skywwwalker

[skywwwalker]

I just sent the criminal minds master list link ask and I just saw your note on your pinned post 🤦🏻‍♀️. So sorry about that. I don’t think most of the time

dont worry one bit, my love. Completely understand and i will hopefully get on this as soon as possible.

[skywwwalker]

Stabbed myself today. not sure when I’ll be posting written things.

[skywwwalker]

A Good Day ⌖ Leroy Gibbs

⌖ reader and Gibbs have the day to laze around and be in each other’s presence.

⌖ gibbs deserves so much love. i love him and i love his character and he deserves so much more.

     “Hey, you,” rumbled Jethro from behind you. His arms wrapped securely round your waist- exhaling stress and letting his eyes close. Jethro’s soft greys tickled your neck as he leaned into you.

     Your heart sped up a touch. Moments like these- the domestic peace that Jethro initiated (especially so early in the morning)- were few and far between. Work had been… less than pleasant as of late. So this- just the feeling of him there with you- seem to put everything in place. “Morning, love.”

     You finished cooking the eggs and plated them. Placed the plate and his designated mug at his spot on the table. It was only after you put your own plate on the table did Jethro finally unattach himself from your back to eat his own food. 

     The day was thankfully slow after breakfast. Jethro worked on the boat during the morning, with you making idle conversation. You were reading a book at one point, but you got more than a little distracted watching your husband’s back flex as he sanded wood.

     Lunchtime rolled around. You warm up some leftover chicken from dinner the other night to eat. You opted to serve it with half a glass of whiskey for Jethro, knowing he would be more than thankful for the familiar burn.

     During the afternoon you convinced Jethro to watch a few movies with you. But watching movies quickly turned into folding clothes and tossing folded socks at each other whenever the other wasn’t paying attention. 

     Ziva had called the night before to see if the two of you would have dinner with her. You said yes, naturally, because Ziva had wormed her way into your heart and you knew it wasn’t always easy for her to reach out to people so you jumped at the chance to see her.

     1700 rolled around. You were just laying the necklace against your neck when Jethro came up behind you. Yes, he had a habit of following you closer than your own shadow. Yes, he did it to make sure you were safe. Yes, you found it endearing.

     He said nothing as his scared fingers took the delicate chain with one hand and moved your hair to the side with the other. You watched in the vanity as Jethro’s eyes twitched as he fumbled with his thumbs to get the clasp buckled. When he finally got it, he moved your hair back and his eyes found yours through the mirror. “Beautiful,” he muttered, hands finding their spot at your hips- because, hell, Leroy Jethro Gibbs had a thing for hips.

     When dinner was over and you stepped up into Jethro’s truck, his hand tucked itself between your thighs. The ride home was mainly just you talking about Ziva and how crazy the demeanor change was when she was off company hours. Jethro agreed, saying she was great at compartmentalization. But you knew that. You had to be great at compartmentalizing if you had her father and her job and her life.

     Jethro took your clothes off and all but launched his shirt and boxers at you to wear because he knew you preferred his clothes over yours. You fell asleep listening to the comforting rumble of Jethro’s voice and the light ghosting of his fingertips on your stomach.

     You wished more days were good like this, but you’d take what you could get.

[skywwwalker]

nom-nom

⌖ you bite Four’s bicep

⌖ its back. The rot is back. Ugh. I have so many inappropriate things to say. GN!reader, sexual implications.

“Hey you,” you greeted quietly as you took a seat next to Four on the bed.

He turned to offer you a smile. “Hi.” Four stifles a yawn and slinks his arm around your waist. “Are you tired?”

You shrug and bring his other hand into your lap. Leaning against his shoulder, you turn his hand so that Four’s palm faces the ceiling. Running fingertips up his forearm to stall at his biceps. Delicious. You actually almost growl.

Four’s head rests against yours and he lets his eyes flutter shut to bask in this moment before the chaos. He feels you bring his arm up but he doesn’t open his eyes. Its only when he feels a sudden sharp sensation in his bicep does Tobias open his eyes.

You couldn’t help it. He looks like a meal all the time, and you barely had any time to dig in. Was it really so bad for someone to want to appreciate their boyfriend? And damn was he worthy of appreciation- with his small gasp and the bulge of his veins and the way his hand laced in your automatically, you were practically drooling on your poor boyfriend.

“Y/n…” Four drawls, catching your gaze as he nudges your back to the bed. He knots your hands in his left hand while his right hand rests against your stomach. Your sly smile and dark hooded eyes urge Four to slot his knew between your thighs.

“Don’t make me beg,” you rasp, seeing the amusement blazing in Four’s eyes.

Four tilts his head in a way to suggest he’s comsidering making you beg. “You did assult me…” he says aloud.

Laughter bubbles out of your throat before you can stop it. “I was just appreciative of your… figure.”

The hesitance of your last word makes Four chuckle a little. His eyes squint because his cheeks are just so cute and his smile is just so precious and oh my gosh his Adam’s Apple looks like a delicacy from this angle. Ugh. So perfect.

[skywwwalker]

reblog to talk a little bit about the cat name.

I’ve seen some feedback regarding the name and saying ‘I can’t take this seriously because of George Washington’ and my response is: this was not coincidental.

I chose a humorous name for such a solemn story because this is not just words on a screen. Someone has actually named their cat George Washington or Motor Oil or Robot or something else lightheartedly with their partner. Someone out there has taken their own life and left things unsaid, unfinished, and unhappy,

But the real kicker? The survivors. The ones that look at the cat- named during happier times- and can smile through the seizing pain in their chest because it doesn’t feel real. It doesn’t feel real that someone who could have such an affinity for weird humor and jokes will never be seen again.

And I did chose this obscure name on purpose. Because this feeling of looking at a thing or a person and remembering the good times with laughter and hugs and warmth and hardly being able to grasp the knowledge that they are dead is a real feeling- a real struggle.

I did this because I know what it’s like to be left behind. I chose that name because i have struggled with accepting that I will need to live with this feeling of incompleteness DESPITE the good memories, the inside jokes, and the untouched items- gifts from them- will always be a self-contradicting experience just by looking at it.

I’m sorry if you don’t understand these crappily written words but I felt this needed to be said. Thank you for reading. Stay alive.

tw: suicide, mourning, skipping meals, heavy topic

The day after you killed yourself, he couldn’t get up from your bed. He had gone to your apartment the moment he heard and fell asleep- wrapped around your scent- sobbing into your pillow. Your cat, George Washington, had curled himself into a ball about into the little indent in your designated untouched sleeping pillow- not purring. He only purred if you were around.

