#cats/war/suffering

[loudlittledemon]

Haha

[acircusfullofdemons]

someone get me out of the kitchen im cooking the worst crossover known to man

[catwouthats]

No one understands Ben Solo like I do istg. The most I see about him is “he had a redemption arc and turned good” like bruh.

[symbioteteeth]

every few months the venom brain worms come fuck me up again and every single time i go "ohh let me get up to date with the comics again!" and every time i get psychic damage from it

[crystallineloid]

[perfectharmonyloveschaos]

Y'know what would be the funniest cut they could do in Ahsoka? Having Shin, Balyan, and Morgan Elsbeth all talking super seriously about Thrawn. Just a whole scene of them talking about how strategic and brilliant he is, and how he must've faced such serious complications to need their help escaping.

Only for it to cut to Thrawn yelling and screaming over Ezra hiding his artworks across the planet and he refuses to leave until they hunt Ezra down and find them.

[padawansuggest]

GUYS SOMEONE PLZ DRAW YOUR FAVES IN THE NEW COZY HOLIDAY VERSION OF THE GET ALONG SHIRT IM CRYING

[immortalsins]

moved into my new house on the 1st and we won’t have wifi until september ... i’m on campus rn for a teams meeting (24 hour library loml) and i might have to come back again tfor no reason other than to browse lmao i’ve really missed it. worrying

[msaprilsky]

Syria Under Julani: A Genocidal Regime Exposed

[prisonhannibal]

Nader’s niece Iman really likes cats ❤️

Nader’s family is only 700 euro away from reaching 45,000!

Thanks to Nader’s hard work with spreading his family’s story, they’ve made a lot of progress on the fundraiser. But they’re not all the way there. Please continue helping Nader and his family survive through this genocide.

Nader is only seventeen years old, and is responsible for a fundraiser that feeds his family of eight. He should be in school, but this is what he has to do to survive and make sure his family can afford to eat. Nader’s father also suffers from cancer and urgently needs treatment.

If you can donate to help Nader, it would mean a lot ❤️ If you can’t, please share this post so it will reach people who can

@tamamita @rhubarbspring @heritageposts @dirhwangdaseul @neechees @butchniqabi @feluka @socalgal @finalgirlabigailhobbs @darthteeth @newporters @pikslasrce @vampiricvenus @danlous @loumandivorce @jackiedaytona @deepspaceboytoy @autisticmudkip @nashvillethotchicken @femmefitz @pitbolshevik @innerchildabortionclinic @omegaversereloaded @hotvampireadjacent @boobieteriat @mens-rights-activia @ot3

[brucespringsteensborntorun]

Please Read

I am speaking on behalf of @eslamfa1, who has her own campaign for her and her family so they may survive under the harsh conditions in Gaza. She is very thankful for all the support she's had, but she needs more help.

She has asked me to host a fundraiser for more of her family, namely for her parents and siblings who desperately need funds for food, water, and medical treatment. They have been displaced multiple times and have only been able to contact Eslam through an unreliable internet connection.

Here is their story as written by her sister, Aya:

"Hello friends, we will tell you our sad story

I am Aya, an outstanding high school student. I was very happy to be on the verge of achieving my dream of finishing my school studies and achieving what I aspired to, which is to become a doctor.

My family of 8 and a beautiful cat named Katie were living a beautiful and peaceful life, each of us striving to achieve our dreams.

We had our beautiful house in Khan Yunis. Recently, we were celebrating my sister Heba’s fourth place in the Gaza Strip in the Arabic language recruitment exam. Our life was like material and emotional perfection. We did not feel deprived or lacking anything.

My sister Lina is a university student. Her dream was to become a psychologist to help mentally ill people in the Strip.

My brother Ahmed was the most beautiful gift from God. He came after 20 years of being deprived of male siblings. After completing his studies, he became a water carrier and took on a great responsibility beyond his capacity.

We also had two little butterflies, the apple of the house, and Jana, the favorites of their teachers and friends at school.

Then the war broke out and everything was turned upside down. We were forced to leave the house after quadcopters surrounded us, tanks surrounded us, and we saw death right in front of our eyes, but we miraculously escaped.

We were displaced several times on foot. Feet, then our end was in a tent that did not protect us from the cold of winter or the heat of summer, and there were poisonous insects and scorpions around us, there was no clean water or healthy food, so my family and I got hepatitis and a lot of intestinal infections.

We were shocked that our house was bombed and destroyed and the features of the house disappeared from the face of the earth, so we felt very sad and despair took over us.

Life here in Gaza is expensive, we cannot buy the minimum necessities of life, imagine that the price of a kilo of tomatoes is $50, and the price of a bag of flour is $200, life here is like a famine! My father is a nervous patient and my mother suffers from chronic pressure and they need continuous treatment and medications. We suffer from bringing water from long distances, and from the high prices of food and cleaning materials and water pollution. What we have suffered most in this war is the loss of members of our family, and this is the hardest thing we have been through. We have lost 20 members of our family. Please help us bear the very high cost of living until we evacuate from Gaza and save our lives. The cost per person is $5,000. Help us, you are the only hope left."

These are some of the photos she's managed to receive of some of her family (Aya, Ahmed, Hala, Jana, and their cat) and of the conditions of the areas they've been displaced from and to:

Note: Due to mentioned lack of internet connection, Eslam has not been able to receive more photos yet. There will be more updates to come when, hopefully, more communications are made.

PLEASE DONATE !!!!! Aya, Lina, Ahmed, Hala, jana, and their parents' well beings are at stake! Starting goal is $10,000

@90-ghost @gaza-evacuation-funds @gazavetters

[marahkatoa2003]

Dont skip 🔴

Save my life.please!! 🙏🏻🍉💔

Hello, I am Marah from Gaza, I am 23 years old, studying at Al-Azhar University.

I am writing these words after deep thought, as the urgent need to save me and my family is beyond my ability to bear.

I would like to add that I am studying law, and I aspire to become a valuable lawyer in my country.

I wish my days were better and that I would not live in a war deprived of my most basic rights.

But the war came and destroyed all our dreams and ambitions.

We had a supermarket and my brother worked in it and our life was very happy, but it was completely destroyed and now we have no source of income.

My mother also suffers from an enlarged thyroid gland and diabetes, and because of what we are going through we cannot provide her with any treatment, and her condition is getting worse.

My father also had a stroke because he heard about the loss of our relatives, and he also lost our home. He worked all his life to build his life's home. We suffer from diseases and lack of clean water.

