I Love Everything About This Post 😂🤣😂🤣!!! Happy Anniversary To ASTV!! Hobie Brown I Love

I love everything about this post 😂🤣😂🤣!!! Happy anniversary to ASTV!! Hobie Brown I love you 😍🤘🏿!!! Also I miss vines, and part of me died when it left !!! I was like 12 or 13 I think when they got rid of that amazing app 🥺🥹😫😤🤬😭!!!

Saw some old vines and got inspired:

So here y'all go, Spiderverse as Vines!

Many of Horry - Chapter three: Sated hunger, sated madness

HELLO THERE! (that’s fucking obi-wan Kenobi meme) it has been a hot minute but I have returned with the promised saucy goods and oh boy, its a mess. Both of ours boys are a mess, a hot mess, yes, very hot, very messy. BUT. Also very soft, very gentle, very romaaaance and its a bit of bad romance (insert lady gaga here plz). Snotlout has no marbles, boy’s done lost them all, and Eret is just being British, idk tbh??? Should of added a “you know nothing, Jon snow” gag but that’s a bit petty, though i may change my mind, I’m two-faced like that!

This is the boys doing the horizontal tango (add careless whisper saxophone here plz) with violence, soft moments, bickering, angst, scars, body-worshipping and all of the stuff that make weapons of mass destruction!

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Chapter summary - Ten months prior to Eret’s leave, Snotlout a mad decision. Ten months prior to his leave, Eret took a mad man to bed.

Chapter warnings - SEX! SMUT! THE HORIZONTAL TANGO! THEY GOT AT IT LIKE RABBITS! Um, also scars, mental instability (Snotlout is kinda crazy in this fic) violence

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He’s not even given the pleasure of a warning. No distant cursing, no dramatic door-knocking, no crass bragging. Nothing.

Snotlout just storms into his cabin and punches Eret in the face.

It sends him to the floor and he stays there for a second, hand rubbing at his aching jaw as he looks up at Snotlout, confused and angry. Snotlout’s eyes, hauntingly pale in the firelight, are brimming with unspoken rage and his lips are curled back in a wrathful snarl, there is too much anger in him and its brimming at the surface.

After that, his immediate instinct is to stand back up and fight back. Which he does. He thrusts his hands against Snotlout’s chest, pushing him back a few feet, and Eret is confused when that snarl flips into a crooked grin. He wants this, he wants a fight, and who is Eret to deny him that?

“If you wanted a scrap, Snotlout, you should’ve just asked,” Eret rolls his shoulders, feeling confident and angry because how dare this short mad man come into his home and attack him? Unprovoked, mind.

“Where’d be the fun in that?” Snotlout laughs and it raises goosebumps along his arms because there is something distinctively unhinged about that sound, it leaves an unnerved feeling in his gut. Men who laugh in the face of danger are the true animals, his father once said, for they have no fear. Even dragons cower at the prospect of death. Mad men howl for joy.

Snotlout charges forward with an arm reeled back, ready to throw a punch, and Eret ducks to the side as that closed fist falls through the empty space, leaving Snotlout staggering forward. But that mad smile doesn’t falter as he expected it to and the look that Snotlout gives him from beneath his lashes triggers his flight or fight. It’s the face of a rabid animal, of a mad wolf, of a deranged dragon, of something so deluded it doesn’t even know what it’s doing.

But despite this, Eret stands his ground and fights because he’s ran away from things his whole life. Not anymore. He will fight Snotlout, he will fight this mad man.

He heaves in a heavy breath, holds it, then lurches forward with a closed fist. Snotlout doesn’t dodge, or move, or even blink and there is something terribly wrong with that. A crunching sound fills the room as his fist hits Snotlout square in the face. Eret exhales harshly as he brings his hand up to brush the loose hair from his face, knuckles throbbing and heart thumping in his chest.

Snotlout takes a step back, head down and hand to face. By all rights, he should be on the floor, out for the night, Eret hit him as hard as he could. That too leaves a sickness in his gut. How can such a small body take such a huge punch? (Not that he’s bragging, he’s just aware of his own strength)

After a moment, Snotlout let’s his hand falls to his side and it’s wet with blood.

Then the dragon-rider looks up at him. Eret swallows firmly.

Rivers of blood pour from his nostrils and steadily flow over his lips and down his chin, thick droplets dripping from his jaw and some streak down his neck like exposed veins. He looks terrible with all that blood on him. Oh Gods.

But Snotlout, to his horror, smiles at him with all his teeth and they too are red, glistening, threatening. (It might be the trick of the firelight, but they look sharp)

He looks like a wolf, a wild animal that’s just made a kill.

“Snotlout-” Eret starts, no longer angry but concerned because this isn’t the Snotlout he knows (not that he knows him well), this isn’t the prideful man who’s bull-headed and overconfident, who’s put-together and two dimensional. No, this is something else, something Eret is familiar with.

Many men went mad under Drago’s tyranny.

Snotlout takes no notice of his name being spoken and throws a poorly aimed punch, his fist a good foot from his target. He staggers forward before righting himself, staring at Eret with wild eyes.

“Snotlout, enough now,” He states firmly, forcing himself to stand taller to intimidate the shorter, but Snotlout just laughs through his wet teeth.

“What? Am I too much for the greatest dragon-trapper alive?” Snotlout mocks darkly as he opens his arms, almost inviting Eret to attack him.

