, as if he was just then realizing who he was talking to.

“The island probably won’t implode without you. They’re Vikings, they need a little lead, just trust me.”

Sometimes you were fine, and sometimes your disappointment followed you like a sheet over your eyes, something buzzing constantly around the periphery of your vision, bits stuck to the back of your boots like poorly spun wool.

You crunched through the grass on the far end of the bridge leading up to the village, nerves coiling in your guts briefly before you brushed them away.

Such was the life of a recluse.

You squinted as you marched across large wooden planks, confident in the sturdiness of the bring just as you were unconfident in what lay before you, a figure sitting with their head down on one of the large logs that made up the railing.

It was a common sight for people to sit by the edge, usually teens, usually with friends, a stolen jug of mead or two in hand on dark nights. It was also a good spot for contemplation. You’d use it many times, especially on rainy, foggy days. It made quite the atmosphere.

However, during the broad daylight, people usually tended to just come and go. They didn’t spend much longer there than they had to. To be honest, most people had dragons. There were many more interesting places up in the sky. You didn’t get that. You dragon, it left a long time ago.

You shifted your basket of foraged berries and sticks and bits under your arm and grimaced confusedly as you neared the figure, closely examining dark gray armor and a worn, untucked green undershirt.

“Hello, Chief,” You said plaintively, after you’d spent a few seconds stopped being him, looking down on hunched shoulders and frazzled flyaways.

He groaned, “Please don’t call me that.”

You snorted, gently resting your basket on the ground, making sure all the latches were secured tight over the lid. It got pretty windy up there, wouldn’t do you any good to lose all of your day’s hard work, “What brings you over to my small neck of the woods?”

You shrugged at his silence, relaxing the the hand on your hip before swinging your legs over the same log and planting yourself firmly to his left

“I can’t do this,” Hiccup mumbled exhaustively, without looking up.

You stuck out your tongue, leaning back onto your hands, which pressed against the warm surface of the wood pleasantly. It took you a moment to remember that you should probably come up with a follow-up question, “Why?”

You were a bit rusty.

“I can’t do this,” Hiccup turned briefly to give you a sour look. You stuck your tongue out at him.

“Okay,” You shrugged your shoulders, ever the loyal confidant.

So you were going the whole ‘ignore the Gronkle in the room,’ route. You could deal with that.

You wondered where Toothless was. He’d taken to his Alpha statues pretty well, as in, he did nothing to enforce it at all, so there was nothing for him to worry about. Come to think about it, it really was just Hiccup, managing both Vikings and Dragons.

Hiccup shot a look at you again, perhaps asking himself what was wrong with you. Below you, the sea rushed and lulled, storming over the jagged rocks below. You watched it like a snake on a mouse, hypnotic in its movements.

“It’s not. There’s so much to keep track of and,” Hiccup started, continuing on, shaking his head, “Everyone’s always got something- this isn’t like- it’s not like my Dad’s just on a vacation. He’s dead. I’ve never taken care of something this long-term. And Astrid-... I’m not so great at the whole ‘commanding’ thing.”

The split with Astrid was rough on him, you knew. He didn’t talk about it much at all, but everyone could tell it was weighing down on him. People talked, and you didn’t necessarily have to be a part of the conversation to overhear.

You hummed sympathetically, as a group of people started to gather on one end of the bridge. You weren’t sure if Hiccup had noticed it yet, though you were sure if he had he was ignoring it for the time being.

“You don’t have to command. You just have to be able to direct,” Most people sort of expected Astrid to be there for the whole commanding thing, but honestly you resented the idea, despite the accuracy of it in practice, “I know a guy who would be willing to handle the stables for a day. Johannes, you remember him, right?”

They, meaning Hiccup and Astrid, were both busy with their own responsibilities, so you didn’t think they had a lot of time to talk it out. It was strange. For the longest time, second to Toothless, of course, she’d been his best friend. The thought sent a sharp, bitter jab up your spine.

You rolled your eyes anyways. A lot of Vikings would give a lot to be able to be in charge of something. As you grew older, you started to realize that Stoick the Vast had a hand in everything. Maybe too much of a hand- that man was stretched thin, “The whole commanding, intimidating bit is Toothless’s job now.”

“Yeah,” Hiccup choked out.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed a pack of Vikings already halfway to you, encroaching from the Berk side of the bridge, arms waving in the air. You looked away for a moment with furrowed brows, beginning to scoot back with high caution, trying your hardest to not make any sudden moves.

“When’s the last time you did something for yourself?” You asked, “Gone to the forge, or flown out?”

“I have no idea,” Hiccup wheezed.

“When’s your next lull? It’s a lot easier for me to say it than for you to do it, but you should probably, you know, take a step back,” You suggested.

“Never,” Hiccup gestured with his hand, other arm pressed against his back, “This is it, for the rest of my life.”

You grimaced, shrugging pityingly as you heard the distant shout of his name, and watched Hiccup crumple in on himself again as the two of you met eyes.

You were a bit surprised by how easy conversation flowed between you, though you were sure whether you wanted to run or just shy away from it. You weren’t sure if you felt anything for it at all.

You shook your head, deciding very astutely on the running bit, swinging back onto solid ground and gently lifting up your shoulders. You hooked your fingers under the edge of your basket and pulled it into your arms, settling it smoothly in hand.

“Well, when your life’s over, I’ll be here. We’ll, ah, figure it out then, I guess.”

You lifted your tunic from your back, tugging until you were able to twist it over your head.

As you did, you eyed the portraits of the wives taken off and replaced, hung lower on the wall and decorated with each of their assets. You’d found them lying around and it felt wrong not to return them to their original owners somehow. They were usually separated from the rest of your dwelling by a thin, old moth-eaten curtain.

You were sure the wives were all just as ugly and unpleasant as Mildew himself, but there was something off about taking them down especially when you kept everything else close to the same.

You patched the hole in the roof with old ship’s sails and mismatched tiles, just enough to keep your cabin barely above freezing in the wintertime.

You shook your clothes onto the floor as you changed, mindful not to look down at any of the scars in the darkness of your hut.

You were probably supposed to feel proud. They were trophies of battle. Most other Vikings would wear them proudly, displayed like an honor bestowed onto them. They didn’t particularly bother you, though it never bode well to linger on reminders of things long since finished.

If only they knew how you’d gotten them.

You didn’t earn them through bravery or anything else of the sort and you weren’t anywhere near one of the worst when it came to scarring. First place probably went to Phegma, who had a huge burn scar just barely covered by her day wear.

You got yours because you weren’t fast enough to dodge the blow of an axe, to jump out the way of a trap sprung on the group without taking some serious damage.

You were a great planner, an architect and an infrastructural thinker. But that didn’t often come in handy on the Edge, especially not when all the buts of your knowledge that could be applied were better covered by the other Riders’ areas of expertise.

So where everyone else excelled, you stumbled. Where everyone else tumbled with the blows, you fell hard onto the ground, and you hadn’t anyone to confide your hurts in.

Eventually trying to keep up got to be too much. When you saw the rest of them, able to come together so easily and shake off all their cuts and injuries, you hurt.

There was nothing quite as terrible as watching everyone, especially Hiccup, walk forwards while you strayed behind, struggling your hardest and failing to even to keep to their heels.

You blinked at the scratching of something sharp against wooden walls, muffled though still clearly audible, coming from the outside. You paid it no mind, ignoring it just as you ignored the tiny shafts of sunlight seeping through the cracks between wooden planks and crumbling walls, illuminating tiny particles of floating dust.

It was just the branches pestering the framework of your salvaged home, one of the half-dead bushes lining the front, nearing the height of a tree, mimicking the sound of a dragon you’d long since pushed from your mind. Yours.

You sighed. It was just another thing weighing on your mind back then, when you’d been at your lowest. You were tired of it, now. But a blank kind of tired.

Like a flat, fresh water ocean. Waveless, shallow. Eerie.

It was a much calmer tired than the kind you felt then; Violent waves slamming you into the sand, rubbing fragile lungs raw with grit and silt. Of the bruised ribs, the fighting, the cuts and hurt no one seemed to notice and the friend you didn’t seem good enough to have anymore.

You reached down to pull your tunic off the ground, tossing it onto a nearby table, covered in dust, made frail through disuse. You coughed at the fine grime tossed into the air, flapping your hand in front of your nose in an effort to disperse it.

You wondered if the sealights would be lit tonight.

“-He has five dragons. Five. And he wants me to come up with a whole set of dragon towers for him how?-”

You trod through the dewey morning leaves, back straighter than necessary, trying not to sweat too much or to look back at the armorless, green-tunic-ed guest at your back.

You couldn’t say you weren’t a little tired of the whole running Berk it yourself. Sure, you weren’t necessarily responsible for it but it was a pastime of a lot of the Vikings around town to talk about it, the mindless gossips, and once or twice while you were in town trading for what you needed.

There were also the sailors, who had a mind, when down by the docks, to share the business of everyone regardless of the tribe. Even as the village recluse, you got roped into it, listening around corners with rap ears

“-Even with dragons it’s not easy to-” Hiccup waved his hands around, journaling under one arm and eyes glued, glaring onto the ground. It turns out he had taken you at your word. Sort of. He was still very much alive. He must have found some time off, or figured out something, because here he was.

You squinted at the paper in your hand, staring at messily done blueprints. There was a house sketched lifted above the ground by a pole and another sketch of a bunch of regular huts stacked on top of each other. You held the same basket from before under your arm, woven bits frayed and flexible and worn.

You recognized the beginning stages of a bunch of these sorts of huts being built all around Berk. It was getting fuller, especially with all of the ex-trappers and Vikings migrating in from the other tribes. And then there were relations outside of the interpersonal to manage. So of course there needed to be a few changes.

“This isn’t safe,” You said drily, “Remember the windmill? These are all going to fall down with the next devastating winter. And where are we going to find logs large and long enough to keep all these houses up? There aren’t nearly enough trees on all of Berk to get this done for everyone.”

