#like tell me that's not unnecessarily complicated | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

The KCSC sent more than 20K requests to delete posts related to prostitution and porn to Tumblr from January to June 2017.

#like tell me that's not unnecessarily complicated

spookylightwhispers · 6 months

Text

what are the odds...that a post of mine about israel/palestine attracted a particular israeli zionist, who commented on my post and proceeded to block me after i replied, who happens the be the very same person who commented on another post of mine about zionism from a few years back and who also proceeded to block me

#this is an unnecessarily complicated sentence #i think she's obsessed with me 🥺#it's okay c'mere you can just tell me #getting blocked by the same person twice feels like an achievement of some sort #imagine finding my blog again with your new blog after blocking me with your old one?!

3 notes · View notes

ga-yuu · 3 months

Text

Romance manhwas/webtoons I highly recommend!!!

Look! You guys must know, by this time, I am a romance connoisseur! *ahem* self-proclaimed*ahem* Romance is my fav genre and I'm not ashamed to say that aloud!! Since valentines day is coming and I'm still single, I simply fill the empty space in my heart with these cute manhwas/webtoons!!! I love reading them so much! But there are some really good romance manhwas that really give me hope about love. These are my recommendations, the ones I really enjoyed.

Daytime star

This manhwa is one of my most fav!! If you haven't heard of it, or read it...GO READ THIS RIGHT NOW!!....or whenever you have time, BUT I HIGHLY RECOMMEND THIS MANHWA! It's not just about its beautiful art style, but the story is AMAZING! If you're like me, who loves mature adult romance (and by 'mature adult romance' I don't mean a story like 50 shades of grey, but a more natural realistic romance between two fully grown adults) then this is the manhwa for you! I swear! I was binge-reading this manhwa the whole day, while eating, while playing games, while sleeping I was dreaming about this manhwa. The story is about a struggling actress falling in love with a very popular actor. It sounds simple, but it's really really REALLY GOOD! It's worth your time! There's nothing bad I have to say about this manhwa. It's truly outstanding.

Marry my husband

What? You want a revenge drama with the female lead in her comeback era? I recommend Marry my husband. I saw the Kdrama adapted from this manhwa and although the actors are really good....the story changes drastically towards the end. The Kdrama has so many....'Kdrama' elements which I'm not really a fan of and it just makes the story unnecessarily complicated for no reason. So I highly recommend you read the manhwa version. The manhwa version is more straightforward and simple compared to the kdrama and doesn't have any unnecessary drama to waste your time. All the characters are so good. Even the side characters have stories. I love how simple the story is and how satisfying it is. I'm sure you will enjoy the manhwa and fall in love the characters. Again, highly recommend this. This is the 2nd manhwa that I binged the whole day, and re-read it again yesterday. It's really good!

A Marriage of Convenience

I'll be honest, I was ignoring this manhwa for god knows why? Looking at the art, it just gave Under the Oak tree vibes.....and I'll be honest again, I got bored of under the oak tree. Everyone seems to love it, but I just got bored after 20 chaps or so. But this one, I finally decided to read it and again! I JUST CANNOT STOP READING IT!! I wonder why I'm so in love with it...it's because the female lead is so cool! I LOVE THE FEMALE LEAD IN THIS MANHWA!!! and you will know why once you read it. I feel like the female lead really carries the story on her back. Its so beautiful to see her growing and then comparing her present self to how she used to be in beginning of the story. Hey! I'm telling you! Go read it!! *points my gun*

I Thought It's A Common Possession (Ongoing!)

Isekai villainess manhwas are the trend guys! I wonder when is cybird going to release their own ver. of isekai villainess game? Well...I have not seen many people talking about this manhwa, so I wanna shed some light. It's a slow-burn but a really good one! At the first chap, you'd hate the male lead....but at the end of the latest chap, you guys will surely love the male lead. You'll think that the story is just a simple villainess manhwa were everyone hates the villainess but soon end up liking her...but no, it's much darker. You'll find out when you read it. Also the female lead...is a mommy!!! She gives me mommy vibes!! She's so beautiful!!

For My Lost Love (Ongoing!)

Another isekai manhwa that I'm obsessed with because the male lead is too hot for my own good! I think the reason I love this manhwa is because 1. it's a slow burn 2. the male lead is so good-looking 3. The relationship developing between the male lead and the female lead is really cute! It's like you can't help but want to see these two together! Right now, the male lead is completely in love with the female lead and its' so cute to see him being possessive about her and the female lead is completely oblivious. The female lead really loves the male lead because he is her fav character of her fav novel. It's cute! I love the female lead's personality, showing heart-eyes and blushing when the male lead does something....even the smallest things like drinking his coffee or arranging flowers. It's really cute!

Remarried Empress (First 80 - 90)

This story is really popular. There is a manhwa and a game....Phew~ Another one of those that I couldn't stop reading......BUT!! As much as I love the story and it's main characters...I feel like this manhwa is better if you only read it up to...90 chapters and from there, just read the spoilers. I'll be honest, the first 80 to 90 chapters of this manhwa are FUCKING AWESOME!!!! IT'S DRAMA AFTER DRAMA AFTER DRAMA! ABUSE! VERBAL ABUSE! EMOTIONAL ABUSE! It's bad but it's also good. The abuse is just too much to handle that you can't stop reading it because you want the female lead to be happy...and in the end she gets it. I highly recommend reading 90 chapters of the manhwa and then read the spoilers because the manhwa gets very sluggish. I bet you, because you will be only invested in the 4 main characters of this story and you won't care about anyone else. The first 90 chapters mainly focuses on these 4 characters and after that the story focuses more on other side characters until it connects back to the main 4 characters. This part is a drag.....so don't waste time and read the spoilers.

The Villainess Turn The Hourglass

Ah....This manhwa....truly one of the best villainess manhwa I've ever read!! I won't say anything! This is truly a 'VILLAINESS ROMANCE' manhwa and again...a story about a woman in her comeback era. Read only the main story though, I don't really care about the spin-off. The main story is truly satisfying. Read it! READ IT RIGHT NOW!! *Points my gun*

I'll keep sharing more manhwas and webtoons with you guys because I'm never gonna stop reading it! Even on my death bed, I'll still be reading it!!

#manhwa #romance manhwa #webtoon #romance webtoon #the villainess turns the hourglass #the remarried empress #for my abandoned love #daytime star #marry my husband #i thought it's a common possession #a marriage of convenience

115 notes · View notes

luveline · 1 year

Note

hihihi! request for zombie steve au! maybe someone at the college bullies reader into thinking she’s not good enough for steve?

just gotta say that I LOVE LOVE LOVE all your works & esp this au 😩 it just does something to me

hi thank you so much for your request! I didn't make it so severe as bullying I don't think, but tw for bullying just to be safe, and suggestive! tw mentioned weight loss <3 zombie!au steve 9k words

The dinner line is long and winding. You and Steve stand elbow to elbow, the smell of refried beans and homemade tortillas near hypnotising.

"I know the tortillas are gonna taste a little weird, I just don't care," you say, the hand you’ve curled around your boyfriend's forearm squeezing enthusiastically.

"Imagine if they had cheese," he taunts.

"Don't be evil, Steve."

His laugh dissappears into the swelling sounds of a hundred conversations. It feels like high school, bodies packed into the same room like a bingo wheel, people bouncing off of one another frenetically as the night turns forward. There's a lot of happy energy in here tonight. You're contributing at least half. Not even Steve's unfortunate truths can get you down. Yeah, you miss cheese a lot, but after a full day in the pantry shift and close quarters to such gorgeous smells, you're ravenous.

Your stomach gives a rumbling groan, and Steve's pressed so close to you that he can feel it. He wraps his arm around your shoulder to kiss the top of your head.

His easy affection sates you for a while. You turn to watch the people already sitting with their meals, jealous but not too much, and find your happiness isn't grudging. You're happy to be here. You won't take this stroke of luck for granted, not again.

You and Steve get your plates, refried beans, roasted greens seasoned with a vibrant red that smells spicy and decadent. There's definitely olive oil mixed in. You thrum with pleasure but wait patiently for steve to collect his own helpings, your cutlery, and finally, your drinks.

Robin sees you coming and waves you down unnecessarily. She's sitting with a dark-haired girl called Vanessa, and another girl you're unsure of. Vanessa had been part of your rescue squad, the team of people who'd fought to bring you back to The College. You'd show her some gratitude if she deigned to look at you.

No matter how snooty you find her, Robin likes her. You try to like her too.

"Hey," you say, putting your place setting down in front of Robin to encourage Steve to her side.

He might downplay it but you know how much he loves her, and how much he'd missed her when they were separated. She's an extremely important part of his life. You wish he'd spend more time with her outside of scavenging and supply runs, but Steve is stuck to you like glue. It's awful and amazing.

"Hi, killer," Robin says.

You scrunch up your nose. "We're still using that?"

"You were impressive!" she emphasises.

Steve puts his drink down before his plate. She's quick to grab it, taking a generous swig as he grumbles and grouches.

"Do you mind?" he asks.

"I don't. Tell your girlfriend you think she was impressive!"

"She knows exactly how I feel about her."

You smile at him. You know more than enough. He's a sweetheart through and through, and though the incident Robin's referencing hadn't been one he loved, he agrees; you'd managed to cut down six zombies all by yourself when they'd split off from a herd that managed to infiltrate community defences, and Steve had thought you were a rockstar. He'd grabbed you, covered in blood and sweat, and asked you why you couldn't just stay inside, and then he'd hugged you for too long, and said later, "My girl's a fucking weapon." Like a nerd.

It's not complicated. Steve had been in danger. You'd wanted to save him, and you'd tried. Turns out he'd be the one to save you… for the hundredth time. But your efforts impressed him.

Impressed everyone, according to Robin.

"Hey, Vanessa," you say warmly.

Vanessa gives you a strange smile in return. Despite mutual friends, Vanessa hasn't warmed to you. She'd been one of the only people who'd volunteered for your rescue squad but you're starting to think that hadn't been because she liked you, exactly. She just couldn't really say no.

"Hey," she says. "How are you?"

Civil you can do easily. You and Steve had been civil for weeks.

"I'm good! Yeah, we heard there were gonna be real tortillas tonight and thought we'd get here early, but everybody had the same idea, I guess."

She laughs politely. "We did."

You wouldn't villainise Vanessa for disliking you. You barely like yourself. And, in your opinion, you'd gotten pretty damn lucky that Steve likes you as much as he does, though a small voice whispers that it'd been a grudging sort of love, like a flower squeezing its way through two panels of sidewalk. A weed that isn't supposed to be there. You worry often and in droves that Steve will come to his senses. He's gonna wake up one day, look at your sleeping face, and realise it isn't enough.

When you'd first joined The College community, you'd thought for sure that was it. Steve was gonna trample your heart once and for all. He never did, of course. The opposite — he'd doubled down. Told you he loved you for the first time, and a second time, too.

And now, miles trekked to get you back, his calf a blistering star of heat where it kisses your own beneath the table, your doubts fade away.

Vanessa doesn't have to like you. That's not the way the world works. With Steve at your side, the rejection barely stings.

You rub your shoe gently against his ankle. He looks up at you, a crazy amount of tortilla in his mouth, and he looks so silly you laugh hard and suddenly.

He covers his mouth.

"I thought you were looking somewhere else," he defends.

"Pig," Robin says, still sipping at his cup of water.

You rub his ankle again. A joke waits at the tip of your tongue, You're lucky I love you. It would feel good to say, but it's not your thing. You've never been outwardly romantic.

His cheeks pink a little under the fluorescents.

For Steve, you can be romantic.

"You're lucky I love you," you say.

There's too much emphasis on 'love', not enough on 'lucky', and the joke refuses to land. Your voice is softer than silk. It's all too sweet.

"More than lucky," Steve says, grinning at you.

You try to put your glass of water on his tray. He puts its straight back on your own.

"Robin's gonna go get me another one," he says.

"I need one for myself," she says, unhappy.

"You have two hands."

"Will you get me a refill?" Vanessa asks.

Christopher, another of Steve's fast friends, slams his tray down next to yours happily. Jonathan is right after him, and then the table's filling up with people: Jonathan's younger brother sits beside him, and the younger brother's friends follow. They're all glued together, you swear. You recognise Dustin in the throng, his chestnut brown curls crushed under a blue hat bragging the Claypole Farmer's Market, wherever that is.

"Steve's getting drinks?" Chris asks.

"For me too, please," Jonathan adds. "And Will, if you don't mind."

"I actually do," Steve says.

"And us!" Dustin says, smirking. "Thank you, oh gracious one."

Steve looks at you for a second, slack-jawed. Can you believe this shit? He stands up, grumbling, and forces his hand between Robin's upper arm and chest to drag her with him.

"Come on, Rob, I can't carry them by myself."

"Steve, please, I'm tired," she moans, her words all lifted and croaky.

"How'm I supposed to carry them by myself? Am I a fucking squid?"

"I'll help," you say, happy to do it, anything for him and at any time.

He puts his hand out to you, a universal gesture for Sit the fuck down. "Buckley will be more than capable." His smile softens. "Thank you."

You pout at him very gently in a kissy face to watch him light up. It's cheesy and rom-com, and it works like a charm. By the time he gets Robin on her feet the tips of his ears are completely blushed, a stark red against the mousy browns and blondes of his hair.

"Hey, Y/N," Chris says, mouth full of tortilla. Boys are all the same.

"Hey," Jonathan echoes, and at least his hand is in front of his mouth, "how are you feeling? They let you back in the kitchen yet?"

"They did. Hopper really didn't like that I broke the lock down rules, but at the same time, I think he understands that I'm a grown up."

Lock down rules being, once a door is shut, it stays shut. Do not give a herd the opportunity to worm its way inside.

But you'd made sure the coast was completely clear, and after Maybelle and Pauline, your fellow kitchen staff, had vouched for that, he'd let you off the hook, and back to work. You hadn't realised how punishing not working could be, especially when Steve had stayed on shift, his time split between scrounging outside of the community and fence duty. There's nothing to stop you from spending the day thinking about what-ifs, which is veritable torture.

"You missed the kitchen? Did you make these?" Chris asks.

You turn to your food and tear off some of the warm tortilla, sighing with pleasure. "No, I'm just kitchen pantry, you know? I'm sorta like an accountant. Like Dora in the armoury, or–" You nod at Vanessa with a smile. "Vanessa. You're in charge of the toiletries and stuff, right, with Cooper and Dean, and those guys?"

She clears her throat. "It's more than 'toiletries and stuff,'" she corrects with a stilted laugh. "It's everything that isn't food. Medicine for the medic, the nursery supplies, the batteries. It's important."

"No, of course! I didn't mean to imply anything else. I can't imagine."

You're sure her smile this time is genuine. You and Vanessa can't seem to mesh because she's a little more serious than you are and your easygoing tone rubs her the wrong way, but you think your explanation makes it up.

She opens her mouth to speak when Dustin leans over the table, projecting his voice down the line. "Y/N! Are you coming to cards club tonight?"

"I don't know, babe," you say, startled at his question. "I thought so. If Steve isn't too tired then yeah, absolutely."

"You can come without Steve," Jonathan says.

"I know," you say, softly so you know he's grateful for the reassurance.

"You're the only one who can beat Will at Yahtzee. You have wicked luck," says Mike, their pale, dark-haired friend, who usually rivals Dustin for hostility. You're glad he seems to like you.

"Yahtzee isn't luck based," says Will.

The entire group groans at the ignition of a familiar argument.

"Robin, if you fucking nudge me again I'm gonna make sure this goes all over you," comes Steve's voice.

You turn in your seat to watch their procession of glasses, at least six between them with not a tray in sight. Robin looks confident, Steve terrified. You jump to your seat to rescue him, taking his third glass from the nestling group so he can pick up his pace.

"Thank you," he says, dipping his head down for a kiss.

You're surprised but never not wanting to be kissed by him, your chin lifting on automatic to reciprocate. You chase him when he pulls away, turning one kiss into two, his lips the tiniest bit chapped against yours. It's a comforting pressure.

You ease away. "Are we going to card club tonight?"

"If you want to, of course we are."

"You aren't tired?"

"You're saying I look ugly."

He glares at you, faux-offended.Your laugh is peeling, infectious to your own ears.

"No!" you deny.

"Right." He tries to be deadpan, sighing in defeat when he can't keep up the illusion. "Shit, I almost had it. S'too bad I'm a sucker for you when you smile like that."

—

Later that night, you and Steve are sitting around the very same tables that have been wiped down with a watery lysol, and you have an amazing three game Yahtzee streak going where nobody can beat you.

Steve's ears are ringing with the clattering sound of dice in the shaker, and he's freezing. It's a great night. He shrugged out of his jacket to lay it over your shoulders, and has to periodically readjust it to stop it from falling to the floor, your arms moving enthusiastically with each new shake.

Steve winces as Dustin makes a fatal mistake. He’s used his two sixes to mark a 12 in the sixes column, holding out for a yacht.

"Dude, the chances of getting Yahtzee are like, one in a thousand," Steve says.

"One in thirteen hundred," you correct, already scooping up Dustin's die to take your turn.

"One in seven thousand and seven hundred for each number," Mike says.

"Ew," Steve says, face slumped into his palm, elbow aching where it's pushed into the table. "You fucking nerds infected my girl."

"It's in the rule book," you say, shaking the circular dice container with your hand on top. You throw them out on the table and assess your given numbers with a frown.

You have three threes and two ones. You keep the threes and shake the other two dice again. Yahtzee had felt complicated when Steve first learned how to play, and now it feels maddening. It's definitely luck based, in his humble opinion, and that has nothing to do with his never winning a game, he swears.

"Does the chance of rolling a Yacht get higher if you keep the dice?" he asks, gesturing to your three threes.

"Yeah," you mumble, throwing your second shuffle out onto the table. "Yeah, but it's pretty negligible, handsome. Goes from point one to point two."

"It isn't negligible," Will denies. "It's probability, not luck, and it isn't point one, it's zero point zero eight, and it can be as high as zero point five. That's one in two hundred."

"That math isn't right," Dustin says.

"Yes, it is."

"No, it isn't."

You throw out your last shuffle and everyone leans in to see what you rolled. Your three threes are kept to one side, and your new rolls clatter to a halt in front of Steve.

"Holy shit," he says.

You rolled two threes.

"Yahtzee!" you cheer, pumping your little fist adorably. Little in that it's smaller than his, and not very little in reality. "Alright, who's next?"

"The game isn't over," Dustin says, peeved.

You peer down his scorecard. He could win, theoretically, if he were to score multiple yachts, or if he'd been careful with his aces, ones, etc.

"Nah, it is," Steve says. "Take it like a champ, Henderson."

Dustin refuses to give up, playing until the end. You score a solid 319 to his less impressive 178.

Steve robs your hand before you can agree to a rematch, forcing you to unfurl your tensed fist. He loves doing this — he presses the tips of his thumbs into the sides of one of your fingers and pushes down. It must hurt a teeny tiny bit but you never say a word, only giggle at his touch and lean toward him like you might tell him a secret. He would lament how much time he wasted being an asshole to you if he had the wherewithal. As it is, he's enchanted with you, and he isn't casual about it, pushing all of your anxiety down to your fingertips. He brings them to his mouth and kisses them each in turn.

You pull your hand away. He thinks you're standing up to leave the table, but you're moving closer to him and straightening your back. He can picture the ache between your shoulder blades as it is between his own, the weird raw feeling, a tightness.

"Want a neck massage?" he asks as you place your hand against his cheek.

You brush your thumb over his stubble. "Do you want a neck massage?" you ask, unperturbed by his sudden question. His jacket threatens to slide onto the floor.

"Are you offering?"

"Not in cards club." You look over his shoulder. "We could play poker."

"The buy-in's too expensive."

"What?" You frame his face with your hand. He's not sure you know you're doing it. "We can spare it, isn't that why we brought it?"

Buy-in tonight is a bar of soap. Half the time everybody goes home with what they brought anyways, so you're obviously not worried.

You squeeze his cheek and laugh. "You'd be cute if you were chubby."

He grabs your hand, face warped by an irreplaceable joy, a delight to have you and be with you, a sparkling kind of lightness to know you're safe and happy here. He kisses your cheek, and says, smushed up against your skin, "You're cute."

"Thank you."

He hums. "So. Poker?"

—

You have a small sink in your room with a hot and cold faucet, though no matter which one you choose, the water comes out cold. It chills your face as you scrub. When your face is reasonably wet, you lather the bar of honey soap Steve insists on keeping at the side of the sink between your fingers before dropping it imprecisely into your boyfriend's waiting palm. He laughs under his breath at the clumsy manoeuvre.

You listen to him do the same as you had as you soap your face. You give special attention to your nose, your eyebrows, and your ears. Steve laughs again as you work a small towel behind them.

"What's funny?"

"Nothing." He holds his hand out for the towel, patting down his face with less ardency. He isn't less clean for it. "You have suds under your nose. Tiny moustache."

