Random Oneshot
(DISCLAIMER DreamWorks or anyone else that is included in this story that is there's owns it whatever)
Hiccup looked up at his father, a look of panic flashing across his face. He saw something coming toward him, he wasn't sure if it was a foot or a fist, nor did he particularly care, he just knew he had to get out of there.
Sadly, like everything in his life, it didn't happen the way he planned. It slammed into his side, and he knew that it was his dad's size 13 foot, clad in a heavy boot.
"Goddammit Hiccup! You can't do anything right, can you?" he screamed at him. He didn't bother answering, knowing he would just beat him harder.
He tugged at the rope around his hands, tying him to a chair. He had been there for a couple of days, after the Red Death had annihilated more than half of their village, including Gobber, his best friend, and Astrid, who he was going to ask to be his girlfriend, but sadly the gigantic dragon, if you could call it that, had taken and killed them. Luckily (or unluckily for him), his father had managed to save a couple of others and escape on one remaining boat that had survived the monsters blast, and fled the island.
Dragon attacks decreased in occurrence, but when they did happen, they happened with ferocity and went after the people instead of the livestock. He wasn't sure what kind they were but they must have been the only dragons somewhat loyal to the queen and survived her punishment of treason. What happened to Toothless and the other dragons, he didn't know, but he seriously doubted their existence right now.
Meanwhile, he was kept back in the dragon prison in Berk with all of the small dragons with his hands and feet chained together with no way out, and he definitely tried. All of his somewhat friends had to go with the adults to "Prove their Vikingness to the whole village." As if they haven't already done that.
When the dwindled amount of people came back in a melancholy mood, only my father managed to find his ounce of fiery hatred for me, which sparked the whole clan to shun and hate me. They let my father have me, giving the chief the honors of doing whatever he wanted to me.
Anyway, back to the present, I was currently on the floor tied to a chair in his father's room, knowing that that was the one place with the thickest walls, so my screams had no chance of getting out. He had already given him quite a bit of bruises and cuts, but that wasn't stopping him.
I don't think he was going to stop until I was dead. Good thing I don't have a life to get back to.
He kept hitting me until he got tired, which then he was able to sit back and recoup his strength and watch me suffer on the ground, trying to keep dirt from entering my wounds.
When he finally did retrieve the energy, he stood up and started at me with malice in his expression.
"I think I'm going to make you as ugly as your soul is." He snarled and walked out. When he came back, I was already dreading what he was going to do, knowing that what he was going to do to him would probably bring him a lot of pain.
He stepped back into the room, a worryingly sharp knife in his hand and two bottles of alcohol in the other. He kneeled by me, staring at me expressionless. I don't know if I'd rather have him like this or with a look of hatred.
Sat on the chair the kept me in place, and started drinking the booze. He started slowly, but then started drinking faster and faster, and by the time he finished the first bottle, his head was lolling and had a glazed look in his eye.
He kneeled down next to me, slightly swaying, but managed to stay firm. He grabbed the knife and set it on my skin, around my collarbone and neck. He gently scraped it, as if considering what he was about to do. I then made the mistake of whimpering, causing him to look into my eyes. His stare hardened, but managed to keep the dazed look.
The knife dug into my skin deeply, causing blood to gush out in a torrent. I arched my back, causing the still moving blade to dig in deeper. Sounds of protests came out of my mouth, but were ignored. He moved the knife around my torso, drawing what seemed to be a mark of my father's hatred. He stopped when there was a puddle of blood gathering under me, and I was to limp and tired to do anything. He grabbed the remaining bottle of alcohol and poured a fourth of the drink into it. He started into my eyes as he held it over my chest and stomach and tipped the glass, trickling the burning liquid into my wounds, causing pain, but not really disinfecting it. His stare managed to catch every moment of my pain, but still had no expression.
When the cup finally ran out, I was very close to unconsciousness, due to pain and blood loss. As my sight grew dimmer, I saw my father sitting back into the chair and pouring more alcohol into the cup and raising it to his lips, with a hint of tears on his face.