“I know!” Hiccup pausing, turning to shake his head quickly, before bending over to scrub the hair on his head, “It’s insane! Everyone wants me to go with it!”

“You shouldn’t,” You deadpanned.

“I might,” Hiccup pursed his lips, “If it gets them to leave me alone. I can’t be builder, Rider and Chief.”

“Well- no, you can’t be. But why don’t you just come up with a few sturdy designs and make him choose one. Same for everyone else. Then just,” You paused, grimacing as you had to grab a branch, pushing it out of the way, “Put someone in charge of building all of them. And making sure they don’t go build in all the wrong spots.”

“I don’t know,” Hiccup shrugged his shoulders, letting his arms fall back to his sides, turning his head up and allowing the light filtering through the thick wooded area to fall onto his face, “Everyone wants something unique. You think they’ll settle?”

You turned around, branch still in hand, “They’ll have to. Same way they have been for three hundred years.”

You rolled your eyes and set forth again, letting go of the branch, which swung back quickly. You didn’t quite see what happened any more than you heard Hiccup’s yelp and the subsequent step back.

“Ow, ow, ow ow, Gods, curse it-”

You turned back around startled, turning back into the branch which followed its inertia, snapping back into your face.

You brought your hand back up to your eye so quickly you smacked, dropping your trusty basket right out from under your arm and falling roughly onto your butt. The berries on the inside poured out of your basket onto the forest floor and you cursed, bemoaning it and yourself and laying the rest of the way down onto your back.

Head against the roots of a tree, smelling the earth and staring up at the dappled sunlight through waving tree leaves, you couldn't help the laughter that bubbled up through your throat.

It was better than getting mad, or crying. Still, you stifled it, shaking your head clear, pushing yourself back up, ignoring the stickiness of the berries stuck to your back and the juice dripping down the side of your hand.

Hiccup looked down on you skeptically, lips quirked in a way you read as confused. You remembered a time when he might have fallen down with you. It seems though that as the two of you got older, he became much surer of yourself.

Still, it was a world of difference from the Hiccup you knew a moment ago, stressed and weighted and tired with all the burdens of everyone else on Berk and the loss of his father on his back.

You wanted to see more of this Hiccup, who was snippy and sarcastic and who you might have loved once upon a time. Who wasn’t stuck in mournful contemplation about identities and relationships and other such sad things.

And maybe you wanted to take back some of him for yourself, as if it might bring back to you the part of yourself you lost, at least for just this little while. Though if this was where it ended, for you, this moment would be more than enough.

He needed reprieve. You decided you would be that reprieve, for as long as he would take you.

“Why don’t we do something besides talk about Berk?” You smiled wryly to yourself, rubbing your hands off on your smock, shrugging your shoulders loose once you got back onto your feet.

You did your best to put on a happier facade, different from the insecure, hunched-shouldered version of you from way back in the past, and different from the apathetic lone figure you were now.

“I…” Hiccup blinked at you for a moment. He looked a tad thrown off by you now with your shoulders high, hands on your waist and back straight, much different from any sort of behavior you’d exhibited since long before.

The wide smirk on your face faltered, and you toned it down a little, slumping a bit. You knew you hadn’t had the ability to make Hiccup smile in a long time, but this was just terrible. Sometimes you wondered if you ever had, or if he was just faking it. It didn’t matter much to you now.

“Or, you can come with me and wait outside while I go find a change of clothes,” You said blankly, letting your hands fall to your sides, “Your pick.”

Hiccup grimaced, probably thinking of the greeting he’d get once he got back. You weren’t quite sure how he made it out here in the first place, and in his casual wear no less. You hadn’t seen him in anything less than a full set of leather armor for a very long time.

Of course, he’d chosen the latter. Sort of.

You let the water from the stream run over the toes of your boots, waterproofed by tar and oil as you pulled up your smock, scrubbed until it was worn and back to the same colorless dull hue you had gotten it in. It was to your benefit that you had worn something under, though the berries were much too pigmented for you to leave your smock on its lonesome.

“You didn’t have to wait for me,” You sighed, picking yourself up and away from the beck, slinging your water heavy clothing over a low-hanging branch.

You turned to look at Hiccup who had decided to wait by the treeline, back to one of the large pines lining the whole island. He had found himself a terror along the way and was minding it with amusement, waving a thin branch above its head and watching and it leapt and curled after.

“It’s alright,” He said almost bashfully, without looking up, as the Terror flipped onto its belly, wriggling after the branch Hiccup waved over its stomach like a fish to a worm, “I, ah, I got Johannes to handle the stables.”

Hiccup rubbed the back of his neck as you pulled down your sleeves, picking at the loose threads and checking for any unpleasant damp spots, of which, for once, thankfully, there were few.

“You took my advice, then,” You noted absentmindedly that this was the tunic you’d worn on the Edge, its color washed out and much thinner, but still very recognizable.

“Yeah,” Hiccup weighed the stick in his hand almost contemplatively before tossing it to the side, watching as the terror scurried after.

“So,” You said, sweeping your foot almost carelessly across the carpeted forest floor, pulling your basket into your arms again, “How have you been?”

“How have I been?” Hiccup asked astoundedly even as he eyed your smock, reluctantly pulling his gaze from it in order to follow as you led your way back up to the forest path, “I think you know the answer to that.”

“Yes, well, no- I mean, from before that,” You scoffed, looking down darkly into your nearly empty basket.

You meant after you left.

You felt the familiar pulling of tides, tugging at something deep and light in your gut.

The air was still between you. It was hard not to feel when there was nothing between you but air and your own memory of some hastily forgotten hurts.

“That was a stupid question,” You shrugged, kicking aside a stick, protruding from just off the path.

You were sure Hiccup had been too stressed earlier to care or notice but it was easily felt now. Your quarters were much too close for you to put on the same old facade and pretend that nothing had ever happened and that the two of you weren’t ever more than strangers, your bond closely resembling something you might have once called friendship.

“I… Well, if you don’t mind tagging along still, I won’t make you do much,” You pushed down thoughts of beating storms, rain so thick you couldn’t see five feet in front of you, “You caught me off guard.”

You blinked away memories of rushing, towering waves and a bone-deep chill only made worse by the pressing winds and the water soaked deep through your clothes and to your bones, causing you to shiver and shake and pull closer to the neck of your dragon.

Pressing deeper into leathery skin and scales, closer than you ever thought possible, praying to the Gods that you might be spared the indignity of living to see another day past your shame, past your desertion.

“Alright,” Hiccup decided finally, eyeing you oddly.

You pretended you didn’t feel the phantom shivers clawing up and down your spine or the echoes of a deep burning hurt you were certain had gone long since unnoticed by all the wrong people.

You made sure your breathing was steady as you marched forward, carefully putting one foot in front of the other.

You listened to the occasional wingbeat of a dragon from up above and the unburdened twittering of small animals in the foliage surrounding you.

You heard Hiccup stifle a yawn from back behind you. You wondered what you could do to make this trip worth it for him. To be honest, you weren’t quite expecting him to take you up on your offer. It was more of a snipe, really.

You’d never been good at those, though. People always took you much too seriously.

There was a clearing up further ahead to your left, one you neared as the trees grew thicker and larger, where you could hopefully make up for some of your lost boon. The berries, you were sure they were gone, but perhaps you could make up for it by finding some other things.

The loudest noise between the two of you was the sound of your footsteps.

You inhaled the misty air of the forest and, eventually, you began to relax.

“Here we are,” You hummed, as the path grew lighter, sunlight filtering between the trees and the foliage.

You examined the crown with care, looking over each leaf and link, turning it around gently in your hands. What began as a task born from boredom became something you invested yourself into with brief interest.

The atmosphere was bright and the sun warm against your shoulder blades, laying like a heavy furred blanket across them as you leaned down, splitting small holes in the ends with your fingernails and threading grasses through until you had some approximation of a flower crown, minus the flowers.

It was the kind of warmth that made you sentimental, bringing up a feeling that felt like something flowering, which you pursued vaguely as if this might have been the last time you ever felt it.

By the time you two had been teenagers, Hiccup had been long since uninterested in that kind of thing. In teenage boy fashion, he avoided things such as flower crowns and playing in the sand down by the beach, much too focused on killing a Dragon and trying to seem tough enough to meet standard.

Then he got Toothless, and from there on after he hadn’t time for anything but Dragons and the Riders. He was too absorbed in his inventions to pay any mind to other things.

You’d deeply wanted to do it, though maybe not always specifically to him, but you’d never found the purpose. You had it now.

You turned to Hiccup with a lopsided smile, watching his chest rise and fall gently for a few moments. Your lips twitched, falling into a small crown as you held out the crown, deciding whether or not you should drop it.

Hiccup blinked drowsily awake at the sudden movement, to which you startled and before you realized it, the crown had gently slipped from your fingers and fell over the crown of his head. Because of the angle, though, it looked to be resting more on his forehead than anything.

You held your breath as his eyes unfocused and fluttered shut again, unregistering, and you backed up on all fours with quiet ease, pushing yourself to your feet, attempting to flee the scene and pretend nothing had quiet happened at all.

You shuffled to the other side of the clearing, craving distance, walking a path around it like you were attempting to trace the edges with your feet. You balanced on it, placing your heel to the other foot’s toe and then again with the opposite foot, arms out in front of you, taking note of all the shrubbery around you.

Eventually the shifting ferns drew back your attention and you glanced back towards Hiccup, who’d sat up groggily, slowly examining the crown that had probably, most likely just fallen from his head.

He looked a complete and utter mess. You hid an ugly grin.

“I hope you like it,” You smiled down at the stem connecting a nice wad of berries to the bush. It was too quiet for him to hear and you were much too far away, but it was more of a musing to yourself anyways.

You leaned back onto your heels, sore for all the walking you’d done. You wondered if they were the right kind, enough to replace the bushel you’d lost earlier. You weren’t completely sure they were edible, anyways.