He reaches for it with the towel, lifting your face with the back of his hand under your chin. His eyes are their forever warm brown, fixed on your top lip with a dedication that makes your baseline fondness for him surge.

"I was pretty bad at poker, huh?" you ask.

"No?" He dries a lingering stretch of dampness painting your cheek before dropping the towel behind the faucets. "You didn't win. Doesn't mean you were bad."

"Vanessa said I should stick to Yahtzee," you tell him. You pause, wanting his input, and worried you're feeling offended by something that isn't inherently offensive.

"Vanessa should stick to lawn darts," he says, chucking you under the chin.

He starts to pull his pants down like it's no big deal. It isn't, not after so many months together, you've seen him do worse in worse states than this, but it feels forbidden anyhow to watch him climb into bed.

"Could you pass me my sweatpants?" he asks, face turned into the pillow, his shoulders deflating.

"You're decompressing without me."

"Am not." He pushes his hand under the pillow, shoulder blade shifting under his shirt noticeably. "Hurry and decompress with me."

You throw his sweatpants at his calves and he does a sort of vertical dance to put them on, one leg then the other, lifting his hips and dropping heavily back into the sheets when he's done. He looks at home. His relaxation catches you off guard, a pleasure to see even if it isn't strictly new. He feels safe here with you.

"She's good at those darts," you say.

"And shit at poker," Steve says agreeably. He lifts his head off of the pillow. "Are you coming in or are you gonna sleep standing up tonight?"

You shimmy out of your stiff jeans and try not to feel the huge weight of his eyes on your skin. It's an impossible task, and you fail immediately.

"Stop looking at me."

"M'not."

You glare at him, find him absolutely looking at you. Your glare fades when you realise how loving his gaze is, how it doesn't waver for a second. He pushes the sheets down on your side of the bed and waves his arm for you to get in.

You pull on your pyjama pants and take off your bra, climbing into bed beside him. He wraps his arm around you quickly, or rather under you, his bicep crushed by your shoulders. Chills prickle against your skin as he cups the flesh just shy of your breast. If Steve wanted to touch you like that, he could. You want him just as much as you don't, content to cuddle with him, content to kiss like teenagers with nowhere to go tomorrow, content to do worse. He spreads his fingers over your torso, pinky nudging the underside. You'd let Steve touch wherever he liked, and he'd enjoy doing it, you think. That's a gift in itself such casual intimacy.

"Vanessa, is she…" Steve's minty fresh breath pushes over your face like a small gale. "She's not picking on you, is she?"

You like to be honest with Steve, and you want to be honest now — I don't know. But you hate thinking he'd have to look after you more than he does already.

"No," you say, "we just aren't a good fit."

"Like a puzzle?" Steve asks sceptically.

"Guess my pieces are a little warped after spending so much time with you."

He laughs like you're the funniest girl he's ever met, a big breathy sound with the punch of his voice behind it. "Guess they are," he says, hand climbing higher over your chest. "Is that a bad thing?"

"Never," you say lightly.

He smiles at you. You forget Vanessa's out of place comments, her weak smiles, her for-show friendliness in front of Steve. She doesn't really matter in the grand scheme of things, and letting her dictate your thoughts in gorgeous, glowing moments like this would be a waste.

"Love you," you whisper.

Steve nestles into the space under your jaw. He doesn't fit but he does, of course he does, he's your everything. If that's where he wants to sleep tonight, so be it. You turn into his grasp to take the pressure off of his arm and return his gentle hugging, forcing his face closer so you can breathe in the smell of his hair.

"Love you," Steve says. He kisses your neck chastely. "Turn the light off?"

You reach back blindly and switch off the lamp. Everything will be okay as long as you have your boy. Right?

—

Vanessa gets worse. She makes neutral comments with enough friendliness to make you wonder if she's truly being cruel? Am I just looking for a fight? What do I want?

Maybe it's Vanessa's clear preference for Steve. You could be jealous. You aren't sure what jealousy feels like in relationships until she's touching him when she doesn't need to be and smiling at him like he hung the moon. She doesn't go overboard, though. She keeps her hands mostly to herself. She goes as far as to tell Steve that she thinks you're beautiful.

You don't know how to explain your reservations to him if he can't already see it. If she'd really thought you were beautiful, surely that's something she could say face to face, rather than the unhappy little nod she gives you whenever you cross paths? Despite evidence suggesting it, you don't think Vanessa's trying to make a move on Steve.

She's a bit of a bitch, but that's not a crime. Unfortunate? Yes. Illegal? No. Immoral? You aren't sure.

It's her most obvious dig yet that manages to grab Steve's attention a second time since the poker incident.

"I couldn't let my eyebrows grow out like yours," she says, voice bubbly with a faked awe, "I think it's super cool of you."

"Vanessa," Robin says, eyes on her plate, an inquisitive twist to her voice that you've come to know as her sarcasm, "we're in the apocalypse."

Steve, who'd seemed torn between speaking up and genuinely confused about the comment Vanessa'd made, chokes on his food beside you, soup dribbling down both corners of his mouth as he laughs. You wipe the corners of his mouth with your long sleeves.

"Jeez, you're like my baby," you say. Your voice is occluded by Jonathan's silvery giggles.

Steve swallows roughly, "I resent that."

He still lifts his chin so you'll rub the bead that's escaped down his throat.

Vanessa ends up laughing too, says, "I think I'm just crazy tired," punctuated with a high-pitched laugh.

"Honestly, me too," you say, because maybe she is, and maybe she needs just a little smidge more benefit of the doubt.

"I've been keeping her up," Steve says smugly.

"He still making you read that King book? The Gunslinger?" Jonathan asks. "Will wants it whenever you're done."

"Every night," you say.

You're pretending it's a chore because that's what you and Steve always used to do. These days room for sincerity is much larger, but it's fun to give him a hard time when, at the end of the day, you'll crawl into bed together and tuck his face into your neck, flipping to the dog-eared page of your worn paperback to read in dulcet tones until he's a dozing weight warming your skin.

Steve looks for your hand under the table and lets your small group of friends laugh at him. Chris makes a whipping sound through the corner of his mouth. It's surprisingly accurate, and it makes you laugh worse, leaning your weight into Steve's arm for support in an action so familiar it's entirely thoughtless.

"It's not that funny," he murmurs, breath tickling your forehead.

"M'not laughing," you say.

You are most definitely laughing. It's a good moment, even if Vanessa's comment sticks around underneath to nibble at your heart.

He doesn't let your hand go for a really long time. Not when you're taking the plates up to the dirty dishes trolley, or on the walk back to Little Hawkins' with everybody in high spirits. He struggles to unlock your door one handed and he's still insisting when you try to tug away from him.

"Let me make the bed."

"We're getting back in 'n like, ten minutes."

"You're tired?" you ask.

"No. I just wanna lay down with you."

He says it simply. Concise, with neither affection nor anything less. It's damn near factual. Steve just wants to lay down with you, out of everything in the world he could do. He could be haunting Robin's room, stealing snacks from under her bed and claiming them as bribes for not tattling on her to Hopper. He could be with Dustin in the new rec room —aptly labelled Nerd Club, when put to a vote— arguing on how to spend the valuable alloted half hour of TV time.

He could stay with you and insist on other things. Reading. Self-defence. A walk around the community. Sex. An early night. A cold shower.

But he's content to lay with you, to share one another's space without asking for anything else.

Though you won't rule everything out. His kisses lately are a lot more than you're used to.

"Let my hand go, you fiend!" you declare, overcome with a rush of affection for him. "I'm gonna make the bed and we're gonna lay down and then after that we're gonna go bother Robin."

"You know, I'm not sure I like this you and Robin thing."

You tug your fingers from his. It's like trying to escape a sticky fly trap.

"You mean us being friends?" you ask.

You throw all of your throws and pillows onto the ground and grab your thick quilt, shaking it out over your mattress as Steve groans.

"Exactly!"

"I thought you wanted me to have friends?"

"Of course I do, you word-twisting douche."

"Nice, nice. Dustin or Mike?"

"I stole that one from Will, thank you very much."

"See! You have upwards of four friends, Steve, and I'm not allowed to have any?"

He grabs you from behind. You drop the quilt with a sigh, going limp as a fish in his arms. He staggers backward under your dead weight but manages to keep you up, breath tickling the inside of your ear as he says, "No, you're not. Just me." He kisses your ear.

"I tried that and everyone got mad at me."

"No, they didn't."

They really didn't. You cover his arm with your fingers, rub your fingertips over the hill of his arm. His arm hair is soft.

"Steve."

"What?" he asks, his hands crawling down to cover your stomach.

"Don't squeeze me."

"You're very squeezable."

"I was way more squeezable before, remember."

You'd lost some weight from the start of the apocalypse to now. Steve hates it. You're perfect, he'd said once, no matter what. But still, he laments your lost weight for what it represents — times where you and he had struggled to survive.

"I'm working on that," he promises.

You turn your face, shifting in the circle of his arms to meet his eyes. He has gorgeous eyes. You'd admitted that to yourself a long time ago but each time you really stare into them it takes a moment for it to settle. He is a pretty, pretty boy.

He's looking at you with a soft smile. Then, for a split second, you swear his eyes rove up to your brows. It's more than likely your imagination.

"Let me finish making this bed," you say, turning back to the discarded pile of pillows and blankets.

"You want your jammies?"

You snort happily. "Yeah, sweetheart. Lay 'em out for me, please."

—

For the last week or two, Steve has noticed a change in you. You've changed a lot since you met him (for the second time). You've gone from prickly and distant and somewhat distracted to determined, vigilant. You may not come on scrounging missions outside but you're brave, and you've survived more than he ever wanted you to have to go through.

This change is distinctive. It's like you've reverted to how you acted when you were more friend than girlfriend; you're self conscious.

He really hates it.

He can't work out what he did, or what happened, but it sucks. He sucks.

"There has be be something you want," he says.

You're standing with him by the south fence. He and his team are about to head out for the shopping mall for as many blankets as they can carry.

"I just want you to be careful," you say.

You look tired. It's early in the morning, and you'd woken up earlier still. Your hair is freshly washed from a cold shower.

You're still not comfortable showering without him, but of course the other girls aren't comfortable with him sitting in there when they're naked. You've had to schedule your showers for the dawn hour.

"I'm gonna be careful for free," he says, pulling at a wet strand of your hair. He scratches lightly around your ear before hooking his fingers underneath it, his thumb drawing from your cheek to your lips. "Pick something you want and I'll find it. You know, Robs said we might be able to pass by a real small cherry garden on the way home. Do you–" He should know this. Why doesn't he know this? "Do you like cherries?"

Thankfully, you laugh at his question and let your face fall into his hand. He thumbs your ear lobe gently.

"I don't want anything at all. 'Cept for you to be extremely careful," you say.

He pulls you in for a hug, smashes a messy kiss to your head, and tries to pull away because he's cool and the guys are watching.

You're less quick. You rub your cheek against his chest.

"Please, Steve," you whisper.

He frowns. There's something you're not telling him. He wishes you would, but clearly you don't think you can. He's gonna try to do whatever it is he needs to do to get you there.

Steve takes your face into both hands.

"I will be super careful, dummy. That's my middle name, I'm Steve Careful Harrington," he says.

"I thought your middle name was Danger?"

He kisses you. "No? Who told you that?"

Your laugh is pretty enough to keep him smiling for most of the hike to the mall, until Robin says, mid sentence, "–Jeez, you're pathetic."

Pathetic for you is something he doesn't necessarily mind being, but pathetic in general he cannot abide. He spends the rest of the hike stepping on the sides of Robin's shoes as she retells the plot of Murder on the Orient Express. Steve had seen the movie once but he's never read the original novel. Lucky him, Robin had an Agatha Christie phase when she was twelve, and she knows all the best parts.

Hike is a strange word considering all of their walking is through steep roads. They move past rundown cars, streets and streets of abandoned houses scraped clean. There's an elementary school with a rusted playground in front. Vegetation has already started to spread through the packed wood chip flooring, and one of the swings has a broken chain. Steve hadn't realised how quickly human things fell into disrepair when attacked by the elements and left maintenance.

The mall is a better example. Smashed glass lays around the entrance in tiny pieces like a huge back of upturned sugar, and bluegrass eats its way between paving stones. The team consists of eight people, including Steve, Robin, Christopher, and one of the College's co-leaders, a mister Jeremy Livingstone. They make their way carefully through the glass and grass in a wave of crunching footsteps to the front of the mall, where Steve wedges the flat blade of his knife between the automatic doors and works them open. When there's enough room for a second hand, Chris slides in beside him, and they work the doors open. Steve's biceps are burning by the time they're inside the mall.

"Alright, guys," Jeremy says. "There's a bedding store toward the back of the mall. We'll go there first, and then we'll try to work through the list of requests. Blankets and sheets are our second priority. Staying safe and alive is first. Only grab what you know you can carry, you can bring back whatever you want, just… don't be greedy. Alright?"

They head out for the bedding store at the back.

"How much stuff can we carry?" Robin asks him. "I have weak arms. I'm a weakling."

"Isn't there uh, a fancy storage place? We could drag a suitcase back."

"For two hours?"

"Is it two hours? Livingstone! You want me and Robin to grab some suitcases?"

Everybody fills a suitcase with sheets and blankets in plastic wrap. The brand new stuff feels like a luxury, and Steve dibs a double mattress bedspread made of Egyptian cotton, knowing that'll make you smile. Now he's got your mattress up on those crates from behind the cafeteria, your room has really come together. Blankets and trinkets and sweet glassware. You have a small shelf of books, your clothes, your pens and pencils.

Steve'll bring you anything you want, only you don't seem to want anything at all.

He'll just… have to bring you some of everything.

—

Your tears taste salty. You feel gross for licking a tear off of your top lip but nobody's around to see you do it; Steve might not be home until dark. You have time to get this upset out of your system.

You'd been asked by Maybelle to swing by Armoury and Amenities, an unofficial name for the building where the community keeps the bulk of its collective resources, for a new propane tank. You'd gone inside, said hi to Cooper, said hi to Vanessa, explained why you needed the propane, and left.

Or, you'd tried to leave. The propane tank was heavy, and the front door had been difficult to open one handed. You'd swung it open, quickly put your hand back on the tank to stop yourself from dropping it, and watched in frustration as the door slammed closed before you could worm your way out.

"She's the one who got, like, taken?" came Cooper's voice, pretty much as soon as the door stopped bouncing. His voice echoed from the next room.

"Sure, taken."

You'd stilled instantly.

"What, you think she wanted to go?"

Vanessa sighed. "No, I don't think so. She didn't try very hard to come back, s'all I'm saying."

"Chris says Harrington's infatuated with her. Like he's under a spell," Cooper said, chuckling.

"It's gotta be some kind of magic, she's… Well, God knows he'd have his pick if he came back to reality. You have the catalogue? I wanna note the propane before I forget."

And that had been that.

You don't understand why Steve loves you, sometimes. You know he does. It isn't up for questioning. Love with Steve is a lot of things — long talks in the mornings about anything and everything, his fingers tucking your shirt into your jeans. It's him pulling your hood over your eyes whenever he's behind you and laughing when you grumble. It's hiding in places you shouldn't be, hand in hand. It's miles of Indiana highway. It's heart-racing anxiety that one of you might not make it to the end. Love with Steve is a devotion: he takes care of you. He's taken care of you ever since you met.

You haven't stopped to wonder if you deserve it in a long time.

I don't, you think, half tears and all heartbreak. You don't deserve it. You don't deserve Steve. He's too good, the kind of good that starts life in the marrow of bones. He's sweet and soft-handed with a softer heart. He looks like a dream, and it shouldn't matter but it does. His voice is the only one you like waking up to, his lips hovering by the shell of your ear.

Time to get up, dummy. Rise and shine, angel. Baby, come on. We slept in, loser, and you need to get dressed. Hey, are you listening to me? I miss you, wake up.

"Y/N?" Steve asks, trying the handle.

You flinch hard, and your heart jumps with you. A flip flop somersault feeling in your chest that plummets to your stomach. You scratch madly at your cheeks with two woollen sleeves and stand up as he opens the door.

"Hey," Steve says, and he's safe, he's alive and well and home again.

He stands in the doorway with a bulging rucksack on his back, windbreaker zipped tight to his neck, hair a windblown mess. His nose is red from the cold and his cheeks are ice-bitten, though the colour is coming back to his skin slowly.

You don't feel as though you deserve him but you can't help yourself from springing into his chest, arms around his waist before he can blink. Before he can see the wet mess of your face, and your tear swollen eyes.

"Hey," he says again, leaning a great deal of his weight over your shoulders. He sniffs your hair. "Hey dummy. Told you I'd get home fine, huh?"

You try not to breathe too loudly against his chest. The fabric of his coat is stiff and cold, a contrast to your heated skin.

"Hey," he says, for a third time. This time it's all powdered sugar soft. Concern and exhaustion wrapped together. "I know, I'm sorry it took longer than usual. It's my fault, I wanted to get you something 'n' I made us all late coming home, I know you worry."

You don't answer again. You don't know how to explain it to him. You can barely understand it yourself. You cling to him and his solid mass until he gives in, his mouth pressed to your temple, his arms tightening behind your head. He shields you from the world for a handful of long, stolen minutes. There's nothing but his hugs, no sound to battle the plastic sounds of his windbreaker or the blood rushing between your ears.

"I didn't mean to worry you," he murmurs.

You don't trust your voice to come out whole.

He freezes under your touch. A slow hardening. His hands pause where they'd been rubbing short, featherlight lines.

"I'm sorry," you say, enthusing your tone with some self-deprecating cheer. "You're tired, I'm sorry. You wanna sit down."

"I really do." He laughs.

You peel away from him, the two of you sheepish and awkward and it's so unlike you, unlike him. You think you've made a fool of yourself as he takes off his rucksack, laying it carefully on the floor by the bed as you turn to your shared dresser and rummage through the top drawer for some clean clothes for him to take when he showers.

You've freaked him out, and he thinks you're a weirdo, and he's gonna realise you don't deserve him and you never could. You're bad at nearly everything, and you're a total slob, and you should've tried harder to get back to him, and it's all your fault. Misery grips you and drags you down hard. It spirals, surface level comments from a shallow, jealous girl, they twist and twist until you feel wrung out and useless. And now Steve's home, and you're–

"Are you mad at me?" Steve asks.

You wince and face him, his sweatpants pressed to your chest. "What?"

"You're not talking to me, and you only ever used to do that when you were mad."

You pass him his sweatpants, clear your throat. "Stevie, I'm not mad at you."

"Then what's up?" He unzips his windbreaker, keeping his eyes on you. "I know it's something."

You force yourself to keep a mild smile. You can't think of a lie — you don't want to lie.

Steve frowns as your face crumples, a large palm leaping to the curve of your neck.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

You can't align this Steve with the one you knew in Hawkins. He's so different. Or maybe he isn't different at all, and you're lucky to see the depth of his feelings, the expanse of his goodness and his heart and his secret smile, corners pulled up and eyebrows pushed down just so. It says, You're okay, because we're gonna do this together. The world will keep spinning for us as long as we want it to.

"I had a bad day," you say.

"Are you sure? I've seen you on some bad days, baby. This doesn't feel like that, you know? And I get that I don't always know what to say, but I promise I wanna know. Whatever it is that's been making you all grumpy."

His smile glows, his eyebrows rising. His teasing tone toward the end of his reassurance is a lightness you cling to.

Lately, everything has felt so heavy.

"I'm worried I don't…" Even attempting to say it has your throat aching. You cover his hand with yours. "Steve, I– I feel bad lately. I feel like I'm bad."

He shakes his head, strands of his brown hair unsticking to dance in front of his eyes. "You're not bad."

"I don't deserve you."

He stares.

"Being with you now, having you look after me, I didn't deserve you when I met you." A tear gathers in the line of your lashes. "I don't deserve you now. I'm just me, I'm useless, and you don't have to be with me and I've," —you take in a shuddering breath, and step away from Steve's hand— "been trying to work out why you're still with me and it doesn't make sense. Why do you stay with me?"

"That's a stupid question," he says.

You try to swallow a lump. It stays right there in your throat.

"I got a policy against stupid questions, remember?"

"Steve…"

He cuts you off, tangling his fingers with yours, and easing you close until his breath is warming your lips and you can see the honey-browns that circle his pupils. They feel bigger the longer you look at them.

"How can you ask me that?" he says gently. "You know how much I love you… Right?"

You nod and knuckle a tear off of your cheek. "I know," you say, and you're crying now, little bubbling sobs that wobble your shoulders.

"Listen, if I haven't been showing it I'm sorry, and I'll prove it to you. I don't want you to question it."

"It's not you," you say, pressing your forehead to his collar, craving his comfort so much that you don't care if you don't deserve it.

"Everybody knows that line is a lie," he says.

"I'm not lying. Everybody knows I'm the part that doesn't fit."

"Who's everybody?"