The day after you killed yourself, he didn’t get up from the bed until noon. His limbs were so heavy he didn’t really mind going to sleep and not waking up again. In fact, it was your precious baby (George Washington) that had finally got him up. Meowing and whipping his tail at the crying man’s face had succeeded in bringing him to his feet. And when he got up, he saw the sun shine on all the photographs tucked in the side of your vanity mirror- pictures of you smiling back at him with your dimple showing and your eyes squinting the way they did when you were smiling genuinely.

The day after you killed yourself, he went on a drive with George Washington because he didn’t know what else to do and going through your stuff felt like confirmation that you really… weren’t coming back. And he just wanted to believe.

He wanted to believe that if he closed his eyes long enough, he’d see the shape of you refracted by his cornea. He wanted to believe that if he played the playlist you had carefully curated for date night, he would hear you singing along with the tracks just like you always do did. He wanted to believe that, just for a minute, that he was your husband (not just your boyfriend) and he was coming home to you.

When he finally parked in the lot near your apartment, George Washington climbed into his lap. Your songs were still playing on the radio but he couldn’t turn them off.

That night he didn’t eat. Instead he got George’s food and water bowl fixed up before melting onto the couch in front of your TV. He didn’t feel hunger, no, despite the fact he hadn’t eaten anything since the day you…

It was another hour before he brought himself to look at his phone: the incessant, unending buzzing of his phone had finally cut through the murky emotion of grief and numbness and pain and anger. When he scrolled through the notifications, he could only work his thumbs to type out ‘Will call you tomorrow. I love you all.’ to your family groupchat before his vision blurred and he let his eyes close so he could dream of a future he would never have with you.

[skywwwalker]

Look After You (Part Three)- In the Air Tonight

It was day two of our trip to Carinholm, Wales. We were almost there, that much was plainly obvious. A boat ride was all that was left until we arrived at our destination. 

Tommy was excited for the boat ride. As I purchased the tickets for each of us, Quinten went with Tommy to the shore. 

"When will the boat be here, sir?" I asked.

The man checked his watch. "Fifteen more minutes."

I nodded. "Thank you." 

He tipped his hat. I was thankful he wasn't as weird as the cashier at the gas station two days ago.

"What're you doin', Lola-Rae? Wheres El?" I asked, walking over to where Lola skipped rocks on the water. 

She pointed over to where Ella scouted for rocks a couple feet away. 

I took a quick glance back at Tommy and Quin before going over to Ella. "Hi Jelly Bean."

The seven year old beamed up at me, melting my heart a little bit. "Hi 'Lan!" 

"Get ready to go, kiddo. I think I see the boat."

She jumped up, and looked for the boat. When her eyes locked on it, her eyes shone. "I'll go get Lola." With that, the girl darted off to get Lola, who was now watching the sun sank slowly on the water.

I walked over to the two boys, watching Tommy boredly lift some rocks up and splash them into the water with his Peculiarity, making Quinten burst out in bouts of laughter every time his little face got splashed. "Let's go, boys," I said.

Tommy looked over to where I pointed, already getting to his feet. "It's the boat!" He said excitedly. "That's so cool."

"It is. Let's go." Lola and Ella took each of my hands, Tommy walking in front of me. 

We sat down, Ella sitting on my lap with Quinten sitting on hers. Lola leaned against me, snuggling into my side. Tommy watched on the other side. 

He shook with excitement as he watched Cairnholm get closer. I smiled at his excitement- he hadn't really smiled too much since the fire. None of us had. Except Quin.

"'M tired," Lola whispered.

I pressed her closer to me, hoping she wasn't too cold. "We'll be there soon."

"Will you braid my hair when we get there?" Ella asked, eyeing Quinten's jet black hair.

"Of course," I replied. 

"Mine too?" Lola piped up.

I smiled. "Yours too, Lola-Rae."

— 🪼

Miss Peregrine felt a shift in the air. The children gathered noisily in the dining room, getting rambunctious. 

As dinner was being served, the bird yet again felt as if something was going to happen. She tried to listen to the numerous conversations around her, but she felt a spark in the air. 

Something was coming and even the kids could feel it.

🏷️: @lost-in-constellations-xx @n14mh-star

[skywwwalker]

Revival ⌖ Fred Weasley

⌖ George says something that reminds you of something you spent years forgetting. You tell Freddie so your memory-stifling habits don’t keep happening.

⌖ sat down, wrote this, didn’t edit it, called it good, posted it. i myself have a habit of forgetting things and to be honest, it’s getting kinda bad, but I can’t talk to anyone to save my life. 2k words, description of death, blood, murder, abuse, and memory loss. Heh! Have fun!

Light shone through the open windows: giving one of your cats- Motor Oil (Mo for short) a perfect location to sunbathe. The other cat was purring happily in your lap as you watched Fred bustle around the small flat.

After the war, living was hard. It seemed that every person you buried you were sealing another part of your soul into the grave with them. It wasn’t easy by any means but the dynamic trio pulled through together, finding the smallest joys to bring back the energy that’d been stripped.

It took more for you than most people though. No, your parents weren’t beckoning you to their side beside. No, you weren’t one of the mutilated and abused corpses. But your trauma ran deeper than that year. And the worst part? Freddie and George were away at work; meaning you barely got to see them for months.

Reviving the light that died the minute the safety offered by Dumbledore was… hell. You were a Slytherin- a likely partner to one of the Weasley peanksters- and your ancestors had definitely taken pride in their usage of the Dark Arts. When you weren’t being tortured, you were torturing someone else or listening to your mum spit vile curses on muggles. Your punishments when you refused to hold up your papa’s wand and utter those two terrible, life-stealing words? Sitting in the basement with the freshest bodies.

Pairs of pearly eyes open, watching nothing,  had been ingrained into your brain. The smell of the corpses had been 7-year-old-y/n’s perfume after a particularly long punishment. If your mother had been angry enough to draw blood before making the kill then you huddled into yourself to avoid the piles of oozing crimson liquid- tendrils of the iron liquid filling tour throat and lungs.

When you were enrolled, you learned. Quiet and sharp, you observed everything happening around you. You gained enough conciousness to realize that you would not become your parent’s weapon.

So you turned yourself into your own weapon: knowing you would end up with scars and thorns regardless of if you let yourself idolize Voldemort like your parents did or if you worked hard for yourself an played dumb until you could leave.

Third year. You loved school. Well, not school itself but the solace it offered. Snape had recognized your talent in writing and potionmaking. You knew Snape (because… it’s a long story) and when he offered you the benefits of a prefect for tutoring those doing less than outstanding in Potions, you accepted.

“So why are you crushing it if the book says to slice it?” Fred Weasley, third year, asks over your shoulder.

Blinking, you considered the best approach to explain. You wanted to give him an answer that he wouldn’t use to contradict your instructions in the future. “When you’re… pranking someone,” you start slowly. Bingo. You have his attention.

Fred nodded eagerly. “Yes? Pranks? Go on.”

