#if it seems like there's overlap...hm! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

narnian-neverlander · 7 months ago

Text

What Could’ve Been [Viktor x GN!Reader]

Plot Summary: In which you find yourself in a world so similar yet so different to your own and are simply too tired of life knocking you down again and again to still play the selfless hero.

Word Count: 3,9k

Warnings: spoilers for Arcane Season 2, talk about character death and illness, suicidal thoughts, slightly suggestive at the end

A/N: I saw that alternate timeline and went ‘Ekko’s a stronger man than I am’ and went with that; actually wanted to write sth fluffy and happy, and this is wholesome-ish, but with some very bleak undertones so I might have to write some actual fluff to compensate. Also, the religious imagery wasn’t planned from the get go but it kinda happened and it is on brand for this man, I just decided to turn it on its head a little 🤷

I’m also very much using a translator for the Czech parts, so please bear with me and absolutely lemme know if you spot anything wrong!

“Interesting. When I told you about this last, you advised the exact opposite.”

You freeze mid movement, plate hovering an inch or so over the table you were setting. “Well I… I suppose I’ve changed my mind.”

The soft tap of a cane against the floor alerts you to him crossing the room, appearing in your peripheral as you put down the porcelain with shaky fingers. “A rather… hm, siginificant change in such a short time, wouldn’t you agree? Not to mention you acted like I was telling you for the first time.” He doesn’t receive an answer, so he keeps going. “I’ve had a theory for a while. I don’t believe I’ve told you about it, because really, it’s only a pipe dream at this point, but entertaining for the duller moments nonetheless: alternate timelines. The possibility of several different realities, all co-existing with each other simultaneously. Some would call the mere idea preposterous, I’m fully aware, but then again, how would we know for certain? How could we know? Unless one or more of said timelines happened to… overlap.” The silence that follows is deafening and heavy; a precursor of what’s to come. “You’re not originally from this world, are you?”

While he knows this is a conversation that needs to be had, the way you curl into yourself and seem to wither and grow small before his eyes makes him wish he could take it all back. He tries to catch your gaze, but you purposely avoid his as you drag yourself over to the couch. Body heavy and tired, you all but slump down into worn cushions, blankly staring into space as you weakly reply with “No. I’m not.”

He doesn’t move, nor does he speak, cause while he’d been expecting your answer to a degree, now that it’s out in the open he’s… unsure what to even do with it. It isn’t a worry for long, though, as you continue speaking, slow and weary. Like you had been expecting, dreading, this moment just as much as him.

“It wasn’t a… conscious choice. To come here, I mean. It was an accident really, I didn’t even know what had happened at first.” A weak chuckle. “This was a shock to me as much as it must’ve been for you.”

And what a shock it had been for you. To have been standing with your friends in the bowels of the Hexgates one minute and to wake up in an unfamiliar bed the next. Dizzily traipsing through a space that had felt familiar yet foreign all at once; pictures and mementos from times you couldn’t remember staring at you from every surface. And to have had Viktor come through the door, bag of baked goods under one arm, to find you in the living room of what should’ve been your home, looking every bit as lost as you felt. It had been a miracle you’d stayed standing then and there, with the way he’d looked: same lanky figure supported by a cane, same messy chestnut locks, same two beauty marks against the pale skin of his sharp face, same concern in his honey colored irises when he took in your state. But no dark circles borderlining bruises under his eyes, no hollowed, sunken in cheeks, no blood on his lips to betray another attack. And no Hexcore devouring him whole. Your downfall had come in the form of slender fingers gingerly wrapping around your forearm to try and steady you; a silent question and a gentle offer of help. One of those fingers wearing the very same ring you usually kept on a chain around your neck, because you’d always been too busy or too in your own head to just ask him. To offer him your heart, your life, your everything, if only he wanted it. Always too terrified of rejection, of losing him to his illness; too scared of fucking something until it was too late. And when your hand had come up in search for said necklace, a nervous habit that had developed at some point, and you’d found a matching ring on your own finger instead, you’d finally dissolved into a wailing, sobbing mess against his chest, never wanting to let go again.

And what a shock it had been for him. To have talked to you, not twenty minutes prior, an exchange of sleepy, lazy kisses and quiet murmurs, telling you he’d go get breakfast and be right back, watching as you’d curled back up under the blankets with a content sigh. To come through the door, expecting you still in bed and instead finding you in the middle of your living room, looking utterly lost and misplaced in your own home, an almost manic look in your eyes, staring at him like you’d seen a ghost. He’d approached you, carefully, like one would a wild caged animal, and then a simple touch of his had sent you into a meltdown. And at an absolute loss, he’d simply held you. Let you cry yourself to utter exhaustion in his arms, the both of you a heap on the floor, propped up against the back of the sofa. When you had finally, finally calmed down, you’d played it off as the aftershocks of a nightmare. The kind that makes you believe they’re real and keeps you trapped in them for what could feel like a lifetime. And Gods you’d looked like you had aged a lifetime while he was gone. And ever since that night you’d been… different. Getting lost in your own head more often than not. Suffering from nightmares almost every night. Migraines and something akin to epileptic seizures every once in a good while. He had let it go on, assuring you that if you needed anything he would be there for you, and in the following months, you’d seemed to settle and things had gone back to normal. Relatively. But it had been the memory loss that had made him suspicious. Or more so the fact that while some things remained, others seemed to have happened differently for you and some had never happened at all. Never having been able to leave well enough alone, he’d started digging for explanations. And now, at the end of his research, his most impossible theory proven right - he’s yet again at a loss of what to do. How to help you.

“I didn’t know how I got here, much less how to get back. From what I do understand about all of this, and it ain’t much, the thing that sent me to this world doesn’t even exist here. So at first I didn’t have much of a choice but to just… live. To pretend like everything was normal and I belonged here. But eventually I realized that even if I got the chance to go back, I didn’t want to. I wanted to be selfish, I wanted—“ Your voice cracks, thick with emotion and he watches your head drop forward like a doll’s whose strings have been cut, eyes downcast at your trembling hands. “I wanted to be happy again. And for once in my damn life I wanted it to last. It just never fucking lasts…”

Stride over to you and hold you tight, kiss you and tell you that everything would be alright, that you would figure this out together, like always. That’s what he should be doing. Every bone in his body tells him to, but just like so many other times in the past, his oh so brilliant mind prevents him. Tells him that there is no ‘together, like always’ because the person in front of him isn’t the person he’s known his whole life. Isn’t the person he married. Everything’s an ugly mess and he doesn’t mean for his next words to come across as cruel, doesn’t perceive them that way; blissfully unaware of the implications, he’s simply, truly curious.

“What would you do if you were to go back home?”

An inelegant snort leaves you and you wipe the back of your hand over your eyes in a desperate and vain attempt to stop the tears from flowing.

23 seconds.

You were counting, just to give you something to occupy your spiraling mind with, really.

23 seconds.

That’s how long it had taken him to no longer refer to this world, this apartment, him as your home. To prioritize whatever might be going in your other life. And you know it’s not fair, to be this upset with him, this version of him that you’ve been deceiving from the start; even though he has never wronged you. But you can’t help it. Guilt and regret would soon be all you’d have left again, so might as well leave him with some, too.

“Well… if I hadn’t gotten sucked into this mess, I would’ve killed myself by now. I guess I’d be getting back to that.”

The breath that escapes him sounds like you actually just sucker punched him in the gut and immediately makes you feel terrible about how casual and bitter you’d made it sound, but he’d wanted the truth and that was it. Limbs heavy und unsteady, you rise from your position on the couch and make your way over to the front door. “I’ll go take a walk or… you know, go do… whatever. Give you some space, time to think.” Your hand’s already on the door handle, but you pause and somehow find it in yourself to turn around and at least give him the courtesy of looking at him for what you’re about to say. “For what it’s worth, I never meant to let it go this far. It just became so… easy to pretend like things had always been like this. You made it easy. And while I’m sorry that I lied to you, tricked you, intentional or not, I got the chance to fall in love with you all over again. And I could never be sorry about that.”

You’re fairly certain you’ve never seen him move as fast as he does now and before you know it, you’re wrapped in a hug almost too tight, his cane landing on the carpeted floor next to you with a dull thump. “You cannot say things like that and expect me to just let you walk out of that door, I-“

Readjusting his hold on you, he cradles your head against his shoulder and loops his other arm around your middle, continuing in a hushed, gentle tone. “I can’t bear the thought of harm befalling you. Even worse, you harming yourself. In any timeline. Please, just stay. No matter what might happen in the future, just… stay with me. Right here.”

He means for it to be reassuring, comforting, loving, you know that. It’s not his fault that it has the exact opposite effect.

Wincing, a new wave of tears springs to your eyes and you remove yourself from his hold, but can’t bring yourself to let go completely; hands now linked between the two of you. “Viktor, I stole the body and life of a person you actually love. I don’t want you to force yourself to try and love me out of pity.”

“And why are you so certain that’s what this is?!” It surprises you, how genuinely upset he sounds, and a gasp is forced out of your throat when he wrenches his hands out of your grasp and his palms find your face, to force your gaze onto him and keep it there, wether you want to or not. The expression he’s wearing almost scares you; thick brows furrowed in anger and lips curled back in what could nearly be a snarl, but as soon as gold eyes find yours, red and puffy and so very desperate and grieving, whatever fire seemed to have been burning him up inside goes out all at once.

His shoulders drop and he rests his forehead against yours with a sigh, warm breath fanning over your face. “I’m sorry, moje lásko, please forgive me. I’m not angry with you, I just… I can not comprehend why you are so ready and willing to accept rejection, but will not even entertain the possibility that loving you comes as easy to me as your affections for me do to you. Why can you love every version of me, but I’m not allowed the same with every version of you?” He watches you blink owlishly, your mouth opening and closing several times and he’s not sure wether it’s endearing or heartbreaking, how clear it is that this possibility never even crossed your mind. “You act like this entire situation only penalizes me, when in reality, I’m not actually your Viktor, either, am I?”

He expects this to help, to give you a new perspective. To make it clear to you that you are both the same; you are not a villain in his story. And there is a smile on your lips, but it’s so small and sad that his stomach drops at the sight. “No, you’re not. You couldn’t be. My Viktor is gone.”

And all of a sudden, it makes so much sense. How sometimes you’d stare at him with the most haunted look in your eyes, like he was a dead man walking, ready to collapse at any given moment. How you’d grow frantic when he came back late from the academy. How you’d insisted on tagging along on the most mundane of tasks, always under the guise of wanting to spend more time with him, but really just keeping a close eye on him at all times. Though he suspects the former to be true; the chance to spend even a few more precious hours with a loved one you’d thought lost, who wouldn’t jump at that chance?

His world would simply seize spinning if you were no longer in it, he can’t even begin to imagine how you feel. How tormenting it must’ve been to see him everyday, a second chance dangling right in front of you, but never certain if you were to wake up back in a world where he was gone.

You’re in his arms again in a heartbeat, one hand carding through your hair, the other rubbing soothing patterns into your back; whispering sweet little nothings into your ear as you bury your face into the crook of his neck and sob. All so much like the day you arrived and saw him for the first time, and yet… softer. More intimate.

You stay like this until your bawling dies down to whimpers and sniffles at which point he gingerly coaxes you to look at him.

“Miláčku, listen to me. As it stands now, you have no way of going back to your original world.” He doesn’t call it your home anymore, you notice. “You did not ask for this, you did not choose this; you had it thrust upon you while going through enough pain and grief you considered taking your own life. For the love of everything, you needn’t feel guilty for wanting to use this chance to find happiness again. And you shouldn’t feel guilty if you continue to do so.” Still sniffling you gently caress his face, thumbs running over his chiseled cheekbones and heart stuttering when he leans into your touch. But then you catch sight of the ring on your finger again.

“I’m not… I’m not the person you married, Vik.” Unknowingly, you parrot his own thoughts back to him, but surprisingly enough, he finds he doesn’t much care anymore. He’s flabbergasted how he could ever even doubt for a second that it would matter which timeline you were originally from. Because it’s still you. Damn it all, it’s still you. “Maybe so. But I’ve seen the same kindness in you in those past few months that I’ve always known. The same wit. The same ambition and passion. All the things that made me love you in the first place. You said this gave you the chance to fall in love with me again; would you allow me the chance to do the same?”

The truth is, while you want to try and build a life here, you feel guilty. Guilty about the friends you left fighting a war. Guilty about taking over the life and joy of someone else, even if they are a different version of you. Guilty about forcing the man you love into a relationship with a person he technically doesn’t even know. All these months, you’d only ever reciprocated his affections, never initiated them, had barely let him touch you at all, because you’d always felt like somehow you were coercing him into cheating on someone he actually loved. But here he is now, telling you that he wants you, this version of you, all of you. Could you really do it? Leave behind everything and everyone you’ve ever known, for a chance at happiness, a fresh start? You had no guarantee that things would go smoothly in this universe either, after all. Wouldn’t you just be playing pretend for the rest of your life?

“So what, we’ll just… pretend like it’s the first time then?” you ask, a quiet breathless laugh accompanying your question. He shrugs and smiles at you. “Something like that. Falling in love with you again and again and again? I could imagine a worse fate.”

So could you. Much, much worse, in fact.

Your expression shifts somewhat without you even realizing and he immediately recognizes that he must’ve triggered some form of painful memory. He places tiny little kisses all over your face, murmuring apologies all the while and when you sigh in contentment it finally dawns on him that this is very much the first time you’ve let yourself enjoy being close with him since you got here. He doesn’t blame you; the moral dilemma that was forced on you would put anyone on edge and make them anxious about what they could allow themselves to experience without some form of consequences. He would prove to you that there would be none, he’d make sure of that; singlehandedly destroy them if they did decide to raise their ugly heads. That you didn’t always need to give and give and ask for nothing in return. That you could take what you wanted and not be punished for it. You’d taught him that after all.

“Moje světlo…?”

Gods have mercy on your soul, you never could say no to him when he used those damn pet names on you.