You try to backtrack and pull away, but Steve won't let you this time. "I'm just having a bad day," you say, "and you've had a long one–"

"Stop it." Steve looks at you seriously. He takes your face into both hands, like he always does when he's worried. "I don't care if I crawled home with two broken arms, loser. I gotta know what's wrong. All of it. And you need to tell me."

He thumbs at your damp cheeks.

"Okay," you mumble, embarrassed and relieved at once. "I'll tell you."

You insist that he take his shoes off and stretch out in bed even though he's got dirty jeans on, and he doesn't wanna get your nest of throw blankets dirty, so he peels out of them and sits in his boxers at the top of the bed. You slide in next to him, and he works his arm over your shoulder, and you cry like a baby when he calls you honey under his breath.

—

"And these are for you, too," Steve says, pulling a slightly smushed box of cherries from the bottom of his rucksack.

You look beautiful. Afternoon sunlight drips in from a crack in the curtains, kissing up and down your smiling cheeks. Your eyes are still puffy, but your smile hasn't moved all morning.

"You didn't get anything for yourself?" you ask, though any outrage for him you harbour is hidden by your awe. "I don't remember the last time we got fresh fruit, and you didn't even put them at the top of the bag."

"You're such a whiner. Just try one."

Your fingers play delicately over the punnet of cherries. The cherry garden had had a lot of supplies left to 'borrow', and after a sickly half an hour of him and Robin staining their teeth, he'd managed to grab a perfect box's worth for you. Perfect before they got squished, that is.

"You should have the first one," you say.

"No," he says, and shoves the box at your calf. "They're for you. If you like them, I want you to eat all of them and throw up like a godzilla."

"Not sure you're remembering that movie right," you murmur, plucking one of the cherries out of the box.

You bite into the cherry and your eyes screw up. "Oh wow, that's sour. I don't…" You finish chewing, and Steve is rocketed to cloud nine when you go in for a second cherry, and then a third.

Last night had been tough. Steve spent a long time talking you down from what'd been sewn into your head, and he'd pulled the truth from you in strings. Vanessa had been cruel to you on more than one occasion now, which Steve had known but not to the full extent, and her last comment had been too much. Steve, unapologetically, hates her.

But Vanessa isn't the sole problem.

You're having a really hard time. All of this has been so much for you. It is, in Robin's words, the fucking apocalypse, and between nearly starving to death and all the shitty things that have happened to you, he isn't surprised to find you're fragile. And he doesn't say fragile, meaning weak. He doesn't know a lot about the world but he knows the human brain and body isn't built for this. You're his girl, and you're hurting, and while he knows objectively this isn't his fault, he vows to do a better job at protecting you.

He won't fail you again. He can't.

He watches cherry juice escape out of the corner of your mouth.

"You're cute," he says. "Where's the disposable? Pass it over."

"You are not taking a photo of me right now, baby."

"You look beautiful."

"When will we ever get the photos developed, anyway?" you say, laughing, kissing juice off of your fingertips.

He leaps for the camera and tussles you when you fight back. You laugh and lose, weak with giggles as he holds you away, his fingers pressing into the soft plush of your waist.

"Jonathan does all of that stuff," Steve says knowingly.

He gives you a little shove. You cover your face with your hands, words muffled, "Thought the camera was for me?"

"We're sharers. We share things. Look, if you don't smile for me I'm gonna take a picture of you in your underwear."

You throw your hands over your lap and he snaps a photo of your shy face.

"Shithead fucking pervert," you say.

Steve knows he's off the hook when you laugh.

He's gonna give Vanessa the coldest shoulder anyone has ever given, and if she were a guy Steve would defend your honour in a more physical manner. He'd suggested a verbal defence last night but you'd begged him to never, ever bring any of it up to Vanessa or your friends. It startled him —you have nothing to be ashamed of— but he'd agreed. Whatever's gonna make you happy is, perhaps cornily, what he wants to do.

Right now, making you happy is gifts on the floor of your tiny shared bedroom, pantsless but, fascinatingly, with socks. He points the camera at your ankles.

You grab the new blanket he'd given you and drape it over your legs. "Pervert," you reiterate.

He puts down the camera.

"Not my fault they made you perfect."

"Who's they?"

Steve shrugs, and can't keep the smirk off of his face as he says, "They made every damn inch of you perfect, especially but not limited to your pretty eyebrows."

Your smile settles into something more timid. You push your hill of gifts aside, careful not to spill your cherries, and walk the short distance on knees to wrap your arms around his neck. Your face fits into the curve of his neck exactly the way it always will. His hand cups your lower back.

"Love you, Harrington," you say.

"How much? 'Nough to let me have some of the cherries?"

You shake your head gently, the tip of your nose bumping his Adam's apple. "No…" you say apprehensively.

"No? You don't wanna share with me?"

"No." Your mumbling is adorable. Steve wants to eat you alive, or at the very least kiss you until you turn to jelly in his arms.

If he starts now, he can be done by dinner.

"Five seconds to change your mind. After that I'm taking all of them by force. Five, four, three…"

You shriek, and even your shrieking is a sound he wants to hear. You drop away from him and grab the cherries, cornering yourself too fast as you stagger to your feet and hide by the desk. Shoulders against the cabinet, you grab up one of your rare books like a shield, and you glare at him over the cover.

"You said they were for me!" you say, real panic in your voice. You know from experience Steve will tickle you until you can't breathe.

"They are for you! I love you," he says, words dripping with a false sincerity (though he loves you, undeniably). "I'm just trying to help you, sweetheart. You don't want my help?"

"You keep your help away from me, beast."

It doesn't take him nearly as long as he'd thought to melt you. He tickles you, and he steals a handful of your precious cherries, and when he kisses you dizzy it leaves red-pink splotches over the column of your neck, his smile temporarily printed into your skin.

—

ty for reading <3 I hope you enjoyed, and if you did pls consider reblogging <3<3

#steve zombie!au #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things

925 notes · View notes

magicalrocketships · 2 months

Note

hiii i was wondering if you had something new about baby max ☺️

HOW ABOUT THIS LITTLE BIT???? Follows on from Enchanted Light Trail basically but it's just tired travelling.

All earlier parts can be found in this masterpost and on AO3 here (although i've got a couple of bits now to update on AO3).

It's You And Me (I Know It's My Destiny): Max and Daniel Go Home

Max doesn't fall asleep on the plane until they're fifteen minutes away from landing in Nice, which means that Daniel has to try and fumble Max's seatbelt around him without waking him up under the steward's watchful eye, and deal with a crotchety and tired Max as they get off the plane and wait for their luggage and try and gather it all together onto one trolley.

It's exhausting. Max is exhausted, and Daniel hasn't been sleeping well in weeks, and Daniel has all of his stuff and grown up Max's stuff and Max's seven year old stuff and Max's toddler stuff for the 36 hours he spent as Daniel's chunky three year old shadow. He's got their hand luggage and Max's backpack and emergency clothes for if Max got big or got smaller. Max's replacement stuffed Pikachu found himself on the floor in the departure lounge, none of the outlets had food Max wanted to eat, their flight was unnecessarily complicated, time-wise, and Christian couldn't hide his displeasure that Daniel was taking Max home and Max hadn't miraculously woken up big again.

His head hurts. It really hurts, and he's got no fucking idea where the paracetamol is. It's in one of these bags. Somewhere.

"Can we go yet?" Max asks, clinging on to Daniel's coat. "Why can't we go yet?"

"I think we're still waiting for one more bag, baby," Daniel says, but part of him just wants to leave it here in the airport, go home and collapse face first into the sheets.

"No," Max says.

"Yeah," Daniel says, even though he can see Max is gearing up to lose it. It hasn't been bad, staying with Christian and Geri over new year, but it's been different. Max hasn't liked having to share Daniel with anyone, and he hasn't liked that he had none of his own things. Max likes his own things. He likes his little drawer where he keeps all of his special things (and sometimes Pikachu, when Daniel really likes to sob on the inside). The new Pikachu has been grudgingly accepted but it isn't Max's Pikachu. It doesn't smell right. Max says it feels wrong when he rubs it against his cheek. Daniel could well agree but he's too tired.

One more bag.

Their bag rolls around. He dumps it on the top of the trolley. God, he can't remember where he parked his car. Max is looking like he's going to cry.

"Piggy back?" Daniel asks hopefully once they're finally through customs and Max is tearful and noticeably hanging on by a thread. Max nods so sadly that Daniel's fairly certain no one has ever looked sadder about anything. He hefts him up onto his back, and Max half chokes him as Daniel pushes their stupid overflowing trolley in the general direction of where he thinks his car is.

He finds the car on the third try, and then has to shove everything into the boot and away. Max doesn't want to be in the car and he doesn't want this Pikachu and he wants to be at home and in his own clothes and hugging his own Pikachu and with his own toys.

Daniel gets it. He really gets it. He's just not made of magic.

He ends up telling Max a very stupid story about all the adventures that Pikachu has got up to in the flat without them. Max isn't really one for story telling, but his expression of dubious disbelief is slightly better than him crying, so Daniel will take it.

And when they finally get home, and Daniel has tiredly failed to even attempt to get all of their bags into the lift in one go. He's got the three bags that look like they're the most useful. Everything else stays in the car.

Max tucks his hand into Daniel's.

"Pikachu hasn't really been having adventures," he says doubtfully as the lift doors close.

"No, baby," Daniel says. "He's at home, waiting for you."

Max nods his little serious nod. He keeps his hand in Daniel's. "My home and your home," he says.

"Yeah," Daniel says, swallowing down what feels suspiciously like a sob. "Our home."

"Good," Max says.

The lift doors open again, and Daniel takes him home.

#my fic #de-aged maxiel #baby max #it's you and me #fic that i wrote #it's been a while #but it's also been a very long and exhausting year #(it's april)#(i'm so tired)#i guess ALSO just be glad i didn't paste the little bit that's been sitting in my drafts for about three months #where people are worried about daniel

90 notes · View notes

lila-lou · 7 months

Text

✨Needy✨

Summary: Jensen finally comes home after weeks of filming and shows you how much he missed you.

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Language, smut, pregnant reader

Word Count: 2477

A/N: No hate towards anybody. It's just fiction.

English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

"How do you feel?".

You were currently laying on your large sofa in the living room, your head resting on your left hand while your right hand caressed your belly.

“I’m fine Jay, really”, you smiled at your boyfriend, who was walking over to you with a beer and an orange juice. He looked beyond tired and exhausted. Not surprising considering he only landed four hours ago.

Austin wasn't known for large snowfalls in the winter, so this exceptional situation had led to complications with flights. Jensen's already long flight landed over three hours late, which didn't help his mood. When he saw his pregnant fiancée curled up on the sofa with a broken rib, he was more than pissed. Jensen had only endured the last few weeks on set because he was clinging to the thought that he would soon be able to hold you in his arms again. You and your unborn baby. You've been calling each other every night for the past two weeks to pass the wait, but not once have you mentioned your broken rib.

“Here you go”, Jensen tried to say as nicely as he could while handing you the orange juice, but all the words that came out of his mouth were mumbled. He actually knew that he shouldn't ruin the evening with a bad mood, but the last few weeks had taken a toll on him and his nerves were frayed. Not only was everything going haywire on set, but he also missed you. You were five months pregnant and he felt like he had already missed everything.

You gratefully accepted the glass and took a long sip before setting it aside. Jensen stared blankly at the television, which was playing a horror movie.

“Hey”, you sighed, taking his free hand in yours. “I just didn’t want to burden you unnecessarily. You were always so worried about me and the Baby and with all the stress on set, I thought you wouldn't have to worry about more. I went to the doctor and it’s not that bad”, you tried to explain yourself, but Jensen just rolled his eyes.

“(y/n), you are carrying our child! Do you really think there is something more important at the moment than you and your well-being?”, he replied, still slightly irritated. Of course Jensen was worried and you loved him more than anything for that, but sometimes he could be really overprotective.

“If I promise you, that I won't withhold anything from you anymore, can we please end the evening somewhat peacefully? You didn’t even kiss me when you came in”, you murmur towards the end. Jensen took a long sip of beer and sighed in resignation. Of course he knew he was acting like an ass and that you absolutely didn't deserve that, but he was just worried and stressed.

"You're right. I'm sorry. It's just... the last few weeks have been really stressful and... I feel like I've already missed so much with the little worm", Jensen admitted a little desperately before gently pulling you into his arms. “Besides, I missed you terribly”, he kissed your head lightly.

“Jay… I’m only five months pregnant. We still have four long and wonderful months ahead of us before things get tricky with you being away. You haven't missed anything yet. Except maybe my morning sickness and trust me, you should be glad you weren't there". You tried your best to lighten the mood a little, even if it really wasn't easy. Slowly but surely you could feel him relax. “I hope so”, he murmured before pulling your face to his and finally placing his lips on yours.

“Now tell me about the shoot”, you whispered against his lips with a big grin. While Jensen started talking about his new colleagues and the set, you made yourself comfortable in his arms and pulled the blanket a little higher.

Almost a year ago you moved in with Jensen. You previously had a pretty stressful long-distance relationship. While you were completing your studies in Seattle, Jensen was mostly in Toronto filming “The Boys”. In his free time, he often took the opportunity to spend time with his three children in Austin. Since he was always on the plane, jumping from appointment to appointment, you were usually the one who visited him. It quickly became clear that Jensen wasn't leaving Austin to move in with you, so you had no choice but to leave Seattle.

Luckily you already liked Austin and settled in very quickly.

Jensen had no plans to have any more children, and you hadn't thought about children either. But after your delayed and somewhat escalated housewarming party, contraception wasn't particularly emphasized.

The moment you finally told Jensen about the pregnancy was probably the worst moment of your life. You were so afraid to tell him that it took you forever to say the words without them being swallowed up by your sobs.

Of course, Jensen was anything but enthusiastic, after all, he already had three wonderful children and after his divorce from Danneel, he was happy to take things a little slower with you. However, it didn't take long for him to come to terms with the idea of becoming a father for the fourth time. He still had bad days every now and then where he worried it would all be too much, but overall, he did very well. And now he couldn't wait to finally hold the little munchkin in his arms.

While Jensen told you about his time on set, now in more detail than on the phone, his hand, somewhat distracted, stroked your small baby bump.

“Are you coming to the doctor’s appointment tomorrow? My doctor said we might be able to tell the gender”. Jensen continued to hold you tightly in his arms, your legs crossed over his lap and your head resting lightly on his biceps as he looked down at you.

“Of course, I’ll come”, he kissed your nose. “It’s just the three of us for the next two weeks”. His gaze moved from your eyes down to your belly.

“Is it kicking yet?”, Jensen’s eyes sparkled slightly. You'd think that after three kids he would already know it all, but unfortunately, he was on set for most of his ex-wife's two pregnancies and so wasn't as involved as he would have liked.

“Well, I definitely feel the movements, but they are hardly real kicks. In about 6 weeks you should be able to feel the kicks”, you told him as you watched his hand move in light circles over your belly.

After a while Jensen looked up again. “Being pregnant suits you”, he grinned at you, making you roll your eyes with a chuckle.

“You know how to make a woman blush”, you replied, playfully hitting his chest.

Jensen leaned down to you and pressed his lips lightly to the spot under your ear.

“I know damn well how to make a woman come too”, he whispered harshly to you.

You couldn't help but press your thighs together as a shiver ran down your spine. Despite the fact that you had been together for so long, Jensen still had a strong effect on you. "You think so?", You breathed as he started kissing your neck.

You giggled, your breath hitching slightly. You did not receive an immediate response. Instead, Jensen pulled you onto his lap in one quick movement. As you straddled his legs, he grabbed your ass somewhat roughly with both hands and pushed you closer to him. His lips slid down your neck, leaving wet kisses behind.

“It’s been far too long, sweetheart,” he murmured deeply, his breath hot against your soft skin.

While he kept one hand flat on your lower back, he slipped his other hand into your sweatpants before leaning in to kiss you.

“Actually, I imagined our reunion a little differently”, you whispered against his slightly parted lips, which only lightly touched yours. “With fancy and hot underwear, you know?”.

Jensen couldn't help but laugh lightly, but he stopped with a deep moan when he felt how wet you already were. “Shit baby, I’ve barely touched you and you’re already dripping”, he grinned slightly arrogant. If you weren't so incredibly turned on, you probably would have rolled your eyes. Jensen gently rubbed his fingertips over your soaked clit, making you moan immediately.

“Jensen”, you whined as he continued to tease your clit.

Your eyes were barely open, but you knew Jensen was grinning to himself. You could feel it on your lips.

“Pleaaaase,” you grabbed his thighs and leaned back further so he could get a perfect angle, despite your little baby bump.

“I´ve got you”, he grinned, slipping his middle finger inside you. A soft gasp escaped you as Jensen curled his finger and hit your sweet spot. As he added a second finger, you dug your nails into his skin. “Fuck”, you let out a throaty moan.

“You’re even tighter than usual, baby. I guess I really left you alone for too long”. Your eyes were closed as you were completely absorbed in the feeling your fiancé was giving you.

“Ugh… you did”, you agreed as your eyes met.

With a jerk he pushed your upper body closer to his again and pulled his fingers out of you. No matter how much he loved teasing you, it had been far too long since the last time he could truly feel you.

His arms wrapped tightly around you as he pressed his lips to yours again. “Shit, I missed you so much”, Jensen murmured against your lips, making your heart beat faster.

“I missed you too”, you answered barely audible.

Within seconds, Jensen laid you on your back, tugging your sweatpants and panties off your legs before kneeling on the sofa in front of you, looking at you expectantly. “Touch yourself”, he ordered before you watched as he deftly unbuckled his belt. He loved watching you, almost as much as you loved watching him.

Even though you did this a thousand times, you couldn't stop the blush from rising on your face.

Nevertheless, your fingers found their way to your wet heat as if by themselves. Your teeth sank into your bottom lip as you felt your own wetness. You carefully dip a finger inside yourself, making you breath heavily. By now Jensen already had his throbbing erection in his hand.

“Just like this Babygirl”, he groaned, switching his gaze between your heated face and your spread legs. Your head fell back into the soft couch cushions as you adjusted to the feeling of your finger sliding through your wet folds. Jensen tried everything to hold onto himself and watch you longer, but the desire to bury himself inside you overwhelmed him.

“Fuck it”, he muttered, freeing himself from his jeans and boxers before leaning over you and pressing his lips greedily to yours. You could already feel his hardness against your pussy when Jensen broke the kiss to take off your shirt. “Fuck, they’ve gotten huge”, he whispered as he massaged your left breast over your bra. You couldn't help but grin when you saw his lustful look. “Do you want to keep talking and teasing or finally start fucking me, Ackles?”, you challenged him, your hands sliding under his shirt and tugging at the hem impatiently.

“So needy”, he grinned down at you, pulling his shirt over his head so you could immediately run your hands over his strong chest and broad shoulders before pulling him closer to you by his biceps.

“I’m going to fuck your tight pussy so good”, he groaned, hovering over you again as he took his cock in his hand and lined himself up with your wet folds.

You shuddered as he pushed himself into you until he bottomed out, stretching you almost painfully and letting out the deepest moan you've ever heard.

"Shit honey, you´re okay?", he chuckled, but actually looked a little worried. It took a few seconds until you found your breath and therefore your voice again. "Yeah... I just... almost forgot how big you are", you admitted.

“Well, after tonight you won’t forget it in a hurry”, he winked at you with a grin.

With that, he withdrew completely and spread your wetness with his tip, sliding it between your glistening folds. Jensen's gaze was literally glued between your legs and you could see in his eyes how much that turned him on. “Jay…please,” you begged, wiggling your hips, trying so hard to get him back in. He responded instantly to your requests and pushed his swollen cock into you again, making you moan loudly. As he thrusted into you harder than he had since you were pregnant, he firmly grabbed your hips and pushed them up from the soft fabric of the couch to thrust into you from a better angle. He hit your sweet spot over and over again, which had got you close within a few minutes. “Jay… I’m…”, your hands grip his wrist as you arch your back desperately. "I know, baby. Just a few more minutes", he moaned, watching your breast bounce in your bra with every hard thrust he gave you. Your lips met again, taking the breath away from both of you. You could feel his hot breath in your mouth again and again as he tried to suppress his moans. “You’re so fucking tight, baby”, he groaned against your swollen lips.

By now you were just mumbling pleas and desperately wanted him to allow you to come.

“Cum for me (y/n)”, his lips trailed down your neck, sucking on your delicate skin. Those few words were all you needed to squeeze his cock even tighter. With loud moans and closed eyes, you finally came.

“Fuck baby”, his voice cracked as he felt you clenching around him.

Seconds later, you could feel him spilling his cum inside you as his head fell back down on your shoulder. His deep moan against your collarbone sends shivers down your spine, creating even more sparks in your stomach as you live out the rest of your orgasm.

It took you both quite a while to catch your breath, still overwhelmed by the feeling.

Jensen held his position a little longer. When you finally felt your heart stop racing, you let out a quiet chuckle, brought on by your thoughts, which you immediately said out loud. “I’m not on the pill”, you whispered, stroking strands of his soft hair while his face was still buried in the croock of your neck.