Left eye twiches as you procede. “Say something happens- you think of something you could do better even though your precious item is already complete. You remember what you can change. You try and you fail and you get better. Naturally, you’d learn what ingredients are utilized best with their reactants,” you explain hastily. “This potion right here is… a prototype for the potion you’re going to make for a grade. And just to let you know, take my advice when I tell you something. Maybe you’ll keep your eyebrows.”

Fred blinked owlishly at you, nodding slowly. “So some things work better with other things? Is that what you mean?”

Fred laughed giddily as you threw your arms up and sighed. “You’re nicer than you look,” Fred says when he settles.

“Stop that,” you say sharply. “Now what do I do? Chop or-“

“Chop.”

You give an affirmative nod and Fred’s chest swells with pride. He may be teasing you to get a reaction but now he feels compelled to impress you more.

You smile as Fred gently tilts your chin up with his fingers and kisses you softly on the lips. He pulls away and gives you three more light and quick kisses: his own silent ‘I. Love. You.’ “Goin’ off to get your ice cream, love,” he says as a farewell, only taking his eyes from you to give his brother a good natured slap on the shoulder.

“Bye Freddie!” You sing as he traipses out the door. George mimics you accurately and sits down on the couch to tie his shoes for his own errands.

“Got Mr. Loverman doin’ your bidding, eh? How very Slytherin of you,” George teases in his familiar tone.

You chuckle and nod. “He likes it,” you murmure fondly, scratching softly under the ears of the cat in your lap. 

George chuckles in agreement. “Yeah. Have you heard about those attacks lately? On the wizards? Prophet thinks they’re striking randomly. Who knows,” he babbles, bending over to tie his other laces into a tight bow- the one that Percy taught both the twins to do. “Hopefully he isn’t struck dead on the sidewalk!”

You furrow your eyebrows. A familiar pull at the back of your mind begging to be recalled. “What did you say?”

“I just mean it’d be a shame if he was kidnapped and tortured and killed,” George says, adjusting his watch.

Minks the inky black cat in your lap has stopped purring. Your hand is now in your lap and it stays still. “Don’t say that.”

Your voice must have reverted back to that dark, raspy tone you had when protecting other little Slytherins from being bullied by the Gryffindor seventh years because George immediately looked up. Your gaze was sharp and your eyes were narrowed like a serpant. What did he sound like? You’ve heard that- that phrase… but who else has said it?

“Okay,” George nods. “I’m only joking y/n.”

Your chest exhales a shudder. “Don’t joke about that. Not him, Georgie.” You knew he wouldn’t be too upset at your bristling gaze but you hoped calling him his nickname would ease his rigid form a little more. Now you felt bad: he was looking at you like you were a boa constrictor about to decimate it’s prey.

But George nods. “I won’t, honarary Weasley. I’m off. Have a good day,” he bids, bowing deeply and earning an uneasy chuckle from you, “and stay mischievous!”

You stare at the spot in the room where some little specs of dust are floating- illumates by the sunbeam. ‘It’d be a shame if he was kidnapped and tortured and killed.’ You turned the words around in your conscience: hoping to draw that memory out like a moth to a flame.

Dark rooms, blackout curtains… the stench of death. Your breathing shallowed but your heart bounded as your mind went back in time. ‘It’d be a shame if he was tortured and killed.’

Lines. Lines of guant jawlines and sunken eyes, lines of wood under the young fingers underneath, lines of blood oozing from small cuts and snaking closer to a shaking form. ‘Shame… tortured and killed…’

There. In the absence of light, you found yourself caught in the eyes of a reptilian looking man no hair- eyes greedily surveyinf the people around the table.

Mum and papa weren’t with you this time, you remember. You were instead sitting by Sev, no one occupying the other seat. Bella had been pulling little pranks on you long enough to know it was her that was enchanting that frog leaping around the table. Years of attendance had forged ugly rotting bonds between horrible people with even worse plans. But if Bella liked you… you were practically untouchable by anyone else.

That day, you now remember, was something you had smothered for years. But choosing to forget the details didn’t erase the corpse eyes you saw when you were asleep and vulnerable. That day, Sev had scooted your towering chair closer to him. That day, Bella had enchanted a frog on the table ‘dancing’ with a snake. One singular firefly flickered over them, bright and new and different: complete opposite of these depressing meetings.

“It would be… an unimaginable shame,” a booming voice said slowly. “If they were killed. Right here. Now.”

You only saw them levitating because you were watching the firefly. And the little bug swirled and looped around the air, disappearing and reappearing behind people’s chair until it finally stopped… and flickered out. When you looked down, you saw stringy hair and familiar dark robes. 

“M-Mama?” You whispered, watching the bodies start to float to the center of the table, past you.

Paralyzed. You, your mom, and your dad were all paralyzed. Except they were under a spell and you were frozen in fear. “Papa? What happened?”

Your tiny child voice brought the attention of him. Voldemort. “Oh, dear child,” he seemed to hiss. “They’ve stolen some very valuable things, you see. It’s only fit that they… pay for what they have taken…”

His face twisted into a smile as your lip wobbled. “Do not fear, little one. You’re twelve now. Old enough to live with your… Sev. He shall keep you safe.”

You didn’t cry.

Crying over that was a task that twelve, thirteen, and fourteen-year-old y/n had done well at. Fourteen, fifteen, and sixteen-year-old y/n had done an outstanding job of repressing the memory. And it worked. Until today.

It was that moment- looking down at your shaking hands- that you realized you’ve never explained in detail things that happened when you were young. You wondered how much self-inflicted memory loss you had. Because you lnew you had it, it was just to the extent of the memory-loss that was unknown.

When Fred walked in the door fifteen minutes, you launched yourself into his arms faster than he could apparate. The bag of goods in his hand thunked gently against you as Fred wrapped his arms around your waist. “Are you okay?”

You breathed in deeply, eyes fluttering shut as the comforting smell of him filled your lungs and washed away the memory of the rotting flesh. “I want to talk about something.”

Freddie nodded, still rubbing your back. His eyebrows were furrowed with concern. “Lead the way, love,” he urged, handing you the sweets you wanted. 

While you talked, Fred reached out to play with your fingers. Stories of events Fred (literally) cried over made you pause to take his face in your hands to brush the tears away with your thumbs. The cats nuzzled you at random times, offering something lighthearted to the atmosphere. And when you were done, Fred pulled you into his arms and squeezed.

You weren’t crying, but tears silently slid down your cheeks and onto the soft material of Fred’s shirt. You could feel his chest shake with barely withheld sobs, his hands carding through your hair.

This… was the first time you had told Fred about just how horrible your childhood memories were. Naturally, they good better after you were taken in by Snape, but it caused Fred unimaginable grief to know that his baby girl, the woman he had bled for and would happily die for had still so much love in her body and soul. “My girl,” he whispered, resting his hand on your neck. “I don’t have… a-a joke or anything Fred-like to say.”

