#Flutter Vikings

[rapturok]

Ivar When Aegon Looks Like a Tearful Cherub (Alicent, you led your son Red bared straight into the wolf's jaws)

Though Ivar is not a man who heals. He patches and wounds all the same time. A warrior in the shape of a man with the soul of a boy. They are both children of war after all. However, that scene with Aegon and Larys allows me to imagine Aegon adjusting to Ivar.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Remember that time I said last one? Oops...

What If 141...trying for baby. Rawr.

I remember when you said it would be your last one. And no "oops"! You know what you've done. And trying for baby? Are you trying to activate my breeding kink?

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Content & Warnings: swearing, established relationship, oral sex, fertility treatment, dirty talk, breeding, creampie, arranged marriage, Viking AU, Post-Apocalyptic AU, dubcon (Ghost only), rough kissing, desk sex

Word Count: 4.6k

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Your foot tap tap taps against the linoleum floor.

Kyle is in another room—a private room. The reproductive endocrinologist you’re working with already ran your tests. Now it’s Kyle’s turn. They want a sample, but he’s been gone too long.

You’re no stranger to Kyle’s masturbation sessions. Rarely does he do it alone. He likes when you watch. But he never takes this long.

A buzzing comes from your purse. Retrieving your phone, you check the message.

It’s from Kyle.

I can’t do it.

Frowning, you stare at the text, confusing creeping in. Gripping the phone in your fist, you push up from your chair, and exit the small exam room.

“Excuse me,” you say, approaching the nurses station. “Can you tell me what room my husband is in. He’s collecting a…sample.”

The two nurses exchange a knowing look.

“All the way down the hall. Last door on the left,” one of them directs, pointing.

“Thank you.”

You try not to rush, but your feet carry you swiftly and with purpose. Following the nurse’s direction, you come to a stop right outside the correct door.

“Kyle?” you call out, knocking.

There’s a brief pause, but then the door opens, and your husband stands there, a sheepish grin on his face.

“Sorry, love,” shrugs Kyle, his hand rubbing the back of his neck.

“Can I come in?”

He glances back into the room and then steps aside, holding the door open.

You step into the small space. It’s clinical and cold. There is one window on the opposite side of the room with the blinds down. Next to the window is a lounge chair that looks completely uncomfortable. Next to it is a table of magazines with partially-nude women on the front. Beside that is a row of video selections if the magazines don’t seem to do the trick.

“Is everything okay?” you ask. Kyle slumps into the chair, clearly defeated. You place your purse on the hook and then kneel beside him. “Talk to me.”

Kyle shakes his head. “I—can’t.”

“What do you mean?”

He nods toward his groin. “Doesn’t seem all that interested.”

Oh. Oh.

You glance around the room, and then turn back to him. “Let me help.”

The confusion on his face is entirely too funny. “Help me?”

Shifting on your knees, you settle between his legs. The confusion melts away, and Kyle leans back in the chair, his hips flexing slightly as he makes himself comfortable.

The front of his jeans is already loose, and it’s not difficult to ease them down a bit more. Your hand slips beneath the band of his boxer briefs. The moment your fingers wrap around him, Kyle softly groans, eyelids fluttering as you start to stroke him.

“Is the door locked?” he asks, voice already turning husky.

“Does that matter?” you counter. “Do you care that someone might walk in? That they’ll see me pleasuring my husband?”

His softened cock begins to harden, and your words only spur him on. With another few strokes, Kyle is rock hard and throbbing. Adjusting your position, you release his cock, and then grab hold of his boxer brief, yanking them down until he’s free of it.

Kyle’s heavy lids open at the same moment your mouth suctions around the head. Tongue swirling around the crown, you take a bit more of him into your mouth. Retreating, you hollow your cheeks, suctioning until you come off him with a wet pop.

“How’s this?” you ask.

“Much better,” he replies, reaching for you.

Kyle’s hand finds the back of your head, and you grin as he urges you back.

Taking him into your mouth again, your throat him completely, bobbing up and down his cock with intention. You need him to come. Not in your mouth, but in the goddamn sample cup. If that means you need to suck him off to do it, you’ll happily do so.

While you’d love to give into to pleasing him utterly, you still have to focus on why you’re doing this. The cup is on the table beside him. The seal is unbroken. The lid still on.

Hollowing your cheeks again, you suck—hard—and then release him.

His breathing is heavy, and his thighs are tense. Kyle is close, and you’re not going to ruin this by having him come down your throat.

“The cup, Kyle.”

Kyle runs his hand over the top of his head, the lust-tinged haze retreating slightly as he reaches for it. He twists the lid, breaking the seal, and sets it aside, holding the plastic cup in a vice grip.

Returning to him, you throat him again, bringing your hand into the mix.

“Fuck,” whispers Kyle. Then, louder, “fuck.”

Saliva pools in your mouth and slips past your lips, dripping onto your hand as you continue your ministrations.

“Fuck,” he bites out. “Back, love. Back off.”

You immediately release him, retreating.

Kyle grips his cock and aims it, bringing the cup in close. He strokes once. Twice. And then his entire body shakes as he explodes, emptying his release into the cup.

Wiping the back of your hand over your mouth, you push up to standing using the armrest of the chair. Kyle is smiling—almost smug.

“Did I help?” you tease, and his grin only widens.

John Price

"What's wrong?" John's voice is laced with concern. You rarely come to see him at work. "Everything okay? The guard at the front gate paged me. Said you were here.”

Whenever you’re around him, John’s entire demeanor changes. It doesn’t matter that he’s at work. You’re here, and that takes priority.

As he approaches, John reaches out with both hands. They seek, grabbing hold of your upper arms just above the elbow. He draws you close, his head tilting forward slightly as his gaze intensifies, focusing on you.

“Can we go somewhere quiet?” you ask, briefly glancing over his shoulder.

There are members of his team lingering in the background. Though they talk quietly with each other, they keep glancing this way.

“Of course,” murmurs John. Placing one arm over your shoulders, he turns back to the rest of his team. “Give me a few minutes,” he says to them, before leading you away.

The entire walk to his office, John keeps one hand on you at all times. He doesn’t say much, only stopping to briefly address others that pass.

“What’s wrong, love?” he asks again once the door is shut.

“Is it locked?”

John blinks. “Is what locked?”

You reach past him and fiddle with the handle. Frowning, John gently grasps your wrist and locks the door. “What—”

But the question never comes. You wrap your arms around his neck and bring him to your lips, claiming his mouth in desperation. John groans softly, returning your kisses with equal enthusiasm. His hands fall upon your hips, squeezing, drawing you closer.

“You didn’t come just to kiss me,” murmurs John, retreating just enough to allow a sliver of space.

“No,” you breathe. “I’m ovulating.”

“Is that what your app says?" he teases.

You hum an agreement and John pushes in, guiding you backward toward his desk. You don't feel the wood until he lifts, and places you atop it. Leaning back, you spread your legs and present yourself.

“Open your present,” you tease, nodding toward the length of your body.

You came prepared. The large coat is made to go down to your knees, hiding everything when buttoned and tied. John reaches out. Tugging, he releases the band, and then he goes for the buttons, popping them open one by one.

He pushes the coat wide, and a growl escapes him. “You’ve been walking around base in nothing but a bloody coat?”

“And boots,” you add, kicking your feet.

Grabbing your thighs, John drags you to the edge of the desk. You greedily shimmy the coat off your shoulders.

His fingers explore, trailing over inner thigh to exposed pussy. One finger parts you, and then sinks in easily.

“Fucking hell, love,” he groans as he inserts another finger. “Already so wet for me.”

“Couldn’t wait,” you moan as John’s thumb rubs softly against your clit.

Another pump and then his fingers are gone. Through the haze, you watch as John undoes the front of his pants. He pushes them down just enough for his thick cock to spring free. Reaching for him, you stroke his cock, only for John to drag you close and align himself.

With one sharp thrust, John enters to the hilt. Keeping one hand on your right thigh, and the other planted firmly on the desk, John begins to thrust. It’s not a soft, gentle rhythm, but sharp and heavy. Every time your pelvis makes contact with his abdomen, the desk squeaks loudly.

“So fucking wet,” mutters John, his eyelids closing slightly as he gives in to the pleasure. “When I come home tonight, you better be naked. On your back. And in our bed.”

With your elbows propping you up, your head falls back in ecstasy as John returns his attention to your clit, circling it in soft strokes that send ripples of pleasure outward.

"I needed you," you groan.

"Greedy thing," purrs John, slipping an arm behind your back and lifting.

Your arms drape over his shoulders, one hand grasping his neck as John adjusts you into a new position. At this angle, you're held tightly against him. John firmly squeezes your ass with both hands.

He drives into you, the legs of the desk scraping against the carpet. A curling, buzzing sensation bubbles up, twisting low in your belly. The orgasm creeps up quickly, surging forward. Your nails dig into John's neck, and a throat moan escapes you.

John silences you with a kiss, swallowing that sound for himself, his hands gripping you so tightly you're sure he'll leave bruises behind.

With a low grunt, John holds you to him, sealing your bodies together. A warmth floods your pussy, his cum coating your insides.

"Think we made a baby?" teases John, nipping at your bottom lip.

"Not sure."

"Better try again then." He rocks his hips, and you whimper.

"You told your team you'd only be a few minutes."

He shrugs. "They can wait."

John "Soap" MacTavish

The youth of maidenhood is shed.

Your kransen is delicately wrapped in cloth and tucked away for a future daughter. The bridal crown you wore during the ceremony is still on your head. A delicate thing made of interwoven bands of silver; its shine slightly eclipsed by flakes of dried goat blood upon the metal. The droplets that landed on your face are long gone, cleaned by cold water and cloth.

Belly full from feasting, and skin buzzing with the consumption of mead, there is nothing left of the evening but the small dark of your new home, of the bedroom you will now share with your husband.

Anticipation is like a hidden viper. The women of your family told you all that would happen after, explained it in detail so that you would understand. You are eager to experience the good, but also know that your new husband might be completely inept.

You don't believe that to be the case though. During the ceremony he appeared calm and kind. He led but was not overbearing, and during the feast, he made sure your plate and glass were full before he even thought of himself. If that is how the marriage starts, then that must be what it is to come.

You hear your name, and you turn.

Your husband stands in the doorway, still in his wedding attire. He softly shuts the door behind him and finds the nearest chair, sinking down into it to remove his boots. Once off, he groans softly, standing again, removing the fur cape and draping it over the back of the chair.

He removes a few other articles of clothing until he's in nothing but his tunic and trousers. He saunters over, fingers lightly brushing against the hemline of your dressing gown.

"There is still blood on your face," you observe. "Let me wash it away."

"No," he says. "Reminds me of a good fight. I can imagine that you’re my war prize."

You laugh, and he smiles. In a way, you are a war prize. Your two clans have been feuding for years. This marriage is a way to make peace.

"Is being your wife not enough?" you tease.

"It is."

His fingers catch on the neckline, pulling the loose fabric over one shoulder. Leaning forward, he places a kiss between neck and shoulder. You shiver, one hand reaching out for him.

"We don't,” he begins but you shake your head.

"It's fine. I... want to."

He cradles your cheek in his palm. It is warm. Comforting. You sigh and lean into it.

The kiss is soft and delicate. There is nothing demanding in it. It is simple and pure. Even in this, he is not pushing. You follow his lead, giving a little more each time until you're reaching for him, hands pressing firmly against his chest.

He sighs, and then the gentle softness recedes, and the kisses deepen. Both of his hands hold your face. You are trapped but it feels wonderful. You give in, pressing your bodies together beside the fire, only understanding and learning these things about one another.

He removes the crown from your head, gently placing it aside.

The dress falls away and you are left bare. His gaze observers but it's brief. John's hands rest on your hips. They squeeze gently, guiding you backward. The soft furs brush that backs of your legs, and then John guides you down onto the bed, relishing every touch and kiss until you're breathless.

Is this how it's supposed to be? Will it always be like this?

John gives you one last kiss before pulling away, standing at full height, towering over you. He removes the last of his garment, his gaze never leaving your prone form. And you are unable to look away either, everything about him an enticing offer you don't wish to walk away from.

All muscle. All strength.

You reach out, grasping the one thing that now belongs to you. John groans softly as you make contact, wrapping your fingers around it. This is new to you, and you're not sure what you're supposed to do with it.

You gently stroke, thumb gracing the underside. John makes another small sound and you know you're on the right path. You sit up a bit, questioning whether you should taste him. The urge is too strong. You lean in, the tip of your tongue swirling over the head.

"No," he growls, grasping the back of your neck. "I won't last if you do that."

He guides you back and then starts to kneel, covering your body with his. You're on your back and he drapes himself across, hands roaming, exploring. His mouth descends, and then it is you making little sounds of pleasure.

"You can know me that way," he murmurs. "But first." His mouth descends and licks between your thighs, teasing and tasting until you're undone with pleasure, hips bucking off the bed and pressing against his mouth.

His hand glides over your stomach. "But first," he repeats. "We have a son to make."

He slides between your legs, guiding your legs wide. The head of him enters, and then there is a quiet sting that shudders through you.

"Breathe," he murmurs. "Relax."

You sigh, follow his instruction. The sting evaporates, and he retreats a bit before adding more. The stretch is tight but no longer painful. Each gentle thrusts gives you more before he's fully seated inside.

Your hands start at his waist and then explore to his back, down to just above his buttocks to ascend at his shoulders. John's forearms rest on either side of your head, his forehead coming to rest against your own. The two of you stare into each other’s eyes, lips nearly touching as he rolls his hips, thrusting lightly.

"How long will it take?" he asks, rocking against, this time with a little more force. "If I keep you here, beneath me, full of my cock. How long?"

He thrusts again, and your whole body clings to him, the friction unbearably good. Your only response is a whimper.

His lips lightly brush over yours and then your chin.

"Should I tie you to this bed? Use the leathers that hold my armor together." He nips at your shoulder. "I can pretend you are my war prize."

"I am your war prize," you breathe, as he thrusts in earnest.

"Aye. You are. Separate clans. A marriage for peace. An enemy no longer."

Your arms tighten around him. You are pinned beneath him, unable to move, and yet completely willing in satiating both your desires.

You are lost to his movements, of the fullness, of the growing pleasure that is seconds from exploding outward. He rocks his hips forward, his pelvis pressing against that tender flesh.

You clench down, drowning in a wave that consumes.

You hear his inhalation, feel his muscles bunching under your hands, and then he's grinding forward, keeping still as he floods your womb with warmth.

But he does not pull out. Does not retreat. Instead, he kisses you softly, hips rocking before you feel that fullness blooming again.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

The world is fractured. Broken.

And you have been thrust right into the thick of it. Taken by people unknown, signed off and given to a stranger.

Lieutenant Simon Riley.

Your new...what? Husband? Minder?

He stands before you, arms at his sides, observing but not speaking. As if pulled directly from duty, he's still in his all-black fatigues. The weapons are gone. They rest on the small table in the kitchen area of the tiny apartment.

But you smell blood on him. Musk. The dirt and grime of the brutality that is now home to the last remaining humans.

"What?" you snap, his gaze unnerving.

The defensiveness is just an illusion—a coping mechanism.

Simon wears a black balaclava, and all you can make out about him are his eyes. They are deep pools of dark brown that reflect the light like whiskey in a clear bottle. He is tall too and solid muscle.

The idea of him pinning you to the bed, of his weight keeping you in place as he has his way with you, makes your pussy clench involuntarily. You shouldn’t feel that way—to think of him as anything but your captor.

"You understand what's happened?" he asks.

Yes.

"I'm to be your whore."

You notice the slight twitch at the corner of Simon's eye at the word.

"Neither of us wanted this," he replies slowly, his gaze just as languid as it surveys your body.

"Winning me over with your charm," you mutter.

Simon grunts, and then brushes past you into the bathroom. He shuts the door and seconds later you hear the shower running.

Making a run for it isn't an option. The moment you leave, they'll be after you. Would they take you away from Simon? Give you to someone else? Or would they just think you're too much trouble and a bullet would be a mercy.

Your thoughts race, and when Simon emerges from the bathroom in nothing but a towel, you're momentarily stunned into silence. It is not just his body that is hard but everything about him. And now, you have a clear view of his face. He is handsome. Pleasing to the eye even with the scars.

Maybe it won't be all bad.

"It's all yours." He nods toward the bathroom where steam slowly rolls out through the crack in the door.

You follow suit, washing away the stress of the day.

Emerging is the hard part. There are no clothes for you to change in to, but that's the point. You are to remain in this apartment, stay in his bed, and allow Simon to breed you until there's no doubt you carry his child.

All the lights are off except for one. The bedroom isn't a separate room but an area sectioned off by a large curtain. From behind the curtain is a dim glow. You head for it, towel wrapped around body like armor. You push it back only to find Simon reclining, the top sheet covering his lower-half as he reads from a folder.

The rings on the curtain clink and he glances up. Simon closes the folder and tosses it off to the side.

That needy feeling returns. You shouldn’t indulge it or yourself, but it is there, lingering beneath the surface.

For a time, there is only silence, the two of you simply staring at each other.

"Are you joining me?" Simon finally asks.

You sigh. "I have to."

"You do," he agrees. You don't move closer. "I won't hurt you."

"Very reassuring,” you mutter, clutching the towel tighter.

Simon runs his hand through his hair. “Either we do this or you’re given to someone else. Did they tell you that?”

“I know the expectation.”

Simon leans forward into a more seated position. “Then you know I can keep you safe.”

It’s not untrue. You are his now.

You gaze narrows. “You don’t even know me.”

"I know you're going to carry my son or daughter. And that bloody well fucking matters to me."

"Will I?"

"You will."

You clutch the towel to you tighter, unable to part with it. Simon’s gaze remains unmoved. It is an intensity that worms its way inside, slithering beneath your skin to curl around your ribs. Every bit of him is on full display. Your mind drifts—imagining what might be underneath the sheet.

It’s not what you want for yourself, but there are worse men in this compound. There are worse fates. He’s not particularly happy about the arrangement either, something the two of you have in common. But he’s not ugly, and hasn’t been brutish.

Simon sighs, and it sounds like defeat.

He reaches across himself, turning off the small light next to the bed, plunging the two of into darkness.

“Better?”

You grumble but drop the towel. In the dark, your nakedness feels less isolating. As you step up to the bed, you glimpse Simon’s shadow as he draws the bedding back to give you space to slip in.

The bedsheets are cold, and as your grab them to cover yourself and create space, Simon’s hand comes down on your waist, dragging you close to him.

Your hand darts out, pressing against his chest.

Simon gently grasps your wrist and guides your hand away from his chest. "Said I wouldn't hurt you."

"I know," you murmur.

He smells clean and fresh, not like the dirt and blood from earlier. And yet, he feels dangerous, his hold an intense grip that teases surrender and tells you to give in.

What will he do with you?

Will he simply put you on your back?

Will you just have to take it?

Simon lightly squeezes, and then his hand descends, exploring. It lingers on your upper thigh, and then travels upward, learning the curve of your hip and angles of your arm. Simon cups one breast, thumb brushing over the nipple.

A little shudder follows that stroke. A sigh passes your lips and Simon shifts closer.

"I won't hurt you," he murmurs.

Simons’ teeth graze the hardening peak, as you groan loudly, surprised at how your body reacts to him. Answering with a groan of his own, Simon’s other hand delves between your thighs.

Exploring your sex, Simon’s fingers part your pussy, navigating and learning as much as he can. One finger plays with your clit as another teases your entrance, swirling the slickness around that blooms there with each stroke.

“But I can’t promise I’ll be gentle.”

With that one admission, Simon rolls you onto your back. When he spreads your legs, he does not settle between. He drapes a leg over each of his shoulders, and then his mouth is on your pussy, licking ravenously. His large hands slide up your stomach to tenderly grasp and tease both breasts.

His mouth and hands are full of you, and there is only pleasure.

Simon is right.

He does not harm, but he is not gentle.

Each swirl and tease of his tongue is harsh, sending you quickly to your end. The orgasm is bright and bursting—consuming. Yet, Simon remains steadfast, tasting until the first becomes a second and your thighs shake against the sides of his head.

“They assigned you to me,” he growls, shifting position, settling his hips between your spread thighs. “Made it an order.” The head of his cock presses in, and in one movement, Simon slides home. “And I’ll follow that order.”

His breathing is ragged. Even in the dark, you notice the gentle swell of his chest as he takes in air. “But fuck,” he groans, testing with a steady roll of his hips. “I’m gonna make sure we both enjoy ourselves.”

Simon casts his full weight over you, and there is nothing left for you to do but cling to him. Your feet rest against the back of his calves, and your fingers dig into his lower back as Simon thrusts without mercy.

He is brutal in this—but it does not hurt. It’s only rough, and within you, some primal piece is fracturing, feeding into what he’s giving.

Simon’s hands descend to squeeze your ass. He holds firm, lifting your pelvis upward at the same moment he holds himself tightly to your body. Growling against your throat, he shudders, and you feel his release flood your pussy.

This one deed seals it.

You are forever his.

Even if you try to leave, he’s never letting you go.

Simon’s lips pause at the pulse in your throat. He lingers there and then lightly kisses the spot. It’s a tender, nearly intimate touch. He ascends to the line of your jaw, and then his lips are on yours in a gentle caress.

You part for him, and his tongue slides inside. With a low groan, Simon lightly thrusts, his hardness returning with each stroke. The kisses deepen, and Simon eases you back to the bed, his cock sliding out of your pussy.

“Simon,” you murmur, one hand stroking over his chest.

His hand goes around your throat while the other dips between your legs. He finds your pussy, two fingers pushing into the mess.

“Give me one more, love. Tonight. One more.”

Simon withdraws, and with one quick movement, he rolls you onto your stomach.

“Open,” he commands, and you do so.

His two fingers that were just in your pussy slide into your mouth. Guiding your legs wide, Simon enters you again. The stretch is perfect, and his thrusts only push your mouth further down his fingers.

His hand slips between your body and the bed, seeking until he finds what he's after. With a few quick swirls of Simon's fingers against your clit, you scream around the ones in your mouth.

"That's it," he murmurs. "Come for me."

Your pussy squeezes around him and Simon moans his pleasure.

[ozarkthedog]

𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐁𝐘 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇

summary: joel drags you onto his lap and consumes you.

warnings: 18+ mdni. joel miller x afab!reader. no physical descriptions of reader. slight dom!joel. cock riding. calling a pussy she/her. no beta. w.c: 835

author’s note: I saw a different gif of Joel sitting on the ground with his thick body and long legs, had a minor black out and this was the result. hope you enjoy!

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋅ 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 ⋅ 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

Joel Miller leaning back against the headboard of your bed with his legs spread, completely nude, is a fucking sight.

Somehow, he's still so massive and intimidating in this prone position. He reminds you of a warrior or Viking God who's just come home from slaying in battle. 

Coarse hair covers his broad chest, blanketing his sturdy abdomen, and trails south below his belly button, creating a dark, densely woven path down to his pelvis. His large cock hangs heavy between his burly, spread thighs; his sac is so full and warm that it reaches the sheets. The dusty pink head weeps, dripping pre cum down the girthy shaft as it bobs and flexes at the sight of you on your knees naked before him. 

"C'mere." he husks, fisting his length with a meaty paw while you timidly crawl on hands and knees over to him.   

Your gaze travels up his belly and chest, meeting an untamed, vivid stare as his chocolate eyes bore into you. He makes you feel so small and insignificant, but you know that's a lie when he cups a worn hand along your cheek. He treats you like a goddess; like you formed the moon and stars. He revolves around you. 

"My sweet, sweet girl." he tugs you into his lap, your sensitive cunt brushing against his belly, leaving a trail of shiny arousal in its wake. "Already so wet. Bet I'll slide right in." He purrs.

His words burn wildly through you. All consuming and raging, igniting a searing heat deep in your belly. He taps his crown against your folds, a sharp, sticky 'thwap' bouncing off the walls before he lines his cock up with your tight, fluttering hole tempting a soft whimper to bubble up your throat.

"S'ok, I got you." he consoles you with a deep, soothing voice that slithers into your wary heart.

Joel grips one sturdy hand on your hip and helps you sit on his cock while the other cradles your jaw, fixing his fingers around the back of your neck. "Easy now, slow," he commands with a soft rumble.  

He traces the outline of your ear with his thumb, distracting you from the pressure as your velvet channel molds around him. He sighs, a long, winding breath through his nose, "All the way. Take e'ery inch."

His bearded jaw clenches when he bottoms out and hears your pitiful whines. Your body would loll like a ragdoll if not for his grip as a blissful fervor runs rampant up your spine and his weeping tip presses against your cervix.

Your lips pull into a tiny 'o', brows pinching tight when Joel shifts, withdrawing his cock before slowly, ever so slowly, spearing it back in and splitting you open. He smirks at your glassy eyes, all wide and wild like an animal caught in a trap.

"Thatta girl." he rumbles, thrusting his hips and breaching your cunt again. He tenderly rubs his thumb along your cheek. His cock flexes at the sight of you gradually losing your mind. "so full of cock, ya can't think straight, huh?"

He drives his cock deeper, meaty thighs bracing the backs of your own on every brutal thrust. Slick trickles down his length as he relentlessly sheathes himself in your heat like a sword spearing into its victims.

Your fingers dig into his brawny shoulders, pressing into the dense cords of muscle as they shift with every devastating shove, demonstrating his strength.

"Shh, I'll take care, a'ya." the thumb that framed your ear is now threateningly hooked under your jaw. A blunt nail acutely bites into the underside of your chin. "Always do, don't I?"

When you meet his foreboding stare, a high-pitched cry rattles through your body straight down to your cunt, making your walls clench like a vice around his length.

A chuckle rumbles from the center of his chest. "S'what I thought."

The hand around your hips tightens as his pace quickens. The pads of his fingers dig sweetly into your skin. He slithers his other hand around the back of your neck securing you in a severe grip; the pads of his fingers dig sweetly into your skin, keeping you still and compliant as the rapturous arousal blazing in your core burns brighter and brighter.

You feel him swell, pushing against your insides and forming a new pathway that'll only and always be his.

"Tha's it. Stay with me." he tips your forehead against his own and penetrates your soul with a voracious stare. "Can feel 'er, squrimin'. This sweet pussy gonna come?" 