"Well, I can't knock you up any more than I already did, can I?", he grinned and slowly raised his head.

“I guess not”, you grin, pulling his face to yours and kissing him gently.

“I really missed you”, he whispered as your eyes met.

Part2

#jensen ackles #spn #dean winchester #smut #jensen x reader #jensen ackles x reader #jensen x y/n #jensen x you #jensen ackles x you #jensen ackles x y/n #pregnant

343 notes · View notes

cheezbites · 9 months

Text

Dating Soap

✎: I know this is quite short compared to my other ones, but I'm falling asleep as I write. :(ENJOY!!! (Bf!Soap x F!Reader)

♡Summary: Headcanons of dating Soap <3

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚

Bf!Soap was sharing headphones with you on a rainy day, and a sudden thought crossed your mind:

“Wait, I need to show you a song, ‘kinda reminds me of you.” You muttered, reaching for your phone before playing it.

Your head on his shoulder as it played, completely clueless as to how grand your gesture was to him. To you, it was just a song that reminded you of him each time you listened. But to Soap, this was his newest prized possession. Ever since that day, he listened to it incessantly. Either if he was running errands, driving, or humming the melody when he was stressed.

Bf!Soap’s greatest quality was his striking mohawk; (duh) and he protected it with his life. He undoubtedly deemed it his greatest responsibility. He also trusted you with his life, so every now and then he let you trim split ends or unkept strands. (He would've never let anyone else do this in a million years, Simon being the only exception).

Bf!Soap enjoyed the lengthy philosophical conversations you’d randomly have, going from discussing your favourite animals to how the universe began and if there really is a greater power. And although he can be goofy and silly at times that man is genuinely smart.

Bf!Soap perpetually teased you the moment he discovered you couldn't read a clock:

“What time is it, bonnie?” he asked, his eyes glued to the TV playing a football match.

You had no access to a digital clock as your phone was dead, so your gaze instinctively shot to the wall clock.

“It’s, um... something something... PM,”

And the moment he came to terms with his newfound discovery, he laughed so hard he got excruciatingly painful cramps and started seeing stars.

“Ugh, I just couldn’t be bothered to learn when I was younger. We have technology and stuff now!” you proclaimed, defensively crossing your arms.

“Oh my word,” he mumbled while clutching his stomach, still wheezing out a few dry chuckles.

From that mildly humiliating experience, he taught you how to read one instead of continuously laughing at you.

"So, bonnie," he began, "You see the big hand, right? That's the minute hand. ‘Tells you how many minutes have passed."

You nodded, feeling a bit sheepish but willing to learn.

"And the wee hand - that's the hour hand."

You watched the hands move, slowly beginning to grasp the concept. "Okay, I think I'm getting it.”

Soap could sense the lingering doubt in your tone. He leaned in closer, his warm brown eyes locked onto yours. "You sure, love?"

“No - of course I do!”

…

You hesitated, then sighed.

"Okay, maybe not entirely."

"Let's break it down again. Remember, big hand is minutes, wee hand is hours."

He patiently explained it once more, a softness visible in his tone. He took the time to answer your questions and clarify any confusion.

As you finally began to grasp the art of reading a clock, he rewarded you with a proud smile. "See, you've got it now, haven't ya?" he laughed, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

(Clock reading is too simple for someone to not understand, obviously. BUT just imagine soap explaining something complicated to you until you understand - like being so patient, not mansplaining in the slightest. Like ooouuhh🏃🏽‍♀️)

Bf!Soap was thoroughly amused as he watched you go to town on uninvited moths around the house. You grasped a nearby kitchen towel and started ruthlessly thwacking it. Thankfully for him, he didn’t have to deal with the spiders and insects - as you thoroughly enjoyed making them suffer a harsh and unnecessarily truculent death. Maybe it was a bit much, sure. But who asked them to be here, anyway?

Bf!Soap telling you about his dreams alongside your guys’s morning caffeine refreshments was your entertainment for the morning. His dreams almost always included you and were oddly specific and vague, yet so realistic all at the same time.

“So, babe,” he'd start, settling down on the couch next to you “last night's adventure was a doozy…”

“I’m intrigued.” You sipped your coffee and mentally prepared yourself for the most diabolical tale you’ll ever hear.

“I was in a Jaffa Cake factory, right,” he clicked his tongue before continuing, making an effort to recall all the details “and you were there, too, of course. We were both wearing tangerine suits, whilst Price was throwing potatoes at us, telling us to get back to work and whatnot - no joke.”

Bf!Soap has occasional cooking contests with you. You pick random ingredients, and each of you have to create a dish using those ingredients. Both of you fail oh so miserably- you’ve nearly burnt down your house numerous times. Maybe you guys should stick to Tesco meal deals and Deliveroo.😔

A/N: Sorry if I yibber-yabber too much in my writing… I just love going into detail.🤞

Price version

Ghost version

König version

Gaz version

Masterlist

245 notes · View notes

wjhik · 11 months

Text

Like Before (Jude Bellingham) *Smut*

A/N: first smut

Y/N's POV:

I have some mixed emotions about tonight. Jude is taking me out for the first time since the birth of our baby, or I'm letting Jude take me out for the first time since I've given birth should I say. It's been 2 months since I've given birth to our beautiful baby boy. Jude has been trying to convince me to go out for the past two weeks. Postpartum depression has hit me like a truck. He's planned a fun night of clubbing and dancing and getting wasted with our friends. I haven't seen them since I gave birth. He's made me pump enough milk to feed the baby for the next two days, so I'm able to drink, even though I don't really want to. (anti fetal alcohol syndrome in tis house)

"Jude, do I really have to come? You go ahead. I'll stay home with the baby." I tell him, walking fresh out of the shower. "Jobe and mum are already on the way to watch him. Jobe told me he gave up a 'hot date' to watch the baby tonight. He would kill me if I canceled. Love, it'll be okay. You need to get out of the house." He tells me, looking up from his phone. He looks so good right now. His back is propped up on the headboard with his legs stretched out, crossed over each other. He finished his shower a little while before mine. He's only wearing his boxers and I can't help but look down. "Eyes are up here, love." He says, smirking at me. "Sorry." I say, embarrassed. I turn away from him, shielding my eyes. "Baby." He extends the end of his words. He gets up and puts a hand on my shoulder and turns me around. "You've seen everything." He says, bending his knees to get to eye level with me. My hormones have been all over the place, but I brush him off and start getting ready. Jude leaves the room to occupy the baby.

I sit down at my vanity and start getting ready. I start with my skincare. First, I apply my serums, moisturizer, then primer. I then put my foundation and blend it out. I put on some concealer to cover up my very sleep deprived eyes. I contour my face. My favorite part, blush. I apply a liquid blush to the high points of my cheeks. Now for powder. I use a translucent powder underneath my eyes and carve out my contour. Then I apply powder contour and powder blush, tracing over the places I put the liquid version of the product. I let it sit for a little, then I spray setting spray. I go in with my very sparkly highlighter. Now I do my eyes. I put on my mascara and falsies. I do a dark black smokey liner. That's what made me feel the sexiest before. Now I do my lips. I line them with a dark crimson liner, and then top it off with red lipstick. I look in the mirror and sadden. I used to feel like the prettiest girl in the world when I did this, now I feel more than horrid.

I decide to leave my hair natural, mainly because I don't think I physically have the energy to do my hair after doing my makeup for an hour and a half. I simply put my products in it and diffuse it, which in itself is a task, due to its length. I put on all of my jewelry and one of Jude's t-shirts. I know his mum and brother are coming home, so I choose one that's long enough to be decent. I hear the doorbell ring.

I walk outside to meet my mother and brother-in-law. I see Jude hugging them at the door and welcoming them in. "Hello, love!!" Denise says, excitedly. It's been a while since I've seen her. She knows what I was going through, so when she found out I was going out with Jude, she was thrilled. I pull her into a hug. I then move to hug Jobe. We make some small talk before I start running them through how to take care of the baby. I trust them, but I can't help but worry. I show Jobe and Denise where we keep everything, where the milk is, how to work our unnecessarily complicated changing table. As Jobe and Denise were talking and I was listening to their conversation, Jude whispers in my ear, "Why aren't you wearing that dress I got you?" He bought me a beautiful, long, black ysl dress. It has a square neckline and long sleeves. It hugs my figure, which is what I'm scared of. The last time I was seen in something like that was before my pregnancy. I worked hard for the body I had back then, and I let it go. I deserve to let it go. I did have a baby, but the media has no mercy. "It's a bit much for your family, no?" I tell him. It's quite conservative, but it was the first excuse that came to mind. Jude made it a point to not take me too far out of my comfort zone. "You lot should get going." Jobe points out.

I go into my bedroom and change my dress and shoes. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My belly is sticking out. I'm trying to remind myself that this is normal. I brought life into this world. This is a sign of my baby boy. It's hard to keep yourself confident when all you are is 'Jude Bellingham's Fat Pregnant Wife', according to headlines. "Hey, mama." Jude wraps his arms around my waist, kissing my neck. "You look so beautiful." He rubs his hands over my belly. He knows what I'm thinking about without saying it. I interrupt his sweet nothing in my ears and say, "Are you sure we have to go out tonight?" Jude simply grabs my arms and pulls me out of the room. He picks up my phone and purse on the way out. He pushes me out the door. As he's pushing me through the house I hear a series of praises coming from his mum. These two know how to make a girl feel good.

We finally get to the club. Jude ushers me through the dance floor, up to the vip section, where our friends were. We greet them and I sit down with my girls. "So, how are you and Jude?" "I'm sure your sex is amazing. It's been so long for you two." "I'm sure hes been giving it to you good lately." These girls have been drinking. It's hard being the first to have kids in your friend group. "We haven't had sex yet." I tell them. "What?!" "Why?!" They ask me. "How can you have sex with a guy you feel like you don't deserve? I've put on so much weight since getting pregnant, and he's only gotten fitter." I confess to them. "Babes, are you joking?! If anything, you've only gotten sexier. You had his baby!!" One of them says. "Jude hasn't been able to keep his hands off you since you got pregnant. He's so in love with you. Everything your body has been through is because of him and his child. Do you know how sexy that is?" Another one chimes in. "By the way, you look incredible tonight. And if anything, Jude doesn't deserve YOU." Someone says. I can't help but hide my face in my arms and turn red. I don't deserve these girls. I just pull them all in a bear hug.

"Here ya go, love." Jude places a margarita on the table in front of me. "What's this?" I ask him, looking up. "A drink." He smiles at me and walks away, avoiding me denying it. I can't help but drink. Anyone from our group who sees me with an empty drink, will automatically refill it for me. What is happening?

I'm now very drunk. Jude is barely tipsy. "Dance with me?" Jude asks me. He sticks his hand out for me to take. I take his hand, too drunk to be conscious about how I'll look. Him and I are sensually dancing to the music. He's dancing up behind me with his hands on my waist. My hips are swaying to the beat. I slowly start grinding against him. Jude starts kissing my neck. I can feel the existing heat between my legs get even hotter. I turn around to face Jude. He kisses me. At first, it's a simple drunk, sloppy kiss, but it gradually develops into a sexy makeup session in the middle of a nightclub. "Remember when we used to do this every weekend?" I say between kisses, slurring my very intoxicated words. Jude simply moans into my mouth and continues kissing me. "Let's go home, love." Jude has booked a hotel for us to stay in tonight. He wants me to truly enjoy myself. He grabs my hand and drags me into his very fancy car.

(Smut)

Jude pushes me into our hotel room and pins me against the door. He's kissing me as he slots his knee in between my legs. I'm slowly grinding on him, trying to relive myself. He puts his hands on my ass, and slowly grabs it. He bends his knees and picks me up. He's walking me to our bedroom. "You're so beautiful." He says as he lays me down on the bed. "I love you." I say as he towers over me. He takes off his dress shirt and continues kissing me. His kisses have slowed down. He knows it's been a while. His fingers ghost over the side of my dress, where the zipper is. "Take it off." I say to him. He unzips my dress and slips it off. He looks down at my body. I'm wearing some black lingerie.

"Fuck, you're perfect." He says, kissing me. He's kissing down my body. He kisses the top of my breasts. His hands reach behind me and I arch my back up, allowing him to unclasp my bra. He takes it off my body and lightly sucks on my nipples. "Hey, that's for Y/S/N" I say to him, reminding him how drunk I am. He giggles at my state. "Fuck, Jude." I moan. My breasts are so sensitive. He moves down from my breast to my stomach. He leaves hickeys on me. He's obsessed with 'marking' me.

He moves down from my stomach to my sweet spot. Jude is kneeling over me. He's working his way up my leg, towards it. I see him getting hard. I gasp, and my body tenses, then relaxes, my head resting back on the pillow. "Oh, yes... just like that, Jude." I moan, pushing up against Jude. "I'm going to cum," I cry. "Go on then, baby. Cum on my tongue." He encourages me. He sticks 2 fingers inside me, and pushes them in and out of me. "Oh, fuck. Baby, I'm cumming." I say. Ecstasy washes over me and I buck up into Jude face. "Well, fuck." Jude says, giggling. "Oh, my god." I say, my chest heaving. Him and I are slowly giggling away. He comes up to my face and kisses me passionately.

"I don't know how much longer I can wait, baby. I want to feel you inside me." His face is a few inches away from mine, and staring deeply into my eyes. "Good, baby, I want that too." He says. He lowers his head, and kisses my lips. I wrap my arms around Jude's neck, pressing my body against his. I moan into his mouth. I feel myself pulsing. Jude shifts, getting into a better position over me.

"Please, baby. Please, fuck me. I need you so bad." I plead with him. He takes off the remaining of his clothes. His hard dick springs out of his boxers. I forgot how big he is. I am so terrified. How in fucks name did I take all of him? He's about to stick it in when I stop him. "Wait. Wait. Please go slow." I tell him, putting my hands on his lower stomach. "I'll be gentle, baby." He says as he slowly stretches me out. "Oh my fucking god..." I say, throwing my head back in the pillow. He leans down and kisses me as he pushes in deeper. He very slowly moves deeper and deeper. "Fuck. I forgot how tight you were." Jude says in a groan as he pushes all the way inside me. "Fuckk!!" I yell. He kisses my neck as he stays still. He looks at me for approval. "Move, please." I tell him, getting used to his size, but not fully. I don't think I can even get fully used to him. He starts fucking me just like how he used to. He pulls all the way about me and thrusts all the way back in at a painfully slow pace. "Please fuck me faster." I beg him. "Anything for you, love." He says, fucking me at an ungodly pace. "Baby, I think I'm going to cum." I say to him. It's been a while. I forgot how good he was at this. "Cum on my dick, baby. I just want to make you feel good." He encourages me, moving faster. I pull him in by his face and kiss his lips as I cum around him.

"I love you so much." He says kissing my forehead. We're laying together, watching a movie. I look up at him and kiss him. He's cuddling me and I'm in his shirt, like before. "I genuinely think you are the most beautiful woman on this planet." Jude goes on and on about how beautiful I am and how much he loves me until I fall asleep in his arms. Jude makes me feel so beautiful.

Wattpad: funkyfishfeet

DM for requests

#football x reader #footballer x reader #jude bellingham #jude bellingham fanfic #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham smut #jude bellingham blurb #jude bellingham fluff #jude bellingham imagine

188 notes · View notes

wannaeatramyeon · 11 months

Text

Word quantity: high. Word quality: low. You have been warned.

Goo Kim x Reader: School Days with Princess & the Delinquent

Chapter 6 - Please read chapter 1 first!

“Are we friends?”

Goo jolts at your question and his steps falter. He's walking you back home from work this time.

Another new habit.

There’s too many unsavoury characters like himself out at this time of night. A sweetheart like you would get eaten alive.

"Hmm," he strokes at his chin, his other hand now having found a steady second home around your shoulder.

A friend? What a novel concept. Certainly, you and him tick the boxes of traditional friendship.

Sure.

Though…

To consider you only as a friend, with his own budding feelings simmering below the surface and shoved in a dusty corner at the back of his mind. Well, it does something to his stupid little heart that he doesn’t want to unpick just yet.

He’s not sure he likes the sound of this.

Perhaps it's really for the better. Anything more will just cause complications for him that he definitely does not need.

And he really does hate when things are unnecessarily complicated.

"Why?" Goo asks, tone sweet and smile sly. Avoiding giving you a direct answer, "Want something more?"

"Goo!" You give him a rough shove with your shoulder, your comfort in his company a world away from your first meeting.

He whines immediately at the impact, probably had the whine at the ready before you even touched him. Goo rubs at his chest like you could have hurt him.

Like he isn’t a solid wall of muscle, and you haven’t seen him receive and dish out much worse damage.

“So vicious!” he teases, “You need to pay for my pain and suffering.”

“Goo!”

“Y/N!” he repeats, a mirror of your mocking pitch.

A brief stare-off.

Goo breaks first, he always does.

“Why are you asking?”

You shuffle your feet, buying time, feeling a little self-conscious and a lot cringe. “Weeeell. If we’re friends, shouldn’t we stay in contact?”

“Sure?” Goo’s brow furrows as he elongates the word, not certain where you’re going with this.

“I don’t have your number.”

Ah. That’s what this is? That’s why you started your nervous fiddling? Goo grins.

“You don’t?!” He immediately pulls his phone out, “Well why didn’t you say! Don’t give it to anyone else, ok? I’m very in-demand.”

Huffing at his self importance, "Just pass it over. We can keep in touch during vacation."

"You mean your plans don't involve me?!"

No, your plans don’t even involve being in the city.

School vacation means your working parents shipping you off to a relative. An aunt or uncle or grandparents. And usually you don’t mind.

You always fondly look back on these moments, tinged sepia with nostalgia when you remember running through wheat fields and dusty dirt paths in the countryside. Playing alongside village kids that you see a few times a year.

This time is no different, but there’s someone you’re already missing. Not even a whole 24 hour apart yet.

Listening to your grandpa snoring and watching the fireflies outside your window, you wonder if Goo, that cityslicker, would like it here. If he could appreciate the simple peace or would he go insane with boredom.

As if on cue, your phone pings. Like his ears have been burning knowing you are thinking about him.

“I’m bored,” it reads, accompanied with a selfie with finger guns against his head.

You smile as you tap back a reply.

Goo's phone pings as he narrowly misses a knife swinging at his head.

He pulls it out to read your message even when Gun tells him off for being distracted.

Another ping leads to Goo taking both hands off the steering wheel, Gun having to quickly correct the car’s trajectory to prevent it driving off the side of a cliff.

He aims a punch at his partner and it starts another fight.

Gun’s dinner is interrupted by incessant chimes from Goo’s phone, followed by the tapping of his stupid fingers on the screen.

It’s like nails on a chalkboard. He wants to break each and every one.

Gun takes the remainder of his meal and moves to the other side of the restaurant.

Goo doesn’t notice.

Gun is cut off mid-sentence as a finger is held up to his face. So close his eyes cross as he focuses on it

“...the fuck?”

“Sh sh shhhhh~ ” Goo shushes him, already half bored to tears listening to Gun talk about the merits of Jeet Kune Do. He is luckily saved by his phone ringing, pouncing on it as Gun wonders whether he should snap that finger still waving in his face or not.

The blonde is positively giddy seeing your name flashing across his screen. Oh! Your first call together and he has so missed the sound of your voice.

He swipes to answer, walking off and dismissing his partner.

“Princess! You just saved me from the dullest conversation. I thought I died and gone to hell!”

Maybe Gun should have snapped his finger and his neck.

Goo has become awfully fond of your calls and messages.

Truly, what a wonderful show of initiative from you asking for his number. He didn't realise you could be so forward.

Anytime day or night, you've become his go to for whenever he has something to say.

And he has so many things he wants to say.

This is insidious, Goo thinks, lying awake; tossing and turning as sleep evades him.

You have sunk your claws into his life. Have a terribly firm hold on him that he doesn’t know how to shake off.

It’s in the dead of night, when everything has calmed and he tries to rest, that his traitorous brain whirs.

His fondness for you has grown so naturally, so organically that he barely had time to figure out what was going on before he was already in too deep.

No wonder he clings to you so much. No wonder he makes himself front and centre of your life, insistent on your full attention which you give him with little hesitation.

Goo thinks about his future, and is disappointed to find his mind betrays him. He used to daydream about rolling around on a pile of money. Resting on stacks of cash, because who needs cushioning anyway?

Now he thinks how much fun it would be if you joined him.

You. The absolute opposite of him.

Huh. Maybe opposites do attract.

#this whole fic is so self indulgent #i am so so sorry at the quality in advance #lookism #lookism headcanons #lookism x reader #lookism hc #lookism webtoon #lookism manhwa #goo kim #goo kim x reader #kim joongoo #kim joongoo x reader #wannaeatramyeon #school days with princess and the delinquent

163 notes · View notes

serenefreakgeekao3 · 4 months

Text

Fear of Falling

CHAPTER TWO [Masterlist]

Pairing: Hiccup x ftm!reader

Summary: You and Hiccup have begun to get closer- to something even resembling friendship. What happens, then, when complications get thrown into the mix? Complications namely being Hiccup’s close acquaintances, who seem a little too invested in getting to know you.