We are living death.

Please help me protect and help my brother, my family and my cat to restore life and hope to them. Every donation, even if it’s just $5, can make a difference. It means so much to us and our child. Please reshape their lives with love and safety, and help build new hope in them.

It makes a difference in helping me save my family.

I feel so sad and embarrassed to ask for help, but I have no other options left. I know this is a tough ask, but I also know that there is still humanity and conscience and I believe in miracles.

Your support during this very difficult time will give us hope in the midst of devastation and despair.

If you have any questions or concerns, please don’t hesitate to ask me!

My sincere regards and thank you.

My campaing vetted by @/90-ghost

‼️Donate via credit card

‼️Donate via PayPal

[kxsagi]

hihi how would the bllk men act/respond when their gf says she’ll sleep on the couch after an argument?? pls include the itoshi brothers and whoever else you want

tyyy

“𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐲, 𝐛𝐞𝐠 𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐝”

a/n: my guy best friend’s name is alexis so for ness, i wonder what nicknames reader would call him. lex? alex? 

ft. itoshi rin, itoshi sae, isagi yoichi, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, kaiser michael, ness alexis

itoshi rin

you don’t yell. you just say it, quietly, firmly, “i’m sleeping on the couch tonight.” 

rin doesn’t even look up from where he’s pulling the comforter back. “then sleep out there forever,” he mutters. 

that’s it. that’s all he says. 

your jaw tightens. fine. he wants to be a dick? you’ll go be a comfortable, petty little burrito on the couch. 

the second you’re gone, he sighs and slumps against the pillows. he stares at the ceiling for a while. then turns to your empty side of the bed. 

it’s cold. and he hates it. 

he tosses. turns. groans. this is stupid. 

five minutes later, he storms out like a grumpy cat. hoodie half-on, socks mismatched, glaring like you murdered his whole family. “you’re being dramatic,” he says. “and annoying.” 

you open your mouth to respond, but he’s already sitting down on the floor next to the couch and crossing his arms. 

“i’m not going to bed without you,” he says flatly. “so either come back, or we both suffer.” 

you end up back in bed, wrapped in his hoodie, with his hand loosely curled around yours under the covers. he whispers, “i hate you,” and kisses your forehead. 

it’s his version of “i missed you.” 

itoshi sae

when you declare you’re sleeping on the couch, sae just gives you one of those flat, deadpan stares. like he’s watching a toddler throw a tantrum.��

“seriously?” he says. “over that?” 

you grab your blanket anyway. you’re halfway down the hallway before you hear him sigh. not a regular sigh, a tired, you’re impossible, but i love you sigh. 

he lets you go. but only for ten minutes. 

then he casually appears in the living room like he owns the place, leans against the doorway with his arms crossed. “you know the couch ruins your neck,” he says. 

you roll your eyes. “so?” 

“so come to bed.” 

you turn away from him with a stubborn huff. he crosses the room in two strides, crouches down in front of the couch, and gently tugs your hand. 

“i don’t like going to sleep angry,” he murmurs. “not with you.” 

you don’t say anything, but your eyes soften. 

he kisses your hand and gives a rare, tired little smile. “c’mon. the bed’s warm. and so am i.” 

he doesn’t let go until you’re back under the covers, head tucked under his chin, heart finally calm again. 

isagi yoichi

“wait, baby, hold on. what? what do you mean the couch?” 

he looks like you just threatened to leave him forever. arms stretched out, eyes wide like a kicked puppy. 

“c’mon, don’t do that... not over something this dumb.” 

you grab your pillow and ignore him, brushing past. he follows immediately, practically tripping over himself to keep up. 

“you want me to sleep in the bed alone? do you hate me that much?” he says it with the most tragic, oscar-worthy expression on his face. 

when you don’t turn around, he dramatically flops on the couch right next to you. “okay then. if you’re on the couch, i’m on the couch.” 

he makes it five seconds before whining, “my back already hurts.” 

eventually he wraps his arms around you from behind and buries his face in your neck. “i’m still mad,” he mumbles. “but i love you. and i can’t sleep unless you’re squished up against me like a koala.” 

you both fall asleep tangled up on the couch like weird puzzle pieces. 

you wake up in the morning with his face squished into your shoulder and a whispered, “you’re not allowed to sleep away from me again, okay?” 

nagi seishiro

you announce your decision like it’s a declaration of war. “i’m sleeping on the couch tonight.” 

nagi, half-asleep already, barely blinks. “… that sounds like so much work.” 

you expect him to argue. or care. but instead, he just sits up, yawns, and wanders over to you like a very lazy puppy. 

“babe,” he mumbles, hugging your waist from behind. “you’re comfy. the bed’s comfy. come be comfy with me.” 

you protest, but he’s already scooping you up with both arms like you’re a stuffed animal. “too tired to fight. let’s nap it off.” 

he drops you both onto the bed in one go, pulling the blanket over your heads like a makeshift fort. 

you glare at him. “we’re still mad at each other.” 

he hums sleepily. “okay. we can be mad tomorrow. bedtime now.” 

he falls asleep with your fingers tangled in his and your forehead against his shoulder. 

you’re not mad anymore by morning. not when he snores softly and still refuses to let go of your hand. 

mikage reo

“the couch?” he gasps like you just told him you were eloping with his worst enemy. 

“my love, my sunshine, my everything, you would choose the crusty old couch over your charming, heartbroken boyfriend?” 

you blink at him. “reo–” 

he drops to the floor dramatically, clutching his chest. “say it isn’t so!” 

you actually laugh, which pisses you off more because you’re supposed to be mad. 

“i’m serious,” you say. “i need space.” 

reo nods solemnly and lets you go… but you know it’s not over. 

ten minutes later, he shows up with a cup of tea, your favorite blanket, and his own pillow under his arm. 

“room for one more?” he asks, already crawling beside you. 

he strokes your hair and whispers, “i hate when we fight, you know. but i’m not letting you go to sleep thinking i don’t love you.” 

you fall asleep with your head on his chest and his heartbeat thumping under your ear. 

he kisses your temple and mumbles, “next time we argue, let’s just yell into a pillow and then make out.” 

kaiser michael

“i’m sleeping on the couch.” 

you expect him to scoff. to roll his eyes. maybe even say “fine, go ahead.” 

but instead… he just laughs. not the mocking kind. it’s the amused, oh my gosh, you’re so cute when you think you’re winning kind of laugh. 

he leans back against the bedroom wall, arms crossed, watching you like you’re performing a one-person drama. “you?” he drawls. “on my couch? schatz, that thing isn’t worthy of your ass.” 

you glare at him as you march off with your pillow. “good. now i won’t have to see your smug face until morning.” 

