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Description
A/N:
This one gets a little darker than some of the others, guys. It touches a little bit on abuse, so beware. It's still super fluffy despite that, so yeah...

~Translations in the description~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

... a startled pair of azure blue eyes...

And you had to look up to see them...

Huh. What was up with his hair? It was about three times as large as normal guys' hair when it was spiked up like that! ... Okay, maybe you were exaggerating, but seriously. Wasn't it a pain to get it to stay like that?

You shook your head and moved further away, but the man almost instantly grabbed hold of your arm, some concern leaking into his cheerful expression. "Are you alright, frøken?" he wondered, a small spark in his eyes dimming when he noted your confusion.

The man was freakin' tall. You followed the hand holding your arm up to his short sleeves with your eyes, noting the faint edge of a tattoo peeking out from under the fabric. His grip was firm and strong, but he wasn't crushing you. And his face seemed open, genuine, and curious. He was built in a way that was perfectly proportional, and strong yet lean. For a moment, you wondered - if this was how secure his grip was - what it would feel like to be wrapped in those strong arms...
In short, the man was freaking sexy, and you really had to stop your fantasizing!

... So, why was he there, letting you check him out while he captured your attention and held your arm hostage?

"... I'm fine... Let go," you mumbled, at last tearing your gaze away from the (highly attractive) man, wriggling your arm out of his grip. "... I should call the cops. I don't need that fiend to society getting away before he can be stopped from hurting other people..."

Blinking, the man stepped aside to see what you had done in the alley whilst you called the dispatchers, that initial spark returning to his features. When you finished speaking with the operator, the tall male glued his eyes back on you. "You did that?" he inquired, genuinely curious as he gestured back to the alley.

Without much hesitation, you nodded, "He and a 'friend' tried to mug me. I wouldn't stand for it, and now he gets to pay the price."

A grin lit up the stranger's face with a warm, devious glow. "Well then, min fornem, ung Valkyrie, what do you say to a celebratory drink? If you're busy right now, we could always meet later. My schedule's pretty flexible."

Just as you opened your mouth to reply, a separate female voice cut through the air with the force of a dull blade, her tones grating on your ears, "MATHIAS, if you don't get your stupid Danish butt back into the shop now, you can kiss your pay-raise goodbye!"

Grinning sheepishly, the tall, apparently Danish man fished a business card from his pocket and handed it over to you. "You should come visit me sometime. Anything to distract me from the dragen kvinde."

You weren't too sure what it was he called the screeching harpy that was threatening him, but a soft smile touched your lips anyways. The dreamy look on his face and the distant, although strong glimmer in eyes were almost hypnotizing to behold. So, as much as you were spacing out, he was, too. "The name is [Yo' full name], and don't you forget it, Airhead," you snickered. "You should probably get going, though. She sounds like she's starting to get a little touchy."

A small bout of confusion flitted across the Dane's face, muttering to himself, "Airhead? Airhead!? What's up with that?!"

You pushed him away with a smirk, an unconscious giggle escaping your lips, "Exactly my point, silly! Get going!"

You actually ended up meeting Mathias Køhler several times after visiting that same bakery. (Apparently, it was owned by a friend of a friend to Mathias, by a Frenchman named Francis, who was very flirty when he stood behind the counter, but had mellowed out when he had gotten himself a girlfriend...) It was never a planned meeting, but it always seemed to be that he went there to escape the "dragen kvinden," as he called her, from his work. And instead of a bar, like he had intended to celebrate your victory over the would-be-bandits in your first meeting, you had insisted instead on him treating you to [favorite pastry] from the bakery. There was no way you were getting drunk off that, and there were fewer strings attached to that than, say, a few dozen beers.

Eventually, you two reached a point where you felt comfortable coming to visit his tattoo parlor every once in a while. You enjoyed looking at the various designs that were available, and it was there that you learned both Mathias' specialty and of his own tattoo.

"Hej, welkom, [Y/n]! Did you want to see me?" the bubbly blonde grinned once he saw you stroll in the shop door.

With a small, semi-shy smile of your own, you then quipped, "No, I came to see the monkey with seven toes on his left foot. Of Course I came to see you, Airhead! Why else would I come?"

Mathias groaned dramatically and leaned against the counter he sat behind, rolling his eyes as he sat back down. "You keep calling me that, kæreste, but I don't think that it really fits me."