You crash your lips to his, desperate and practically starved; in direct contrast to all the sweet promises and gentle reassurances you just shared, there’s nothing romantic about it. It’s all tongues and teeth and absolutely filthy and it’s exactly what you need right now. Your back makes contact with the door you’d been oh so insistent on walking out of not even fifteen minutes ago, that thought now the furthest thing from your mind as his hands are already under your shirt, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

Your head falls back against the worn wood with a thump as his lips find your neck, leaving marks and bruises for everyone to see and maybe the moan that escapes your throat with a broken version of his name coupled with how weak your knees already feel could’ve been embarrassing, but you don’t have it in yourself to care; it feels like it’s been years since he last kissed you like this. Touched you like this. The whine of protest as he pulls back is cut short when he drops to his knees in front of you, hands on your hips to keep you in place and placing on last kiss on your stomach before he puts some distance between you both, not more than a few inches really, but still too much for your liking. One hand goes to cover his own, while the other cups his face, trying to tug him closer again, but he refuses. Brows knitting together in confusion and frustration, you’re about to ask him what he thinks he’s doing, but he beats you to it.

“I won’t go further unless you tell me you want this.” You almost laugh, because he can not be serious. How much more obvious could you be? Your own body is doing half the talking for you, really. But of course that’s not exactly what he means. “I want you to admit to me, and more importantly to yourself, that you want this life. I want you to realize that it is perfectly alright for you to be selfish every now and again.”

His words trigger a memory from long ago, when you’d found him passed out on the desk in the lab one too many times. After you’d been done yelling at him, you’d told him that he couldn’t just always give and give and give until there was barely anything left of himself. That it was okay to be a little selfish and take things for himself every once in a while.

Take your own advice, liar.

A voice somewhere in the back of your head purrs bewitchingly and it’s right. You are still lying. Not to him though - to yourself. Telling yourself that you feel guilty for wanting to stay here, when in reality that’s how you should be feeling. But the truth, the real truth, is that you’re scared.

Scared of how little you actually care. About the friends you left fighting a war. About taking over the life and joy of someone else, even if they are a different version of you. About forcing the man you love into a relationship with a person he technically doesn’t even know. You haven’t truly cared about any of it from the get go; always too self righteous to admit it to yourself, though.

Practiced fingers slip from his cheek to the hair at the nape his neck and pull; he goes along willingly this time, head forced back and his eyes lock onto yours, right as fresh, hot tears start to travel down your face. But you’re done grieving; you are livid, plain and simple. “I want this…” you breathe out, so quiet he almost misses it. You don’t stay quiet, though, you can’t anymore, and your voice rises in volume with every sentence spoken. “I want to stay. I want a life with you. All blissful boredom and domesticity. It’s all I ever wanted. Why…? Why was even that too much to ask?!”

He doesn’t have the answer, but he does have the solution, delivered with a slight turn of his head and a kiss to your wrist.

“It wasn’t. It isn’t.”

Breaths heavy and irregular, you simply take in the sight of him: all disheveled hair and kiss swollen lips, pretty blush all the way down to his neck, eyes dark and pupils blown wide, only a thin ring of gold left, looking at you so longingly, on his knees for you and you alone; like a worshipper ready to commit any atrocity for the sake and love of their god.

“You can take what you want, anděli. No one will punish you for it. I won’t let them.”

Angel. Oh, the irony. Irony turned certainty. Certainty turned reality.

So take you would. And you wouldn’t bother looking back at the things you’d left behind.

#arcane viktor x reader #hurt/comfort #arcane #gender neutral reader #viktor x reader #arcane x reader #arcane imagine #viktor arcane #league of legends #arcane season 2 #pretend like it's the first time

602 notes · View notes

wolf-of-hearts · 2 months ago

Text

HEARTHS FAVE SONIC SHIPS THIS TOOK SO LONG

Saw this trend & decided to do it as a drawing challenge instead of just listing them.

Explanations and Honorable Mentions (HM) under the cut c:

Firstly! i purposely made it that there was no character overlap, however i am a lite multi shipper so i will mention other ships that could of been there if i didnt avoid overlaps you'll also notice that

Silvaze will be an HM for a lot of them. what can i say, i love em c: Ship i loved at first sight (HM:Kunxouge / Silvaze)

Vectilla is just a nice ship, unconventional because you got this headphone wearing detective croc & a sweet stay at home mum rabbit, yet they get along & i feel if we saw more of em, they would have a deep trust for one another

Ship i initially disliked.

I fully credit punkinspice5 / punkinspicier on Twt for this, i originally didnt like shadouge but their art and stories convinced me and ive been sold ever since. another ship based on pure trust and have been through tragedies together for me to hoard

Comfort Ship (HM: Shadamy / Silvaze)

Sonamy is a ship that is just so pleasant to look at. especially their interactions in frontiers. its a feel-good ship for me, if i want to feel happy, its the one for me c:

Fave Popular Ship (HM: Shadamy / Sonamy / Sonadow)

Whispangle is a solid ship, lots of existing material to jump from with a really nice dynamic, i love opposites attract, the extroverted vs introverted vibe good. and as an angst fan, this page makes me very very happy & evil

Fav Rare pair

Surgolin is an uncommon ship, i dont see a lot of love for it but i truely think Lanolin is the only one who can out-bitch Surge in a way that actually gets her to listen. and i love two boss ass bitches in love what can i say

Controversial ship

I love mephinite /cause/ of how unhealthy & fucked up it would be.Inifinite who has lost everything & has a desire to prove himself, gets picked up by an entity who promises everything he wants, if he is willing to follow his word. also vengeance against shadow

First OTP

When i was a kid on the internet for the first time, watching Sonic X before school. Tailsmo is the ship i was always looking up. I liked the complementary vibe of Engineer with machines vs Literal plant with planets. Industry vs Nature, but happy and cute (mostly)

Current OTP

where do i start? Silvaze is only the ship i have been non stop drawing for the past few months. I love the deep trust, the wordless communication, the uncanny familiarity & the thematic strength. narratively it is one of the most facinating relationships.

they truly inspire me to create. Silver and Blaze being separated by ACTUAL time & space yet Fate itself seems to bend over backwards to keep putting them together. Cosmically bonded through thick and thin.

Thematically so interesting. to the point where i wanted to do a series of drawings based on their themes. Sun vs Moon, Time vs Space, Offense vs Defense, Gold vs Silver, Day vs Night, Emotion vs Logic, Song vs Dance (a hc one but im count it)

I could go on forever so i stop here

#art #artists on tumblr #illustration #sonic #sonic fanart #silvaze #vectilla #Shadouge #sonamy #whispangle #surgolin #mephinite #tailsmo

192 notes · View notes

steddielations · 1 year ago

Text

Upstaged | Part 2 | Part 1

It all makes sense.

When Eddie comes back from taking photos with the fans, he looks a little sheepish for the first time. Steve has about a million things to ask, mostly he just wants to laugh about the fucking odds, but he remembers the grace Eddie extended to him about the press ordeal.

Instead, he settles back with his lime soda and a simple question, “So, what kind of music are you into?”

A grateful smile breaks out across Eddie’s face, ecstatic to dive into that with Steve. Their lunch extends into dinner. Steve doesn’t have anywhere to be these days and Eddie practically jumps up and down when the meeting he was in the area for gets canceled. They stay there for a couple more hours, just talking.

Their music taste overlaps at certain points, Eddie talks about how getting his first guitar from the pawn shop pretty much saved him, Steve recounts a little league story that makes Eddie laugh so hard he chokes on his soda.

It’s the most monumentally casual time Steve’s ever had with a new friend in public and he’s not ready for it to end. Even after exchanging numbers and promising to meet up again, they still linger together outside.

“So uh, I remember where I know you from now."

Eddie leans against the side of the building. It’s getting dark, they’re tucked away from any eyes so Steve freely scoots closer to Eddie, waiting for him to explain. He does after a moment, seeming nervous and fiddling with his rings.

“I hate to ask, but my Uncle is huge into baseball, especially you and your general all-around-awesome thing. There weren’t players like you to look up to when he was young, all that. I’ve seen you on his tv so many times, you’re basically part of the family— ah shit, that’s weird, sorry,” he cringes a little, scrunching his nose in a way that makes Steve’s chest clench with affection, “But he’s getting old and like I said earlier, he’s my rock, he raised me and I won’t forgive myself if I don’t at least ask you to come see him sometime.”

The way he rambles is pretty endearing, looking at Steve with a wide-eyed hopeful expression, as if there was even a chance Steve would say no.

He reaches out, gently takes Eddie’s hand to stop his restless fidgeting, “You want me to meet your folks already, hm?”

Eddie lets out an amused scoff, looking down at their hands and back at Steve like he can’t believe it. “You’re not as funny as you think you are, Steve.”

Steve knits his brows, “Why’s that?”

“C’mon man. Y’know how hard it is to find someone who can handle this lifestyle, let alone all the shit that comes with me,” shaking his head a little, Eddie smiles but there’s something aching in it, “Then the nicest looking guy I’ve ever seen comes outta nowhere and saves my life, agrees to go to lunch, happens too know as well as me that life in the limelight ain’t always pretty and turns out to be one of the best people I’ve ever met.”

His fingers thread through Steve’s, holding tight like he’s not sure it’s real. “Even if I never see you again, I’m gonna write songs about you. I’d take you home and keep you right now if I could, but that’s not happening.”

There’s a part of Steve he’s kept shut down for years that comes pumping through his veins then, hot and alive. He realizes that he’s been trying so hard to keep his life as normal as possible that he’s been missing out on actually living it. Now he has this wonderful, crazy, wonderful man spontaneously in front of him and he’s not letting him slip away.

Steve moves in, slowly crowding Eddie against the wall. Eddie’s eyes go a little wide with surprise then darken with desire. Steve watches his face shift through so many emotions, his mouth parting with a soft gasp, wanting this just as badly as Steve.

“Wanna bet?” Steve asks before he crashes into Eddie again.

This time it’s a hot press of lips instead of a full-body collision, but it’s just as breathtaking.

Steve deepens the kiss, thrill prickling all across his skin when Eddie opens up for him right away. Steve licks passed the bright hint of lime on their tongues to get to Eddie. The heady taste of him makes Steve’s world spin, all the desperate noises between them going straight to his head.

“Want you so bad, Eddie, wanna keep you too,” he threads his fingers into all that hair, reveling in the shiver it elicits from Eddie, “God, just wanna have you.”

Eddie chases his lips, “You can, Steve, you can have me— please do.”

Steve loves the sound of that, going in for a longer, more indulgent kiss before pulling back.

“You can’t take me home tonight,” he professes hotly against Eddie’s lips, “My place is closer, you’re coming with me.”

#and at some point eddie admits that he's jerked off to steve's magazine covers before #might keep this going we'll see #steddie #steddie fic #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #rockstar eddie munson #famous eddie munson #famous steve harrington #rueswriting

3K notes · View notes

1800bitchcraft · 3 months ago

Note

If you ever feel up to it, you should write a little ticket with Ford going crazy feral facefucking the reader. Bonus points if he’s in college. Bonus points if it’s his first time getting a blow job.

A/N: This is so fun, I love it! Trying to get back into the swing of things with writing smut, too, and this felt like the perfect way to do it since I could probably get this one banged out pretty quickly, heh. Hope you like it my dear!

CW: blowjobs, first time, bimbo!reader, college!Ford, reader is the aggressor, Ford goes feral, face fucking, think that's it?

!!! MDNI OR ILL GET THE BROOM !!!

Smut below the cut!

Ford's head was pounding.

The house thudded with the music thrumming through its walls, the sounds of a million different conversations overlapping in a raucous cacophony that was sure to give Ford a migraine if the jungle juice in his hand didn't. Fiddleford had abandoned him ages ago, his more social counterpart being dragged away by the first pretty thing that caught his attention. He wasn't envious, no, but he was definitely more than a little put off. After all, it had been his idea to drag Ford out in the first place.

Well, he supposed that wasn't entirely true.

Truthfully, the invitation had come from the unlikliest of places: you. The pretty botany major in his econ class. He'd noticed you immediately the first day of class, how could he not? Always dressed like you were darting off to a photoshoot as soon as classes ended. Heels always at least 5 inches tall, setting you towering over half the people in your class. Curves like a coke bottle, clad in the perfect shades to match your skin tone and long, bouncy curls. Always wearing the shortest skirts or tightest pants Ford had ever seen. He wasn't the only one who noticed, of course. Wherever you went, there seemed to be a small flock of men and women alike, hanging onto your every word that fell from your glossed lips. Long lashes batting as you simpered and all around you, hearts were thudding out of their chests, Ford's included.

Honestly, you were lightyears out of Ford's league, and he knew you wouldn't have the slightest clue who he was. Or, at least, he thought he knew. When he ran into you a few weeks prior, he was surprised to see you stacking books on the back shelves in the library. He was even more surprised when he ran into you, scattering the books in your arms over the floor, and when he knelt down to help gather them, stuttering and stammering apologies, you had only laughed. A bright, warm sound like liquid sunshine and placed one perfectly manicured, soft hand on his arm.

"Don't worry about it, Stanford. Accidents happen," you shrugged lightly at him. Ford could only blink at you, mouth opening and closing dumbly for a few seconds before he found his voice.

"You- you know my name?" You'd laughed again, eyes crinkling in the corners as you smiled.

"Hard not to know the name of the pride and joy of BMU," you teased. Though, unlike when he was usually teased, your voice was warm, and your expression was inviting. Like he was in on the joke with you, instead of just being the butt of it. "Besides, it doesn't hurt that you're real easy on the eyes, too." You winked at him, and he flushed, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish expression.

"Ah- ha," he huffed out a nervous laugh and helped you stack the books back on the cart you were using. You stood close, too close. Enough so that he could smell the warm vanilla and brown sugar of your perfume. You flicked a wayward curl from your face, leaning even closer and looking up at him with a mischievous little smile, a glint in your eyes that made nerves flutter in his belly.

"Hm, looks like I was right," you hummed softly, almost to yourself. He cocked his head to the side, brows furrowed in confusion.

"Right about what?" He asked.

"That you're even cuter up close, especially when you blush," you cooed back, not missing a beat. Ford swallowed, his heart and stomach doing flips. You leaned up, tapping the tip of one manicured finger on his nose and giggled, leaning back down to your shorter height. A quick glance down confirmed you were wearing flats, a rarity for you.

"Gosh, you're so tense. D'you ever relax?" You mused, gently leaning against the shelf behind you as your eyes scanned him. He tugged at the collar of his sweater, suddenly feeling far too warm as his eyes darted around nervously.

"W-Well, I guess that depends. I think I do, but my roommate would probably disagree." He chuckled nervously, and you laughed, that mischievous look returning to your face.

"Hmmm.." You hummed thoughtfully, tapping your finger against your chin. Ford squirmed a little under your scrutiny. "How d'you feel about parties, Stanford?"

