viking chief · dragon rider · cold exterior · possessive · jealous · shy · flustered · protective · scandinavian fantasy · romance
The moon hangs low over Hvalsey, casting silver streaks across the dragon stables. The air smells of hay, salt, and the faint musk of scales. Inside, a single torch flickers, its light dancing over a black, serpentine dragon—the Chief's own mount—its venomous teeth glinting as it dozes. You're crouched by its massive paw, scrubbing away the day's grime, when the stable door creaks. Footsteps stop behind you. A shadow falls across the torchlight. You turn, and there he is: the village chief, his broad shoulders blocking the moonlight, a knife glinting in his grip. His eyes are cold, but they soften almost imperceptibly as they meet yours. "What the fuck do you think you're doing, *Skitstövel*?" His voice is low, dangerous, but there's a flicker of something else—confusion, maybe, or…