Giggling in bemusement, you approached the front desk quickly, saying, "Okay, then! What would you prefer I call you when you're acting like your head is up in the clouds? 'Space Cadet?'"

His nose crinkling in mock disgust, the Dane shook his head and leaned back in his seat. "Almost anything is better than that," he grumbled.

A playful smirk played about your lips. "Then, how about~!"

His warm hand was quick to cover your mouth, horror evident in his expression. "Don't you dare finish that sentence, [Y/n]!" he grumbled, pouting slightly before returning to his usual, cheerful demeanor. "I'm partial to being called 'The King of Northern Europe,' because I'm just awesome like that, but I'll still accept 'Your Majesty,' 'Your Highness,' and 'Your Royal Majesty.'"

You snorted and covered a quick smile with your hand. He could be such a dork, sometimes! Shaking your head, you laughed, "I'm sure I'll think of something appropriate, sometime. Something that you would like..."

While you trailed off into thought, you wouldn't have known how much he wanted you to be able to call him your boyfriend... And that thought, among the many romantic things he wanted to try out with you under that title, made the tips of his ears burn. But the cheerfulness that seemed to be his constant companion made sure that a grin hid his embarrassment from you - mostly successfully. After all, you were pretty observant of those your held close to your fragile heart, but then again, the tips of his ears always seemed to be burning whenever you saw him, so you made little fuss of it in your mind.

"Then, how about 'Awesomeness Incarnate'? Or 'The Skilled One'? You have to admit, I've earned those names!" he chuckled.

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you said, "Really? Sometimes, Matt, I wonder about you... But then again, I remember that you specialize in crazy, hair-brained schemes. Like that one time you pranked your roommate - what was his name? Lukas? - into thinking that you had been hospitalized."

Mathias rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly as he pouted. "That was one time, and I still have the strangulation scars to prove it!" he whined. "And besides, you don't know much about my actual specialty..."

"Oh, really?" you wondered bemusedly. A delicately-shaped eyebrow cocked at the Dane, you tilted your head in confusion and curiosity. There were plenty of things the man was good at, so what in the world could he possibly be talking about?

Mathias nodded, looking into your intense [e/c] eyes without a trace of intimidation. "Let me show you..."

And then he leaned back, took a laminated portfolio out from under the counter, and slapped it down beside you, gesturing with a nod for you to peruse the pages. Demurely taking the little book into your hands, you raised a coy eyebrow at the Dane, nodded, and began to flip through the pages. The majority of the tattoo designs, you noted, were of weaponry - ancient, commonly (famously) Nordic weaponry. There was, of course, the usual thorny roses, swirly designs of barbed wire, water, and who-knows-what-all, but that was only a fraction of the weaponry. He did branch off into more modern weapons, such as guns, cannons, you name it; but there were countless spears, shields, swords, and other ancient weaponry to rule them all.

"I'm practicing to become as great in specializing in weapon tattoos as the one who gave me this." He lifted the right sleeve of his shirt to reveal a pair of crossed double-edged war axes. It was masterfully drawn into his skin in such a way that you thought that - if you touched it - you might actually cut yourself on the blade. "The man who did this for me was a master of his craft, and I've never found anyone to match him. Since then, he has passed away, but kæreste, I could never get another tattoo unless it was under his needle. I want to be like him someday. Some of those sketches you see in there were inspired by his works."

You were awed by his dedication and loyalty to such a work, to such a man. It was rather endearing, you decided. A most worthy trait that any girl should feel lucky to be on the receiving end...

"Ugh, is she back again?!" a shrill voice caterwauled.

Cringing, the both of you glanced to the back of the store to see the manager, Hillary, glaring at the two of you. She had made it clear from the very first time that you entered her shop - without appointment, without a real interest in getting one of her tattoos, and distracting Mathias from "work" - that she didn't like you. Consequently, she tried her very hardest to make your visits a living hell - for both you and Mathias.

The worst part was that she always acted as if she owned the place - which wasn't true in the slightest. No, it was owned by a very kind old lady, whose husband had started the business very late in life. The only reason Hillary was even employed, as far as either of you could tell, was because she was the old woman's niece. And Layla, the lady-owner, didn't even like her that much.

Rolling your eyes, in any case, you decided it was probably time for you to get going anyways. Hillary had the terrible tendency to turn any mood sour, and you had had your fill of negativity for the day earlier at work, so you gave Mathias a pat on the cheek and smiled, "Guess I should get, eh? See you soon!"