The two of you had broken out into a clearing, one covered in grass and ferns, and this was where you had decided to set midday camp.

You lounged there in the waning sun, Hiccup more so than you, not so much watching the world turn to oranges and reds as witnessing it in your periphery. You’d lived it too many times for it to be any sort of novel.

You were sure it was different on dragonback, but alas. You didn’t have that option.

After you came back to Berk, taking to the ground like you’d developed a phobia of everything else, it spent a lot of time flying around on its own, going who-knows-where on most days. One day, when you’d had the mind to look for it, you’d found that it had flown off for what was most likely good.

You traced the leaf veins below your thumb, lost in mindless remembrance, ambiguously aware as Hiccup got up.

He groaned like he was a decades older man than he was, audible across the clearing, while putting his hands to the small of his back and leaning backwards mad before he made his way over.

“What’s this?” Hiccup asked, holding what you were sure was the crown in his hand. You weren’t looking and ignored it, not necessarily expecting him to call you out on it any more than you’d expected to make the crown itself.

“Not sure,” You said, before looking over, and glancing up and down at ruffled clothes, messy hair and the sleeve that came up to wipe off the corner of his mouth, “Have a nice nap?”

“I’m just fine, thanks… “

You rolled your eyes, “That wasn’t my question.”

“Does it matter?” He asked, straightening out his shoulders.

“You were out for a while,” You said in lieu of an answer, “Was worried you needed me to drag you back to the village. Tuck you into bed.”

“No,” Hiccup said exorbitantly, “Never.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” You shot back.

“Maybe.”

“Definitely…” Hiccup started, “An exaggeration.”

“Not at all.”

“Are you sure?”

“Everyone’s had their share of it,” You stated, lifting your shoulders exaggeratedly, bringing both hands up by your head with your shrug, while kicking out your foot, turning to trot off in the opposite direction.

“You do a lot of really-need-to-be-dragged-back-after activities.”

“Hey, well, I’ve done a lot of that for you, too.”

“Pick one, name something.”

“I mean, I’ve kept you from falling down off cliffs a lot,” Hiccup ran a hand through his hair.

“I have since not stopped falling off cliffs,” You squinted at him, “And neither have you, I’m pretty sure. Also, that jumping off dragons thing? Serious disqualifier. That counts as at least half a cliff jump every time. Negative helping-me-out points. Honest.”

“What?” Hiccup shook his head, gesturing towards himself, “Doesn’t count. Never met a dragon that didn’t have my back. Natural Dragon Master. No danger.”

A natural if by natural he meant through fifteen years of absolute failure in any sort of interaction with an animal more sentient than a frog.

“Sure…” You remembered all the time he spent as kids, half with you and sometimes without, running across rooftops for his dad. Because you were being chased. By dragons.

“Okay, call me a dragon, right now.” You said, with finality.

“Right now?”

“Right now.”

You spent a little while staring at him.

“What, now?”

You nodded.

You were slightly surprised when he played along, even though you knew you had been egging him on to do it. You watched him cup his hands and chitter oddly into them, in a mimicry of what you understood as a Terror call.

You looked down on him with fake skepticism. Usually, with the call, it was a hit or miss whether a dragon would respond. The dragons with Riders tended to ignore you completely unless you were their rider.

Both of you knew this, though you counted it on being a miss.

“They’re coming, you’ll see,” Hiccup said, waving his left hand as if he was clearing smoke out of the air.

“I hope it blows up in your face. Like that catapult, from when we were kids,” You blew a raspberry at him.

“What, which one?” Hiccup asked.

“The one you tried to roll up to your house, kept rolling down the hill, went straight through Burthair’s cart and smashed through his fence,” You grinned, “Your dad made you round up all his sheep after, remember?”

You remembered trying to help him quietly in secret, gathering a few sheep on a lead before you were caught and sent home to be scolded.

“No, hey, You blew that one up,” Hiccup said incredulously, “That one was all you.”

“Yeah, it was.” You admitted guiltlessly.

“You are the worst,” He said, as the sound of flapping and the rustling of trees grew slightly louder. You ignored it, thinking it was just another random group of dragons lost over Berk. There had been a lot of those as of late.

“The worst,” You agreed. You had a foot already up, halfway into a turn before a bright yellow, spiny body slammed quickly into your face.

You yelped, falling to the side, tumbling slightly as what must have been a Terrible terror scrambled for purchase and left off your face and into the tree line. You blinked, half-shaded under low-hanging branches.

You braced yourself against your arm, bringing your other hand down from your face to see red in the shape of a smeared line across your face. By the look and size of it, it wasn’t too bad.

You opened and closed your jaw with annoyance, realizing quickly that the Terror must have scratched your face.

Henceforth, though, you were much more easily capable of dodging around the sudden appearance of more Terrors, catching a tiny green one just before it face planted into the dirt.

“Woah, woah, woah,” You caught Hiccup, too, doing his best to dodge around them, jumping back as a feisty blue clawed its way up his back as he made his way towards you.

It was a difficult effort to make as by the time you had found solid ground, the dragons began to jump on top of him, covering his arms and legs so that he looked like a pile of very large and colorful bees standing on two legs.

You could help but laugh, wobbling over to help. You slipped your hand under the leg of a terror just before Hiccup fell over with a shout, falling forwards and nearly dragging you with him as he tumbled into the shade of the treeline.

And as if following a command, terrors scuttled away, as if chasing after your peals of laughter, echoing around the clearing.

There wasn’t nearly enough time between Hiccup’s call and the appearance of the dragons for any, or at least most of them to have come in from Berk, nor any guarantee that any of the Terrors heard him, but these gathered quick enough for you to be seriously impressed.

“Yeah… I wasn’t expecting that either.” You stared down at Hiccup as he stared back, the two of you looking at each other with startled eyes, you bent half over and Hiccup propper up on his elbows on the ground before the two of you broke out into breathy laughter.

The flowers and plants around you were heady, filling the breathless airheadedness in between your eyes with even more cotton.

Your voices mixed and quieted in equal fashion, the two of you ignoring the mutterings of the forest until, eventually, they grew into something you could hear.

“Hiccup!”

You froze, a wince stuck on your face.

“Hiccup!” This shout was much more drawn than the last.

It was Astrid.

You saw the shadows of her and Stormfly drift smoothly over the face of the clearing. You wondered if she had followed some of the Terrors out or if she had gotten Stormfly to track Hiccup’s scent.

You were about to look back at Hiccup for some sort of direction before he tugged you after him. Tugged until the two of you were huddled under the alcove you had missed, made by two thick roots of a ginormous tree, waiting.

You weren’t sure how far above she was, she hoped she didn’t see your basket, sitting plainly across the way.

You could tell Hiccup was holding his breath, staring out deep into the forest, where trees went from towering to the sole consumers of light, protecting a misty undergrowth beneath a dark, leafy roof. There was a log to the left of the entrance to the narrow space, half-rotted and sprouting mushrooms out of its side.

You recalled that there had been a notable instance around when the two of you had been just about twelve, sneaking around in the Great Hall for the leftovers post meal. You’d been trapped in a closet, when they’d had those, removed after you and Hiccup had accidentally burned them down at fourteen, with nothing but a loaf of bread between you.

The air wasn’t nearly as musty or stale, and of course it was much darker then, with not the whiff of a fresh plant in sight, but the principal was still the same.

You held very little stake in it all, but you kept close and stiff anyways, the joyful atmosphere from before mixing into something fun and scurrilous, electrifying the space behind your eyes and sending ticklish bolts of lightning down your spine.

It remained there until the heavy wing beats of the Dragons above you faded long into the distance.

The field, littered with scented flowers and bushes, must have muddled Stormfly’s scent. Or she really was just following the Terrors. One thing was sure, though. Where there was one Rider, there were more.

“I thought you said you got people to cover it?” You asked.

“I did. They should have been able to, but something must have happened,” Hiccup leaned back against the tree bark, hitting the back of his head against it lightly, grunting lightly as it did.

You wondered if he had grown a few inchest still since you had last been close to him on the Edge.

You raised your eyebrow, asking the silent question. Are you going to go back?

Hiccup said nothing, looking away, though you couldn’t miss the soft clench of his jaw and the gentle slouch, or the agitated twiddling of his fingers by his waist.

You rolled your eyes. Privately, you almost felt bad that you weren’t able to give him a better time out. But also, there would be many other times for him to make up for it with other people. You wondered if he would ever choose to come back to you.

“They should be able to handle it. They’re not children. But it’s no burden on me whether you stay or go,” You inclined your head forwards.

You placed one foot in front of the other across the uneven wooden planks. You just needed to get down to the fields.

You strode past the bright red hut that marked the Jorgenon Clan, avoiding haphazardly placed construction materials.

You paused where you stood and turned back as Hiccup called your name, standing right in the middle of the walkway. It never ceased to surprise you whenever he showed up.

It wasn’t much. But it still surprised you every time he came with greetings.

You smiled.

He quickened his pace, pulling himself up onto the path and stopping in front of you, prosthetic clicking against wood.

“Hiccup,” You greeted, “What brings you to me?”

“Where do you live, now?” He asked, “I was planning on stopping by, but…”

“Up behind the spire on the way to Gothi’s,” You hummed.

“But that’s… You live in Mildew’s old hut?” Hiccup asked, surprised.

“Yeah,” You nodded, rifling through the satchel clipped to your waist, flicking through rows of herbs with delicately placed fingertips, “So what have you been up to?”

You realized you needed to go off-island soon. The idea filled you with dread.

“Do you really want to ask that?” Hiccup questioned, “because there’s been a lot…”

“Why not?” You shrugged.

“Some rouge dragons have been eating holes into the earth- and with all the dragons underwater, coupled with the Scauldrons-” Hiccup rubbed his forehead, “Basically, they’ve been drilling new hot springs, which has been nice, but no one’s gotten to any of them yet. They always seem to dry up before anyone can get there and back and I keep getting complaints about people’s water getting stolen, or something.”