His torso and balls tighten as you writhe in his hold and hit your peak with an agonizing, blissful cry. "Shit- 'ere ya go." he praises, growling darkly through clenched teeth, watching in awe as you convulse from his unyielding and gluttonous touch. 

He wants you close. So close he can breathe in every needy, angelic breath he punches from of your lungs as he fucks you to the edge over and over again. He wants to watch you fall apart in his arms so he can put your back together. Breath by breath. Whimper by whimper. Orgasm by orgasm.

feel free to scream at me -> ��

->reblogs & comments are extremely appreciated!<-

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[knight-hiccup]

𝐌𝐀𝐄𝐋𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐌 | Hiccup x Fem!Reader ₂

This is Chapter 2 to this Hiccup series -> Masterlist here. Previous Chapter : Next Chapter

Pairing: Hiccup x fem!reader Genre: romance, fantasy, suspense, drama, angst, dark, vioIence, friends to lovers, dark themes, heavy Viking lore, Norse mythology, canon divergence, slow burn Word count: 6.1k Warnings: This will have the lore of the films + shows but with much darker themes. Gore/blood, mentions of death, Norse mythology, some realistic dragon themes, more realistic scenarios, and mature themes starting at the point httyd 2 ark comes in, so, ofc NSFW. Any other warnings will be properly tagged upon story progression. A/N: Reader description not described besides clothing true to Viking/httyd fashion from time to time.

CHAPTER 2

The Night Fury's eyes had flared, green and fierce, at Hiccup—making the young boys triumphant grin falter, the knife trembling in his hand before lifting it high again determined. Until you see him pause—then begin cutting the ropes.

Confused—You leaned over, frozen, "Hiccup—" you started, but the words choked off as he scrambled back, blade flashing in a desperate arc. Ropes snapped, and the beast erupted—wings thrashing, a roar splitting through the woods.

It lunged, pinning him against the boulder, jaws inches from his face, and you staggered forward, trying to get over the ravine with struggle—heart in your throat—unable to see what was happening as it roared. Then, just as fast, it bolted—black scales swallowed by the trees, leaving only the echo of its flight. Hiccup, much to your relief got up, swayed, eyes rolling back, and crumpled to the dirt.

"Hiccup!" you cried, horror clawing at you as you lunged over the ravine's edge. Roots snagged your boots, rocks skittered underneath as you half-slid, half-fell down the slope, scraping your palms raw. He lay sprawled, half-awake, a groan slipping from his lips as you dropped beside him, pulling his head into your lap. 

You checked if he was hurt, nothing. Your fingers brushed his hair from his face—damp with sweat, streaked with dirt—and you held him there, breath shaky, willing him to stir. His eyes fluttered open, hazy green colliding with yours, and for a beat, you just stared.

His head a heavy lump in your lap, your pulse thumping like a war drum in your ears. It was all very heroic, very tender, until it wasn't—silence stretched into a gaping maw of awkward, and you both hacked out coughs like you'd swallowed a flock of gnats.

Hiccup flailed upright, too fast, a gangly tangle of limbs that toppled him back into your lap like a newborn yak. You shot a hand to his shoulder to keep him upright, but he face-planted into your lap again anyway mumbling embarrassed.

"Easy, dragon-slayer—let's not make a habit of making my lap a pillow. . ." You blurted out. Hiccup dug his palms into the soil, lifting his head from your lap, his face blooming blood-red like a tomato kissed by Thor's hammer. "S-sorry, sorry, uh—gods, sorry," he mumbled, a string of apologies tripping over themselves as he scrambled back, dirt smudging his tunic.

You shook your head, unbothered, a grin tugging at your lips—honestly, you'd seen him in worse states—and grabbed his shoulders, giving him a firm shake to snap him out of it. He turned, wide-eyed, still flushed from forehead to neck.

"Are you hurt anywhere?" you asked, voice steady but laced with worry, eyes scanning him for scrapes or worse. "Are you okay? That dragon had you like a snack on a skewer." His face stayed red, a messy stew of embarrassment from the Toothless fiasco and your lap-turned-pillow, and he struggled, words fumbling like fish on dry land.

"I—I'm fine," he managed, nodding gently, though his voice wobbled like a cart missing a wheel. "Really, I'm. . .yeah."

But you saw it—the disappointment shadowing his eyes, dimming that spark he'd had when he'd crowed about bringing down the beast. His shoulders slumped, gaze dropping to the torn ropes scattered like broken promises across the ground.

You tilted your head, brushing dirt from your hands, the sting of scrapes sharpening your focus.

"What happened?" you pressed, softer now, curiosity tugging at you. "Why'd you decide to let it go?" The question hung there, heavy but gentle, the air thick.

Hiccup rubbed his neck, wincing as he glanced at the trees where the dragon had bolted. "I. . .I don't know," he muttered, voice low, like he was piecing it together himself. "It looked at me, and—I couldn't do it. It wasn't. . .it didn't feel right." He huffed a shaky laugh, half-hearted, and shot you a sidelong glance, still red-cheeked. "Guess I'm not the mighty Viking I thought I'd be, huh?"

You shook your head, nudging him with your fist. "Oh, I don't know—takes guts to stare down a Night Fury and live to blush about it." Your tease was light, but the worry lingered, threading through your words like smoke. He managed a grin, faint but real.

"There are other ways, Hiccup—" you started, voice soft but firm. But he cut you off, hauling himself up with a sigh that seemed to drag his whole frame down.

"Let's head back," he said, emotionless, his voice flat as the still water of Berk's harbor after a raid. It wasn't odd to catch this grim edge in his voice, a rare Hiccup-only-you-got-to-see. He brushed dirt from his tunic, avoiding your gaze, the faint grin snuffed out like a candle pinched too soon.

You opened your mouth to protest, then shut it, swallowing the words as you stood too, the ache in your heels flaring from the morning's trek. He started up the ravine's slope, steps heavy, and you followed, the silence between you thicker than the mist rolling off the cliffs. 

The woods spat you both out hours ago, Berk's smoky skyline swallowing you back into its bustle. Hiccup had turned to you at the village edge, still pale, and pulled you into a quick, clumsy hug.

"Well! I guess that brings me back to this meridian of misery!" He jokes sarcastically unamused. 

"Hey, thanks," he'd mumbled, voice rough, "for, y'know. . .coming with me and everything. Sorry I brought you along for nothing. I'm gonna crash—nap time." He'd flashed a tired grin, then shuffled off toward his house, leaving you with a nod and the echo of his flat.

Now, late afternoon draped the Great Hall in a warm haze, the clamor of Vikings clinking tankards and gnawing on bones a dull roar around you. You sat alone at a weathered table, head plunked on your folded arms, staring past a plate of food that might've tempted Thor himself—crusty bread, still steaming, its golden edge begging to be torn; a hunk of roasted chicken, juicy and flecked with herbs; and a smear of mashed turnips, glistening with butter, flanked by pickled herring that gleamed like silver coins.

Your stomach growled, but you ignored it, too sunk in thought to care. Hiccup's face—red, then ashen, then hollow—looped in your mind, his disappointment a weight you couldn't shake. That dragon had let him go, and he'd let it go, and now he was. . .what? Lost? You flexed your scraped palms, wincing, and sighed.

Marta's voice still jabbed at you, too—hours earlier, she'd cornered you the second you'd stumbled back into the kitchen, flour-dusted and late. "Gallivantin' off with that twig of a boy while I'm drownin' in breakfast orders!" she'd bellowed, ladle waving like a war axe.

"Lunch is a mess, and you're off chasin' dreams—ye'll be knead'n dough 'til midnight for this!" She hadn't been wrong—you'd paid in sweat, hauling sacks, shaping loaves, and dodging her wrath 'til your arms screamed louder than your heels had in the woods. Now, slumped here, exhaustion clung like wet wool, and worry for Hiccup gnawed deeper than hunger.

A shadow loomed over your table, sharp and deliberate, and you lifted your head to find Astrid standing there, axe slung over her shoulder, blonde braid swinging like a battle banner. Her gaze—fierce enough to scatter a flock of Terrible Terrors—softened a flicker as it landed on your untouched plate.

"You gonna eat that or just stare it into Valhalla?" she asked, voice dry but edged with something warmer, a ghost of the days she'd sneak small cakes you would save at her request from your oven and mutter thanks under her breath. You shrugged, too tired to muster a grin.

Before you could answer, a raucous laugh split the air—Snotlout, swaggering up with Ruffnut and Tuffnut trailing like a pair of gleeful tornadoes. "Oh, look, it's Hiccup's personal bread-maid!" he crowed, slamming a meaty hand on your table, rattling the chicken.

"Where's your twiggy hero now? Nappin' off another disaster? Heard he took down a tower and a dragon last night—too bad it flew off before he could trip over it!" Ruffnut snickered at Snotlouts' remarks, elbowing Tuffnut, where she pretends to shoot him down and he mimed a dramatic faint, sprawling across a bench with a wheeze.

"Probably tripped over his own trap and took out half the woods instead." Tuffnut added, cackling as he flopped upright, nearly knocking Fishlegs off the bench—who'd shuffled in behind them, clutching a tattered dragon manual in one hand, an entire chicken-on-a-stick in the other. Fishlegs squeaked, adjusting his grip.

"A-actually, if it was a Night Fury, statistically, it's got a wingspan of—uh—forty-eight feet, give or take, so. . .maybe just a tree or two?" His ramble faltered muttering about flight velocity. While everyone inwardly questioned what exactly he meant.

You rolled your eyes, shoving the plate an inch away. "He's fine, Snotlout—unlike your aim, which couldn't hit a sleeping sheep." The twins hooted, and Astrid's lips twitched, almost a smirk, but your heart wasn't in it. Hiccup's hollow look clung to you, and this lot's noise—Ruffnut's snort, Tuffnut's wheeze, Fishleg's stammering stats—only sharpened the headache. Frustration boiled over, a hot coal in your chest, and you shoved up from the table, the bench scraping loud enough to cut through their cackling. "Take it," you snapped, gesturing at the untouched plate—steaming bread, juicy chicken, buttery turnips, and all. "Stuff your faces." Snotlout whooped, lunging for the chicken as the twins dove in, squabbling over the bread like seagulls on a fish haul.

Astrid's gaze followed you, sharp and steady, a flicker of confusion crinkling her brow as you stormed past. She didn't call out—didn't worry too much, either—just leaned forward, snagging a piece of herring on her own plate and popping it into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully as the others tore into your leftovers with gleeful chaos. You didn't look back, boots thudding against the Hall's stone floor, the din fading as you pushed through the heavy doors into the late afternoon chill.

The village sprawled before you, smoke curling from chimneys, the tang of salt and soot sharp in your nose. Your home wasn't far—a squat, sturdy thing tucked near the forge—but your legs felt like lead, each step dragging the weight of the day: Hiccup's situation, Marta's crazy rant, the endless knead-and-haul that'd left you flour-streaked and bone-tired. You just wanted a bed to collapse in, to shake off the worry gnawing at you like a persistent yak, when a familiar bellow stopped you cold.

"Oi, lass!" Gobber waved you over from the forge's open maw, his hook-hand glinting in the fading light. You sighed, veering toward him, too weary to dodge. He grinned as you trudged up, peg leg tapping a rhythm on the dirt.

"Well, look at ye!—Held up against Marta's wrath, did we?" He chuckled, a booming sound that rattled your skull, then squinted, taking in your state. "Gods, ye're a walkin' bakery! Flour head to toe, bits o' dough in yer hair—did she dunk ye in the stew pot for good measure?"

You huffed, brushing at your tunic—useless, the white dust clung like a second skin, and a stray smear of turnip mash streaked your sleeve. "Felt like it," you muttered, managing a tired smile.

"She's still cursing me for breakfast. And lunch. I'll be kneading 'til I'm old as Mildew." Gobber laughed again, clapping you on the shoulder—hard enough to jolt you—and you winced, though his gruff warmth thawed the edges of your frustration.

"Ye're a tough one, lass—always have been," he said, leaning on the anvil, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Runnin' after Hiccup, facin' Marta's ladle—ye've got more spine than half this village."

You snorted, kicking a pebble, and he rambled on, waxing about the time you'd rigged a bellows to spew flour instead of air, nearly choking him in a white cloud. The memory tugged a real grin out of you, fleeting but there, until he straightened, tone shifting.

"Ah! Yes. By the way," he said, scratching his beard with his hook-hand, "while Stoick and the rest go off to find that dragon's nest, I've decided it's finally time to prepare ye to become a Viking. I'm signin' ye up for trainin'."

You blinked, bewildered, the words slamming into you like a rogue barrel down a hill.

"Training?" Your voice cracked, confusion piling onto the day's mess—Hiccup's dragon, Marta's wrath, and now this?

"Wait—Gobber, I can't! I've got Marta's kitchen, your forge—I'm too busy hauling sacks and trays all day for lectures to swing an axe!"

He waved you off your excuses with his chicken wing, like they were flies, grinning wider.

"Already squared it with Marta—told her to go easy on ye, by Stoick's orders no less. Future o' the village, future o' the clan—ye're not just a baker, lass, ye're one of us." He clapped your shoulder again, softer this time, but the weight of it sank deep.

"Ye' start tomorrow. No backin' out. Stoicks even havin' the same talk with Hiccup."

You stared, mouth half-open, flour-dusted and dumbfounded, as he turned back to the forge, whistling his happy song "Viking thru' n' thru'" like he hadn't just upended your world. The day's chaos spun in your head—Hiccup, dragons, training—and you trudged toward home, legs heavier than ever, wondering how you'd stumbled into all this mess.

The night had swallowed you whole after you'd staggered home, exhaustion dragging you under like a riptide. You'd collapsed into bed—limbs a sprawled tangle over the edges, one arm dangling, the other pinned beneath you, face buried into your wool pillow as you drooled unknowingly—your hair a wild snarl with strands stuck in your mouth. Feet and toes exposed as the blanket had risen up.

Sleep hit hard, a dreamless void, and you didn't stir as the clan's ships sailed out at dawn, Stoick at the helm, chasing the dragon's nest with the village's might. The world spun on without you, and you stayed blissfully dead to it—until the sun clawed its way up, slicing golden beams through your shutter slats right into your eyes as you finally turned.

You winced, nose wrinkling in annoyance, a groan rumbling up as the light stabbed at your lids. Then came the knocks—sharp, insistent thuds rattling your door.

"Go away," you mumbled, words a gibberish mush as you yanked the bearskin cover higher, burrowing into its musty warmth like a stubborn Gronckle in a cave. The knocking stopped, and you smirked sleepily, victorious—until the door slammed open with a bang that could've woken Thor himself.

"Rise and shine, lass!" Gobber's voice boomed, and before you could yelp, he ripped the bearskin off in one brutal yank, leaving you flailing in the chill. A bucket of water followed—icy, straight from the wells of Hel—and splashed over you like a tidal wave.

You shot up with a shout, arms wrapping tight around yourself, toes wiggling near freezing as you danced in place, teeth clattering like a sack of loose bolts. Water dripped from your hair, plastered to your face, and you blinked wildly, spinning to find Gobber grinning like a madman, empty bucket swinging in his hook-hand.

"You!" you sputtered, glaring as your breath puffed in the cold air, finally locking eyes with him. "What in Odin's name—"

"Ye're late!" he cut in, undeterred, peg leg tapping an impatient beat. "Let's get goin' afore the rest o' the trainees beat me there—and ye'd best not make me look the fool!" He tossed the bucket aside with a clatter, already half-turned to the door, like he hadn't just drowned you awake.

You shivered, still clutching yourself, the shock warring with a flicker of amusement—Gobber's wake-ups were the stuff of nightmares and sagas. "Late?" you croaked, voice hoarse from sleep and the dousing. 

"I—I didn't even—" Your brain lagged, piecing together yesterday: Gobber's training bomb. 

The clan was gone, and now this. You groaned again, louder, but he was already waving you out, bellowing about "no dawdlin' get ye' boots" as you stumbled for dry clothes, teeth still chattering.

You stood there, dripping and shivering, as Gobber's peg leg tapped out the door, his whistle fading into the morning clamor of Berk. "No dawdlin', lass!" echoed back shutting the door behind him, a taunt wrapped in a command, and you snapped into motion, teeth still rattling like a smith's loose gears.

Dry clothes—where were they? You lunged for a crumpled tunic on the bench, nearly tripping over your own sodden legs, and yanked it on, the fabric snagging on your wet arms. Trousers next, a frantic wrestle as you hopped, one leg in, the other flailing, your hair still plastered to your face like a drowned rat's nest.

"Gods, Gobber," you muttered, spitting strands from your mouth, "next time, just set me on fire—warmer way to wake up."

Boots—there, by the door, caked with yesterday's mud. You snatched them up, bolting outside barefoot, the icy ground biting your soles as you hopped after him, one boot halfway on, the other clutched to your chest.

"Wait—Gobber!" you yelped, teetering on one foot while jamming the other into leather, laces flapping like a dragon's loose scales.

He didn't slow, his lopsided gait eating up the path to the training arena, and you cursed under your breath, hopping faster—left, right, stumble—until both boots clung to your feet, sloppy but secure. Your lungs burned, your scraped palms stung as you waved them for balance, and Gobber's chuckle floated back, rich and maddening.

"Ye'll wake the village with that racket, lass—move it!"

The arena loomed ahead under the gloomy morning, a rough-hewn ring of stone, chains and timber. Its gates and chains wet from last night's cast still dripping here and there—no sign of Snotlout's swagger or the twins' chaos. More surprising—No sign of Astrid quite yet. You caught up, breathless, as Gobber swung the gate wide, his hook-hand glinting in the light.

"Good—beat the rest o' the rabble," he said, nodding approvingly. "Help me set this mess up afore they stumble in." He jerked his head toward a pile of gear—axes duller than a sheep's stare, shields dented like they'd lost a fight with a Monstrous Nightmare, and a tangle of ropes that smelled faintly of singed wool. You groaned, but hauled an axe anyway, its weight tugging at your sore arms, and shot him a look.

"Training, huh?" you panted, dragging a shield into place. "Thought I was busy enough dodging Marta's ladle and your lectures—now I've got to swing this?" You hefted the axe, nearly clipping your own shin, and Gobber snorted, tossing a rope coil your way.

"Aye, and ye'll thank me when ye're not dragon bait," he quipped, limping to the center to wrestle a wooden dummy upright. "If yer all gonna be future o' the clan, I'm not lettin' ye flail like a fish on a hook." 

He grinned waving his own hooked-hand, and you rolled your eyes, but a flicker of pride sparked beneath the exhaustion—Gobber believed in you, flour-dust and all. The arena hummed with morning chill, the quiet before the storm of trainees, and you set to work.

The arena stood ready, a gritty testament to your morning's toil with Gobber—axes among other weapons lined up like a row of sullen teeth along the rack, their edges blunted by years of clumsy swings, glinting faintly in the pale sun that clawed its way over the arena walls.

Shields piled in a haphazard stack, their wooden faces pocked with gouges and scorch marks, some still bearing the faint stink of dragon spit; and ropes slung across the dirt, coiled like sleeping adders, their fibers frayed and dusted with ash from past fires.

You'd wrestled every piece into place, sweat streaking through the flour still caked on your skin from yesterday's kitchen penance, your arms quivering under the strain as you'd shoved a final target upright—a warped plank painted with a snarling dragon, its red jaws chipped to a sneer. Your hand brushed a rack of weapons—axes too heavy, spears too clumsy—and settled on a knife, slim and balanced, its grip worn smooth like the one you wielded in the kitchen. It felt right, an extension of your slicing skill, and you twirled it once, testing its weight as you waited.

Now you lingered at the arena's edge, boots scuffing the wet stone, breath fogging in the crisp air as you leaned against a splintered post, waiting. The silence buzzed with anticipation, heavy with the tang of rust and salt, and your scraped palms throbbed as you flexed them, Hiccup's tired grin from last night flickering in your mind like a stubborn ember.

It didn't last long. A roar of voices and stomping feet shattered the quiet, rolling in like a wave crashing on Berk's shores, and Gobber burst through the gate, his peg leg pounding the ground, hook-hand thrust high like a battle standard.

"Welcome! To dragon trainin'!" he bellowed, his voice a thunderclap that bounced off the stone walls, his beard bristling with a grin that promised chaos.

The trainees spilled in behind him—Astrid first, her stride a blade's edge, axe slung—ready beside her, her braid swinging like a pendulum of gold; she caught your eye, offering a brisk nod you returned before she marched on, her boots kicking up the wet puddles that glittered in what little sunlight. 

Snotlout swaggered next, chest puffed out like a barrel ready to burst, his smirk a greasy smear of confidence, trailed by Ruffnut and Tuffnut, who barreled through the gate in a tangle of shoving elbows and wild hair, their laughter a grating duet. 

Hiccup slipped in last, a lanky shadow at the rear, his green eyes darting nervously under tousled auburn bangs—he was here to your relief. You waved, a reassuring smile breaking through your fatigue, and he waved back, mirroring it with a flicker of warmth that steadied you both.

The twins wasted no time, their voices clashing like hammers on anvils. 

"I hope I get some serious burns." 

"I'm hoping for some mauling, like on my shoulder or lower back."

"Oh, I'm gettin' a scar today for sure—right across the gut, deep and gnarly!" Tuffnut declared, clawing the air with his fingers, while Ruffnut shoved him aside, getting them both crowing.

"Nah, mine's gonna be epic—eye patch material, full face shred!" Snotlout got involved.

"Yeah, it's only fun if you get a scar out if it. Why not," Astrid planted the bottom of her axe in the stone with a solid thunk, rolling her eyes as she cut in, voice dry as bone.

Hiccup, lingering near a shield pile, piped up, his monotone dripping sarcasm like sap from a split pine: "Yeah, no kidding, right? Pain. Love it." 

He leaned back behind them, arms dangling like he despised being there, and you caught the glint of mock-defiance in his gaze—same old Hiccup, dodging barbs with a quip.

"Oh, great. Who let him in?" Tuffnut remarked.

But Gobber's bulk loomed over, his hammer-hand nudging your shoulder with a jolt that nearly sent the knife spinning. 

"Enough chatter, ye lot—Let's get started!" he roared, stomping to the arena's heart, his voice slicing through the air like a cleaver through meat.

"Listen up! Learn quick, be sharp, and be ready—'cause whoever wins this trainin' program, lasts 'til the bitter end, gets the honor o' killin' a dragon in front o' the whole village! Full witness, full glory—so quit yer yammerin' and prepare!"

Snotlout pounced like a cat on a crippled bird to take the opportunity, his laugh a harsh bark that scraped your nerves. "Hiccup already killed a Night Fury, so does that disqualify him or . . .?" He pointed to Hiccup. 

"Thought you'd be hiding under your bed, Hiccup—didn't the dragon tuck you in last night?" The twins hooted, Ruffnut miming a cradling motion—"Wittle Hiccup and his dragon nanny!"—while Tuffnut flopped backward, wheezing.

"Bet he cried when it flew off!" 

Hiccup's jaw clenched, a tight line of frustration, and you flicked your boots toe out—quick, subtle, a baker's reflex honed from dodging Marta's ladle—catching Tuffnut's ankle mid-step. He didn't see it coming, flailing forward with a yelp, arms windmilling as he hit the wet ground in a graceless sprawl, his helmet skittering away like a startled crab. 

"Can I transfer to the class with cool Vikings?" he whined, hauling himself up, brushing off clumps of wet pebbles and ash as he stomped deeper into the arena, rejoining Ruffnut with a theatrical huff that made her snort. You shot Hiccup a sidelong glance, catching the faintest twitch of his lips—gratitude, maybe, or just shared exasperation. 

Gobber's voice boomed over the chaos, his peg leg thumping as he hobbled closer, eyeing Hiccup with a mix of pity and gruff cheer. 

"Don't worry, lad—ye're small and weak! That'll make ye less of a target. They'll see ye as sick or insane and go after the more Viking-like teens instead!" He clapped his good hand against his shoulder, chuckling like he'd just handed out sage wisdom.

"That's not helping, Gobber," you snapped, voice cutting sharper than your blade, laced with a protective edge that surprised even you. 

The old smith blinked, eyes widening a fraction, then shrugged, muttering something about "tough love" as he returned back to the task at hand. Hiccup glanced at you as you shrugged, his clenched jaw softening, a flicker of something—thanks, maybe—passing through his green eyes before the beast's roar yanked you both back to attention. 

Gobber stomped to some other arena iron gates, their rust-streaked doors looming like the jagged teeth of some ancient beast, and thrust his hook-hand high, his voice rolling out like a storm over the cliffs.

"Behind these doors are just a few o' the many species ye'll learn to fight!" he declared, his eyes glinting with a mix of pride and menace as he turned to the trainees, pacing before the shuddering gates. The wood and metal rattled faintly, a low growl seeping through the cracks, and he launched into his litany, naming the dragons with the relish of a bard spinning a saga.

"The Deadly Nadder!" he barked, gesturing at a gate that twitched as if something sharp and quick lurked behind it. 

"The Hideous Zippleback!"—a twin sound of hisses slithered out, two-toned and eerie, curling the air. 

"The Monstrous Nightmare!"—a blast of heat pulsed through the cracks, creating a furnace like heat radiating from it.

"The Terrible Terror!"—a scrabble of claws, small but frantic, echoed like a swarm of furious rats.

Fishlegs, hovering at the group's edge, muttered under his breath, his chubby fingers clutching his dragon manual like a lifeline, eyes wide behind a mop of sweat-damp hair.

"Nadder—speed eight, armor six-teen. . .Zippleback—gas plus spark, plus eleven stealth times two. . ." His stats tumbled out in a nervous stream, a quiet chant that buzzed like a gnat in Gobber's ear. 

The old smith's patience snapped, his peg leg grinding to a halt as he whirled, hook-hand jabbing the air. "Can ye stop that!" he shouted, voice a cannon shot that made Fishleg's flinch, the manual nearly slipping from his grip. 

Gobber huffed, shaking his head, then pressed on, undeterred. ". . .And the Gronckle," he finished, slapping the lever beside the nearest gate with a clang that shivered through the stone, the promise of chaos glinting in his grin.

Fishlegs leaned toward you and Hiccup, his whisper a conspiratorial hiss, wide side-eyes darting like he'd just spilled a village secret. 