And hot with the sudden rage of being mocked, of his dark past being bright to the light like its a joke, Eret takes that invitation eagerly.

He yells out as he tackles Snotlout to the floor, anchoring him down with his weight, and his vision blurs as he swings again and again and again till his hand feels close to breaking. Snotlout doesn’t fight back. He pummels Snotlout’s face as a great hatred unfurls in his chest, a hatred that does not belong to Snotlout, but to Drago.

To Drago. To his corrupted home. To himself. This hatred that’s been festering within him belongs to all the things that have caused him to run away. All he’s ever done is run, like a coward. Now, he will fight. When he looks beneath him, he sees Drago, he sees the men who murdered his father, he sees himself.

But when the fog clears, Eret is overwhelmed with regret and the first thing that goes through his head is oh Gods, I’ve killed him. Beneath him is Snotlout, not the men who made a coward of him. What have I done?

Eret pants and stares as he lowers his face closer to Snotlout’s, who also pants. He’s alive, thank Gods, I’m not a murderer. No, you are, you’re still a murder, you’re just like the men who killed him!

“Thanks,”

Eret shakes his head and really looks at Snotlout because what? Did- did he- did he just thank him? And then he catches the grin, this blissed out grin made of split lips and bloody teeth, Gods, he’s been smiling the whole time. He can’t find the words to answer back, he doesn’t even know what he would say. (You’re welcome)

The rider’s face is red and shiny with blood and it makes his eyes so bright, so pale, so blue that he could drown in them. And in those eyes, in those cold waters, Eret sees a calmness that shouldn’t be there after getting your face battered in. This is what he wanted, he let you do this, this wasn’t a fight, he doesn’t know what it was, but I wasn’t a fight.

Then those eyes do something Eret wasn’t expecting. They flicker down, down, to his lips. And they stare for a few moments before looking back into his, ghost-like and near-white. It leaves a familiar coiling feeling in his gut and he can’t stop himself from doing the same, glimpsing a look at those red-shining lips that, suddenly, looks so kissable, even with all that blood.

He wonders is Snotlout came here for any other alternative motives.

Perhaps he asks this question through his eyes because Snotlout’s eyebrows jump suggestively and he runs his tongue over his teeth, smearing that deep blood. It sends a hot flash straight to his cock and Eret swallows to quench the dryness in his throat.

“What do you want, Snotlout?” He asks lowly, hands on either side of the shorter’s shoulders.

“I think you know, Eret,” He responds stubbornly, his voice smug, and they feel so close, like there are no gaps between them. His heart feels like it’s suffocating.

Eret does know, or he believes he does. He doesn’t want to assume, doesn’t want to make this situation worse than it already is.

“I want you to say it,”

It’s a challenge and Snotlout’s grin widens until there’s too many teeth (just like Ruffnut’s) and he raises his head till their noses touch, till their breaths warm each other. He licks his lips like a hungry beast and doesn’t break eye contact, Eret can’t believe how wildly blue they are. It’s like looking at a frozen lake, the thick ice has cracked but not feel enough to break.

“I want you to fuck me,”

And that’s it. It’s out in the open. Eret is suddenly aware of the hardness pressing against his thigh and oh, how it just urges his own to grow in strength, and Snotlout know this too. He bites his bruised lip and blinks slowly. It has to be the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. Never mind the blood, never mind the bruises, those eyes are otherworldly.

Slowly, Eret closes the gap between them and the kiss isn’t rushed or violent, it’s a hesitant movement. After a moment, Snotlout’s breath hitches and reels back at the tender touch as if Eret has just smacked his across the face. He looks up at him and Eret swallows at the sudden insecurity that’s swirling in those eyes, no longer angry or mad or confident, but unsure in the face of tenderness.

Eret waits for him to move and, sure enough, Snotlout again lifts his head, eyes fluttering closed as Eret meets him in the middle. Their lips slot together like they’re meant to be and it fills Eret’s heart with a warm feeling, like molten gold in his arteries. The irony taste of blood touches his taste buds as he swipes his tongue along Snotlout’s busted lips, who lets out a quiet moan from the back of his throat. More, Eret hears.

It’s goes on for a few minutes, this gentle dance, before Snotlout tries to speed it up. He tries to make it angry and obscene, tries to make it as dirty as their fight but Eret isn’t having it. No, if they’re going to do this, they’re going to do this right.

Forcefully, he takes Snotlout’s hands and slams them to the floor, above his head, in an almost bruising hold, staring down at him with a dark look.

“Calm down,” He orders, his voice rough and heady, and Snotlout’s entire body goes weak beneath him at the his commanding tone, “I know that you want a quick fuck, but we’re not doing it like that, understand? Not while you’re like this,”

Snotlout doesn’t respond to him, but now he’s almost hyper-focused on Eret and the way he’s reacted to the solid orders and the firm hands immediately clicks an understanding in Eret. Snotlout, proud Snotlout who hates authority and instructions, needs to be told what to do.

A soft feeling spreads across his chest and Eret lowers his head till his mouth is next to Snotlout’s ear.

“You need me to get you out of your head?” He whispers softly, absently rubbing his thumb over the throbbing pulse on his wrist, and Snotlout lightly nods his head, a shiver moving through his body.

“Fuck me-” Snotlout growls frustratedly, “-like you hate me,”

“No,” is his firm answer and he lifts his head to be met with those eyes, bright and angry again at his denied request.