"See you, killingen! Come back at closing tomorrow, and we can go get a drink, or ice cream, or whatever you want. My treat!" he called, a sad, soft smile masking the pain at seeing you leave so soon.

A rare smile, one that reached your eyes with a purity of joy that he got to see only once a week - if even that much - appeared shyly on your sweet face. "I'd like that, Mathias." And then you left for home.

Mathias sighed dreamily and leaned forward onto the counter. When you smiled like that and said his name so sweetly, it could make any man become as empty of thought as a bottomless bucket. Mathias especially seemed to lose his tough-guy standing and become as harmless as a love-struck puppy! What he wouldn't have given to be able to follow you home like a lost puppy, though...

"Mathias!" Hillary screeched.

Jumping nearly a foot in the air, Mathias sheepishly, apologetically said, "Undskyld, Hil. I guess I got a little bit distracted."

The look she gave him could freeze a flame. And it was then that he knew that he wasn't only going to get a pay-cut for the day; it would include more, the thing that made him want to quit everything and curl up into a ball and disappear. The abuse. She almost never touched him, and when she did, it was usually in places that were easy to hide, but her words and put-downs made it all the harder to roll out of bed everyday. In fact, part of the reason why he was even able to leave the safety of his home was the potential to see you. Now, normally, he was no pushover. Indeed, it was the exact opposite - he had the "battle" scars to prove it. But to admit to being beaten up - emotionally and physically - by a sour, skinny little toothpick like Hillary? It was more than his pride could admit so readily. So, he still came to work, wishing to get away from the dragen kvinden and still so happy to see your face...

Then came the day where you actually witnessed the abuse.

You had always been aware that Hillary treated Mathias worse than dirt with her words, but to see her actually laying a hand on him?!

It was more than you could take.

And so it was, when you found Hillary cornering Mathias, pummeling him where it would hurt the most without breaking skin or being seen so readily, you snapped. There was no way she could get away with that, not now, not EVER.

To give Mathias some credit, he never once whimpered or cried - though you could tell that it was very painful. No, what really fueled your ire was the loss of the cheerful spark in Mathias' eyes as Hillary tore him down as she clawed at his body, dragging his self-esteem down as much as his pride and spirit.

With a snarling war cry that surprised even yourself, you launched yourself in between the two, daring the evil harpy to try and hurt Mathias again when you were there to beat her down.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE, YOU-?!"

"NO!" You shrieked, pushing her back and away from the recovering Dane behind you. "You don't get the right to speak! Hillary, who do you think you are?! You don't have the right to beat him! You don't have the right to touch him! He is not your slave, and I - sure as I stand here now - won't let you touch him ever again!"

"Guess what, slime? You don't have the right to claim him, either! You're not his girlfriend! You're not anything! You're not important to anyone, so you can take your attitude and-!"

Layla stepped forward from the shadows nearest and back and slapped the frothing Hillary - hard. In fact, you could've sworn that you heard something crack in Hillary's neck from over a yard away! Layla, the lady-owner of the tattoo parlor, frowned down at the cowering harpy on the floor of her tattoo parlor with a sneer.

"You know," Layla began icily, "the only reasons I hired you was because I was repaying your mother a favor, little larvae. And the fact that my late husband adored you as a child. However, I can see now that that was a mistake."

And as Hillary began to cry, begging the older woman to forgive her, and not to fire her, the old woman combusted. With another stinging slap, she sent Hillary reeling. "The people who you should be begging for forgiveness is Mathias and that brave little girlfriend of his," she uttered coldly, still emitting that frosty atmosphere. "Now, get out. I never want to see your face again. Not in this shop. Never again."

As Hillary ran out of the tattoo parlor, Layla turned back to the two of you with a regretful, remorseful half-smile. She patted your shoulder, and then stood - dwarved - in front of the frazzled, confused, and slightly bemused Mathias. "Guess this old lady still has some fire, eh?" she winked, patting his face kindly. "Go give your girl a hug and a kiss. Take the rest of the day off. When you come back tomorrow, expect a pay-raise and promotion, alright?"

Mathias stood taller and bowed his head respectfully to the elder lady. "Of course, frue. Thank you - so much."

Layla just smiled and left the two of you alone. You almost wished she hadn't because the silence that followed near about killed you.