"Um, just- just Ford is fine. And, uh, I'm not sure. I haven't, um, been to many before. Or any, really." He gave and awkward chuckle then and you gasped excitedly. Eyes lighting up, you turned to rifled in your purse, which had been sitting on one of the lower shelves of the cart. Your skirt rode up and Ford just barely caught the flash of your pink silk covered cunt before he was roving his gaze up to the ceiling, squeezing his eyes shut and frantically trying to banish the image from his mind.

"Oh my gosh, that settles it! One of the guys in my chem class invited me to this party - total frat guy, I'm so not interested - and I wasn't even gonna go but," the sound of tearing paper hit his ears and he opened his eyes again, looking down to see you tearing a piece of paper from the notepad and turning back to face him. "You seem like you could use the opportunity to relax, and I'll definitely go and have a much better time if you're there." You held out the paper to him, eyes wide and hopeful.

"Ah, I don't know," he started slowly, rubbing the back of his neck and glancing away. When he looked back at you, you had visibly deflated. There was a slight puppy-ish quality to your gaze now, and a pout marred your pink glossed lips. You batted your lashes at him and Ford could feel himself beginning to cave when you parted your lips and spoke.

"Please?" That was all it took. Just that one, simple word, simpered out in the most pleading voice you could conjure and he was caving. Blushing and reaching out to take the paper from your grip.

"Yeah, okay," he muttered, and you perked up immediately. He had barely any time to react before you threw your arms around his neck. Hugging him tightly, breasts pressing into his chest from the confines of your too tight top. You were gone as quickly as you came, waving goodbye and telling him you'd see him then and wheeling your cart off to a different section of the library. Leaving Ford standing there, very confused, and only mildly aroused.

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

"There you are!" The familiar sound of your perky voice floated to his ears. He turned his head, spotting you in the doorway to the kitchen, and you tottered over to him somewhat unsteadily in your 5-inch pink heels.

"Whoa!" Ford exclaimed as you all but fell into him. Your drink, which was half gone at this point, sloshed up over the sides of your cup. He took it from your hand, setting it aside on an end table. "I think maybe you've had enough," he chuckled and you giggled back at him.

"I swear I'm not drunk!" You laughed, and he smirked. "M'jus' a lil' tipsy! I was startin' t'think you left me here all by myself!" You pouted at the thought, and he laughed again, shoulders shaking.

"Perish the thought," he teased, and you gasped in mock outrage, slapping his chest lightly. You seemed like you might've been about to say something more before your gaze drifted to where your hand rested on his chest. He blushed as you brought your other hand up to join, feeling the muscle beneath the shirt he wore, hidden by his burly frame.

"Oh," you breathed, and it was so soft he might not have heard it if he wasn't already so close to you. "You're- wow, I didn't expect that. Gosh, is it hot in here?" You quickly changed the subject, snatching one hand away and using it to fan yourself, though he noticed you kept one still on his chest. He cleared his throat, blushing so hard now he was sure you'd be able to see it, even in the lowlight of the crowded room.

"Ah, yeah. Ahem! S'a little warm," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck and deliberately not looking at you. It was because of this that he didn't notice your eyes roaming over him or the way you bit your lower lip slightly. Suddenly, he felt the warmth of your hand in his, tangling your fingers together, and you were marching off determinedly, tugging him insistently behind you. Even though he was bigger than you and could've easily shaken you off, the thought didn't cross his mind for a second. Not even when you pulled him up the stairs, hunting through the doors that lined the upstairs hallway until you found an open one, peeking inside to see it was empty and pulling him in behind you. You bumped it closed with your hip, and suddenly, the noise outside was muted. Seeming softer and far away. Ford's heart started to pound in his chest. You turned to him, back pressed against the door and looked at him through your lashes.

"Sorry about that," you murmured, not seeming sorry in the slightest. "There were too many people around, I just... wanted to be alone with you," you admitted and shrugged one shoulder as if that wasn't an earth shattering revelation.

"Me?" He repeated. "Why me?" Your brow furrowed adorably, plump lips twisting in a firm pout.

"Why?" You parroted back, sounding perplexed and almost... irritated that he would ask. He nodded slowly, sheepishly, feeling as if he'd done something wrong and praying he hadn't. "You can't be serious, Ford, I mean- look at you!" You gestured to him as if that would answer everything, and Ford's brow merely furrowed, confusion marring his features.

"I'm... not following," he admitted softly. You stared at each other then, staying like that for a few moments before you huffed a laugh.

"Oh gosh, you really don't know, do you?" You murmured, and he swallowed thickly. Your indignant pout had been replaced by a sultry smirk, eyes still glassy with alcohol but you weren't out of it by any means. You al but prowled towards him, and, instinctively, Ford walked back until his knees hit the bed. "Well, let me teach you something, yeah?" You murmured, planting your hands on his chest. You stared up at him, not moving or speaking, and belatedly, Ford realized you were waiting for him. He swallowed and nodded. When you merely raised a brow, he cleared his throat, lips parting.

"Yes, please," he said finally, all but begging. You smirked, triumphant, and then pushed at his chest. Ford went willingly, falling back onto the bed with a soft oof. He had no time to react, however, because you were quickly crawling into his lap. Tugging your tight skirt up until it bunched around your hips, not wanting it to tear as you straddled thick, burly thighs. You draped your arms over his shoulders, leaning in so close your lips were just a hair away from each other.

"Don't be shy," you cooed. "I want you to touch me." As if to emphasize your point, you grabbed his hands and brought them up to rest on your thighs. He hesitated a moment, then slowly slid them up and around, grabbing handfuls of the heart-shaped curve of your ass like he'd been dreaming of since you'd bent over in front of him in the library. He was rewarded with your soft, pretty moan, and Ford wished he could live in that sound.

"Stanford?" You murmured then, snapping his attention back to you but you were staring, instead, at his parted lips.

"Yes?" He answered, tongue darting out to swipe across them. Your eyes tracked the movement. He shivered as he felt your nails glide gently over his skin, stroking through the hair at the base of his neck.

"Have you ever," you paused for a moment. "Kissed someone?" He swallowed thickly, mouth going dry.

"No," he answered after a moment. You hummed thoughtfully, and he could feel your finger tracing idle patterns across the back of his neck.

"Do you want to?" You murmured finally, somehow drifting even closer without kissing him just yet. He couldn't hold back the groan that rumbled in his chest, hands squeezing at your ass.

"God, yes," he groaned, and you giggled softly. Suddenly, he was kissing you. Your soft lips pressed to his, slightly sticky still with the remnants of your lip gloss. He followed your lead, sinking into the feel of you pressed against him. The way you curled your fingers around the back of his neck and held him there, like you were scared he might pull away. He wanted to tell you there was no way in hell he would, but that would've required him to stop. So, instead, he simply settled for tugging you closer. Your hips fitting against his as you settled your cunt over his rapidly hardening erection.

You broke away then, unable to help it as a soft, panting moan ripped itself from your lips. Watching you closely, Ford's hands moved to grip the fat of your hips, tugging gently at them until you were rocking yourself along his cock. Your nails dug into his skin slightly, and he hissed, the soft, biting pain making his cock twitch against you. He kept rocking your hips into his, unwilling to relinquish the sound of your soft, panting breaths until the urge to kiss you grew to be too much again. He surged forward, settling his mouth over yours and dipping his tongue to coax yours into a wet glide. The kiss turned messy, and that only seemed to spur you on more. You could feel him under you, the shape of his cock where it was tugged against your damp panties making you shiver. You wanted, no, needed to see him. Now.

Ford only had a moment to mourn the loss of your weight in his lap before you were sliding down to your knees on the floor. He blinked down at you, dazed, pink smears of your lipgloss across his mouth. Your hands touched his knees, applying just a little bit of pressure to have them spreading wide. Giving you ample room to crawl just that little bit forward. Your eyes practically glittered with your excitement, fingers creeping towards the button of his pants before Ford was stopping you with a hand over yours.

"What-" his voice was hoarse. He swallowed. Jaw clenching, throat working. Then tried again. "What are you doing?" You looked up at him then, the picture of innocence as you batted your lashes at him. The sight of you there, perched on your knees between his legs, was anything but.

"I wanna see you," you said softly, as if it were that simple. Ford swallowed again, cheeks heating up.

"You- you don't have to-"

"Tch." You scoffed. Rolled your eyes and looked back at him with a devious little smirk. "I know that, silly," you murmured. Slowly, almost like an afterthought, you let one pink polished finger slide down his zipper. Just tracing its path between his legs. Ford inhaled sharply through his nose. "But I want to." Again, your lashes fluttered so sweetly. Your finger veered left, and suddenly, you were tracing over the ridge of him where he sat achingly hard in his pants. Ford watched your eyes dart downwards to where your finger lay. Watched your pupils dilate, your pretty plump lips fall open as your breath hitched. He could feel himself twitch under your scrutiny, and if the soft, barely there whimper you let out was anything to go by, you saw it too. Ford inhaled, tried to gather himself before speaking.

"I- it's not that I don't want to, it's just- I've never, um," he cleared his throat nervously. His hands fell to grip at his pant legs over his knees, bunching the fabric. You saw the struggle he was clearly having, and your heart ached. You figured he wasn't used to being pursued, but seeing how he acted now, you realized it had to run much, much deeper than that.

"Stanford?" You intoned softly. Reaching out to grab one of his hands and hold it to your cheek. When you had his attention again, you turned and pressed a kiss to his palm. "Wanna know a secret?" Ford raised a brow and nodded. Grinning, you let your hands rest on his knees again, sliding up and to the side so your fingers glided up his inner thighs. Ford cradled your cheek in his hand still, feeling it tethered him even as the sensation of your wicked fingers gliding dangerously towards his cock unmoored him. "I've wanted to get on my knees for you ever since classes started," you said finally, voice lowered almost conspiratorially. You chose that moment to glide your hand up so that your palm rolled over the head of his cock, a delicious friction and slide that had his head dropping back.

"Fuuuuuck," he huffed, unable to keep himself quiet for much longer. The noise you let out was needy, and he tipped his head forward to look at you again. Your eyes shone in the lowlight, a soft, pleading pout on your lips.

"God, y'sound so pretty. I can make it better, y’know, I want to. Please, Stanford? M'dyin' for it," you shifted, and it was a moment before he realized you were clenching your thighs together. The realization made him groan, and he shifted the hand on your cheek to stroke his thumb along your bottom lip.

"Yes, fuck, yes please," he said finally. Eagerly, you popped the button and zipper of his pants, tugging them down just far enough so that you could pull him free from his boxers.

"God, you really are a slut," he mumbled, though there was no heat or bite to his words. Nothing but warmth and fondness. You hummed softly in agreement, lips parting over just the tip of his thumb, tongue flicking over it curiously. Your fingers crept back up towards the button and zipper of his pants, eyes looking to him questioningly. Ford sighed, slipping his thumb free of your mouth as he slid his fingers back into your hair.

Oh. Oh, God.

You were staring. You knew you were, but you couldn't help it. You figured he was probably packing, most quiet guys were, but this? This was.. ridiculous.

He had to be at least 8.5 inches, maybe 9, and curved to the right in a way that you knew would have his pretty pink tip skating over all your sweetspots. He was thick, too. Your fingertips just barely touched as you wrapped your hand around him. He was cut, which gave you ample opportunity to ogle every inch of him and boy, did you. Ford had opened his mouth to say something, maybe gently chide you for staring, when all that came out was a strangled groan as you chose that moment to lean forward and slide the flat of your tongue over his slit, curling it slight so the tip dug into and slid over the sensitive divot that ran through his head and to his tip.

"Ohhh-" he huffed, falling to rest back on his forearms. His hand left your hair, and you barely noticed, preoccupied as you were with your new favorite activity. It wasn't gone for long, anyway. As your lips slid over the head of his cock, tongue sliding down and coating him in a thin sheen of saliva and oh, fuck, did you have a tongue piercing? His hand flew back to your head, fingers sliding and tangling into your curls. The slight pain as he tugged on them only made you wetter, and you moaned around his cock.

You sucked him off with a will and a passion, messy, sloppy slurping noises blanketing the room, interspersed with Ford's moans and grunts. His thigh twitched under your hand as you slid your fingers up, fondling his balls and stroking gently over that sensitive patch of skin just behind them in a way that had Ford jerking in your hold. His cock twitched, another messy spurt of precum lathering your taste buds as you moaned, sucking him down happily. His hand in your hair tightened, and he barely registered the force he used to push your head down, hips bucking. He shouted a moan, throwing a hand over his mouth to muffle himself, when he felt his cock slid down your throat.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck I'm- shit, m'sorry couldn't help it you feel- oh god, you feel so good, mouth is fucking perfect," he babbled and you squeezed your thighs together. He sounded fucked out. Voice low and hoarse, edged with just the barest hint of a whine. God, it was so hot. His grip in your hair loosened and you whimpered, pulling off of him with a soft pop!

"No," you whined, looking up at him with eyes glassy with tears, and that shouldn't have made him twitch like it did. "No, please, I want it. Use me, Ford, please? Promise I won't break. I just want you to feel good." You fluttered your lashes at him, letting his cock rest against your cheek as you planted wet, messy kisses down his shaft. He sighed shakily, renewing his grip in your hair. He wanted to be a stronger man, he did, but how could he when you begged for him so sweetly?

"A-Alright, just dig your nails into my thigh if it's too much, okay? Don't wanna hurt you." You nodded quickly, eagerly, and settled back on your heels. You opened your mouth, sticking out your tongue just enough so that he could see the little silver ball sitting in the middle of it. You guided him so that his tip sat on your tongue, pink and oozing precum that coated your taste buds. Using your hair as a handle, he tugged you forward. Just enough to have his tip sliding across that silver ball in the middle of your tongue. His toes curled, back arching slightly as the pleasure sparked along his nerves. He breathed out a heavy groan and kept you like that for a few minutes at least. Seemingly content to just bask in the sensation of that slick little piercing stroking back and forth along the sensitive divot in the head of his cock.

Your lashes fluttered, and your thoughts went soft and hazy. Lulled by the sensation of Ford's strong fingers in your hair, guiding you along his cock like a toy. You shuddered at the thought, an involuntary whine leaving you and vibrating into him. His hips jerked, a choked moan leaving his lips as he sank into the tight clench of your throat just barely. You sputtered around him, and obscenely sloppy, wet noise leaving you as you choked just a little on the intrusion. You looked up at him and locked eyes, and Ford felt you relaxed in his hold. He slid deeper and felt your throat clench around him reflexively. He didn't know what happened, really, but he guessed he just... snapped.