"Jaw strength eight," he breathed, voice trembling with awe and dread, his breath puffing warm against your cheek. 

You raised an eyebrow, knife still twirling idly in your hand, while Hiccup shifted beside you, his own weapon under his grip. Snotlout, pale beneath his bravado, jolted forward, axe wobbling in his meaty fists. 

"Whoa! Whoa! Aren't ye gonna teach us first?!" he yelped, his voice cracking high enough to wake a hibernating bear, sweat beading on his brow as the Gronckle's growl rumbled louder behind the gate.

Gobber turned, slow and deliberate, his grin stretching wider, a gleam of mischief dancing in both his eyes. Oh no. . . 

"I believe in learnin' on the job," he said, calm as if he'd just suggested a stroll to the mead hall, and yanked the lever down with a screech and clang of metal, his hook-hand flashing in the gleam. 

The gate shuddered and burst open with a resounding crash, unleashing a guttural snarl that reverberated through the air, raw and primal. From the shadowed depths, the Gronckle's squat, formidable bulk surged into view, its rugged scales glinting ominously like wet stone under the flickering light. Its snarl rolled forth, deep and menacing, a promise of pain and chaos of the mayhem to start.

The sun hung low, a molten smear bleeding gold and amber across Berk's cliffs and cloud break, casting long shadows that stretched like claws over the jagged rocks where you and Hiccup slumped over a thin piece of wood separating you both from the wet grass—heaving from the day's ordeal. 

Training had been a relentless beast—hours of dodging the Gronckle's snapping jaws, its molten spit sizzling inches from your boots, its roars rattling your skull until your ears rang with the echo. Axes had flown wild, shields had splintered, and you'd lost count of how many times you'd yanked Hiccup from the path of those boulder-like paws, your kitchen knife flashing uselessly against scales tougher than forge iron. 

Now, sprawled on the cliff's edge, the sea crashing far below in a restless churn of white and gray, your limbs felt like sodden dough—heavy, bruised, and protesting every twitch. Sweat streaked through the flour still dusted on your tunic from yesterday, your hair a tangled snarl plastered to your neck, and your scraped palms throbbed as you flexed them, the salt air stinging the raw skin.

Hiccup sat beside you, just as wrecked—his tunic torn at the sleeve where the Gronckle's tooth had grazed him, his auburn hair a sweaty mess plastered to his forehead and every direction, his breaths puffing shallow and ragged. 

You'd skipped breakfast and lunch, the training swallowing the day whole, so you'd pulled out his favorite—cheese-egg meat muffins again—wrapped in a cloth you'd stashed in your satchel. The bread was crusty, golden, but cold from your pre-dawn baking binge; the egg froze in an oozy rich, yolky tang, flecked with herbs; the meat, smoky and still tender, melded with sharp cheese that melted into every bite. You both could care less if it was cold.

You handed him one, your fingers brushing his, and he took it with a tired grin, exhaustedly sinking his teeth in with a groan that was half-starvation, half-bliss. 

"Gods, you're a miracle," he mumbled through a mouthful, eyes closed, crumbs tumbling onto his lap as he leaned back on one elbow, the cliff's wet mossy edge soft under his sprawl—He didn't care.

You sighed tiredly, biting into your own, the flavors bursting against your tongue—a small victory after nearly becoming dragon fodder. The wind whipped past, sharp with brine and sea breeze, tugging at your clothes as you chewed in companionable quietness, the distant bleat of sheep and the rhythmic crash of waves filling the space between you. 

"That Gronckle's a monster," you said finally, wiping your mouth with your sleeve, the memory of its jaws snapping an inch from your arm flashing hot in your mind. 

"Thought it'd have me for lunch when Snotlout tripped into me—thanks for the shield shove, by the way." Hiccup chuckled, a low, dry sound, swallowing another bite. 

"Yeah, well, I owed you one—couldn't let it chomp my muffin supplier." His grin flickered, playful but frayed, and you nudged him with your elbow, the ache in your side flaring at the motion.

 "Gobber's 'learning on the job' nearly made us the job," he added, mimicking Gobber's gruff burr, and you snorted, the absurdity of it loosening the knot in your chest. He fell quiet, picking at the muffin's crust, his gaze drifting to the horizon where the sea met the sky in a hazy blur.

 "That Night Fury," he said suddenly, voice dropping low, almost swallowed by the wind. "I've been thinking about it—him—all day. I'm going back out there. Tomorrow, maybe." 

His fingers tightened around the bread, crumbs scattering to the rocks, and his green eyes flicked to you, bright with that restless spark you knew too well—half-thrill, half-dread, the same look he'd worn in the ravine. 

You froze, muffin halfway to your mouth, the cheese's tang souring on your tongue as his words sank in. The sun dipped ever lower, its golden smear thinning into a fiery thread along the horizon, painting the cliff's edge in a warm glow that danced across Hiccup's freckled face. 

You leaned up, facing him fully, your shadow stretching long over the mossy rocks as your words hung in the salty air—"Are you sure about that? What if this time he doesn't let you go? He might not even be around anymore." 

The questions hung there, heavy as the sea air, your breath catching as you pictured that black-scaled beast pinning him again—or worse, not letting him walk away next time. The muffin sat forgotten in your hand, the wind tugging at your hair, and Hiccup stared back, his face a tangle of determination and doubt sparked a silent shift between you. 

Hiccup shifted, propping himself higher on his elbow, crumbs tumbling from his lap as he met your gaze, his green eyes flickering with that restless spark—half-thrill, half-doubt. 

"I don't know," he said, voice soft but steady, like he was testing the words aloud. "He—I mean, it—didn't feel. . .dangerous. Not like the Gronckle today, anyway." He huffed a small laugh, rubbing his neck where a bruise bloomed from training, his fingers smudging dirt into the mark.

 "Maybe he's still out there, waiting to finish the job—or maybe I just got lucky." He glanced at the horizon, the sea's gray expanse swallowing the last of the light, and you frowned, shifting closer, the moss cool under your knees. 

"Lucky's one thing," you said, voice edged with a mix of exasperation and care, "but going back out there alone? That's asking for a dragon to make you, its supper. You barely dodged those jaws today and yesterday—don't push it." 

Your knife-calloused fingers flexed around the muffin, crumbling its edge, and you shot him a look, half-pleading, half-scolding, the ache for him to see reason warring with the ache that'd lived in you since you were kids. He tilted his head, studying you, and something softened in his face—a flicker of that secret he hadn't unraveled himself. 

"Maybe I won't go alone," he mused, his grin creeping back, lopsided and teasing as he leaned a fraction closer, his voice dipping low. "Could use someone brave enough to stare down a Night Fury and bake me back to life after—y'know, my own personal hero." 

His tone mocking what the others always say about you two. Eyes glinting a spark of flirt in the way they lingered on you, and heat rushed to your cheeks, blooming red beneath the flour and grime. You blinked, caught off guard, a flustered laugh bubbling up as you ducked your head the opposite way from him, shoving his muffin at him to hide the blush.

"Shut up," you muttered, shoving his shoulder—light, playful, but enough to jostle him—your smile sneaking out despite yourself. 

"Eat your muffin, dragon-slayer, before I feed it to the gulls." He laughed, a real one this time, bright and unguarded, and took the muffin, his fingers brushing yours again, warm and deliberate. The wind carried the sound away, leaving a quiet sweetness between you, the cliff's edge glowing soft as the day faded, your worries tucked aside for just a moment in the dusk's gentle hold.

This is Chapter 2 to this Hiccup series -> Masterlist here. Previous Chapter : Next Chapter

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

[onebourbon-oneshot-onetear]

Familiar- Eric Northman x witch!y/n

Just a small Eric x y/n oneshot that I couldn't get out of my mind as I'm watching True Blood for the first time. Hopefully more to come as I finish watching it...

My hand had started cramping with the effort of the continuous stirring of my cauldron. My most recent calming potion was in a particularly tricky phase and I certainly didn’t want to have to start over. The shimmering fumes coming off of the cauldron spiraled around my head and the condensation beaded against my eyelashes. Between the floral smell of the potion, the flickering candle light, and the summer heat, my head started to feel heavy and I literally had to fight with my eyelids to keep me awake so I could continue stirring. 

Once the stirring pattern was complete, I lowered the gas on the stove and ran a hand over my burning eyes. The potion had to simmer for a few minutes before the next steps and I desperately needed to sit down. 

Before I could even take a step the hairs prickled on my neck as I felt eyes on me. This wasn’t like the spirits I often felt around the area, these were actual, physical eyes. I stilled, closing my eyes and sensing around me before opening them a moment later,  my body immediately relaxing as I recognized the scent wafting through my back door. “It’s rude to linger in doorways, Eric,” I said, turning around to stare at the tall Viking leaning against the open door. 

He smirked, sending my heart into flutters. Any idiot could see that Eric Northman was a good looking man. Gorgeous even. As a human and a vampire, especially when the paleness brought out the blue of his already striking eyes. Usually witches and vamps stayed away from each other. But the area around Bon Temps was only so big and the supernatural circles were pretty small. 

“I’m not lingering. I’m just waiting to be invited in,” he said, running his hands along the door jamb. 

I chuckled, turning around to fill up my kettle. “You know you don’t need to be invited in, Eric.” The vampire had been coming over weekly for a few months now. The first time I had invited him in was when we were both dealing with the typical drama around Bon Temps and he thought I needed protection. After that, he started showing up on random nights. He was like a stray cat, coming and going as he pleased. 

“Well, I wouldn’t want you to think I was being rude,” He said, strolling in through my back door and pulling one of the kitchen chairs out. He sat on it backwards, his hands draped over the back of the chair and his head resting on his arms, watching me as I mill about the kitchen making tea. 

“You? Nobody could ever mistake you as rude,” I said, pulling down my favorite mug from the cabinet. He chuckled but didn’t answer. I looked back and was met with the familiar sight of him sitting in my chair, watching me. It had become quite a habit of his it seemed. Most nights he didn’t say anything, and I sat in his comfortable silence, working on whatever project was keeping my hands busy. 

I poured my tea and pulled out a kitchen chair, sitting across from Eric. We didn’t say anything for a few minutes. I just sat and watched him as he looked around my kitchen. I followed his gaze, getting lost in my little kitchen. It wasn’t much. I had found a small farmhouse for sale that was over 100 years old. With how long I had been alive, money wasn’t much of a problem. I fixed up the house with a few modern touches but it wasn’t anything crazy. I had kept the kitchen large but simple. Green cabinets with wooden counter tops, little trinkets, cook and spell books, brass pots and pans. And of course the dozens of bulks of drying herbs, cauldrons of various sizes, and candles on every available surface. Despite modern times, I had always preferred candle light over artificial.

Keeping my kitchen stocked was always important for my business. I had become Bon Temps resident healer. The people were skeptical at first, and most probably didn’t realize I was an actual witch. The potions and charms I made and sold could be considered healers work - natural remedies to most common ailments. I knew my clientele and didn’t charge an arm and a leg for medicines. This kept orders from the townfolk very steady, along with a steady income. i had always taken great pride in my work and craft, and with the sprawling gardens I had to upkeep for my ingredients.

My wandering eyes went back to the vampire in my kitchen, and I was a little startled when the shocking blue eyes were already looking at mine. I slowly smiled before sipping my tea. Eric mirrored my smile and the sight almost took my breath away and made my chest flutter again.

“Can I ask you something?” I murmured around the lip of the mug. Eric nodded, the smile still on his face. “Why do you keep coming here?” 

The smile left his face and something was in his eyes that I couldn’t quite place. “Do you not like me coming here?” 

“No, I do,” I said, pulling my knees up to my chest and wrapping my arms around them. “I just don’t understand,” I trailed off. Quite frankly, I loved the quiet nights featuring Eric’s company and I was often disappointed on the nights he didn't come by. I was always shown a softer side of him that I felt most people very rarely got a chance to see. 

He looked around the room, almost like he was unsure before settling his eyes back on me. “You’re familiar.” He didn’t say anything when I raised my eyebrows questioningly at him. It was another minute before he spoke. “The smell of your kitchen, the herbs, the candlelight, it reminds me of home. Of my human life.” I had no idea what to say to that. I kept staring at him and he did the same. 

“Oh,” I mumbled. I didn’t even know what to say. The thought of bringing him that sense of comfort was…well, I didn’t even know what word to use to describe the warmth that settled in my chest. 

“You, calm me. Honestly in ways I didn’t know I could be anymore,” he continued. He stared into the fire and seemed to get lost in thought. 

We sat in silence for about ten more minutes, both of us lost in thought. “Do you ever miss the cold?” I blurted out. 

“What?” He asked. He didn’t seem annoyed, just genuinely curious. 

“The cold. I grew up in the north and I miss genuine winters so much. It’s always so hot here all the time. It never snows, their version of cold is like, 70 degrees, and I have boxes of sweaters just going to waste.” As I rambled, the smile on Eric’s face got bigger and bigger until it stretched his face. “What?” I laughed. 

“I do miss the cold. Very much,” he finally said, shaking his head. I chuckled, and took another sip of my tea. 

“Eric, you know I don’t mind you coming over. You’re always welcome here.” I said standing up and putting my hand on his shoulder. 

He stared at me before grabbing my hand and lightly kissing the back of it. “Thank you, Y/N.” 

I could feel the blush creeping up my neck and into my cheeks. Eric’s eyes followed the trail of color and he smiled again. I had to look away from his piercing eyes before I melted on the spot. My eyes caught my cauldron on the stove and I jumped. 

“My potion!” I said rushing over to the stove and adding the few ingredients I needed. I don’t know how long I worked on it, before I remembered Eric’s presence. I looked back, and he was in the same spot, staring at me with an incredibly soft look on his face. I smiled, and turned back to the stove, not minding the Vikings presence in my kitchen. And hoping that his visits became a more regular occurrence. 

[luvendiary]

3 times hiccup asked you to marry him + the time you realized he meant it

hello! this was an early draft for this request: Hello!!! Imagine hiccup telling reader "I'm in love with you" / "Marry me" out of blue after a stare down (can be established relationship or not muahahaha) I like how this turned out, except for the ending. it's sort of shitty in my opinion. also, this isn't proofread. and sorry for any mistakes, english is not my first language. feel free to point them out. also, there’s a slight corpse bride reference with the vows!! as always, thank you for reading. let me know what you think and if you'd like more of this. requests are always open!

1.

Snoggletog was one of your favorite festivities. The beautiful coat of snow that hugged the soil, and the way the sunlight softly reflected on it was perfect to you. You loved to see how vikings busied themselves by hanging up ornaments and mistletoe on the doors. You loved hearing the out-of-tune carols that echoed across Berk. And you loved the late cold nights as you and the dragon riders sat around a warm fire and talked about the day’s happenings.

One thing you did not love though, was the Snoggletog play, specially because it had been assigned to you all this year. It was the dragon riders’ responsibility to plan, organize and act it out the day of Snoggletog.

“What about the start of dragon races?” Snoutlout suggested.

“They did that two years ago,” Astrid replied as she sharpened her axe.

“We could do Loki-”

“We’re not doing Loki day Tuffnut,” Hiccup interrupted him.

A moment of silence passed amongst all of you.

“What if, we make a reenactment of Odin and Freya’s marriage? How they stopped the Aesir and Vanir war,” you said while nibbling on your thumb.

“That could work,” Fishlegs said.

“I like it, we could even get the dragons in on this,” Astrid suggested.

“Of course, brilliant idea (Y/N),” Snotlout said as he stood up with a cocky attitude. “Specially because I would make the perfect Odin.” He flexed his muscles and stroke a victorious pose.

You chuckled and pushed him away, “Sit down Snotlout. I was actually thinking that Astrid and Fishlegs could be Freya and Odin.”

“Oh no,” Astrid said immediately. “I’m not good at performing. Plus, you gave the idea, you should be Freya.”

“Alright,” you said. “If no one else is up for it, I’ll be Freya. Fishlegs, are you ok with being Odin?”

“Ye-” his reply was interrupted by Astrid elbowing him. “I mean, I wish I could but…I-I don’t like performing.”

“What but you love perfor-?”

“Hiccup! Why aren’t you Odin?!” Astrid chimed in as she placed her arm around your shoulder while the other went around the brunette-boy’s shoulders.

“Uh…I-I guess,” Hiccup said.

Astrid grinned while looking at you, “Great! It’s settled then!”

“Why would you do that?!” you shrieked as you pressed the palm of your hands to your eyes.

Astrid, who sat next to you overlooking Berk from a nearby cliff, shrugged, “Oh I don’t know. Maybe because I’m tired of you two beating around the bush. Why don’t you kiss already? It’s obvious you want to.”

“Shut up Astrid,” you said while sitting up. You rubbed your hands together to provide some heat to your body. “I’m not even sure if he likes me.”

“You’re as blind as Gothi is mute,” she replied.

“How can you be so sure? Has he said anything about me?”

“You’re hopeless Y/N.”

The days went by, and Snoggletog drew closer and closer. Right after training, you went to rehearsals, and while most of it went by in fits of laughter and jokes, you all managed to build a production. You often tended to practice with Hiccup, since you had the most line together, and it gave you an excuse to spend more time with him. During this period, you had managed to gain some small victories in the love department, holding his hand, dancing with him, and hearing him laugh while you acted out some of your scenes being some. However, there was something you both had been avoiding: the marriage kiss. It made your heart flutter and your stomach swarm with butterflies every time you though about the possibility of kissing him; on the other hand, it also felt like Gronkle iron swishing around your intestines. What if he didn’t want to kiss you? What if he just did it out of pity?

Your mind was plagued with questions up until the big day.

“Good luck,” Astrid said while she gave you a knowing look. She was looking forward to the kiss, and if what she had told you was true, all of the dragon riders were too.

The play started out good, Snotlout and Tuffnut played the Aesir family, while Ruffnut and Fishlegs played the Vanir.

The scene changed and the Aesir were complaining with Hiccup about how Freya’s magic and her help towards the Vanir was the reason for their shortcomings.

I was then your time to appear. After several attempts from the Aesir to try to kill Freya, you and Odin came to an agreement: you were to marry each other.

“Marry me,” said Hiccup. And as you looked into his eyes your breath hitched. He had a smile plastered on his face, and his eyes gleamed.

“I will marry you,” you replied as you offered him your hand and he put the ring on your nuptial finger.

The scene was supposed to end there, you were about to take a step backwards so that the actual marriage scene could take place, however you felt a hand wrap around your wrist, and before you knew it you were being kissed. You were being kissed by Hiccup Haddock.

Your shock was palpable, however you dissolved into the kiss once the initial incredulity had passed. Once Hiccup felt the kiss was reciprocal, he wrapped his arms around your waist and drew you closer.

2 .

Dragon racing was a hefty sport. Ever since it was created, it became a fan favorite amongst Berkians. Once every full moon, a match was held that was sure to be the talk of the town for at least a week. On summer and winter solstice, you held the dragon riding tournament, that usually lasted for about a week; except for that one time when the black sheep had wondered deep into the woods, and you weren’t able to find it for two days.

Point of the matter is, dragon racing was a serious issue for vikings. And that’s why victories where celebrated so grandly. You never particularly cared for the celebrations, however wining was important to you; your usually carefree nature was irrecognizable when it came to the sport as you became a furiously competitive rider. This change, spared no one. Not even your boyfriend.

“Incoming!” you called out before snatching the black sheep from Hiccup’s arms, as you held on with your legs to (Y/D)’s saddle while she flew in an upside down position.

“Hey!” he shouted in response with a light chuckle.

“I wish I could say I’m sorry, but I’m not!” you replied with a shit-eating grin directed his way. With the black sheep secure in your arms, you flew away, not a hint of remorse visible on your face.

You returned to your upright position and quickly flew up to your basket and threw in the black sheep. As soon as you do so, you hear the crowds cheers and applause mixed with the blow of the horn, signaling that the match has ended.

Astrid joined you on the platform, followed by Ruff, as they cheered you on and celebrated your team victory.

Hiccup watched you, still mounted on Toothless with a lovesick smile present in his features, “I’m going to marry her,” he said as he took in your beautiful smile.

“I don’t think you’re her type,” said a voice next to him. Tuffnutt flew next to him with a pissed expression -probably because of their defeat- “but go for it. I’m sure my sister would be flattered.”

3 .

“Do you think there are other people out there?” you asked as you stared blankly at the stars. “I mean, besides us dragon riders and dragon hunters. Do you think that maybe there’s another civilization that has been familiar with dragons long before us?”

You heard Hiccup chuckle, “Possibly, maybe they even know of species we have yet to discover.”

“I wonder if they maybe think the same of us. Maybe we’re some strange advanced civilization to them”, you said with a light giggle as your thoughts went wild with the idea of the unknown. “Or maybe, we’re cavemen in comparison to their civilization. Maybe…they know about our existence, and they have just decided to leave us alone because we’re not worth their time.”

“That’s a bit depressing isn’t it?” Hiccup asked, humored by your rambling.

“I don’t think so. I think it’s exciting…” you said slightly breathless as you stared at the vast abyss of twinkling lights that spread above you and beyond. “Just imagine everything we’ve yet to discover.”

You faintly heard the huffs and growls of your dragons, who were entertained by Hiccup’s prosthetic leg as they fought each other for it.

Hiccup allowed himself to steal a glance at you for a fraction of a second. He thought that the view in front of you was beautiful, but to him, the real wonder was sitting right next to him. You looked breathtaking with the starry abyss reflected in your eyes. Yet, you were so unaware of it.

“Marry me.”

He didn’t mean to actually say it. But he just couldn’t control himself when he was with you.

Your trance was broken and you stared at him wide eyed, in disbelief at what he had just said. However as soon as you saw his expression mirroring yours, you burst out laughing. You couldn’t say truthfully that you had never though about marriage, especially with Hiccup.

Hiccup’s startled expression morphed into confusion.”W-What? Why are you laughing?”

“Are you sure you want to marry me?” you asked in between giggles. “You don’t seem very sure.”

“What? Y-Yes! Of course I’m sure! Why wouldn’t I want to marry you?” his eyebrows furrowed in the way you loved. The way that told you you had successfully managed to get in his head. He had turned his body so that it was now mirroring yours, and his shoulders were raising up and down as they usually did when he was trying to explain something or defend a point.

“Fine then. I’ll marry you.”

His rambling stopped immediately. “What? Y-You will?”

You shrugged your shoulders nonchalantly. “Sure. Why not?”

You stood up then as you walked around the small island you had stumbled upon earlier that day. Leaving a very flustered and confused Hiccup behind.

“Wait! Where are you going?” he called after you as he struggled to get up. He rambled on as he chased you, asking about arrangements and other things.

“Aha!” you said victoriously as you crouched down over a patch of grass with some wildflowers sprouting out.

Hiccup peered over your shoulder, trying to see what you were doing.

Eventually you stood up and extended your hand towards him. He stared at you blankly for a moment, and muttered to himself, tryin to understand your actions. Still, an amused smile was present on his face.

“Well?” you said after a bit. “Give me your hand.”

He did as you instructed, and then you took out your other hand from behind, which gently held a blade of grass along with some small wildflowers intertwined with each other, forming a ring.

“I know it’s not the best craftsmanship, but I figured we couldn’t get married without rings,” you explained with a soft giggle.

Hiccup grinned down at you, and laughed incredulously. He wondered how he ever got you to agree to be his. “I’m afraid to tell you dearest, but I don’t have a ring for you.”

You sighed mockingly and rolled your eyes. “I know that. I assumed you would be too in your head about your future duty as chief and the dragons to think about me.”

“Hey!” he protested immediately. “I’m always thinking about you-”

“But worry not!” you said as you giggled playfully. “Since I know you well enough to be married, I know you well enough to be prepared for our wedding.” You reached into one of your pockets and puled out and identical ring, which he gently grabbed.

He stared down at you, with a skeptical expression.

“Well, go on with it. Do you want to marry me or not?” you asked as you tilted your head slightly to the side.

Hiccup sighed and then locked his eyes with yours. “I, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock, the Third, make this oath. With this hand I will lift your sorrows. Your cup will never empty, for I will be your wine. With this candle, I will light your way in darkness. With this ring, I ask you to be mine."

Once the traditional vows were finished he gently took your hand and slid the delicate ring onto your nuptial finger.

You watched with a smile as he carefully placed it, and once he was done, you repeated the vows and slid his ring onto his own finger.

With your ceremony done, your lips met in a gentle and warm dance. You felt as his hands slid down your back and rested on your hips, holding your body closer to his.

“This is the second time we’ve been married now,” he whispered as he broke apart form the kiss,

“How scandalous,” you whispered back with a soft laugh, as you remembered the Snoggletog performance and how it ended up with your first kiss.

“Maybe the next time we get to do it, you’ll actually be wearing white.”

You stared up at him with a raised eyebrow. “Is that so? Does that mean you’d like to bed me next time?” you teased.

“I’d love to bed you now,” he said with a slight chuckle. “But I’m aware you’d rather follow the traditional path.”

You laughed and patted his chest. “Well, you’ll better get me that white dress quickly then.”

4.

Hiccup had been acting weird all day. Evading you and whenever you managed to track him down he responded any question you had in a dismissive manner. You had figured you should let him alone for a while, at least until he was ready to talk about whatever was bothering him.

He did tend to get too into his own head whenever he was worried, and it took you telling him about it for him to realize he could share his burden with you. But this time it was different.

When you had asked what was bothering him he dismissed you as soon as he could and continued what he was doing.

It had hurt you. It made you think if you had done anything wrong, but you couldn’t think of anything. It was scary thinking about what this could mean for the both of you.

“And you’re sure he hasn’t ever acted like this before?” Astrid asked as she tried to make sense of the situation with you.

You where both sat in the Great Hall, as the rest of the vikings ate their dinner. You however, couldn’t seem to make anything go down past your throat, as worry consumed you.

“Yes Astrid, I am sure,” you replied rather harshly. “I don’t even know where the hell he is right now. For all I know he’s probably off in another girl’s house. Maybe he got tired of waiting for me. Maybe he realized he doesn’t want this sort of commitment…”

You knew that this was irrational thinking. Hiccup had never given you signs that he didn’t want to be with you anymore, on the contrary, he was always very reassuring on how much he liked being with you. Up until now you had never had any reason to doubt your relationship; but up until now, Hiccup had never behaved like this either.