"L-look, Mathias, about what just happened..." you began softly, avoiding his gaze.

But he just wrapped you up in his arms (which were totally buff and warm and oh-goodness-so-much-better-than-you-had-imagined), and held you close. You could hear his heart beating so rapidly beneath your ear, and yours had been on beat with his from the beginning of the confrontation to that moment. He just held you for the longest moment, his face buried in your soft hair.

"[Y/n], my silly, modig Valkyrie... Is it too late to tell you Jeg elsker dig?" he whispered, swallowing to say the words beyond a lump in his throat.

You pulled away enough to cradle his face in your hands. You stared deeply into his eyes and smiled, seeing the spark return to his soft blue eyes. And he just kept staring into your own (e/c) eyes with a goofy smile of his own.

Snorting slightly, you asked, "What are you thinking of now, Matt?"

"Just how much I think you're so much better than I deserve." He pulled you closer again and whispered, "Tak, my warrior Queen."

...

"Can we go get that ice cream now, min dronningen?"

Laughing, you kissed him softly and drew him away, nodding and starting to talk about your favorite flavors.

THE END~

Heart — Description
A/N:
This one gets a little darker than some of the others, guys. It touches a little bit on abuse, so beware. It's still super fluffy despite that, so yeah...

~Translations in the description~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

... a startled pair of azure blue eyes...

And you had to look up to see them...

Huh. What was up with his hair? It was about three times as large as normal guys' hair when it was spiked up like that! ... Okay, maybe you were exaggerating, but seriously. Wasn't it a pain to get it to stay like that?

You shook your head and moved further away, but the man almost instantly grabbed hold of your arm, some concern leaking into his cheerful expression. "Are you alright, frøken?" he wondered, a small spark in his eyes dimming when he noted your confusion.

The man was freakin' tall. You followed the hand holding your arm up to his short sleeves with your eyes, noting the faint edge of a tattoo peeking out from under the fabric. His grip was firm and strong, but he wasn't crushing you. And his face seemed open, genuine, and curious. He was built in a way that was perfectly proportional, and strong yet lean. For a moment, you wondered - if this was how secure his grip was - what it would feel like to be wrapped in those strong arms...
In short, the man was freaking sexy, and you really had to stop your fantasizing!

... So, why was he there, letting you check him out while he captured your attention and held your arm hostage?

"... I'm fine... Let go," you mumbled, at last tearing your gaze away from the (highly attractive) man, wriggling your arm out of his grip. "... I should call the cops. I don't need that fiend to society getting away before he can be stopped from hurting other people..."

Blinking, the man stepped aside to see what you had done in the alley whilst you called the dispatchers, that initial spark returning to his features. When you finished speaking with the operator, the tall male glued his eyes back on you. "You did that?" he inquired, genuinely curious as he gestured back to the alley.

Without much hesitation, you nodded, "He and a 'friend' tried to mug me. I wouldn't stand for it, and now he gets to pay the price."

A grin lit up the stranger's face with a warm, devious glow. "Well then, min fornem, ung Valkyrie, what do you say to a celebratory drink? If you're busy right now, we could always meet later. My schedule's pretty flexible."

Just as you opened your mouth to reply, a separate female voice cut through the air with the force of a dull blade, her tones grating on your ears, "MATHIAS, if you don't get your stupid Danish butt back into the shop now, you can kiss your pay-raise goodbye!"

Grinning sheepishly, the tall, apparently Danish man fished a business card from his pocket and handed it over to you. "You should come visit me sometime. Anything to distract me from the dragen kvinde."

You weren't too sure what it was he called the screeching harpy that was threatening him, but a soft smile touched your lips anyways. The dreamy look on his face and the distant, although strong glimmer in eyes were almost hypnotizing to behold. So, as much as you were spacing out, he was, too. "The name is [Yo' full name], and don't you forget it, Airhead," you snickered. "You should probably get going, though. She sounds like she's starting to get a little touchy."

A small bout of confusion flitted across the Dane's face, muttering to himself, "Airhead? Airhead!? What's up with that?!"

You pushed him away with a smirk, an unconscious giggle escaping your lips, "Exactly my point, silly! Get going!"