“you’ll miss me before you even fall asleep.” 

“wanna bet?” 

you wrap yourself up like a burrito, determined to win. five minutes pass. ten. you think you hear him shuffling around, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of checking. then – 

a sudden weight on the couch. 

you shriek as kaiser climbs on top of you, shoving your blanket aside with all the grace of a golden retriever in a silk robe. “what the hell, micha –” 

he silences you with a kiss to the cheek and a smirk. “you said you were sleeping on the couch. you didn’t say i couldn’t join you.” 

he settles in, spooning you tightly, chin on your shoulder. “still mad?” he whispers. 

you huff. “a little.” 

“good. you’re cute when you’re pissed.” 

he doesn’t let go once all night, and the next morning, you wake up with his arm draped over your waist and his voice low against your skin: “next time we fight, just yell at me in bed. it’s more comfortable.” 

ness alexis

“i’m sleeping on the couch.” 

ness freezes mid-step, like someone just yanked the power cord out of him. his whole face crumples. his arms fall limply to his sides. he looks like he just got rejected on live TV. 

“w-wait… really?” he says, voice small. “because of what i said?” 

you nod. firmly. “i need space.” 

ness nods too, quickly. “right. okay. space. of course. totally.” 

he watches you grab your blanket. he follows like a shadow, lingering behind you, clutching his hoodie sleeves like they’re your hands. 

“if you need anything, i’ll be… just down the hallway,” he says. “if the light flickers, or if you get cold, or– i dunno– if the couch tries to eat you.” 

you raise a brow. “alexis.” 

he stands there a moment longer, eyes shining just a little too much. “… do you still love me?” he whispers. 

your heart softens immediately, but you keep your back turned. “go to bed, lex.” 

you think he leaves. but then, an hour later, a small rustling wakes you. you peek open your eyes, and there he is, curled up on the floor next to the couch with a blanket and one of your socks. 

“lex?” 

he sits up instantly, bleary-eyed. “i-i wasn’t trying to sneak in! i just… missed you.” 

you sigh and pull him up beside you. he cuddles into your chest like a human teddy bear, arms wrapped tight. 

“sorry again,” he mumbles. “please don’t leave the bed next time. i’ll be better. i swear.” 

you kiss the top of his head and feel him melt like butter in your arms. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[raevalyntine]

what happens when sylus meets your possessive boy cat for the first time?

(sylus x reader) humour, fluff, possessive and petty sylus, suggestive

It started with you dragging Sylus to the grocery store.

He had shown up that morning in a dark maroon button-down with the sleeves rolled up, hair perfectly tousled, ready to whisk you off somewhere expensive and mood-lit. But when you met him at the door with a shopping list and a cheerful smile, he blinked at the paper in your hands like you’d just handed him an arrest warrant.

“You’re telling me,” he drawled, arms crossing as he leaned against the doorway, “that instead of letting me take you on a proper date, you want me to follow you around a fluorescent-lit store while we argue about produce?”

“Yes,” you grinned, pressing the list to his chest. “Consider it a bonding experience.”

He sighed. “Kitten, you know I could get all this delivered. Snap of my fingers. Why suffer?”

But you just grabbed his hand and brushed your thumb along his knuckles. “Because I want to do it with you.”

He stared at you for a long second, then let out that deep, rich laugh that you love so much under his breath, kissed your temple, and let you tug him along. “Alright, sweetie. Anything you want.”

Hours later, you finally stepped into your apartment, grocery bags in hand and the scent of fresh bakery bread trailing behind you.

Sylus followed in behind, setting down a few bags with a sigh. “That was not romantic,” he muttered, brushing away a rogue piece of lettuce from his shirt. “An old lady threw a head of lettuce at me. Why was I not aware that grocery shopping was equivalent to war?”

“It’s discount day today, she’s just doing what’s right,” you said, hiding your smile as you unpacked the fridge items. Sylus chuckled and was already helping you organise the groceries into their respective shelves. You shooed him away after a while, telling him to rest (you didn’t want him to mess up your organisation system).

As Sylus wandered into your home, he took in everything as if he were seeing your place for the first time. Sylus had technically been here before, but back then it had been late, the lights were off, and your front door had barely closed before things turned into a blur of kisses and discarded clothes. But now? Now he was really seeing it. The sun touched everything like it was showing off: your plants, your quirky fridge magnets, the soft pillows arranged just how you liked them. Sylus was quiet as he looked around. Reverent, almost. Like he was memorising it.

He ran a hand along your bookshelf. Paused by the photos on your console. Touched the mug with your chipped initials. The faintest smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

Once the last can of soup was stacked and you’d wiped your hands on a towel, you called out, “Sylus—here.” You offered him a glass of water. He took it, his fingers brushing over yours just a little longer than necessary, then set it aside after a sip.

And that’s when you noticed the shift.

He stepped in closer. One hand came to rest beside your hip on the counter. Then the other. And just like that, he’d caged you in–his arms on either side, his tall frame looming close, dark eyes simmering with something slower, warmer. His body heat pressed in, his eyes dark and glinting.

“I was very patient today,” he murmured, voice low, lips brushing your ear.

“Barely,” you whispered back, trying not to smile.

He leaned in, grazing your jaw with his mouth, his tone slipping into a dangerous purr. “You know,” he murmured, voice velvet-smooth, his breath fanning over your jaw, “I behaved all day. Didn’t cause trouble. Didn’t threaten anyone. Didn’t even bite you in the spice aisle. I deserve something sweet now, don’t I?”

Your breath caught.

Then he kissed you. Deep, slow, curling warmth that stole the air from your lungs and made your fingers tighten in his shirt. The kiss grew hotter, his hand finding your waist, yours sliding up his chest. His body pressed against yours, caging you between him and the counter.

His hands were slowly tugging the waistband of your jeans when—

THUMP.

Something heavy collided with Sylus’s feet.

“Wh–What the?!”

Startled, he stumbled back a step. His shoulder bumped the cabinet. Staring up at him with the rage of a thousand suns was a massive, fluffy orange cat. Tail puffed like a warning flare, blue eyes narrowed in betrayal. The cat let out a low, judgmental mrroooww and hissed at Sylus.