"God, you're so- so fucking pretty," he stammered. Pretty, kiss bitten lips were wrenched open by the moan that tumbled from his lips. He held your hair tightly, ensuring you couldn't pull away even if you wanted to, and pulled you further down onto his cock. Your answering moan vibrated into him, and he swore. "Fuck! God, yes, so fuckinfg pretty n'such- such a perfect - tight, god so tight - lil' throat just- fuck just look at you."

His voice had gone low and almost growly, and it made you embarrassingly wet. Your panties were ruined now. They had to be. And if his voice didn't do it, the way he was fucking your throat would have. Harsh, sudden snaps of his hips as he used his grip on your hair to meet his every thrust. Obscene slick, sucking noises bubbling from your open maw that, really, would've made a pornstar blush. Tears streaked down your cheeks, but still, you didn't ask him to stop. He waited for the bite of your nails in his thigh, but it never came. Instead, you seemed to lean into it. You looked dazed, almost dreamy, as he used your throat, and it was bringing his orgasm hurtling forward faster than he wanted it to.

"Oh fuck, fuck, I'm gonna- where- where d'you-?" He tried to stammer out his question but couldn't. You seemed to understand, though. But instead of demanding he pull away, you sucked at him harder. Tongue flicking over whatever part of him you could reach, desperate little moans vibrating around his cock.

"Oh god, y'really are a lil slut, huh?" He huffed, amazed and horrifically turned on. He groaned, eyes squeezing shut as the frantic, brutal pace of his hips stuttered. Thrusts turning messy and uncoordinated. "Oohhh- Oh fuck, if y'want it so bad then take it- take it, take it, take it." And take it you did. If he'd been looking, he might've seen the almost gleeful glimmer in your eyes as you felt him twitch and throb on your tongue. Once, then twice, then suddenly he was spilling down your throat. Cumming so hard his back bowed and he seemed barely able to breathe. His eyes crossed behind his lids, and his toes curled, feeling like you'd sucked the soul out of him.

You swallowed, of course, happily. Looking very much like the cat who got the cream as Ford flopped back onto the bed, breathless and desperately hoping this wasn't some elaborate wet dream.

"Well, I'm certainly wet, but this is not a dream, big boy," you giggled from your place on the floor, and Ford blushed when he realized he said that out loud. He moved to sit back up, to look at you, but you beat him to it. Standing on shaky legs and crawling into his lap, not before you'd stripped off your skirt, however. Now clad in only your tank top and lacy pink panties, you grinned down at him.

"Please... please tell me that is not a one-time thing," he panted, and you giggled. Trailing along manicured finger down his heaving chest.

"Oh, sweetie. I'm just gettin' started."

#ford pines x reader #ford pines #ford pines smut #gravity falls #stanford pines x reader #gravity falls smut #smut #gravity falls x reader #stanford pines #gravity falls x you

195 notes · View notes

moonstruckme · 7 months ago

Note

Omg 8k! I’m so happy for you love! May I request hot cocoa for poly wolfstar with the prompt “new years party” or “baking together”? (whichever one you choose!)

Thank you lovely!

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 728 words

“Well, what are we supposed to give them? Crackers?”

“I don’t see what would be so wrong with crackers,” says Remus, sounding already weary and increasingly vexed.

“Only crackers, though?” Sirius is in a restless mood, his excitement for tonight’s party mounting and the volume of his voice along with it. “I just don’t see how it can be possible that there aren’t any grapes left anywhere in town. Was there a grape plague I didn’t know about?”

“They were sold out. I don’t know what to tell you. Crackers will be just as good.”

“That’s a completely different food group, darling!”

“Sirius,” you call, hoping to spare Remus from further irritation (and thus spare Sirius from the consequences), “can you come tell me if this looks alright?”

You’ve strung lights all across the ceiling of the sitting room, strands of blue and white overlapping and casting the whole space in their glow. Sirius’ eyes seem to glimmer as he comes in, admiring your handiwork. He’s in his outfit for the party already, though you’re both waiting until later to do your makeup together. You’ve got plenty of time; it’s only just getting dark outside, and no one is expected to arrive until at least eight.

“This looks amazing, sweetheart,” he says, audibly relaxing. “It’s perfect; you’ve done beautifully.”

“You don’t think it’s too dim in here?” you joke.

Sirius grins as he walks over. You’re a couple of feet taller than him on your step stool, but he doesn’t seem to mind, touching his lips to your navel while his hands hold the backs of your thighs. You predict him and set your hands on his shoulders, sucking in a breath when he pulls you away from the step, lowering you down.

“How’d you manage it?” he asks, looking back up at the lights while his hand runs absently up and down the dip of your spine. A few of the white strands wink in and out, twinkling above you like stars. “I can’t even see any of the hooks.”

“They’re in there,” you tell him. It had taken you a while to figure out how to hide them well, but the abundance of lights ended up covering for you in the end. You take a piece of Sirius’ hair between your fingers, admiring the blue sheen on it. “Baby?”

“Hm?”

You press a kiss to his lips, gentle and loving. “Keep in mind that you’re the one who forgot we’d need food until the last minute,” you tell him sweetly.

Sirius pouts. “Why do I have to remember everything?”

“Because you’re the only one of us who wanted to have a party.”

“You said,” Remus recounts as he comes in, still sounding vexed but fond around the eyes, “and I quote, I’ll take care of everything.”

“Doesn’t bloody sound like me,” Sirius mutters. His hand is still moving affectionately over your back, though.

“Dove.” Remus graces you with a smile, ignoring your sulky boyfriend. “The lights look lovely.”

“Thank you,” you say, squeezing Sirius’ shoulder before pulling yourself from his arms. You take Remus’ hands and look up at him with your sweetest, most imploring eyes. “Can I ask you for a favor, please?”

Remus narrows his eyes at you like he knows what you’re about, but his lips twitch as he holds your fingers. “Hm?”

“You know that trifle you make for Easter?” You wait for him to nod. “If I went to the store and got the stuff, do you think you might be able to make it again tonight?”

You look to Sirius. “That’d be good, right? It might go nicely with the champagne.”

Sirius grins at you. “Brilliant girl. I’m remembering now why we keep you around.”

You turn back towards Remus. You can feel the power of Sirius’ pleading look adding to yours from behind you. After a long moment, your boyfriend capitulates with a sigh and a kiss to your head.

“Alright. I’ll make you a list.”

“Thank you, my love,” Sirius says, saccharine sweet.

“This party is more trouble than it’s worth.” Remus turns, too slowly to conceal his smile. “If anyone tries to make me sing karaoke, I’ll shut the whole thing down before midnight.”

Sirius’ expression looks crushed. “But—”

“Shh.” You pat his shoulder, watching Remus go. “James’ll harass him once he gets here. Pick your battles.”

340 notes · View notes

cherryredstars · 1 year ago

Text

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Oral Sex, Indirectly Mentioned Age Gap, Jealousy, Possessiveness, Mentions of Male Masturbation

Summary: An unwelcome guest arrives.

A/N: They’re back at it!!!

Word Count: 2.9K (Not Edited)

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3

He can hear you. Both of you.

There are two pairs of footsteps walking past his door. The lighter, softer ones are recognizable. The heavier ones are not. His eyes narrow at the noise, quickly lowering the volume of the TV. He can hear the rustling of keys overlapping with the sound of muffled talking. Your laugh cuts through the noise, and his head whips to his own door. He’s quick to get up, making his way to the door. He waits a few moments before opening it, casually looking to the left as he steps out.

You’re standing at your front door, just opening it when you turn to him. Your doe eyes blink at him, a smile on your face and a slight blush. It’s the first time you two have seen each other properly since the incident two and a half weeks ago. He takes the time to drink in the sight of you. You’re wearing a bubble jacket and a pair of jeans. On your head is a beanie with a logo in the front, causing your hair to stick to your face. Over your shoulder is the bookbag you use sometimes when the weather isn’t ideal for your usual tote bag. It’s a refreshing sight. Better than the dream versions that visit him in his sleep.

The sight quickly sours when his eyes register the boy behind you. He’s young, around your age. A classmate perhaps. He’s tall, but nowhere as tall as Miguel. He’s lanky, all long, thin limbs. Probably doesn't know the difference between barbells and dumbbells. He’s wearing a pair of gray sweats and a black sweater with a coat overtop. He has thick hair, styled to look ‘naturally’ messy. It looks like he got electrocuted. Three times in a row. By lightning. He has his own book bag thrown over his shoulder, and his smile slowly disappears when he looks at Miguel. He steps a little closer to you, a few inches separating his front from your back. The scene looks far too intimate for his liking. He would be considered ‘cute’ or ‘hot’ in a dorky way to any teenage girl.

The two size each other up. There's no competition.

“Hi, Miguel!”

Your face makes both of them turn away, looking down at you. You’re smiling wide at Miguel, and he feels way too prideful when you step towards him. He can’t resist the smug look he throws at the boy behind you. His arm reaches out, his fingers grabbing at one of the front pieces of your hair. From over your shoulder he can see the fetus glare at the possessive touch.

“Hi, mi nena. Who’s this you brought with you, hm?”

His voice is low, intimate in the fact that his words are softened for you. You seem to melt into the tone, your body self-consciously leaning in as you blink up at him. For a second you seem slightly confused, turning around to see the boy. It’s like you forgot he was even there. The boy loses his glare, giving you a small smile. You turn back to Miguel quickly, a slight flush on your cheeks. The attention you give him, even in front of your…guest, makes his heart sing and his cock stir. He’ll have to reward you for it later, when the time is right.

“Oh! He’s just my classmate, we have to work together on a project.”

Miguel smiles at that. He’s just a classmate. He’s not even considered a friend to you. It’s cute, the way you try to reassure him that nothing is happening between the two of you. But, that doesn’t nullify the fact that your classmate obviously wants to be something more than your project partner. Miguel trusts you completely. What he doesn’t trust is a young, horny boy near you. But he does have to admit, the dejected look on his face when you refer to him as only a classmate pleases something ugly inside of him.

Miguel’s finger rubs against your cheek before he lets your hair go, his eyes following the way your body shivers slightly at the contact. You stay leaned towards him, and Miguel has to resist the urge to coo down at you. Instead, he reaches both of his hands down towards your waist. Your body seems to melt into his touch, your eyes going dopey as his warmth seeps through the thick denim of your pants. If the two of you didn’t have a guest present and weren’t out in the hall, he would kiss you. Or eat you out against the wall. Whichever one crossed his mind first. He would have enough time for both if you let him indulge. But, again, he would have to save that for another time. Right now, he has to- very reluctantly- return you to your party.

His arms are quick around your waist as he turns you around, your body stumbling slightly from the speed. You seem confused as you’re now faced with your company, turning your head back to Miguel. You have a slight pout on your face, disappointment spreading as he pushes you forward slightly. You look like you’re about to protest, and as much as he’d love to have you begging for his attention, you have other matters to attend to. Miguel leans down, his breath warming your neck. He can’t resist taking a whiff of your dizzying smell, letting it invade his lungs and travel to his cock for safe keeping. He’ll make use of it later.

“Go do your work, mami. I’ll see you later, hm?” He whispers, eyes hungirly taking in the way your lips part and blush spreads across your face. You turn your face to him, a few centimeters separating the two of you. Your eyes hastily fall to his lips before meeting his eyes, muttering out a breathless ‘okay’.

Miguel smirks, opening his mouth to say something else when a rough cough breaks the moment. Both you and Miguel turn your heads, looking at the boy who seems slightly uncomfortable. He eyes the lack of space between the two of you, eyes dropping to where Miguel still grabs your waist. Good, at least now he knows who you belong to. Miguel slowly removes himself from you, and you give an apologetic smile to your guest. You begin to walk towards him, and Miguel lets you walk a step or two away before grabbing your wrist and pulling you back to him.

You bump into his chest with a soft noise, wide eyes looking up at him. Both of your arms are trapped between your body and his, and your breath stutters when he leans down. Miguel keeps his eyes trained to the boy behind you, loving the sour look on his face.

“I don’t want to hear any funny business. This will not be one of those types of ‘study sessions’, you understand?” Miguel says slowly into your ear, possessiveness seeping in with each word. You open your mouth to say something, but the words get stuck in your throat as you feel something hard pressing against your thigh. Miguel squeezes your wrist, pulling your attention back to where it should be, “Do I make myself clear, chica?”

The airy ‘yes, Miguel’ you practically whimper out will satisfy him for now. He whispers back a ‘sé buena’, letting you go and pulling away. Miguel keeps his eyes on your little frat boy for a few more seconds before he looks down at you. His hand falls to your chest, pushing you back slightly as he turns towards his apartment. You still have this dazed look on your face, and Miguel commits it to memory. Slowly, you turn around looking at your classmate briefly before walking into your apartment. He takes a second to follow you in, instead looking at Miguel with a tightened hold on his bookbag. You call out his name, and he disappears behind your closed door. Miguel scowls at the door before he slips into his own home, leaning against the door.

His eyes trail down his body to the hard on bulging through his pants. His hands slip through his waistband, palm connecting to the precum beading at his tip. He grits his teeth as he begins to tug at himself, the smell of shampoo and a dazed face running through his head.

___________________________________

He sits up on the couch when he hears your door open and close. He stays silent, picking up the sound of a singular pair of footsteps walking away until they’re gone. Miguel waits a few moments before getting up, running a hand through his hair as he makes his way to the door. He doesn’t bother to lock it behind him when he closes it, instead focusing on getting inside of your apartment. He stands in front of it, lifting a hand to knock before stuffing both of his hands into his pocket. He can hear you walking towards the door, and his cock stirs knowing you're all his now. He hears the lock click and a second later you open the door with a confused look on your face. Your expression falls away, mouth parting slightly at the sight of him. He smirks down at you, not needing an invitation before he walks in.

He lazily looks around, eyes narrowing on the heater panel on the wall. He fucking hates that heater. He turns back to you just as you lock the door and turn to face him. There is a sort of electricity running through the air, and Miguel’s eyes slide down your form half-mast. You’re still wearing your jeans, but now he can see the long sleeve shirt you were wearing under your coat. It isn’t skin tight, but he can still see the outline of your breasts in it. He can feel his cock twitch in his pants as he focuses on the slight swell, but his eyes come back to your face. You look bashful, obviously catching him eye fucking you. Miguel doesn’t feel an ounce of shame, walking up to you slowly. You back up against the door, back hitting the wood. He doesn’t stop advancing until his chest is mere centimeters away from yours. With his close proximity, you’re forced to look up at him, wide eyes blinking cutely up at him.