Tags: carpenter!reader, awkward!Hiccup, meeting friends, mutual pining

Warnings: slight bullying, mention of transphobia at the end of the chapter, tales of a bad family life (for reader)

Author’s Note: This is when the whole ftm thing comes into play! At the end of the chapter, reader tells Hiccup his life story, essentially, where reader was disowned by his family. If this will hurt you in any way, feel free to not read, or skip the final part after Hiccup receives his gift! Sorry for the sad backstory, but it’s only for a small section! (Also, sorry it took so long for me to post this part, but if you notice its literally like twice as long as my first part. Unintentional, but it felt weird to try to split it up into two chapters. It flows easier this way!)

Words: 12552

“So where’s your dragon?”

The question catches you off guard, startling and turning to look at Hiccup’s curious face. It’s been a month since you claimed this land, and with the help of Hiccup and Skullgar your home is finally standing and all in one piece. You were settling in, moving furniture around until you felt comfortable with the positions and placing your few belongings in their proper places. It was a small hut, one story and one bedroom. A fireplace crackled on one side of the room, half of the building made into a nice living area while the other half almost resembled a shop. You had a long bar with stools, shelves for your tools, and currently sitting on the edge of the bar was the first piece you finished whittling. It wasn’t bad, actually. A little rough around the edges, but a small dragon- not based on any that you’ve seen for yourself, just carved from your imagination- that is big enough to fit in your hand sat there and watched over the whole proceeding.

“What?” You took too long to answer, but you didn’t know exactly what to say. You avoided the topic of the dragons for a long while- impressively, might you add, since dragons are apparently Hiccup’s lifeblood. You didn’t mind talking about them in a general sense, or hearing whatever happened in town. But if he was to ask about you flying, or where your dragon was, you were able to deftly change the subject. Maybe that’s why he decided to catch you off guard. He almost had a smug look about him, the kind of face that made you want to smush his cheeks together until he laughed.

“Your dragon. I sort of assumed that once your home was finished and the rest of the builders moved on- I don’t know, that maybe they’d be willing to settle down? I tried to make a nice nest outside for them, but I wasn’t sure about their size. I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen them before.” Hiccup continued as if it’s the most obvious thing ever, to claim a dragon. To have a lifelong companion such as that. As if the thought of not having one was unimaginable.

“I don’t have one,” You mumbled, turning back toward the shelf to unnecessarily fidget with a vase you were given by Gobber. You spun it a few times, then realizing that did nothing you began to push it a tad to the left, then back to the right.

“What?” You have a talent for confusing Hiccup, that tone in his voice is practically familiar to you now. “What do you mean you don’t have one?”

“I mean that I don’t have one.” You nod, turning to look at him, eyebrows raised. “It’s not that uncommon you know.”

“No, but-” Hiccup breaks off, holding out a hand toward you. His confusion began to mix with worry. “What do you mean- but you live all the way out here?” You hadn’t heard anything more about this location being unsafe from Hiccup since that first day, and you had figured he’d just drop it. It’s not like it should matter much to him anyway.

“Yes, I know. I chose the spot.” You tried to laugh, but it came out more as an awkward chuckle. “You were there, y’know.”

“No- I mean, yes I know I was there but-” Hiccup turns frustrated, looking away from you and scanning the air as if it held an answer for him. He runs a hand through his hair, flopping it around on his head before he throws his hand back outward. “You live all the way on the outskirts! If something happened to you, no one in town would be able to know. No one would hear, there wouldn’t be anyone to- to come and-” He huffed again, grabbing his hair roughly. The entire time he speaks he seems almost to be arguing with himself in his head. “I know you can take care of yourself, but against a dragon?” He finally turns his face to you, with almost a look of desperation. “What if they tame a dragon and attack from above? Pick off the people on the outside first, you can’t fight a dragon and their rider by yourself! You can’t outrun a dragon! What would-”

“Hiccup,” You try to interrupt, having moved close enough to reach a hand out to press lightly against his arm. It still, miraculously, works somehow. “I’ll be okay.”

“But you need a dragon,” Hiccup whines out, practically pouting at you. “They- they mean so much-”

“I know you love all of the dragons here, Hiccup,” You begin, your voice quieting, “But not everyone feels so intrinsically tied to dragons like you. Not everyone can bond with them as easily as you.” You shrug, trying for a smile but probably missing the mark, “There hasn’t been one to find me yet.”

“Well, if they can’t find you then we can find them, come on!” He takes your hand and immediately tries to pull you to the door. In the few times he’s taken your hand, you’ve always followed. This is the first time that you hold your ground, unmoving. Hiccup doesn’t pull, or tug. He turns, confused at your reluctance.

“I don’t-” You take a breath, shaking your head, “If I go out looking for one and can’t find one I’ll just be disappointed and heartbroken. I’ve met every single dragon on this island at least once, whether they had a rider or not. None of them have taken to me, Hiccup.” You turn bashful, pulling your hand away and crossing your arms, pulling them close to you. “If there’s a dragon out there for me, they’ll find me.”

“That seems like a fantasy, [y/n]” Hiccup begins, shaking his head and closing the gap once more. “We can try.”

“It’s fine, Hiccup.” You repeat, looking up at him with a sad smile. “I’m used to being alone.”

You turn away after this, missing the complete devastation that crosses Hiccup’s face. He shakes his head, mouth working with nothing to come out. He doesn’t know what to say to that, unable to voice how he feels. He’s never been the best with words, always sketching or trying to express his feelings through flying. At that thought he calms, brain working a mile a minute as his eyes flicker back and forth, unseeing.

“Come flying with me.”

You turn, confused at the sudden outburst. By the time you see his face again, his attention is still focused entirely on you, a wide smile stretching across his face. He bounds the few feet toward you that you had moved away, taking both of your hands with glee. “Hiccup, I-” You begin, shaking your head, but he just interrupts.

“Come flying with me, [y/n]! It’ll be great! I know you don’t have a dragon to fly on, but we can both be on Toothless. It’s so amazing, please, you have to experience it!” You laugh at his enthusiasm, almost blown away by the force of it. With your laugh coloured in disbelief, you begin to shake your head.

“Hiccup, I just said I don’t want to go looking for a dragon-”

“This isn’t about that!” Hiccup tries to convince you, shaking your hands slightly. “Flying is-” His mouth works as he tries to find the words, shaking his head, “You just have to try it, at least once!” You laugh again, shaking your head.

“I did try it once.”

“What?” Hiccup ducks closer, and you feel your brain malfunction for a split second. Why does he have to be so close? Was he always this physical?

“I’ve flown once.” Hiccup looks adorably confused, so you continue your point. “During the move. I told you, I’m not new here, but I was new to the old Berk. I lived there a month before suddenly everyone was packing house and moving on their dragons. I was apprenticing under Skullgar and, once he found out I had no dragon and was planning to just sail away to find somewhere else to live, offered up Grimrar as a ride. His family planned to ride his wife’s dragon and use Grimrar to transport their possessions. There was a bit of room for me to squeeze in.”

Hiccup’s confused face was adorably scrunchy, you decided. “But, wait,” He leans back slightly, shaking his head. “Transporting things and transporting people require completely different saddles. That would’ve been extremely dangerous…” Hiccup trailed off, refusing to believe your story.

“No, that’s true. Grimrar had the transport saddle on his back, I was squeezed between a couple of boxes and kind of held on for dear life. It was the longest day of my life, actually. Felt like it, anyway.” You smile, able to laugh about it now that the soul-crushing fear is no longer gripping your heart.

“That-” Hiccup scoffs, shaking his head. “No, that’s not true flying.”

“Well, I was technically on a dragon, and that dragon was in the air. Very, very high in the air-”

“No, that’s just dangerous- anyone would be scared of that!” Hiccup pulled on your still-connected hands, looking into your eyes earnestly. “Let me take you flying. Toothless will be so gentle-”

“Hiccup,”

“No, listen! It’s fantastic, [y/n]! It’s- it’s indescribable!”

“Hiccup, I’m afraid of it!” You sigh, shaking your head and pulling your hands back.

“Afraid of heights? But-”

“Afraid of falling, mind you.”

“You won’t fall!”

“You can’t promise that.” You turn once again, taking a new block of wood and the whittling knife that Hiccup gave you two months ago. Was it really only two months? You sat down on a stool in a huff, striking the first notch into the wood. Hiccup was quiet again, which honestly rarely happened now. You glance back up to see disappointment across his face, feeling a pang of guilt in your chest at the sight. “I’m sorry, Hiccup.”

“I can promise that if you fall we’ll catch you.” Hiccup’s voice was so serious, meaning every word he said. He took a step closer to you on your stool but maintained a proper distance still. The open window behind him framed him in an almost ethereal sunset-orange light. “Either Toothless, or me. We’ll catch you.” You felt hard-pressed not to believe him.

“That’d still require me to fall. Which is the part I’m scared of.” His shoulders fell at your insistence, glancing away from you and staring off into space. The room is filled with the sounds of your whittling and the fire crackling to the side, a comfortable silence only bellied by the discomfort of having to disappoint the guy you’re falling for. Hiccup turns and leans against the bar next to you, tapping his hands along it. The taps stop and you look up to see him fiddling with something in his hands just out of sight.

“Well,” He begins quietly, and you quickly lower your gaze back to your project. “If you ever change your mind, I’m always here.”

“You really are,” You begin to joke, smirking down at the slowly dwindling wood block in your hand. “Almost like I can’t get rid of you.” Hiccup laughs, thankfully, at your joke, not taking it too seriously.

“Well, just trying to shirk my chiefly duties, as you always say. Hide away from the clamouring.”

“Well, keep it up and they’ll know exactly where to find you. Then your point would be moot.”

“Not if we went flying together. Then they’d never be able to find us.” You feel your smile slipping, lifting your eyes once more to him. He was already staring back at you, determination set in his eyes. You’d only seen that once before, two months ago, and now you have a proper house to thank him for.

“They have tracking dragons,” You try to counter, smirking at him gently, “You trained them yourself, you know.” Hiccup lets the moment settle, half a minute of comforting silence between the two of you before turning away and sighing dramatically, throwing his arms out to the side.

“Woe be me! Forever and always, stuck as Chief and-”

“Hiccup!”

The feminine yell startles you, jumping hard and turning to face your front door. You try to calm your racing heart, turning and placing the sharp knife down before you accidentally hurt yourself. Your door flies open with a slam, Astrid striding into your home with an air of determination and aggravation. She glares at you before stalking around your home, in search of the man who has suddenly and mysteriously disappeared from your side. “Where is he?”

“Who?” You play dumb, visibly roaming your eyes around the room. “I assume you’re not asking after me?”

“You know who I’m talking about,” Astrid grumbles, lifting a couch cushion and looking under it as if Hiccup could’ve possibly hidden there. She places it back down, pressing it back into place before moving on. Just as forcefully she yells his name again, causing you to jump once more before sighing loudly.

“Look, I can honestly say I have no clue where Hiccup is.” You raise your hands in defence, raising your eyebrows and shrugging toward her. She turns to you with the full force of her glare, one hand on her cocked hip.

“Uh-huh. And can you ‘honestly say’ you didn’t know where he was ten seconds before I marched into your house?” You hesitate, then shrug at this. “Yeah, thought so.” She starts looking up at the rafters, twisting around in search of him. “Where’s your stairs? Or ladder?”

“It’s one story, Astrid. You see everything-” You are cut off by her throwing open your bedroom door, sighing loudly. You place your elbows against the bar behind you, leaning back and waiting. By the time she comes back, closing the door behind her, she marches directly up to you.

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know, Astrid.” You repeat, sighing. “What’s wrong anyway?”

“Where could he have gone, if he was just here a second ago, hm? He has to be hiding somewhere.” She doesn’t bother to answer your question, looking around once more as if he’d suddenly spring into existence behind the potted plant you were given by Skullgar’s wife.

“I honestly don’t know Astrid, alright? We were talking one second, then you screamed louder than a Thunderdrum and by the time I turned around he was gone.” You huff, motioning toward the window, “If anything he could’ve just dove through the window and been halfway back to New Berk by now.” At this Astrid turns, inspecting the window as if it offended her before she sighs, turning to you with her hands on her hips.

“What do you want with Hiccup?” You raise your eyebrows, glancing around the room in confusion.

“I’m sorry?”

“Why do you keep hanging around Hiccup all the time? I’ve had to come pull him away from you fifty times in the last month! I don’t even think I’ve seen you before in my entire life until I found you with him.” She walks closer, narrowing her eyes. “I swear to Thor if you’re a spy for those damn hunters, I’ll rip your throat out myself.” Your eyebrows continue to raise as she speaks, finally raising your hands up in defence.

“Hey, what? I don’t want anything from him! I just wanted to live my life peacefully, he’s the one who decided to take an interest in me.” She points at your chest, gearing up for another round, but you cut in quickly. “And I’m not a hunter! I swear it, I would never harm a dragon unless it was self-defence. And I never have! Hurt one before, I mean.”

“Then why don’t you have a dragon?”

“Because none of them chose me? I don’t know, ask them!” You huff an angry sigh, crossing your arms. “I’m not trying to go out and force them into liking me! Seems a bit inhumane.” She glares at you for a moment longer before backing up a few steps and crossing her arms in a mimic of you.

“Oh yeah? Then why does no one know who you are? Why hasn’t anyone heard of you before?”

“I don’t know?” You fold in on yourself, shaking your head. “Maybe you’re asking the wrong people? I don’t talk much and I keep to myself, usually. If you asked your little rider buddies, that’d be why none of them know me.” Astrid quietly takes this in, seeming to at least believe your words for the time being. “If you want someone likely to know me then ask any of the other carpenters; Odin willing, even ask Gobber! The man’s known me since my first steps onto the docks of the old Berk.”

“Gobber knows you?”

“Yes, Gobber knows me. He knows my whole story. I tried to apprentice under him, but he said he was full up. Introduced me to Skullgar instead.” Astrid remains quiet, eyeing me up. Eventually, she takes a step forward, threateningly pointing a finger toward you.

“Look, if you hurt him-”

“I’m not gonna’ hurt your boyfriend, Astrid.” You interrupt her, shaking your head as you turn away to grab your knife and whittling project once more, angrily taking a swipe at it. “I’d never do anything against my own Chief.” You miss the look of confusion on Astrid’s face, only hearing it in her reply.

“He’s not my boyfriend.” You glance up toward her with disbelief, taking another angry slice of wood. “Is that what he said?”

“Sorry then, your ‘husband’ I guess. We don’t talk about you. Or any of his Chief stuff. He just comes to me to-” You huff, shaking your head and looking up at her. “I don’t know why he comes here, ok? Ask him. I’m sorry if it pokes a hole in all of your little plans, but-”

“He’s not mine in any way,” Astrid repeats, crossing her arms. “And if he’s given you that impression then that’s another reason to kick his ass.”

“There’s been no impression-giving of any kind, at least not from him.” You look back to your project, swiping again. “I don’t know anything that happens around here, I just hear rumours.”

“Who-” Astrid is interrupted by three sharp knocks on your front door, and you glance up to see Hiccup standing in the still-open doorway, leaning slightly more to one side and giving an awful impression of a smile.

“Wow! Astrid! Didn’t expect to see you here!” He laughs awkwardly, as if forcing the sound out of his mouth is a struggle. “I was just coming to ask [y/n] here a couple of construction questions. For tomorrow’s workload. You know, Chief things.” He does that awkward laugh again, his eyes bouncing to you for a few seconds before forcing himself to look directly at Astrid. She’s now turned toward him with her glare and her crossed arms, unimpressed.

“Uh-huh. And just where were you, then?”

“I was out. Y’know, in Berk. Wandering around. Doing… Chiefly things.” He stumbles over his answer, shifting his weight from foot to foot. You felt your shoulders slowly relaxing with the spotlight no longer being on you.

“Oh, really? So you talked to Gobber then?”

“Oh, yeah! Of course! I totally did that!”

“So what did he need done then, Hiccup?” You look up to see Hiccup’s eyes widen in fright, his mouth working for an answer that his brain wasn’t providing.

“Look,” You call out to them, feeling uneasy with both sets of eyes suddenly turning toward you. “Not that I don’t thoroughly enjoy the company, but if you’re going to argue about things I shouldn’t be privy to know, perhaps you should take this back to Berk?”

“Good idea,” Astrid mumbles, striding forward and roughly taking hold of Hiccup by the bicep, beginning to pull him out. He leaves his attention on you, even as he’s dragged backwards, and he throws a smile your way that shocks the breath out of you. He mouths out the words ‘Thank you’ before bumping his head against the door accidentally. He turns with a yelp of pain, rubbing the back of his head before remembering to grab your door and close it behind the both of them.

It takes a while of sitting on that stool, whittling to your heart's content, before you finally manage to unwind the knot that Astrid had wound up inside of you. You always figured Hiccup’s constant attention on you would lead to some bad news, but you weren’t prepared for his girlfriend- or, rather, his second-in-command to charge into your new home demanding answers you didn’t have. And what was about that? Why was she so adamant that they weren’t together? You thought it was a known thing, something inarguably certain among the Vikings here. Wasn’t Hiccup being pressured to marry before the whole town decided to pack up and move?

You shake your head, trying your best to dispel the thoughts of Astrid and Hiccup from your brain. Surely there’s something here to distract yourself with. You turn toward the bar, reaching to grab your little whittled dragon when you notice instead its disappearance. Checking the floor around the bar, you can't seem to find it. Well, it's gotta be around here somewhere, right?

“You think that’s him?”

You pulled back your hammer, taking in a breath and letting it fly down onto the nail. You were currently helping build the leatherworking shop that Hiccup would most likely take over, nailing boards to the floor. You hadn’t bent a single nail yet this day- a new record! You just hope you can keep it that way.

“Shh, your obnoxious voice is gonna’ give us away!”

“If anyone’s voice is obnoxious it’s yours!”

You could hear some whispered bickering behind you, but you knew it wasn’t aimed toward you. The voices sounded eerily similar, though differing slightly in pitch. You couldn’t quite place them. You pull another nail from the collection hanging between your lips for easy access, holding it in place and taking another swing downward. Another success.

“But how do we know it’s actually him, though?”

“I don’t know, he’s our age and looks handsome enough. That’s what Hiccup said right?”

You almost drop the spare nails, saving yourself from choking on a surprise cough at the mention of Hiccup. Curiosity begins to burn in your stomach, but you can do this. Not everything you do has to be centered around that man. (As if you weren’t currently helping to build his shop- but that didn’t count, you were assigned to be here… Out of the three choices that Skullgar gave you.)

“Is he handsome? I can’t really tell, nothing compares to my beauty.”

“Keep telling yourself that, troll snot.”

“Ow, hey!”

You heard a bit of a scuffle behind you, sucking in a deep breath through your nose and placing the second-to-last nail against the floorboard. Did these people really think they were being quiet? Who were they talking about, saying Hiccup found someone handsome?

“Shhh!” One whisper yelled toward the other, stumbling being heard as one fell to the floor. “You’re going to give away our position!”

“You’re the one who punched me first!”

“We’re on a mission, get it together!”

The last nail is held in place- just hammer this one in and you have the perfect excuse to turn around and peek at whoever is making a ruckus behind you. You lift the hammer, ready to slam it down-

“What was his name again, [y/n]?”

You miss your mark, slamming the hammer down onto the side of your hand instead of the nail, yelping out in pain and dropping the hammer in shock. You shake your hand out, turning immediately to look behind you for the source of your name. Unexpectedly, you spy a couple people around your age that you know to be of the same group of dragon riders that go out on rescue missions with Hiccup sometimes. They look similar- you were mostly sure they were twins- with blonde hair and blue eyes that were set wide and locked directly onto you. The three of you stared at each other for a few beats too long before they both ducked at the same time, trying to hide behind the foundation of the building you were currently kneeling on. You shake your head in confusion, calling out a soft, “Hello? Can I help you?”

“I told you you were too loud-”

“Shut it!”

“Ow-”

“Hey,” You call out again, raising your voice slightly to talk over their bickering, “I can hear you, you know.” You watch as they both slowly raise their heads back up, peaking at you over the floorboards. “You said my name?”

“Well,” The boy began, placing a hand on the floor and hoisting himself up to your level, “We’ve heard a lot about you.” He walks over to where you still knelt down, plopping down next to you and raising an arm to rest against your shoulder. “There’s only so much you can hear about a guy you don’t know before you go mad.”

“Mad with curiosity,” The girl huffed, climbing up onto the floor herself and plopping down in front of you. You lean away from the guy next to you, causing his arm to fall off your shoulder as you look uncertainly between them.

“Someone’s been talking about me?”