Sylus blinked in confusion and shock as you bit back a laugh. Sylus turned his gaze towards you, but you were already leaning down, your voice sweet as you called the cat over,  “Hi Pumpkin, come here.”

Immediately, the snarling little menace transformed into a puddle of affection. He padded over like a lovesick marshmallow, weaving through your legs and purring so hard it vibrated the floor.

Sylus stared in disbelief.

You crouched to scoop him up, and Pumpkin climbed willingly into your arms, nuzzling his head under your chin. He made a little chirrup noise, then reached forward and gently booped his nose against yours.

“I missed you, baby.” You muttered as you nuzzled your face into Pumpkin’s fur.

Sylus gaped. “He tried to kill me and you’re rewarding him?”

You just smiled. “He’s just protective.”

Pumpkin blinked at Sylus from the safety of your arms, smug and purring like a motorcycle.

Sylus narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t the jealous type—really, he wasn’t—but something in his chest was rumbling. Maybe it was his dragon instincts. Maybe it was the sheer audacity of that cat. It’s fine. It’s not like that little terror–Pumpkin was it? –would do much. He’ll just take the hisses and glares and ignore it, like the calm and composed man he is. Right?

It started small.

You were sitting on the couch, Pumpkin curled on your lap as Sylus went to sit besides you. Sylus gestured vaguely toward the cat, then to you. “Wait, sweetie. How have I never seen him before? This is not a small animal. He looks like he could eat three sets of Mephistos.”

“He was at the vet,” you explained, stroking between Pumpkin’s ears. “Check-up. He stayed overnight for observation.”

“Ah.” Sylus narrowed his eyes. “So I didn’t dream this demon into existence.”

You shook your head, cheeks warming. “Nope. Very real. Just… not around that night.”

There was a beat of silence before Sylus smirked, his tone turning deliberately low. “Right. That night.”

You stiffened slightly, cheeks flaring redder. Sylus stepped closer again, his smirk deepening as he leaned in just enough to brush a knuckle under your chin.

“That night…” Sylus echoed, voice thick with amusement. “The one where we didn’t even make it past your hallway. You were practically tearing my shirt off, kitten.” Your face flushed instantly, and you looked away, flustered. Sylus grinned, closing the distance, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

He didn’t get any further.

A low growl interrupted the moment.

Pumpkin—who had apparently been napping with one eye open—shot up, tail flicking, pupils dilated. Sylus instinctively backed off just as the orange menace prepared to pounce.

“Down, soldier,” he muttered under his breath.

You scooped Pumpkin into your arms just in time, cooing softly, “Shh, baby. It’s okay.”

Sylus’s mouth fell open in disbelief. “You're comforting him?”

You pressed a kiss to Pumpkin’s furry head, entirely unbothered. “He gets jumpy when he senses a threat.” Sylus narrowed his eyes. “I’m the threat?”

Pumpkin blinked slowly at him, clearly unrepentant. Sylus scoffed. “Unbelievable. I’ve fought trained assassins who were more welcoming.”

There were more moments like that. Too many, in Sylus’s opinion.

He’d try to slide his arms around you while you cooked—nothing scandalous, just a soft back hug, maybe a kiss to your neck—and BAM. Pumpkin appeared, claws out and hissing like a snake. During dinner, Sylus brushed his fingers along your thigh under the table, only for a furry missile to launch itself between you, knocking over a water glass in the process.

Movie night? Forget it. Sylus would settle in beside you, finally thinking he’d earned a moment of peace, only for Pumpkin to leap up, stare him dead in the eyes, and then physically wedge his fluffy body between you two with the weight and determination of a Wanderer. Hell, a Wanderer was easier to handle than this.

Sylus was patient. Until he decided he’d had enough.

It was the end of the night, you were headed to bed, and he was right behind you like a man on a mission. The moment you stepped into the bedroom, Sylus kicked the door shut and locked it with such speed and finality, you almost laughed—until you saw the look in his eyes. Dark. Heated. Done with being polite.

As you crawled under the sheets, he joined you instantly, curling around you like he belonged there. His hand rested on your waist, fingers flexing slightly as he inhaled your scent. Soft, warm, yours. All the missed opportunities from the day simmered to the surface. Every time he’d reached for you, only to be clawed or glared at by a fuzzy orange menace.

His lips brushed the back of your neck. “Now,” he murmured, voice low and dangerous, “where were we?”

His mouth found your skin again, trailing hot, slow kisses down your shoulder. You shivered, your breath catching—

And then.

“MRRRROWWWW!”

A banshee wail echoed through the apartment. Followed by frantic pawing. Sharp. Desperate. Unrelenting. Like someone was trying to break into the room with pure willpower and toe beans.

Sylus cursed under his breath. You sighed and offered a sheepish smile as you turned your head over your shoulder. “Pumpkin always sleeps on the bed…”

Sylus stared at you, slack-jawed, like you’d just told him that you were going to break up with him.

“Of course he does,” he said flatly, rolling onto his back and dragging a hand down his face. “Of course he wants to sleep in this bed with you.”

There was another insistent thump against the door. You giggled as you slipped out of bed to open the door. Pumpkin strutted in like a king returning to his throne, hopped up, and promptly curled between the two of you. Sylus stared at him, utterly betrayed. “…This is war.”

As you slept soundly with Pumpkin curled up with you, Sylus was seething. He wasn’t going to lose you to a thirty-pound fluffball with abandonment issues and a superiority complex. Not like this.

Something had to be done.

And that’s how, one week later, your bedroom door slammed open and Sylus marched in like a man possessed—carrying a sleek, regal-looking Bengal cat in a luxury pet carrier.

You blinked. “Sylus… what is that?”

He set the carrier down like it was sacred cargo, his voice resolute. “Your cat declared war. I’m giving him… a distraction.”

Sylus had brought a girlfriend for your cat.

And that’s also how, later that night, with Pumpkin and his newlady friend preoccupied in the living room—curious meows and soft purring barely audible through the closed door—you finally ended up exactly where Sylus wanted you: writhing under him, his name a breathless chant on your lips.

The cats purred. But in your bedroom, Sylus growled—low and possessive—as he claimed every inch of you, reminding you who’d truly won tonight—one heated kiss, one desperate moan at a time.

His lips trailed fire down your neck, his hands greedy with every inch of you he’d been denied for far too long. The bedroom was dim, warm, breathless.

Outside, the cats got acquainted.

Inside, Sylus made sure you only remembered his name.