“Don’t say that! That boy is crazy for you. He has been since we where thirteen.”

You sighed and buried your hands in your hair. “Then why is he acting like this?!”

“I think you should ask him yourself,” Astrid said as she placed a comforting hand on her friend’s back.

“I’ve already tried that…” you groaned out. Your voice muffled by your arms, on which you were resting your head.

“Give it one more try. Maybe he’ll snap out of it.”

Reluctantly, you agreed and made your way up to the watch tower. It was Hiccup’s turn to keep watch tonight, so you knew he wouldn’t be able to escape this time.

You felt the heat of the fire before you saw it, and you knew he was there.

“You need to cut the crap Haddock,” you started as you saw the faint outline of his shadow as you were nearing the end of the stairs. “If I did something wrong, just tell me right now because I can’t keep doing this. We’re not teenagers anymo-”

Your throat closed up as soon as you saw him. A gasp escaped your mouth and your hands flew to your face.

In front of you, Hiccup was down on one knee and a small wooden box sat comfortably on the palm of his hand.

“You bastard,” you whispered just to yourself.

He chuckled at that and smiled as he saw your reaction. He then opened the box to reveal a small silver ring in the shape of some intricate patterns.

“My dearest Y/N…” he started, but the lump in his throat wouldn’t let him go any further.

“Oh Hiccup…” you breathed out as you approached him slowly.

“Please marry me,” he said finally.

You crouched in front of him with tears in your eyes and held his face in your hands.

“Of course I will marry you,” you replied as a teary laugh escaped your throat.

To him, it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.

He laughed then, as he slid the ring in, and looked up at you. He cupped your cheeks with the palm of his hand and pulled you closer until your lips met. He tasted tears and relief in that kiss.

You eventually separated and you hit his chest lightly.

“Don’t ever do that to me again you bastard!” you said as the tears flowed, and you whipped them off as nervous laughter escaped your lips.

“I swear this is the last time love,” he chuckled as he crouched his head slightly to help you whipe your tears.

“Not that! Don’t ever avoid me like that again Hiccup! I was starting to think that maybe you didn’t want me anymore…”

Hiccup grabbed your chin gently and made you look up at him. “Theres no one else I’d rather want.”

You laughed nervously once again and offered him a teary smile.

“I’m sorry I scarred you love. I just…I was so nervous.”

“It’s ok…” you reassured him. “I understand.”

He smiled down at you and whipped another tear. You didn’t mean to keep doing it, but you had been so worried all day long that it was finally coming out. You didn’t want to ruin your moment like this. It was supposed to be a moment for celebration and happiness. You tried to make it stop.

“You can cry. I will lift your sorrows,” Hiccup said with a soft laugh as he whipped another tear.

You smiled then, tears still flowing out. But you knew it would be alright. He would make you feel alright. He always did.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Summer Rose - An Ivar the Boneless/Reader Smut Short.

Bit of smut and fluff, some softer Ivar? I was feeling a certain way about him today, so now so can you, too!

Words - 633

Warnings - Smut below the cut, minors DNI!

Ivar is a man who wears many faces. The unflinching stare of contempt perhaps being his most famous, or the unnerving grin of a man working four steps ahead of his enemies. For you, though, your favourites are the ones he saves for when the two of you are alone.  

The look of sheer bliss as you top him is perhaps the one you love most. 

“Fuck, my love. How good you feel around my cock.” The words pour from his beautiful, full lips like wine, his hands grasped tight upon your hips while you work in serpentine against him. His thick cock ruts you fully, hitting every angle, every depth, your body cast in pure gold from the firelight, the sight of you atop him warming his heart as much as it does feed his lust.  

For this Viking, he never thought love could match the roaring flare of carnal desire, until he met you. Until you showed him, told him, made him feel it in his very bones. It mingles in waves of ebullient delight, his thumb moving to drag heat across your aching bud, sparks roaring up your spine as you cry out.  

“You are always at your most beautiful when you...” he trails off, his words deafened by your ascension, grinning with a deep chuckle as he witnesses it, your complete undoing that leaves you a shaking wreck atop him. “...when you fall apart like that for me.” 

Gathering yourself, you continue to roll your hips against him, wanting for his own pleasure to streak through him wildly, his eyes closing tightly as he groans, deep and rolling, whispering curses as the flutters of your cunt make lightning begin to flicker within his depths.  

His mouth drops open, panting hard, the icy shards that are his eyes opening to fix you with a lust drenched stare, the thickness of him splitting you wide causing pleasure to spark over your nerves, hitting the heights of a swirling tempest again with him as he fills you with thick ropes of hot spend.  

“Gods,” you breathe, fingers weaving through his as you chuckle, “I am tired now.” 

“Hardly surprising,” he pants, pulling you to him, offering kisses steeped in soft heat. “Come, love. Let me make you comfortable.” You climb from him, carefully taking to your back, Ivar pulling the pelts and blankets up over your legs, arranging the pillows plumply beneath your head. When he gazes down at you, you feel as if your heart could burst.  

He caresses your cheek, nuzzling your neck, his hand slipping down to stroke the rounded swell of your belly, shifting to kiss it. A tiny foot kicks against his mouth. “Child, you dare kick your father in the face?”

Your laughter fills the room, Ivar prodding your bump with his finger, waiting for it. A tiny foot kicks back immediately. “She is all fire, just like her mother.”  

Ivar has stated with every confidence ever since you told him you were with child that she would be a girl. He felt it, knew it, he said, that your first would not be a son. Unlike many of his brethren who keen for an heir, he did not care an ounce that your baby would be female. “You will be a fine fighter, a fearless shieldmaiden, my little summer rose. You will be all that your mother is, and so much more. I know this, my tiny daughter. I long for the sun to grace our lands once more, for that is the time I shall meet you at last.”  

Watching him talk to your baby, seeing the look of complete adoration as he strokes your belly, you change your mind. Of the many faces Ivar wears, it is this one you love the most.  

[astroboots]

Every You Every Me #Issue 5

COLLABORATED WITH @thirstworldproblemss

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You finally catch Spiderman in your bed and try to get answers to the many many questions you have.

Word count: 3,200 words.

Content: Awkward one bed shenanigans, teensy bits of angst

Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | thirstworldproblemss' Masterlist

[Previous] [Next]

You wake to the glare of the morning sun spilling through the curtains.

Your first waking thought is that it. is. so. bright. God, why is it so fucking bright.

Your second thought is that you need to pee. 

There is no third. Because your bladder is killing you. 

There's just one not-so-small problem, and he's lying on top of you, in the same position he fell asleep in last night. Wrapped all around you, clinging on like you're a soft comfort blankie he refused to be weaned off of.

It's not... unpleasant, exactly (your need to pee aside).

For such a large man, being trapped underneath him is more comfortable than you might have expected. He's heavy, sure, but the pressure feels more like a weighted blanket with the way he's draped across your body, arms curled around your waist and back. 

It helps that the sheer size disparity means that you're too small of a surface area for his whole body to cover and most of his weight rests on the mattress. 

Rather than suffocating, it’s almost… cozy.

It must be really early in the morning, because your room is nearly silent. You can’t hear the familiar New York traffic. The noise of honking cars, angry shouting people and screaming cop sirens outside of your window. Instead, in the quiet of the morning the only noise you hear is the sound of his soft snoring against your collarbone.

Before today, you never knew superheroes snore. It’s not the sort of mundane thing you ever think about superheroes doing.

You stare up at him for a minute, soft skin and long lashes fluttering across his cheeks, marveling that he looks so... human. 

Which of course he does. The observation shouldn’t really surprise you. For all the fantastical mythos that surrounds them, at the end of the day, most superheroes are human beings. 

…Unless you're talking about Thor, of course, who’s an actual Viking God. And maybe not Hulk either, because... well... look at him. He’s all green and roided out, you don’t know what he is but he’s certainly not human. And then there’s– Okay, you know what, now that you actually think about it, a lot of superheroes are not human at all.

Maybe that’s why last night took you so much by surprise. You always thought they were invincible. You’d never guess that a slice of coffee cake could bring one down, collapsing as easily like a poorly built house of cards.  

Even more surprised when he’d held onto you, pleading for you to stay. 

When you see the Avengers plastered on the front cover of every newspaper, they look larger than life. When you see Captain America and his star-spangled shield sparkling in the centerfold of the Times, you never really stop to consider, what’s he like when the mask comes off.

In some abstract way, you were aware that superheroes have lives beyond just superheroing. You just never thought about the fact that a lot of them probably have families at home that they worry about. Friends that they care for. People they miss. 

Nena

He'd said.

The person he mistook you for last night.

Something squeezes uncomfortably tight in your chest just remembering the tone in his voice when he said it.

Something is going on here. It's clear to you now even more so than before, that this man doesn’t just keep saving you out of sheer coincidence. There’s a mystery here that’s all tied together in an interconnected web somehow and you're pretty sure it has to do with this Nena person. She is most likely the answer to why your whole life has been upended in the last few months. 

You need to find out what is going on and now that he's physically here, right in front of you, as soon as he wakes you can finally ask him and get some answers that are long overdue. 

You just really need to fucking pee first.

Gingerly, you wedge an arm between your chest and his. You attempt to slowly and carefully pry open the stranglehold he has on you, hoping to scoot up and out of his arms.

He grunts in reply, still soundly asleep, and his arms tighten their hold on you, pulling you back into him as he burrows his face into your chest.

"Five more minutes," he grumbles, voice raspy with sleep. "Nena, it's too early."

There it is again, that nickname. You freeze, holding as still as possible, feeling your heart skip a beat at the tone of his voice as he said it. It’s said with so much fondness and hints at so much familiarity each time he has said it. 

You don't know what you're meant to do in this situation. Except you clearly can’t let him go on thinking you’re… whoever it is that he thinks you are for much longer.

There are the muddy moral implications of allowing this to go on any further after all, considering that the man probably has no idea where he is after you practically roofied him with baked goods.

You also still really need to go pee already.

He shifts against you, one thick, heavy thigh wrapping over your leg and pulling you in further before coming to a rest directly on top of your bladder. Okay, fuck, you take back what you said about this not being unpleasant. This is really, really unpleasant. 

You need him to get up now. 

Forcing your hand free, you reach up to give him a polite tap on the shoulder. When polite doesn’t get you any results, you do it harder, three successive taps, and he still doesn’t even stir. You keep tapping, progressively harder until you’re punching him hard enough that any normal person would be yelping in pain and begging you to stop. 

He groans once, arms shifting to secure his hold on you. For a moment you think he’s going to ask for another ‘five minutes,’ but then the whole of his body goes stiff, every muscle suddenly rigid with tension. A suspended silence permeates the space, and you find yourself holding your breath unsure of what to do next. The silence is broken by the sound of your bedsheets shifting, and you feel the firm hold around your waist ease off, his arms and legs retreating from your body. 

He's up and out of bed in one smooth move, almost faster than you can follow. By the time you struggle upright in bed (much less gracefully) he's already standing a few feet away, hands fisted at his sides. 

“Sorry,” he says, looking at you and then off to the side like he can’t quite bring himself to meet your eyes, a bright flush burning high on his cheeks, “I… uh… I thought you were someone else."

His hulking frame towers over your bed, but he’s acting like a sulky, embarrassed little boy. The contrast should be absurd, but instead you find it… strangely endearing. Apparently even a high and mighty superhero can be brought low by an awkward situation, just like everyone else.

"It's okay. You didn't... um... do anything weird or anything," you say, trying to reassure him, but you can't concentrate on your words when your bladder is screaming bloody murder, "Look, can you give me a second? Just– shit. Just stay right there, okay? I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere!" you admonish him, throwing the words over your shoulder as you rush past him and into the bathroom

You nearly break your tailbone with how fast you sit down on the toilet seat, hoping to get your business done as quickly as possible and praying the whole 15 seconds that you’re gone that he won’t make a break for it and still be there when you get back. 

Thankfully, when you nearly tear the bathroom door from its hinges, he is.

The first sight that greets you is his broad and defined back framed by the amber light pouring in from your window frame. It makes for a dramatic image. Golden and majestic, he seems to occupy half the space in your tiny apartment as he stands turned away from you, apparently taking in the view from your one and only window. 

The first thing he says to you as he opens your mouth is not, ‘good morning.’ There's no ‘sorry for almost drunkenly smothering you to death last night,’ ‘how did you sleep with my hulk sized body on top of you’ or even a 'thanks for letting me sleep on your bed.' 

No. Rude, knock off, maybe-vampire Spiderman, who still hasn't told you his name, slowly turns back towards you and takes one look at your face. Then he says, "I have to go."

Which, of course that’s what he’d say and do. Of course. You’re nearly growling with frustration as you run up to him.   

"Wait!" you shout, darting around to block his path as you try to lead him back further into your apartment. "Do you want some breakfast?" 

You still don't know him very well yet, but your few interactions so far have shown you that the way to break through his grumpy defenses is through his stomach.

"I can fix you up something. I’ve got some eggs in the fridge, and I can do scrambled or fried. Maybe over-easy, though I sometimes mess up the timing.” 

You’re rambling on purpose. Speaking as fast as you can, as you continue to pull him towards your kitchen. You’re making sure he can’t get a word in edgewise, so that he doesn’t have a chance to protest before the food is in his stomach, and by then he’ll surely eat the whole thing before he starts getting sassy with you again. By then you’ll hopefully be able to sneak in one or two questions between mouthfuls. 

He shakes his head, "No, I–I have to go... I wasn't supposed to..."

Not a fan of eggs, you note. It makes sense, so far the only thing you've ever seen him eat is baked goods, probably has a sweet tooth.

"I could make you pancakes? I won't even put coffee in them, I promise," you tease gently, hoping the humor might pull a smile from him.

It doesn't. If anything, his eyes look even sadder.

He stops mid-step, and no matter how much of your weight you put in trying to herd and push him towards your kitchen, he won’t budge an inch. You’d have more success moving a bull by its horns, and considering he’s bigger built than one, that tracks. 

There’s no strain in his features, as he stays still, resistant to your efforts. "This is a mistake,” he says. “I should never have gotten involved."

He's moving again, this time away from you, stepping towards the window. Shit, he's going to make a run for it.

In the course of the last 24 hours you've managed to leap off the Chrysler building; poison the superhero standing in front of you; slept with him in the same bed; and yet somehow, through all of this, you still haven't managed to do the one thing you actually wanted: have a simple conversation with him.

"Wait, wait!" you shout out, panicky. "Can we just talk for a second? I really need to talk to you. I just want some answers.”

"I don't have any answers for you," he says. 

He's turned his back again, one hand on the window sill as he's preparing to climb onto it. If you let him leap off it now, you don’t know when your next chance will be to catch him again. 

"I'm not going to stop trying," you shout out in a last desperate attempt and that finally stops him in his tracks. 

“I’m gonna be leaving,” he says with a finality in his words. 

It doesn’t stop you though, doesn’t even discourage you. He might be stubborn, but you can give him a run for his money, because this is your life on the line.  

“Then I’ll run after you. I’ll keep chasing after you. I'll keep asking, and asking, and asking. I'm not going to stop until you give me some answers."

There’s a silence between you again. Then he straightens his posture, and turns his head just far enough that you can catch his eyes. Whatever uncertainty was there before fades away as you see the resolve in his eyes harden.

"You're never going to see me again."

There's an ugly noise. A scratch over the vinyl of a record screeching in your brain that makes you unable to comprehend his words. You have to replay them in your mind, parsing them out, before you realize what he's actually telling you.

“Wait, what do you mean never see you again!?” you step forward towards the window sill, and he visibly retreats at your advance. “As in, you're going to back to avoiding me? It’s kind of late for that, isn't it? I've seen your face... twice. We’ve slept together!"

"No," he answers brusquely, brows pulled in at a sharp angle. “I'm leaving the… area. I'm not going to be around anymore."

“But you’ll be back… right?” you ask. Some corner of your brain refuses to accept what you think he’s telling you. 

With a graceful movement, he leaps back down from the window sill, taking a step forward and leaning in until he’s looming over you, his face inches from your own. 

“No,” he repeats, emphasizing the word.

Oh… 

His words finally click. It took a few attempts for the stubborn gear in your brain to unjam, but you finally hear what he’s been trying repeatedly to tell you.

He’s leaving for good. He’s not coming back. 

You… You don’t know how you feel. Your cheeks are strangely numb. Somehow the idea that he might not be around indefinitely had never occurred to you. You’ve grown accustomed to the safe haven he’s provided. Come to rely on him and the familiar safety of his shadow lurking around every corner, the blurred blue and red rescuing you from this crazy world trying to kill you. 

A flash of cold sweat breaks out along your back. His presence is your only anchor to safety. If he’s not here… 

"But– but– if you leave…” You trail off, barely able to imagine it.

All the near-misses flash through your mind. The taco truck stampeding through the city, the subway train barrelling towards you, construction sites crashing down right above your head. So many deaths held at bay by the one man in front of you, and if he leaves… If he’s gone…

You can barely choke out the next words, your voice a strangled whisper, “...what’s going to happen to me?”

A flash of anguish breaks through his stony features before he turns away, dropping his gaze to his feet. Pained sadness bleeds into those crimson eyes, something that speaks of guilt, loss and defeat. 

"I’m sorry," he says quietly, "I can't save you. I never could. Nothing can."

And what can you say to that? You can’t force him to do more for you than he already has. He’s done a lot—much more than anyone has to, superhero or not, and you know that—and it’s selfish of you to ask more.

You swallow down the anxiety crawling up your throat and it tastes like burnt bile. 

Anyone would be lucky to have a superhero save them from certain death even once in their lifetime, and somehow you've been blessed with more times than you can count. 

In fact, you’ve been spoiled rotten, managing to escape death so many times that you've grown almost… complacent about it. Expecting him to rescue you, when really you've been living on borrowed time for months now, winning one lottery ticket after another. You've had more extra time than anyone could ever wish for.

In front of you, you see him moving again. If you let him go like this, then this is it. This is where it all ends. Without him, it’s only a matter of time before death catches up with you again—for good this time.

You shake your head, refusing the defeat. It may be selfish, greedy even, but this is your life and you can’t let it end here.

You don’t want to die. You made a promise to yourself when you fell out of the Chrysler building for the first time. 

You want to live. You want to live. You want to live. 

"Wait! Please..." You grab onto his hand, and even though you have no doubt he could break free from your desperate grip with very little effort, he stops for you.

"I don't know what's going on! Every day I walk out that door, and almost die again and again and again. I'm scared and confused, and it seems like the universe is hellbent on killing me, and you're the only clue I've got as to why. The only reason I'm still alive is because you keep saving me. I know that it’s selfish to ask you this, because you don’t owe me anything. But…” 

You pause, drawing in a deep breath, and say the words with your whole chest, “I want to live!”

He doesn’t quite flinch, but the hand at his side twitches and then he’s reaching up to you. So close, you can almost feel his knuckles grace the side of your cheek. Then he stops, a fraction of an inch from your face. 

He tilts his head to the side, like he’s listening to something you can’t hear.

Must be some other emergency your unfriendly neighborhood Spider-man needs to be on his way to. You try to push down the unexpected envy boiling in your stomach at the thought. 

Although… now that you’re listening, you can hear something too. Something like the low hum of a helicopter, growing louder all the time. 

Must be a police chopper. Traffic ‘copters aren’t allowed to fly so low.

Abruptly, the light flees your apartment. Shadow sweeps across your window and covers everything in pitched darkness. 

A blackout? But it's morning, even if the power went out, the sun should still be–

You feel it before you see it in the dark, a tight grip on your wrist pulling you. His arm slams across your waist, yanking you backwards.

The world lurches around you, receding with a deafening roar of collapsing concrete and shrieking metal. The last thing you see is the wall of your apartment disappearing in a cloud of dust and twisted metal.

Your stomach drops sickeningly. Bright light flashes across your vision in intense rainbow-colored bursts. Pink. Red. Green. Blue. You have to close your eyes as wind whips mercilessly against your cheeks, loud impossible roaring in your ears.

Is this death? Somehow you thought it would be quieter. Calm.

Still.

And then it is. Everything stops, and when you finally dare open your eyes again, there’s…

Nothing.

~ Next Issue

Dedication & Credits: To my lovely collaborator @thirstworldproblemss who is always staying up brainstorming with me, listen to my insane ramblings, plotting each scene in the outlines and helping me beta and edit and even rewrite large chunks of paragraphs I'm unhappy with til the very last minute. Truly my favorite person in all of the lands. I love you!!

[aikaterini-drag]

Embrace of Two Hearts

Summary: Harald has been traveling, negotiating alliances but now that he is back, he can’t take his eyes off of his wife —as well as his hands off of her.

Pairing: King Harald Sigurdson x Queen Fem!reader

Warnings: fluff, kisses, implied smut, besotted Harald.

It had been a long time since Harald Sigurdsson had left Norway to build alliances and trading negotiations with the surrounding kingdoms. The matter had required his attention and he had been forced to leave you behind so you could take care of the kingdom in his absence. You were his Queen, the person he trusted and loved the most.

After meeting with various wealthy yarls and merchants, Harald’s plans had been prosperous; he’d stricken deals to trade goods and boost the income of his kingdom.

After almost two months at traveling, he was finally back.

Harald hadn’t blown the horns to make his arrival known.

He wanted today to be a surprise.

He wanted to see your face light up and hear your happy laughter as you reached him.

So after a light meal and a much needed bath, he headed to one of the villages where he was told you had gone shopping.

With his hood pulled low over this face, he strolled along the bustling Viking village, and when he saw you, his eyes fixed on you. You hadn’t taken notice of his presence; you were engaged in conversation with some of the women selling silks and spices. Resting his great frame on one of the stalls, he took his time and watched you for a few seconds. When waiting became too much to handle, he slipped back his hood and approached you.

A loud gasp left your lips when you finally saw him. You blinked, as in disbelief and when he smiled invitingly, all dimples and sunshine, you rushed into his arms. Your husband was back! Oh, how you’ve missed him, craved him! You’ve been exchanging letters with him during his travels but nothing compared to him holding you, touching you. And there he was, tall and handsome, wearing his marvelous regal tunic and leather pants, his fur cloak, his handsome face forming a warm smile.

“Ah, there’s my beautiful queen!” he said when you practically jumped into his waiting arms.

"Oh, Harald!" You pressed your lips against his in a long kiss. “You didn’t tell me you were coming back.”

“Surprise,” he said, his lips stretched delightfully.

“Oh, how I missed you! Is everything alright? The negotiations?”

“Everything’s perfect. I’ll tell you about my feats later.” He cupped your face, his hungry eyes taking in your beauty. “Let me look at you, have my fill of you.”

“Did you miss me so much, my lord husband?”

“Only a little, my lady wife.”

"Only a little?" You raised a brow. “Then why are you here?”

“Because I lied. I missed you. Painfully. Deeply. Hard.”

You laughed. “You debauched Viking.”

He grinned. “I've hoped to distract you from your shopping. Is it working?”

You fluttered your eyelashes. “Only if you kiss me again.”

Smiling in that stunning mischievous smile of his, he lowered his lips to yours, his tongue dancing with yours wetly. The touch was too swift for your liking but since you were still in public—and everyone was staring… you drew back softly. Harald locked your hands together and led the way back to your longhouse. You walked through the hall, with him stealing kisses and whispering sweet words to you.

When he had you in the solitude of your room, he scooped you up and dropped you onto the bed. You giggled as you bounced stop the furs and pillows. He joined you, a thick knee climbing onto the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. And then he was all over you, his strong body draped over your slender frame. He watched you with eyes ablaze with the passion, his lips parted. He brought his hands to caress your cheek, his knuckles tracing your skin lovingly.

“What is it, King Harald? What has you so enthralled?” you teased, leaning into his touch.

“You,” he said simply. “My wife… my beautiful wife who outshines even the finest jewels.”

You kissed him lightly. “I’m not as charming as my strong and courageous husband.”

“I disagree. You are achingly beautiful and perfect. And I am not in the least charming.”

“Oh, you're charming. Impossibly charming.” You claimed his lips and he moaned. “Your charm is as sharp as your sword.”

Harald grinned. “My love, my sword only yields to you. Sharp and ready to service you.”

“You didn’t just say that!”

He kissed your forehead, however, his hands were skillfully dragging up your gown. “What are you thinking, my mischievous wife?”

“What are you thinking, my mischievous husband?”

“I’m thinking I missed the feel of you. And that I want you,” he said and rolled his hips gently, and even with the layers of clothes, his groin pressed hard against her center.

Whining softly, you slipped your hands under his tunic to feel his warm skin. “Me, too. It has been so long.”

“Hm… I have been denied your warmth but no more.”

“Make love to me?”

“All day and night, my love.”

He pulled you close and kissed you deeply and fervently, lips meeting, tongues brushing. The world around you seemed to fade away, leaving nothing but your love and passion. Clothes were tossed away, skin touched skin, sweat tricked like little diamonds and then came bliss.

[bumblesimagines]

Under The Moonlight

Part 18

Request: Yes or No

Summary: Reeling from parting ways with his brother, (Y/N) allows Harald in again.. but a party threatens everything.