“Ouch,” You said sympathetically, as Hiccup continued on.

“I wish they’d give it up, honestly. There are more important things for me to get to, but I haven’t even been able to get to all the trading issues with all the other tribes… Anyways, are you busy?” Hiccup asked quickly, looking back and forth.

“Busy?” You asked.

“I kinda want to get out of here before anyone else…” Hiccup shrugged his shoulders, cringing.

“Notices?” You finished, “Let’s go.”

“A hot spring?” You asked aloud, both your and Hiccup grasping the edge of the pool on your knees, watching the water bubble slightly.

Hiccup extended a hand hesitantly, grazing it over the bubbling surface. You watched as the foam fizzled underneath his palms and when he didn't flinch, you sat back and pulled off your boots, rolling up the legs of your trousers, revealing a long scar on the leg furthest Hiccup.

“It’s alright to wash in?” You asked, Hiccup nodding an affirmative.

You rested a bare foot onto the bubbling water, testing it out with your toes, before sinking your legs in with a breathy sigh.

“It’s one of the ones you were talking about, right?” You asked

“Yeah,” Hiccup confirmed, watching you closely.

You let out a soft, disappointed sound at the idea that it might be gone soon.

The spring looked to be about waist-deep, though that might be something you needed to test out before dipping into the pool. It was pressed up and partially embedded in the side of a rocky cliff, spearing into the ground at a sideways angle.

All around, the two of you were packed in by large, lush fauna. Huge ferns, even larger trees and a great deal of mist.

Very, very private.

It was extremely tempting.

“We could… It would be nice, but…” Hiccup reasoned. He didn’t seem into the idea, which was fine. Honestly, you didn’t mind having this spot all to yourself.

There wasn’t much of a practical way to sink into the waters without stripping nearly bare anyways. Hiccup’s armor would most definitely be damaged by the water, and you didn’t like the idea of marching back to Berk in sopping wet furs.

Your undergarments certainly weren’t up to scratch for the kind of soak you were looking for.

“We don’t have a change of clothes.” You said, meeting his eyes head on. The two of you looked at each other for a moment.

Hiccup must have followed the same line of thought, looking at you like he’d caught something odd and he didn’t know what to do with it. There was an odd feeling curling in your stomach, and an awkwardness that hadn’t been so palmable between you since before… Before.

Did it really matter if he saw you naked? Or at least clothed only partially? It wasn’t as if you’d never seen him the same during all your years of semi-sturdy friendship.

You spent a moment feeling the skin on your face begin to warm, brows crinkling with a remembrance that sort of killed the mood before you glanced away with as much casualness as you could muster.

“Do you think we could get back in time?” You asked instead.

“Well, there’s not much hope, but I guess it’s worth a try,” Hiccup started hesitantly.

You and Hiccup stared down at the small bubbling hole at the base of an empty basin. It had been an awkward walk back to the Village. Still, you seemed incapable of suggesting anything else. Hiccup, too.

“Gods damn it,” Hiccup said.

You shrugged, the roll of cloth under your hands shifting only slightly. Besides the tarp strapped to your back and the towels to Hiccup’s, the both of you were carrying a set of undergarments you found which should have covered just enough to remain modest in the springs.

Toothless, behind the two of you, basket in mouth, grumbled as he dropped it to the tall grass floor. You’d brought him along in order to help carry the bulk of your things.

“Well,” You started, puzzling to yourself, hand under your chin, “I mean, we could try what you did last time? With the Terrors?”

“But with a Scauldron, right?”

You nodded, “Honestly, it’s that or head back.”

Hiccup winced, immediately backing away to settle down onto one knee. He was turned to face your right, so that he was looking out towards the forest.

He opened his mouth and cupped his hands, then paused. Then he tried again. But no sound game out. The whole time Toothless looked peeved, eyes shifting between the two of you as he snorted.

You stared blankly, waiting, which was probably the first time you and Toothless ever felt the same sort of emotion, though you most likely meant it in a much more joking fashion than he did.

“I can’t do it with you watching,” Hiccup said, finally.

You squinted at him, wondering what was up with the sudden-onset stage fright, just as Toothless rolled his eyes, shaking his torso like a wet dog, causing a hastily-clipped basket to fall off his saddle.

“Oh,” You said, turning around and grinning to yourself, “Alright. Howl away.”

You hoped he hadn’t figured out how to get to the fish basket yet. It would be a pain to walk back to Berk with everything in hand, and it would be very easy for Toothless to leave without his incentive to follow the hostage on his back.

“It’s not howling.” Hiccup deadpanned.

You knew that. You were actually pretty decent at it, back when you were still involved in the dragon business.

“Alright.”

You stared out at a heavy wall of fauna, a large leaf and a towering set of two trees consuming the vast majority of your vision. You watched a bug crawl up the exterior of one and noted to yourself silently that you would have to watch where you rested your things while you were in the spring, if what Hiccup was trying was to work.

You listened to him shift and shuffle, moving around until Toothless must have gotten tired of waiting and he himself let out a loud, echoing roar.

You jumped back, caught off guard, jerking towards the pair with your ears covered by your hands, undergarments, falling to the grass below.

“How long do you think it will take to fill up?” You asked from the floor, hips sinking into the grass as you pushed yourself up, shrugging the straps holding the large cloth tarp in place off your shoulders.

“Not sure,” Hiccup said, shifting from foot to foot, “We should get changed first.”

“Yeah,” You agreed, tossing it over to him. He weighed it in his hands, examining it before pulling it free and letting it unravel onto the floor.

“Hey, do you have any idea where we packed the blanket?” You asked. It was a bit overkill, but… You bit your lip.

“In the saddle, I think.”

You inhaled touchily as Hiccup gripped onto the edge of the tarp, turning from you to throw the other end out, watching it unfurl as it caught air, “Ah, do you think you could get it?”

Swiftly though not without ungain, Hiccup slung the tarp over one of the low-hanging branches, the ends of the fabric falling horizontally over the thick grasses and bushes around you.

You supposed that meant the tarp was unnecessary, the forest here enough to bless you with cover and privacy. You noted that down.

“What? He’s harmless,” Hiccup said, letting the curtain fall closed behind him.

You squinted into the sky, up through a very small window, shafting light down through the trees. You would have worried that no other dragons would heed Toothless’ call, knowing that you yourself wouldn’t, had you not already heard the hurried beating of wings from up above.

You stuck your tongue out at Hiccup, then turned it towards his dragon.

Honestly, it was still unimaginable to you that Toothless had developed the ability to become Alpha. It was insane, and insanely lucky. For Hiccup, that is.

The two of you, meaning you and Toothless, had never been left alone in the same room together for a reason, though most people just thought it was your fault. The reason being that Toothless didn’t like you, and you didn’t like him as a result of that.

Harmless… Right. You scoffed.

You knew you knew better and you reassured yourself of that fact, as Toothless grumbled at you from across the small space.

Hiccup shook his head at you, quirking the corner of his mouth to the side as it formed a fondly exasperated line, unclipping various satchels and baskets from Toothless’ back.

You grimaced and scooted further away from the dragon, nudging the basket of fish closer to him with your foot, hoping that he might take more of an interest in that instead.

You kept your eyes trained on the dragon even as Hiccup walked to his side with his clothes under his arm shuffling through the treeline and behind the curtain.

“You have enough room?” You squinted at Toothless, resting your arms against your knees, and he narrowed them back.

It had been a tricky job to get his things without anyone else noticing, a lot of careful pressing around corners and tricky, calculated jabs from Toothless, many of which you were still bitter about.

“It’s enough,” Hiccup responded, voice trained.

The scaly thing was still grumpy; the chances of him soldering a grudge were high, especially where you were involved. The two of you called him away from a tussle with some other dragons from around the bend, which he seemed to be enjoying by at least some measure.

If only he’d put some of that energy into being a more attentive Alpha. You wrinkled your nose, judging the dragon like a temperamental parent.

You listened to the shifting of leaves, fabric and leather before deciding you’d been waiting too long, much too used to doing things on your own time.

“I’m just going to change over here,” You called through the curtain, “Turn around, will you?” You asked Toothless, who grumbled at you disgruntledly, the ridges of his brows as furrowed as he could make them.

“Turn around, Toothless,” Hiccup confirmed from behind the curtain.

He shifted with a grumble, lumbering sideways and around, though not without whacking you in the calf with his tail, first.

You finished changing just as the first few dragons began to settle down.

You shuffled to the side once you were ready, letting Hiccup through to order and direct, gentle-parenting the dragons into doing what you needed.

You watched him. He was shirtless, legs bare, though his left ankle remained wrapped to his prosthetic. You wondered if it hurt, sometimes, though you hadn’t the courage to ask.

He was slim as always, muscled but not quite muscly, more soft than not. It went unsaid that he was not nearly as built or wide as any of the other Viking men, so you tried not to ogle.

You sat, legs crossed on the ground as Hiccup directed the Scauldrons and Gronkle in turn, slowly patching and filling up the pool.

“How long do you think it will take to cool down?” You asked as he sent them off and he came over to stand by you, settling himself onto the small stretch of grass you were laid in.

“Not sure,” He answered.

At one point Toothless turned towards the trees, shaking himself off before beginning to march through the underbrush.

“Hey, don’t go too far, bud,” Hiccup called after him.

The two of you sat there, just you, watching steam rise from the pool

“He’s been really independent lately,” Hiccup stiffened slightly, picking at the wooden end of his prosthetic, “Yeah…”

You moved back to give him space as he unraveled the leather wraps keeping his prosthetic secure to his leg, revealing a stump and a good amount of pinched scar tissue.

You spent a moment longer looking at it than you probably should’ve before looking away. You’d never seen it before

You wondered if Astrid had. You couldn’t imagine a world where she hadn’t.

Hiccup sunk into the water first.

Sweat beaded on your forehead as you hovered above it, hands lightly gripping the edge of the pool.