His mouth brushed your ear, voice like velvet and fire.

“No more interruptions, kitten. Tonight, you’re mine—every. last. inch.”

[zynhttyd]

Hi! Your stories are very cute so far ❤️ I was wondering if I could request something for Hiccup? I was thinking a reader who’s scared of dragons and Hiccup helps her by having toothless spend time with them, and because they take it slow they spend a lot of time together. I think it would be very cute if the pair of them were helping the reader overcome her fear while Hiccup is also falling for her. Thank you! xx

BRAVER THAN YESTERDAY

pairings « hiccup haddock x f! reader »

✎ Being afraid of dragons while living on an island where they’re treated like family isn’t exactly an ideal combination. But no amount of rational thinking could quiet the fear lodged in her chest---That is but until one patient boy and his curious Night Fury begin to change everything.

【warnings; fear/anxiety themes [no major warnings] 】

notes: this took longer than expected, I was too focused on my art pieces and enrolling. sorry if I kept you waiting. I also used too many similes in this which I really hate

It has been a long six years since the last attack of dragons, leaving the people of Berk with a sense of peace. The war, with all its hardships and sacrifices, was over and done with. Berk was no longer a battlefield where courageous men went up against furious fire-spewing beasts who could be defeated only with incredible strength and brutality where steel met scale and fire meant death. There were no longer cries for help, suffering and torment of men and dragons alike. 

But that didn’t mean you had changed with it.

The fear wasn’t logical. You knew that. The feeling that one experiences in respect to dragons flying in the air cannot be rationalized at all because it is practical. At all times, it is just impossible to miss the performance of dragons in the air. Eagles flaunt their ability to fly among the wind, but this bunch of aerial showstoppers leave all the birds amazed at their incredible aerial dramatics, it’s as if they had sails on them so that they could rent the wind. You have seen children climb on their backs, it is common to see them either flying free with glee or riding on the backs of dragons like huge Kites and getting an absolute thrill of joy by the accompanying rush of wind as they soared, which should have reassured you. You recalled Gobber's jesting reference that Toothless was as cuddly as a big tongue-laden cat.

None of it helped.

When dragons flew overhead, your shoulders still tensed. When they landed, your hands clenched unconsciously around the nearest object. And when one looked at you — those sharp, fierce eyes finding yours — your chest would tighten with something cold and sour, like a reminder of the past, triggering a primal response that made your heart race and your vocals would scream to flee from the nonexistent danger.

You told yourself it was instinct. A natural reaction to something that once meant danger, fire, and loss. No one blamed a soldier for ducking at the sound of thunder after a war. But still, when they passed overhead with their mighty wings stirring the sky, everyone else looked up in awe.

You didn’t.

You hated it. 

You hated how your feet trembled at the sight of an infant dragos.

You hated how fearful you were.

There had been a time—brief, humiliating, and burned into your memory—when Astrid tried to help you ease into it. She meant well. Always had. It was one of those late afternoons when the skies were pale and full of salt, and the fish baskets were heavy with glistening mackerels, tails still twitching. Astrid had insisted it would help, said Stormfly was the most polite Deadly Nadder this side of Berk. That she wouldn’t bite unless you wore fish perfume or insulted her tail feathers.

You remembered gripping the bucket with both hands, knuckles pale against the cold tin. Stormfly had strutted up, talons clicking on the stone like she was walking a runway, head tilting with eerie grace. Then she opened her jaws.

A clean row of daggers—gleaming, serrated, too white to belong to something that could be trained. You dropped the bucket. Fish spilled across the dirt in a splash of silver. And then the world tipped sideways.

Astrid had caught you before your head hit the post, yelling your name loud enough to wake every dragon in the cove. You didn’t remember much else, except waking up with a wet rag on your forehead and Toothless sniffing your boots with the worried intensity of a mother hen.

She’d said something like, “Okay… maybe we’ll try again next week.” But there hadn’t been a next time. You’d avoided the stables for a month after that.

Then there was Gobber. Gobber, who thought everything was hilarious if it involved mild trauma and a dragon-sized punchline.

“Don’t worry about Grump,” he’d once hollered from across the forge, elbow-deep in smelted iron. “Too lazy to maul ya. By the time he decides to eat ya, you’ll be bones!”

You had laughed politely—because that’s what you were supposed to do—but your hands had been slick with nervous sweat the entire time. Grump had blinked at you from his mossy corner, half-asleep and chewing something that might’ve been a saddle or a very unfortunate stool leg.

Ruffnut and Tuffnut weren’t much help either—especially not when Snotlout was involved. The twins, with their wild hair and endless barrage of reckless jokes, were like a storm you couldn’t escape. Their loud laughter bounced off the rocky cliffs, often drawing unwanted attention from dragons or riders alike. You’d need to prepare for Loki day.

Snotlout, for his part, was the kind of presence that filled the air with bravado and bluster. He swaggered around, arms crossed, chest puffed out like a rooster, always ready with a challenge or a boast that made your skin crawl. When he caught sight of you, it was never a quiet greeting—more like a spotlight thrown on all your insecurities.

Then there was Fishlegs. Unlike the others, he meant well, truly. He’d shuffle up nervously, clutching a deck of his meticulously illustrated cards—dragons, their stats, facts about their habits. His fingers trembled slightly as he held them out.

“Maybe these will help,” he’d say softly, voice barely above the wind rustling the leaves.

But even the bright, colorful images—dragons drawn with playful accuracy—made your throat close up. The mere sight of those printed scales, the painted teeth, sent a shiver crawling down your spine. You’d swallow hard, nod politely, forcing a smile that didn’t reach your eyes.

Then there’s Hiccup.

Hiccup didn’t say anything, but you knew he noticed. He always noticed. And sometimes he’d speak gently to them in their strange, melodic tongue—words full of reassurance, not for the dragons, but for you. You hated how much that helped.

He never called you out in public. Never asked awkward questions or gave you that look others did — pity, mostly, or irritation. He was quieter than that. He simply started showing up more. You thought it was mockery, having someone titled as the Master of Dragons look out for you.

First at the market, unassuming. He’d appear beside the stall as you were weighing vegetables, casually asking about saddle buckles or spare ink like he hadn’t deliberately wandered over. Toothless, of course, waited obediently at a distance—eyes sharp focused on Hiccup and you, but manner gentle, letting you get used to the idea of company again. Hiccup never lingered too long. He’d talk just enough to ease the silence, then offer a crooked smile and let you go, no strings pulled, no explanations demanded. Though you were constantly shaking at the sight of a dark scaled dragon just a few feet away from your ground, even if its rider was just in front of you being friendly.