“What do you mean no? You- you bastard-”

Eret rucks his hips, grinding their clothed erections together, and Snotlout’s cursing breaks into a breathy gasp as he thumps his head against the floor, tilting it with his eyes as they roll to the back of his skull. In his own pleasure, Eret grunts and admires the exposed throat before him, pale and mapped out with rosy streams of dried blood. Lowering his head, he runs his mouth along the arching curve of Snotlout’s throat, his teeth travelling along the pulsing arteries like a threatening blade, Eret could rip out his throat right now and Snotlout would thank him for it. It is a powerful feeling.

He places a kiss, feather-light, on his Adam’s apple before lifting himself, freeing one of his hands so he can bring it to Snotlout’s chin. Again, they are face to face. Eret is delighted to see a flush fanning across his cheeks and a wanton look glossing his beautiful eyes. They really are beautiful, how has he never noticed them before? It’s like he’s just seen the moon in the sky for the first time. So pale, so haunting, so strange.

“I don’t do hate fucking,” He clarifies to Snotlout, voice purposeful and concise, and the response he gets is a forceful huff and an irritated eye roll, manageable enough. A smirk of his own stretches across his face as he tilts his head, eyes ablaze with mischief as he snarks; “I’m only into love making,”

A great laugh explodes from Snotlout’s throat and it fills the cabin with a rich, balmy atmosphere that oozes deep into Eret’s skin, into his bones, into his heart, it is not a sound he will easily forget. This isn’t a sarcastic or mocking cackle, but a genuine laugh that Eret has only heard briefly in unshared moments. If thunder could laugh, it would be this.

“Shut the fuck up,” Snotlout chuckles roughly, crinkled eyes looking up at him with mirth and Eret is aware of arms circling around his shoulders, bringing his face closer to Snotlout’s.

“Shut the fuck up,” He whispers again, voice silken and unchaste, and Eret is drawn into a shameless make out session that draws on till their lungs are aching from lack of breath.

They stare and pant like rabid dogs and there has never been a better feeling than this. This reckless desire, this violent delight, this bloody kiss, those brilliant eyes, that mad smile. No night has ever left him feeling so much. Eret notices that Snotlout is still covered in blood, blood that he spilt, and he rubs his thumb into the drying maroon crust beneath his nose.

“Get up,” He says simply as he rises onto his feet and Snotlout makes a barely-audible whine when the hot weight on his lap disappears, gazing up at him from the floor with this lustful yet somehow also tired look in his eyes.

“Can’t you just fuck me here?” He groans, sitting up onto his elbows and rolling his neck, and, Gods above, it’s all about fucking with him, isn’t it? Not that Eret can blame him, by the straining in his pants, he’s just as eager as the shorter man.

“It’s not love making if you’re on the floor and covered blood,” Eret retorts smartly, a grin tugging his lips as he offers his red-touched hand to Snotlout, “Now, get up and go clean your face,”

With a bemused snort, Snotlout takes his hand and is easily lifted to his feet. They don’t let go of each other straight away and when he looks down at their hands, he sees that they are both flaking with dried blood. Snotlout’s blood. It’s a strange moment, almost like time has slowed, up until Snotlout’s hand slips from his, dark blood-dust grating from their calloused fingers.

“Um, there’s a wash basin in my room,” Eret states, trying to dislodge his heart from his throat as he leads Snotlout to where his room is, their shoulders brushing as they walk through the doorway.

The copper basin resides on top of the dresser besides his bed and he refills it with clean water everyday, a thing of habit his mum drilled into him as a child.

It’s quickly tainted from a shimmering clear to a murky pink as Snotlout splashes water on his face, the diluted blood from his nose and lips slipping through his fingers into the dish. Eret averts his eyes from that glistening skin and concentrates on scrubbing the dusty blood from his hand, the skin of his middle knuckle has split slightly and stings against his rubbing hand. All he can here is the tranquil movement of water and the echoey beat of his heart.

Briefly, he looks to the Rider beside him and notices that there’s still blood on his neck, neighbouring with the gold-glinting streams of water droplets. With a face no longer shining with blood and madness, but with water and calmness, Snotlout looks like something from a soft dream and it leaves Eret’s mouth dry and pulse running. He swallows, unsure what to do other than stare.

But the longer he stares, the more that calmness shifts in a restlessness that’s writhing deep within, barely controlled, barely holding back. He should just give Snotlout what he wants, a quick shag, in and out business as it were, but there was something about that madness in those eyes that tells Eret a swift fuck isn’t what Snotlout needs. Sure, it’s what he wants, but it’s not what he needs.

“Here,” He says as he brings a wet cloth to Snotlout’s throat, who asks what he’s doing through wide, almost angry eyes.

“You’ve got blood on your neck,” Eret clarifies for him, sponging the rag along the fading lines lightly and he can see Snotlout’s artery thumping rapidly against the wet skin, it does a strange thing to his gut.

Snotlout turns to face him, head up but tilted to the side with his lips pressed together in a frustrated sort of expression, like this gentle act is an annoying inconvenience. Eret finds it both amusing and terrifying how quickly Snotlout’s moods change, from wrathful to deranged to seductive to… Embarrassed? Is that it? He has no idea, but it must be painful to feel so many things at once.