You actually ended up meeting Mathias Køhler several times after visiting that same bakery. (Apparently, it was owned by a friend of a friend to Mathias, by a Frenchman named Francis, who was very flirty when he stood behind the counter, but had mellowed out when he had gotten himself a girlfriend...) It was never a planned meeting, but it always seemed to be that he went there to escape the "dragen kvinden," as he called her, from his work. And instead of a bar, like he had intended to celebrate your victory over the would-be-bandits in your first meeting, you had insisted instead on him treating you to [favorite pastry] from the bakery. There was no way you were getting drunk off that, and there were fewer strings attached to that than, say, a few dozen beers.

Eventually, you two reached a point where you felt comfortable coming to visit his tattoo parlor every once in a while. You enjoyed looking at the various designs that were available, and it was there that you learned both Mathias' specialty and of his own tattoo.

"Hej, welkom, [Y/n]! Did you want to see me?" the bubbly blonde grinned once he saw you stroll in the shop door.

With a small, semi-shy smile of your own, you then quipped, "No, I came to see the monkey with seven toes on his left foot. Of Course I came to see you, Airhead! Why else would I come?"

Mathias groaned dramatically and leaned against the counter he sat behind, rolling his eyes as he sat back down. "You keep calling me that, kæreste, but I don't think that it really fits me."

Giggling in bemusement, you approached the front desk quickly, saying, "Okay, then! What would you prefer I call you when you're acting like your head is up in the clouds? 'Space Cadet?'"

His nose crinkling in mock disgust, the Dane shook his head and leaned back in his seat. "Almost anything is better than that," he grumbled.

A playful smirk played about your lips. "Then, how about~!"

His warm hand was quick to cover your mouth, horror evident in his expression. "Don't you dare finish that sentence, [Y/n]!" he grumbled, pouting slightly before returning to his usual, cheerful demeanor. "I'm partial to being called 'The King of Northern Europe,' because I'm just awesome like that, but I'll still accept 'Your Majesty,' 'Your Highness,' and 'Your Royal Majesty.'"

You snorted and covered a quick smile with your hand. He could be such a dork, sometimes! Shaking your head, you laughed, "I'm sure I'll think of something appropriate, sometime. Something that you would like..."

While you trailed off into thought, you wouldn't have known how much he wanted you to be able to call him your boyfriend... And that thought, among the many romantic things he wanted to try out with you under that title, made the tips of his ears burn. But the cheerfulness that seemed to be his constant companion made sure that a grin hid his embarrassment from you - mostly successfully. After all, you were pretty observant of those your held close to your fragile heart, but then again, the tips of his ears always seemed to be burning whenever you saw him, so you made little fuss of it in your mind.

"Then, how about 'Awesomeness Incarnate'? Or 'The Skilled One'? You have to admit, I've earned those names!" he chuckled.

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you said, "Really? Sometimes, Matt, I wonder about you... But then again, I remember that you specialize in crazy, hair-brained schemes. Like that one time you pranked your roommate - what was his name? Lukas? - into thinking that you had been hospitalized."

Mathias rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly as he pouted. "That was one time, and I still have the strangulation scars to prove it!" he whined. "And besides, you don't know much about my actual specialty..."

"Oh, really?" you wondered bemusedly. A delicately-shaped eyebrow cocked at the Dane, you tilted your head in confusion and curiosity. There were plenty of things the man was good at, so what in the world could he possibly be talking about?

Mathias nodded, looking into your intense [e/c] eyes without a trace of intimidation. "Let me show you..."

And then he leaned back, took a laminated portfolio out from under the counter, and slapped it down beside you, gesturing with a nod for you to peruse the pages. Demurely taking the little book into your hands, you raised a coy eyebrow at the Dane, nodded, and began to flip through the pages. The majority of the tattoo designs, you noted, were of weaponry - ancient, commonly (famously) Nordic weaponry. There was, of course, the usual thorny roses, swirly designs of barbed wire, water, and who-knows-what-all, but that was only a fraction of the weaponry. He did branch off into more modern weapons, such as guns, cannons, you name it; but there were countless spears, shields, swords, and other ancient weaponry to rule them all.

"I'm practicing to become as great in specializing in weapon tattoos as the one who gave me this." He lifted the right sleeve of his shirt to reveal a pair of crossed double-edged war axes. It was masterfully drawn into his skin in such a way that you thought that - if you touched it - you might actually cut yourself on the blade. "The man who did this for me was a master of his craft, and I've never found anyone to match him. Since then, he has passed away, but kæreste, I could never get another tattoo unless it was under his needle. I want to be like him someday. Some of those sketches you see in there were inspired by his works."