CW/TW: Typical Vikings warnings, brief/mild sexual content, no hate quite like christian love, nothing else tbh

~~~

(Y/N) tracked the ripples in the water, the distorted shimmering of scales that blended with the golden sand catching his eye every so often. His grip on the spear tightened, the sharp blade at the end barely skimming the surface until he plunged it into the water in one swift thrust forward, a streak of blood mixing with the salty waves. He reached into the water and lifted the spear, wrapping his fingers around the slippery body of the fish before the waves could tug it loose. 

His mind drifted back to Leif and he felt his heart squeeze with bitter longing. It'd only been an hour since his brother departed from Constantinople to journey off to Corfu; the first journey he'd taken without him. (Y/N) knew Leif was right, deep down at least. As vexing and impulsive as Harald was, he'd promised Harald years before to help him acquire Norway, even if it pained him to do so.

Destinies... such tricky things.

Heaving a quiet sigh, (Y/N) turned and returned to the beach, the water clinging to his rolled-up pant legs weighing him down with each step he took. The sand collected on his feet, warm and inviting despite the grainy feeling. He tossed the fish into the basket along with the others and stuck the spear into the sand before heaving the basket up into his arms. The smell of fish and salt mixed, filling his nose and clinging to his clothes as he began the trek along the beach in the direction of the few other homes nearby. 

He hardly needed for money, or anything really, but working kept him busy and reminded him of home. At least in Constantinople, he never worried about facing his father's wrath or the moods that changed as swiftly as the wind. His mother lingered in his mind, however. (Y/N) couldn't help it. When faced with time alone, his thoughts always drifted, fluttering about and filling his mind with thoughts of his loved ones.

"(Y/N)!" A cheery voice called from the doorway leading into the back of one of the houses, the sun-kissed young man smiling brightly at him. (Y/N) returned it with a soft chuckle and quickened his pace until he reached the doorway, specks of sand scattering across the stone floor when he entered the home and set the basket on the table. 

"Isaac," He greeted gently over his shoulder before turning his attention to the older man who entered the room, offering him a smile. "Éfera ta simeriná aliévmata, Platon."

"Paratírisa," Platon murmured, thick fingers scratching at his white beard and brows wrinkled with concentration as he inspected the basket's contents. "Natasa will be pleased." He said gruffly, which was the closest (Y/N) ever got to a 'thanks' from the man before Platon took the basket into his arms and shuffled out of the room to show his wife the freshly caught fish. 

"You do know there's no need for this, right?" Isaac reminded him softly, planting his palms on the table and lifting himself onto it. The wood groaned beneath his weight, and (Y/N) spared the trembling legs a wary glance. "We have little need for help... unless this is how Vikings court their lovers." His eyes crinkled with his teasing smile, and dimples appeared on his dark cheeks.

"I'm afraid you've mistaken this kindness for yourself, Isaac. The fish have always been for your parents." (Y/N) responded, half-teasing and lighthearted. Flirting was an odd thing, something (Y/N) found to be complicated at times. It was easier in Greenland where one would simply state their interest and either be dismissed or encouraged, but leaving his home had opened a door to the complexities of outsiders. 

"Ah," Isaac laughed and reached out toward him, tugging him closer by his shirt and smoothing out the wrinkles forming on the wet fabric. He peered over his shoulder and watched the doorway, waiting momentarily for any sign of his parents before leaning in to press a chaste kiss to (Y/N)'s lips. "My mistake then." 

"I'm sorry I did not come sooner. There was much to do after returning." (Y/N) explained with a quiet sigh, feeling Isaac's hand move to warmly hold the base of his neck. It felt nice to have someone content with what they had for him without longing for anything else—no tension in their muscles or a distant gaze in their eyes. 

"And I assume Spatharokandidatos has been more keen than usual?" Isaac tilted his head knowingly, his brown curls swishing with his movements and voice dripping with amusement. "I cannot fault you, agapiménos. He does seem like an easy man to say no to. I simply wish he knew how to share." 

"You cannot share what is not yours." (Y/N) raised his brows and Isaac released an unconvinced hum, his hand dropping and resting over his thigh as he leaned back slightly. "I mean it, Isaac. Harald and I have tried to make it work over these long years, you've seen it. The peace never lasts long with him. He lusts for a crown that has no desire to be placed on his head."

"And yet, he lusts for you, as well." Isaac reminded him softly. "As long as you two are near each other, it will be the same dance over and over again until one of you collapses." 

"I've already collapsed." 

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Sand spilled across the stone floors as he used a rag to wipe away the golden specks that'd collected along his feet and calves. The scent of salt and sea clung to him, filling the air of his home and mixing with the aroma of citrus. Better than the stench of fish, he supposed as he set the rag aside and ventured further into his home. His eyes glided over the room until a shimmer caught his attention, dragging his gaze toward the window where a necklace hung from the hanging flowerpot. 

He'd grown used to gifts over the years but they were often given to him in person, not left behind to be found. He walked forward and carefully tugged on it, running his fingers over the seashell design in the middle. There were few he knew who'd gift him a golden necklace but only one came to mind who'd be secretive about it. 

"(Y/N)-"

His heart skipped a beat and he whirled around, his fingers tightening around the necklace as he tucked his arm behind his back. "Gods, Harald," (Y/N) hissed, swallowing a breath of air in hopes of calming his racing heart. The prince stared at him, his brows furrowed tightly together. "I.. I hear you've been rewarded for your actions. Kaysan claims he brought more gold to your home than he'd seen in his entire life. Your uncle will be thrilled to hear of it."

"Yes.." Harald drawled lowly and stepped toward him until they were nearly chest to chest, his eyes scanning (Y/N)'s features. "What are you hiding?" 

"Why are you here?" 

With a tick of his jaw, Harald reached behind him to wrap his fingers around (Y/N)'s wrist and pry his arm out. The gold glimmered from the sunlight pouring in, naturally drawing attention to itself and the design etched into it. Harald studied it, his jaw shifting with the grinding of his teeth before he dug his hand into his pocket to retrieve a key with the same design. (Y/N) plucked it from between his pinched fingers and tugged his wrist out of Harald's grip, holding the two objects together.

"Empress Zoe," Harald answered his unspoken question gruffly, annoyance thick in his voice and shoulders tense. "She asked me to deliver it to you.. said you would figure it out."

(Y/N)'s head cocked to the side as he rubbed his thumb over the golden key. It was a pretty thing. "So, it is like... a riddle, then?"

"No. It's a key-"

"I can see that, Harald."

"-and one that very few have because it can grant passage to a room few go in.. such as her husband.. or a lover." 

"Oh." (Y/N) simply said, the curiosity in him vanishing with the swift explanation. She was courting, or at the very least flirting, with him. "When you are an empress.. I suppose you must go about it strangely." 

Harald's adams apple bobbed. "You cannot be seriously considering-"

"Why does it matter to you?" (Y/N)'s fingers curled around the key, the cool metal digging into the warmth of his fingers. He felt silly asking when he knew the answer well, but it wasn't enough. It was never enough. Harald's words held little value and he'd proven it time and time again, year after year. "What I do in my spare time is none of your concern."

"It would be treason-"

"You would do it if she was pursuing you, Harald." A rush of irritation pierced his gut, the familiar heat of anger creeping up his neck. Harald's lips pressed into a line and his head turned away from him, the creases on his face smoothing out with gut-wrenching confirmation that nearly made tears prick in (Y/N)'s eyes. "You would-" His voice threatened to crack and Harald's gaze snapped back to him. "You would do anything for power."

Harald winced but (Y/N) stepped out of reach before Harald could envelop him in an embrace. He approached the wooden desk pressed up against the wall and tugged on the drawer with trembling fingers only to hesitate as he went to place the empress's gifts inside. He noticed it immediately and a pang of guilt rammed into his chest at the sight of his old necklace, set aside and forgotten over the years.

The feeling of a broad chest pressing into his back brought him out of the brief daze and he exhaled shakily. Harald reached down into the drawer and picked it up, his calloused fingers brushing over the teeth before he raised his hands to wrap the necklace around his neck and tie the ends together in a tight knot. His fingertips brushed delicately over the necklace and ghosted over the skin of (Y/N)'s neck. 

"To have power is to be respected." He said softly, breath fanning his ear. "To be respected, especially as King of Norway, means doing whatever you desire." 

(Y/N)'s nostrils flared with a deep inhale. "Yes, until your power is taken by another. Power is hard to gain and easy to lose, Harald." He turned to face him, eyes lingering on his lips before flickering up to those dark eyes he knew so well. "You have many riches, you have the Emperor's favor, you have an army. Yet it is not enough.. and if this, if money, is not enough for you.. I won't be either." 

"You're wrong."

"No, I'm not." He dryly chuckled. "You will be advised to have children, to secure an heir, and I know you will not choose just any woman to be your queen and mother of your children. You'll find a beautiful woman, one you won't be able to resist, and I will be cast aside for her. I know you care for me... but you love the crown more." 

Harald's mouth pressed into a line and he shook his head, too weakly to truly be in disagreement with him. He pressed his forehead against (Y/N)'s and the tip of his nose grazed his, his facial hair lightly tickling his cupid bow before it rubbed against his skin as Harald closed the distance. His arms, developed over the years of work as a warrior, wrapped tightly around (Y/N)'s waist, trapping him against his chest in an agonizingly familiar embrace.

"Harald," (Y/N) exhaled against his mouth, his palms pressing into Harald's shoulder blades but not quite pushing against him. "This will not solve anything, and you know it."

Harald kissed him hard again. "But it will make us feel better." 

A little voice in the back of (Y/N)'s head shrieked at him to put a stop to it, to permanently end whatever complicated relationship he had with the prince once and for all. The constant tug and pull was exhausting and draining and yet, it was addicting. He knew it was for the best to firmly plant his feet on the ground and demand to be properly heard but he allowed himself to be swept up into Harald's arms and taken to his bedroom. 

It was horribly addicting, the way Harald balanced tenderness with roughness; his gentle hands while peeling the clothes of their bodies, his careful fingers that squeezed and rubbed over his skin soothingly, the warmth of his mouth as he pressed sweet kisses down his abdomen and nipped the fat of his thighs. Sometimes he felt as if Harald knew his body better than himself, and perhaps it was true. 

Harald always knew how to make him shiver and gasp, always knew when to push past the ring of muscle and curl his finger just right. He always hummed with delight when (Y/N) shuddered and squirmed, his free hand keeping a firm hold on his hip while the other worked on pumping one, then two, sometimes three fingers in and out of him. His eyes drank in every micro expression that passed over (Y/N)'s features, yet he gazed up at him as if he were reciting poetry and not gasping and muttering his name.

These were the times (Y/N) felt his heart flutter with affection. He couldn't help it, not when Harald would settle on the bed and tug him onto his lap, that pretty smile of his remaining on his face as he murmured praises despite his chest vibrating with low groans. Sometimes he wished they could stay in these moments forever, connected and content with each other, their brains fuzzy with affection and pleasure.

But it never mattered, even when sweat clung to their skin and Harald recited his name like a prayer until his hips spasmed and his teeth clamped down on (Y/N)'s shoulder. 

It never truly mattered.

(Y/N) wanted to believe the opposite, desperately. The peppered kisses Harald left over his shoulders, soothing every bruise and mark he left with his mouth and coiling his arms around him to keep him close. (Y/N) traced the scars littered across his body, the ones from daggers and swords and axes, the ones he tended to himself.

He thought of their past and everything they'd gone through together, half-listening to the breathy mutters leaving Harald's mouth because no amount of promises could ever convince him they had a future. 

"My uncle arrived earlier this evening," Harald sighed into his temple, his fingertips dragging back and forth over (Y/N)'s arm. "As always, I will send my riches back to Novgorod. I believe the time to leave Constiantople draws ever closer.. he mentioned I have enough gold to raise five armies if I wish."

"He must be proud." (Y/N) murmured.

"He is." Harald nodded and pressed a soft kiss to his earlobe. "He also brings news of Freydis." 

The sound of his sister's name made him stiffen, his heart contracting before he pushed himself up onto his elbow and stared down at Harald with widened eyes. "What did he say? Has he seen her?" His eyes flickered rapidly between Harald's, brows twitching when Harald released a small chuckle.

"He told me Olaf went looking for her in Jomsborg.. and she slaughtered him and his men. She rules Jomsborg as its leader and lives there.. with her seven-year-old child. A boy, or so he's heard." 

"A boy?" His voice trembled softly with his words and his mouth clamped shut, the surprising feeling of tears beginning to sting the corners of his eyes. "Freydis has a son? She- She's a mother now, oh, Gods." A laugh tumbled free from his lips, giddy and relieved yet full of longing.

The last time he'd laid eyes on his sister had been when they parted ways in the sea. She stood on the boat alongside the rest of the Jomsvikings, her wild blonde curls tumbling over her shoulders and swaying with the wind, one hand raised to wave goodbye at them and the other cradling the barely notable bump in her belly.

He'd feared what laboring would do to her body for he'd bore witness to mothers dying while having their children.. but his sister, his darling warrior of a sister, lived.

"Nothing can kill Freydis." (Y/N) laughed, slightly delirious, and slumped back onto the bed to stare up at the stone ceiling. His chest rose and fell in short breaths, a newfound urge to seek her out enveloping him. "I have a nephew... and may the Gods help whichever fool ever dares to bother that boy." He laughed again and raised his hand to his necklace, rubbing his fingers into the soft thread. 

Harald's eyes crinkled with fondness and he leaned in to kiss his cheek, his thumb rubbing over his jawline delicately. "I'm certain you'll see her again one day. You will see her and Leif and Greenland again. I know it."

(Y/N) willed it to be true. There was only so much of Constantinople he could stomach any longer.

                    ➸        ➸       ➸       ➸       ➸       ➸

In Greenland, where the chill was neverending and trees were a rare sight, they made a living from the sea that resided at their feet. They tossed nets out for fish in shallower waters but the real challenge were the creatures that resided in the darker waters beyond the cliffs. His father insisted on him learning the way of hunting animals like seals and narwhals, how to carve into the flubber and get to the tender meat inside.

Nothing was left behind in Greenland. Everything was cooked and eaten, worn, or traded and sold. They couldn't afford to waste anything. 

But in Constantinople, things were much different. It made (Y/N) uncomfortable. Most of the people who wished to be his friend knew nothing of struggling through a harsh winter or standing in the howling winds with a spear and knife hoping to catch something while the threat of your fingertips turning black like coal battled with hunger and desperation. 

His friends enjoyed the luxuries though, and he enjoyed watching them laugh and smile. They drank the finest of wines, recounted tales of glory while nibbling on exotic fruits and vegetables, and toyed with clothes made from the nicest and most expensive fabrics. They could spill juice on the tunics and brush it off or turn to the nearest servant and request whatever they wanted. They deserved it. They knew of struggle. 

But struggle made (Y/N). It was one with him.

He stared out at the expanse of ocean, his attention focused on the boats coming and going and thoughts occupied with worries over Leif. His brother was capable of taking care of himself, but he'd never needed to do it alone. Not when he had (Y/N) at his side, his shadow, his forever follower. It'd only been a few days since Leif's departure yet worry ate at him like a pestering seabird. 

He brought the cup of wine in hand to his lips but barely tasted the tart flavor as it trickled down his throat until there was nothing left. His tongue collected the last droplets and he finally turned away from the sea to rise from his seat and set the empty cup down on the table. Harald appeared at his side, doing similarly with his empty cup.

Before he could speak, a servant approached them with a small bronze chest and set it down at the table. The servant smiled politely and bowed his head, turning swiftly on his heel and leaving their silent questions unanswered. Harald grunted softly, his lips twisted up into that bitter jealousy of his, and he reached out to open the chest. 

Two gold-colored masks stared up at them from their spot within the chest, undeniably identical in size, color, and shape. They were small enough to only cover their eyes with black strings to tie them securely to their faces and rested over a long strip of paper.

(Y/N) stared down at them with furrowed brows, the gears in his head halting whilst his face twisted up into a look of perplexion. Harald picked up one of the masks and retrieved the paper but it only had an illustration of a mask on it. 

"It seems Zoe wishes to see us both this time," Harald murmured and curled his hand into a fist, crumpling the paper before tossing it onto the table. He studied the mask for a moment longer. "We shouldn't keep her waiting, should we?"

(Y/N) blinked. "But-"

"Come on, (Y/N)," Harald offered him the mask and took the second one for himself, his lips curling into a wolfish grin. His hand found (Y/N)'s wrist and squeezed it gingerly. "Where's your sense of adventure?"

The sun began to set behind them by the time they stepped out of Harald's home and onto the street, shadows biting at the heels of the light while they roamed the streets in search of something similar to the symbol on the paper. The sun bid them farewell and disappeared below the horizon, leaving night to consume the torch-lit streets and illuminate the city for them. 

While he expected the city residents to be in their homes, they stumbled upon a sparse masked crowd laughing and chatting, some swaying with signs of intoxication and others giddily heading in the same direction. Harald shot him a grin over his shoulder and dragged him along, following the others to an open door guarded by two soldiers in golden helmets that covered their faces. 

His gut told him to return home when he recognized the soldiers as General Maniake's men but when he turned back to Harald, he'd already stepped inside and slipped his mask on. Tentatively, (Y/N) followed him inside and placed the mask over his face, slowly tying it behind his head and looking over the crowded room as festive music filled his ears.

Everyone seemed comfortable as if they knew what was going on, and he could only assume it was a less formal celebration of their victory.

People danced and spun and lifted each other into the air with howling laughter and cackles. Entertainers were scattered across the room, some privately entertaining behind sheer curtains while others juggled or did tricks that were answered with claps and cheers. The air was thick, and being around so many people made his heart pick up with unease. 

"Har-"

(Y/N)'s eyes darted around in search of Harald but he only made eye contact with unfamiliar eyes and faces hidden behind masks. He dodged one woman who attempted to pull him into a dance and shook his head when a masked servant stopped by to offer him an array of drinks on a tray.

No matter where he looked or in which direction he turned, Harald was nowhere in sight. Everyone looked too similar in their masks, their faces and clothes distorting into one. 

It was only when a rough hand tightly grabbed his bicep that (Y/N) was snapped out of his daze. His head spun toward the person, expecting to see Harald but the man's mask covered his whole face.

He made an attempt at pulling his arm out of his grip, words forming on the tip of his tongue to reject whatever he was going to offer, but the man's grip tightened threateningly. 

"Viking," Maniake's voice filled his ear, bitter and resentful with a hint of malice. (Y/N) swallowed. "I will allow you one act of mercy. You will not wish to see how far your 'friend' will go for power. Run now, or face a similar fate, Pagan."

[natswife-marvelicious]

Ghosts, Goblins and Growing Closer

Plot: During Tony Stark’s extravagant Halloween party, you and Natasha share playful banter and subtle flirtation. The spooky atmosphere brings you closer, leading to a sweet, intimate moment where you both realize your growing feelings for each other.

Warnings: none

Word count: 1,3k

Masterlist

The Avengers Tower was buzzing with excitement, decked out in orange and black for Tony Stark's infamous Halloween party. Cobwebs lined the ceiling, jack-o’-lanterns flickered from every corner, and ghostly decorations floated above the crowd. Tony had truly outdone himself this time, with a towering haunted house in the corner of the common area and a fog machine making the place feel like a spooky dream.

You walked through the sea of costumes, feeling the festive atmosphere. Everyone was in full party mode, Steve Rogers was dressed as a classic 1940s soldier, which earned a few chuckles, Thor sported a Viking costume, much to everyone’s amusement, and Tony? Well, Tony was, of course, dressed as himself. It was his party, after all.

The one person you were most excited to see, though, was Natasha Romanoff. You hadn’t had the chance to spot her yet, and there was an anticipation in your stomach as you searched the room. You knew she would look incredible, no matter what costume she chose, and the idea of spending Halloween night by her side had been your focus all week.

After a few minutes of wandering through the party, you finally saw her. Natasha stood by the bar, leaning against the counter in an all-black assassin outfit with sleek leather pants and a fitted top that hugged her figure. A playful black mask rested on her face, accentuating her mischievous smile. She looked drop-dead gorgeous, and your heart skipped a beat as your eyes locked.

“Hey, you,” she said, walking over with that signature swagger that left you feeling weak in the knees. “Nice costume.”

You looked down at your own getup. You had gone with something simple, an easy superhero-inspired costume, but the way Natasha’s gaze lingered made you feel like you were the only one in the room. “I could say the same thing. You look amazing.”

She raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at her lips. “What, no tricks or treats for me?”

You grinned, stepping closer. “That depends. Do you deserve a trick or a treat?”

Natasha leaned in slightly, her eyes twinkling with playful amusement. “I’ll take my chances with the treat.”

Before you could respond, the room erupted in laughter as Tony announced the costume contest over the speakers. The Avengers gathered near the stage, some eagerly ready to show off their costumes. You found yourself standing next to Natasha, who glanced at you with a knowing look.

“Should we enter the contest?” she asked, tilting her head as if daring you.

“I don’t think we’d stand a chance against Thor’s Viking costume,” you joked, nodding in the god’s direction.

Natasha laughed softly. “True, but we’d definitely win ‘Best Duo’.”

Your heart fluttered at the idea of being a duo with her, even if it was just for the contest. Before you could think too much into it, Natasha gently grabbed your hand and pulled you toward the stage. She waved off the contest, dragging you toward the quieter side of the room, away from the loud music and flashing lights.

“I thought we were entering the contest,” you teased as you followed her lead.

She shrugged with a sly grin. “Changed my mind. Besides, I’d rather spend the night enjoying the party with you.”

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. This was what you loved most about Natasha—her ability to make even the most extravagant parties feel intimate and personal. The rest of the room melted away as you found yourselves in a cozy corner, watching the others dance and mingle.

Nearby, Sam was challenging Bucky to a pumpkin carving contest, and Steve watched in amusement, his arms crossed as he shook his head at their friendly banter. Wanda and Vision were mingling near the snack table, sharing a laugh as they tried out Tony’s over-the-top Halloween-themed treats. It was a lively night, but with Natasha beside you, everything felt a little warmer, a little brighter.

Natasha turned toward you, her gaze softening as the noise of the party faded into the background. “You know, this is the first Halloween I’ve actually celebrated in… well, a long time.”

“Really?” you asked, surprised. “Not even as a kid?”

She shook her head. “Not many trick-or-treating opportunities when you’re raised in the Red Room.”

The weight of her words settled between you, and you suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for this moment. Natasha had been through so much, and yet here she was, standing next to you, making the best of a night filled with silly costumes and haunted house decorations.

“Well, I’m glad we’re making up for lost time,” you said softly, reaching out to take her hand.

Natasha’s eyes flickered with something unspoken, something deeper than the playful banter that had filled the night so far. She laced her fingers with yours, her grip firm yet gentle. “Yeah, me too.”

For a moment, the two of you stood there in comfortable silence, simply enjoying the proximity and the unspoken connection between you. It was as if the party continued on without you, a blur of laughter and music while the world narrowed to just you and her.

“I’m not much for big parties,” she admitted after a while, her voice quiet yet sincere. “But I’m glad I came to this one.”

“Because of the company?” you asked, unable to keep the teasing tone out of your voice.

Natasha smirked, but her eyes were soft. “Maybe.”

Just as you were about to respond, Tony’s voice boomed across the room once again, calling everyone’s attention. “Alright, everyone! Gather around for the haunted house tour! Who’s ready to get spooked?"

The crowd cheered, and you saw Thor raise his hammer, clearly ready for the challenge. You turned to Natasha with a grin. “What do you say? Want to check it out?”

Natasha looked skeptical, but there was a glint of excitement in her eyes. “You know I don’t scare easily, right?”

“Yeah, but you haven’t been through one of Tony’s haunted houses yet,” you quipped, tugging her toward the entrance.

The haunted house was exactly what you’d expect from Tony Stark: over-the-top, high-tech, and filled with more jump scares than necessary. As you navigated through the dark corridors, fog swirling around your feet, you couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. Natasha, true to her word, didn’t flinch once, though she did smirk at your startled reactions a few times.

At one point, you found yourselves in a narrow hallway, the only light coming from flickering candles mounted on the walls. Natasha stepped closer, her shoulder brushing against yours, and despite the eerie atmosphere, you felt nothing but warmth.

“This is ridiculous,” she whispered, though there was amusement in her voice.

“Completely,” you agreed, but you couldn’t deny the thrill of being in this moment with her.

As the haunted house came to an end, you emerged back into the brightly lit common area, where the party had picked up once again. Tony was handing out awards for the costume contest, and the music had resumed, filling the space with a lively beat.

Natasha turned to you, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Alright, I’ll admit, that was kind of fun.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I knew you’d enjoy it.”

Before you could say more, Natasha stepped closer, her hand finding yours once again. “Thanks for sticking with me tonight,” she said softly, her voice barely audible over the music.

You squeezed her hand, feeling your heart swell with affection. “Anytime, Natasha.”

She smiled, and for a brief moment, the noise of the party faded into the background once again. It was just the two of you, standing side by side, sharing a quiet moment in the midst of the chaos.

As the night wore on and the party continued, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for this strange, wonderful Halloween. It wasn’t the costumes or the decorations that made it special, it was Natasha and the way she made every moment feel like it was just for the two of you.

With a final glance at the lively crowd around you, Natasha leaned in close and whispered in your ear, “Happy Halloween.”

You smiled, your heart full, and whispered back, “Happy Halloween, Natasha.”

And as the night unfolded, you knew this was a Halloween you’d never forget.

[bi-bi-bisexual-pie]

Would you drop some demisexual Astrid headcanons?

OH BOY WOULD I