To be honest, he feels a bit light headed himself from the quick changes the atmosphere has taken in the last half hour. The tone in the air currently feels domestic-like, with a hint of apprehension.

“Fucking Hel, stop,” Snotlout brutally bats Eret’s hand away and looks up at him with a firm, determined face, “Stop with the- the- the foreplay and just-”

In a moment of great confidence, Eret mercilessly rams Snotlout against the dresser and takes hold of the hair on the back of his head, yanking unkindly until Snotlout’s throat is completely bared and his eyes are locked with his. There are no gaps between them. Their heaving chests are pressed together so closely that they can feel each other’s pounding hearts and Eret presses his leg firmly between Snotlout’s legs. A poorly restrained groan comes forth as Snotlout melts like butter in his heated embrace.

“Just what? Fuck you?” Eret growls and those blue eyes glow like a prayer in the candlelight as he faintly nods against the force of Eret’s hold, Adam’s apple bobbing through a swallowed breath.

“Yeah? You want me to be bend you over, fuck you till I’m done and throw you out, hmm? That’s what you want?”

A hotness sweeps along Eret as he watches the submissiveness in Snotlout’s eyes grow, his mouth dropping open at those dirty words, at that foul desire.

“Yes, Eret- Fuck yes, do- fucking that,” Snotlout drawls breathlessly, a moan colouring his voice as his hair is pulled, legs spreading so Eret can ruck his knee up higher.

And Eret concludes that this, this is the prettiest thing he’s ever seen and the power that consumes him is addicting, because it is no simple task to get a Viking Warrior like Snotlout to beg. Proud, fire-blooded Snotlout who now leans against him trembling and begging like a desperate whore.

Eret grins, mean and sharp, as he brings his mouth close to Snotlout’s, their lips touching in a open-mouthed kiss that has yet to start.

“Well, too bad,” He says in a low voice, lips brushing with each word, and Snotlout stares up at him with begging eyes that almost made Eret reconsider his choice.

But he doesn’t.

So, he removes his leg, releases the harsh grip on his hair and slightly backs up so Snotlout has more breathing room. But he keeps his face close, keeps their lips touching and swallows the complaint working on Snotlout’s tongue with the vigor of a gentle man. It’s one of those kisses that leave you light headed from the softness. Snotlout’s hands are frozen in mid air like he’s never touched a person before and Eret takes them, holds them, feels the tremors in them and wonders what’s so terrifying about tenderness. It’s a quiet kiss, a quiet kiss in the quiet night.

They part only slightly to catch a reprieve, lips still touching as they inhale the moment, as they wallow in the balmy warmth of this strange but comforting moment. To think that they were at each other’s throats not so long ago. It beggers belief. With closed eyes, Eret trails his mouth along Snotlout’s jaw and down his throat, kissing and sucking at the dewy skin with a gentle passion because this is all his tonight, all his to feast on, and he shall savour this taste.

“We’ll do this slowly, okay?” Eret mumbles into the crook of his neck, a heavy pulse against his lips, “I am going to fuck you, Snotlout, but I’m gonna do it slowly-”

Eret brings his mouth up until it’s right under Snotlout’s ear, teeth nibbling at the sensitive flesh and making the Rider’s body tremble excitedly.

“-I’m gonna make it feel so good for you,” he whispers headily into his ear and his abdomen tightens at the pitched, needy keen that slips from Snotlout’s mouth.

“Okay- okay, just- Damn you, Eret, you can fuck me slowly! Just get me to the bed quickly!” Snotlout rasps, caught between desperation and frustration, and Eret can’t stop the laugh from bubbling out as he throws his head back.

It’s Snotlout this time who goes in for the kiss and it’s all teeth and tongue, all hunger and thirst, all the things that Eret associates with a starved man. Starved of touch and tenderness, Eret too feels the cramp of desire. It has been too long.

Thick fingers pull loose the strings of his scaled vest and Eret grins into the kiss, moving his hands from Snotlout’s hips to the hem of his vest as he steps back so he can pull it over his head. Dropping it to the floor, he watches as Snotlout gazes with an open appreciation at his bare torso, tongue wetting his lips as he runs his hands down his muscular chest. It leaves Eret’s heart thumping wildly and a hotness creeps along his face at the touch, an admiring almost worshipping touch that is so very foreign to him.

“You’re… Hot,” Snotlout drawls lowly, half-lidded eyes and calloused hands trailing from his pecs to his abs, fingers just brushing over the teasing trail of hair on his abdomen. It sends shivers down his spine.

“I know,” He replies confidently, though he can’t quite hide the quiver in his voice.

He knows he’s attractive and he is frequently reminded of it, which does not help his ego, but the few men he has been with have always been a bit hesitant in the face of that bold brand on his chest. They’ve always given it a weary look, kept their hands close and guarded lest they get burnt themselves, treated him as if he’s something wounded. He knows he’s handsome, but that scar turns that confidence into loathing because it’s so ugly and wrong, so evil to him. It’s tainted him, it’s marked him, it’s labelled him.

SLAVE BOY! COWARD BOY! HE RUNS AWAY, SELFISH BOY! MURDERER! TRAPPER! SLAVE! ALWAYS A SLAVE, FREEDOM IS A JOKE AND NO ONE IS LAUGHING!