“Yeah, Hiccup can’t shut up about you,” The guy insists, and you slowly lower yourself to a sitting position instead of kneeling, getting a bit more comfortable. The girl chimes in, waving her hand around with emphasis.

“Well, technically Astrid brought you up first. She kept asking him about you, then asked us if we knew you-”

“Which we didn’t-”

“But once everyone began to find out that Hiccup’s little hideaway was with you-”

“We thought he kept going out flying with Toothless again-”

“Then he began to get a lot more vocal about you.”

“How skilful you are at carving, how you were homeless and that was just ‘unacceptable’!” The girl snorted a laugh at her brother mimicking Hiccup's voice on the last word, nodding along.

“At least he hadn’t lied about your looks though,” The girl continued, wiggling her eyebrows toward you. Unconsciously you began to lean slightly backward, tilting your head at the two. You finally found your voice, talking slowly and trying to understand the constant back-and-forth.

“I think you have me confused with someone else.”

“Oh?” The guy begins with a grin, leaning close into your space, “Is there another carpenter around here that’s our age and goes by the name [y/n]?” You feel your cheeks begin to heat up, looking between the two.

“I feel like I’m at a disadvantage,” You begin, slowly once again. “You both seem to know so much about me and I don’t even know your names.”

“Tuffnut,” The guy blurted out, finally leaning back away from your personal space, placing his hands behind him to prop himself up.

“Ruffnut,” The girl followed up, pointing at herself. She still had a crazy sort of grin on, and you wondered if that was her attempt at being friendly? Or flirting? Either way, she completely missed the mark as you just grew more and more uncomfortable.

“Right,” You begin, looking uneasily between the two of them. “You are the dragon riders that Hiccup goes out with sometimes, right?”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Tuffnut interjects, pointing a finger at you. “We're security here. We take regular patrols, keep an eye out for the baddies.”

“Everyone keeps an eye out for baddies, Tuffnut,” Ruffnut sighs hopelessly at her brother, then turns her attention back to you with a grin, placing her hands in front of her and scooting herself closer. “We don't have big, strong jobs like yours.” She bats her eyelashes at you, and before you know it you feel yourself scrambling to stand, backing away from them both.

“Alright, well it's been great, but-”

“What? Where are you going so fast?” Ruffnut asks, trying to pout at you. You just shake your head, bending over to grab your hammer and place it in the loop on your apron.

“Work- Uh, carpentry things, y'know.” You take a few steps back, watching Tuffnut stroke his braids like a beard, and Ruffnut huff as if irritated. You throw a hand up, your thumb pointing behind you. “Gotta’ get the… The wood-” Unable to find any words to properly explain your exit, you just give up, turning and walking away from the two.

What in Odin’s name just happened…?

It's certainly peaceful here, you think to yourself. You're walking along the cliff's edge, but far enough away that the drop doesn't send you into a panic. You hear birds chirping, the trills of content dragons, and a low murmuring of people going about their daily lives. You aren't too close to the town, but you could still see it where you stood.

You hadn't seen Hiccup for about a week now, which felt a little weird. It had gotten to a point that he came to visit you daily, so now bereft of his company, you felt a pang of loneliness. It was fine though, you were sure he was doing something important.

You are taking one of your small daily breaks, just taking a peaceful stroll and people-watching. You turn to look at the horizon, water as far as the eye could see.

FIRE

You gasp loudly and stumble back as a ball of fire is suddenly hurtling at top speeds, upward from below the cliff. You fall onto your butt, looking up with wide eyes as the fire begins to hover in the air in front of you. Not a ball of fire- a dragon, coated completely in it. The dragon shakes violently and the fire subsides, leaving the bright red scales and long neck of a Monstrous Nightmare.

Then you notice the man sitting on its back, who suddenly calls down to you.

“You think you're tough, huh?”

You press a hand to your chest, trying to calm your racing heart. You suck in a deep breath, shaking your head at him. You push yourself to stand just as the dragon flies over the cliff, landing down and lowering its head for the man to climb down. You look up- no, down, at this man. He was… kinda short?

“I heard you're a tough guy,” The man continues, taking a few steps forward to poke his finger at your chest. “Well, sucks to be you, ‘cause I'm the toughest guy here.”

“O-kay?” You say, or question, drawing out the vowels. You scrunch your eyebrows together, looking the man up and down. “I'm sorry, do I know you?”

“You should!” He calls out, pressing his fists against his sides. “‘Cause if Hiccup ever fails at being Chief, then I'm going to be the one stepping up to the plate!”

“But,” You hesitate, unsure if you want to argue your point.

“But what?” He shoots back immediately, eyes widened at you. “You think I can't do it?”

“It's not that,” You trail off, tilting your head curiously. “But, wouldn't Astrid step up to be Chief then? Or even Hiccup's mother? I've heard she's around here somewhere.”

“I'll let you know, Valka is actually one hundred percent on board with me being Chief! She loves me!” You purse your lips at this, feeling like it's inaccurate but unable to argue it.

“Alright, well.” You take a small step back, just trying to gain some distance between you and the small man. “It's a good thing I met you then if you'll be Chief someday.” You just play into his antics, hoping his aggression would die down.

“Snotlout!” He yells out, and you flinch at the volume so close to the man.

“Uh, bless you?” You scratch the back of your head, confused.

“No, it's- Ugh, it's my name!” He takes a step forward, closing the distance once again to poke your chest once more. “And you better remember it!” You raise your hands placatingly, nodding your head.

“Of course, yeah, no problem, big guy.” You watch a pleased grin stretch across his face before hearing your name called out behind you. You've never been so grateful for Skullgar than in that moment. “Oh, looks like I'm being called to work. I'll, uh, see you around?” Without waiting for a reply, you spin and start a light jog back to the work area. You hear one last thing from Snotlout, yelling as you gain distance.

“You owe me an arm wrestle!”

You approach slowly, both hands up and in front of you; one holding a sponge frothing with soap, the other a wet washcloth. You take careful steps- this time, anyway, since normal steps apparently didn't work last time- and try to close the distance between the sponge and Grimrar. The dragon eyed you suspiciously, his giant body coated in a purple dust that causes him to sneeze once more.

“Now, just hold still. This will only take a second…” You trail off, taking another step closer before Grimrar’s eyes widen, kicking off the ground and bucking around wildly. You try to dodge an errand wing, windmilling your arms to try to catch yourself before suddenly you fall onto your backside, groaning.

“Why did Skullgar think this was a good idea…?” You complain under your breath, inspecting your arms and wiping some of that purple dust off of you.

“I think you'll have a lot better luck if you approach from the front.” A kind voice startles you, so it takes a few moments for the words to sink in. You turn to see a rather portly Viking, blond-haired and smiling. He was currently leaning forward against Skullgar’s fenceline, looking between you and the dragon.

“Uh, sorry?” You ask, standing and holding the wet sponge and washcloth out, away from your clothes.

“Grimrar, there. If you wanna’ catch him by surprise, it'd be better to approach directly from the front. A blind spot, y'know? Because his eyes are on the side of his head.” The man moves his hands to either side of his head as an indication, and you turn to take a better look at the dragon for yourself.

“Huh,” You huff out, nodding back toward him. “That's really smart- and helpful. Thank you.” You nod toward him, looking back to Grimrar as you try to circle around. Unsurprisingly, he's grown wary and suspicious of you, turning his head to keep you in his eyeline. “Well, that can't be helped I guess.” You huff again, kneeling down into a crouch to take stock of the situation.

“By the way, the name's Fishlegs,” The kind man continues, hopping the fence and beginning to take slow but confident steps toward Grimrar. “I'm one of Hiccup's friends.” I groan, just barely catching myself from facepalming into the sponge in my hand. Huffing, I stand and look toward him warily.

“You're not here to threaten me, are you?” I ask hesitantly, moving back toward the bucket to dip the sponge back in. “Or flirt? One of them did that too.”

“Probably Ruffnut,” Fishlegs guessed accurately, “She's a bit of a wild card. I wouldn't be too worried about her, though, her main focus is on Eret, ‘son of Eret.’” He's now right next to Grimrar, and to your delight, the dragon hasn't bucked once. Fishlegs reaches up, petting the top of its snout before reaching under with the other hand to give scritches to its chin. You're unsure what you've just watched, but Grimrar enjoyed the petting so much that he shook himself down into a puddle on the ground, completely relaxed. “There you go should be good to go.” He dusts his hands of the purple powdered stuff, looking at you with another smile. “And no, not here to threaten. Just trying to help.”

You can't help the pleased smile that crosses your face, moving up next to Fishlegs. Grimrar doesn't move from his splayed-out position, even once you place the sponge against his scales. “Well thank you,” You nod to him with a genuine smile, taking up your task with renewed vigour. “What's with all of you dragon riders wanting to meet me so bad?”

“Oh, no,” Fishlegs tries to correct, raising his hands. “I wasn't trying to follow you around or anything. I live right across from Skullgar down that way,” He makes a gesture, and you take a quick glance before refocusing on the dragon. “I was heading down to the Hall when I saw you struggling, just figured I'd offer some friendly help.”

“Well it's certainly appreciated, thank you.” You smile back at him, moving away to grab your bucket of soapy water, heaving it over closer to the dragon. You dip the sponge, continuing your work on the other side.

“But,” Fishlegs continues, and you glance over with raised eyebrows. “I think the reason you're being hounded with all of us is likely Hiccup's fault.” I blush slightly, turning my attention back toward the dragon, trying to play it off. Fishlegs continues, but you swear you could hear a smile in his voice. “Once Astrid found out where he keeps running off to, Hiccup couldn't stop talking about you. House designs, carpentry ideas- he even gushed about the fact that you knew next to nothing about dragons. This would normally seem like a bad thing to someone as obsessed with dragons as Hiccup, but he enjoyed being able to teach you everything about them. Something about how your ‘curiosity is insatiable,’ and how your ‘eyes light up as bright as dragon’s fire' when you hear about something you like.”

By the end of his long tirade, you felt both embarrassed but strangely pleased. There was so much to unpack about everything you just heard- but not while covered in purple dust.

“That's… Very interesting,” You struggle to find the right words, settling just for that. You finish washing the face of the dragon gently, checking over him to make sure you got every scale. “I think the twins said something similar.”

“Well, that makes sense. They do complain the most when it comes to Hiccup’s raving.” You huff a laugh under your breath, finally dropping the sponge and washcloth into the bucket and taking a look at yourself.

“And as much as I'm enjoying this conversation, I should really go get cleaned up.” You smile toward Fishlegs, giving an awkward wave.

“Sure, see ya’ around!” He does a quick wave in return, turning to continue his way toward the Great Hall. You huff in frustration, looking back down at yourself. ‘This purple pollen is gonna’ take forever to get off of my clothes!’

Hiccup was back! He had been away for close to a month on some sort of scouting mission, according to the rumours. You could’ve just asked to make sure, but you felt hesitant in doing so. They would’ve asked why you wanted to know, and you didn’t have a good answer besides, ‘I miss him,’ so you decided to instead pretend as if everything was fine. And it was fine! You obviously could withstand a month away from your crush.

You only knew Hiccup was back because Toothless had flown right over your home as you were about to enter inside, finished with your day of work. They were a black blur above you, but the call of the Night Fury was unmistakable, and you turned to watch them fly toward the town before vanishing among the trees. You bite your lip, holding back a smile. If he was back, does that mean he would visit? You were excited to see him but didn’t know when that would be. If he was going into town, then it couldn’t hurt to visit him for once? He had always kept inviting you to the Great Hall anyway, what hurt could that do?

You leave your home without even entering it, turning and making your way back to the town. You jogged some of the distance, trying to tell yourself to temper your expectations. He might be busy, unavailable for you to pester. Or, he could be wandering around to tell everyone he was back and would be excited to see you. You pulled in a deep breath at that daydream, trying to push it away. Whatever happens, it’ll be fine. If Hiccup was busy, you could just go to the Great Hall for some dinner.

You finally exit the copse of trees between your house and the town, walking into the darkly lit area. Dragons mulled around in some places, casting large shadows across the ground and staring at you wearily. A few other people were walking through the town, though you expected they were all just trying to make it home themselves. You’re finally closing in on the Great Hall, hearing a ruckus of laughter and cheering from inside. Toothless sat outside the building, grooming himself before glancing up to look directly at you.

You freeze midstep, your eyes growing wider as Toothless stares at you. You’re unsure what to do, having never actually met the dragon before, personally. It was just the two of you out here- the sounds of your fellow Vikings just inside the big door, out of reach- and you felt more vulnerable than most other times in your life. This was one of, if not the, deadliest dragon known to man. And he was staring at you with wide green eyes as if determining your worth for himself. Finally, after a few minutes, Toothless turns away and resumes his previous task.

You couldn’t help the large sigh of relief you let out, slowly inching your way closer to the door. Toothless made no more moves to acknowledge you, and you felt relieved by it. Pushing into the Great Hall, you hadn’t seen everyone so lively in such a long time. Though granted, you hadn’t been here for every other end of the day, when the Vikings were finally able to let off a little steam. Most of the older ones were drinking, but you finally spied a table farther in the back, surrounded by all of Hiccup’s friends you had just recently met. The twins, Snoutlout, Fishlegs, and even Astrid sat in a circle around the table, laughing loudly and talking amongst themselves.

It is when Fishlegs stands, pushing away from the table and walking to a nearby buffet that you see him. Hiccup is sitting between Fishlegs’ empty seat and Astrid, laughing and shaking his head toward the twins as they begin to wrestle around, likely in some sort of disagreement. He is holding a cup out, moving to take a drink from it when his eyes scan the room, settling on you. You can see his eyes widen slightly before he slams his cup onto the table, the liquid inside splashing up and over the rim of the cup. You laugh and begin to approach as you watch him look down with surprise, then begin to stutter an apology toward Astrid, who had unfortunately been caught in the crossfire. That glare you knew so well was back on her face, though it seemed contrasted with a grudging familiarity and acceptance of Hiccup’s antics.

You hear a barely-there, “Excuse me one second,” From Hiccup before he spins and moves to make his way to you. Except, in the time it took him to clean his spill and apologize, you had closed most of the distance already. So, he spins and moves to step forward, then tries to catch himself as he notices you are already right behind him. His arms windmill, and you reach out to grasp his hip to keep him from falling over.

“Hey, there. Going somewhere?” You ask, with a smile, forgetting to remove your hand right away. You could see a blush lighting up his cheeks, but it was likely from the alcohol he was drinking, not anything you were doing. If he even was drinking alcohol.

“No,” Hiccup stutters out, clearing his throat and standing straighter. You realise where your hand is with his movement, and quickly pull it back to your side. He smiles, taking a small step forward to lean into your space. “I saw you come in! You’re finally here, you’re actually taking me up on my offer?”

“To have dinner in the public eating house?” You chuckle, trying to make a joke, and Hiccup shakes his head with his big smile.

“To eat here and share my table. I can introduce you-”

“Oh, he knows us!” You turn at the loud voice, finally noticing that every person at the table- including Fishlegs, who returned with a massive pile of food for the center of the table- was watching both you and Hiccup with varying emotions across their faces. Astrid and Ruffnut looked annoyed, Fishlegs pleased, meanwhile, Tuffnut and Snoutlout looked almost mischievous, with wide smiles. You realize it was Tuffnut who had called out, crossing his arms and leaning back.

“He does?” Hiccup asked slowly, his eyebrows raising, accompanying a look that almost portrayed fear. But why would he be afraid of that?

“Sure does!” Tuffnut answers and Ruffnut stands suddenly, pushing her brother’s head before moving to sit next to Astrid. The two girls lean in close together, whispering. Fishlegs continued to look on with a pleased expression, nodding as he reached for a large hunk of meat.

“Yeah, he met all of us over time while you were gone.” Fishlegs agreed, and you laughed nervously.

“Uh, yeah, actually,” You agree, turning your attention back toward Hiccup. He looks like he doesn’t know what to say, so you proceed to explain. “There was Astrid that day that she was looking for you. But then Ruffnut and Tuffnut found me working a few days later. Snotlout was on the back of his dragon and was flying by when he noticed me.” I smile toward Fishlegs, waving my hand in his direction. “And Fishlegs actually helped out a lot with one of the tasks Skullgar gave me the other day.”

“Oh! That's,” Hiccup hesitates, looking between you and the table before nodding, “Yeah, that’s good.” He doesn’t sound too confident in his words, but you nod along anyway. “I was actually going to introduce them to you! At- uh, at some point.”

“Sure you were, Hiccup,” Tuffnut called out, much too loud in your opinion.

“Wha-” Hiccup hesitates, looking unsure of himself. “Why don’t you take a seat?” Hiccup moves toward the table quickly, pulling out the only chair left- between Fishlegs and Tuffnut. He gestures to it with a smile before hopping delicately over to his seat, on the other side of Fishlegs. You sit down, reaching toward the middle to grab something small you could pretend to eat, just for something to do. Tuffnut immediately leans in close to you, invading your personal space.

“So, tell us about yourself [y/n], we’re all dying to hear.” You hesitate, then look up to the rest of the table staring at you still. Hiccup also scans the table, noticing the same with a wince and a sympathetic look toward you.

“Oh, well,” You hesitate, placing your food down on the table gently. “I just moved to Berk recently- right before the whole town moved actually.”

“Well, we know that,” Snotlout complains, leaning forward over the table. With how much of his chest you could see hanging over the table, you couldn’t help but wonder if he was standing on his chair to appear taller. “Hiccup told us that one already. Tell us something new!”

“Yeah, where are you from, anyway?” Tuffnut asks, still leaning into your space. You look quickly toward Hiccup and Fishlegs, both of whom have their eyebrows pulled together, cringing at their friends’ questions.

“Oh, I’m from, uh,” You hesitate, moving your gaze toward the table and idly playing with your food. “Just, somewhere pretty far away. I rode on a boat- well, a few boats. It took weeks before I finally found somewhere I felt safe enough to call home.” The table around you was quiet, contrasted by the reverberating crowd surrounding the group of you in the Great Hall. Cheers and calls were being thrown around, too loud and too many to distinguish any of the crowd’s words in the background. It was Ruffnut who broke the silence of your table.

“Well, that’s extremely unspecific of you.” She crosses her arms, disappointment clear across her face. You could only shrug, picking your food back up. Astrid’s voice across the table startles you, unaware that she has been listening.

“She’s right. It was. Why don’t you tell us the name of where you’re from?”

“Astrid,” Hiccup interrupts quietly, raising a hand to her arm with an expression that was clearly asking her to stop. She only tugs her arm away from him, standing and placing her hands on the table in front of her, leaning closer to you.

“No, I want to know. Why won’t you tell anyone where you’re from? Got something to hide, [y/n]? Planning something you don’t want us to find out about?” Her glare is back, which really is the only expression you recognize on her now. Her laughter from earlier had seemed awkward to you, but you had preferred that over this. She was questioning you again, but now in front of all of her friends. And Hiccup. He looked horrified up at Astrid, but he wasn’t stopping her.

“I-” You begin before Fishlegs reaches out to press a hand to your arm. You look at him to see a hard expression on his face, looking directly at Astrid.

“Leave him alone,” His voice is so contrasted to what you are used to- that kind and soft voice replaced by something cold and hard. “You’re better than this, Astrid.”

“I’m just asking-” Astrid throws her hands out, changing the target of her glare.

“No, you're interrogating.” Fishlegs removes his hand from you, and you can’t help feeling a pounding in your chest similar to adrenaline. “He lives in Berk, with us. He’s not evil, he’s not plotting anything, and he certainly isn’t causing a scene like you are.” You are surprised at the strength he exhibits, watching him with new eyes. You could see Astrid’s shoulders slumping. It takes her a bit of incoherent stammering, but she eventually rests her eyes on you again.

“I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.” She sits back down slowly, Ruffnut reaching out to rub her back. Your heart was still hammering, but you felt like you had to say something.

“I ran away from home.” Well, that certainly was not something you should’ve said. Every single head turns toward you, everyone but Fishlegs leaning forward over the table to get closer, to hear anything else. “To, uh,” You stutter slightly at the attention, feeling a blush heat up your cheeks. “To answer your question. That’s why I don’t want to say where I’m from.”

The lot of them lean back slowly, realizing they aren’t going to get a story after all. You let out a soft breath as Astrid nods, and you can see her expression opening slightly as if she is beginning to finally trust you. You aren’t sure how you feel about that, but you figure it couldn’t hurt. You finally let your eyes roam back to Hiccup, who once again has a pinched expression and seems antsy, staring between you and the door to the Great Hall. You wondered if he wished the both of you were alone together once again- just like you were wishing for.

“Bet you wished you ran away from home,” Tuffnut called over the table toward his sister, a sinister smirk stretching across his face. Ruffnut groans, calling out her own answer back about how she’d rather he ran away so she could have their dragon for herself, and the rest of them broke into laughter. The conversation naturally progressed, and it was like you had a front-row seat to Hiccup interacting with his friends. It was different, seeing him in a setting that wasn’t just the two of you, or out in town performing as Chief. He was just a guy here, sitting with his friends and enjoying the night. It was nice, to see this side of him.