Then came the shoreline where he would pause sketching sea charts when he noticed you walking alone, letting his pencil fall slack in his hand while he waited. If you ever catch a glimpse of him, sometimes you’d nod. Sometimes not. He never seemed to mind either way.

And yet… Hiccup never asked you to be more than you were. Not once.

Eventually, he found you where you least expected: the old sheep pen near the forge,long since overgrown with weeds and ivy, repurposed as a training area for the younger dragons. Most people avoided it now—it smelled like scorched earth and singed fur, and the soil was too torn up to grow anything decent. The fencing was warped, the posts weathered, the soil uneven and pockmarked by old hoofprints. You liked it because it was quiet, untouched by the bustle of the main academy grounds. 

No one thought to look for you there. But he did.

You were there scrubbing soot from the posts, the acrid smell of charred wood rising with every pass of your rag. A chore you took on that no one had asked you to do, and no one would’ve noticed if you hadn’t. But it rendered you useful and busy. Kept your back turned to the beasts.

Your sleeves were rolled past your elbows, fingers already tarnished black, when you sensed movement behind you. No claws, no wings—just a soft boot and the sound of metal, passing through the cement.

Hiccup.

“I, uh… I thought this place was off-limits,” he said with a sheepish grin.

You stayed silent. He was too, for a few wind passes.

"You, uh, always come here alone?” he said finally, voice casual, like he was commenting on the weather.

You glanced over your shoulder. “It’s quieter in the mornings.”

Hiccup ran his fingers along the edge of the rail, picking up a bit of ash. “You know, Gobber's been saying the same thing for days now. About the soot buildup, I mean. Just… no one’s bothered to actually fix it.” He glanced sideways, a smile tugging faintly at his mouth. “Until you.”

You kept your eyes on the fence, but your shoulders tensed slightly. “I like things that don’t talk back.”

His smile faded—not in offense, but with quiet understanding. He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned more of his weight onto his arms, exhaling slowly as he looked across the field. Dragons lazed in the sun or sparred gently with one another under watchful eyes. Even Toothless, stretched out near the edge of the pen, kept a wary but nonchalant eye on you both.

“You know,” Hiccup said after a beat, “Toothless used to be like that. Kept to himself. Didn’t trust anyone. Especially me.” He tilted his head slightly, the wind brushing his hair back from his brow. “It took a long time before he let me close. And even longer before I stopped being afraid I’d ruin it.”

“I guess,” he continued, “sometimes the best connections start with silence. And some patience.”

You turned toward him, eyes narrowed in faint suspicion. “Was that supposed to be advice?”

He gave you a crooked grin. “Only if it sounded smart.”

From the leather pouch tied at his belt, he pulled something small. Not a fish, as you expected, but what looked like a bundle of herbs—dried roots and sprigs of lavender tied together with twine, the kind Gobber used to keep Grump calm during storms.

“This helps Toothless relax,” Hiccup said, gently setting the bundle down in the grass, fingers lingering on the twine as if the shape of it meant something. “Sometimes the other dragons get nervous when the wind changes. They pick up things we don’t. Sounds. Smells. Fear.”

Your breath caught. You weren’t sure if he meant you—or them.

He didn’t look up. Instead, he brushed a hand through the long stalks of grass, letting the scent from the herbs mingle with the air. “I used to think being brave meant doing the thing that scared you. Charging in. But now… I think it’s more about staying. Standing still, even when everything in you wants to run.”

You stood up slowly, brushing your palms together, the fine grit of soot and dry wood scraping away beneath your fingers. 

“I was wondering,” he said, keeping his eyes on the ground, “if you might help me.”

“With…?”

“Toothless has been a bit… bored. I think he misses new faces. But I don’t want to force him on anyone.”

You turned fully, slowly. Your heart kicked against your ribs. Toothless was watching you — not with hunger, not even with interest. Just quiet, unblinking patience. You hadn’t even noticed him being in the same place as you. Hiccup was still talking—his voice gentle, meandering, as if testing the words aloud rather than delivering them with certainty. But to you, it sounded less like a heartfelt pep talk and more like one of Gobber’s forge-side lectures, the kind where he’d yell at you to “quit waddling like a duck that sat on an axe” while waving a hammer the size of your head.

“You know I don’t know anything about dragons,” you murmured.

“But I can help y—”

“You don’t get it.” The words slipped out sharp, but not angry—more tired than anything. You lowered your voice, unsure if you even wanted him to hear the rest. “I don’t get it.” It came quieter, frayed around the edges. “You all… you ride them. You trust them like it’s second nature. Like they’re just big, scaly friends. But when I look at them—when I really look at them—my body just… doesn’t listen. My chest locks up. My legs want to run.”

You laughed, if it could be called that. It had no warmth—just air and irony. “And I know they’re not monsters. I know that. But try telling that to whatever part of my brain starts screaming every time I see teeth. Or when I hear that low, guttural growl they make—like the ground itself is warning me.”

Hiccup’s posture hauled, subtly. He wasn’t fidgeting, not like usual. His shoulders had lowered, the corners of his mouth drawn not in confusion or pity, but in something closer to understanding. He didn’t speak—not right away. And you were grateful. He never rushed to fill silence for the sake of it. 

“[Name], I—uhm…” His voice was soft. Cautious. “I’m sorry if I was rushing things. I just… thought maybe if I stuck close, I could make it easier. But I didn’t ask what you needed.”

He scratched the back of his neck, eyes dropping for a breath.

“I should’ve.”

Why are you so afraid of dragons?

You still remember your first encounter with a dragon—no older than five, wandering the woods with wild curiosity and a basket too small for your eager hands. It was a baby Nadder, trembling and bright-eyed, alone beneath the tangled canopy. Gobber had warned you—never wander off alone. But you wanted to bring a gift: a bounty of mushrooms, handpicked and hopeful.

The Nadder’s mother was hidden behind a massive boulder, her breath hitching in the quiet forest air. When she saw you, so small and bold, playing with her daughter, something inside her snapped. Fire erupted, roaring and sudden, scorching through the branches like a vengeful storm.

Your hair caught first, flames licking and burning until it was nothing but a ragged, singed memory. Heart pounding, you fled, leaving behind the tiny mushrooms and your woven basket, You had been doing fine—more or less. Your hands were steady, your breath measured, your thoughts arranged like fragile glass figurines on a shelf. A little cracked, maybe, but intact.