But Snotlout seems unhindered by it, trailing his fingers along the outline of the furrowed, pink scar with a curious, admiring touch that leaves Eret breathless. He expected a cringe or a hesitant hand, but Snotlout almost seems drawn to his many scars, like a moth in a room of candles. Hands palming and fingers tracing the wicked lines along his toned stomach, his broad shoulders, his exposed collarbone.

He is a marked man. A slave to a greedy country, a slave to a mad man, a slave to violence. He is marked by each and every one of his masters and forever he will be reminded that freedom was a dish never served to him. It was a dish he stole. No longer is he a slave, but there is something missing in his freedom and he doesn’t know what.

“I thought you wanted to get a move on,” Eret mumbles with an almost strained voice and Snotlout looks up at him, golden from candle-flames and still glistening from water, he looks like dew at dawn.

“I thought you wanted to slow down,” Snotlout retorts back, hands rubbing up and down his chest, and he grins smartly up at him, “What? I’m allowed to touch you, aren’t I?”

“Y-yeah, of course- I-”

Expelling a deep sigh, Eret ducks his head and ensnares Snotlout into a passionate kiss, no longer wanting to talk. Despite his charm, Eret finds words difficult at times and sometimes actions speak far more clearly in certain situations.

Snotlout doesn’t seem to mind, the shorter gladly returning the kiss with just as much vigour.

There is something about kissing Snotlout that feels very filling, like eating your heart out after months of rationing on a ship. Perhaps he’s been starving this whole time. Even after all these years a freedom, there’s still a hole in his gut but it doesn’t feel so empty right now, with Snotlout’s hands on his chest, lips on his lips, heart on his heart.

Perhaps this is truly freedom.

“My turn,” Eret whispers against his lips, delving his fingers beneath Snotlout’s shirt and feeling the hot skin beneath.

“Wait,” Snotlout breathes, taking hold of his wrists, and Eret looks down at him with an almost anxious look, afraid that he’s going too fast with this, despite that being what Snotlout wanted.

Snotlout swallows thickly, eyes blue and uneasy as they flicker between Eret’s face and his hands, half hidden beneath his vest. The skin there feels strange and oddly familiar though, he can’t quite pinpoint what, but his fingers move briefly over raised marks.

“Just… don’t ask questions or… Give me any pity, okay? Just… Ignore them,”

Them? Ignore what? And pity? Eret isn’t a pitying man, he knows how weak it makes you feel, he’d be a hypocrite to do so. But why would Snotlout warrant any pity? He doesn’t quite understand, but he does as he’s told and doesn’t ask any questions.

“Alright,” he agrees with an honest voice and Snotlout then nods his head, lower lip caught between his teeth.

Eret takes hold of the hem of Snotlout’s shirt and pulls it off, discarding it behind him before turning back to the Rider.

At first, he doesn’t react at all. Not physically, anyway. But his mind screams-

Oh Gods, oh Gods, there’s so much, they’re everywhere, oh Gods, how is he alive? No one could survive this, he’s a corpse, oh Gods he’s been kissing a dead man because no one could possibly survive this!

Snotlout’s entire torso is the home of hundreds, and by the Gods, he means hundreds, of ivory scars. They’re all raised and twisted and cruel-looking, like crooked grins etched into his skin that mock and laugh. They shine against the candlelight and most of them are so overlapped, that they look like just one awfully huge scar. These are lashes, whip lashes, Eret is all too familiar with these scars for he has his own set on his back but nothing like this. Nothing like this graveyard that resides upon Snotlout’s flesh.

Drago gave him fifteen lashes and a branding that day, as well as a thorough beating from his henchmen. Since then, Eret had been able to avoid punishment and failure out of pure dread of what would happen if he failed again. Perhaps this is what would’ve happened, perhaps he would’ve mauled and marred and… Marked.

He wants to ask who (what) did this to you? Why did they do this? When? How are you still alive? How are you still standing with the weight of the scars that mark you?

But he says none of these things because Snotlout asked him to and even if he’d been given permission to, his breath has been stolen from him anyways. He cannot simply ignore them, though. These hundred echoes of a hundred agonies, if scars could speak, they would be screaming. How are you not screaming? How are you still so brave?

Eret steps forth and Snotlout’s eyes, hauntingly bright, stare at him with a hidden shame within them that Eret sees clearly. He nearly mistakes that shame for his own. Lowering his head, he kisses Snotlout’s shoulder and licks along a nasty scar that bends over his shoulder to his back. He makes the mistake of opening his eyes and he sees that there are a hundred more vicious wounds defacing his back. He could be sick, he really could be, that’s why he closes his eyes again.

“Eret,” Snotlout gasps, blunt teeth biting down onto that raised line as hands map out and feel along the almost inhuman terrain of Snotlout’s body.

Eret touches each scar with a great tenderness, devoting his hands to the gentle caresses along his chest and stomach, his sides and back. All scarred, all layered with the ghosts of torture because what else could this be? There’s nothing worse than this, Eret thinks, death is kinder than this. He kisses the thick scars criss-crossed on Snotlout’s chest and massages the sunken marring on his waist and sides with his hands, trying to get Snotlout to understand that he’s here to touch him softly, gently, tenderly.

You will not be harmed here, he reassures with his lips against his scar-streaked collarbone, I will hold you right now and will only let you go if you ask me to, he promises with his hands pressed against his mauled spine.

“Eret, can we…” The request goes unsaid, but Eret understands and finally decides that Snotlout has waited long enough. They both have.