When he came to, it didn't seem like much time had passed, and judging by the amount of bottles on the table next to me dad, I'm guessing about 45 minutes to an hour went by.
His father seemed highly intoxicated, and had a slight smile on his face, and gently chuckling. I was more terrified then I was when all of this started.
He noticed I was awake and focused on my face with a little bit of difficulty.
"Valka?" he said with a disbelieving face. "Is that you?"
I shook my head frantically, my hair brushing the floorboards. "No, it's me, Hiccup, your son."
He didn't seem to hear my answer, or he just ignored it. His gaze travelled down my face, down my scarred and somewhat bleeding chest, to my feet.
"I- I thought you were gone!" he stuttered. I kept shaking my head but he didn't take any notice of it, only seeing the illusion that I was somehow his dead wife, back from the grave.
He kissed me, grabbing my somewhat short hair and pulling it. I tried struggling but there is only so much you can do with major blood loss and your hands tied. His hands slip down his side, around his slight curves and stopped at his hips, slowly taking off his remaining clothes. How he managed to miss the somewhat obvious part of his body that women didn't have, and a part that him, a man, didn't have, he didn't know.
His father stripped himself of his shirt and trousers, leaving him in his underwear, which was doing a very good job hiding a very obvious and very big part of him that Hiccup really didn't want anything to do with.
His father flipped him over, pulling him up to the point where his somewhat hard manhood was located right next to his face. He grabbed his jaw and eased it open, while I was to limp and shocked to resist. He prodded the tip into his mouth, and grabbed a hold in his son's slightly matted hair. He suddenly shoved his penis deep down my throat, bypassing my gag reflex, and nudging my throat. That obviously made me realize, 'Wow, this is pretty bad, it has to stop." I started struggling, trying to slide my mouth of his cock, only for his father to shove it back on, thinking he was trying to bob his head, causing his dad to moan loudly. He did that for a while, with Hiccup failing to escape, and his father almost cumming.
He pulled out of his mouth and gently set him back on his stomach, moving back down to his lower half. He ran his hands over his backs, stopping at his somewhat feminine waist, grabbing hold tightly.
His father's hardened manhood scraped over the flesh on his butt, and down the crease in the middle. He spread his legs, widening him, and giving his father a view of his puckered entrance.
"Stop it! Please! Just stop it!" I yelled, tears starting to stream down my face. I continued to protest but was ignored, due to my father's focus down there. I thrashed but he seemed to take that as a sign of impatience.
"Gods, Valka, you usually aren't this impatient! I guess it has been a while since we did this, isn't it?" my father said, chuckling somewhat deliriously. "I'll prepare you, don't worry."
Tears continued down my face, as his finger slid in between my buttocks, moving around my hole. He gently slid a finger in, but this being my first time, he might as well shoved it in. I yelled in discomfort as he moved it around, prepping me for his second finger. He entered it, then scissored them, trying to get me ready for his large cock. He finally entered his third finger and by then he was limp and gave up.
He finally removed them after a little bit more stretching, but I was definitely not ready for it.
He rubbed his penis up in down my crack, as if to tempt me, but I didn't move. He didn't comment and thrusted into me quickly.
I screamed in pain, his cock ripping my flesh, blood pouring out by the sides of him. He still kept thrusting, brutally pounding his hips into mine, slapping his balls against my flesh, making crude sounds that didn't arouse me at all. My member was still flaccid throughout this, it dangling ironically from his hard movements.
After a while he moaned louder than before, thrusting his hips as far as they would go, his hands bruising my sides, and came hard with a yell.
He let go of me and I crumpled to the floor. With the blood that was still pouring out of my anus, the blood that was gushing out of my still open chest wounds, and the pain that I've been through altogether, I passed out.
And I didn't get up again.
Welp. I have no idea what the hell that was but, I shall post it anyways. I know that it wasn't very good, but this was my first kind of these stories, so cut me some slack, eh? Review if you have any suggestions if I ever feel like doing something like this again, and what I could change! Sorry if there are any grammar/spelling mistakes