You dipped your toes in before all at once you sunk into the water, drifting down until your feet touched ground, sighing as you felt the heat rise up to your hips.

The ground was made up of small pebbles and smooth stone, and much nicer on the bottoms of your feet than you’d expected.

There was a ledge underneath, just the right height and length going around the inner edge of the pool on most sides to make a nice enough bench. You waded towards it, settling over the concave surface, ignoring the slight unevenness of it.

You relaxed, going boneless underwater, feeling your face redden as the heat from the water floated up into it, causing a line of sweat to run down your cheek.

With nothing else to you, your eyes drifted over towards Hiccup. He was much the same, though he was a little more out of it.

He really needed it, you supposed.

You blinked at him as he tilted his head back, exposing freckled skin, much more faded than when you were younger but visible just the same.

You eyed a multitude of cuts, long and light against his tan, following them down to a long vertical cut by the right side of his chest.

“What’s on your mind?” Hiccup’s voice brought you back to alertness, breaking the spell the spring seemed to put you under.

You tilted your head back and forth, debating whether or not you should answer.

He followed your eyesight instead, answering the silent question in your eyes.

“That… Axe. Training accident,” He answered, shrugging. You marveled at the casualness of it all.

“...And that one?”

“Dragon racing. Caught in the side by one of the spikes over Hofferson house,” You nodded. You hadn’t been in town for that one.

“And, I’m guessing, that’s why you guys use more of a track, now?”

Hiccup rubbed his neck sheepishly.

“Where’d you get yours?” He asked

Being able to talk and converse with him like this was great and all, but you were afraid that behind all the mindless platitudes and play-warmth he would finally, finally see you. See deeper than the scars like cracks on your surface, seep right into line lines and stare into your core to somehow find you wanting.

You hunched slightly inwards self consciously.

“Hey, it’s… it’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it,”

Hiccup drifted towards you, resting his hand on the side of your shoulder.

You kept your eyes trained downwards, staring at large groups of bubbles as they rose to the surface, coloring the water an opaque white.

Your exhale blew hotly back into your face, rising up with the steam.

You nodded.

Hiccup hummed under his breath, voice tinted with a hint of confusion.

You pressed your thumbs into his shoulder blades in the dark of your hut, moving with his muscles as he groaned and flexed them backwards.

You felt the outline of lightning scars under his shirt and followed them down lazily, rubbing a path around them, pushing deep into weary muscle through his thick tunic.

Hiccup leaned into it. Again, you moved to accommodate him.

You shifted over your hastily done bed, dull fabric shifting below you.

Afternoon light trickled in through the blinds.

You counted every scar visible above the line of his collar, each cut and scab that formed alabaster marks against peachy-tan skin.

You worked through knots, strains and strains and stresses, watching with a careful eye as Hiccup softened, letting them melt off and away.

You worked your way back up, and down, leaning maybe a bit closer than necessary, feeling your breath on your face as you exhaled into the nape of his neck, lifting your elbow higher in order to get a hard spot a few lengths away from his spine.

Hiccup let out a breathy sigh.

You flushed.

You sifted through the assortment of ripe berries in the cart, humming thoughtfully.

You weren’t quite sure what to buy. Honestly, you didn’t need to buy any at all. You had a large enough stock at home to guarantee you’d not need to buy or forage anything until the next year.

You would never say it out loud but you were actually out to take inventory. A whole lot of the other Vikings would be displeased to hear about it, you were sure. It was a good way for you to keep stock of what was in store and what you would need to search for on your own. It was how you made your coin.

It was quite easy, especially when you took advantage of your close proximity to Gothi. Though a tough and harried healer, she was still an elder and it was much more convenient to have the shops travel up towards her.

Some might have called it ‘taking advantage of the elderly,’ but you were loath to the idea. You didn't upcharge her by too much. Whenever you did up the price, it was much deserved payback for dumping her waste down your side of the mountain. Somehow it always landed on your roof.

You brought your finger to your chin and moved to accommodate a newcomer you sensed by the corner of your eye, careful not to look up at the stall keeper, who was squinting down at you suspiciously. You were afraid he might have been catching on.

You walked over to a wide array of scales, most likely scavenged from the dropped and shed skins of the dragons who enjoyed roaming around town.

You enjoyed the fresh air, the wind as it flowed over your scalp. You felt light and pleased, one hand held to your back as you pursued the displayed wares.

There was a nice arranged pyramid of orangish-reddish scales and a set of electric yellow and purple sat above a wrinkled, dull green cloth, and a line of iridescent scales by your right hand.

“You see something you like?” You startled as you heard a voice murmur by your ear. It seemed to be that you were so engrossed in pretending to be invested that you hadn’t noticed as your fellow shoppe leaned into your space.

You walked to the side, turning so that you were leaning away from her.

It was a woman, brown hair nearing red, the brightest auburn you’d ever seen in the light, dressed in a thin layer of furs with both hands on her hips. You recognized this woman.

“These came from me,” She exclaimed calmly, voice running off her tongue like thick, gooey honey.

The stall keeper rolled his eyes, “You’ll get your cut, don’t worry.”

The question must have been obvious in your eyes because Valka smiled, “Oh, yes, I collected those myself, you see.”

You smiled uncomfortably as Valka laughed to herself, finally backing up a tad.

You straightened your back and your shoulders, exhaling deeply.

Though she was unbalanced from her time away from general society, she was confident and it served her well.

Her swell mood was contagious. You quirked your lips with the urge to join in, though to your chagrin, your own laughter came out more as a breathy uncomfortable chuckle than anything. You were also very much out of practice.

She didn’t seem to notice, though you knew that was most likely a calculated effort. You were glad for it.

“Hello,” You managed an honest smile, “Trying to push sales?”

“I’ve a bit of a vested interest in this shop, I should say,” She said, examining you as if you were a sort of creature from a land she’d never seen before, “Who are you?”

Valka paused, blinking to herself. Before you could respond again, she asked, “What’s your name? What’s your story?”

She didn’t know, you realized with a pang. There was no reason for her to, of course, Hiccup being your only link to each other and the two of you hadn’t been nearly as close as you had been before, as of late, but it still hurt a little. Definitely put a damper on your mood.

You kept up your smile anyways, mimicking her pose.

“I’ve not much of a story to tell, I’m sad to say,” You inclined your head.

“Everyone’s got a story,” Valka insisted, “Even-Oh, it should be-...”

You hummed your question.

“It’s probably wandered off somewhere, the frightful thing… There-! This one’s been pretty helpful,” Valka pointed out behind you, “A bashful thing, helped me bring down some of the wares. He showed up a few months before, well…”

Her eyes unfocused and her stance fell just the smallest bit. You winced with sympathy, remembering how Drago had smothered the island in ice before nearly killing off all of its inhabitants. She was very open about it, especially in the hall, and word spread faster than fire on Berk. It must have been difficult to lose her husband and her Alpha Dragon all in one day.

You shifted, turning following her direction after a moment of solidarity, and froze.

With its head bowed down, looking guiltily away from across the clearing was a dragon. Your dragon.

She leaned forwards against you conspiratorially, though this time you didn’t react, even as she whispered loudly in your ear with false secrecy, “It doesn’t hurt to have a bit of extra change on hand, you see. That’s why I’m here.”

“I do see,” You nodded along, though something about your voice was off as you spoke, still staring at your old dragon. Your voice was much too sharp and flat and cracked in all the wrong places.

You blinked away a light burning in your eye, refusing to meet your dragon by the eyes.

Your heart twinged, ruffled and upset as you were all at once confronted with the reality that you really had been abandoned, though it wasn't as bitter a fruit knowing that it had been, in part, your fault.

“So, you said these scales are on sale?” You cleared your throat, turning back towards the stall with the full intent to ignore the thing as you would a stranger, which it might have very well been.

“Which would you recommend?” Your eyes refused to focus as you blocked it out of your mind, refusing to acknowledge the faces or manners of any of the people around you.

It was because of that that you just nearly missed him, approaching down the path to your left, once again clad in dark gray and brown leather.

“Oh, hello, Hiccup!” You called.

“You’re trembling,” Hiccup noted with surprise in his voice as you approached.

“It’s been a while since I rode a dragon,” You admitted balefully, as the two of you strode towards Toothless’ saddle.

Even before, when you had just gotten yours, you’d had a hard time learning to love being up in the sky. But you pushed through it, because it was what Hiccup loved, and because it was getting to a point where you needed a dragon in order to keep up with everyone else.

You never did talk to anyone about how much it terrified you.

“Will you be alright?”

You nodded hesitantly, though privately you weren’t so sure, your heart beating like a drum.

Hiccup sighed, “We’re just headed to the sea stacks, right?”

“Yeah,” You took a few hesitant, shaking breaths before swinging yourself up on the saddle behind Hiccup, who looked back at you, securing his helmet as if he thought it might be better that he leave you behind, as if you might shatter at the slightest breeze.

“Thanks for taking me,” You looked away, ears burning shamefully. The things you could forage for on Berk weren’t cutting it. You needed the extra coin.

You jolted suddenly as you took off, alarm racing up and down your spine as you pressed yourself flush to Hiccup. You kept your eyes as straight ahead as possible, knowing that looking down, at the disappearing dow of Berk in the distance, would be your downfall.

You noticed Hiccup kept close to the ocean floor, guiding Toothless only just high enough to cleanly avoid the ocean waves below.

Past the wind rushing through your hair, the pressure plugging your eardrums and the sound of Toothless’ wings beating through the air, you realized that this wasn’t so bad.

Eventually your breathing evened and you were able to loosen up to some degree.

You leaned your head against his neck, arms relaxing slightly around your torso though your front stayed no less melded to his back.

You noticed the two of you had wandered all the way down, strolling the boundary between grazing fields, dotted by sheep, and the closer line of houses to your right.

You were still a slight bit shaken, though you’d made it back with all of your things intact plus extra, which was alright enough.