Alright SO. I feel like Astrid, much like the rest of her tribe, was always disappointed that they got Hiccup as an heir. At first. Until he starts doing well in dragon training, and he starts sneaking off, and she can always see the gears turning in his brain, and that's when she realizes the heir to Stoick the Vast might actually have a very very real shot at succeeding on day. So she starts to follow him, and we all know the story from there.

I always imagined the kisses she gives him in the first movie, the first one after the romantic first flight on Toothless and the second after he wakes up from defeating the Red Death, were a sentiment to how she's come to love his mind. Astrid is a warrior through and through, so physical strength is almost a given in Viking culture. But Hiccup has a strength of the mind that she can't help but be drawn to; it's different, it's refreshing. It gave him a way to command his peers through the battle with a different outlook, one that focused on weighing their individual strengths to overcome rather than just brute force. And in her opinion, only someone with that strength of mind would ever consider befriending the enemy to solve a centuries-long rivalry. And it WORKED. And it was beautiful. And she couldn't wait to see how that kind of mind would reshape her tribe for the better.

Now. RTTE. The SLOWBURN. Hiccup is away from his element, and his mind can really shine out there with no one else to lead them. They all truly have to rely on Hiccup for the first time in their lives, and in Astrid's opinion, he could not have delivered better. She sees him think his way through every obstacle that they face, ensuring his friends' safety and the safety of their dragons, ensuring the comfort of the creatures they can't imagine living without, taking it all in stride, and Astrid is head over heels. And that terrifies her. Because never once in her life has she ever imagined herself with another person. She was a warrior first and foremost, training was always the focus. She never stopped to think about what a life intertwined with another person would be like, because frankly, it was hard enough just to make sure she survived to adulthood. But now she found herself all but glued to Hiccup's side, loving his company, wanting to hear everything that beautiful mind had to say.

And then we get to Blindsided. Not only is Hiccup smart and focused and logical, but he's also kind and gentle and soft. He's all those things FOR HER. And Astrid sees that immediately. She had always been so focused on her sight, and once it's taken away she's forced to focus on her other senses. The slight hint of smoke and singed clothes from the forge, the feel of his rough and calloused hands gentle guiding her on her arms, the worried timber in his voice that he's trying so hard to hide, the firm grip on her waist as he held her onto Toothless's back, the earnest and confident way he says "There will always be a Hiccup and Astrid" that makes her heart flutter, the hot taste of his breath on her tongue as he leaned in to kiss her before the Triple Strike interrupted. She knew she loved his mind, but the whole experience awakened a need in her that she had never experienced before, something she didn't quite understand. Not until the bandages were slowly removed from her eyes, and her pupils adjusted to the harsh light. And there he was, standing before her with a gentle and hopeful smile, eyes full of adoration and longing. She needed HIM, she needed ALL of him, she needed him and no one but him by her side for the rest of her life. "Astrid, are you...?"

"Looking at you? Seems like it." Oh, she was looking at him alright. Suddenly she could see it. She could see all of it. She could understand the looks her parents shared, the way they always had their hands on each other and the small smiled they exchanged at the simplest little things, things that seemed so insignificant to Astrid before. But now? Now she wanted nothing to more than to have something like that for herself, and no one would fill that desire unless it was Hiccup. She didn't want any of the snide remarks or teasing or not-so-thinly-veiled advances that Snotlout gave her. She wanted the gentle, thoughtful, longing, LOVING glances and words that came from Hiccup. Never once did she want some "strong man" protecting her for the rest of her life, but now she wanted nothing more than to fight alongside the brilliant mind of Hiccup Haddock as the equal she knew he believed her to be.

And the RELIEF that flooded his face at hearing that she was healed, oh it only made it worse. All he wanted was for her to be safe, and happy, and healthy, (and loved, her mind suggested) and she couldn't help standing out of her chair and embracing him. Yes, he hesitated for just a split second, but once his arms wrapped around her they were strong and warm and Astrid prayed he would never let her go.

And then... Her lips tingled all day remembering his breath on them. She had been startled when it happened, but now... Suddenly... She DESPERATELY wanted to know what it would have felt like if he had closed the distance, if the Triple Strike had been just a few minutes behind. She remembered the weight of his body crashing into her, the protective hold he had when he twisted through the air so she would land on top of him instead of the other way around. Her whole body trembled at the thought of laying there on the ground wrapped in his arms, and she didn't know what to do with that feeling. But later, when Hiccup finally, FINALLY kissed her, she knew exactly what to do with that feeling.

She was TERRIFIED. She was in uncharted territory. But that was okay, as long as Hiccup was there to draw the map with her.

.....So yeah, I hc Astrid is demisexual. Just a minor hc. no big deal. I have other thoughts, especially about the episode where Astrid gets jealous of the outwardly affection of Dagur/Mala because she never knew she wanted anything like that until then, but um... *looks back up* this is quite the long answer already hahahahaha oops sorry (not sorry)

[thelargefrye]

February Filth Fest : DAY EIGHTEEN : SIZE KINK … mature one - shot

pairing : norse god!seonghwa x greek goddess!f!reader

genre : smut, viking au, god of war inspired – so a mix of norse and greek mythology in this

word count : 2k

warnings : language, mentions of blood / fighting / weapons (swords, axe, bow and arrows, etc.), hunting for food, feeling grief over a loved ones death, long haired seonghwa in a half-up ponytail, seonghwa is mentioned to be bigger than yn

smut warnings : unprotected sex, size kink, seonghwa's got a breeding kink

honorary tag : @sanjoongie

after having traveled all over midgard with seonghwa and fighting for your lives, the two of you can finally settle down and have a moment together.

DAY SEVENTEEN ↤ SPREAD THE ASHES ↦ DAY NINETEEN

a grunt left your mouth as you were flung into a large tree. you stumbled to your feet, seonghwa swung his axe at the trolls that were around him. blood flown through the sky, some landing on his face as he kicked one troll away before rushing over to you.

his hand wrapping around your forearm and hoisting you to steady feet before swinging at another troll. a smirk decorating his lips as he gave you a side glance.

"come on now, y/n, surely someone who killed all of olympus isn't getting beat by some trolls," he says, the cockiness thick in his voice and you roll your eyes before slashing and stabbing at the nearest troll – the one who sent you flying.

"shut your mouth and focus on fighting before i kill you next," you said and seonghwa lets out a loud laugh before he jumping and hacking at two trolls and effortlessly cutting them down.

when the trolls were all dead, you and seonghwa stood in the middle of the clearly covered in blood before sheathing your weapons.

"well that was a little more excitement than what i was anticipating," he says, turning to you with a smile on his face. but seonghwa always had a smile on his face. "i remember seeing a river along the north trail, lets go wash up before setting up camp."

you nod your head and allow seonghwa to lead the way, following closely behind him as you walked down one of the many dirt paths in the forest. you notice that every once in a while, seonghwa will look over his shoulder to make sure you are still following behind. silently noting your quietness as normally the two of you are going back and forth with each other in a playful bicker.

"what's the matter?" seonghwa finally asks once you are at the river. the both of you stripped down from your bloody armor and carefully washing the blood out. there was nothing you truly hated more than bloody armor, such a disgrace.

you turn towards him, clenching your clothes tightly, "i was thinking about my family," you say trailing off and at your words seonghwa also stops his scrubbing.

his now doe eyes looking at you softly and you hate how he makes your heart flutter and stomach do flips. seonghwa only knows a little bit about your family from greece and olympus, how went on this journey of revenge for your family after zeus took everything from you. you guess his comment from earlier was making you think.

but think about what exactly you aren't sure.

perhaps settling down with seonghwa after this and finally living a peaceful life. but was that something you even deserved?

"y/n," seonghwa is close to you, his bare skin touching your own and it brings you out of your thoughts. you look at him with wide eyes, surprised by how he moved this close to you without you noticing and he easily towers over you. perhaps that's a benefit from him being a frost giant? "what are you thinking? tell me," he sounds like he's pleading almost.

"i want to live a peaceful life, but i don't think i deserve it," you tell him, a chill running over you as you feel seonghwa's hand travel around your waist and pulling you closer to him.

"why don't you deserve it?"

"i've done a lot of bad things seonghwa, killed a lot of people, gods, monsters."

"but you've paid your debt, stop living in the past and focus on now. you aren't in olympus anymore, darling. you're here with me now. i don't think hongjoong would want you to live like this, feeling guilty."

your eyebrows furrow at the mention of your dead lover. husband. you felt angry that seonghwa would mention him as if he knew him. without thinking you shove seonghwa away and the water around you two splashes up against you both. seonghwa looks at you in shock.

"don't you dare talk about hongjoong like you know him!" you feel the tears beginning to build up in your waterline, but not from sadness but anger.

"i lost him and our daughter because i was stupid! their deaths haunt me and i see their bodies every time i close my eyes. no matter how hard i try to move on i will always be haunted by their deaths and my mistakes, so don't tell me to not live in the past when that's all i can see!"

seonghwa said nothing as the two of you looked at each other. he was calm and collected while you were the definition of rage. heavy breathing, clenched fists, and tear-stricken face. his silence only made you more upset.

"i'm not asking for you to forget hongjoong and your daughter," he says after what felt like an eternity of silence. "but..." he trails off taking a cautious step towards you, "i want you to realize that you don't have to let their death weigh on you forever."

"seonghwa..."

"you said you wanted a peaceful life, well we can have one. we'll settle down at the small cabin and have our own children. you paid your debt, but you have to give yourself this second chance," he says as he stops back in front of you. his cold hand feels safe when he touches your own.

"i... i don't know," you pull away from him once more, turning away and walking out of the river, clothes and armor in hand as you walk back to the camp you two had set up at the clearing, leaving seonghwa by himself.

the two of you spent the rest of the evening and early night in silence. the two of you having traveled and been doing this long enough that you could do things around camp without actually talking to one another. seonghwa had went and brought back deer he hunted for the two of you two eat.

and so you sat at the campfire in silence, the smell of meat feeling your nose and cracking of the fire filling your ears. your mind still reeling from what was said earlier. seonghwa was right because he was always right. you didn't need to forget hongjoong and your daughter, but you needed to let their deaths not haunt you anymore.

your eyes flicker to seonghwa from across the fire, his own eyes already looking at you. he had finished eating a while ago while you were still picking at yours. he rolled his shoulders before standing up, walking over to you and pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. silently bidding you goodnight before he enters your shared tent.

you don't know how much longer you sit by the fire, long enough for it to die out on its own. you stomp out the remaining glowing embers before crawling into the tent and laying down next to seonghwa.

you think you made up your mind.

"seonghwa," you know he's awake, he always waits for you to join him as you do for him. "can we talk?"

he turns over on his back while you lay on your side to face him. your hand reaches out to take his, linking your fingers together.

"i want to live a peaceful life with you. i want that small cabin, i want our children – your children, i want to take in the wolves, i want to love you everyday that i am able to wake up next to you and after that. i want to try and let go of my guilt enough for this to happen, please help me seonghwa."

seonghwa gives your hand a firm squeeze before he's rolling you onto your back and hovering over you. you let him pin your hands above your head and you can't help the arousal that runs through you when he does it with only one hand. his black locks framing his beautiful face that his clean of blood and war and his eyes are filled with something. lust? love? something else perhaps?

his large frame bends down to kiss you, his hands groping your body as he removes your undergarments so you are now bare and fully naked before his eyes. you watch as he lowers his head and trails his lips down your body; licking, biting, and sucking different marks over your tattered and worn body.

"s-seonghwa," you moan out when he finds home between your legs and licks your pussy slowly and lazily. his eyes never once looking away from yours. he makes out with your pussy, kissing it and letting his tongue drag in and out of your pussy and licking up any juices that you leak. like he's a man dying from thirst and your pussy is his oasis.

seonghwa effortlessly brings you to your first orgasm before he's finally pulling away, but not before pressing one last kiss to your pussy. he once again towers over you, a layer of sweat covering your entire body but you happily wrap your arms around seonghwa to bring into another kiss. your taste yourself on his lips, but you honestly don't mind.

the both of you are breathless when you finally break away, "seonghwa, i love you."

"my y/n, darling, i love you more than you can imagine," he says spreading your legs easily and you can't help but clench at knowing is coming.

"seonghwa, seonghwa, please!" you beg, hands combing through his long locks and brushing them out of his face.

"you know... if we start now, i could have you full and breed by the time we get back to the cabin," he says as you feel the tip of his cockhead running between your folds. "i can just imagine it," he says, slowly pushing himself inside of you, "fuck– you would look so beautiful with my child."

you clench around him the more he pushes inside of you, back arching as his lips latch onto your breast and begin licking and sucking on your nipple.

this isn't the first time you and seonghwa have fucked, but for some reason this felt different. as he thrusted into you, your name leaving his lips and his name leaving yours, you felt full. you felt a warmth spread through you as his taller stature curled into yours and you wrap yourself around him to bring even closer – if it was even possible.

"fuck– seonghwa, i-i'm close!" you could feel your second orgasm coming and it only seemed to drive seonghwa to move his hips faster.

he gave you his smirk, his eyes glazed over with lust, "i'm going to fill you with full of my cum over and over again, darling, until your stuffed and pregnant with my child," he says and you clench at his words. seonghwa does only a few more harsh thrust before you are both cumming. you fill his cum slowly filling you up and and some of it even leaking out around his cock from how much it is.

seonghwa is breathless as he pulls out and quickly folds your legs up and stuffing any cum back into you. you can't help but feel a little flustered at how he that, eyes staring hard at your cum-filled pussy. you then begin to feel a wave of exhaustion rush over you and you are lazily pulling at seonghwa to have him lay next to you.

he lays down next to you with a small 'ugh' sound leaving his lips as he does. you cuddle up next to seonghwa, and you realize that before meeting him, you never would have done this. you rest your head on chest as seonghwa draws his fur cape over the two of you. you can't help but let out a laugh at how it doesn't even fully cover the two of you.

"i want a daughter first," seonghwa says quietly and more to himself than you. "i want to name him dal-nim. it was my mother's name."

"its beautiful."

"what would you name her?"

"idonia," you whisper back, reaching up to kiss his collarbone.

"loving one," is the last thing you hear before you close your eyes and let sleep consume you.

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network : @cultofdionysusnet @cromernet

[p-artsypants]

Flight of the Valkyrie (5) Preparations

Ao3

Hiccup wouldn’t admit that he was glad to get away from Astrid. She was really lovely, and pretty, and a great kisser! 

But his heart was going to explode if he spent more time with her. He needed to calm down. He needed to decompress and let his anxieties flutter away. 

Which is why he was heading back into the woods with a basket of fish. Toothless was just the friend he needed. 

The Nightfury was sunning himself on the sandy shore of the cove’s pond. 

“Hey bud!” Hiccup greeted, warmly. 

Toothless perked up, and patted over eagerly for scratches. 

“I know, you must be starving! For food and for attention!” 

But Toothless didn’t pry into the basket yet, opting to get love from Hiccup first. 

And Hiccup was eager to give it, frantically scratching over the scales on his side. “Who’s a good dragon? Who’s a powerhouse of destruction? Who can blow up a catapult with a single blast? It’s you!” 

“Wurrrrp!” 

“Yes! It’s you!” Hiccup chuckled. 

Toothless nuzzled into his stomach, and then went for the basket of fish. 

Hiccup took a massive sigh and felt his body relax. All the tension in his shoulders disappeared and he felt at peace. As Toothless settled in to eat brunch, Hiccup took up a seat at his side. “Wow, you’ll never believe what happened since I saw you yesterday.” 

“Werr?” 

“I met my bride, Astrid. Gods above, I’ve never met a girl so pretty and cool and smooth. I guess she has to be all those things, given that she’s built like a mountain.” 

“Werr?” 

“Yeah, she’s super tall and her arms are like—“ he held his hand out over his bicep to show how much bigger she was. “You know, there’s plenty of women in town that are big and muscly, which comes with the Viking lifestyle after all. I never thought I’d find it attractive but wow…she’s beautiful. This is the luckiest break I’ve ever had. I must have pleased one of the gods recently.” He glanced at Toothless. “Probably Thor or Hel, showing pity on me for taking care of you.” 

“Merp!” 

“Do you think that’s just a gimmicky thing? Like someone thought it sounded cool, so they slapped the label on you?” 

“Rrreeeerrrr.” 

“Yeah, I wondered about that. I definitely get the ‘death’ part, but the lightning? You’re no Skrill.” 

“Rrggggrrrr.” 

“I’m not saying you’re not impressive! No need to get all defensive.” 

“Merr.” 

“Anyway. I met Astrid. I think…she might actually like me! For now at least. It’s only been one day…” 

Toothless rumbled, the vibrations further helping Hiccup relax. 

“We kissed. Twice! How crazy is that? I never thought a girl would ever kiss me. I suppose in another lifetime when we weren’t getting married, she might not have.” 

Hiccup spent about an hour in the Cove with Toothless, though he could have stayed there all day. He told him everything that had happened in the last day. And retelling it helped him center himself and see the situation in a new light. 

Whether or not Astrid liked him for who he was, she liked that he wasn’t a dirty old man, and that he apparently didn’t mind that she was as buff as she was. Maybe he could continue to stay on her good side if he reiterated that he found her perfectly womanly. 

Eventually, he had to return to the village. People would be keeping an eye out for him because of the wedding, and Gobber had probably set some work up for him. 

Not to mention the idea he had to make dipping Astrid possible. The sooner he completed his daily duties, the sooner he could get to work on that! 

“Morning lad,” Gobber greeted. “You’re here early.” 

He yawned. “I was up at dawn. I showed Astrid to a place where she could practice her axe throwing in the woods.” 

“Well isn’t that precious? You’re really taking this wedding seriously! Didn’t think you had it in you.” 

“Gee, thanks.” 

“I don’t have any work for you today. I’m getting materials made for your house. Nails, hinges, that sort of thing.” 

“Oh, nice!” 

“So you have plenty of time to work on the morning gift.” 

Hiccup halted as he had taken three steps towards his workroom. “Pardon?” 

“The morning gift? The ‘thank you for your virginity’ gift?” 

“That’s a thing?!” 

“Odin above, Hiccup! How did you not know?!” 

“In case you missed it, I found out I was getting married a few days ago, and dad has been a little busy. I thought we already gave a gift?” 

Gobber shook his head in exasperation. “Your father gave the Bride Price, compensation to Chief Axel for taking Astrid away from their tribe. During the wedding, Chief Axel will give you the dowry, which is to help you and Astrid start your married life. Then in the morning after, you will give Astrid the morning gift, something she can keep in case something happens to you.” 

“Like what?” 

“Anything, really. Jewelry, art, weaponry—“ 

“A weapon! Of course! That’s perfect, Gobber.” 

“Glad to hear it, lad.” 

Hiccup’s mind began working, a series of methods and designs flashing in his mind’s eye. “Oh! Can you do me a favor?” 

Gobber didn’t respond with words, just looked at him with narrow eyes. Apparently, he didn’t want to commit to anything, but would hear him out. 

“While you’re working on materials, could you make four iron rings, about two inches in diameter? 3/8ths gauge?” 

“Aye. For what?” 

“Wedding related.” 

Gobber frowned further. “That’s too big for a finger…” his eyes widened slightly. “Hiccup!”

“What?” 

“Surely you don’t need to introduce aids so early! And out of iron!?” 

“What are you talking about? I’m making a harness to help me dip Astrid during the wedding.” He rubbed the back of his head as he blushed. “I just thought it would be less embarrassing than having her lean down.” 

“A harness? Oh!” Gobber burst a laugh. “That makes a lot more sense! You had me there for a minute lad!” 

“…what did you think I was talking about?” 

“Nothing, nothing. Ahhh you’ll figure it out later and laugh. But aye, I’ll make your rings. Speaking of, you’ll need a pair of wedding bands too. Do you know how to make those?” 

“Yes sir.” 

“Alright, I’ll leave you to it then.” 

Hiccup got to work in his back room, sketching out schematics and measuring leather. Only an hour later, he ran into his first hiccup (hehe). 

“I’ll be back, Gobber, I need to get some measurements from Astrid.” 

“Aye! Don’t forget to get her finger, too!” 

“Yeah yeah…” 

Hiccup made his way down to the bunker, greeting several passersby that seemed chipper to see him. 

No doubt, they were thankful to him that there was going to be a party, one of a Viking’s favorite things. 

At the bunker, he knocked on the women’s side and waited. Phlegma Hofferson answered, with a big smile. She greeted with a booming voice, “why Hiccup! Didn’t think we’d see you until later, what with all the wedding planning! Can I help you with something?” 

He blushed, her voice no doubt calling attention to everyone in a 200 foot radius. 

“Uh…is Astrid available for a minute? I’m um…making something for her, and I need to measure.” 

“Of course! Come on in!” She held open the door and swept him inside. 

It felt very strange to be on this side of the bunker. He’d been around a few times to drop off materials while they were building it, and he’d been shoved into the men’s side a few times during raids. But this was a first on this side. 

Astrid sat in a chair by the fire pit, looking miserable as her sisters sat on either side. Ingrid was stitching white fabric, no doubt her wedding dress, while Sigurd was weaving a bridal crown. 

“Look who popped in!” Phlegma called. 

Hiccup watched with joy as Astrid raised her gaze to him, and her face lit up with happiness. “Hey!” She greeted. 

“Hi!” He squeaked, still embarrassed. “Uh, I need some measurements for something.” He held out his tape. 

“Oh!” Said Sigurd, setting the crown aside. “I’ll help!” She snatched the tape from his hands and fluttered her hands at Astrid, wordlessly asking her to stand. “What are we measuring?” She wiggled her eyebrows. 

This would have been a lot easier one on one, he thought, but now he’d have to explain where he wanted her to wrap the tape. 

Not to be deterred, Hiccup opened his sketchbook to the schematics. “The uh…around her ribcage, like…right under her uh…” He gestured with his fingers around his sternum. 

Sigurd thankfully didn’t tease him, and dutifully measured. 

He asked for a couple more measurements that crossed over her chest and back, marking them all down in his notebook. 

“And lastly, I need to measure her ring finger.” 

“Are you making our rings yourself?” Astrid asked. 

He nodded. 

“Wow, I didn’t know you knew how to do that too.” 

“I often get stuck making things Gobber doesn’t want to. Rings are one of them.” He took out the strip of leather he brought just for the occasion and wrapped it around her finger himself. He marked the overlap, and then pocketed it. “I guess that’s all. Thank you.” 

“You’re very welcome.” She smiled at him, raising an eyebrow. She looked like she was waiting for something. 

“Oh!” And he puckered his lips and clenched his eyes shut. 

Astrid giggled. “You’re going to need some more practice.” But she kissed him anyway, just a small peck on the lips. 

The giggles and ‘aw’s from the other women were not lost on him. 

“I’ll see you at dinner?” 

“Sure, hope you have more fun than I’m having.” 

“Doubt it!” He chuckled, before absolutely booking it out of the room. The Hofferson women were really nice and sweet, but he simply could not handle their teasing. All these emotions he was feeling, especially towards Astrid, were very new and very strange. Wonderful, exciting, but weird and kind of terrifying. Being teased about it didn’t help. 

As he made his way back to the forge, he paid careful attention to the way his heart was pounding, the fluttering in his chest, the quickening of his pulse. These were the storybook signs of love, weren’t they? At least the beginning of it. 

That didn’t take long at all!

But while he kind of enjoyed the warm fuzzy feelings buzzing through his tiny body, he feared what this would look like on the other side, when Astrid’s open reception turned to dutiful tolerance, and she only let him come as close as she had to. When he’d return home to her at night, only to receive a cold shoulder and a sneer. 

How long would that take? What would be the tipping point? Because it was coming, sure as winter in a few months, so too was reality coming for Astrid. 

She was marrying Hiccup. The village hazard. 

He returned to work, now even more motivated to make everything perfect. He had to invest in the second chance. 

Hours passed in that back room. Hiccup measured and cut and stitched his idea. The part that he would wear fit perfectly, and now all he had to do was make sure Astrid’s fit as well. 

That could wait until morning. For now, it was onto the morning gift and the wedding bands. Odin he was in for a long night.

—

At dinner time, Hiccup forced himself to take a break. Astrid was expecting him, and a little food and fresh eyes would help his projects. 

He entered the Great Hall, hearing laughter and merriment from all around. There was more wedding decor up. New, fresh garland and flowers. It was all coming together nicely. 

Of course, this was the wedding of the Chief’s son, so it better be good! 

Hiccup could see Astrid sitting with her sisters in the back corner, the same table they sat at the night before. Astrid had her head in her hand as she listened to Ingrid and Sigurd talking. 

Anxious but eager, Hiccup made up a plate from the shared food in the center of the hall. Some bread, some fish, and a spoonful of mashed turnips and peas. Not his favorite, but he was kind of hungry for once. He also got a cup of ale to drink. He came back around the main table and started walking towards Astrid’s table. 

He didn’t even notice he walked past Snotlout and the other teens. 

A foot kicked out right in front of him, tripping him and catching his foot for a second so he couldn’t even catch himself. He sprawled across the floor, smearing peas and turnips and fish and ale all over himself and the floor. 

He hadn’t even gotten to his feet before the hall was filled with echoing laughter. 

Shame and humiliation filled him as he awkwardly picked his empty cup and plate off the floor, accompanied by the sadistic laughter of his peers.

“Look at the mess you’ve made!” His aunt Hulga Jorgenson yelled at him, getting in his face. “After all the work we did to clean this hall up for you! And you go and disrespect us like this!” 

Hiccup flinched, recoiling in fear. 

Hulga grabbed him by the wrist and yanked him to the side of the room while Snotlout outright cackled. 

She took his dishes away and shoved a rag into his hands. “You better clean that up! And no dinner! We’re not wasting food on the likes of you!” 

Heart in his throat, Hiccup went back to the mess and awkwardly swept up the smear of his meal into his hand, while Snotlout and the twins flicked more food at him. 

Then things went silent, and he figured his father had entered. 

Instead, a pair of studded boots appeared in front of him. “Hiccup?” Astrid asked, her voice full of pity. 

He peered up at her, and paled at the blush on her cheeks. 

She was embarrassed. He had embarrassed her! Of course he had! All of his actions reflected on her! Now she and her family had seen first hand how the rest of the village regarded him. 