“I know, my love,” you replied.

“But,” Fred went on with a sniffle. “Whatever happens next- whatever you don’t know or can’t remember, I will always be here for. I can talk to George if you want. But I- y/n I love you so much, yeah?”

“Freddie Freddie Freddie,” you hum. “I know. And I love you more. There’s no need to talk to Georgie.”

Fred let an impressively long sigh out. “Don’t start this with me, darling, you know I’ll always love you the most.”

You probably would have got up and shoved a pillow in his face before running away, but his arms were devastatingly comfortable and you were so tired and he was warm so you just closed your eyes. “I love you more than the most,” you sleepily stated, nuzzling your nose further into Fred’s sweater.

[skywwwalker]

𐔌 . 𝑫𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒃𝒚 .ᐟ ✧ 𝑪𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒓 : 𝑩𝒍𝒖𝒆 ₊ ꒱

໒꒱ ‧₊˚ cutesy ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ . . .

[skywwwalker]

tell me you see the fucking vision, this is joel miller. I'm gonna bite a bullet

[skywwwalker]

Boyfriend!Peter Summer Headcanons

⌖ some cute headcanons i randomly generated in my braincicles.

⌖ since i’m hot and miserable, i need to occupy my mind with other things than of my misery. i just love him and i think andy peter will always be my precious boy so there!

peter LOVES the heat. Before he was bitten, he 100% preferred spring, but didn’t much care for summer

i read that some spiders thrive during the heat: good weather to help them grow, hunt, and reproduce. Wink wink.

if you aren’t a hot weather person, peter will accommodate to your request even if you dont ask

LOVES going to the pool with you!!! Heh yes he likes going so he can see you in a swimsuit (because he loves whenever you change it up) but he also likes swimming so he can impress you with his muscles and play games with you and your friends

like one time you were playing chicken with him as your partner. (If you dont know what chicken is, you have to have at least 4 people. One person gets on their partners shoulders and they try to push each other into the water/make them fall. Peak childhood game.) He literally didn’t even stress as he picked you up. I mean, yeah, he’s Spider-Man and has all this strength but geez does he need to be so showy about it smh 🙄🫣

another reason he likes the pool is because he likes seeing you fresh out the shower. Skin glowing, smelling like coconuts, hair wet… Peter really does think that you’re are picturesque while you have your back toward him as you brush out your hair. Ugh. Ur just so perf to him.

You have Peter take you to the park at dusk to run around and chase fireflies!! He somehow has like three in his hair before you can even catch one

there’s a little spot between two buildings Peter found after a particularly rough mission that had a nice opening to watch the stars. Peter takes you for a date there as much as he can because you’ll both pack up a little basket and he’ll swing you there. You’ll open up the basket and get the food ready while Peter whips up a little hammock out of his spiderwebs. You always end up falling asleep because the fresh air just knocks you out like a little baby. Peter loves nights like those 🥹

the fourth of July is good for everyone. May cooks some good food, you come over, everyone’s happy. May will insist on driving out to see the fireworks and fuss over the both of you: “are you kids having fun?” “did you eat enought, sweetheart?” “oh, do you both wants some of the good ice cream on the way home?”

Peter loves that you love May, and May loves that Peter loves you. And making her happy had become a major priority for you (and Peter) so you liked taking her to things

late night drives stress peter out due to the amount of car crashes he’d assisted before. So instead, he insists on swinging you everywhere!!

The first couple times? Less than ideal. You wrapped your arms and legs around his front, comforted ONLY by the hand he wrapped around your back as he swung with the other. But you didn’t scream. (Peter noticed that: at waterparks and rollercoasters you never screamed. He asked you about it and you shrugged it off. ‘Too breathless to scream,’ you replied casually, ‘I don’t really know, honestly.’)

After the seventh time swinging, Peter noticed your heartbeat staying relatively steady during the trip and he was just super happy that you trusted him with your life in his hands so literally. Hes just. So perfect. 😓

You convince Peter to get matching shoes with you! They’re nothing flashy- just some reliable blue converse- but hey: they’re yours. Something solid and real, a symbol of the love thats taken the two of you so far. Peter wrote a little note saying ‘Be safe! I love you! - Spider Boy’ in both of your shoes. You wrote ‘Keep kicking butt, Spidey! I’ll always be here to heal ur butt when u need it :)’ You giggled despicably as you wrote it. Your smiley face was a little (read: LOT) crooked because you ran out of room but Peter treasured it like it was a gift from the Queen herself bc thats just the guys he is

takes you to get ice cream. All. The. Time.

Learns how to braid (if your braid your hair) so it takes you less time to get ready for things and because he knows you hate your hair in your face

when he takes you back home, he always gives you a kiss. Either on the lips, temple, cheek, hand, head- you never know. It makes Peter feel like hes in a movie

saving people takes up a lot of time. So he sometimes just comes over to nap or even parallel play in your presence because knowing you are safe is why he does what he does. 🙃

[skywwwalker]

Hey! Would you be interested in writing more about twenty one pilots and band member reader?

yes yes yes!!

[skywwwalker]

waitttt i think this gave me a lil idea… 😋🙌

Firefighter!Simon who meets you when your apartment goes up in flames, breaking down the crumbling excuse of a door to make sure that everyone had been evacuated from the building. Gaz was having a laugh about how someone ‘could sleep through that shit’ as Simon had to wake up this poor girl who just wanted to sleep after her stressful day. Firefighter!Simon who answers all your questions with a gruff tone, navigating through the burning building. On one hand, he’s glad you aren’t screaming and crying about the building but on the other hand he wasn’t used to people asking him questions. You ask him things like his favorite color, his favorite food, how many times he had punched people in the face, and about his opinion on everything under the sun. He was on his seventh ‘you need to stop talkin’, ma’am, yer wastin’ air’ when you started coughing.

When you got to the ambulance, Firefighter!Simon didn’t say no when you asked him to go with you to the hospital. Johnny raised an eyebrow at Simon as he maneauvered his hulking body onto the seat next to you. For some unknown reason, Firefighter!Simon didn’t want you- nosy and kind and pretty you- to be hacking up a lung by yourself in the presence of someone like Johnny. And when your breathing started slowing and you weren’t looking around with bright eyes, Simon let you slide your hand into his gloved one.

Firefighter!Simon who, miraculously, has the night off. He decides to stay in the hospital until you wake: thinking it would be the gentlemanly thing to do to make sure your friends or family were made aware of the devastating fire. But when you finally blink awake and Simon asks all his questions, he’s stumped when you hit him with a ‘I don’t have any family’. Simon can’t stop himself from blurting out ‘You c’n stay with me. If you want.’