Hiccup looked back and forth, at where your hut ended just beyond the Great Hall, probably wondering if he should have been the one to walk you back instead.

“I don’t eat down at the hall much,” You looked back, keeping the silent ‘or ever’ to yourself.

“Well, I can understand why,” Hiccup looked to the side, voice sardonic, as the two of you, from a distance, watched Tuffnut and Snotlout wrestling for a plated chicken leg. You weren’t sure how they got so far out from the Great Hall so quickly. As far as you were aware, they didn’t serve food this early.

“Would you?” He asked.

Snotlout was able to pin Tuffnut to the ground, about to take a bit from the leg in his meaty grasp before Tuffnut basked him over the back of his head with the empty plate.

The other Riders were sat around him at the high table.

Hiccup seemed uncomfortable sitting up on the elevated platform reserved for the Chief and company by the forefront of the Great Hall. Out of place. Not quite like he was in shoes he hadn’t grown into yet, as was the saying, but more as if he was standing in front of a pair of shoes that did not belong to him at all.

You asked yourself if he might be more comfortable down with the common folk.

You sent him a small wave just as the two of you met eyes, Hiccup at once sending a complimentary quirk of the lips back.

You came.

It took you a few days to get there, but eventually you worked up the courage to make it down and to sidle around the heavily concentrated group of Vikings in the open floor of the hall.

Just as I promised.

You gave him a half-smile, lifting a spoon of stew to your mouth. It had been a while since you had tasted something from the hall. You had to admit it was a taste that you couldn’t replicate, not that you tried. You weren’t sure whether or not it was something you liked.

A crowd of Vikings obscured your vision as they walked past, large mugs and plates in hand.

You stared down at your bowl of stew and the thin slice of bread on the place beside it, wondering if all of this was worth it.

You were surprised when Hiccup settled down in front of you, startling you out of your own musings, plate of his own in hand.

You peered round him, back at the table to see the rest of the Riders and Gobber back up on the podium. They seemed just as equally confused.

“What brings you down here?” You got the vague idea that it was expected, though not a requirement of the Chief, for Hiccup to sit up by the front table. Something about establishing authority and basking in the attention or something before it wore off, you didn’t care.

It didn’t seem like something Hiccup was interested in, anyways.

“What, no ‘hello?’”

“Nope,” You popped the ‘p’ as Hiccup pulled out his journal from under his arm, settling it on the table to his side. You stared at brown leather and at all the small bits of parchment sticking out the sides.

“Let me see,” You said,

“You sure?” Hiccup asked with a crooked smile.

You nodded, beckoning him over to your side of the table, craning your neck as he laid the book out in front of you and settled down besides.

“What’s that?” You pointed downwards, as he began flipping through the pages.

“What, this?”

You hummed, “No, go back.”

Hiccup blinked, and you saw the minor realization wash over his face before he flipped back the page almost reluctantly, revealing a messily sketched out crack in the earth and a crude map of the archipelago with a bunch of x-es littering random regions over the sea.

“Do you mind if I…?”

He shook his head no, handing over his notebook as you pushed aside your stew.

You read over some of the notes to the side, furrowing your brow.

“The Caldera,” You said, remembering the old wives tale.

“Yeah,” Hiccup rubbed his neck, “I didn’t mean for you to see it, but what do you think?”

“There’s something about it, I don’t know,” You said, shrugging, “It would be really nice.”

Hiccup scrubbed his neck embarrassedly, “It’s just a fantasy I have sometimes.”

“Is that why you spent so much time wandering?” You nodded your head, taking a sip from the large mug in front of you with hunched shoulders, “It would make a great discovery.”

Hiccup nodded.

You got it. It was unbelievably unrealistic, but that was probably the point. It was something for him to chase after even after everything else became unfamiliar. There was something charming about its unattainability, in a way.

Mead. Maybe it was a comfort you yourself craved.

You barely paid attention as you filled your mug and his, watching as, across the hall and through warm and bustling bodies, Hiccup and Astrid spoke.

It was with all of the passion of a newly split couple. Though you couldn’t hear everything, you could see the meaningful tilt of Hiccup’s brown, the way his shoulders only moved when he spoke about something worthwhile, and the emotive movement of his hands.

They were leaning close together by a gaggle of the others, speaking in whispers. It was probably nothing of consequence to you. She was, still, his right hand woman.

But he looked at her like she hung the stars and wove this very Earth, hanging on to her every word, no matter the severity or banality.

You downed a mug, mead dripping down the corner of your chin. You wiped it off with your chin, lamenting and then going after another. It would take quite a great deal for you to get drunk.

You watched as Astrid walked away, back turned to Hiccup, her side exposed to you, and took note of the way, mouth open as if to speak, he reached out slightly, like he might be able to pull her back by some invisible string.

Your heart beat against itself, rhythm as loud and violent to your ears as the crashing waves outside down by the coast. You ignored it, tucking it away like a book under your pillow in the dark of night.

You furrowed your brows, picking up another mug and filling it to the brim. It was only considerate, if you were going to drink.

Your arms were full of mugs by the time you thought to wander back, balanced unevenly in your arms. He might need it just as bad as you did.

You’d stumbled back to Hiccup’s hut in the dark, chuckling and laughing like a pair who didn’t want to do much besides forget the world around you.

There was something tense in the air between the two of you despite the physical closeness. You weren’t quite sure when or how the two of you had fallen into each other, or why you thought this was a good idea.

You gasped through the press of lips and the taste of ale on tongue, backed up against a wooden wall, head pressed back against the hard, uneven surface.

You pulled apart, and Hiccup leaned forwards to rest his forehead against the wall by your head, panting in your ear.

You weren’t sure who you’d slept with and who you hadn’t. Many drunk nights at the Hall, sneaking large mugs of ale and mead into your small, lonely corner meant many mornings slung over beds in houses you weren’t familiar with. Being so disconnected meant it was easy for you to slip out and away without anyone noticing.

But you knew you were here, and you were here now.

You slipped your knee between his legs. He ground down on it.

Your undergarments were up to scratch this time, though you weren’t sure if you needed them.

You felt the rise and quell of feeling and emotion and dead conversation. You searched for something to say, something to soothe, to matter or to not in a way that mattered the way someone did when they knew they weren't great, but wanted to be.

He looked exhausted. Tired from hours on his feet, time he wasn’t allowed to spend alone and a while too long throwing ideas on building, automatic tailfins and infrastructure between the two of you.

Guilt curled around like a tiny worm in your stomach. It was the same feeling you got falling from a high place, the same kind you avoided every time you saw a dragon take off into the air.

You pondered if you should ask, wondering if it was fair to want him to take the first step or back away, hands drifting back and forth underwater.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” He said, and you weren’t sure why.

You tilted your head, sitting across from Hiccup in the same spring from before. His calf was pressed between your ankles, brushing over scar tissue as Hiccup sandwiched your left ankle between that and his other leg.

“Me too.” You were sorry, for taking up his time and his space, when all he wanted was something else. You thought he might rather be alone. If that was the case, you knew you would go.

Calves and ankles pressed together, shifting against each other under the water testingly.

Your face was red, heated by steam. Hiccup looked the same.

You scooted closer. Hiccup shifted forwards on his arms, leaning nearer to you.

You weren’t sure where you stood, since the night you spent together. You didn’t know if it meant anything or not, if it was a tryst born from your interest or Hiccup’s want to forget Astrid. You couldn’t remember.

But.

“Is it…?” He asked, eyes half-lidded.

You drifted forwards, standing up in the spring and met him the rest of the way, thighs slotted together.

Your arms were braced on either side of him underwater, palms resting on the smooth ledge surface.

Hiccup rested his hand on your arm, the other by your waist.

There were too many things between the two of you that went left unsaid. You hoped that one day you’d be able to say them.

“A-ash…” He breathed into your mouth.

You half-slid, half-climbed down the rocky cliffside, grinning to yourself as Hiccup jogged after, falling slightly behind your enthusiasm.

To be honest, you weren’t so sure about sharing this secret with Hiccup. It felt weighty, like you were putting it to bed somehow and you weren’t sure you liked that, not ready to give up your reprieve.

It was private to you, but also, maybe it would be worth it, to share something so nice with someone else. There was a low chance he hadn’t seen it yet anyways. Soon, the others would find out and all the other Vikings would start funneling in, you were sure.

You slid to a stop just barely in time, backtracking with your arms out, stumbling back-first into Hiccup.

The two of you fell backwards, Hiccup falling into a set of bushes stationed behind you.

“Oh, ow,”

“Are you alright?” You asked him, as you separated, quickly scooting over and peering down at him as he pulled himself from the fanning ferns.

The two of you were surrounded by rocks and fauna, world dark and blue in a way that felt fresh and new and freeing.

This ledge was one that was difficult to get to unless you knew the way, which you won through hard-earned practice and exploration.

The grass under you was cold, and wet from dew, But that was one of the many things you ceased to notice once you peered over the edge, at the beginning of a beautiful flickering.

“I’m alright,” Hiccup smiled, rubbing his head. You tried to look around him as if you might be able to see the back of it from the angle you were sitting.

“Look,” You pointed forwards with a breathy grin, as Hiccup settled himself beside you, your legs hanging limply over the side of the clifface.

He followed your direction, and he breathed. You could see the exact moment he looked down into the waters, calmer than they should be, always seeming flat and unassuming in this area.

You watched him focus, taken in by the mesmerizing sight.

Tiny dragons lit up the sea below, blinking pale pinks and greens and blues under the shifting water, looking very much like small, twinkling gems by the sand.

It was what you assumed was a mix between the glowing algae left over from the Flightmare’s time in the archipelago and the new, different kinds of dragons flooding Berk.

The two of you relaxed into the scene, calming in a way you were hard pressed to calm anywhere else. Maybe you had made the right call.

It was a while before either of you would break the silence

“I…” Hiccup started, he looked at you with open eyes, “I…”

You perked up slightly, turning your head by the most minute degree, watching him from the corner of your eye. You waited, giving him time to articulate himself.

