Dear Readers,

After seeing the movie twice (in 3D) and constantly browsing through this fanfiction section and deviantart, I have finally written down something of my own for this fandom. I have to say, I am VERY obsessed with HTTYD and seriously cannot tear my thoughts away from it for long, so it was only natural that this fic-writing happened xD And, to add to that, HiccupxAstrid has officially become my new OTP. I ADORE them. So, since I am a hopeless romantic and since my mind is always forming new plotdragons! (lol) every 3 seconds, I have decided to compile all the random HxA oneshots I think up in this fic. I really don't like this first one that much, since I wrote it late at night and my brain was only half-awake, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. And look forward to more! Thanks for reading, and by the way, I love reviews :D

Best regards from a dragon-loving bookworm,

Miss Pookamonga ;p

Getting Used To It

"Wha—What? Is it always gonna be this way? 'Cause...I could get used to it."

—Hiccup

I. Breathless

Sometimes, he made her breathless.

It would happen when they went flying together. It didn't matter if he was riding on Toothless' back, racing against her and her Deadly Nadder, or if they were riding together atop Toothless—somehow the wind could whisk the air right out of her lungs in a way that it never could when she flew alone. It was his closeness in the midst of cold mist and shadowy clouds, his warmth and his self-satisfied grin at having her there with him that would steal her breath away and carry it on the breeze to the glittering diamond stars. It was the simple thrill of being reminded that they had been the first two Vikings to share this extraordinary experience of being suspended in the heavens, and that were it not for him, she would have never been able to know what it would be like to touch the sky.

It would happen when she came to visit him at the forge. She would approach him quietly from behind so as not to disturb him, and would ease herself up onto an empty work table. Her eyes would instantly travel to his hands—which would be blackened with soot—as his fingers would dance across whatever object he happened to be crafting. For a young man who was no doubt still the clumsiest Viking alive in Berk despite his now heroic status, he had surprisingly deft fingers. In them, she would watch metal twist and bend at the simplest touch, as if he had some sort of magic flowing through his veins that could make a weapon or a trinket conform to his will. And then he would suddenly look up and notice her there, smile broadly, and wipe the sweat off his brow with the back one of those magic hands. And the breath would catch somewhere in her throat as she would drink in the lovely sight of his cheeks flushing red, his blackened hands leaving streaks all across his freckles, his green eyes glowing in the light of the fire, and his reddish-brown hair plastering to the back of his neck.

It would happen when she watched him draw. He would take that notebook of his everywhere, and when he'd think she wasn't looking, he'd whip it out from somewhere inside his vest and start scribbling all over it. She would watch him out of the corner of her eye as she practiced her fighting moves, and something would stir delightfully in the pit of her stomach as the realization that he was probably sketching her would seep through her. Then, when she would stop to rest, she'd sit down next to him and just study the way his face muscles would tighten and twitch at different intervals, the way he sometimes would bite his lip and tilt his head when examining his work, and the way his elbow would jerk back and forth sporadically as he drew the image. And when he was finished and would bashfully refuse to show her what he'd drawn, she'd momentarily forget to breathe when the all-too familiar blush would color his cheeks and he would awkwardly twist away from her, lifting a hand to shyly scratch the back of his head.

But of all the times when he made her breathless, the most powerful ones were the times when they would be alone together, wrapped in each other's arms. When he'd lift his fingers to delicately brush strands of her hair behind her ear, when his eyes would soften and he'd just gaze at her as if she was the most precious treasure in the world to him. When he would pull her against him so she could feel the heat radiating off his body, when he would let his hands roam across her neck and back to hold her firmly by her waist.

And when he would murmur her name softly before capturing her lips with his own—that was when he'd make her the most breathless of all.

But she never minded. Not one bit.