Wrapping his arms under his thighs, Eret easily lifts Snotlout off his feet and his heart grows with the shocked sound Snotlout makes as he circles his thick arms around his neck. Eret chuckles and Snotlout lets out a breathy laugh, cursing him quietly. After a few steps, he gently lies him onto the bed and crawls over him, their noses touching as Eret settles between his legs. Their clothed erections press against each other and they simultaneously groan, that hot want kindling again in their guts.

With Snotlout beneath him, Eret feels that power again.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good,” Eret promises headily against his mouth, hands fiddling with hem of Snotlout’s trousers.

“You better get on with it then,” Snotlout growls, baring his teeth before diving in for a violent kiss and Eret takes this as his final warning.

In an almost animalistic fashion, he tears Snotlout’s trousers and underclothes off in one powerful tug and grins into the kiss at the surprised sound Snotlout makes in his throat. And that grin only grows when he wraps his hand around Snotlout’s cock, the Rider breaking the kiss with a gasp as Eret skilfully pulls him apart. Bless him, he tries to hold it in with clenched teeth and pressed lips but the sounds still resonate through his throat and, though they are muffled, they are terribly pretty.

The sounds he pulls from him are almost enough for Eret to go over the edge himself to be honest, he’s never heard such surrender in his life. But he made a promise to fuck Snotlout and he isn’t going to let this opportunity pass him by because he can’t control himself. With one last tug, Eret releases Snotlout and silences that arguing whine with an encouraging press of his fingers against his mouth, leathery pads brushing against the scabbed lips. Snotlout, quick to understand, opens his mouth and swallows two of Eret’s digits and its an image that he couldn’t have come up with even in his most wildest dreams. Yet here it is, here he is, atop a mad rival with his fingers delving down his throat as he makes the most lewd noises Eret has ever heard. Gods, he can feel those sounds.

After a steamy moment, Eret replaces his now-slick fingers with an open-mouthed kiss and brings his hand down to Snotlout’s entrance. His finger slips in nice and easy, causing Snotlout to groan lowly as pulls back from the kiss, spit on his lips while he tucks his head into Eret’s throat, biting and kissing passionately.

“Good, yeah?” Eret murmurs with a wicked grin, adding another finger, and he can feel how hot Snotlout’s skin gets as he nods into the crook of his neck.

He gasps, high-pitched and pretty, hips rising as Eret hooks his fingers inside him, teeth digging into his shoulder in an attempt to stop himself from voicing his pleasure.

And again, he is full of this incredible power as he pumps his fingers inside him, watching Snotlout sharply as he drops his head back down to the furs with a strangled moan. He pulls his lower lip with his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut, like the pleasure is bordering on agony. It’s not enough, he needs more, and who is Eret to deny him that?

Once he’s satisfied with how loose he is, Eret rises onto his knees and unties the strings of his trousers, pulling out his heavy cock with an apprehensive rumble in his chest. His blood bubbles like boiling water and he feels feral when he looks at Snotlout, sprawled below him with this vulnerability bared freely. He trusts you, he’s baring his throat to you, Gods, he asking you to tear it out and you would, you will, you’d do it again and again only if he asked you to and he’s laying here, asking!

Eret, hungry like a winter-born beast, takes hold of the back Snotlout’s thighs and presses his muscled legs to his flushed chest, putting his weight on them at he leans over him. Snotlout’s eyes are stunningly bright and he gazes deep into them, looking, searching, hunting. He’s never wanted something so much in his life and by God’s, if Snotlout lets him do this it just might kill him.

“Snotlout,” he says his name softly, contrasting the hard grip on his thighs, the starved look in his eyes, the urgent press of his cock.

It’s a question. Can I do this? Will you let me take your body, take your throat, take your heart? Can I touch you like you’re a forgotten god who wasn’t worshipped as you should’ve been? Can I do that? Will you let me?

And Snotlout sighs, deep and honest, like an answer. Yes, yes, yes. Forever yes.

With a blaze in his veins, Eret presses his hips forward and the overwhelming feeling of hot, wet, tight strikes him dumb for a few moments, black stars dancing in his eyes as he presses his forehead against Snotlout’s. He vaguely registers his own drawn out moan as he stares, awe-struck, at the open-mouthed and closed-eyed expression on Snotlout’s face. It is a look of pure, blinding bliss that looks so damn pretty on this irritating, fire-blooded Viking Warrior that has been Hel-bent on frustrating him beyond all belief. It is burned into his memory for all time and he begs that he’ll remember it when he dies.

“Fuck,” Eret gasps lowly, fingers flexing around the muscle on Snotlout’s under thighs as he bottoms out, their hips connecting as if they’ve become one person.

In a moment of curiosity, he looks down and his panting breath is stolen once more as he sees Snotlout’s thighs. Ripped and raised with scars. In a moment where he forgets everything else, he sits back and let’s Snotlout’s legs stretch out alongside his hips, fully revealing the extent of the scarring. Snotlout, still gasping from the fullness of Eret’s cock buried inside him, has yet to realise what he has noticed.

Eret runs his hands up and down those marred thighs with a doting gentleness that he feels they’ve been starved of. He’s never seen someone so damaged before, it looks like someone tore him apart and left him alone with nothing but a ball of string and a blunt needle, left him alone to sew himself whole again. Curling a hand around Snotlout’s ankle, he lifts his leg till it’s on his shoulder and kisses tenderly at the also scarred tissue of his calf, as if someone had repeatedly struck the back of his legs with a sharp-sided stick.