It takes a full day for you to be cleared before Firefighter!Simon picks you up from the hospital to take you to his (more than) humble abode. He finds that you quickly find happiness in the kitchen, but are more than disappointed to see he has barely anything to cook or bake with. “A damn shame” you say. With the remaining daylight hours, Simon finds himself driving you to a little supermarket in the corner of the city he hadn’t had the time to be explore. You insist on buying everything, telling Simon (a man who you really knew nothing about) it was the least you could do since he saved you from homelessness. And dying.

The rest of your first day in your temporary home with Firefighter!Simon is spent cooking. You whip up a marvelous pasta dish with hearty meatballs that almost make drool seep from Simon’s lips. He sits at the island watching you move around his space like you’d been there millions of times, an unfamiliar feeling blooming in his gut similar to fondness. Since picking you up some new clothes, Simon had learned a little bit more about you than Simon thought healthy. It was unfortunate enough for him to have been unable to get laid in over three months, but it was even more unfortunate that he had such a pretty bird in his apartment making him food and insisting on being near him when he sure as hell couldn’t make a move on her.

Firefighter!Simon who gets comfortable in his routine with you. On the days he’s not at work at assfuck 0200, he’s up making a simple breakfast for you and him before rhe day starts. You’ll eat and concerse a little awkwardly but that wont stop you from asking all about how he slept and if his buddies wanted more of those monster cookies you’d made to thank them for saving you and your fellow tenants. Simon had to relay many praises of your work in the kitchen, only ommiting the details and sly jokes about how ‘Simon’s girl’ was already taking care of the family. You’d go to work by bus or train- depending on how you felt- and then come home and make dinner or reheat leftovers. If Simon was at work, you’d laze on the couch in the main room and watch television and read. If Simon wasn’t at work, you’d bring the softest blanket from the room Simon had placed you in and watch a movie. More often than not, you would scoot closer and closer to Simon before falling asleep against him. When you woke up, you were in your bed- undoubtedly carried by Simon. Oh well. Its what friends do.

Firefighter!Simon who sees you as a friend. It’s basing your third week in his home and he feel comfortable around you. You’re good at reading his silence- the set of his shoulders and the future of his brow say enough- and he can’t be more thankful of that. For someone so new to his life, you seem to know exactly when to let a comfortable silence fall between you and when to start chattering about them things that come to your mind. But when you are the silent, short-tempered, and fatigued one, Simon is more than scared to get in your way. “Needa talk?” He offers, sliding you a cup of steaming coffee when you level a glare at the mug that had irritated you at such an inconveniently early hour. You heave a sigh and your head crumbles down into your arms. “I’m a mess, Si,” you tell him. Though your voice is muffled, Simon hears the shakiness in your throat trying to escape. He rounds the corner of island and places a large palm on your back in his attempt to comfort you. You are wrapping your arms around his neck and buring your face into the frail fabric of Simon’s shirt before he even knows what’s happening. And- as avoidant as Simon is to physical touch that doesn’t occur during work hours or when you fall asleep on him or when you slid your hand in his gloved hand during The Ambulance Ride- Simon didn’t mind your arms and warmth around him. When you started shaking in his arms was when Simon had to clench his jaw. It pained him that it pained you- and he didn’t even know what was ailing you! Simon tried to soothe himself with the knowledge that he was giving you the best comfort he could offer.

A day later you wake up to a crime scene in your underwear in the middle of the night so you decide to take a midnight trip to the convenience store a literal block away without letting Firefighter!Simon know. I mean, hey, he needs sleep and you were not going to wake him up to let him know you would be gone for a total of five minutes! But when you were on your way back to his house, you noticed someone following you. As you turned right for the third consecutive block, you finally fumbled for your phone.

Hearing you say ‘hey baby’ at 0146 had Firefighter!Simon’s head spinning. He was a little dazed because of the abrupt awakening but your casual greeting was wnough to jolt him awake. “Y/n? Whadda ya- what-?” He couldn’t finish his question before you interrupt him. “Hey do you think you could pick me up? I think I got a little lost.” Simon shoots out of bed, hitting the speaker button as he goes to slip a shirt on. “Where are you? Do I need a knife? Are you okay, dove?” He slips his shoes on and is out of the door faster than he is when he gets a work call. “Yeah, I’d bring the knife, babe,” you answer on the other line, more than loud enough for the man who is following you to hear. “I’m about four blocks away, by the Casey’s. You have my location.” Simon peels out of his driveway and immediately clicks on your profile to find the map with your smiling face. “Talk to me, y/n. I’m almost there.” Your breath is shaking on the other end and Simon doesn’t want you to be scared. “I think I could go for some Italian, Simon,” you say truthfully. “A minute away” Simon tells you, tires squealing as he turns down the streets you were hightailing down. Simon steps out of the truck after shifting it to park and the guy scatters. You’re running into Simon’s open arms before he could take a third step toward you. “I’m sorry,” you murmur “I kinda… started my period and didn’t want to wake you but then-“ Simon just shushes you, running a large hand down your back. “Let’s go home, love.” Simon scooped you up easily, tucking the obnoxiously loud crinkling plastic bag into your lap as he easily carried you to the passenger seat. Home. Yeah, Simon and his place had become your home.

[skywwwalker]

breakfast

[skywwwalker]

Something about birthday’s + confessions is nice to me i think so here you go:

Celebrating Josh’s birthday! MWAHAHAHAHAHA THE ROT IS STEALING MY SOUL anyway i am thinking about celebrating Josh’s birthday. Maybe you guys are on tour when it happens, Tyler flailing around on stage, Josh drumming like he was leading an army to battle, and you screamed along with Tyler as you surfed the crowd atop a mattress.

And then maybe before Tyler starts the next song, he captures the audience as you are brought to the stage by the hands of your laughing fans. “So, as you know, we have a birthday today!” Tyler’s giddy voice made you laugh as you reached the stage and accepted his hand. He pulled you to your feet and handed you the mic, glancing over at Josh.

“And as tradition has it, we gotta sing the birthday chant to make that little guy over there keep growing! Sing it with me my friends,” you said, leading the crowd into the ‘Happy Birthday’ song.

And then i’m thinking maybe Josh bounded over to his favorite people ever and threw an arm around each of your shoulders as the crowd of people were delighted to sing a song to him. “Thank you,” he said into your ear over the crowd, earning himself a bright smile from you. Sweat dripped from you whole body but so was everyone so Josh didn’t mind when you rested your head against his body as the crowd cheered. 

“Okay you little lovebirds,” is what i think Tyler would say as the ovation was over. “Let’s get this show on the road!”

And then I think later after the show when you’re on the way to the suite booked by the manager, you’re looking for a bottle of water when Josh puts one in your line of sight. He puts one in Tyler’s lap- though he’s too busy texting Jenna to notice right away- and leans back in his seat by you. He rests his eyes for a minute while you absolutely house that water. “Thank you guys.”