It makes his eyes darken, and his hand comes to your face and strokes just under your eye.

“How was your little study date?” He asks, a dark smile on his face.

Your lashes flutter rapidly, lips parting, “It wasn’t a-”

Your words die off as Miguel’s other hand presses against your pants. His fingers expertly undo the button, and soft unzipping comes after. You try to look down, but Miguel’s hand around your face grabs your chin and keeps you looking up at him. Your chest brushes against him with every breath you take. Your eyes are glazed over, and that dazed look paints your face again. Miguel’s thumb plays with your bottom lip, his smirk dropping slightly.

“I asked you a question. Are you gonna answer it?”

“I-” you stutter out, thighs pressing together. You can feel a wetness filling your panties and your cheeks flush. “It wasn’t a date.”

Your voice is soft as you confess it, and Miguel finally coos at you. His smile comes back, still condescending. He hums in thought, hands falling to your hips. Slowly, he begins to descend to the floor, “Yeah? Why don’t you tell me about what you did and I’ll decide for myself.”

You stutter out another response as you watch him, thighs almost crossing over the other to relieve the ache in between them. His thumbs stroke just under the waistband of your jeans, his fingers hooking into the belt loops as he begins to drag the denim down your legs. Your mouth parts as he looks up at you, but no words escape. He shakes his head with a chuckle, parting your thighs once your pants pool at your feet. He leans forward, and you yelp as he presses his nose against your panties. Your hands fly to his hair, whimpering out as he groans. He can feel your damp arousal through your soaked panties, and the smell of it is intoxicating. He can’t resist the urge to lick at it through the fabric.

“Miguel!” You gasp out, eyes wide as you look down at him. His pupils are blown wide as he moves your panties to the side, coming face to face with your naked cunt.

Your clit pokes out to greet him, and there is a soft glistening around your folds. All for him. He curses at the sight, his tongue lapping at the small bud. It causes you to shriek, hands tightening in his hair. Miguel smirks at the noise, pulling away from your addictive pussy for a few minutes.

“I don’t hear much talking from you, nena.”

You choke on your breath as he licks at you again, lips falling open. Your sentences are stuttering, incomplete babbles, mind getting lost in the pleasure he’s giving you. You’re saying something about researching and some dead poet, but Miguel doesn’t really care. Your head leans back against the door as he slurps at you, his tongue flicking against your swollen bud and teasing your folds. You cry out his name again when his tongue pokes at your entrance, catching the arousal that dribbles out. His hand comes to the back of your thigh, lifting it over his shoulder as he sucks on you. You let out a loud moan as his tongue slides inside of you.

The groan he lets out vibrates against your whole body, and he gets drunk on the taste of you. His tongue explores your wet walls, moaning whenever they contract around the slippery muscle. He can feel the arousal on his face, and he tries to bury himself deeper into your cunt. You can’t help the high-pitched noise that leaves your mouth as his nose bumps repeatedly against your clit, stimulating you to the point that your legs feel like jelly. You can feel your leg buckle from under you, and the only thing keeping you up is Miguel’s head pressing your lower body against the door.

Your hips buck into his face as he switches between tongue-fucking your hole and sucking on your clit. Your pussy pulses against his mouth, and you can’t help the grinding you do as you use your hold on his hair to move his face against you. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as he lets you guide him, his groans vibrating against you. Some whines and whimpers leave your mouth, a hot ball forming in your stomach.

“Miguel, I’m… please,” You cry out, making Miguel chuckle against you.

His movements speed up, tongue lavishing you like a man starved. His eyes are hazy as they look up at you, watching your twisted face. Your mouth falls open, hiccuped noises leaving you until your entire body tenses. You cry out loudly, head pressing deeper into the wood of your door as you release. Miguel moans against you, eyes closing as he greedily laps at you for a taste of your sweet cum. Your chest heaves like crazy, and your lower body jolts from the overstimulation his tongue is giving you. Your hands weakly try to push his head away, and he whines disapprovingly against you before he submits to your silent order.

Your face flushes as you look down at him, his chin glistening with spit and your arousal. You feel yourself pulse when he licks his lips, collecting the remaining juices there with a moan. Your body goes slack against the door, and Miguel gently eases your leg off his shoulder. Your hands fall to his shoulders, using him as a way to keep you up as his hand places your panties back into their place. The wetness still coating your underwear is slightly uncomfortable, but you quickly forget it when Miguel comes face to face with you again. His face is still shiny, but that hunger in his eyes seems satisfied for now.

“Don’t think I like that boy around you,” He comments, eyes scanning your face. Your body jolts when his thumb presses into your clit, making you gasp. “And don’t think for a second he can make you feel the way I just did.”

You’re left speechless again, only capable of staring up at him and nodding numbly. He leans down and kisses you quickly, a thin coat of the sticky remains of your own arousal coating your lips as he pulls away. He moves you slightly, your body pressing against his chest as he opens your apartment door. He’s quick to turn the two of you around, not wanting anyone to see you in your underwear and post-orgasm daze. His mouth falls to the top of your head, planting a kiss to your hair. He pulls away from you as he goes out in the hall, leaving you standing inside your apartment.

“Don’t bring anymore boys home, cariño” He calls out teasingly, that smirk still on his face as he closes the door behind him.

You blink at your door, confused on how he left so casually. You look down at your jeans on the floor, slowly picking them up and holding them to your chest.

Why does he always leave?

Pt. 5

Extra 1

Taglist: @xaaaaaaax @crimin4llyins4ne @tashames @kakashis-side-hoe @laysmt @byjessicalotufo @nice-nice-dazey @ella-unenchanted04 @iite-cool @synamonthy @elocinnicole @aristokatastrophy @migueloharastruelove @m00nl1ight @chiliwhore @colecassidysfav @sociallyunsure @bokutosprettylittlebimbo @jadeloverxd @pxtched @shotmrmiller @paranormalfool @pricklesandtickles @strawberryjuice9 @miguelbaby @urlocallocachica @monstera02 @araneol @slutfor-miguelohara @michgarquin @poutysprouty @cutestangelrose @prettygirlpattinson @bradleybradbradshaw @bunnibitez @hurricanekatrina-22 @la9106 @xxsugarbonesxx @miguels-cock-piercings @grapejuicenads @blueapplesiren @sukioyakio @kurootsumu @narcissa-anastasia @babeyling @lovespacedogs @x0tw0d57 @radiantlyfemme @emmyrxx @icedcoffeeisyummy

Join the Taglist

Join Cherry’s Discord Server

1K notes · View notes

froggiequarium · 5 months ago

Text

this thought came to me while i was searching up the princess & the pauper playlist to listen to once again so self-indulgent but:

imagine the princess and the pauper always being your default movie to put on when you were younger. you come home from school? you want to watch it. you cant go out cause its raining? movie time and its that one. you're sick? you play it to cheer you up.

at some point, maybe you don't even realize, you've watched it so often that every lyric of every song is tattooed into your memory, maybe even most of, if not all of, the dialogue.

now, imagine: you're not the only one this affects.

caleb would always tease you for watching that one same movie so often when there were so many other and much better ones to choose from in his words, but every time (if he wasn't caught up with something already) would be sitting right next to you, indulging you and watching the familiar scenes and songs play on the screen.

now, unconsciously, he's also committed the songs to memory, and even the accompanying dialogue between the lyrics without your knowledge.

so then one day you put it on, same as usual, and you're singing along to the songs because you just can't resist, and then to be a princess comes on, and you plan to listen to it through even though you know the lyrics, only for caleb's voice to recite the dialogue before the character onscreen breaks into song, and he so easily keeps up with it.

you're staring at him, absolutely baffled, mouth open in shock and he just looks at you with this satisfied look in his eyes as he carries on, and you manage to mumble along to the duet parts but you're so fixated on caleb the entire time and wow, does he have a nice singing voice......

at another point, the duet between the pauper and the king plays and you start, wondering if he'll join in on this one as well, and he does, and you're each singing your part of the lyrics and somehow you both seem to be getting just a little bit closer to each other, and then the singing overlaps near the end and you both recite it beautifully, an invisible force pulling your faces closer and closer that when the song ends and the two onscreen are gazing at the sunset, you're gazing into the same view in his eyes, so lost in the sunset of them as you feel his warm breath on your lips and wait for either of you to be brave enough to make the move before you watch them crinkle and he pulls back slightly, tilting his head as he looks at the screen.

"oh, i could've swore they kissed here.... hm."

and you blink up at him, heart hammering in your chest and face burning because there's no way he just did that.

"caleeeb!"

and he revels in your embarrassed pout gazing up at him through your lashes, so obviously upset at him.

"hm? what?" he leans down again slightly, mischief surrounding his irises. "haven't you seen this more than me? shouldn't you have known that?"

"that's.. not......"

you're stammering, knowing that he's messing with you, and thinking he's so cruel, dangling your desire right in front of you like that only to snatch it away all too easily.

so cruel for having all the power over you.

"i just thought..."

"what? you wanted to kiss me?"

"caleb! just— just forget it, its—"

at that moment, he grips your chin between his thumb and index finger, pulling your face towards his and crashing his lips onto yours.

when he pulls back, your eyes flutter open to see his pleased grin stretched across his lips, and you're completely stunned trying to process what just happened.

"hmm, what do you think?' he murmurs, smiling. "do i resemble the king or the male pauper more?"

you take a moment to think as you float back to reality.

"their names are dominick and julian."

he laughs at your little pout as you correct him.

"yes, yes, forgive me, princess," he replies, affectionately petting your head, your heart fluttering at the unexpected nickname as he settles in closer to you, eyes drifting back to the screen.

the movie has always served good memories for you, but now you have something even lovelier to associate it with.

155 notes · View notes

sourszt · 2 years ago

Text

𝐁𝐔𝐆𝐆𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐍 | 𝙘𝙤𝙘𝙠𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙜 + 𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙮

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 — buggy the clown x fem!reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — nsfw, cockwarming, authority kink, ‘sir/captain’ kink, bondage, riding, lap-sitting, slight dumbification, dacryphilia, buggy is a sadist, teasing, praise, creampie, use of “sweet pea” and “sweetheart”

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 — 1k words. i remember the vile thoughts i thunk when i saw live action buggy in that goddamn chair and one of them was how badly i wanted to be sitting in his open ass lap. so yeah this is based off of that, y’all can thank my brain for this one![kinktober m.list]

“did i tell you you could move?”

his voice was mocking and stern, cutting through the quiet like a dagger. it forced your spine impossibly straighter where you sat in buggy’s lap, drawing a strained whine from your throat.

though you weren’t even looking at him — your eyes squeezed shut as you tried to still your aching, trembling thighs, you could see the shit-eating grin he wore as he laughed at you.

“i asked you a question, sweet pea.” buggy’s gloved hand flew up and caught your jaw in a tight hold, eliciting a garbled cry from you. he forced your gaze down into his, his pupils dilating at the sight of tears gathering in your eyes. he cooed gently, granting you a sliver of hope that he would actually take pity on you.

after all, he’d been so cruel to you for the past hour. you deserved it, right? keeping yourself so still in his lap with your hands tied behind your back while you kept his cock nice and warm inside of your pretty pussy. you were working so hard to please your captain, yet he still scrutinized even the slightest give of your thighs and taunted you like this.

his eyebrows raised, slightly creasing his face paint, and he shook his head with obvious expectation. when no response looked to be forming on your pouted lips, his jaw tightened. his hand, detached from his wrist, circled around behind you and grasped your overlapping wrists, lifting your arms back up to your shoulder blades.

you cried out as your chest puffed out, a fat tear rolling down your cheek and soaking into his glove. “n-no, you didn’t tell me i could move.” your voice cracked relentlessly while you pleaded with buggy. it seemed to ease his outburst and he slowly lowered your hands back against your tailbone while his satisfied grin grew wider. “i’m sorry.”

his brows suddenly furrowed back together and his piercing blue eyes met yours again. “what was that, sweetie?” he whispered scornfully. you whined softly, fried brain scrambling to figure out why your apology wasn’t enough for him.

buggy’s eyes raked down your pitifully clueless face and he scoffed, releasing your jaw to reach down and grasp your hips, keeping them firmly in place as he harshly thrust his up into yours. his cock dragged deliciously against your walls and filled you to the brim, granting you the friction you’d been craving for so long.

“captain! i’m sorry, captain.” the name tumbled from your lips behind a loud moan, and buggy hummed lowly in response.

“atta girl. that wasn’t so hard, now was it, sweet pea?” his gloved hand now gently cupped the side of your face, smiling when you instinctively nuzzled into his warm palm. you shook your head with a gentle hum. “you’re bein’ s’good for your captain, hm?” you responded with a nod this time, eyes widening with silent pleas.

“can i cum, captain? please, ’t hurts s’bad.” you whined pathetically, waiting for buggy’s okay to start moving. even in such a desperate state, you still managed to listen to him. he watched several more tears race down your cheeks with excitement in his eyes, and your pleas seemed to fall on deaf ears for a while. god, how hopeless he was.

he enjoyed this. he enjoyed bending you beyond your limits until you broke over and over. until you were begging him with all of the air in your lungs to let you cum, completely deaf to everything and everyone around you with your only focus being him. his instruction, his touch, his cock.

he could feel the tremble in your thighs growing stronger against his hips, and he could see the rise and fall of your chest pick up in pace as your sobs became uncontrollable. your lips quivered with each beg, though he couldn’t tell anymore if it was because of your overwhelmingly visceral need to cum or because the pain of your arms squeezing together behind your back was finally catching up to you.

either way, he didn’t care. he wanted to drag it out for as long as he could before you wound up passed out on top of him or something, so he nuzzled his cheek into his closed fist and watched you some more, much to your dismay.

“please, can’t keep myself up much longer. i need to feel you, sir.” you babbled on mindlessly, praying that buggy would finally cave.

he did. his eyes fluttered shut the moment he heard a new term fall from your lips and he sighed. it was as if it was the answer he’d been waiting for.