“Ere-” It’s the beginning of a complaint, bitter and angry, but Eret easily cuts it off with a few shallow thrusts of his hips, still kissing his ankle and calf.

Snotlout tilts his head back, an almost shocked keen jumping from his throat as Eret rocks into him, still being gentle as not to cause any discomfort. Though, he can’t lie, it’s hard for him not pound violently into the gorgeous heat that’s making his gut coil and spine shake. Snotlout wants it violent, wants it dirty and foul and angry, but Eret, as stated, doesn’t do hate sex and no amount of surprised punches or provoking jeering will ever change that. He’s a gentleman.

“Fuck- harder,”

Or he was a gentlemen, because there is something about Snotlout begging Eret to fuck him harder that brings out a ferocious thing from deep within. A gentleman, still, but there is something wild inside him that Snotlout has tapped into.

Eret covers Snotlout’s body with his, knee to his chest and leg over his shoulder as he fucks deep and hard into him. It’s like there’s nothing but this outrageous hunger churning in his gut and Snotlout is this gorgeous feast sprawled out just for him, like he’s this deer with its neck open and Eret is this ravenous wolf.

And being this hungry dog, Eret takes his teeth to Snotlout’s throat and feels the thrumming of blood beneath his tongue. Snotlout moans and writhes and pants, one hand balled in the furs and the other curled around his nape, tangled in his loose hair. The room is full of the sound of slapping skin and dirty moans and desperate breaths, the bed creaking slightly underneath it all. It is the sound of sex, of pleasure, of primal desire.

“So fucking good, Snotlout, so fucking good,” Eret growls into Snotlout’s hot skin as he fucks firm into the Rider, his muscles burning and skin glistening with sweat.

“Oh fuuuuck,” Snotlout drawls out in a loud moan, eyes rolling and mouth snarling, and it takes Eret a moment to realise that he came, sudden and hard, between their bodies.

“Oh fuck, fuck, oh Gods, Eret,” he babbles breathlessly, body shivering and flushed and limp as Eret continues to pound zealously into him, his own climax rushing him as he’s enveloped in this unimaginable tightness.

“I’m gonna-” Snotlout doesn’t give him time to finish, his strong hands clutching fiercely at the hair on the back of head and dragging his face down to his.

“Yeah, yeah, go on, give it to me, fuck, Eret, cum inside me you fucking bastard,” Snotlout pants wantonly, lips pressed against his in a not-quite-kiss, bright, teary eyes gazing into his with this feral madness that, for the smallest second, scares Eret.

Briefly, he thinks, oh no, I’ve made a fool’s mistake and put my dick in crazy.

But it snaps out of mind as his orgasm leaps upon him and all he can do is groan against Snotlout’s open-mouthed grin, body trembling as he ruts through this mind-numbing climax. His body is on fire and Gods he’s dying, living has never felt this good, nothing has ever felt this damn good.

It feels like hours, but it must have only been a few minutes, before the wildfire in his veins simmers down and Eret is half collapsed on top of Snotlout, elbows planted besides his head and chest pressed against his, their hearts singing to each other as they wallow in the afterglow.

He opens his eyes and stares, half in disbelief, half in awe, at the foreign expression on Snotlout’s face. Eret is used to the quirked grin during dinner or the irritated scowl that is commonly directed at him, the quiet sternness seen in serious moments or, though he has only seen it briefly, the unbridled bloodlust that breaks through on the battlefield. But the face below him now is neither of these, nor one of the recently discovered faces of Snotlout (madness, rage, lust, mad-lust, shame), it is something that Eret can only name as pure, unfiltered content and it suits him terribly well, especially with that bright flush on his cheeks and those shimmering tearstains streaking down the sides of his face. Perhaps, perhaps this is the prettiest thing; dream-like, gold-kissed, gently-touched.

Eret falls to the bed besides Snotlout with a satisfied exhale, feeling good and warm on both the inside and outside, like there is a candle kindled within him. He doesn’t trouble himself with the thoughts of tomorrow or of repercussions because he is simply far too tired for such thoughts, there’s no need to ruin a good moment while you’re having one. It’s the same kind of tired that you get after a big meal and he certainly has feasted tonight.

Lazily, he turns his head to Snotlout and there is this sudden, unspeakable feeling in his chest when he looks at him, eyes closed and lips parted, not asleep but just… resting, with no guard or façade protecting his features. Again, it’s Snotlout saying he trusts him and Eret has no idea how he earned that trust but he’s not a fool, he won’t throw that trust away. Perhaps this is Snotlout handing him an olive branch, saying in this crazy, sexy way of his that he doesn’t hate him, that they can be friends. Passionate friends are better than bitter rivals.

And Eret falls asleep like that, watching the steady movement of Snotlout’s chest, counting the wicked scars on his ribs, devouring the image of those split lips that Eret can still taste in the back of his mouth (blood, iron, lightning).

Later that night, Eret is woken by the sound of moving feet and ruffling clothes. The dream of cracked ice and calloused hands and a bleeding heart quickly slip from his memory like smoke through his hands but the sluggishness of sleep clings to him longingly, so much so that he struggles simply to open his eyes. When he does, it’s dark and shadowy, the candles all snuffed out, and he has difficultly trying to identify the source of those sounds. He pats his hand onto the other side of the bed, expecting to feel Snotlout’s body, but there are only disturbed furs laying there. Ah, he understands.