“...I miss…”

His eyes twinkled, lights dancing in the shine of them, moving back and forth with the lights below. You softened in them, twisting so you were looking at him directly.

You wondered what he missed. You wondered if it was something to quell or nurture the beating blooming jittering feeling growing in your chest.

“Them,” Hiccup said finally, lamely, before stopping, leaning against your shoulder.

At the last moment, he looked away, pulling his hands off the ground and you read something a little like shame on his face as he said it, or on as much face as you could see, carefully tilted away from you.

You were sure you knew who, or whom he meant.

You remembered how he looked at Astrid the other night as she walked away. How something in his eyes just seemed to storm.

You remember how glum he was, still was, after the passing of his father, tall and mighty in a way that seemed to make him immortal.

You were glad. Just glad, and disappointed, in equal measure. But also you also couldn’t help but be a little disappointed that he hadn’t said something else.

You leaned back with equal weight onto his shoulder, though instead of feeling any sort of the warmth or amity you should have felt- or peace, like you usually did, staring down at the swirling lights, dancing with the currents- you just felt empty.

You took in the rustling of leaves behind you, the chittering and splashing of small dragons as they leapt out of the water, filling the air below with a colorful, glowing spray. Anything but the man besides you. The Chief, now.

“I know.”

#not an exact fill but close enough #no clinginess sorry could not work it in #how to train your dragon #httyd #x reader #fanfiction #toothless #httyd imagine #hiccup haddock #hiccup x reader #gender neutral reader

740 notes · View notes

dreamingofaizawa · 4 months ago

Text

Posession

Ulquiorra Cifer x Fem!Arrancar!Reader

***18+ Fic*** If you are under the age displayed, please find your way to another station.

Warnings: Penetrative sex (p in v), biting/marking, fingering, edging, overstimulation(?), choking/breath play, rough sex, VERY posessive Ulquiorra, spanking (ass and pussy spanking), liberal use of 'master' (both sexual and not) squirting, creampie, cockwarming if you squint, teeny bit of praise kink, dom! Ulquiorra, sub! reader, tiny bit of aftercare (ish), brief mentions of suicide (not descriptive, it’s used as a power grab/show of loyalty)

Word Count: 3.6k

Auhor's Note: Yeeeah....I'm making writer's block my bitch LMAO

Anywho, enjoy the depravity~

Being a fracción was a simple thing, really. Obey. Apologize. Obey. Especially under the fourth Espada, your job was easy. He’s reserved, quiet, but his silence does not convey weakness. It’s calculated, like everything he does. So you must be as well. You match his stoic facade, keep everything in check. You’ve learned to read his every fractional expression, most of his thoughts you’re able to read without struggle. Once you’d begun thinking like him, it became infinitely easier to remain as his fracción and remain unpunished, for the most part.

With all of that in mind, you can’t fathom what you missed.

He’s cornered you in your personal quarters outside of your usual fracción duties. If he needs something urgently, he can easily summon you to his side instantaneously. Clearly, it wasn’t urgent enough to warrant a summons. So what exactly do his barely furrowed brows and unusually dark glare mean? You stand, awaiting orders of some kind, while he stalks slowly closer to you. His footsteps are measured, as always. He doesn’t stop, however, when his chest bumps your own. His frame pushes against yours as you easily step backward, matching his pace until your back hits the wall. It isn’t often you can’t read his mind.

“A thousand apologies, Master Ulquiorra, I am unable to discern what you need tonight.” His viridian glare flickers over your features, schooled to match his own usual indifference. The silence is long, stretched thin over the seconds you spend trying to decipher the Espada’s thoughts to no avail. All you can do is study his face. Those piercing, unwavering eyes that you could lose yourself in forever. The tiny tick in his sharp jaw, the tiniest pinch in his brows. Dark lines reminiscent of tear tracks streak down his pale cheeks, drawing the eyes down his neck toward the hollow at the base of his throat. It isn’t often he chooses to leave it exposed.

“Has anyone paid you a visit today?” The deep baritone vibrates through your body, snapping your thoughts back to the present. No other Espada would dare come to you, unless it were urgent or a special case. None of the humans would bother with you either, even Lord Aizen is far above seeking the assistance of a fracción. He should already know the answer to that question.

“No, Master Ulquiorra.” You don’t bother to elaborate, he hates hearing unneeded explanations. A simple answer is all he ever needs. At the confirmation, his features relax. His expression is blank once again, the calculated persona clicking into place like a puzzle piece. You know you’re one of the very few that can read his micro expressions, if he were talking to any of the other Espada or fracción they’d probably never notice whatever inner turmoil plagues his mind. But you do.

When he turns to leave, you can’t help but want to ease whatever troubles him. It’s second nature, for a fracción such as yourself. You were made to serve him, to assist him, to do anything and everything necessary to help him reach his goal.

“Master Ulquiorra?” He stops on a dime, casually turning to face you once again. He wants this kept short, he always does. So you don’t bother beating around the bush.

“May I be of any assistance? I can see something is on your mind.” His eyes swiftly trace down and back up your entire form. If you weren’t looking for it, you’d have missed it.

“No. Good night.” Swiftly, he turns and leaves, the door to your room closing softly behind him. How odd.

The next week is spent assisting the fourth Espada with research of the hogyoku. There isn’t much to be gathered besides what Lord Aizen already knows, and each night you wonder exactly what has Ulquiorra wound so tightly. Yes, his mind still lingers on whatever it is he confronted you about that night. Unfortunately, an answer does not come to you, but instead a new series of questions is given to you when you’re visited once again in your quarters. You feel him approaching long before he arrives, that spiritual pressure is unmistakable. But why is he here?

You’re down on your knees before the door swings open, head bowed down, not from the pressure but out of respect for the man. Lord Aizen steps over the threshold, his footsteps heavy and booming, into the small space of your room. You’ve only ever seen him across a hall or room during a meeting of some kind, and he’s never ever addressed you directly. Any and all orders came through Master Ulquiorra, even if they were from Lord Aizen himself.

“So respectful. Ulquiorra has trained you well, fracción. Stand.” You waste no time, standing at full height and keeping your eyes focused on the ground. Making eye contact could be fatal. You have to tense every muscle in your body to keep from flinching when a large hand reaches out toward your face, and you stop breathing when he grabs your chin and begins to turn your head this way and that. He’s…examining you. Releasing your face, he begins a slow, steady pace circling around you as you stand perfectly still. You don’t know what this is about, but you don’t dare ask, his piercing gaze is more than enough warning not to speak at all, let alone move.

“Very interesting.” It takes all of your resolve not to scream and protest when you feel two large hands, suddenly and harshly, grasp your waist and tug your back against his chest. His chin hooks over your shoulder and his voice is too close, too deep, too dark.

“What a darling fracción. Tell me, why is Ulquiorra so distracted lately? One of my most loyal Espada has been faltering lately.” He’s been faltering? Oh no, what could have him so worked up?

“My sincerest apologies, Lord Aizen. I have not been able to discern his troubles. He has hidden all of his mind from me lately. I have failed as his fracción.” You know you’ve failed. If his mind is so distracted that Lord Aizen has noticed a difference in his performance, then you have failed to be of assistance. You were created for it, and yet you have failed. The ultimate failure.

“Oh, don’t be so down, little fracción. You have not failed, yet.” Yet? What does he mean by that? He releases you from his hold in favor of meeting you face to face, grasping your chin once again and forcing your eyes to meet his own. It’s a terrifying thing, those eyes are pure bloodlust.

“If Ulquiorra were to have you kill yourself for any reason, would you do it?”

“Yes.” You didn’t even have to think about the answer. Undeniably, you would. No matter the order, you’d follow through. If Ulquiorra ordered you to kill Lord Aizen himself, you would kill him or die trying.

“Very good, fracción. Such unwavering loyalty is not so common.” Maybe not, but fraccións are created for the sole purpose of mindless loyalty and obedience. It should not be a surprise that you are this way. Though something deep in your psyche tells you loyalty is not the only quality you hold for your master.

Another layer of spiritual pressure falls on the room, but you are unable to look over Lord Aizen’s wide shoulders with your face stuck in his grip. Regardless, you know who has joined you.

“Ulquiorra, I was wondering when you’d arrive.” The Espada’s footsteps halt behind the former shinigami.

“Lord Aizen.” Nothing more than an acknowledgement, but all of the questions you know he wants to ask remain unspoken when dark brown meets deep emerald, their sharp gazes piercing each other. The tension is palpable, for reasons you cannot calculate. Never would you have thought Ulquiorra could level such a glare at the man he’s sworn his loyalty. Your chin is finally released, and a boom resonates through the small chamber, the white fabric on Ulquiorra’s back suddenly filling your gaze as Lord Aizen turns back to face you both. A sonido? Here? Now? In front of Lord Aizen? What is going on with Master Ulquiorra? The thick silence is suffocating, the air itself seems to be vibrating with clashing spiritual pressures and tension. You’re having a hard time breathing, your body feeling heavier the longer the silence stretches. It feels like an eternity passes and you fall to your knees, but you know it can’t have been more than a split second. As quickly as it built, the tension dissipates as you sit there on your knees, panting and sweating in the aftermath.

“Tend to your fracción, Ulquiorra, the way we both know you want to. She may not be privy to your thoughts but I can read you like a book.” Lord Aizen’s smirk is measured carefully, and he’s gone in an instant. You don’t dare move until that spiritual pressure is gone completely, and even then you’re struggling to recuperate. Tenderly, lithe fingers brush away whatever hair had fallen in your face, emerald gaze searching your face as you peer up at him. Searching for what, you don’t know.