“since you asked so nicely. go on n’ make yourself cum, sweet pea.” his little nickname for you made you whine as you sunk down onto his cock. he groaned at the feeling of your pussy spasming around him, and his hand reached out to gently stroke your sore thigh. “fuck, you take me so fuckin’ good, sweetheart.”

you whimpered at the praise and you immediately craved more of it, momentarily pushing the pulsing pain in your legs aside to bounce yourself on his cock. he filled you so perfectly, his tip kissing your sweet spot with each long, slow thrust.

both of your moans grew louder, buggy’s lips parting as his head fell back against his chair. his fingers curled around your hips, surely to leave bruises the next day, while he bucked up into you.

“that’s it, just like that — fuck,” he hissed against gritted teeth when your cunt squeezed around him.

your hips rocked into his a few more times before your legs finally gave up, your body rendered numb as a blinding orgasm hit you. your head lulled back and your body arched into buggy’s chest as you weakly rode it out.

buggy’s hands gripped your hips as his own orgasm crashed into him, thick ropes of cum filling you up inside. you whined at the sudden warmth of it, instinctively grinding your hips down into him. he chuckled breathlessly.

“lookit you, takin’ all of your captain’s cum so fuckin’ well. you did so good f’me, sweet pea.” buggy gently wiped whatever tears still stained your face with his thumb, his other hand hovering behind you to untie the rope that bound your arms all the way up to your elbows.

you were sure you wouldn’t be able to move — let alone walk after this, but you didn’t mind. so long as your captain was satisfied.

tbh this one changed my views on this clown. like i pictured him as lowkey submissive before this but now im just.

#kinktober #kinktober 2023 #one piece kinktober #one piece #one piece smut #one piece buggy #buggy the clown #buggy smut #buggy the clown smut #one piece buggy smut #op buggy #buggy x reader #captain buggy #buggy one piece #buggy opla #opla buggy #opla #opla smut

1K notes · View notes

knight-hiccup · 3 months ago

Text

𝐌𝐀𝐄𝐋𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐌 | Hiccup x Fem!Reader ₇

This is Chapter 7 to this Hiccup series -> Masterlist here. Previous Chapter : Next Chapter

Pairing: Hiccup x fem!reader Genre: romance, fantasy, suspense, drama, angst, dark, vioIence, friends to lovers, dark themes, heavy Viking lore, Norse mythology, canon divergence, slow burn Word count: 8.2k Warnings: This will have the lore of the films + shows but with much darker themes. Gore/blood, mentions of death, Norse mythology, some realistic dragon themes, more realistic scenarios, and mature themes starting at the point httyd 2 ark comes in, so, ofc NSFW. Any other warnings will be properly tagged upon story progression. A/N: Reader description not described besides clothing true to Viking/httyd fashion from time to time.

CHAPTER 7

The next day dawned over Berk with a crisp, golden light, the kind that turned the sea into a shimmering mirror and filled the air with a restless, electric hum. The village had returned from the dragon's nest yesterday now, their boats laden with stories and spoils—some so torn or missing that you wondered who didn't make it back this time.

Berk was lively more than ever again too, now the paths buzzed with life—more than you cared to tangle with. You set out for the cove alone, deliberately skirting the busy lanes where Vikings hauled crates and logs for more construction, their voices overlapping in a chaotic din.

You stuck to the quieter trails, your boots crunching over dirt and stone as you wove through the underbrush, dodging the main routes where the air thrummed with the clatter of carts and the shouts of haggling fishmongers and traders.

As you slipped past a cluster of houses, a pair of burly Vikings lugging a barrel of mead nearly pushed you over, their laughter rumbling as they steadied their load.

"Oi, watch it!" one called, but his grin was friendly, his beard flecked with rye.

"You headin' to the arena later? Hiccup's up against the Gronckle—can't wait to see what the lad's got. Never seen him in action proper-like that is," A man asked his friend beside him a little way from you.

His companion nodded, wiping sweat from his brow. "Aye, who would've thought hm? Stoick's boy's been quiet about it too—haven't even seen the lad, but I hear he's got tricks up his sleeve. Gonna be a sight!"

You sidestepped them, your pulse ticking up—not from their chatter, but from the thought of Hiccup, and his unknown plans for the Gronckle later. Speaking of the devil, he was currently waiting for you beyond the village's noise. Further along, a gaggle of kids darted across your path, wooden swords clacking as they play-fought, their high-pitched voices cutting through the morning.

"I bet Hiccup tames that Gronckle in ten seconds flat!" One piped up, swinging his stick wildly.

A girl with cute braids snorted, shoving him. "Nah, he'll trip over his own feet first—then tame it!" They dissolved into giggles, oblivious as you edged around them, ducking under a low branch to keep your distance.

Their excitement hung in the air, but your mind was already drifting—to the cove, to him, to the way your heart seemed to skip a little harder every time you saw him thanks to these past few weeks.

The village's clamor faded as you broke free of the outskirts, the wind picking up to tug at your tunic with that familiar faint salt-and-pine bite. You couldn't fight the smile creeping across your face, wide and unguarded, as last night flooded back—the rush of Toothless' wings, and their powerful forms weaving through the air with a rhythm that thrummed in your bones.

The aurora that had shimmered overhead, a cascade of emerald and violet ribbons rippling across like Valhalla welcoming you, casting an otherworldly glow that danced in your eyes. Hiccup's warmth pressed against your back, his frame a steady anchor as his arms encircled you, holding you close.

Each jolt of the Night Furys' flight pressed him tighter against you, his heartbeat a soft, quick thud pulsing through your tunic, syncing with the rush of the wind. His voice, low and earnest, wove through the gusts next to your face—making your heart race.

Your cheeks warmed, and you shook your head with a soft laugh, kicking a pebble down the trail. It'd been. . .everything. A feeling in the moment you couldn't quite name at first, but now, with each step, it was growing clearer. Your crush on him had been simmering, bubbling up over these weeks of stolen moments and shared secrets, each glance and laugh stitching you closer than you'd ever been growing up as childhood friends.

Your heart skipped again, just thinking of him, and this time you didn't brush it off—you liked it—felt it settle deep in your chest: your feelings for him were real, confirmed in the quiet thrill of last night's flight and it made you warm to think maybe he felt it too when you had felt his own heart race.

The cove loomed ahead as you crested the final rise, its rocky cliffs jagged against the brightening sky. You paused at the edge, peering down, and there they were—Hiccup, Toothless, and Menace—waiting below. Hiccup stood by the water, one hand scratching Toothless' neck as the dragon huffed, restless, his arm swishing.

Menace perched on a rock next to them, gnawing a fish with her good wing fluttering, her yellow eyes flicking up as she sensed you. Hiccup looked up too, spotting you against the cliff's rim, and his face lit with a smile—bright, unguarded, crinkling his eyes in that way that made your stomach flip and your heart stutter all over again. He tilted his head, nodding toward Toothless in a silent, eager "Let's go fly", the dragon bouncing slightly as if he'd burst if he waited any longer for you.

You stood there a beat, caught in the sight of him—of them—and felt your blush deepen, heat creeping up your neck as his grin sank into you, tugging at that growing ache in your chest.

Shaking your head at yourself, you muttered, "Gods, pull it together," under your breath, but the smile wouldn't fade—not when you knew what it meant now, not when he made you smile like this, not when he was down there waiting for you.

You started down the steep path, boots squishing on mossy stones and grass as you descended, anticipation sparking with every step, your feelings for him a quiet, growing-steady flame you couldn't—and didn't want to—put out. Hiccup watched you the whole way, that quiet warmth in his gaze, and Toothless warbled a greeting as he met you, his excitement mirroring the flutter in your chest as you gave him a hug then headed toward whatever waited in the sky today.

The sun blazed high overhead, its light spilling across a boundless blue sky as Toothless soared far beyond Berk's prying eyes. You'd left the village's chatter and everything behind, the cove shrinking to a distant memory as Hiccup guided Toothless into the open expanse above the sea.

This time, you were behind him on the saddle, your arms wrapped tightly around his waist, fingers digging into his tunic to keep from slipping. The wind roared past, sharp and wild, tugging at your hair and stinging your cheeks, but you pressed yourself closer, your chest flush against his back and chin resting on his shoulder as you smiled.

Toothless banked into a wide, lazy arc. Menace clung to your shoulders, her small claws gripping your tunic like it was no big deal, her tail coiled snugly around your upper arm for balance. She chirped occasionally, her good wing fluttering against your neck as she basked in the ride, utterly unbothered by the height or speed—enjoying it to the fullest.

Hiccup's shoulders shifted under your grip as he adjusted the reins, and though you couldn't see it, his face burned an endless red beneath his windswept hair, a sly smile tugging at his lips every time your hold tightened.

"You good back there?" he called over the rush, his voice teasing but soft, like he already knew the answer.

You huffed, burying your face briefly against his shoulder to hide your own flush. "Fine—just don't drop me, dragon boy!" you said back, and he laughed, the sound bright and warm, vibrating through you where you pressed against him.

Toothless swooped low over the waves, his wings skimming so close that saltwater sprayed up, misting your face. You yelped, clinging harder, and Hiccup chuckled again, tilting his head just enough to catch your eye

"Thought you'd like a closer look!" he said, grinning as Toothless pulled up sharply, climbing back into the sky with a triumphant warble.

Menace squawked in delight, her tail flicking against your arm, and you couldn't help but laugh too, the thrill bubbling up despite yourself.

"Show-off," you muttered, but your arms stayed locked around him, your heart skipping—not just from the flight, but from the way he leaned into it, like he wanted you to feel every second.

They kept it up—Hiccup and Toothless taking turns flexing for you in their own ways. Toothless spiraled into a tight corkscrew, his wings cutting the air with precision, and Hiccup whooped, throwing you a quick, proud glance over his shoulder.

"See that? Perfect control!" he said, his voice laced with that quiet excitement you'd grown to adore.

You shook your head, tightening your grip. "Yeah, yeah—don't get cocky."

But your smile gave you away, and he caught it, his own widening as he nudged Toothless into a gentler glide, letting you catch your breath. The dragon leveled out, coasting over a cluster of tiny islands, and Menace stretched her neck, nuzzling your cheek with a soft purr.

"She's enjoying this so much," you said, and Hiccup's laugh drifted back. "She's not the only one."

The air stilled for a moment as Toothless floated high above the clouds, the world below a distant patchwork of blue and green. You rested your chin on Hiccup's shoulder, your arms loosening just a fraction as you took it in—the sun blazing bright, the horizon stretching endless.

His hand brushed yours on his waist, a fleeting touch that sent a jolt through you, and you wondered if he felt it too—this quiet, growing thing between you.

"It's. . .so beautiful up here," you admitted, your voice softer now, and he nodded, his head tilting closer.

"Yeah. It is." His tone matched yours, low and warm, and for a beat, it was just the two of you—Toothless' steady breathing muted, Menace's faint chirps quiet, the wind a gentle hum around you as you felt both your hearts beat.

But Hiccup wasn't done. He glanced back at you again, a glint in his green eyes, and before you could ask what he was up to, he clicked his tongue.

"Hold on tight," he warned, his sly smile creeping back.

You barely had time to protest—"Hiccup, what—?"—before Toothless tucked his wings and plunged into a steep dive.

The world flipped, your stomach lurching as you screamed, arms snapping around Hiccup's waist in a death grip. The sea rushed up fast, a glittering wall of blue, and you buried your face against his back, your heart hammering as the wind tore past. Menace squealed, her claws digging in as she clung to you, her tail whipping wildly around you again, but Hiccup just laughed—bright, reckless, his shoulders shaking under your hold.

He wanted this, you realized through the panic—wanted you to cling to him, to feel the rush with him—and it worked. You pressed yourself so close you could feel his heartbeat, fast and alive beneath your hands, and despite the terror, a shaky laugh broke free.

"You're insane!" you yelled, but he only grinned wider, unseen, his face alight with a flush he couldn't hide.

Toothless pulled up at the last second, skimming the waves before soaring back into the sky right before flying under the arch of a rocky cliff and you loosened your grip just enough to breathe, your forehead resting against Hiccup's shoulder as your pulse slowed.

"Why do you insist on doing that," you muttered, but your arms stayed around him, and he didn't move, his hand brushing yours again as he murmured, "Because it's worth it."

The flight stretched on, the four of you weaving through the daylight—Toothless showing off with flips and dives, Menace purring against your back, Hiccup stealing glances you didn't catch, his quiet smiles tinged with something new.

Toothless's wings flared as he swooped low, the wind easing into a gentle hum as he circled a small cliff island jutting out of the sea a little way behind the island of Berk—a rugged slab of rock crowned with patchy grass covered in snow, trees and framed by crashing waves down deep below. It was tucked far enough from Berk to stay hidden, a perfect slice of nowhere just for you. Hiccup grinned over his shoulder, his hair still wild from the flight, and nodded toward it.

"How's that for a new spot?" he asked, his voice bright with the thrill of discovery.

You peered past him with a smile. "Looks like ours already," you said, and Menace chirped from your back, her tail flicking against your side as if she approved too.

Toothless touched down with a soft thud, and you slid off the saddle, stretching your legs as Menace hopped down from your shoulder to scamper across the grass, her broken wing twitching in her soft makeshift wing-sling for her recovery. Hiccup rummaged through a satchel tied to the saddle, pulling out a bundle of bread with cheese for you both, and fish dor the dragons, and a small jug of water—lunch scavenged from the village before your escape.

You settled on a flat stretch of rock, the sun warm against your back as he plopped down beside you, passing you a chunk of bread. Toothless flopped nearby, gnawing on his own fish, while Menace darted over to steal a nibble, earning a grumble from the bigger dragon.

You laughed, tossing her a fish of her own, and Hiccup shook his head, smirking. "She's got you wrapped around her claw."

The conversation flowed easy as you ate, the sea's rhythm a quiet backdrop. Hiccup leaned back on his hands, staring out at the horizon before his voice dipped, a little hesitant.

"So. . .my dad was waiting for me in the forge when I got back last night," he said, picking at a piece of bread.

You glanced at him, eyebrow raised. "Oh? How'd that go?"

He let out a sigh, a faint chuckle escaping his lips. "It was loud, chaotic, and honestly, pretty confusing. Awkward, too as usual. He slapped my shoulder so hard I stumbled backward and crashed right into a basket. Told me he was proud of me—kept going on about it. Then he launched into this whole speech about 'warrior spirit' and 'mounting dragon heads' and how—" He trailed off, a slight frown creasing his brow as he sighed again. "For once, it felt like we actually had something to talk about."