You finish your water and pull at your still sweaty shirt. “For what, J?”

Tyler peers pver at Josh. “What’s up, man?”

“I just- Today was awesome. Playing with you will never get old. I’m so glad to spend the day with my favorite people doing, you know, what I love,” Josh would probably shrug a little, knowing exactly how cheesy he sounded. “And then having you both sing… thank you. For it all.”

You smile so fondly at Josh he feels his heart physically crack because what he really wants to say is “You’ve been with me since I joined and you have seen my highs and lows and loved me like Tyler has but I want secretly want you to love me in a different way and I want you to love me in the way that when you see me you feel like your heart will carve itself out of your chest to get to me because that’s exactly what happens to me when i see you” but you know, he can’t.

Tyler sighs. “Dude stop saying this cute emotional stuff when I’m all sweaty and disgusting. I’m going to force you into a group hug when we’re all clean! I just hope we get there soo- we’re here!”

You and Josh laugh as Tyler hauls ass to go shower. “Just for the record, I do have some stuff baked for you. Tyler help with the cookies- they were his idea, actually- and was super proud of them so make sure you gush over them for a while.”

Josh laughs. “I will,” he says as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders. “What did you make?”

“It’s a surprise! Jeez, Dun. Greedy much?” You chuckle, pressing the button to the floor that Tyler had sprinted to.

You yawned and closed your eyes. Leaning your head against Josh’s sturdy form, you felt like telling him would be a good idea. Telling him that you thought of him as more than a band mate was growing more appealing as he insisted on staying by your side. But just as you opened your mouth, the elevator dinged and you were on your floor!

Oh well. Maybe you’d tell him later. Or never. Josh urged you into the hall and towards your room. “Good job tonight, y/n. I’m proud of you,” he said, unlocking the door for you. “If you’re up for it, Tyler and I’ll be up for a while. Probably. If you’re too tired,” Josh said through a yawn as he leaned on the door frame, “then that would be a good night. Fare well, good lady.” He bowed dramatically, heart pounding dangerously as you giggled. You pulled him up by the collar and gently shoved him out the door.

“I’m bringing your food after I shower, Joshua Dun. Go clean up, you stink,” you say, smiling as you shut the door.

Tyler raises an eyebrow as Josh steps into the room. “So?”

Josh stops. Blinks. “So…?”

A heaving sigh. An eye roll. “Dude are you serious? You haven’t told her? I gave you the perfect time!”

“Oh that’s what that was?” Josh exhales and drops to the floor. “What do I do, man? She was like… leaning on me and stuff and- dude, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“It’s not like you should tell her or anything,” Tyler grumbles. “Okay. Josh. Trust me when I tell you if you just talked to her, you’ll… feel better.”

Josh groaned. “‘Feel better’? Really?”

“Aayeah!” Tyler answered enthusiastically. “Now please, go get clean, birthday boy! And get ready for those birthday spankin’s!”

Sighing, Josh rose from the floor with a groan. “Okay.” 

Only thirty-five minutes and three showers later, the trio reunited in Tyler and Josh’s hotel room. You knocked and Josh found himself racing to the door, hoping that it was you. You brandished a cake with beautiful frosted flowers and even a few decorative paper frogs taped to toothpicks. ‘Josh’s Day!’ was iced in a teal color in the middle with three smiling stick figures holding hands. Josh, naturally, was in the middle with a crown- Tyler on the right and you on the left.

“Do you like it?” You asked. Josh had been standing- observing- very carefully for eternity. Tyler even swaggered over, fawning over the detailing. When he looked at you with furrowed eyebrows, you whipped the bag of cookies from behind your back and handed it to a squealing Tyler. “J?”

The birthday boy in question looked up slowly and his eyes flitted from your eyes to your lips to the cake. “Y/n. I love it. Come on.” His hand rested on your back as he moved you forward to close the door and guide you to the kitchen of the suite.

Josh insisted on cutting the cake; saying how you’d gone to too much trouble to worry about cutting it. Josh also took three of the little cookies Tyler made, admiring each cookie respectively before destroying the little creature in one bite.

So that’s how you found yourself here, on the hotel couch, sitting between Josh and Tyler watching some movie Josh picked out while you and Ty were debating about the kind of tea you would be trying the next day. After yawning dramatically, Tyler patted your knee and ruffled Josh’s hair. “I bid you my goodbyes, friend and family member.”

“I-I’m the family member, right?” Josh asked. When Tyler didn’t answer, you chuckled. “Right? Tyler. Right?”

Tyler giggled mischievously. “Whatever you say, buddy!”

You laughed out loud as Tyler shot the both of you a winning smile and went to his bedroom. Josh’s lip jutted out. “Aww, Josh, it’s okay. Sometimes you just need to realize your competition,” you offered while rubbing his back consolingly.

He squinted at you before launching: fingers poking your sides, tickling your sides, and making you squirm. “Funny now?” He asked through his own laughs, catching your hands as you started swinging. His fingers danced over your stomach before he stopped to catch his breath. And that’s when he noticed… you. Under him with your chest heaving and your wrists restrained by Josh’s large hand above your head. Was it him or where you looking at his lips?

“Hey Josh?” You croaked after a few minutes of silence. Your tongue darted out to lick your lips- looking more delicate and delicious being lit bu the soft glow of the television.

His chest rumbled as Josh hummed. His hips were hovering just over yours and the silence made him very aware of that fact.

“I need you to kiss me or tell me go to my room.”

Josh’s lips fell to yours, hot and restless and explosive. He removed his hand from your wrists and came to the back of your neck to mould your mouth even closer to his- if that was even possible. Your own fingers slid up the nape of Josh’s neck to grip his curls. A whine escaped his throat and boy howdy did you eat that up.

Idk. Maybe maybe maybe. Maybe Josh pulled away first because he needed air, but as a professional singer you could’ve gone another solid thirty seconds without air. Maybe Josh rested his forhead against yours and closed his eyes because if he saw that look in your eyes he’s implode. Maybe Josh murmured ‘best birthday ever’ before kissing you again. Maybe. Idk. Im not there. 

[skywwwalker]

we all know hiccup can talk forever, so i just KNOW he talks you through it, like praise CITY

this post is 18+, minors dni. afab!fem!reader

he's a talker!! even outside of sex he's rambling on and on, eyes lit up and hands moving rapidly as he tells you about his latest expedition, his newest invention, or the new batch of eggs waiting in the hatchery. he has never been able to stop himself from rambling, and sex is no different.

It's not that he means to talk you through it, he'd certainly try if he knew you'd enjoy it but that's not what he's aiming to do. It's just that you look so gorgeous beneath him, flushed cheeks shining with droplets of sweat from the fire beside you and the heat between you. Your mouth is parted slightly, lips open to let air flow in and out as your chest heaves. That's another thing, your chest is heaving and throwing your breasts up and down with each breath you take. Your hand trembles as you clasp his own, and he can't help but voice how he feels, what he's thinking.