“Snotlout?” He slurs into the dark, sleep heavy on his mind, and the noises stop suddenly.

When his eyes finally adjust to the darkness, he’s met with the shadow-touched figure of Snotlout stood beside his bed, trousers on and tunic in hand, pale eyes watching him. He swears they were blue, they’ve always been blue, but right now, gods, they look like they’re white and glowing, like an animal’s eyes catching the moonlight, like two stars standing side by side. Eyes shouldn’t be so bright yet so haunted, they’re like ghost eyes.

“Are you a ghost?” He wants to ask, because he should be, with all those scars, he should be dead and maybe he did die but he’s lost, doesn’t know if he belongs in Valhalla or Hel because he’s got the heart of a warrior but the mind of a mad man.

“What you doing?” He asks instead, because Snotlout is no ghost, Eret has cradled his heart and held his body. You cannot touch ghosts, it’s a well-known fact.

“Go back to sleep, Eret,” Snotlout says and there is a faint softness in his voice that he almost misses, the biting tone his name is usually spat with now replaced with this indulgent whisper that sounds, not warm, but not cold either. Lukewarm.

“Where you going?” Eret murmurs back, rubbing the sleep-dust from his left eye as he watches the shorter tighten the strings of his trousers with the other.

“Home,” Snotlout replies back bluntly, that warmer voice iced down back to its cold familiar self, and Eret groans tiredly.

“It’s not even dawn, come back to bed,” He reasons, voice still deep and hoarse from sleep, his words barely coherent.

He hears Snotlout sigh frustratedly and vaguely sees the harsh rise and fall of his broad shoulders, eyes closed and face pinched in irritation. He’s reacting as if Eret’s just proposed the most outrageous offer to him and it rises the smallest amount of annoyance in him, but he’s far too tired to fully register the feeling, let alone act upon it, so instead he follows the negotiation route. Which will be poor due to his lethargic state, but he’s persuasive and has bargained tougher trades while drunk.

“Don’t be a git,” He murmurs, patting the empty space beside him, “Come. Sleep,”

“Shut up, sailor,” Snotlout grunts with no bite in his voice, just tiredness, “Shut up and go to sleep,”

With a sudden swell of courage and frustration, Eret leans across the bed and takes Snotlout’s hand into, his grip loose enough for Snotlout to pull from if he really wants to but tight enough to show he’s being sincere, even if he’s just half-asleep. Both of their hands are calloused from gruelling battles and hard labour and strenuous training and he can feel the rigid patches of old burn scars on Snotlout’s palm, a common marking found on this island where everyone rides a fire-breathing beast. Even Eret’s got his own collection.

“Snotlout,” His voice comes out soft and meaningful, “Come back to bed,”

And Snotlout stares down at him with those eyes, those moon-drowned eyes, and it’s a stern, searching look, the same look he makes when he’s trying to figure out if an enemy is either being truthful or deceptive and Eret has yet to see Snotlout’s perception (or gut) to be proven wrong. Even in this half-awoken state, Eret feels his skin crawl and there’s a coldness in his chest, like his soul is retracting from the stark, glacial stare, he feels like he’s being judged. Is this what it’s like to be judged by a ghost?

Snotlout closes his eyes (much to Eret’s relief) and expels a long sigh through his flaring nostrils, faintly resembling Hookfang when he blows smoke from his nose. When he opens his eyes again, they’re blue and Eret is far too tired to think about it. But his heart leaps gleefully when he feels Snotlout squeeze his hand and Eret squeezes back unconsciously.

“Budge,” Snotlout orders, jutting his chin towards him, but Eret, so full of pride that he past Snotlout’s cunning gaze and convinced him to come back to sleep, is already tugging the shorter onto the bed.

“Oi!” Snotlout tries to abject, but by the time he starts his head is already being pressed against the curve of the sailor’s neck and Eret has already wrapped his arms around his waist and side, both of them lying chest to chest, both of their hearts giggling together.

“Shut up, rider,” Eret grumbles sleepily, pressing his proud grin into the tasselled hair on Snotlout’s head, “Shut up and go to sleep,”

Soon Eret feels arms reluctantly swathing around his ribcage, as if their cradling the cage of his heart, and then a face nestling against his throat, it almost feels like a tender mouth ready to rip it out. Again, he hears Snotlout sigh and its neither tired nor irritated, it’s a content sigh, a gentle exhale. Eret lightly brushes his knuckles over the warm skin of Snotlout’s shoulder in an easing gesture, a voiceless lullaby, and despite his sleepiness, he does this even after Snotlout has fallen asleep.

Eret just lies there on this quiet night, feeling Snotlout’s heart beating against his, feeling very full, very whole, very free.

64 notes View Post

lauryn2558

11 months ago

Omg STOP 🤣🤣!! Not what’s your tit size 🤣😆🤣!!! I love this❤️❤️❤️!!!

Also don’t use duct tape kids!!! I had a friend who had the WORST chest rash after leaving it on for a few hours!! And the glue and tape mark took days for them to wash off and go away, which made the rash worse 🥺😭!!! Be safe and Happy Pride 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️!!!