You bit your lower lip, shifting closer to him, your voice soft and reassuring. "Hey, it's some start right? Something small to go on. He might not see you like I do—yet. But he's going to get there. He's proud of you, Hiccup. I am too. And I'm glad you got that moment with him."

His eyes softened, a small, appreciative smile tugging at his lips as he nodded faintly, clearly touched by your words.

He paused mid-thought, a grin slowly pulling at the corners of his lips, like he couldn't quite believe what he was about to say. "He gave me a Viking hat," he announced, his voice carrying a mix of amusement and something softer, almost shy. Your eyes lit up, and a delighted laugh bubbled out of you in pure glee.

"Though—um, the thing is—," He faltered, letting out a sigh that was heavier this time, tinged with embarrassment. His cheeks flushed faintly as he rubbed the back of his neck. "It's a matching set with his."

"Oh?" you said, tilting your head, curiosity sparking in your voice. "Why does that embarrass you?" You leaned in a little, genuinely puzzled, trying to catch his gaze as he avoided it.

He shifted uncomfortably, his hands fidgeting in front of him. "It's not that part that embarrasses me," he clarified, his tone dropping as if he were confessing something delicate. "You see, the hat is—or, well, it was—my. . ."

He hesitated, his hands moving slowly, almost reverently, to trace the air in front of him, forming to cup each side of his chest like a breast holder. "My mom's."

"And?" you pressed, your brow furrowing in confusion at that and him cupping himself as if he had a boob, still not quite piecing it together. You watched him closely, waiting for the rest of the story to unfold.

Then, all at once, the words tumbled out of him in a rush, too fast, like he was trying to get it over with. "It was a part of her breastplate," he blurted, his face turning a deeper shade of red as he glanced away, clearly mortified by the admission.

You stared at him for a split second, processing his words, and then it hit you. A snort escaped before you could stop it, "Oh, gods, Hiccup—," and then you were gone—laughter erupted from deep in your chest, loud and uncontrollable.

You doubled over, clutching your stomach as your whole body shook with the force of it. Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes as you gasped for air, rolling onto your side in a helpless heap, the image of him wearing his mom's old breastplate-turned-hat too much to bear.

He watched you, a sheepish "ha-ha" slipping out as he reached into his bag and pulled it out—the Viking hat, slightly dented and unmistakably shaped like a curved, metallic cup. The sight of it in his hands sent you into another fit, your laughter peaking so hard it went silent, your mouth open in a wheeze as you flailed weakly staring at it then him.

He chuckled, louder this time, his own embarrassment melting into amusement at your contagious reaction. "Hey, come on, breathe," he teased, holding the hat up like a trophy, his grin wide and playful as he watched you struggle to regain control, your silent laughter only making him laugh harder too.

"Boob—," you finally managed to choke out between gasps, pointing at the hat with a trembling hand, "You're—you're wearing a boob holder—," Your voice cracked, and you dissolved into another round of hysterics, barely able to get the words out as he shook his head, laughing along with you.

The laughter gradually softened, fading into the quiet rustle of the trees around you, both of you catching your breath as the absurdity settled. He shook his head with a grin, still holding the Viking hat, and then—almost impulsively—plopped it onto his head. It sat there, slightly crooked, the faint dents and curves of its origins still visible. You sat up, wiping a stray tear from your eye, and noticed a strand of his messy auburn hair falling into his face, half-obscuring his eyes.

Without thinking, you reached out, your fingers brushing lightly against his forehead as you tucked the strand back under the edge of the hat, adjusting it so it sat just right. His laughter quieted, and he froze, staring at you with wide eyes. A soft flush crept up his neck, tinting his cheeks as he blinked, caught off guard by the gentle gesture.

"It suits you, Hiccup," you said softly, your hand lingering for a moment before you pulled it back, offering him a warm smile.

"Haha," he let out a nervous little laugh, ducking his head slightly, the blush deepening, but you mistook it for in a mocking way.

"No, really!" you insisted, your tone earnest as you leaned forward a bit, your smile growing. "Really, you earned it. You have."

There was a sincerity in your voice, a quiet pride that made your words feel heavier, and you held his gaze just long enough to see his shy smile bloom in response. His eyes darted away for a second, then back to you, the corners of his mouth twitching upward as he nodded faintly.

The suns light shifted to catch you at a soft angle, gilding your hair and tracing the curve of your smile. Hiccup's gaze lingered, unnoticed at first, his breath catching as he watched you tear off another piece of bread, the golden glow painting you like something he couldn't quite look away from. His chest tightened, a quiet ache he didn't know as he furrowed his brows at the feeling, and when you glanced up, catching his stare, you tilted your head.

"What? Do I have food on my face?" you asked, brushing your cheek self-consciously.

He blinked, startled, and coughed into his hand, his face flushing red. "Uh—yeah, yeah, just a little," he lied, gesturing vaguely at your chin.

You didn't—your face was clean—but he couldn't admit he'd been staring because the sun hit you just right, because you looked. . .pretty.

You swiped at your mouth with your sleeve, muttering, "Gods, that's embarrassing," your own cheeks tinting pink as you scrubbed harder than needed.

Hiccup bit his lip, stifling a smile, and turned his gaze to the sea, then pretending to focus on Toothless rolling in the snow. The moment passed, but the air felt heavier, charged with something neither of you touched—too shy, too unsure. Lunch wrapped up too soon, and Hiccup sighed, brushing crumbs off his hands.

"Gotta head back—training with Gobber. Gronckle match prep." He stood th0ugh he wished not to, then offered you a hand, and you took it, your fingers brushing his as you rose.

"Yeah, and I've got kitchen duties piling up," you said, grimacing. "Marta's been on me ever since the trials were over for me—says I owe her for all the shifts I missed."

Menace scampered up your arm to perch on your shoulder, and Hiccup climbed onto the saddle, patting the spot behind him as he gave you a hand. The flight back was quieter, your arms around him again, the cliff island shrinking behind you as Berk loomed ahead—a new secret spot tucked away for you, him, and the dragons, a little piece of peace you'd claim again soon—at least you hoped.

Three long, restless days had crawled by since your escape to the cliff island, with each day stretching out like an eternity under the looming dread of the final trial—the decisive clash that would crown the victor with the honor of slaying the Monstrous Nightmare. In that time, Hiccup could barely escape the watchful eyes of his father so it was up to you to bring sacks of fish to the dragons and in that time neither of you could go flying as Stoick and Gobber insisted Hiccup work endlessly.

Berk roared to life everyday now. Heavy with spoils and their tongues wagging with tales of valor that only stoked the fire of anticipation—thrumming with a feverish energy, the air thick with the scent of sweat, smoke, and expectation, and you could see it pressing down on Hiccup as the hours ticked closer to the moment of truth.

The night before the trial, Hiccup and you had carved out a rare pocket of stillness, tucked away in the familiar warmth of your small home where no one could bother him—save Gobber of course. The hearth glowed low, its embers casting a dance of flickering shadows across the rough-hewn walls, painting the room in hues of amber.

You sat across from him at the scarred wooden table, a bowl of stew cooling in front of you both, its steam curling upward like a ghost in the dim light. Hiccup leaned forward, his elbows digging into the hardwood, his voice a hushed thread of determination that wove through the quiet.

"I'm not gonna fight it—not really," he confessed, his green eyes flicking up to meet yours, searching for a flicker of doubt or understanding in your gaze.

"The Gronckle. . .I'll dodge it, let Astrid take it down. She'll win, and I won't have to—," He broke off, his hand rubbing the back of his neck, a nervous tic you'd come to recognize over these past weeks spent with him and of this match growing closer.

"It'll disappoint everyone, I know—my dad especially—but I can't do it. Not after Toothless, not after everything we've seen. I can't. . .kill a dragon."

His words hung heavy, laced with a quiet resolve that made your chest tighten—pride for his courage warring with a gnawing worry for what it might cost him. You nodded slowly, your fingers tracing the edge of the bowl as you studied him, the firelight catching the sharp angles of his face.

"They're expecting a show—blood and glory, the whole Viking mess," He sighed, a faint, crooked smile tugging at his lips, the kind that always softened the tension in the air between you.

"Yeah, well, they'll get one—just not the one they want. You'll give them a stumble and a dodge, let Astrid shine this time. It's better this way," you agree.

The conviction in your tone had settled over him like a blanket, and though the weight of tomorrow loomed, you couldn't help but trust him—believe in him no matter what choice he went with.

The day of the trial arrived with a biting chill, the sky a stark, pale blue that seemed to sharpen every sound and edge in the arena. You perched high above the pit on a rickety wooden bench, the rough planks groaning under the weight of the packed crowd—villagers' shoulder-to-shoulder, their breaths misting in the cold as they craned for a view of the spectacle below.

The village had turned out in force since their return, warriors still clad in battle-worn leather, kids perched on shoulders, elders muttering predictions through grizzled beards. You leaned forward, your hands gripping the splintered rail until your knuckles whitened, your voice rising above the din as you cheered for Hiccup with all the strength your throat could muster.

"You've got this, Hiccup!" you shouted, the words raw and fierce, though they barely pierced the roaring sea of noise around you.

Down in the arena, he and Astrid stood ready, two figures dwarfed by the towering walls of timber and stone. Hiccup glanced up, his auburn hair messy and Viking hat catching the light as his eyes found yours for a fleeting second, and he flashed that nervous, lopsided grin.

Beside him, Astrid stood poised, her axe gleaming in her grip, her jaw set into a frown of determination with the focus of a warrior born for this. The Gronckles' gate rattled, a deep groan of iron and wood, and then it swung wide, unleashing the Gronckle into the ring—a rolling mass of scales and grunts, its stubby wings buzzing as it lumbered forward. The crowd erupted, a tidal wave of sound that shook the stands, and you held your breath, eyes locked on Hiccup as the trial began.

It unfolded slowly but like a dance—one Hiccup had choreographed in his mind but couldn't quite control. Astrid charged in first, her movements a blur of precision and power, her axe slashing through the air as she drove the Gronckle back with a flurry of strikes before it knocked her where she then hid.

Hiccup played his part, skirting the edges of the pit, his lanky frame darting and weaving as he dodged the beast's lumbering charges and spurts of molten lava—hiding behind each wooden wall. You bit your lip, watching him stumble, barely sidestepping blasts with quick, clumsy grace—letting Astrid take the lead, just as he'd planned.

You watched as Hiccup and she ducked behind the same weathered wooden wall, their figures partially obscured by the rough plank barriers. She leaned in close to him, her lips moving as she says something too quiet for you or anyone else to catch. A moment later, she darted out with a quick, graceful leap, slipping behind another wall a few paces away, leaving Hiccup alone.

He rose to his feet slowly, letting out a long, exasperated sigh. His gaze flicked toward his dad, then over to you. With a half-hearted shrug, he nudged the Viking hat back on his head, the gesture almost automatic, and flashed a tight, unamused smile—more of a grimace, really—that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Just then, he caught sight of you frantically waving your arms, your wide eyes locked on something behind him. He paused, brows furrowing in confusion, until you jabbed a finger in the air, pointing urgently. He turned just in time to see the Gronckle barreling toward him, its stubby wings buzzing furiously as it hurtled through the air, a blur of scales and rumbling growls aimed straight at his back.

The crowd cheered Astrid on, their voices swelling with each near hit, but the Gronckle wasn't following the script like Hiccup had planned. Its beady eyes narrowed, locking onto Hiccup as if it sensed his reluctance, and it barreled toward him, head lowered, a snarl rumbling from its throat.

He froze, feeling cornered, his plan unraveling in a heartbeat. Your stomach dropped, a shout catching in your throat, "Hiccup, move!"

But before it could escape, he acted. In a flash, his wrist flicked, a pinch of dragon nip tumbling from his sleeve like dust in the wind. The Gronckle skidded to a halt, its snout twitching as it sniffed the air, then collapsed at his feet with a heavy thud, dazed and drooling, its tongue flopping out in a stupor. The arena went dead silent, a collective breath held, then exploded—cheers, gasps, shouts of disbelief crashing together like thunder.

Astrid had already launched herself forward, axe gripped tightly in her hands, her legs pumping as she charged toward the scene. But she could see it was too late—the Gronckle was down at Hiccups mercy. She skidded to a stop, her boots scuffing, then let out a furious wave of swears and curses, her voice sharp and biting as she waved her axe in the air, frustration spilling out in a chaotic mix of Viking grit and exasperation.

At that moment, Gothi, the village elder, shuffled forward, her hunched figure cutting through the chaos. Her gnarled staff tapped rhythmically against the ground, a sharp, insistent sound that demanded attention. The crowd’s clamor began to falter as heads turned toward her.

“Wait! Wait!” Stoick’s booming voice rose above the din, his massive hand waving high to silence the uproar. “Okay—quiet down! The elder has decided!”

Inside the arena, Gobber stepped up, his broad frame positioning Hiccup and Astrid on either side of him like a gruff referee. The tension hung thick in the air as he raised his hook-hand first, hovering it above Astrid’s head. The crowd held its breath, watching Gothi for her verdict. The elder’s wrinkled face remained stern as she gave a firm shake of her head—no. Astrid’s shoulders slumped slightly; her axe still clenched tight.

Then, with a flicker of surprise, Gobber shifted, lifting his intact hand over Hiccup’s head instead. The motion felt almost hesitant, as if he couldn’t quite believe it himself. Gothi’s expression softened into a rare smile, and she pointed her long finger at Hiccup with a decisive nod—yes, and Hiccup is chosen.

The arena erupted. Cheers exploded from every corner, a roaring wave of sound unlike anything you’d ever witnessed for Hiccup before. It was wild, unrestrained, a thunderous celebration that shook the wooden stands and metal chains and echoed off the stone walls.

“Oh! Ye’ve done it! Ye’ve done it, Hiccup!” Gobber shouted; his voice nearly lost in the frenzy. “Ye get to kill the dragon!”

Hiccups eyes widened, the Viking hat still perched crookedly on his head, as the weight of the moment—and the crowd’s deafening approval—crashed over him.

You leapt to your feet, a wild mix of fear and pride surging through you, your voice joining the chant of his name as it echoed through the stands. He stood there, his chest heaving as he stared at the fallen Gronckle, his expression a tangle of shock and dread—nothing like the triumph the crowd expected.

Astrid lowered her axe, her jaw tight with something between disappointment and frustration, but she didn’t challenge it—instead glared at him like he would catch fire under her stare. You needed to get to him—to wrap your arms around him, to tell him he’d done it, even if it wasn’t the way he’d wanted—that they’ll work it out together.