That was, until Toothless started showing movements.

It was unnoticeable at first—a swish of his tail, the soft thud of a paw shifting against the cement. But it was enough. Your eyes snapped toward him. Your entire body went stiff. Every muscle locked down like armor trying to hold itself in place. You hadn’t even realized you’d taken a step back until the cool grass whispered beneath your heels.

“Hey—hey, it’s okay,” came Hiccup’s voice. Gentle. He didn’t raise it above a hush, as if speaking too loudly might cause everything—your composure, the moment, even Toothless himself—to shatter. “He’s not gonna come closer. Not unless you want him to.”

“I obviously don’t want him to!” you snapped, your voice breaking with rising terror. Your heels scuffed against the overgrown cement as you stumbled backward, heart galloping against your ribs. “Then why is he getting closer?”

Toothless paused. His head tilted—just slightly, curiously, like he couldn’t quite understand why you were retreating, why your scent had changed to something sour with fear. His nostrils flared once.

And still he moved.

“Hiccup!” you choked, voice high, raw. You could hear it—the thin edge of hysteria bleeding into your words—but you couldn’t help it. It was too close. He was too close.

Hiccup moved quickly now, slipping between you and the Night Fury in a heartbeat. “Toothless,” he murmured, his tone lower now, threaded with something softer than command—something more like understanding. “Back off, bud.”

“You okay?” he asked, even though the answer was painfully, absurdly obvious.

“NO!”

And then you fell—not dramatically, not with grace—just folded in on yourself, collapsing to your knees as if your body had finally given up the pretense of holding it all in. Your arms wrapped tightly around your middle, and you tucked your chin down, curling in as if your very shape could somehow make you smaller. Safer.

The ground was cold beneath you, the scent of wet grass and old stone clinging to your boots and sleeves. Your breaths came in short, stuttering pulls, and your chest felt tight, like there wasn’t enough space inside you for the storm gathering there.

You didn’t cry, not exactly. But your throat burned with the threat of it.

You were scared. Very scared. And you hated how Hiccup tried to help—hated it in the way people hate warm hands when they’re still shivering. Because no help could clear the nightmares in your mind. No amount of soft words or thoughtful gestures could undo the things you’d seen, the images stitched so tightly into the back of your eyes that even blinking brought them forward again.

He didn’t understand that. Or maybe he did—too well. Which somehow made it worse.

He tries.

Sometimes, he would leave things for you. Small things. A fire-baked hand warmer wrapped in cloth during colder mornings, left beside the bench where you sharpened your tools. A folded sketch of a dragon’s wing anatomy—clearly labeled, clean, detailed—placed just under your door with no name attached. One time, it was a sprig of lavender tied with twine, fresh from Gothi’s garden. You didn’t know if that had been for calm or comfort, but it stayed tucked in your coat pocket for weeks.

You hated how much those things mattered. How they wormed their way into the cracks you’d worked so hard to seal.

But he did it with Toothless nearby. 

A dragon.

“Please, try to calm down, [Name]. You know Toothless won’t hurt you.”

Hiccup crouched in front of you, his voice spoken with the kind of steadiness that didn’t need to be loud to be heard. His right hand rested gently on your shoulder, steadying you. The other moved with deliberate care, reaching for your arm, gently guiding it down from where you’d raised it over your head, your body still tense from shock.

He extended his hand out, palms facing the Night Fury, fingers spread wide in a gesture of open trust. He’s inviting—not just Toothless, but you—to see. To really see.

Toothless sat a short distance away, his wings tucked, head tilted with that curious look he wore when he didn’t understand but wanted to. 

“I want to help.”

You wanted help.

But you didn’t know how to ask.

You hesitated, eyes darting from him to the ground, unsure where to anchor yourself. The dirt beneath your boots was damp, soft from the morning drizzle, and speckled with fallen pine needles. You focused on those, counting the flecks of brown and green, willing your breath to pace slowly, to settle into something steady.

 You did not want to look at his eyes—those green eyes—the same green that Toothless has.

You felt his gaze before you looked up. Hiccup didn’t speak. He rarely did when you needed silence more than answers. He just stood there—awkward, steady, concerned—his hands began to carefully tuck behind his back, as though even the way he breathed might startle you if he wasn’t careful.

“It’s not that I don’t want to try,” you said at last, your voice low, like the words might break if you pushed too hard. “It’s just—sometimes I feel like everyone’s already ten steps ahead. They get it. They’re fearless. I blink and they’re already flying.”

Silence.

It was quiet. “Sorry. I’m not trying to be difficult.”

“You’re not,” Hiccup said immediately, and the softness in his tone made you flinch more than if he’d yelled. “It’s okay to be afraid.”

You blinked, caught off-guard by how gently he said it—like fear was just another thing you could admit to and still be whole. You weren’t used to that. Not here.

He shifted his stance slightly, brushing his hand along Toothless’ side absentmindedly. The dragon purred low, a sound like thunder muted in velvet.

“They’re not perfect,” he went on, his voice barely above the wind. “They’re wild. Powerful. Sometimes unpredictable. But they’re also... more than that. You don’t have to love them. Just let them exist beside you.”

You looked up at him then, really looked—not at the Chief, not the dragon rider, but Hiccup. The boy who built things with his hands and still got grease on his sleeves. The boy who smiled at dragons like they were misunderstood friends instead of fearsome beasts. The boy who, for reasons unknown, chose to stand beside you when no one else did.

“…I’m trying,” you said finally.

He nodded once, a small, genuine thing. “I know.”

Hiccup had suggested that you and Toothless spend some time together, that maybe it would help you get over your fear of dragons. “Familiarity takes the teeth out of fear,” he’d said, half-joking, though his eyes had been serious

It was never easy.

Of course, you still flinched when Toothless moved too fast or got too close. Even the gentle sway of his tail or the soft thud of his padded feet could send a ripple of unease crawling up your spine. Your chest would tighten, and your lungs would burn with that frantic, invisible panic—like someone was pressing down on your ribs, making air feel scarce and heavy all at once, like you were breathing in fire instead of air.

But Hiccup never pushed. He was always nearby, not even patronizing, just close enough that if you stumbled, you wouldn’t fall far. He didn’t scold or sigh or give you that tired, disappointed look others did when you couldn’t keep up. He just kept bringing Toothless by, at quieter hours, when no one else was around. Sometimes they didn’t come close at all. Hiccup would sit a few paces away, scribbling into one of his notebooks while Toothless dozed in the grass, sun-bathing as if he were some oversized cat.