The common thread of every conversation was the same: dragons. Each one had their own dragon (although the twins shared one with differing names), and each dragon had its own behaviours and personalities that caused clashes with not just each other, but with other dragons and its own rider as well. You thought they all were living happily ever after with their dragon, but it was almost as if every single one of them had an oppressive roommate who treated them like pets instead of the other way around.

Currently, Astrid was going on about her dragon, Stormfly, who had been pouting in her backyard for the last two days, refusing to fly, all because Astrid had forbidden him from eating her next-door neighbour’s lamb. She’s whining, and the table is commiserating, trying to come up with some sort of plan to fix the situation.

“I still think you should just feed him a lamb.”

“Tuffnut!” Astrid called out, reaching over to smack him in the head, “I just said I don’t want to kill my neighbour’s lamb! He just got it, and I want to be a good neighbour!”

“Not his lamb!” Tuffnut argues, jumping up and away from the table, dancing out of reach. “Just any lamb! Buy one and feed her that!”

“No,” Hiccup warns, shaking his head with an amused smile, “That’s setting a dangerous precedent. Soon, all she’ll agree to eat will be lambs. Then the other dragons will get jealous, and before we know it we won’t have any of them left. That’s why I put those feeding rules in place, we have to be careful.” He explains this like it's only natural, the easiest thing in the world, and reaches down for another bite. You shift in your seat slightly, watching him. He seems so… adult. He’s not fumbling his words or awkwardly tripping over; he has a confidence with his friends that makes you almost jealous, but mainly just curious, like you couldn’t help but want to see more.

“Well, then I’m out of ideas!” Tuffnut threw his hands in the air in defeat, and everyone at the table laughed. You glanced around, feeling slightly out of place during these conversations. The only dragon info you really had was what Hiccup had supplied to you. Tuffnut plops back into his seat with a huff, shaking his head. “How do you get a dragon to stop eating lamb?”

“You spike it with something gross?” You throw out, causing both Astrid and Hiccup to whip their gazes onto you.

“What do you mean?” Astrid asks, leaning forward and resting her arms on the table. You shrug, thinking out loud.

“I mean, if I had something I was eating, that suddenly tasted like the grossest thing in the world, then I don’t think I’d end up craving that food anymore.” You hesitate at their stares, shrugging again, “Personally, anyway.”

“Well, how would we even do that, though?” Astrid asks, genuinely curious. Hiccup puts his food down, watching you with intention. You can’t tell what’s running through his head, but you were just hoping not to make a fool of yourself.

“Well, do dragons eat dead things? Or just hunt for living creatures to eat?” You purse your lips in thought, looking up to escape the sight of everyone watching you. Tuffnut begins to laugh but stops once Ruffnut elbows him harshly.

“They eat dead creatures, yeah. We’ve been trying to train them out of hunting, at least while they’re at the village, so they mostly eat things we’ve prepared for them.” Hiccup answers, smiling toward you with encouragement. You nod, then pick up your food, gesturing with it as you speak.

“Well, then, stick an eel inside a sheep.” You take a bite, looking around at the confusion on everyone’s faces. “Like, chop it up and stuff the inside with it?”

“Stick an eel…” Ruffnut begins, with her twin following up,

“In a sheep…”

“That’s a brilliant idea!” Astrid calls out, and you watch in shock as a genuine smile spreads across her face, caused by you. You never thought you’d see the day.

“It really is,” Hiccup whispers breathlessly as he stares at you, so quiet you question whether he had actually said it or not. Fishlegs elbows Hiccup’s ribs, who in turn startles and looks down at the table, his face heating in a blush. You wondered what that was about, but felt pleased as the rest of the table began to congratulate you on your idea. Astrid shortly excused herself, calling out her need to execute this plan immediately.

No one else seemed ready to leave, even after they all finished eating. The Great Hall’s population was dwindling down slowly, but you felt warm, comfortable and safe among your new friends. And you couldn’t help it- you finally, truly believed they were your friends. They joked with you, including you in conversations even when you didn’t know most of the things they were talking about. Snotlout personally was a fan of telling you stories, gesturing largely with his hands and making a show of it. Fishlegs interrupted with corrections to the story or trivia bits, while the twins held responsibility for the comedic one-liners, inserting at points to make the table laugh again and again.

The fires were dying down and everyone seemed to be settling down, having quieter conversations with each other. No longer joining in, but enjoying their company, you pull out your little whittling project and set to work. It was Snotlout who noticed, bringing it up.

“You carving something over there, carpenter?” You look up to see all of them turn to look, Tuffnut leaning close to you to spy why you were holding under the table. You laugh, bringing it up for all of them to see. It was a sitting dragon, fashioned after Grimrar this time (as he was the one dragon you were most familiar with), with his front legs pulled together in front of him and wings spread out halfway. His details weren’t finished yet, but the general shape of the dragon was formed.

“Just a gift.” You smile, shrugging, setting the dragon on the table to test its weight. It took many tries to get it to stay upright and sitting evenly. But now it stood like a tiny idol or doll, staring blankly ahead.

“Oh,” Ruffnut drawls out, leaning her face close to the dragon to inspect it. “Which dragon is this?”

“It’s Grimrar!” Fishlegs calls out before you answer, reaching and snatching it off the table. “The wings are slightly smaller than his wingspan, and his snout is a little thinner, but you definitely have done a great job!” Fishlegs sets the dragon back on the table, looking at it again with a smile. You nod, agreeing that it was, as Fishlegs explains to the rest of them who exactly Grimrar was.

“Oh, you have to carve me one! Hookfang would be a perfect sculpture!” Snotloud called out, leaning across the table in excitement. “How big can you make it? As big as a house?”

“Don’t be unreasonable,” Ruffnut calls out, pushing Snotlout back down into his seat.

“Yeah, I don’t know if I could carve anything bigger than this,” You pick the project back up, waving it in emphasis. “But I’ll see what I can do? I can’t promise anything though.” At this, both of the twins begin scrambling toward you, begging for you to make one for them as well. They begin arguing with each other about the features that the idol should exhibit, both wanting emphasis on either head as the ‘better’ one. You just laugh, shaking your head and tuning them out as you move your attention back to your project. Now that they knew of it, you figured you’d better finish the details quickly and give it to Skullgar before he hears about it from someone else.

The night finally draws to a close as Snotlout begins snoring on the table, the rest of your friends finally standing and moving to the exit. Everyone seems tired, Hiccup especially, and you know you’re going to regret how long you stayed up when it comes to work tomorrow. Although, you were due for a day off at some point. Surely it’d be fine if you slept in tomorrow. Everyone said their goodbyes at the doors to the Great Hall, Toothless sleeping in a ball nearby. Hearing Hiccup’s voice, he begins to stretch and stand, leisurely making his way closer to Hiccup. As you turn to leave, a hand on your arm stops you.

“Hey, why don’t I walk you back?” You turn to see Hiccup’s eyes- a simmering juniper colour in this low lighting. The night was dark, and there was only one torch on the wall nearby. You hesitate, remembering how tired he was.

“I’ll be ok Hiccup, you go get some sleep.” He just shakes his head, taking a step closer.

“Please?” This causes you to pause, watching his eyes and wondering if you’re really reading desperation in them. “It’s a long walk through the forest, I don’t know if I’d be able to sleep without knowing you made it home safely.” Your eyes glance away from him, scanning his retreating friends in the distance.

“But what about the rest of your friends? Not worried about them?”

“They live in town,” Hiccup argues, sounding uninterested in them, “And they have dragons.”

“Sure,” You agree, unwilling to argue with him further. You knew you just craved more of his attention, having not seen him in so long and being surrounded by people when you finally did. As you both begin to walk, you hear Toothless following behind you. Your shoulders become stiff over time, uncomfortable with an unknown dragon so close to your defenceless back.

But nothing happens. It is a quiet walk, and you move to carry a torch but Hiccup took it before you could so he was holding it up between you. The circle of light it gives off was eerie, almost like you both had your own little bubble away from the world. Well- the three of you, as Toothless slunk low to the ground behind you both. It was only when your house was coming into view that Hiccup finally spoke up.

“I’ve been arguing with myself all night, but I have to ask.” You turn to look, your eyebrows raised as he tries to give you an imploring smile. “Will you carve a little Toothless idol for me?” You see Toothless raise his head out of the corner of your eye, looking at you and tilting his head sideways.

“Oh,” You begin, laughing at the unexpected request. “Speaking of, I actually have something for you.” You watch his face get overtaken by surprise, quickly raising your hands. “Uh, not Toothless though. I carved something else. From memory. It’s probably not very good, actually-”

“I’d love to see it,” Hiccup interrupts your rambling, smiling brightly at you. You suddenly become nervous, those nerves growing the closer you get to your house.

“Ok, just,” You huff out a nervous breath, trying to smile for him, “Temper your expectations, I probably got a lot of it wrong.” You push open your door, wandering inside your house. It's a bit more messy than the last time he was here, but in a way that shows it's lived-in now. You move directly toward the shelf beside the bar, picking up the idol you just finished carving the other day. It was supposed to be Stoick the Vast, carved from your memory of that giant statue that had stood on the old Berk island. He was a rather large man, with a long beard, a small bull-horned helmet, and holding the handle of an axe with the head on the ground in front of his feet. You’d added details- curves in his beard, decorated armour, and bulging muscles.

You’d heard a lot about the previous Chief. You never met the man, but still had fierce respect for him. The stories told of him were grand and awe-inspiring. He was the Chief who had protected his town from dragon attacks. He had killed so many and protected so many others, it was no wonder there were so many stories to tell. But just as well, there were stories of him being gentle. Caring for a baby Hiccup and touring him all around Berk. Accepting Hiccup’s love for dragons in the end, and helping implement this new lifestyle, surrounded and loved by dragons until the end.

You hold it out toward Hiccup, avoiding his eyes as you move behind the bar, emptying your pockets onto the counter. Hiccup approaches the bar slowly, staring at the figure in his hand silently. He taps the bar with his other hand, curled into a fist, and you wonder if this was a bad idea. Then you hear a sniff. Hiccup looks up, tears clear in his eyes, and smiles sadly toward you.

“I don’t know how I could ever repay you.”

“Oh,” You begin, shaking your head, “You don’t have to. I just hope I remembered it correctly. He was your dad, wasn’t he?” Hiccup nods in response, looking back down to the figure and tracing the curves with his finger. He laughs softly, placing it on the bar upright.

“You should make one for yourself.” You tilt your head curiously, confused by his meaning. He continues, explaining, “You should carve your parents into one of these. So they can watch over you while you’re here.” Your face drops, immediately looking away from Hiccup. You feel restless and start walking around the bar and away from Hiccup.

“No,” You shake your head, moving to start tending to your fireplace. “That’s fine. I’d rather carve the dragons.”

“But,” Hiccup hesitates, looking between you and the gift he received. “I didn’t know how much I needed this until it was in my hand. Maybe you just don’t know-”

“Hiccup,” You interrupt, feeling your heart start to pound in your chest. “I’m so thankful you like the gift, but not everyone had close relations with their family like you did.” It is quiet behind you as Hiccup takes this in, and then you feel a hand touch your shoulder. It startles you since you hadn’t even heard him approach.

“I’m sorry,” He’s apologizing, and it sends a twinge of guilt through your stomach. You finally look away from the fire, up into his eyes. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” You sigh, taking his hand from your shoulder and pulling him toward a bench nearby. You sit down, and Hiccup quickly sits next to you. You could hear some sort of rustling outside, the bobbing head of Toothless out of the window seeming to have found something to entertain himself with.

“Don’t be sorry,” You whisper, pulling your attention away from the window and back to him. “You didn’t know.” He moves to interject, but you touch his hand again and he falls silent. “My relationship with my parents was never close, but,” You take a deep breath, staring into the fire. “They disowned me.”

“What?” You could spy Hiccup shaking his head in confusion out of the corner of your eye, but your attention was stuck to the fire, the image of those days playing out in your head. “Why?”

“Because I wasn’t what they wanted me to be.” You take another deep breath, turning to look into his eyes. “I was born with a girl’s body.” You watch his confusion dip even further, and you feel panic rising in your chest with every word that spills out. “I am a boy, as you and everyone else have noticed. But I grew up with the expectations from my family that I’d be a woman because I was born in this body.” You sigh, shaking your head and looking back toward the flickering flames. “They trained me as they would any of their children, teaching me how to defend myself and fight with a battleaxe. They taught me where to slice a dragon open to kill it with one hit, and how to lay traps that would capture anything that walked over it. They trained me, sure, but they never loved or cared for me.”

Hiccup remains silent, and you don’t even notice as tears begin to spill onto your cheeks as you continue your distant stare into the fire. “When I came out to them,” You began, sucking in a breath and having to steel yourself to continue, “They thought it was a joke at first, laughed. Then they told me no, I couldn’t be a boy. That I wasn’t allowed. I don’t know what they thought, that I could just stop being who I am?” You sniff, finally closing your eyes and dropping your gaze, feeling tears splash down onto your hands in your lap. “I started dressing more masculine, and it just felt right. It didn’t take long for them to have had enough. They gave me an ultimatum. ‘Stop playing dress up, or leave.’” You huffed out a desperate laugh, but it wasn’t funny to you. You didn’t know what else to do. “So I left.”

“[y/n],” Hiccup whispers your name with so much emotion, that you finally raise your gaze back to him. You couldn’t read the mixture of emotions on his face, but he looked pretty. And concerned for you.

“It’s okay Hiccup,” You whisper out, shrugging. “I began binding my chest, packed all the masculine clothes that I owned, and took the next boat out.” Staring into Hiccup’s face, you hear yourself spew out, “I haven’t regretted a second of it.”

“Really?” Hiccup asks with feeling, leaning forward toward you.

“This Berk feels more like home than anywhere else ever has,” You finally admit, able to pull a real smile to the surface. Hiccup raises his hand, gently wiping the tear tracks from your cheeks. After, he lets out a long breath, looking at your fireplace and reaching to throw a log on top.

“So does anyone else know?”

“Well,” You begin, wagging your head from side to side in consideration. “Gobber knows. I don’t know if he told anyone, but I have a suspicion that Skullgar knows as well.” Hiccup’s eyebrows raise to comical heights.

“Gobber? Gobber knew this? For how long?”

“Since the moment I got to Berk.” You softly laugh at his expression, glad to have gotten that off of your chest and not have Hiccup leave you in the cold. You don’t think he realizes your immense gratitude for just accepting your story and not questioning your gender- he hadn’t even made a big deal of it. The only thing that mattered to him was your parents disowning you, like only that thought was unimaginable and not any of the rest. “Maybe not the second I stepped off of the boat, but I began to ask around for handiwork I could help with. Gobber found me, practically drowning in my own tears and fright, and calmed me down. I couldn’t help it, I spewed out my whole story for him to hear. He didn’t judge me or anything, even helped me get my apprenticeship under Skullgar.” You smile softly, tilting your head. “I owe him a lot.”

“Wow,” Hiccup whispers, sinking back onto the bench and looking at you with amazement. “You’ve been through so much just to end up here.”

“It’s okay, really,” You insist, reaching to take his hand with yours, holding it. “I’ve built myself a life here that I actually enjoy. I have friends now, people who actually enjoy my company. I don’t have to kill things on a weekly basis, and no one questions my outfit choices anymore.” You chuckle softly, thinking back. “Honestly, I was sort of suppressed and numb back then. I don’t remember ever feeling happy.”

“But you’re happy here?” Hiccup asks, leaning forward as if this meant the world to him, as if you hadn’t been already trying to convince him of this fact. You laugh, squeezing his hand and nodding.

“Yes, I’m happy here, Hiccup.” He lets out a breath of relief, his shoulders slumping along. You can’t help the smile that crosses your face, surprised about it after having just talked about your past life. “There’s so much more to this world than I could’ve imagined.”

“Well,” Hiccup begins, smirking and shrugging a shoulder, and you pull your hand back lest he think something ridiculous- like how you have a massive crush on him that’s getting harder to suppress. “It’s actually a lot more than even this.” He gestures around your house, but likely indicating the entire town of Berk. He has that smile on that usually means he’s thinking of dragons again. “When you go flying, you really can see how big this world is. Everything seems so small in comparison. Like, it’s not the end of the world if you end up making a mistake, y’know?”

You study his posture, wondering how often he went flying when he got anxious about his chiefly duties and responsibilities. Did he go flying to calm himself down, or did he get energized with the wind in his face? He had mentioned a map he was currently drawing out once before, and your curiosity burned to see how much of the world he has explored, how big the drawing had gotten. You begin to yearn to see him like that, in his element and happy. You wanted to feel that, while also seeing him at his happiest-

“I think I’m ready to go flying with you.”

Hiccup sits straight up, his hands reaching out to take both of yours with an overwhelmingly excited expression. “Wait, really? Seriously?” You laugh at his excitement, nodding your head.

“Yeah. I mean, Toothless doesn’t seem to mind me that much. And,” You shrug, chuckling again, “I have to admit, you’ve got me curious.”

“Yes!” Hiccup cheered, jumping to his feet and pumping his fist in the air. “Yes, definitely! Tomorrow?” You tilt your head, consideringly, then nod.

“Sure. I’m due for a day off. Why not?”

His expression was almost more than you could take, so filled with excitement and hope and love. You wanted to grab him and hug him, wanted to take his face into your hands and press a kiss to those upturned lips, you wanted- You cut yourself off with a shake of your head, standing and facing him. He took your hands once more, staring deep into your eyes. “You won’t regret it.”

Hiccup was going to end up the death of you, you were sure of it.

TAG LIST: @lecoindetobi , @yakosobaboba ,

#how to train your dragon #fanfiction #hiccup x reader #hiccup x m!reader #hiccup x ftm!reader #astrid hofferson #snotlout jorgenson #fishlegs ingerman #tuffnut thorston #ruffnut thorston #carpenter!reader #awkward!Hiccup #meeting friends #mutual pining #fear of falling chapter two #tw: transphobia #tw: bad family life #sad backstory #sorry my guys

51 notes · View notes

monbons · 2 months

Text

an ask game for writers to procrastinate working on your WIP(s)

thanks for tagging me @bookish-bogwitch, @thewholelemon, @cutestkilla, and @noblecorgi!

1. 🦈Tell us the name of your/ one of your WIP(s): Currently, living, breathing, and eating my one and only WIP: The Eternal Life of Baz Pitch. Also, I am probably retiring after this fic because I do not think I can top it!

2. 🍄Describe your WIP/one of your WIP(s) in the format of “___ + ___ =___” Addie LaRue + SnowBaz = so much pain and angst

3. 🌍What tags or warnings will one of your WIP(s) need if you intend to share it? Period-typical homophobia, Implied/referenced DV, Blood and Injury, Death... I mean truly the works. This is SnowBaz in the darkest possible timeline.

4. 🧭An alternative title to one of your WIP(s)? At one point, I joked with @thewholelemon about naming it "Baz Pitch's 300 Year Long Grope-Fest" but for obvious reasons that title would really do a disservice to this fic (although it is sort of true).

5. ⚠️Which WIP you're most likely to finish or update next? Now that I've created a posting schedule for The Eternal Life of Baz Pitch, I want to stick to it. While I'm "done" drafting, I am still making a few big revisions to the last six chapters. I've also been re-reading the first chapters for continuity issues that may have cropped up now that I know how this ends. Either way, I can see the finish line.

6. 💾What is your document of your WIP/ a WIP called? (not the stories actual title but what you’ve saved it as) It started out as "Addie LaRue Working Draft." Once the one doc got unwieldy and long, it spun out into multiple docs titled all sorts of things - mostly chapter numbers, but I do have one not as fun as it sounds doc called "Sex Playground." (ha!)

7. 🖍Post Any sentence(s) from your WIP. “Are you so naive as to think I cannot watch you whenever it pleases me, even if you cannot see me?”

8. ♻️A scrapped idea for your current WIP. I actually have SEVERAL scenes I scrapped...like pages and pages! Largely this is because I have a whole document titled "Voice," which served as a sandbox of sorts where I could play with every possible combination of POV, tone, and style before committing to the final version you see in the story now. There's even a scene in there told first-person Niall! (Bonkers.)

I also have a whole ACTUAL scene I'd love to include as an answer to this question because it was well-written, but I cut it because it made the plot unnecessarily complicated, was frankly too close to the original plot of Addie, and would have made my ending impossible. It is also--sadly--too big a spoiler to include here, so let me give you a few sentences from "Sex Playground" that will not be making the cut:

“Stay.” Baz pushes his hand into the center of Simon’s chest, pressing him back into the mattress. “I want to look at you.” Simon gives Baz a filthy smile. He can look all he wants.