Your heart pounded as you shoved off the bench, pushing into the sea of bodies flooding the arena floor the moment the trial ended. The village was wilder than ever, a storm of Vikings twice your size, their hands clapping Hiccup’s back, their voices roaring as Fishlegs' hoisted him up like a prize followed by Snotlout and the twins.

You fought against the tide, elbowing through sweat-soaked warriors and shrieking kids, shouting his name, “Hiccup! Hiccup!”

But the crowd was relentless, a living wall that shoved you back with every step. Hands grabbed at him, pulling him into their center, and you caught only flashes of his auburn hair, his wide panicked eyes, before he vanished into the throng.

Your chest tightened, frustration burning hot as you strained on tiptoe, searching for him, but the mass of Berk swallowed him whole, leaving you stranded at the edges, breathless and desperate. You worried for him; this was not what he wanted.

The chaos took an age to thin, the villagers trickling out of the arena with boasts and collecting bets on their lips, their footsteps kicking up dust that stung your eyes. You darted down the steps at last, heart hammering against your ribs, your legs aching from the tension as you wove through the stragglers toward the Great Hall—where they had taken him to celebrate.

The massive doors loomed ahead, and you slipped inside, the cavernous space swallowing the sound of your boots on the stone floor. It was jammed full, the long tables heavy of their usual clutter, the fire pits blazing along with the hearths, the air heavy with the scent of food and ash.

“Hiccup?” you called, your voice barely visible compared to the loudness of the Hooligans, sharp and hopeful, but he was nowhere in sight—no rustle of movement squeezing through the crowd, no familiar lilt of his voice. The hall was full—still celebrating, but he had left, and a knot of unease twisted in your gut as you turned back, a man told you he had already left and that pressed down like a weight.

Next, you tried the forge—he’d promised to meet you thereafter. The thought spurred you on, your pace quickening as you jogged through the village, dodging a cart of barrels and a gaggle of gossiping women. The forge’s open side glowed faintly with the embers of a dying fire, but the familiar clang of hammer on metal was absent, the bellows still, the tools untouched on their racks. You stepped inside, your breath hitching as you scanned the corners.

“Hiccup? You here?” you called again, softer this time, but the only reply was the creak of the roof under the wind.

He wasn’t there—no sign of his lanky frame hunched over a project, no scatter of sketches or tools to betray his presence. Your hands clenched at your sides, worry creeping up your spine like ivy—where was he? The crowd had taken him, but now he’d slipped away, and the village felt too big—and you continued to worry.

You stopped in the forge’s doorway, catching your breath as you ran a hand over your head. “Come on, Hiccup,” you muttered, your mind racing.

Of course—the cove is all that’s left. You knew he’d avoid home, avoid Stoick’s booming pride and the weight of expectation that came with it. The cove was his refuge, where Toothless and Menace waited, where he could breathe away from Berk’s clamor.

Cutting through the ache in your chest—he’d be there, of course he had to be. You nodded to yourself, the path to the cove pulling you forward like a lifeline, your boots hitting the dirt with renewed purpose. Suspense still gnawed at you—was he wrestling with the fallout of his win?

Slipping inside your small home, you grabbed a rough burlap sack from the corner near the hearth, its coarse weave familiar under your fingers. You’d planned to bring fish to the cove anyway—a stash you’d set aside with Hiccup’s own for Toothless and Menace. You stuffed it with smoked cod—Menace favorite, the oily scent seeping into your hands as you slung it over your shoulder, its weight grounding you against the worry swirling in your chest.

With a quick, furtive glance out the window—no prying eyes, no curious neighbors—you slipped out again, the two-hour trek to the cove stretching before you like a gauntlet, each step a test of your resolve to find him.

The journey unfolded in a haze of determination and unease, your breath puffing in short bursts as you pushed through the forest’s tangled embrace, steering clear of the main trails where latecomers might spot you. The sack thumped rhythmically against your back, the fish shifting with every stride as you climbed over gnarled roots and ducked beneath low-hanging branches, their leaves brushing your face.

You hated going there on your own—the noises of wild boars and other creatures lurking about put you at unease. Your bandaged arm throbbed faintly, a dull echo of the trial’s toll, but you pressed on, driven by the need to see him—to know he was alright. Your mind churned with questions.

The memory of his fleeting grin in the arena, the way his eyes had sought yours for that brief, steadying moment, fueled your pace, your boots digging into the soft earth as twilight crept in. The sun bled into the horizon, painting the sky in fiery streaks of orange and pink, and by the time you crested the final rise to the cove, the world had softened into a muted tapestry of blues and grays, the light fading fast.

You paused at the cliff’s edge, chest heaving as you caught your breath, and peered down, your heart braced for the sight of Hiccup’s lanky frame by the water, Toothless sprawled lazily nearby, Menace darting about in her usual chaos. But a cold wave of disappointment crashed over you—the cove lay empty, its stillness broken only by a small, familiar figure bounding up the path toward you.

Menace reached you in a flash, her good wing flapping as she leaps into your arms with an excited chirp, her yellow eyes glinting like tiny lanterns in the dimness. She nuzzled your cheek, her raspy purr vibrating against your skin, and though her warmth eased the sting of your letdown, it couldn’t fill the hollow space Hiccup’s absence carved out.

“Hey, little one,” you murmured, scratching her head holding her close as you scanned the cove again, willing him to appear.

The water lapped quietly against the rocks, the air heavy with silence—no Toothless, no Hiccup, just you and Menace in a space that felt too big without them. You sighed, setting the sack down with a soft thud as Menace wriggled free to sniff at it, her tail flicking eagerly.

“Guess it’s just us for now,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, swallowed by the vastness around you. "He must've felt so overwhelmed and went off—Hiccup. . ."

Hours could stretch before they returned—flight tests often dragged long when Hiccup lost himself in the sky—and exhaustion tugged at you, a bone-deep weariness from the day’s trials and the trek. You slumped against a boulder, pulling your cloak tighter around your shoulders as Menace curled up beside you, her small body a warm weight against your leg.

The fish sat untouched—save for Menaces’ portion—in the sack, their scent mingling with the damp earth, and soon, the rhythmic lap of the water and Menace’s steady purring lulled you into a fitful doze, your head tipping back against the rock as sleep claimed you.

A sudden rush of wind snapped you awake, your eyes flying open as the unmistakable beat of Toothless’ wings thrummed overhead, cutting through the quiet like a blade. You scrambled to your feet, heart leaping—he’s back—and brushed the sleep from your face, Menace stirring with an annoyed grumble beside you.

The dark, sleek shape of Toothless swooped low, slicing through the night sky, and you took a step forward, ready to call out, your voice catching in your throat—when another figure stopped you cold. Astrid. She was with them, clinging to Hiccup on the saddle, her blond hair whipping wildly in the wind as Toothless landed with a heavy thud near the water’s edge.

Panic surged through you, sharp and icy, freezing you in place as you ducked back behind the boulder, your breath hitching in your chest. Why was she here? Why had he told her about Toothless? No, she must’ve followed him. Your mind spun, questions piling up one after the other, but as you peeked out, you saw her slide off. Hiccup dismounted too, and you watched, heart pounding against your ribs, as they stood close, their voices drifting up in muffled snatches that tightened the knot in your gut.

You should have stepped out—waved like you normally would, crack a joke, joined them like it was nothing—but the sight of her with him pinned you in place, doubt of his feelings now sinking its claws deep. What was going on? Were they closer now than you’d realized? Your fingers curled into the boulder’s rough surface, and you held your breath, straining to hear as their conversation sharpened into focus.

“It controls them!” Astrid said, her voice urgent when she had hopped off Toothless, rushing forward with an energy of excitement. “Let’s find your dad!”

Hiccup’s face paled, panic flashing in his eyes as he leapt after her, his voice rising. “No! No.”

He caught up, grabbing her arm to stop her. “No, not yet! They’ll kill Toothless. No. Astrid, we have to think this through carefully.”

Your brows furrowed, confusion warring with the unease bubbling inside you—what were they talking about? Astrid spun to face him, her tone sharp with disbelief.

“Hiccup, we just discovered the dragons’ nest—the thing we’ve been after since Vikings first sailed here—and you want to keep it a secret? What? To protect your pet dragon? Are you serious?”

Your eyes widened, a silent gasp catching in your throat as you leaned forward, desperate for a closer look, careful not to rustle the leaves or snap a twig. The dragons’ nest? Your pulse raced—she’d seen it, and Hiccup had taken her there?

Anger flared hot in your chest at her words—pet dragon? Your brows knitting tight as you glared from your hiding spot. Hiccup turned, his back to her, with a seriousness in his stance. It was a look you knew well, one he’d shown you in quiet moments that others hardly saw, but seeing it now, directed at her, stopped her short.

“Yes,” he said, his voice low and firm, unwavering as he faced her again, and Astrid’s expression faltered, clearly taken aback by the shift in him.

“Okay,” she said after a beat, softer now, still reeling from his resolve. “Then what do we do?”

Hiccup looked down, his hands clenching at his sides, anger and frustration simmering beneath his words. “Just give me until tomorrow. I’ll figure something out.”

Astrid nodded, her surprise lingering. “Okay,” she said again, then hesitated, a blush creeping up her cheeks.

She punched his arm—hard—making him wince and clutch it with a groan. “That’s for kldnapping me,” she said, grinning, and before he could recover, she grabbed him again.

He flinched, eyes squeezing shut, but she planted a quick kiss on his cheek instead. “That’s for. . .everything else,” she added, then dashed off toward the path, leaving him stunned.

Hiccup stood there, his mouth agape for a moment as Toothless stared at him, head tilted in silent judgment.

“What? What are you looking at?” he muttered, flustered, before shaking it off and turning to the dragon.

He rested a hand on Toothless’ snout, his voice softening. “Goodnight, bud. Get some rest, okay?”

Toothless huffed, nuzzling him briefly, then padded over to a shady spot near the water, curling up with a contented warble. Hiccup watched him for a moment, his shoulders slumping as the tension drained out of him, then turned and started climbing the steep path out of the cove, his boots scuffing the dirt as he disappeared over the ridge toward home.

The shadows cloaked you as you remained frozen, your breath barely daring to disturb the air, shallow and ragged, as if each inhale dragged shards of glass deeper into your chest. The hurt was a tangled, vicious thing—jealousy gnawed at the edges, yes, her kiss to Hiccup stirred inside you making you angry with yourself, but it wasn’t the whole of it.

No, this was something more brutal, a raw, searing wound that pulsed with every heartbeat, born from the betrayal of seeing him—Hiccup—slip away to chase the very plan you’d woven together in late-night whispers over the possibility of finding Hels’ gate yourselves.

He’d gone without you, took Astrid instead and that truth clawed at your insides, leaving you dizzy and unarmored. You couldn’t move—not when Astrid’s footsteps faded into the distance, not when Hiccup scrambled up and out of sight, not even when the cove sank back into an oppressive silence that pinned you to the cold earth, a prisoner of your own spiraling thoughts—that maybe he didn't feel the same.

Time bled into an endless, suffocating void, the night wrapping around you like a shroud as it deepened, the stars above piercing through the jagged canopy like cruel, distant eyes watching your unraveling. Your chest ached with every breath, the weight of what you’d witnessed sinking into your bones, pressing you harder into the rock until you felt you might disappear entirely—You had fooled yourself.

It wasn’t until Menace shifted beside you—her small, trembling form brushing against your side, a faint chirp of distress escaping her—that the stillness shattered. Toothless’ head jerked up, his keen senses cutting through the haze. His heavy paws thudded softly against the ground as he approached cautiously, those luminous eyes catching the faint glint of moonlight, narrowing as he sniffed the air and found you, curled and broken behind the boulder.

He pressed his snout against you, a low, resonant warble vibrating from his chest—warm, steady, and achingly perceptive, as if he could taste the bitterness radiating from you, the waves of anguish crashing against your ribs like a maelstrom was swirling inside. Menace scrambled into your lap, her tiny claws pawing at your tunic as her purring grew loud and desperate, a plea to pull you back from the edge.

Your breath hitched, a shaky, fractured sound spilling out as you surrendered to the moment, wrapping your arms around Toothless’ broad, scaly neck. You buried your face against him, the cool roughness of his scales grounding you as tears burned behind your eyes, your voice a trembling whisper against his warmth.

“It's fine.”

He huffed in response, nudging closer, his solid presence a lifeline as your heart stuttered under the weight of it all.

You lingered there, suspended in the quiet sanctuary they offered, clinging to them as if they could stitch the fraying edges of your thoughts back together. Menace’s tail tightened against you, her small body a fierce little anchor, while Toothless’ steady breathing pulsed beneath your grip, his heat seeping into your frame like a balm.

The disappointment and hurt in your chest didn’t vanish—it ebbed and surged—but their presence dulled its sharpest edges, giving you room to breathe, to feel something beyond the suffocating hurt. At last, you drew back after a few moments, dragging your sleeve across your eyes to smear away the tears that hadn’t yet escaped, a small, sorrowful smile tugging at your lips as you looked at them—your truest companions in this wreckage of a night.

“Thanks, you two,” you murmured, your voice soft and raw, still thick with the emotions you couldn’t fully shake.

You shouldered the sack once more, its weight a familiar burden as you rose to your feet, legs unsteady from sitting for hours of waiting—but resolute. With a final, lingering pat to Toothless’ snout—his eyes following you with a quiet understanding—and a gentle chin scratch to Menace—you turned toward home.

The cove receded into the darkness behind you, swallowed by the night, but their soft croons trailed after you, threading through the stillness like a fragile thread of solace. You carried it with you, a faint shield against the heavy, bruising beat of feelings that clung to your every step, echoing into the vast, unyielding dark by yourself with only the moon to lead you back.

This is Chapter 7 to this Hiccup series -> Masterlist here. Previous Chapter : Next Chapter

Gifs/edits, dividers + template credit to #uservampyr my co-writer + beta reader ♡

Lovely tag list ~ @kikikittykis | @icantcryicantstopcrying

#chapter 7 of maelstrom #hiccup haddock #httyd hiccup #hiccup and toothless #hiccup how to train your dragon #hiccup x reader #hiccup fanfic #httyd fanfic #httyd x reader #toothless #httyd #how to train your dragon #hiccup haddock x reader #dragons #race to the edge #maelstrom #rtte

124 notes · View notes