He gave Toothless simple tasks: to sit, to stay, to blink slowly at you like a feline signaling peace. And somehow, Toothless listened. Not just obeyed, but listened, as if he could sense the tremor in your bones and knew not to cross that unseen line. The dragon wanted a new friend, and that friend must be you.

Hiccup had started spending more time guiding you than he did at the forge. The clang of metal on metal had grown less frequent in the afternoons, replaced by the quiet murmur of his voice as he stood beside you, coaxing you through dragon behaviors, flight patterns, or simply hanging out with you.

He probably didn’t even notice it—the shift. But others did.

Vikings weren’t the most subtle people, and Berk was a place where whispers traveled faster than the wind. You caught the sideways glances in the market, the knowing smiles exchanged between older villagers. Even the children had begun to nudge each other whenever Hiccup’s shadow fell beside yours, wide-eyed and grinning like they were in on some grand secret.

Just murmurs… soft observations exchanged over stew pots and fire pits.

"How can a great leader be so oblivious of himself?" they would say, shaking their heads with fond disbelief. "He can tame a wild dragon with a glance, calm a storm with his words, but he can’t see what’s right in front of him."

They saw it—the spark. Something brighter than the flame of a Monstrous Nightmare, more enduring than even the North Star. It flickered in the way he stood a little closer when you were nervous, how his voice lowered when he spoke to you, gentler than he was with anyone else. It gleamed in the small, unspoken gestures: the way his brow furrowed when you flinched, how his hand hovered just near enough to catch you, but never touched unless you reached first.

Toothless seemed to notice too, often smiling when you and his rider are near to each other.

And you…?

You pretended not to notice.

Because if you noticed, you’d have to acknowledge what it meant. That this wasn’t just about your fear anymore. 

Other times, Hiccup would talk—not about dragons, necessarily, but about other things. His thoughts. Old stories. Questions he had no answers to but liked to ask anyway. His voice was calm, always a little dry at the edges with humor, and something about it began to carve out space around you that didn’t feel so tight. So full of panic.

“I don’t really know if I’d make a good chief,” Hiccup said as he crouched beside the old training post, fingers idly plucking at a sprig of dry grass. The horizon was soft with the fading blush of dusk, and the only sounds were the distant calls of gulls and the rhythmic hush of waves against the cliffside.

“You won’t,” you replied without hesitation.

He turned sharply, a half-offended glare thrown your way, but before he could even open his mouth—

“You’ll make a great chief.”

That earned you a look. 

You didn’t smile, but your eyes held steady. “I meant what I said.”

He blinked, as if caught off guard. Then, he sat back, letting his arms rest on his knees as he looked toward the horizon. “You know, most people just say what they think I want to hear.”

“I don’t do that.”

“Yeah… I’ve noticed.”

He enjoyed talking with you. He liked talking to you. He loves hearing you speak. You didn’t dance around things. You didn’t stare at him like he was still trying to fill a space his father had left behind. You spoke plainly, but there was a kindness in it—even when your words stung a little. He found himself waiting for your opinions. For your dry honesty. For your voice.

He loved hearing you speak, even if it wasn’t much. Especially when it wasn’t much.

Because when you did say something, it mattered.

“You can do this,” he’d told you once, when you were standing five feet from Toothless and barely breathing. “You’ll be braver than yesterday.”

And you had tried. Because he’d asked, because he believed you could, and maybe because some part of you—buried beneath all that panic—wanted to believe it too.

While other dragons were still wary of you, Toothless never pushed, as his rider did. Never came close unless you let him. He had this uncanny ability to read you, to sense when your muscles locked with fear or when your foot began inching back. He would stop mid-step, blinking those massive green eyes at you with a quiet intelligence that somehow softened the pounding in your ears.

He’d wait.

—--------

You sat a few feet away, knees drawn up, laughing softly as Toothless nudged your elbow with his snout. The dragon had grown patient with you over the past few weeks, almost unusually gentle, as if sensing that your fear wasn’t something to be conquered with force, but unraveled with care. Hiccup had expected you to give up by now—to walk away like so many others had when the reality of dragons became more than they could handle. But you didn’t. You stayed. Even through the trembling hands, the stiff posture, the wide eyes. You stayed.

And now, here you were, your fingertips hesitantly brushing the side of Toothless’s jaw.The dragon blinked slowly in response and let out a low, pleased hum that vibrated through the ground beneath them both.

Hiccup should have been focused on the saddle sketches or the list of repairs Gobber was probably waiting on. Instead, he found himself watching the way your hair caught the evening light, every movement slow and unsure, but not fragile. You were trying—for yourself, for Toothless, maybe for him too. And that realization caught him off guard.

He noticed how you bit your lip when you were nervous. How your laugh faltered when you were uncertain, but you laughed anyway. How you sat beside Toothless now, not quite touching, but not shrinking away either. You met fear with a kind of stubborn dignity that reminded him of something… maybe someone… but it wasn’t Astrid. It wasn’t anyone else.

It was just you.

He felt it in the way something in his chest tightened every time you smiled at him, like it wasn’t used to being looked at that way. He felt it in the way he started looking for your face first whenever he entered a room. And he felt it, most of all, in the moment your eyes met his and you gave him that small, uncertain smile—the one that said I’m trying, for you too.

He ducked his head quickly, pretending to fix a line on his paper, as if the way his throat suddenly went dry wasn’t obvious. But his hand froze halfway through the motion, the charcoal catching on the parchment as he glanced back up.

You were still looking at him.

And you didn’t look afraid anymore.

Not of Toothless.

Not of him.

He blinked, heart thudding once, heavy in his chest. Toothless made a soft grumbling noise beside you, casting Hiccup a knowing glance that made his ears burn.

Maybe the dragon knew before he did.

Maybe you did too.

But Hiccup only smiled, soft and barely there, and let himself look at you a second longer than he probably should have.

Just one more moment. Then another.

He was falling.

Falling….for you!

He loves you.

[ahmadkolab]

I am Ahmed from Gaza🍉🇵🇸

Today, I fed countless hungry cats and dogs suffering from the devastation of war and severe food shortages. While many extend their help to people, few consider the plight of innocent animals dying from hunger and disease. Your support can make a difference—every small donation helps sustain this vital work.🥺💔