He scooped up what he could and darted away and outside, not able to say a word or anything. 

He couldn’t bear to be there anymore, and was too afraid to listen to whatever it was she was going to say next. 

Instead, he ran back to his house, changed out of his dirty clothes, and escaped out the back door to slip away into the woods. At least for a few hours, Hiccup would hide with Toothless. At least for a few hours, he could be something else. At least for a few hours, Hiccup could be safe. 

When night fell, he’d return, and dutifully get back to work. By then, no one would remember, and no one would bother him. It was better that way. 

—

The next morning, bright eyed and bushy tailed (sarcasm) Hiccup rose to meet with his bride. 

“Hiccup!” Stoick called, stopping him in the square before he could move on. 

“Hi dad…” Hiccup hunched his shoulders. He didn’t think he’d done anything wrong recently (unless Stoick found out about Toothless somehow), but he had learned to never assume anything. Maybe he’d heard about his spill in the Great Hall and would lecture him about that? He usually didn’t bother with the small things. 

“Gobber tells me you didn’t know about the morning gift. I thought you knew?” 

“Uh, no, I uh…I didn’t. But Gobber told me about it, and I made it last night, along with the wedding bands. So it’s all good!” He swallowed. “It's back at the forge. I was going to meet with Astrid, but if you want to see it…” 

Stoick furrowed his eyebrows, seemingly contemplating. “I’ve got time. Show me.” 

Hiccup nodded and dutifully led his father back to the forge. It had been a long time since Stoick asked to see his work. Especially as he had gotten ‘too creative’ in the past few years. 

In fact, he’s pretty sure he could remember when his father last checked his work. It was the day that Gobber declared his training complete, and he could move onto the next step of his apprenticeship, which was more training, but mostly under the guise of being an assistant. 

Hiccup had to make a weapon from scratch, with no help from Gobber. He decided to make a sword for his dad. He’d worked all day on it, and then revealed it to his father and Gobber for judging. Gobber had proudly claimed his training complete, while Stoick scrutinized it carefully. 

“Sharp blade, well balanced, good weight…pleasant grip.” 

Hiccup gnawed his lip in anticipation. 

“Aye son, you’ve done well. Excellent work. Too small of course, but perfect besides!” 

While he passed, the comment about the sword being too small crushed him. It had been extremely hard to make, and he was sore from all the heavy lifting. The fact that it was still too small? Then would he ever make something his father would be proud of? 

That was two years ago, and Hiccup’s voice had changed in the meantime. It was hard to tell, but maybe he got a little bigger, a little hairier. 

Stoick greeted Gobber warmly, before the smith was off gushing about Hiccup’s newest creation. 

“You’ll be jealous, old man. Just wait until you see what the lad’s made!” 

Stoick smiled. “I’m eager!” He clapped his hands together and rubbed them. 

Terrified and nervous, Hiccup first brought out a satin cloth and handed it to Stoick. “S-so first, these are the wedding bands. M-mine is just electrum. For Astrid, I took the electrum and added iron to it…the iron makes it stronger, so it won’t get scratched when she um…punches something.” 

Stoick uncovered the little cloth and held the rings in his hand. He held each one up in the light, pinching them between his fingers. In comparison with his fingers, the rings look like they were made for children. 

“Excellent work,” he murmured, holding them up to the light and letting them glint. “What’s this design you’ve done here? A wee fish?” 

“Ah yeah…” Hiccup rubbed the back of his head. It had been on a whim, when the rings were still molten, he’d taken his finest pin and etched a fish into the top of both of them for flare. The lines were so small, it was almost invisible for anyone to notice, but his father always had a very keen eye. “It’s uh…it’s a Haddock?” 

Stoick’s eyes widened and then he burst out laughing. “Oh that’s cute, son. Real cute.” 

Cute. That damn word again! 

He supposed that seeing his dad laugh and smile was at least better than seeing a disappointed shake of the head. 

Stoick carefully wrapped the rings back up and handed them back. “These are lovely, son. Anyone else in the village would be jealous to have them.” 

That was more like it! 

Feeling at least a little more confident, Hiccup went to the back room and brought out the morning gift. It was a new axe, to replace the one that he broke.  

Sorry, the one that the ground broke. 

Honestly, it was his best work. Even better than the catapult he used to…make Toothless’ acquaintance.  

A mahogany handle, a grip made up of an iron sheathe wrapped in leather, and a wide, razor sharp blade that was etched with knotwork. It took Hiccup a great deal of effort to carry it out, as he had made it just slightly bigger than the one that was broken (which Astrid had conveniently left at the forge for repairs). There was also another reason it was heavier. 

“Aye, now that’s an axe!” Stoick cheered boisterously. He easily took the weapon from Hiccup’s grasp. “Well balanced, pleasant grip…sturdy blade. Pretty too! She’ll be very pleased with this—oh!” He drew it closer. “Oh lad, there’s a split down the handle…and the blade! Now that’s just going to break after a few Nadder necks!” 

Hiccup knew exactly what he was talking about. Right down the center of the weapon was a thin seam, but it was intentional. 

“Normally, yes, it would break.” He held his hands out, asking for the weapon back. “But…you know me. Can’t leave well enough alone…” 

Stoick frowned, but handed the weapon back over. 

Hiccup staggered slightly as it was dropped in his arms, but he recovered enough to transfer the weight to one arm as he twisted the grip a few times. He flipped the axe over, and it came apart, one half swiveling down and clicking once fully extended. He twisted the grip again and locked it all into place. Now, the weapon had transformed into a two headed pole axe. “Ta-da?”

Hiccup glanced up to gauge his father’s reaction, no doubt about to be greeted with exasperation. ‘Why mess with tradition?’ ‘Can’t you leave well enough alone?’ 

But instead, Stoick’s jaw had dropped as he stared wide-eyed. 

“Bad?....G-good?” 

Stoick silently took the pole axe from him, while Gobber let out a whistle. He headed outside, and Hiccup followed quickly, terrified his father was about to throw it over the cliffs. 

But instead, Stoick was testing it, spinning it around his arms and shoulders; he even figured out how to twist the grip in the middle of a swing. The axe folded as he tossed it from one hand to the other, and clicked back into being a war axe. 

Stoick twisted the grip to lock it again and looked it over, appreciatively. “That’ll do.” 

“So…good?” Hiccup squeaked. 

Stoick ruffled his hair. “Extremely good, son. I expect one for myself for Snoggletog.” 

Hiccup stood up straighter, a warmth growing in his chest. Was that pride?

“Oh boy,” Gobber lamented. “Once Stoick gets a new toy, everyone else is going to want one too. You got blueprints, boy?” 

“Yes! Yes of course Gobber!” 

“Now, I’ve kept you from your bride long enough. Why don’t you scoot?” Stoick patted his shoulder. 

“Right! Well I—” he trailed off, suddenly remembering what he had wanted to talk to his dad about the next time he saw him. Even in front of Gobber, he needed guidance. “Um…first I wanted to…can I ask–?” He fiddled his fingers. “How do I—?” 

Nope. He couldn’t do it. Too embarrassing. Too embarrassing to admit he lied before, and he still didn’t know at 16. 

“Nevermind, it’s not important. I’ll see you later, dad. Thanks!” 

—

Hiccup missed walking to the training area with Astrid. She didn’t wait for him, opting to head there by herself. 

When he arrived, she was perched on the rock, sharpening an axe. A different axe. A weirdly familiar axe. “Morning,” she greeted, not looking up. 

“Good morning!” He chirped. “Sorry, I was on my way to find you, and then dad wanted to see what I had made in the forge–”

“You don’t need to apologize. We never said where we were meeting.” 

“O-oh, right. I just thought it was the gentlemanly thing to do…”

“Where did you go last night?” 

“Huh?”

“After that Snotface kid tripped you, where did you go? You weren’t at your home or the forge. I looked for you.” 

His face warmed considerably. “Y-you looked for me? Why?” 

She frowned further. “You didn’t get any dinner. I saved you some.” 

“O-oh Astrid…” he scuffed his boot on the grass. “You didn’t–you don’t–I don’t expect you to—” 

“It was the nice thing to do, the right thing to do.” She jutted out her jaw. “I might not be able to cook, but I should still feed you.” 

He rubbed the back of his head. “Um…s-sorry.” He really didn’t know what else to say. 

“So where did you go?”

“I have a few dozen places around the island I go to get away,” he said vaguely. “I just…I knew I embarrassed you in front of your family and now they all know what a bozo I am and—” 

“Stop.” She stood, leaving the axe behind. “Sigurd and Ingrid don’t think you’re a bozo. You didn’t embarrass me. Someone tripped you and you were humiliated. We all wanted to make sure you were okay.” 

He was okay now. He hadn’t been, but then he play-wrestled with Toothless for a while and that made everything better. Talking about the incident made it all hurt again, and he didn’t want that. Didn’t want her to see that vulnerable side that was like a scab over a gangrenous wound. A little picking, and he’d fall apart. 

“Where’d you get that axe?” He asked, desperate to change the subject. 

She rolled her eyes at the obvious topic change, but indulged him. “Hmm? Oh that? I borrowed it from someone.”

“Who?” 

“Well, you showed me around the village, and I remembered where the ‘Lout family lived.” 

“Spitelout and Snotlout?” 

“Yep. The boy that tripped you.” 

Now all the pieces fit together and his eyes blew wide. “And he let you borrow their family’s ceremonial axe!?”

“It took a little persuading, but yes.” 

“H-how?” 

She punched her hand.

Hiccup’s jaw dropped. 

“They’re letting me borrow it until I get a new one made, or the old one repaired. I always take good care of my weapons, so no worries.” 

“I have some worries.” 

She ruffled his hair. “I know, Anxious Andy.” 

“Anx–!?” 

Then Astrid draped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him to her side, hugging him gently. “Hey. I get it. I respect that you want to be able to escape and have time to yourself. But your dad made this contract so I would protect you. Just…let me know where I can find you in an emergency and I’ll leave you alone.” 

That was sweet, and really wonderful to hear, but it wasn’t the issue. Because if he told her where Toothless was and she did seek him out for some reason…

“Thanks Astrid,” he breathed, before closing the distance and fully hugging her. 

He probably should have been embarrassed that his face got smooshed against her boobs in the process, but it's not like he did it on purpose. 

Wow she was soft!

Astrid squeezed him a bit and then pulled back. “So, did you figure out how to dip me?” 

“Ehhhh I think so? I hope so…” he trailed off as he went to the bag he brought with him. From inside, he pulled out two harnesses. “Here, on Friggsday, this will go under your clothes.” It was a strap that went around her bust, and then two straps that crossed over her chest and back. At the center of each cross was a ring. 

Astrid awkwardly put it on, and Hiccup watched calculatingly to make sure it fit like intended. Thankfully, it looked like it did. “Like this?”

“Perfect!” He unraveled his harness, which was a lot more complicated and had a section that went over his legs and arms. As he put it on, he explained. “So, I have a hook by my hand that will attach to the ring on your back. In theory, the harness will redistribute your weight across my back and legs instead of my weak little stick arms. I should be able to hold you up fine.” 

“Oh! That makes sense! You should always lift with your legs.” 

“That’s the idea at least.” 

“Well, I’m ready and willing to try.” 

“Great! Let me just—” he adjusted and fiddled with the straps, tightening the last two on his wrists. “Okay. So…” 

Astrid walked towards him, hands folded in front of her as she took a little marching step, like she was walking down the aisle. 

The sight made the sleeping butterflies in his tummy wake up. 

Then she was in front of him, holding his hands like they would at the altar. 

“You may now kiss the bride,” Astrid said, her voice deep with a mock accent. 

Hiccup started giggling then, unexpecting that from her. “W-what was that?!” 

“Your dad’s going to perform the ceremony, right?” 

“That was supposed to be my dad?!” 

“Oh, and how would you do his voice?” 

Hiccup cleared his throat, and performed his greatest role as Stoick the Vast, “Vikings, Dragons, Yaks, and Chickens—” 

Astrid snorted. 

“We are gathered here today to wed my wee talking fishbone of a son and the finest flaxen, mountainous maiden in the archipelago!” 

Encouraged by her wide, pretty smile, he continued. “Though wars may be started because I have removed the only being on this earth with bigger breasts than myself—” 

“Hiccup!” 

“And many a man would be jealous that my dragon-toothpick son gets to sleep beside Freya herself—”

She clicked her tongue. 

“It is a burden I must bear, for the good of my tribe. And if any you lot have a problem with it, you can tell it to the underside of my boot!” 

That made Astrid double over with laughter, clutching her stomach as she damn near screamed. Her laughter was so lovely. It made him smile too.

Once she caught her breath, she wiped a tear from her eye. “Whoo I was not expecting that.” 

“I’m full of surprises.” 

“Apparently!” She chuckled. “Okay okay, you do it then.” 

“What? Oh!” He cleared his throat. “You may kiss the bride!” 

Astrid waited a beat and smiled harder. “Yeah, and then kiss me.” 

“Right! Duh! Hahah!” He laughed a bit hysterically. 

“Breathe, Hiccup, it’s okay.” She pet his hair back. “It’s just me.” 

“Yeah well, you’re a big deal.” 

“If you’re uncomfortable kissing me in private, it’s going to be ten times worse in front of everyone.” 

“Don’t remind me!” 

“Okay, how about we work on the dipping part, and then we add the kiss in after.” 

He nodded. 

She draped her arms around his shoulders, standing almost chest to face chest with him. Hiccup raised his hands and reached up to catch the hook on the ring, which took a second. 

“Might have to practice this part too.” 

“Agreed.” 

Once hooked, Hiccup took hold of her, and pivoted on his foot to dip her. Astrid slid her leg back to stay in place. 

It worked! By the gods, it worked! Hiccup could feel the harness tugging across his back and legs, but his arms weren’t straining. 

“Look at you!” Astrid beamed. “My big, strong husband!” 

He pouted. “Are you patronizing me?” 

She giggled, “sorry, that sounded like I was making fun of you…truth is, it's very fun to have a husband who figured out how to dip me. Most boys our age couldn’t.” 

“Could Thuggory?” Well that was a dumb thing to say! Sure! Bring up her old flame! Make her compare you to the guy she actually liked! 

“Mmm, maybe,” she answered honestly. “He was kind of built like Snotmouth—“ 

“Snotlout.” 

“—but taller. Not as tall as me though. I think if I made it a challenge he’d try, but again, I don’t know if he could.” She rolled her eyes. “He wouldn’t have done it well, he’s not particularly romantic.” 

It occurred to Hiccup that he was still holding her, still had her reclined in his arms. While the harness helped a lot, he was starting to feel it. “Let’s try again?” 

“Until it’s smooth.” 

He righted her and unhooked her, that action a little clumsy as well. Then he started again.

Over and over, he hooked, dipped, straightened, and unhooked, looking for the sweet spots to make all the actions seamless. 

Eventually, he needed a break. He stretched his arms. “I think we’re close! Won’t everyone be surprised?” 

“Only if you nail the kiss too.” 

“I’ll do a great job with the kiss! I’ll kiss the Valhalla outta you!” He proclaimed with a blush. 

“Yeah? You’re not just going to clench up like a fish?” She mimicked the face he made the day before when he came to the bunker. 

“No! That was a one time fluke!” 

“Good, because I’m expecting something like this.” She swung her leg around, hooking his knee and pulling him off balance. Then she dipped him, making sure to place her hands in the same places he had. 

Hiccup was embarrassed for a moment, surprised and unprepared, but she gave him this smug smile and he decided he didn’t mind. Not at all, actually. 

Astrid leaned in and kissed him, making sure to initiate before he could pucker up tight. She caught his bottom lip between hers and nipped at him. 

He whimpered, overwhelmed by the sensations he felt. This was the longest kiss they’d had, and he wondered if it would ever end. 

Not that he wanted it to!

She pulled away briefly to glare at him. “You aren’t kissing me back.” 

“S-sorry…starstruck.” 

She laughed. Not at him, probably, but a warm, delighted giggle. “Because of me?” 

“Yuh,” he nodded. 

She stood him up, carefully straightening his clothes. “Now it’s your turn. Dip me again, and kiss me. Kiss me like…like you thought I was dead but we’ve reunited somehow.” 

He sputtered. “That’s a bit intense, don’t you think?”

“Intense! That’s the word I was looking for. Don’t be shy!” 

“Ha…don’t be shy. Right…” He adjusted his stance, said the line, and methodically hooked her into the harness and dipped her. He clenched his eyes shut, leaned in…

And awkwardly smashed their mouths together. He recovered it a bit at the end, but when he pulled back and stood her up, he couldn’t maintain eye contact. 

“I think there’s something wrong with me.” He mumbled. 

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Hiccup.” She took his hand. “You just have no experience, and I’m still pretty much a stranger to you.” 

“Hopefully not for long,” he looked up to her. “I like you. I don’t think I’ll mind getting to know you.” 

“The feeling is very mutual.” 

—

Hiccup returned to the village with Astrid, hand in hand. He was exhausted, having stayed up all night working on the items for the wedding. Hopefully, his father wasn’t home and he could just take a nice long nap. 

He bid Astrid adieu and made his way up the hill towards his house. 

Before he could enter, the back of his vest was snagged and yanked, throwing him off balance. 

He fell flat on his back in the grass, and looked up in horror at a very pissed off Snotlout, who was sporting a beautiful black eye. 

He stepped on his chest and leaned down to glare at him. “Get that bitch of yours under control.” 

Then he got off of Hiccup’s chest and strolled off, thankfully not causing any more pain. 

Hiccup laid there for a moment, rightfully winded. But almost giddy? Had Astrid given him that black eye? Because of what happened yesterday? 

She was supposed to protect him, yes, but he didn’t know it extended to family, or this soon! 

What a great perk! 

Eventually, Hiccup picked himself up and dusted himself off. His bed was calling, after all. But the thought tickled in the back of his head. Snotlout’s black eye, Astrid’s borrowed axe…

Mostly out of curiosity, and apparently no self-preservation, Hiccup went down to the Jorgenson family home. If there was a way to keep this from coming back to bite him in the butt, he might as well try. But of course, there was the chance he made it all worse. He hemmed and hawed all the way there, and only came to a resolute decision once he stood in front of the door. 

He knocked, and held his breath. 

Spitelout answered the door, looking all crusty and bastardly. He scowled. 

“What you want, boy-o?” 

Hiccup wrung his hands, ticking Spitelout off more, apparently. 

“J-just wanted to pop over and say uh…thank you for loaning my betrothed that axe. She’s very eager to keep up with her training.” 

Then he tensed, waiting to see if he had opened a barrel of worms. 

To his utter shock and awe, Spitelout wrapped an arm around his shoulders and squeezed. “Oh don’t mention it, lad! Quite the fierce warrior she is! And a negotiator! We’re lucky to have her! The bonnie lass came over this morning and knocked and told me what me boy did to you. Then she explained her axe broke and she’d forget all of it if I loaned her an axe and she was allowed a swing at me boy!” 

“And you just agreed?” 

“Naturally! Hiccup lad, she threw me across the room! You think I’m going to argue with that? No! So I gave her the bridal axe, fitting as it is!” 

Hiccup was absolutely dumbfounded. The natural laws of Vikinghood made sense only sometimes. Mainly, if you pick a fight with someone and it’s a draw or you lose, you get in trouble. But if you win, you get respect. 

Such as it was, Hiccup picked no fights. 

“Well uh, glad that worked out then. Thanks again!” 

Spitelout squeezed him once more and then released him. “No trouble at all! Hey, Astrid might finally make you worth something!” He cackled. “Tell your old man there better be some of that spiced wine at the ceremony, or I’m not coming.” 

“Yeah, I’ll uh…I’ll pass that along. 

Hiccup left then, without a farewell. He stewed on Spitelout’s words, ruminating on them. 

Astrid might finally make you worth something.

What did he mean by that? That Astrid might have the ability to train with him and make him a proper Viking? Or that her presence on the island, because of him, would give him value? 

Training with Astrid could be lucrative. She had much more patience than the rest of the tribe. 

But what if he never gained any more height? Or muscles? Astrid could train him all she wanted, but as long as he stayed a Hiccup, it wouldn’t do much. 

He finished the trek to his house, and was surprised to see his dad home. He was at the table, looking over some papers. 

He glanced up when the door opened. “Oh, morning son.” 

“I didn’t think you’d be home still…” 

“Didn’t think so either, but a courier came with some wedding RSVPs. I have to figure out if we have enough room in the bunkers.” 

“Anyone interesting coming?” Hiccup shuffled forward. He wasn’t sure which was better, strangers to him, or people his dad wanted to impress. 

“Hamish and his three sons from Blood Briar, a representative of the Gauls who’s apparently married into the Hofferson clan.” 

“Astrid’s older sister.” 

“Ah. That makes sense then. We’re not allied with the Gaul’s anymore, not after…well, relationships sour when they can’t be reciprocated.” 

“…because of the dragons?” Hiccup squeaked. 

“Aye. We’re always in need of aid, and rarely can give any back. But, if a Gaul is coming—more over, in the family…” 

Hiccup sighed. Stoick was looking at the positives of the marriage again, not that he could blame him. But the political advantages seemed to keep rolling in! 

Again, Hiccup was divided. On one hand, knowing that the village would get help from the outside because of him was great. But on the other hand…he wished it was because of his actions. He wished he could have done something to help instead of just being born as the son of a chief. 

“Oh!” Stoick called as Hiccup started to slink up the stairs. “Oswald’s coming.” 

Hiccup paused, a cold chill going down his back. “Oswald the Agreeable? Of the Berserkers?” 

“That’s the one!” 

“Just Oswald?” 

“Let’s see…” he dug through the papers. “‘Dear Stoick the Vast, it is with great joy to hear about the upcoming union of your son Hiccup and Astrid Hofferson of the Shivering Shores. I and my son, Dagur, will be there with bells on our toes. Dagur is especially excited and expresses a great pride for ‘his little buddy’. We will see you soon.’ So Oswald and Dagur, it seems.” 

“Oh gods. Dad, Dagur is not my friend and if anything goes wrong with the ceremony, I want you to know I’m doing everything in my power to make sure it’s perfect but Snotlout could try to ruin it, and I have a feeling Dagur definitely will try—!” 

As he was panicking, Stoick stood and came over to him, resting two heavy hands on his shoulders. The contact made Hiccup clam up tight. 

“We all have people in our lives that want to see us fail. I know Snotlout’s behavior, and I can guess Dagur’s. Don’t do anything drastic. Don’t try to make any big statements. Just follow the script, say I Do and kiss your bride. Everything else that happens is inconsequential.” 

“Promise?” 

Stoick frowned. “Well…it won’t be your fault, so don’t worry.” 

“I think you underestimate my ability to worry about everything.” 

Stoick rubbed his head. “Your mother was a worrywort too. It might be uncomfortable, but her thoughtfulness kept me from forgetting a great deal of things. It can be a good quality if you know how to harness it.” 

Hiccup smiled slightly, straightening his hair. That was the first time in a long time that his father had a conversation about a good quality instead of lecturing him about the things out of his control. 

“Thanks dad.” He yawned. “Sorry, I stayed up late working on Astrid’s gifts. I was hoping to get a nap in.” 

“That’s fine, lad. You did a fine job with those gifts. Tomorrow night is the rehearsal, and during the day, you’ll be expected to greet our guests. Until then…just stay out of trouble?” 

“Yes sir.” 

“Good talk.” 

Hiccup hmphed, escaping up the stairs. 

He made a startling discovery as he entered his room. The little twin-sized bed he’d slept in his entire life was gone. Instead, a large king size bed was in its place. It took up most of the space in the room. 

“Hey uh, dad? Why—where—bed?” 

“I knew I was forgetting something!” He called. The stairs creaked as Stoick came to stand behind him. “It looks like there was a delay in building your new house. So you and Astrid will stay here for the first week of your marriage.” 

“Oh! I suppose that works…what about you? Are you going to be downstairs still?” 

He laughed. “You couldn’t pay me to sleep in the same house as newlyweds! No lad, Gobber and I will be camping in the woods, like old times.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Sure I’m sure! I was just going to stay at Gobber’s house, then we got talking about it and decided to make it into a camping trip. I’ll be on vacation, you’ll be on your honeymoon, Spitelout will keep the village going. As long as there’s no dragon raids,” he knocked on the wall. “We’ll be fine.” 

“If you say so…” Hiccup swallowed thickly as he stared at the big bed in front of him. The big bed he’d share with Astrid. 

The big bed he was supposed to—

“Hey dad?” Hiccup squeaked. But it was too late. During his daydreaming, Stoick had already slipped away and back to work outside. 

Hiccup sighed. Maybe he should just focus on the wedding, and then at the consummation he could just…faint. 

Yeah. That would work.

[wholoveseggs]

Crimson Frost {Part Three}

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Part Three

Things heat up between you and Elijah as you prepare to rescue Gerda and Henrik. In the pursuit of your sister things get bloody and an unexpected warrior comes to your aid.

♡♡ I'm sorry that this one is taking so long, there will be a part four! {and possibly five}

6k words - Warnings: Viking AU where the Mikaelsons are completely human (no magic, werewolves, vampires... etc) lots violence in this part. SMUT!, virgin!reader, hot springs, norse runes... sword fights.

{Part One} {Part Two} {Part Four} {Part Five}

It was a four day journey to the coast, a market was there that sold all kinds of things, including people. Elijah believed that was where the Blackthornes were taking Henrik and Gerda.

The snow was still high, but it had thawed enough for you to travel on horseback, the wind whipping at your face. You leaned into Elijah, his body warm and solid against yours, the scent of him filling your senses.

You were glad he was there with you, his strength and determination a comfort, especially after losing your home and family. You had fallen for him, the attraction between you growing with every day. You knew it was wrong, but you couldn't deny what you felt, the need for him, the desire.

"Are you alright?" He asked, his voice low and husky, his breath warm against your cheek.

"Aye," you said, your voice barely above a whisper, your heart fluttering at his closeness.

"We will find them, sweet Gerda and Henrik," he promised, his arms were around your waist, holding the reins, guiding the horse, "we will not let the Blackthornes keep them,"

You nodded, swallowing hard, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. The thought of them being sold into slavery, or worse, made your stomach twist.

You stopped to camp for the night, the sun dipping below the horizon, the stars twinkling in the sky. The wind howled around you, the cold biting at your exposed skin.

Elijah started a fire, the flames casting a warm glow around you, the warmth chasing away the chill. The two of you had grown very comfortable around each other, falling into a routine, each taking on the various tasks of setting up camp, cooking food, and caring for the horse.

You took a walk to go fetch some water from the nearby river, the moonlight illuminating your path. You came across a small hot spring, the steam rising into the air, the heat and humidity inviting.

You were tired and sore from the long day of riding and the idea of relaxing in the hot water was too tempting.

You took off your clothes and slowly stepped into the water, the heat enveloping you, the water soothing your muscles. You let out a long sigh of relief, closing your eyes and enjoying the warmth.

You heard the sound of twigs snapping behind you and turned, your eyes flying open.

"Elijah," you gasped, your face flushing, dipping lower into the water to hide your naked body.

"I was worried when you didn't return, I see why," he smiled, his eyes roaming over you, his gaze making your heart race.

"I haven't felt this good in weeks," you sighed, "the heat, it's relaxing,"

Elijah began to pull off his clothes, his gaze locked on yours, his body rippling with muscle.

You felt a wave of desire rush through you, your pulse quickening, a flush spreading across your cheeks. You turned away, giving him privacy, the thought of him naked making your stomach flip.

You heard him enter the water, the sounds of him splashing, his breathing shallow. You risked a glance back, his broad back was to you, the water coming up to his waist.

"Gods," he muttered, "this is wonderful,"

You let out a breathy laugh, "Aye, it is,"

The two of you faced away from each other, the silence heavy with tension, the heat of the water seeping into your skin.

"What will you do? After we rescue Gerda and Henrik," you asked, gently moving your hands through the water, creating small waves.