"You're so beautiful. Oh- aah, oh my god, you're so-" He pants, his own chest heaving though your eyes are shut so you don't admire his like he admires yours, "You feel amazing. And you look so gorgeous right now, you're- I'm so lucky," He dips down, catching your lips in a sensual kiss that's more heart than thought. It's messy, not functional but entirely sexual in nature. It's desperate and sloppy and it only makes the thoughts racing through his head more prominent.

"I love you," He pants, feeling your body twitch and shake as your orgasm crests, "I've got you- you're- you're mine and I'm so lucky to have you."

[skywwwalker]

could I request cold!reader waking up from a nightmare whilst she’s with Spencer?? maybe when she wakes up she’s unusually clingy to him and he just holds her?? ☹️☹️💗

WHAT A NIGHT. /spencer reid/

bringing up your past issues doesn’t just affect your waking hours. your dreams are just as bad.

CW | nightmares caused by sexual trauma, brief description of at-home abortion, reader has a panic attack, reader briefly views spencer as a physical threat

s11!cold!reader hurt/comfort 2.0k series masterlist. main masterlist.

AN | hi, i’m allergic to happiness

You’re dreaming, and you know it.

That’s the worst part, isn’t it? Not the dream itself—though it’s wretched in every way—but the knowing. The awareness. You’re aware of the room that doesn’t look like any room you've lived in, but it’s his. You're aware that the weight in your chest isn't real, and yet it crushes you just the same. And you know you’re older now, not nineteen anymore, but your limbs are small, powerless again. Your voice doesn’t come out when you try to scream. The carpet’s the same colour it always is in these dreams—off-white, like bone turned to dust. The smell of sweat and whisky seeps into your skin.

He’s not speaking in this one. Just watching. Sitting across the room with that same sick patience. But he’s already dead, isn’t he? Hasn’t he already bled out in front of you, with your name on his lips? So why the hell is he watching you like this?

You scream, finally. Not with your voice, but in your mind—wake up, wake up, wake up—

But you don’t. You don’t.

The dream shifts.

And you’re pregnant again. Barely twenty, alone in a bathtub with shaking hands and something sharp in them. You’re sobbing. You tell yourself it’s the right thing. It’s the only thing. And you know it’s a dream, you remember the aftermath, the silence, the blood, the ache that never really left. And yet, you relive it. The helplessness. The guilt. The wrongness.

Wake up.

You gasp—no, yell—yourself awake.

You bolt upright in bed, chest heaving like you’ve run a marathon. The room’s dark, faint streetlight pouring in through half-closed blinds. Spencer’s apartment. You’ve spent more nights here than at your own place this month. But your body doesn’t catch up to the reality fast enough. You’re still back there, back then, in pain, in panic, in the unbearable after.

The sheets are tangled around your legs. Your mouth tastes like metal. There’s sweat dripping down your neck. And when Spencer stirs beside you, murmuring your name half-asleep—

“Hey-? What’s—”

You flinch away from him violently. He doesn’t even touch you—just reaches a hand out—and still you recoil as though he’s just tried to drag you under.

“Don’t.” Your voice comes out brittle and small. “Don’t touch me—”

He stops immediately, hand suspended in the air like he’s just frozen mid-breath.

“Alright,” he says gently. “I won’t. I won’t, it’s okay.”

But it’s not okay.

You’re shaking. Everything inside you feels like it’s been turned inside out. Your lungs are caught in a pattern of shallow, ragged breaths. Your fingers are clenched so tightly around the blanket that they’re numb. You think you might be crying, but you don’t feel it.

He sits up beside you, hands where you can see them, voice low and even. “You had a nightmare, you’re okay,”

Of course you did. Of course you did. That’s what therapy is doing to you lately—tearing up things you’d sealed beneath ten years of practiced indifference. You never wanted to talk about him. About what he did. What he made you do. But you agreed, for Spencer. Because Spencer’s eyes look so worried every time you freak out. Because you don’t want to hurt him the way you’ve hurt yourself.

And now—this. This spiral of nightmares and broken sleep and memories you can’t scrub clean.

You want to run. You want to fight. You want to press your forehead into his chest and disappear, but your skin still itches with phantom fear and shame.

“I can’t—” You curl in on yourself, dragging your knees to your chest. “I can’t, Spence, please don’t—”

Spencer doesn’t move. He waits, watches you struggle to breathe, doesn’t rush in with comfort you’ve already refused. You hate him for that. You love him for it more.

Your head’s between your knees now, your breath too shallow to be useful. Everything’s closing in. You feel light-headed, faint.

“I think you’re having a panic attack,” he says softly. “I’m going to talk to you through it. Just my voice. Nothing else, okay?”

You nod, even though you’re not sure he can see it.

“Count with me,” he says. “In for four… one, two, three, four. Hold. One, two… out for six. One, two, three, four, five, six.”

You try. You really try. The numbers warp, slide sideways in your brain. But his voice—low, calm, unrelenting—grounds you, bit by bit. Like the sea grinding away at stone. It hurts. But it helps.

He repeats the breathing exercise, over and over, until your hands stop shaking enough that you can uncurl your fingers from your thighs. You feel raw. Like someone’s taken sandpaper to your nerves.

Eventually, you lift your head. His silhouette’s clear now, outlined by the dim light from the hallway. He’s still sitting where he was, arms braced on his knees, watching you like you’re something fragile.

And you suppose, right now, you are.

“It’s over,” he says, soft as breath. “You’re safe. I swear,”

And maybe it’s those words that start to steady something inside you. You’re safe. Here, in his apartment, in his bed. Not there. Not then.

But the fear doesn’t drain out so much as it crawls back slowly, like a tide pulling away with reluctance.

You hate it.

You hate the fact it still messes you up like this. Because it makes you feel soft, and soft is weak, and weakness is how this all started.

You don’t cry. You never do. That part of you is locked away, welded shut. But your breath hitches like a sob, and you wonder if this is the closest you’ll ever get.

But he’s just sitting there, still not touching you, waiting. Present.

“I couldn’t wake up,” you manage. “I knew it was a dream. I kept telling myself it was. But I couldn’t get out. It felt like—I was going to be stuck there forever

“You’re not,” he says. “You’re back now. With me,”

You take him in for the first time since waking. His curls are sleep-mussed. His glasses are on the nightstand, and his eyes look glassy in the dark. There’s a softness to his expression, yes—but it’s not pity. It’s worry. And care. Real, bone-deep care.

“I want to…” You trail off, ashamed. “I don’t want to be alone,”

“You’re not,” he promises again. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere,”

Your body starts moving before your mind can catch up. Slowly, hesitantly, you shift toward him, and this time when he raises an arm—carefully, like he’s holding a butterfly—he waits for you to come to him.

