Anonymous asked:
avannak answered:
how about some #NSFW Domstrid headcanons?
Grinding. Astrid grinding back against Hiccup at the least appropriate times. They’re in the Meade Hall, listening to Gobber or Stoick or Spitelout drone on about some minor, political thing. This is before Hiccup is expected to stand beside them. Before he is the speaker. This is when they’re a part of the crowd, required to attend and nothing else. This is when Astrid leans against Hiccup’s chest, her neck bent, head rested at his shoulder, which is now the perfect height to do so. Hiccup’s hands are at her waist and he’s rubbing light circles along her belly. It’s soft and sweet and all it takes is for a quick, sense of his lips to her temple for Astrid to return the pressure. Curving her spine and milling her rear into his groin. She’ll alter between rolling and rubbing up and down, grinning when his attempts to shift away lack will. It helps if he’s against a wall and she can pin him there. She’ll sway and shift and grind until she feels some response other than the spastic grip of his fingers. Sometimes, feeling particularly wicked, she’ll leave him to slink away home, quick as he can. Other times they’ll leave together, only moments before the speeches end, to wind up the corner of a barn or some storage structure, with his pants loose, and her thumb circling the slick head of his cock, and his groans warming the air between them.
Demands. That spark of vouyer in Astrid that she never quite shook since she was a little girl and saw Brael the Bold take a Meathead in her mouth. She does the same to Hiccup, but she doesn’t always complete the gesture. Almost too often, for Hiccup’s tastes, she’ll pull away and smile. She’ll crawl over him, nipping up his hips, his chest, his collar, and bring his own hand. “Finish it,” she’ll tell him, and she’ll watch. He complains he can’t with her watching like that, but he always does. Sometimes she’ll sit behind him and rub her hands along his inner thighs, raking the fine, red hair, to the junction of his hips, dangerously close to where he vigorously works. She’ll moisten his ear and whisper encouragement and fix her gaze to the spasm of his stomach and the quiver in his chin the way his own hand clenches and slows and finishes in those few, final pumps.
Bondage. Astrid getting so playfully handsy in bed one evening that Hiccup introduces bondage for the first time**. Not with quite that intent, but his fingers are fast and the material is available and he cleverly knots her wrists to the wood post. Astrid lets him–it’s hot, and she loves giving up control and letting him torture her for a bit, but he never binds her legs and when he’s in the right position she catches his hips in a vice. Even with her hands netted overhead, she has him trapped with her ankles locked and the substantial power of her thighs crushing his narrow hips from ever separating. She has the tables turned; He’s caught, and she has this magmatic, moist, moving control working him over in a way that leaves his arms shaking and swears dripping from his lips.
Overpowering. Much like Toothless, Astrid can get the upper hand in most physical altercations with her boyfriend. While she doesn’t need conveniently left straps of leather to immobilize him, soft words are more often to her benefit. Sparring gives her ample opportunity to subdue him, lay a teasing kiss or two (which leaves him annoyed more often than hot and bothered), and then, focused as always, demand go again. Sometimes, Astrid decides training is over. Her knees pressed to his shoulders, her fingers petting through is hair, nails raked sensuously along his brow and scalp, she whispers, ‘Please, please, I could use this,” and she feels his hands under her skirt, running around her thighs and nudging her knees off his body, onto the ground, on either side of his head. She feels his agreement from his lips, speaking into the warmest part of her body, and she settles.
The best part about these two is that it’s often hard to tell who’s dominating whom. It’s a competitive, yet balanced, dance of unspoken agreement.
**on my to-finish-writing list
Eret | Domcup | fem!Hiccup
Anonymous asked:
avannak answered:
It started with head. After all the disrobing and laughing and hushing, Astrid got the ball rolling. Or two. In her mouth.
Hiccup’s shoulders are enveloped by arms. He recognizes the scars and breadth, and allowed the body to pull flush against his bare back, turning the intended threesome into a foursome.
By the end, Heather spent more time on her knees than she could have anticipated—giving and receiving. But the bruises wouldn’t bother her until the following evening.
What no one anticipated was Eret’s obsession with toes. No one really questioned it either.
va-lkyrie asked:
avannak answered:
Kukukukuku *rubs hands*
To preface this small list, I first want to point out that I HC Eret having a small myriad of… interesting experiences, including emotional attachments and enamorment:
Cock rings/tying. He’d never forget Scot from the Orkneys that introduced him to the magic of frustration. The grip, the vision, the slow purpling of his own manhood and the sheer power it gave him. He thought it would have been emasculating when she first suggested it, but instead it filled him with virility, leaving him engorged, energized, and panting.
Ice. He spent so much of his life around the natural occurrence, but it wasn’t until he was 19, in a storeroom, with a barmaid, that he learned it’s welcome in the bedroom. He first felt it against the small of his back, sliding over his tailbone and between the flesh of his cheeks, and he nearly sprung from her. She laughed, and pulled him back, and ran some more in the hollow of his throat, the cold trail followed by hot kisses. He found ice to be a sharp bite that altered the landscape of a body; a striking contrast when skin was flushed with heat and desire. A tool to run over a lover’s chest, tightening the skin of their nipples, to dip into navels and drag through the reddened slit between legs.
Men. Yah, you heard me. Eret hadn’t considered men as sexual objects until his first, months’ long stint on a ship. Sometimes lips were lips–willful lips that were never taught to be yielding–and hands were hands–large enough to grab one’s girth with a mighty grip, rough enough to send extraordinary impressions down his length–and a warm body was a warm body on the frigid seas. He took a liking to the feel of a man against him as much as a woman. Eret is hardcore bisexual, but his interest in men still, in some ways, feels new and exciting to him.
