Love Is Forever (Hiccup x reader one-shots)

A Writer's Words

A Writer's Words

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You are both 16

Modern

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Hiccup couldn't think of anything else to do! Why were you so stubborn and difficult? It drove him crazy, but he couldn't stop loving you.

With a sigh, he picked up his lunch tray and started to walk away. On the way, he caught sight of the page you were writing on.

My gods! it read. Today is another special day! Hiccup is talking to me again! I just wish I could talk back. How can I respond? I want to. I'll open my mouth to form words, but I'm nothing but quick sand. One way in; no way out.

I love him. Maybe someday I'll be able to form coherent words and confess my feelings. Or maybe I'll be trapped forever in my eternal black hole, not even letting an ounce of light escape. I-

Hiccup read no more. He knew reading your personal journal was wrong, but he was curious to what you were writing nearly every possible moment. He sat himself back down next to you.

"(Y/ N)," he spoke. "Are you busy tonight?"

You jerked your head up, but your hand continued writing a few seconds more. As silently as always, you shook your head. You mouthed the word no. No plans tonight, unless Hiccup created some, which you hoped was the case.

"Then, um, do you want to go, uh, on a date with me?" he stuttered.

You blushed shyly and ducked your head, nodding.

He perked up. "Awesome! Can I pick you up around six?" Again, you nodded, but this time you looked up at him. He said, "Great. See you then, (Y/ N)." He kissed your cheek and darted away.

You smiled and your eyes followed his nervous, fading figure. "See you then," you repeated softly to yourself.

For you, the day seem to fly by. You thought of 122 different ways the night could end. Four major general categories: he kisses you, he comes close to kissing you but is interrupted, he likes likes you but chickens out of the date or kiss, or you would be friend zoned. You really hoped it wasn't the last category.

Wait- six categories. Either you or him get ill or in an accident. Seven: family emergency happens. 157 possibilities. 183. 200. 202. At least a new possibility for every second as you waited. Sometimes multiple would flood your head at once.

202 possibilities, you wrote in your journal. What am I to do? Once we leave, the possibilities are cut down to 122. No, 131. Scratch a few nearly impossible possibilities to make 53.

I'm nervous. What if this-? What if that-? continues to plague my mind. This is the first time in a while I'm not proud of my ability to think of nine different things at once, nor for my hypersensitive senses.

What am I to do? What am I- he's here. Your writing ceased as you slammed the journal shut, shoved it in the (F/C) bag, and pounded down the stairs three at a time.

"(Y/ N)?" you heard your mom ask the visitor.

You rushed to appear but stopped when you tripped on the last step. The bruise on your forehead would definitely show tomorrow.

Your name was called by two different voices, though only one called a second time in a worried tone. You pushed yourself up and passed away a small smile to show Hiccup that you were fine.