“Stand.” You do as asked, wobbling for a moment while your strength returns. Strong hands, one on your shoulder and one on your waist, steady you. It’s strange, he’s never actually touched you before. Not like this. You don’t know what to do about the sudden feeling in your chest, warmth and contentment spreading like a wildfire to your mind. Even more so you’re left unsure about your newfound feelings, when instead of giving a command he chooses to lift you in his arms. The boom of a sonido is so much different when you’re moving the distance, but not of your own volition. The door to Master Ulquiorra’s quarters is thrown open and you’re unceremoniously tossed onto the large bed.

“Master Ulquiorra?” You can’t help your confusion. The past fifteen minutes have been a whirlwind of unnatural occurrences. His movements are almost frantic as he strides over to the door and seals it shut, locking it from the inside and training those eyes right on you. It’s a predatory glare he pins you with, the viridian swirling with something dark and sultry and filled with an insatiable lust. It makes your carefully crafted mask of indifference crack and splinter, eyes widening as your body curls into itself. You aren’t afraid, not of him. But something in his eyes just screams danger, and you can’t help the blistering heat coiling in the pit of your stomach nor the involuntary squeeze of your thighs. It doesn’t go unnoticed. Before anything else, a tension settles over the room much like earlier.

“What was Lord Aizen’s business with you?” What a strange question.

“He asked if I knew why you were lacking in your duties lately. I couldn’t answer.” His chest rises and falls heavily, a muscle in his jaw tensing momentarily.

“Was that all?” You shook your head, not at all inclined to keep anything from Ulquiorra.

“He asked if I’d kill myself at your order.” He went eerily still, every muscle in his body tensed and ready like a coiled snake.

“And your answer?”

“Without question. I would do anything you asked of me, Master Ulquiorra.” The glare he levels you with is primal, carnal desire. There’s no question about it, his entire being is consumed by lust. In the time it takes you to blink, he’s got you pinned to the bed with a hand wrapped tight around your neck, his lips claiming yours in a display of barely controlled dominance that has your entire body trembling. Teeth grab at every piece of skin he can reach. Blooming bites and bruises form along your jaw and neck, carefully skirting around the hollow in your own chest, his fingers squeezing around your throat in increments sending your vision blurry. Your clothes are shredded off your body and you’re left completely exposed for the arrancar keeping you pinned to his bed. Pain shoots through you, jolting your body, the sensation of teeth burying into your shoulder and it’s all you can do to bite your lip to stay quiet. The hand on your throat squeezes, Ulquiorra’s voice rattling your brain.

“I want to hear you. Not a single noise you make will be stifled.” It’s a proclamation, a statement of fact, rather than a request or demand. The next bite is accompanied by a sharp pinch, your nipple peaked between his index finger and thumb as he tugs at it, your voice coming out in a yelp and slowly melding into a low moan while he toys with your breasts.

“Beautiful.” That single word sends shivers down your spine. There isn’t a single moment you can remember being praised in any way, and your head is spinning from it. His mouth continues its assault on your skin, following the curve of your shoulder and down your breasts. You can see the bite marks scattered over your chest, it lights a fire beneath your skin you can’t quite describe. He takes his time marking you, one hand ghosting over you and the other remaining planted on your neck, his lips mapping your body. You’re trembling from the attention he’s lavishing you with, you know he can feel the way your body shakes from all the stimulation. When his wandering hand finally reaches between your thighs, you’re shy knowing how messy you’ve become. His fingers are toying with the folds of your pussy, teasing around the entrance and barely ghosting over your swollen clit, his lips still sucking and biting and marking. He’s claiming you, completely dominating your being and making you his.

He’s squeezing your throat in longer stents now, giving you short spaces to breathe between the dizzying cut off of your air supply. He can see the effect it’s having on you, your legs weaker as they try to close around his hand toying with your cunt, tears falling down your cheeks, your eyelids fluttering shut the longer he keeps your breathing controlled. And your pretty pussy is leaking so much more now, dripping onto his sheets and soaking his fingers. His emerald gaze stares up at you when you reach up and grasp at his arm, weakly clawing at him for a breath. He loves seeing you like this, completely reliant on him, even to do something as simple and basic and breathing.

The edges of your vision spot black and you’re shaking harder the closer you get to unconsciousness. You can’t fight it much longer, as much as you want to. Your eyes roll back into your skull as two long fingers plunge into your pussy and you’re granted air once again, the gasping breaths you take making your head spin and the fingers buried deep inside you curl up to hit a spot that makes your back arch up off the bed. It’s euphoric. You’re shaking hard, your legs clamped around Ulquiorra’s hand as something snaps in your abdomen, sending you head first into a freefall of blinding pleasure. Your guttural moans bounce off the walls after being ripped from your lungs, a sinful melody in the arrancar’s ears. When you can finally focus again Ulquiorra is standing above you in all his naked glory, clothing tossed into a random corner. He’s a beautiful man, pale skin flawless and smooth, and you can’t help the way your eyes trace down his toned body to lock onto his hard leaking cock as it stands proud.

“Get on your knees. Turn around and present yourself to me.” The command is clear, the dominant cadence of his voice making you tremble as you obey your master. Dropping your chest to the bed, you spread your knees and grip the sheets tight between your fingers, exposing your ass and cunt to the lust crazed Espada. Shivers wrack your body from the groan he lets slip past his lips, you yelp and jolt when a sharp slap lands on your bare pussy.

“Look at you. So obedient, so submissive. Such a pretty, slutty little fracción for me.” A moan is punched from you at the praise, and your cunt clenches down around nothing. One hand smooths over one of your ass cheeks and slides up your back, reaching all the way to the back of your neck and keeping steady pressure, pinning you in place. Again you clench around nothing as Ulquiorra teases the tip of his cock at your entrance, never delving further, bumping your clit and making you jump with every pass. You know better than to speak out of turn, but you can’t take it anymore.

“P-please…” Everything halts, even your breathing stops at the realization of what you'd just done. A heavy hand slaps your ass, leaving a blooming red mark in its wake, your whole body jerking at the contact and a moan tearing from your throat. Another slap lands in the same place, harder this time, and another. They keep coming until your moans are sounding more like screams, but Ulquiorra knows better, the gush of your cute pussy giving away just how much you’re enjoying yourself. Mercifully, he rubs at the raw skin in soothing circles.

“A fitting punishment, don’t you think? For speaking unprompted,” you nod as much as you can still pinned beneath him, tears staining your cheeks and the bedsheets.

“Y-yes, Master Ulquiorra.” You can’t see it, but you can hear the devious grin in his voice. If only you had the pleasure of witnessing such an expression.

“Good girl, you’re learning.” Your loud moan is swallowed by the sheets.

“Oh? You like the praise, sweet thing?” It’s formed as a question, but it feels like he’s taunting you, like it’s something shameful to enjoy. You can’t bring yourself to answer, embarrassed to be so affected by his praise. His hand comes down again on your still painful ass.

“I asked you a question. I expect an answer.” Between small hiccups and sniffles, you squeak out a response.

“Yes! I love hearing your praise, Master.” Satisfied, he chuckles, deep and dark and dangerous. He doesn’t bother speaking anymore, focused solely on dragging out your torturous pleasure as long as he can endure. His fingers are shoved into your pussy, ripping a groan out of you and he sets a punishing pace, pumping and curling and spreading to prepare you to take his sizable cock. You can feel that sensation again, tightening in the depths of your belly, feel your legs begin to shake like before, whines and moans spilling into the room. But just before that tension snaps, you’re left empty. You could cry, being denied that release. Ulquiorra just laughs again before rubbing tight, quick circles into your clit to build up the tension again. You desperately want to beg him to let you cum, want to sing his praises in hopes that he’ll pull you over that blissful release, but you know you can’t. Your chest is heaving, entire body shaking as he builds you up to the point of snapping, only to stop just before you’re shoved over the edge again. You cry, sob as another orgasm is stolen away from you. Your body is shaking so hard he doesn’t even have to move his fingers to rub at your clit, just hold them while you tremble and let you work yourself to that peak again and again. Then he stills completely, listening to your pathetic sniveling at being denied so much pleasure.

“Go ahead. Beg.”

“Please! Please Master Ulquiorra make me cum! I want to feel it so bad, I need it. I can’t take any more, please make me cum!” You can hear his evil chuckle, he’s adoring this. In one fluid motion he buries his aching cock all the way to the hilt, your scream is punched from your lungs and your vision blanks, his heavy balls slap against your clit as he slams into you with his full weight. You can’t hear anything as you cum hard, feeling liquid gush from your cunt and drip down your legs, squirting all over Ulquiorra’s thighs. He doesn’t stop, leaning over you and pounding into you until he feels his own orgasm quickly approaching. Shaking is all you can do, pinned down and at the mercy of your master as he empties into you, hot ropes of thick cum filling you to the brim as he finally stills.

You’re both sucking in heavy breaths in the aftershock, slowly he releases your neck and lays the both of you down on your side, cock still plugging your cunt, keeping all his cum inside you. He holds your trembling form close, gently massaging your shoulders, hips, neck and thighs. Every piece of you that he’s sure aches, he tenderly soothes. It takes a long while for you to pick up the shattered pieces of your mind, he can see your eyes regain their focus as he places soft kisses over your shoulder.

“Are you alright?” You blink away some of the daze, nod slowly to answer. The both of you hiss when he slips his soft cock from you, sensitive as ever. He flips you around to face him, tugging your body over his own so you’re laying on top of him. His fingers caress down your back and massage your scalp and neck, further grounding your mind. It’s comfortable, sweet. You don’t want to be anywhere else. Gently, he turns your head to look into your eyes.

“For the last week I have battled with the notion that you were not solely my own fracción and you would be stolen away by another Espada.” A small, lazy smile graces your features. What a silly concept.

“I’m not going anywhere, Master Ulquiorra.” His gaze turns possessive.

“Of course you aren’t, my dear fracción,” his hand grips your chin firmly, eyes piercing your own, “You belong to me, and only me.”

#ulquiorra cifer #bleach ulquiorra #bleach smut #bleach x reader #ulquiorra cifer x reader #ulquiorra x reader

191 notes · View notes