Frotting. His first tenures with crew members started with hair gripping, hard kisses and light grinding. Then came hands in the pants. Once a mouth, with a younger boy, who spent his time cleaning weapons and swabbing decks. Then Eret, a year before he became captain himself, had a man take both of them in hand and start thrusting. Eret had to brace a hand against the wall, and then he was against the wall, pinned, with the sensation of silken iron rubbing against him. Docking became common for him from that day forward.
Docking. He’d only done it twice, experimentally, and with very little excess foreskin, found himself being the one ‘docked’ on both occasions. He also found it worthy of doing again, a more intimate activity compared to frotting, with the slow stroking and languid kissing as they each worked themselves up, to the hot splash of his partner against his head. He might have someone new in mind for it…
Size. Not so much of a kink as a preference, but he likes being bigger. He doesn’t always have to be in charge, but he prefers bodies he can wrap his arms around and tower over and hold in his hands. He likes a little disproportion, the feeling that he’s a puzzle piece and he fits.
Domcup | Domstrid | fem!Hiccup
Anonymous asked:
nefertsukia answered:
I don’tknow what happened please don’t write weird things to me because i’ll only get even weirder with unnecessary PWP
yoyos-on-the-wharf asked:
madbadseason answered:
For the lovely @yoyos-on-the-wharf <3
Marinette knew she shouldn’t keep watching. And she knew she definitely shouldn’t be letting her fingers slip beneath the elastic band of her pajama pants. Chat Noir’s head fell back against her lounger, eyes squeezed shut and lips parted as he stroked himself through his suit. What was he doing out there? Obviously she could see what he was doing, but usually when he visited, he dropped straight in through her unlocked skylight, ready to be fed and pampered. Marinette would be lying if she said she hadn’t thought about him like this. She had never admitted it to him, of course, but maybe she should soon. Or maybe she should just tap on the skylight or spray him with a water bottle or…or join him…
She shook the thought from her head as her fingers dipped father down. She let the tip of one finger sink between her lower lips as Chat Noir arched his back, clawed hand pumping against his trapped erection. The guy was gorgeous. There was no doubt about that. He always had been, of course, but the last few years had sharpened him. His jawline was more defined, his chest and shoulders were broader, his thighs were…
Marinette tried to hold back a whimper as she watched Chat Noir lose his rhythm, thrusting against his hand. She thought about how good it would probably feel for him to be able to free his erection, to feel her hands wrap around it, maybe her mouth, maybe her…
Chat Noir’s chest heaved as he fell back against the lounger, and Marinette let herself fall back on her bed, adding another finger to dance against her sex. She bit her lip to keep from moaning but kept her eyes strained on the skylight, almost hoping Chat Noir would peek in. When she finally found her release, she whispered his name, but he was gone when she crawled back down the bed for another peak.
______________________________
“I heard a nasty rumor about you, Chaton,” Ladybug said in greeting, landing lightly on the rooftop.
Chat Noir turned with a grin. “Are people claiming I’m not a natural blonde again?”
She ignored his question, circling behind him. “I heard you were masturbating on a civilian’s roof last night,” she whispered in his ear.
He went stock-still, eyes widening. “Where, uh, where would you hear a crazy thing like that?”
“Are you saying you weren’t stroking yourself off on the roof of that cute little bakery last night?” she asked, coming back around to his front.
“I’m…I’m saying…”
“What made you stop there, I wonder. Surely you couldn’t live so far away that you couldn’t wait until you got home.” Ladybug let her eyes slowly roam down his body. “You must have put on quite the show.”
Chat Noir flushed. “Nobody saw me!”
“How do you know?” She stepped in close. “Marinette’s room is up there, isn’t it? Don’t you visit her sometimes?”
“Well, yeah, but–”
“Maybe she saw you.” When Chat Noir didn’t reply, Ladybug’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe you wanted her to see you.”
“It won’t happen again,” he said softly.
“So you admit you wanted her to see you?”
“It wasn’t…I didn’t…” he shook his head in frustration. “I didn’t go over there with that intention, but then I got there and everything smelled like mint and Marinette always smells like mint and I’d just had this dream the night before and…well…”
“You decided to rub one out?”
He hung his head and didn’t reply.
“Show me.”
Chat Noir’s eyes shot up. “W-what?!”
“I want to see what you were doing last night.”
He licked his lips, face red. “You want to see me…touch myself?”
Ladybug nodded and then leaned back against a brick chimney. “Go on, Kitty. I’m waiting.”
He gaped at her. “I can’t! I’m not going to…”
“Ah, so it was just something you wanted Marinette to see?” When he didn’t respond, she continued. “Are you attracted to Marinette, Chat?”
“I’ve tried not to be,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry, my Lady.”
Ladybug softened at the fallen expression on his face. She moved forward to take his hand. “You didn’t betray me if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Chat Noir shook his head. “I know. I know you don’t see me that way, but I still…I’m sorry.”
“Come on.” She tightened her grip on his hand and started across the rooftop.
“Where are we going?”
“We’re going to get you out of that suit and do things properly.”
“What?!”
“You got me all worked up last night. I could hardly sleep, hoping you would come back for an encore performance.”
Chat Noir stopped in his tracks, pulling on their joined hands. “Wait.”
Ladybug grinned back at him. “Come on, Kitty. My bed is bound to be more comfortable than my lounger.”
“Marinette?!” he squeaked.
Prompt List :)