And you do.

You fold yourself against his chest, and his arm closes around you. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, and finally—finally—you start to feel the real world anchor you.

He smells like lavender and warmth and something else—something you can’t name but recognise all the same. Safety. Not perfection. Not healing. But safety, in a way you never believed you'd feel again.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, though your lips barely move.

“Don’t apologise,” he murmurs. “You don’t have to apologise for being in pain,”

“I’m supposed to be getting better,”

“You are,” he says simply. “It’s a process, you know that,”

You wish you could believe it.

Some part of you does.

But the rest—the deeper, darker part—still feels like you’re standing on the edge of a very long, very steep fall.

His hand rubs gently up and down your back. Not lingering. Not possessive. Just a quiet reassurance.

“Did I wake you?” you ask.

“I was already halfway up. You were… thrashing. I thought you were having a seizure at first,”

You stiffen. “Oh,”

“Hey,” he says quickly. “It’s alright. Don’t worry about me. I’m glad you’re here,”

“I’m not going back to sleep,” you say, voice thick.

“I know.” He presses a kiss to your hair. “I won’t either,”

Your fingers curl into the fabric of his T-shirt like you want to disappear into him. And in a way, you do. You want to crawl inside his chest and never come out. Not because you want to use him as a shield, but because being with him is the only time you ever feel like a whole person instead of a patchwork of bruises and stitched-up trauma.

“I hate how much it still affects me,” you whisper.

“You’re allowed to be affected,”

“I’m thirty now, Spence. It was ten years ago,”

“You could be sixty and it would still matter. Time doesn’t undo what he did to you,”

He doesn’t say what you did to yourself. But he doesn’t need to. He knows. And you know he knows.

Your grip tightens. His heartbeat under your ear is steady, grounding.

“I was so afraid,” you say quietly. “Back then. And tonight. But this time, when I woke up—I was terrified, I thought you—”

His breath catches, but he doesn’t pull away.

“I know,” he says, voice rougher now. “I saw it in your eyes. And I swear to you, if I could take that fear away, I would. I never, ever want you to be scared of me,”

You press your face harder against his chest.

“I wasn’t. Not really. It wasn’t you. It was just… my brain,”

He nods, chin brushing your hair. “I know. Trauma lies. But I’ll remind you of the truth, as many times as it takes,”

Silence settles over you both. Not the suffocating kind—just quiet. Peaceful. Honest.

[skywwwalker]

I love the things you wrote for hiccup and would love to read some more! 😭 Sitting in front of him instead of behind him while flying is so real, but what if we were also facing his way? It’s just stuck in my head all the time, the picture is so adorable.

Hiccup is a prolific talker, but the wind whipping across your faces means that his voice is lost to the wind. You're sure his dragon-scale helmet doesn't help, muffling whatever he's telling you about the shadows below the surface of the water.

"What?" You shout, the chill of the ocean breeze below you, the moisture from the clouds beading at your skin. You're clutching him from behind, your arms wrapped tight around his waist as he holds Toothless with the reins he's made for stability. They're more to give him something to hold onto than they are to steer the dragon, because Toothless doesn't usually need much direction, but he grips them regardless.

He repeats himself, and you hear just as much of it the second time as you did the first.

"I can't hear you!" You lean in to speak directly against his ear, his hair tickling the side of your face, "The wind's too loud, and you're facing away from me!"

He turns this time, letting Toothless keep steady on his course. It strains his neck, but he can flip up his helmet to meet your eyes.

"Do you trust me?"

Your brows furrow, but you know intrinsically that the answer is yes. The answer would be yes if he had a sword digging into the flesh of your breast, so you nod as the wind whips at your faces.

He strains his torso to turn in the saddle, his leg clipped to the saddle on a leather strap. He's secured but you're not, and you've been secure in that because Toothless flies carefully with you, and you're always grabbing Hiccup for support. But when Hiccup begins lifting you off of the saddle, you clutch tight at his arms.

"It's okay. I won't let you fall." He soothes, his voice a gentle him that registers now that he's got his mouth near your ear. He's twisting you around, prompting you to lift your legs so that you can flip them around. You flounder for a moment at the thought of turning around on the saddle, but even moreso when you realize that he's going to move you around his side and to the front of the dragon. He's planning to lift you over the side of Toothless, over the open sea, where a plummet would mean certain death.

"Hiccup!" You shriek, grabbing even tighter at his arms. He pauses, hands still heavy on your waist but not pulling anymore. His green eyes bore into yours, soft and sweet, but the cold blue ocean below you is unforgiving.

"Listen to me. I'm not letting you fall. I work for a blacksmith, I can carry your weight. I'm gonna bring you around in front and sit you facing me. You'll be fine, and you won't fall, but if you ever did, we'd catch you."

Your mouth has run dry, but you'd meant it when you said you trusted him. You know Toothless has caught him before, and aside from the missing leg, it doesn't often end in disaster. Toothless is purring inquisitively beneath you both, probably confused as to why you're tense and lifted from the saddle. You take a deep breath and unclench your thighs, letting Hiccup hoist your weight off of the saddle and around the side.

You clench your eyes shut so that you don't see the ocean as you swing around Toothless, but once the dragon's sides are back between your thighs you melt into the leather beneath you, pinching your knees tightly around his ribcage. You'll make up for any soreness with a nice basket of fish later, right now you need to ground yourself.

Your eyes fly open to meet Hiccup's own green ones, his teeth bared in a sheepish grin. His helmet is still lifted away from his features and his nose is inches away from your own, his breath fanning over your chin.

"I told you you'd be okay." He reminds you, "Did you really think I'd let you fall?"

"I didn't think you'd let me," You breathe shakily, "I just thought I'd plummet to my death as part of a freak accident."

"I'm not that weak," Hiccup gripes, "Don't listen to what Snotlout says."

"I trusted you," You hum, laughing gently, leaning in to close the gap between you and brush your noses together. That's all you aim for at first, a tender touch, but when he moves forwards to press his lips to yours, you let him.

"This is nice," He muses, pulling back to gaze over your shoulder, "I can still see the way ahead, and now you can hear me."

"And we can kiss." You add, eyeing him slyly from beneath your lashes.

"Yeah, and- and we can kiss." He nods, his cheeks flushing with something other than the cold, "That's good too."

You share a sappy laugh, but a grumble from Toothless has Hiccup craning over your shoulder to shout down at him.

"Relax! I'm still in control." Hiccup swears, minutely flexing Toothless's false tail fin, "Just- give us a holler if we're headed for a sea stack, okay bud? I'm-" He glances down at your face, cheeks split with a giddy smile as his hand cups your face, "I'm not gonna be paying super close attention for a while."