9. 🤔What’s a story you’d love to write but haven’t even started yet? I really want to write a canon divergence where Simon successfully but somewhat accidentally reveals Baz is a vampire fifth year, so Baz and the whole Pitch family have to flee from the Mage. I already have the "everybody finds out" scene written and the scene where the Mage realizes the Pitch family is gone, so I guess I have started it. But, I also have no idea where it's going or what it's about, so I haven't really accomplished anything. If anyone has ideas or wants to be a partner-in-crime on this, give me a little shout!

10. 🤡How many WIPS are you actively working on? Literally just this one. Again, I am retiring after this fic! (Or at least taking a very well-deserved break.)

11. 🛠Is there a scene or anything in the WIP you are struggling with right now? Absolutely 100% it is writing the smut. Having never written any on-page sex means I'm figuring it out as I go. Lots of frustrated growls from me (not nearly as frustrated from Simon).

12. ❤️Not a question, just a second Kudos to send. I know many of you have already posted, but tagging anyway since you've commented/liked past WIPsdays and such, in case you're interested in the behind the scenes!

@valeffelees, @roomwithanopenfire, @noblecorgi, @cutestkilla, @iamamythologicalcreature, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @youarenevertooold, @drowninginships, @emeryhall, @hushed-chorus, @rimeswithpurple, @aristocratic-otter, @larkral, @artsyunderstudy, @brilla-brilla-estrellita

#tag game #writers asks #the eternal life of baz pitch #carry on #i really wish i could share all the things but part of the joy of this story is the slow reveal #feel free to ask me again once it's all done!

26 notes · View notes

vro0m · 1 year

Note

Ok I have one. Explain to me a very basic, level 1 concept of F1. Like. The most simple way. Everyone should know this but I don't.

Hi Sae 💕 I set out to explain simply a very basic level 1 concept of F1 and ended up writing you an essay, I hope you don't mind. I can't help myself but infodump.

If you ask people what's most important in F1, chances are they'll tell you about the cars, the engines, the aerodynamics, the driver's talent but I'm here to argue that some of the most decisive and/or exciting moments the sport has given us to see were down to : relationships.

You always, always have to do better than your teammate (an unnecessarily long essay by vro0m)

I wanna preface this by saying I'm unfortunately missing a chunk of good examples because although I've been, as most of you know, watching Lewis' entire career from the start I've not yet seen 2016-2018 but it doesn't matter.

Introduction :

As you know, F1 is made of 10 teams, and each team has 2 drivers. It also awards 2 titles per season. One is the World Constructors' Championship, hereby referred to as WCC, that is won by a team, as per the points both of their drivers earned combined. The other one is the World Drivers' Championship, hereby referred to as WDC, which, as the name suggests, is awarded to the driver who's won the most points over the season.

This unique feature creates one of the most complicated networks of relationships in the world of sports, because each team wants the most points aka for both their drivers to do well VS. each driver wants to do better than his teammate. They have to work together to help the team, but they have to work against one another to help themselves.

It's a recipe for angst and drama, and god knows we love it.

It's also very much a key feature of the sport, and you can find examples of it influencing the way events unfold in all eras, although I will focus only on the years I have myself seen.

Teammates, rivalries, and egos :

Take the very famous Multi-21 drama. Mark Webber joins the young Red Bull Racing team in 2007. His teammate is David Coulthard, a veteran who's soon to retire. Webber was a midfield driver, who got his hands on a new, midfield team seat and must have thought he was set for life. Who knows, the team might even get better? But in 2009 the stars align and shine not on him but on young, golden-haired Sebastian Vettel, his new teammate, who ran into him once before in 2007 during his first season, after what Webber called him "a kid" and blamed his lack of experience.

Indeed Sebastian is a decade younger, brazen and moving through the ranks about as fast as the rocketship RBR has suddenly managed to put together. It's his third year in F1, against Webber's eighth, and he finishes 2nd in the WDC, not one, but two ranks ahead of him.

In 2010, they collide again during the Turkish GP, while Webber is in the lead and Vettel tries to overtake him, sparking controversy over the team's management of the drivers. Webber finished 3rd and Seb had to retire from the race. But it didn't matter in the end, because that year, he won his first WDC, and RBR won their first WCC. And then again in 2011. And then again in 2012. The blond kid turns out to be the golden goose.

And Webber is pissed. Because as a driver, when your team puts together a winning car, you don't have a good excuse for not winning the title anymore. All there is to it is that he's not as good as his teammate, and that's the worst thing a driver can be in F1. You always, always have to do better than your teammate. Even when your team is last. Why? Because you're in the same car. Your teammate is the gauge of your actual driving skills. If you end up behind another team's driver, you can always say his car was better. There's no hiding your shortcomings when it's your teammate. Even less so when the spotlights are shining on you.

So what does he do? Work his ass off? Train? Study the car better? No. He blames management. Right from 2010, as soon as he realised who he was up against, even though he was leading for most of the season, he claims RBR is giving Seb the preferential treatment.

Team principals :

See, that's the third angle of that love/hate triangle. Driver-driver-team principal.

If you're a team principal, your drivers are a constant headache because chances are they fucking hate each other. Might or might not be okay off track, but as soon as they sit their asses in the cars, they most probably hate each other. And the more your team wins, the more they hate each other! Backmarker teams usually have rather minimal internal drama because what are you fighting about? P19? But when you start winning... boy oh boy.

Because that's the whole point, right? You're more or less happy to be a team player when there's not much on the line for you (although as stated earlier, you still wanna finish ahead of your teammate). But when you're in a winning car??? That might be your only chance to win a WDC in your whole life. Better seize it. Better fucking win. Better run your teammate off the track as you do it because he now also has a winning car.

Back to the team principal. You don't care which one of your drivers finishes first, as long as your team finishes first. You know what doesn't help teams finish first? Drivers crashing into each other while racing for the win, like Webber and Vettel in 2010.

Enter team orders.

Team orders... or not :

Team orders are exactly what they sound like : the team is ordering their drivers to act a certain way, whether they like it or not, because the team is looking out for the team and the drivers are looking out for themselves. It's the team being a stern parent and getting a grip on its rowdy children. No more games. Now you sit down and obey. Now you're also looking out for the team. After all, we're paying you.

Team orders are controversial, because nowadays when a team is good, a team is usually dominating. Hence there's no real racing at the front, the dominating team's drivers finish first and second most of the time. So if you don't let them race, and they have no real competition, then there's really nothing to watch, and it gets boring. Team orders are also controversial because it doesn't give the other driver a chance.

That same year, Lewis Hamilton joins a then "best of the rest" team. Upper midfield, if you will. Lewis and his new teammate, Nico Rosberg, are childhood karting friends who are finally living their shared dream of being F1 teammates. And Mercedes takes a different path. A risky path. They decide that their drivers can race each other. They claim it pushes them to do better. Rivalries drive people, right? As much as your teammate is a gauge, he's a benchmark. You always, always have to do better than your teammate.

But you don't give a shit, you're a team principal. Doesn't matter in which order your cars arrive. As far as you're concerned, your cars are first, out of all the other teams' cars. So you give team orders. You protect your 1-2 finish. Better believe Horner was fucking pissed when his drivers crashed in 2010.

(Now, not always. Not all the teams. There was a time Mercedes let their drivers race for real, for real. We'll get to it.)

RBR tried it the stern parent way. It doesn't always work though. Malaysia 2013. Mark Webber is leading the race. Sebastian Vettel is second. They have about 10 seconds on the Mercedes, there's no threat on the horizon. "Multi-21," they are told. That's team orders for you guys are finishing in that order. That's stern parent for fall in line and bring home the 1-2. Webber is obedient, of course, he's in the lead. His goal aligns with the team's goal. But Seb is a brat, and his goal is not P2. The tensions have been piling up for several years now. While his elder relaxes in the lead, reassured by the team orders, Seb doubles down, attacks, and overtakes him for the lead. Fuck your team orders. Fuck Webber. Although he claims the relationship didn't impact his decision, Webber quits F1 at the end of the season.

The team is actually doing really well, finishing 2nd in the WCC. Lewis finishes 4th, Nico 6th. The challenge is set. And in 2014, new regulations, new cars, the racing gods smile down on Mercedes like they did RBR in 2010, and they get a fucking rocketship for the next eight years. We're in a dominating situation, mostly. They had some competition, but most of the fighting was, in the end, infighting. It's the brocedes era. The most brilliant example of the complexities of F1 team relationships.

At first, it's exhilarating, racing each other at the front. But it's like Icarus and the sun, you cannot lose sight of the goal. Because you can't win and have a friend. From using engine modes they weren't supposed to use to try to beat each other, to controversial pole positions that might or might not have been won by cheating, Lewis ends up calling an end to their friendship only a third of the way through their second season together. And then, it's Mercedes' version of the 2010 RBR drama : Nico collides with Lewis, costing the team the 1-2. Turns out all the F1 roads lead to drama.

Lewis wins in 2014. Mercedes wins in 2014. Lewis wins in 2015. Mercedes wins in 2015. Nico wins in 2016. Mercedes wins in 2016. But Nico is so frayed by the rivalry, he quits. Just like Webber.

Now what? Mercedes tried it the other way and they got the same results RBR did. Many wins, and one driver short.

Toto Wolff hires Valtteri Bottas. And Bottas is the final example of F1 relationships because he's the sacrificial lamb on the altar of Lewis' career. It's the last concept we'll talk about today : first and second drivers.

First and second drivers :

See the last, and arguably most common, solution to the thorny team VS. teammate problem is to have, more or less explicitly, but mostly less, a first and a second driver. Which means, as a team principal, your order of priorities goes team > driver 1 > driver 2. It simplifies things for you because you don't have to juggle your drivers, favouring one over the other and then the other over the one, to keep them both happy and obedient and not crashing into each other, like Mercedes had to at some point to try to tame the intra-team war the Lewis-Nico situation quickly evolved into. They thought they had a spark, they ended up with a forest fire.

But does it, really, simplify things? No. Because you always, always have to do better than your teammate. No driver is in it for the team. They're all in it for themselves. They put up with the team because they have to. If the team doesn't support them, well... Why would they support the team? And that's why they end up ignoring team orders. See, although Webber did it (as long as he was in the lead, anyway) most drivers will not ever admit to being a second driver. Think Perez pretending RBR supports his fight for the title. Why? Well my friend, because you always, always have to do better than your teammate. They will never admit that the whole team decided that their teammate is the one they should back, at their own cost.

And that's just another source of resentment, right? They hate the team for not backing them up, and they hate their teammate because he's better. On top of it, they can't vent openly about it because it would be admitting that they're the second choice. So amp up team radio drama and internal problems shushed behind closed doors.

Now that's not what Valtteri did, actually, surprisingly. Valtteri thought he had a chance, but he didn't. First of all because Lewis is practically untouchable as I mentioned in another essay, but also because his seat was built on the ashes of Nico's. There was no way they were letting the situation get that out of hand again. Enough with the permissive parenting. Turns out Mercedes is not the fun dad after all.

Valtteri is good. But Lewis is great. Valtteri doesn't have the kind of record sheet Lewis does. Choosing a first and a second driver is not so much a thought-through decision than common sense. Mercedes' management most probably didn't sit down at a table and write it down. It just... was. Valtteri never got close to winning the title. And I know I've said it before but it's truly a wonder he didn't start hating Lewis for it. For being the second driver. Oh it did damage, don't get me wrong, but most drivers externalise such things rather than internalise them like he did. But eventually you can only sacrifice yourself for so long. Again, none of them are in it for the team. Valtteri was a perfect second driver, he obeyed, he didn't create drama, and he pushed himself to the point of exhaustion trying to catch up to Lewis to beat him the right way. Some people might argue he's not selfish enough for F1. I'll argue at least he's a decent human being. It might even have worked with a different teammate, but it was Lewis.

So he left. Now he's not stepping on podiums anymore but he is better than his teammate. And you always, always have to do better than your teammate.

#f1 #essay #vro0m's asks

167 notes · View notes

pillarsalt · 2 months

Note

How do you cope with loneliness? My friends are so important to me but sometimes I feel like I can't fully relate to them anymore, and I just think about how they would hate me if they knew I was GC. I have TIF and even a few TIM friends that I love and cherish very dearly because I can see that they've just fallen victim to a toxic ideology feeding their body dysmorphia and self-esteem issues. But I can't tell them how genuinely worried I am about their mental health or send them detrans testimonies that I think they would relate to because they'd think I was some hateful violent monster that I'm not. Even the content creators that bring me joy and comfort are all so fiercely anti-TERF and it just makes me sad. I don't want to hurt anyone. I even distanced from the radfem community a bit because I felt like I was becoming too hateful towards men and TIMs when I truly believe many of the ones in my life are just trying their best and fell victim to a manipulative ideology that myself and other women also fell for. It's not that I wish I was still a TRA, because I feel much more at peace internally with my identity and my belief system, but I don't know if I can say peaking has made me happier overall. I feel like I don't fit in anywhere now. Making radfem friends helped a little bit but it's not the same as being around people I've known for years and gotten close to for reasons other than this one shared belief. I don't just want to abandon them all. And it's FRUSTRATING to see people spew misinformed fearmongered nonsense and not be able to actually help them dissect those beliefs. Feeling like the only one who sees things for how they really are, but forced to play along regardless, is just so restrictive and isolating.

To be completely honest with you, I don't have a great answer. I've been lucky to have one or two close friends at a time to whom I can tell everything, including my uncensored feminism-related beliefs. I've also been (and currently am) in friend groups with multiple people who identify as trans or are dating someone who identifies as trans, and have had to keep my thoughts and opinions to myself to keep the peace. I agree it's incredibly difficult sometimes, and I know a fair few of them would instantly drop me if they knew I was a "terf". It's kind of funny because I know some of them have an inkling of what I think about the issue, but say nothing so they don't have to fight with me. If anyone asked my opinion directly, I wouldn't lie, but I admit that I lie by omission.

It is hard to watch the ones who take the medicalization route hurt themselves. My ex girlfriend and I still talk, she's a they/them nonbinary now and despite always and still being very feminine and never expressing discomfort with her body before (including posting thirst traps often,) she wants to get a mastectomy soon. It sucks because of course after having looked into this phenomenon for so long, I'm well aware of the complications and side effects that can result from a major procedure like this: phantom pain/itching, extensive and restrictive scarring, the risks of infection and necrosis, and of course the risk of regretting having an entire organ unnecessarily removed from your body later on when it's no longer fashionable to do so. It sucks that voicing even the mere suggestion that it might be a bad idea is enough to have you shunned as an apostate. I genuinely care about her and I would feel similarly if she was having any other radical cosmetic surgery like breast implants or a BBL. At the end of the day, our friends will make their own choices regardless of how we feel about it, and the only thing we can really do is be there for them in the end.

I feel similarly to you in that I don't want to hurt anyone, only to protect people and especially women from the harms that are intrinsic to trans ideology. Unfortunately, you can't help anyone who doesn't want to be helped. Sometimes though, you can play dumb and ask questions that might get them to think a little bit more about the rhetoric they're repeating. For example, I often go out for drinks with coworkers, one of whom is a she/they nonbinary woman. One time she said something about how she couldn't be a full they/them because she's still 'girly' sometimes. I said something like "doesn't it seem kind of regressive to associate how feminine you are with how much of a woman you are? what about butch lesbians?" She didn't have an answer and brushed it off, but I could see the cogs turning a bit. Playing the uninformed normie pointing out the obvious sometimes gets them to realize how twisted the logic in trans echo chambers can be. And I think sometimes expressing your disagreement with the dogma can show your friends, who know you well and know you're a good person, that, contrary to what they've been told, not everyone who disagrees with gender ideology is an evil nazi out to slaughter transwomen in the streets.

But yes, in general, it is very very isolating to hold radical feminist beliefs. I'm sorry you're going through it. One thing to remember is, there are tons of women even in your general vicinity, who like you, don't buy into gender rhetoric but aren't saying anything in order to preserve their safety and social lives. I do believe that as the world seems to be becoming more aware of the reality of the situation, more and more people will feel able to be open about their dissent, and it will become less of a fringe opinion as the flaws in the ideology are exposed. Here's hoping I guess. Keep your chin up anon.

#ask

22 notes · View notes

probablyhuntersmom · 1 year

Text

Brief Meta on Memories and Traumatic Grief

Memories change over time and don't stay exactly the same. Each one is fluid, tied to a web of ever-changing associations we draw between them and other thoughts, and we actually make small edits each time we revisit them, like small tweaks in a word doc file that we may hardly notice.

But we are undoubtedly rewriting them over time, changing the narrative even if not by much, forming new associations big and small with them by weaving other thoughts/feelings/beliefs/perspectives/memories with them, no matter how consciously or subconsciously we do so. It's like playing the telephone game with ourselves without being able to stop it.

The fascinating thing about this is it opens up room for trauma treatment approaches such as Eye Movement Desensitizing and Reprocessing (EMDR), narrative therapy, journaling, memory rescripting etc to be effective, since memories are therefore subjective. Memories are always malleable, though at the same time they have foundational roots.

Which brings me to the above. I believe it was tremendously important that others were physically present and right next to him in the moments right after Flapjack faded away. Trusted loved ones who felt the same kind of emotions as he was, to collectively grieve as a group (hell, there hasn't even been time for them to properly mourn without rushing the process. Not yet). This would've influenced the forming of Hunter's traumatic memories related in any way to Flapjack dying.

Instances like below - him being held tightly and soothed while being in an unmatched level of pain - must have shaped the newly forming memories in a major way:

Oddly enough, this scenario in which a death has just occurred has some similarities with its opposite: birth 🤔🤔🤔🤔 The minutes and hours after any childbirth are a very sensitive window for foundations of a sense of safety, emotional regulation and even physiological processes to be built. That's why newborn infants should have pretty much constant physical touch with caregivers via e.g. skin-to-skin contact for healthy bonding to take place. *tempted to philosophize more about birth vs death but I'm holding back from being unnecessarily lengthy*

Back to Hunter's major traumatic loss above. I'm referencing it because it's not long till we'll see him witness Belos be imprisoned, dying or however way in which he will be defeated. How could this impact on all the Belos-related memories and Flapjack-related memories he will keep recalling for the rest of his life?

I think he will require the exact same type of support once that milestone of his life - truly losing Belos - arrives. This but on a way bigger scale:

Why? Because there's no way this part of him has totally disappeared, even now:

There are formative memories do to with Belos which can't be whisked away with a Delete button. There are a number of factors influencing how he's going to absorb the seconds/minutes of that upcoming loss in Watching and Dreaming. The hours afterward will matter so much too. Will he witness that loss with his own eyes or e.g. might Camila pull him close into an embrace and tell him not to look? Will he have an active role in making the moment of Belos's defeat happen, or might he watch passively from a distance? Will Belos say anything to him while it happens, or not? If yes, what are the words Hunter will hear? What thoughts and feelings will he have about himself, and what memories will fill his mind while it happens? Who else is there with him during and right after it happens, and what do they tell him? All these will add up to form his experience of that loss (which is made more complicated because it is also a major gain/win for him). There is no way through this where he escapes further loss (which coexists in a messy way with gain), since trauma be like that.

Examples of other important moments in other media that portray what I'm trying to explain include this part of Avatar: The Last Airbender..

where Katara is by Zuko's side as he watches Azula, his sister, have a nervous breakdown. The physical touch from Katara matters. The memory of this event is forming in Zuko's mind and being shaped in real-time. and will continue to be shaped over time.

Another one I remembered is this moment of Silver shielding Jim in Treasure Planet (the supernova scene) when Jim's skills as a crew member (which he bet all of his self-worth on) were truly being tested:

This proved to be vital "cushioning" for what happens right afterwards: Jim, already stricken with a fragile sense of identity and no self-love, being blamed for the death of a crew member.

The last example is from How to Train Your Dragon 2. Hiccup not being on his own during his father's death and funeral:

A negative, dark example is Jinx losing Silco in Arcane:

Nobody to soothe and hold her (because she rejected Vi's help due to lack of trust), and she had been the one to end his life.

Whether a parental figure we lose has been kind or cruel to us, grief is unavoidable when they are gone. Hunter's is on a exaggerated level in fiction since Belos technically murdered him via the possession and he had to be brought back to life via external means (Flapjack's sacrifice).

I was especially compelled to write this meta after a fresh realization that being physically alone and hidden in the crucial minutes and hours after a few life-altering incidents in past decades, significantly prolonged my recovery time from such awful traumatic memories. But I'm very glad Hunter should be in excellent hands having to say that complicated goodbye (which realistically, will not be a one-time send-off) to his 'uncle', which he most definitely won't be responding to with a triumphant Hollywood kind of smile on his face.

SOMEBODY HAS TO TAKE CARE OF THIS BBY AND PUT A BLANKET OVER HIM

#toh analysis #toh hunter #toh belos #the owl house #loz writes a meta #acute grief #it's hella weird: I wrote this on my main abuser's birthday without realizing at first #death mention #trauma mention #abuse mention

162 notes · View notes

Last Seen Blogs

porno1976

lo que me pone

trickeds

leave me lonely

starberrymilk

camp camp side blog

leonellcassio

Leonell Cassio

chioa1700

Sans titre