"I do not know," Elijah replied, his voice low and soft, "perhaps find my own land, start a family,"

"That sounds nice," you murmured, a hint of sadness in your voice. You wouldn't be going with him, your place was with Niklaus. Elijah would be a part of your past, a fond memory. You couldn't imagine not being near him, not being with him, the thought made your chest ache. "I wish you could stay with us," you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

"As do I," Elijah said, his voice thick with emotion, "but we both have our duties,"

"Aye," you said, biting your lip, tears welling in your eyes.

You glanced over at him, his back was still to you, you noticed a particularly large scar stretched across his back, the pink skin raised and uneven.

You moved closer to him, the water making soft ripples as you did, your hand reaching out to trace the scar, "what happened here?" You whispered, your fingers ghosting over the sensitive skin.

He twitched under your touch, his muscles flexing, his breathing labored. "My father, he beat me, whipped me," he said, his voice a whisper, the pain evident. "For trying to protect Niklaus,"

"I heard such rumors about your father, that he was cruel," you whispered, your heart breaking for them, and the pain they endured.

"Aye, he was," Elijah sighed, "he was not a good man, but he was still my father, and I loved him,"

You pulled your hand away, his words echoing in your mind, your chest aching for him. He turned to face you, his gaze meeting yours, his expression soft, his eyes searching.

You swallowed hard, the air heavy between you, the tension crackling. He was so close to you, his naked body inches from yours. Your breasts rose and fell with each breath, your nipples hardening at the thought of him touching you, his hands exploring your body.

He reached out and brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers trailing down your cheek. You wanted to pull him closer, to feel his lips against yours, to give in to the desire burning within you.

"Elijah," you whispered, your heart racing, a flush creeping across your skin.

"Aye," he breathed, his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb tracing your bottom lip.

"I..." You swallowed hard, your body aching for him, "I should not have..."

"Do you love him? My brother?" Elijah whispered, his eyes burning into yours.

You hesitated, the truth of it all hitting you. You did not love Niklaus, not in the way you should, not the way a bride should love her groom. Your heart belonged to Elijah, even though it was wrong, even though the gods would not approve.

"I..." You started, your voice trembling, your emotions threatening to overwhelm you, "I do not,"

He kissed you, his lips soft and warm, the passion and heat between you consuming you. You lost yourself in the feeling of his body, the taste of his lips, the touch of his hands. The two of you gave in to the desire, the lust, the need for each other.

He guided you backwards towards the rocks, your back pressing against the smooth stone, the cold sending a shiver through you. 

"We should not be doing this," you moaned, the feeling of his teeth gently nipping at your skin sending waves of pleasure through you, "the gods, they will punish us,"

"Then let them punish," he murmured, his voice like a caress, "if it means I can spend one more moment with you, I will gladly accept their wrath,"

He lifted you, the water lapping around your thighs, his hands gripping your ass. The heat from his body contrasting with the cold air, the feeling of his manhood pressed against you made you feel glorious.

"I've never been with a man," you whispered, trying to conceal the nervousness in your voice, your body trembling with need, the excitement and desire almost overwhelming. "Have you been with a woman? Did you...?"

"Once," he whispered, his voice husky, "but it was not love, not what I feel for you,"

Your heart raced, the feel of his strong body, the strength of him, made you feel alive in a way you had never known.

He kissed you, his lips brushing against yours, soft and gentle. You leaned into him, your fingers tangling in his dark hair. His touch was so tender, so loving, as if you were the most precious thing in the world.

His eyes met yours, his fingers dipped below the waterline, and pushed slowly between your legs, causing you to gasp and jerk back, the sensation new, overwhelming.

He smiled, the lines around his eyes crinkling, the look of desire that filled them making your stomach flutter.

"Do you feel that?" He whispered, his fingers teasing the place between your legs, his touch eliciting a reaction you'd never imagined possible. 

"That is a taste of Óðr, the god of divine madness," he smiled and when he began moving the small nub between your legs with a calloused thumb, you moaned aloud.

He lowered his head to yours, his lips capturing yours, his tongue teasing, tasting. You surrendered to him, to the feelings coursing through you, the passion and desire burning inside you. You'd never felt like this before, the sensation of his touch, his kiss, was almost too much, your breath coming in small gasps, you were on the verge of something, something you'd never felt before.

The combination of the heat of the water, the warmth of his breath on your cheek, and the insistence of his fingers were doing something to your body. Your muscles began contracting, pushing towards something new, something blissful.

Then you felt it, ᛞᛁᚡᛁᚾᛖ ᛗᚨᛞᚾᛖᛋᛋ (divine madness) a feeling of rapture, an explosion, a storm. Your body alight with pleasure and a yearning for more of whatever he would give you.

He pressed his lips to yours, like he could taste your pleasure, and you knew you had been given a precious gift. Your hands clutched at his chest, your eyes locked on his, your heart fluttering, no longer caring that the gods might see you and punish you both. You parted your lips and with a soft moan he slid his tongue into your mouth and kissed you like he was drowning and you were air, his grip tight on your body.

You wanted more, the madness taking hold of you, your hand slipping beneath the water to caress his manhood, a thrill washing through you as he twitched and groaned.

You knew enough about what men and women did to know he could place himself between your legs, thrust forward and be inside you. You had heard some of the wives claim it hurt, while others hinted at immense pleasure. But you didn't care. In that moment, your mind was a fog of desire, your body singing for him.

He pressed himself against you, searching your eyes for permission, his gaze heavy with want. You locked eyes with him, giving him a small nod and he eased himself into you. There was no pain, only a dull stretch of pleasure and fullness. His arms wrapped tightly around you, his hips moving slowly, thrusting into you. You dug your fingers into his hair, moaning as he filled you, your bodies coming together in a dance of passion and lust.

"ástin mín (my love)" he whispered, his voice thick with desire, his breath hot on your cheek. You clung to him, lost in the moment, his body moving in sync with yours, the feeling of him buried deep inside you was more than you could have imagined.

The water churned around you, your bodies moving together, your breath coming in shallow gasps. The pleasure was building, a coil of ecstasy twisting tighter inside you. His hands gripped your waist, his gaze locked on yours, the need and desire between you binding you together, the need for release overwhelming.

And then it hit, waves of pleasure crashing through you, his body shuddering as he found his release, the two of you clinging to each other, the world around you fading away.

"I love you," he whispered, his voice low and hoarse, his eyes shining with emotion, his hand cupping your cheek. "And I do not care what the gods have in store for us,"

"Elijah," you breathed, a warmth filling you, your heart fluttering, "I love you too,"

He pressed his forehead to yours, his hand cupping your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair. You closed your eyes, savoring the moment, the feeling of his body pressed against yours, the scent of him, the sound of his voice.

"í þessu lífi og því næsta (in this life and the next)" he whispered, his gaze locking on yours, the look of adoration in his eyes making your heart race.

You smiled up at him, lost in the love you shared, "í þessu lífi og því næsta,"

Fear gripped your heart as you felt the weight of a raider on top of you. His face contorted into a terrifying grimace as he looked down at you. The stench of his foul breath washed over you, making you feel sick. He lifted his arm, intending to bring his axe down on you.

You screamed and woke up in your tent, Elijah watching you with concern. He reached out and took your hand, rubbing circles onto your palm in an attempt to soothe you.

"Come here, sweetheart," he whispered.

You moved closer into his waiting arms, settling in between his legs, resting your back against his chest, letting your head rest against his shoulder.

"You are trembling," he said, nuzzling your hair with his nose and continuing to rub small circles into your palms. "Another bad dream?"

"Aye," you muttered.

"Tell me what you saw."

"The raid, it haunts me," you said, swallowing hard, "the screams, the blood, the bodies,"

He hummed softly, kissing along your shoulder, "It haunts me as well,"

You closed your eyes, letting his gentle kisses wash over you, chasing away the darkness. His warmth and strength were a comfort, making you feel safe in his arms. You let out a sigh, sinking into him, the feel of his skin against yours a reminder that he was there, protecting you, loving you.

"You need to rest, tomorrow will be a long day," he whispered, his breath warm against your ear, his hand gently stroking your arm, his words soft and soothing.

You nodded, the memory of your dream still fresh in your mind, the images leaving an ache in your chest.

His hands began to roam, his touch sending sparks of pleasure through you. You moaned softly as his fingers grazed your skin, leaving trails of heat in their wake.

Since your first time together in the hot spring, the two of you had not been able to get enough of each other. Every night you would succumb to the desire between you. With each touch, each kiss, your feelings for each other grew deeper, the bond between you strengthening.

He would use his mouth, his hands and his body to give you pleasure, to bring you to the edge of bliss, to teach you every sinful thing you could do. He taught you how to please him, and in return you learned that you held power over him. To watch his eyes darken with lust, his face a mask of pleasure as you rode him, it made you feel like a Valkyrie.

"I cannot sleep," you whispered, the memory of your nightmare fading, the ache inside you building, your skin tingling.

He chuckled, laying back, pulling you down with him, holding you close. Bringing the furs over you, cocooning you both.

"After we rescue Henrik and Gerda, I will make love to you in a bed," he whispered, kissing along your neck, "not the ground or in a spring,"

"Or against a tree... or the side of a hill..." you smirked, a hint of playfulness in your voice, "I can keep going," you teased, turning to face him, your hand caressing his cheek, his stubble scratching at your skin.

"Aye, or that," he laughed, his hand cupping your rear, his touch sending a jolt of desire through you.

"What will happen to us?" You whispered, your expression clouding, "what will we do?"

"We will find a home, a land where we can build a life together," he murmured, his thumb tracing along your bottom lip, "where we can be together," he paused, a flicker of doubt crossing his features, "that is if you want to come with me," he whispered, the hesitation and vulnerability evident in his voice. He searched your eyes, his gaze intense, his heart open and exposed.

"I want nothing more," you replied, your voice a whisper, the words tumbling out, your chest aching, "I could not imagine my life without you," you added, leaning into his touch, his skin warm against yours. "But... What of Niklaus?" 

"He.... he will adjust," Elijah sighed, "it will not be easy, but he will understand," he said, his eyes searching yours, his expression a mixture of worry and affection. "I hope," he added, his brow furrowing.

He sat up and stretched, the sun just beginning to rise, beams of light filtering in through the opening of the tent. You watched him, the muscles in his back flexing, the curve of his rear, the broadness of his shoulders. You let your eyes wander over his body, committing every detail to memory.

"Since sleep is evading me, I shall go and hunt," he smiled, pulling his tunic over his head, his hair messy and wild, "there are still a few hours before we must leave, and I want to ensure we have plenty of food,"

You smiled up at him, nodding, "I will gather the supplies and get the horses ready," you said, sitting up and reaching for your clothes.

He leaned down and kissed you, the familiarity of his lips against yours sending a wave of heat through you. His hand cupped your cheek, his eyes filled with adoration and desire. He lingered, his thumb stroking your cheek, his eyes filled with longing and need. You pulled away, your heart racing, a flutter of excitement blooming in your stomach.

He turned and walked out of the tent, leaving you alone, your mind swimming with thoughts of him. You fastened your hair into a long braid, your thoughts consumed by the upcoming battle, the plan laid out, the odds stacked against you. A pang of fear gripped your heart, the weight of responsibility and duty on your shoulders, the fate of your sister in the balance. You shook your head, forcing the doubts away, steeling yourself for the task ahead.

Elijah returned with two rabbits, the scent of blood making your stomach twist, the thought of the coming battle, the risk of losing Elijah or Gerda making you nauseous. You usually didn't mind the sight of blood or the scent, but today it made you feel ill. You swallowed the feeling and quickly got to work, cooking the rabbits over a small fire, your mind whirling, your thoughts a storm.

"It will be a long day," Elijah said, handing you a flask of ale, "drink, it will give you strength,"

You thanked him, taking a sip, the taste of honey and berries filling your mouth. You handed the flask back to him, and he took a drink, his expression grim.

"The market will be busy, but we will be able to blend in with the crowd," he said, packing away the rest of the supplies, "there will be plenty of Blackthornes, so be wary,"

You nodded, taking a deep breath, he took your hand in his and squeezed.

"Do not lose hope," he said, his voice steady, "we will rescue Henrik and Gerda,"

You gave him a small smile, the confidence in his words easing some of your worry.

"If we get separated, meet me back here," he said, his expression serious, "and remember, keep a low profile, do not draw attention to yourself,"

You nodded and kissed him softly "I will,"

The smell of fish and salt hung in the air, the morning market in full swing. Merchants and traders lined the streets, their wares on display. Children ran and played, their laughter echoing through the bustling town.

The slave markets were separated from the main market, but the smell of death and blood still permeated the air. The screams and cries of those being sold haunted the town.

Elijah walked alongside you, his expression tense, his hand gripping his sword. You could feel the tension rolling off of him, his worry for Henrik and Gerda obvious.

As the two of you passed the slave pens, a woman caught your eye, she was sitting on the ground, her head in her hands. She reminded you of your mother, her hair the same color, her eyes the same shade.

You wanted to free her, to tell her she was going home, but Elijah grabbed your hand, pulling you along.

"You can't help them all," he said, his voice low, "we must find the young ones,"

You nodded, following him through the crowds, the noise and chaos making your head spin. Your heart pounded in your chest, your stomach churning, the anxiety and fear coursing through you.

The sight of the gallows was a stark reminder that this was a dangerous mission, that one wrong move could lead to death.

The crowd was thick, the heat and stench of the bodies pressed together unbearable. You could hear the auctioneer shouting, his words muffled, the air thick with anticipation.

Elijah pulled you to the side, the two of you standing at the edge of the crowd. You could see a few men wearing Blackthorne colours scattered about. It gave you hope that Henrik and Gerda might be nearby.

"This is our chance," Elijah said, his voice low, "keep your head down and follow my lead,"

You nodded, taking a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. You followed him down to the water, to where they loaded the ships with cargo. The slaves were being kept there until the auction began.

That's when you saw her, your sister, chained and shackled. Her hair was matted and dirty, her clothes tattered and stained. She was thin, her face gaunt, her eyes haunted.

It took everything in you to not run to her and wrap her in your arms. You bit your lip, your fists clenched, the urge to free her nearly overwhelming.

You squeezed Elijah's arm, and he turned, his eyes widening when he saw her.

"Go, I'll distract them," he whispered, before stepping forward.

You watched as he approached the Blackthornes guarding the prisoners. His stance was relaxed, his voice smooth, his demeanor calm and confident.

You could tell the men were suspicious, their eyes narrowing, their hands gripping their weapons. But you couldn't worry about him right now, you had to focus on freeing your sister.

You approached the slave trader, a tall man with broad shoulders, his dark hair pulled back in a tight ponytail.

"How much for the girl?" You asked, nodding towards Gerda.

The man's eyes roamed over your body, his gaze lecherous, making you shudder.

"She's a pretty one," he said, his voice a low rumble, "but she's a feisty one, needs a firm hand,"

You swallowed hard, the thought of her being touched, abused by a monster like him, made you want to scream.

"So will that lower the price?" You asked, forcing a smile.

The man considered, his eyes raking over you again, "Aye, a fair trade,"

He held out his hand, and you took it, his grip tight, his skin rough. With the other hand you grabbed the dagger at your waist, and plunged it into his neck.

He collapsed, unable to make a sound, you looked around to see if anyone noticed, but the men were still distracted by Elijah. You grabbed the keys off the trader's belt and quickly unlocked the shackles around her ankles and wrists.

She blinked up at you, her eyes wide, her expression confused. The pain in her eyes broke your heart, you could only imagine what she had been through.

"Systir?" She said weakly, her voice hoarse.

"Aye, Gerda, it's me," you said, pulling her into a hug.

She clung to you, her arms wrapping around you tightly, her tears dampening your tunic.

You pulled away, helping her to her feet. Her legs were weak, her body trembling.

"You've got to be strong," you whispered, "do you know where Henrik is?"

"He was sold," she choked out, her face crumpling.

"We'll find him," you said, gripping her arm.

Just then you heard the sound of fighting. You turned to see Elijah and the men locked in combat. Blood was pouring from a wound on his arm, but he didn't seem fazed. You felt torn, wanting to help him, but needing to get Gerda out of harm's way. You knew what you had to do and what he would want.

"We need to get out of here," you said, pulling her away.

The sound of battle rang out, the clang of swords, the grunts and shouts of the men. You scooped Gerda up into your arms, and she wrapped her arms around your neck.

"Hold on, Gerda," you whispered.

She buried her face in your neck, her breathing ragged, her body shaking. You ran back to the market, slowing your pace, trying to blend in with the crowds.

You could hear the men shouting, the sounds of their pursuit growing louder. You weaved in and out of the crowds, trying to lose them. Your heart was pounding, your mind racing. Suddenly a hand grabbed your arm, spinning you around.

It was Niklaus.

You felt immense relief wash over you, seeing him there, safe.

"You're alive," he gasped, his voice hoarse, his eyes wild. "Do you know what happened to Elijah? to young Henrik?" He asked, his gaze darting around, looking for danger.

"Henrik is gone," Gerda sobbed, her face red and blotchy, "sold, not long ago," she choked out, her voice barely a whisper.

Niklaus' expression darkened, his jaw clenching, his eyes flashing with anger. "Are you hurt?"

You shook your head, "I'm fine, I'm taking Gerda somewhere safe, Elijah was fighting the men who held them captive,"

Niklaus cursed under his breath, he looked like a true warrior, his head shaved into a mohawk, the Mikaelson colors painted on his face. You could see his muscles rippling underneath his tunic, his chest and arms were covered in tattoos. The scars on his arms and face told the story of a fierce fighter, one who had survived many battles. It had only been a few months since you had seen him, but he had changed so much and so had you.

"Take her and leave," he growled, "go to the forest, hide there,"

"I won't leave without Elijah," you said, your tone firm.

He gave you an odd look, and you felt a wave of guilt wash over you. But now was not the time to dwell on it, now was the time to act.

"Stay safe," he said, before turning and disappearing into the crowd.

You pulled Gerda along, keeping to the shadows, trying to stay out of sight. The sound of battle echoed through the market, the cries of the wounded, the clash of steel. You came across the stables, her weight growing heavier with each step. You could feel her heart pounding against your chest, her breath coming in short gasps.

As you approached the stables, you could hear the sound of a man's voice, the familiarity of it making your hair stand on end. Einar.

"We need to hide," you whispered, setting her down.

She leaned against the wall, her chest heaving, her body trembling. You looked around the corner of the barn to see Henrik on the ground, Einar looming over him.

Your blood ran cold, rage burning inside you. You gripped your axe, the familiar weight of it calming you.

"Stay here, Gerda," you said, your voice low.

She shook her head and clinged to your arm, her nails digging into your skin.

"You can't take him," she whimpered, "he's too strong,"

"I have to try," you said, pulling her into a hug, you handed her a small dagger Elijah had given you, "take this, if anyone tries to hurt you, use it,"

She nodded, her eyes filled with fear.

You crept around the corner of the barn, the stench of urine and manure assaulting your nose.

"Not even worth the money I paid for you," Einar snarled, kicking Henrik in the stomach.

The boy groaned in pain, his eyes scrunched shut, his fists clenched.

"Get up, boy," Einar spat, grabbing Henrik by the shirt, dragging him to his feet.

You charged at him from behind, raising your axe and striking him in the back with all your strength.

Einar stumbled forward, dropping Henrik. The boy fell to the ground, clutching his stomach, his eyes wide with shock.

"You bitch," Einar growled, whirling around, his eyes filled with fury.

Cold fear shot through you, the sight of his scarred face, his cruel smile making you freeze. Your axe still in his back, you backed away, reaching for the dagger at your waist.

Suddenly, Henrik leaped onto Einar's back, his arms around his neck, trying to strangle him.

The sight spurred you into action, and you ran forward, stabbing the dagger into his shoulder, his scream of pain echoing through the stables.

Einar thrashed, trying to shake Henrik off, but the little warrior held on, his face grim with determination.

The three of you struggled, the fight raging, your breath coming in short gasps, the sound of steel clashing ringing in your ears.

Your body ached, the blows Einar landed, his punches, kicks and elbows leaving their mark. But you and Henrik managed to bring him to his knees.

He roared, flinging Henrik off his back, and the boy slammed into the wall, his body limp.

Einar's hand went to his waist, and you knew what was coming, he was going to grab his sword and cut you in half.

You scrambled backwards, the adrenaline coursing through you, the fear making you frantic.

You were cornered, no way out, no escape.

He raised his blade, his face twisted in a cruel smile. Gerda screamed and ran forward, putting herself between you and Einar. You cried out, trying to stop her, but she ignored you. Her face was a mask of fury and determination, her body trembling, but she didn't hesitate, didn't flinch. She stared up at him, her fists clenched, her eyes blazing with fury.

"Don't touch my systir!" she shouted, her voice strong and clear.

Einar laughed, "Two children and a woman? This will be fun,"

He raised his sword, the blade glinting in the sunlight. This was it, the moment of death. You closed your eyes, waiting for the pain, wondering if you would be worthy of Valhalla, if one day Elijah would find you there.

But the blow never came.

You opened your eyes, blinking against the harsh light. But then his expression turned to shock, a pitch fork jutting out from his chest. He fell to the ground, the weapon buried deep, a gurgling sound coming from his throat. You knelt beside him, his blood seeping into your clothes. You watched the light fade from his eyes, the life leaving him.

Behind him stood a dazed Henrik, his blade bloodied, his eyes wild with rage. He grabbed Einar's sword and threw it to you, and you caught it.

You stood up, feeling dizzy, your body aching. You could taste the coppery tang of blood in your mouth, your wounds finally catching up to you.

"Henrik!" Gerda cried, throwing her arms around him, sobbing into his neck.

He wrapped his arms around her, his expression a mixture of relief and pain.

"I'm alright, Gerda," he whispered, his voice shaking. "It's over,"

They both looked at you, their eyes shining with gratitude, they both looked like they'd seen hel, their bodies covered in cuts and bruises, their faces gaunt and pale. They had seen and experienced too much, too young. You reached out, and they both embraced you, their arms wrapping around you, their tears wetting your clothes.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, "I'm so sorry,"

"You came for us," Gerda said, her voice barely audible. "That's all that matters,"

You squeezed them both, feeling the warmth of their bodies, their hearts beating, their breathing, their life.

"Come," you said, forcing yourself to stand, "let's get you both home,"

Your horse was nearby, the stallion waiting patiently, seemingly unbothered by the commotion.

You got them both on the horse, handing Henrik the reins, he wrapped his arms around Gerda, and the two of them clung to each other, their eyes filled with hope.

"Go to the forest, wait for me there," you said, giving the horse a pat, "I need to find Elijah and Niklaus,"

"My brothers are here?" Henrik asked, his eyes widening.

You nodded, "they'll help us get home,"

The stallion took off, Henrik guiding him towards the forest, the two of them fading from sight.

You headed back to the market trying to gather your thoughts, the pain and exhaustion making it hard to think. You had to find Elijah, and Niklaus.

{Part One} {Part Two} {Part Four} {Part Five}

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[themotherofhorses]

"Simon Riley is toxic," "Simon Riley is a cold and distant man that enjoys inflicting harm on others," and "Ghost is a red flag."

Yada yada yada. Anyways.

Simon Riley LOVES cats.

When she first read his personnel file, her eyes immediately took notice of one certain detail, jotted down on a little yellow sticky note, in red penmanship. Price’s handwriting, she believed.  “Enjoys tattoo art & animals.”  SilentDove smiled at that. Simon Riley, 6’4” and with a fearful reputation that always preceded him, possessed a soft spot for animals — cats, she soon learned. He never spoke about it aloud, but there were signs: the small glances toward a stray kitty sunbathing on the sidewalk; his blue eyes softening the moment they caught sight of the kittens at the local petshop, and all the cat videos he pretended were not clogging up his YouTube history.  Yeah, there were countless signs. 

“Saaayyyy….you ever wanna adopt a kitty-cat, Lieutenant?”  “That’s above ya’s pay grade, Reyes.” 

Three months later, Dove tried again.  "A little brown kitten, Ghost, with pink beans on its toes! Imagine that!" She was holed up in the Lieutenant's office, pestering him with pictures of cats she found on Pinterest. "Brown kittens are super duper rare, y'know that, right?" she asked, showing him a cute brown cat with amber-like eyes. "Look, even the nose is brown!" But all she got in response was a stupid grunt; he didn't even look up from the paperwork he was filing out. Stubborn bastard, Dove thought to herself with a sigh. She fell silent for a moment until Simon suddenly spoke up. "I'd like a Norwegian forest cat," is what he muttered, peeking up to look at Dove. His bright, baby-blue eyes met her dark ones, and the Native American could see a certain softness pooling inside them. A smile twitched on her lips as she sat up straighter.  "Yeah?" Simon hummed. "Damn things are beauties. Ever seen one?" He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "Wanna get me one once I retire from all this shit. Name him Shiloh, get him a bell and collar." "Shiloh," Dove breathed out, nodding. She liked the name; it sounded nice on her tongue. Shiloh…c’mere, Shiloh! "Didya know that Viking brides were given Norwegian forest kittens as a wedding present?" as her chin came to rest atop her palm.  His gaze dropped to follow the slight movement before flickering back to her face. "Is that so?" His voice dropped a little, suddenly taking on a huskier tone, instantly sending a small flutter of butterflies inside her tummy. Dove swallowed with another nod.  "Mmmm, in honor of Freyja, the goddess of love. According to the mythology, her cart was pulled by cats; Vikings loved cats, and it was a sorta…good luck for brides to have a kitten in her new household." Dove paused before adding, "—when I get married, I'm gonna ask for a kitten as well. No fancy pots, pans, or cutlery. A cat, one that I'm gonna name Ésevone." "Ésevone?" Simon repeated, cocking his head to the side.  "Buffalo in the Northern Cheyenne language."  "Ah. Ésevone," he rasped again, this time with a nod of his own. "Ésevone and Shiloh. Not bad."  A few seconds of (comfortable) silence fell over the two before— "—Y'know, Ghosty, you actually look like a TOTAL cat dad. Like you got the entire "cat dad" aesthetic down to a T." "Shut up, little bird." 

note: just a small snippet as i try to dive back into writing :D