You were awed by his dedication and loyalty to such a work, to such a man. It was rather endearing, you decided. A most worthy trait that any girl should feel lucky to be on the receiving end...

"Ugh, is she back again?!" a shrill voice caterwauled.

Cringing, the both of you glanced to the back of the store to see the manager, Hillary, glaring at the two of you. She had made it clear from the very first time that you entered her shop - without appointment, without a real interest in getting one of her tattoos, and distracting Mathias from "work" - that she didn't like you. Consequently, she tried her very hardest to make your visits a living hell - for both you and Mathias.

The worst part was that she always acted as if she owned the place - which wasn't true in the slightest. No, it was owned by a very kind old lady, whose husband had started the business very late in life. The only reason Hillary was even employed, as far as either of you could tell, was because she was the old woman's niece. And Layla, the lady-owner, didn't even like her that much.

Rolling your eyes, in any case, you decided it was probably time for you to get going anyways. Hillary had the terrible tendency to turn any mood sour, and you had had your fill of negativity for the day earlier at work, so you gave Mathias a pat on the cheek and smiled, "Guess I should get, eh? See you soon!"

"See you, killingen! Come back at closing tomorrow, and we can go get a drink, or ice cream, or whatever you want. My treat!" he called, a sad, soft smile masking the pain at seeing you leave so soon.

A rare smile, one that reached your eyes with a purity of joy that he got to see only once a week - if even that much - appeared shyly on your sweet face. "I'd like that, Mathias." And then you left for home.

Mathias sighed dreamily and leaned forward onto the counter. When you smiled like that and said his name so sweetly, it could make any man become as empty of thought as a bottomless bucket. Mathias especially seemed to lose his tough-guy standing and become as harmless as a love-struck puppy! What he wouldn't have given to be able to follow you home like a lost puppy, though...

"Mathias!" Hillary screeched.

Jumping nearly a foot in the air, Mathias sheepishly, apologetically said, "Undskyld, Hil. I guess I got a little bit distracted."

The look she gave him could freeze a flame. And it was then that he knew that he wasn't only going to get a pay-cut for the day; it would include more, the thing that made him want to quit everything and curl up into a ball and disappear. The abuse. She almost never touched him, and when she did, it was usually in places that were easy to hide, but her words and put-downs made it all the harder to roll out of bed everyday. In fact, part of the reason why he was even able to leave the safety of his home was the potential to see you. Now, normally, he was no pushover. Indeed, it was the exact opposite - he had the "battle" scars to prove it. But to admit to being beaten up - emotionally and physically - by a sour, skinny little toothpick like Hillary? It was more than his pride could admit so readily. So, he still came to work, wishing to get away from the dragen kvinden and still so happy to see your face...

Then came the day where you actually witnessed the abuse.

You had always been aware that Hillary treated Mathias worse than dirt with her words, but to see her actually laying a hand on him?!

It was more than you could take.

And so it was, when you found Hillary cornering Mathias, pummeling him where it would hurt the most without breaking skin or being seen so readily, you snapped. There was no way she could get away with that, not now, not EVER.

To give Mathias some credit, he never once whimpered or cried - though you could tell that it was very painful. No, what really fueled your ire was the loss of the cheerful spark in Mathias' eyes as Hillary tore him down as she clawed at his body, dragging his self-esteem down as much as his pride and spirit.

With a snarling war cry that surprised even yourself, you launched yourself in between the two, daring the evil harpy to try and hurt Mathias again when you were there to beat her down.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE, YOU-?!"

"NO!" You shrieked, pushing her back and away from the recovering Dane behind you. "You don't get the right to speak! Hillary, who do you think you are?! You don't have the right to beat him! You don't have the right to touch him! He is not your slave, and I - sure as I stand here now - won't let you touch him ever again!"

"Guess what, slime? You don't have the right to claim him, either! You're not his girlfriend! You're not anything! You're not important to anyone, so you can take your attitude and-!"

Layla stepped forward from the shadows nearest and back and slapped the frothing Hillary - hard. In fact, you could've sworn that you heard something crack in Hillary's neck from over a yard away! Layla, the lady-owner of the tattoo parlor, frowned down at the cowering harpy on the floor of her tattoo parlor with a sneer.

"You know," Layla began icily, "the only reasons I hired you was because I was repaying your mother a favor, little larvae. And the fact that my late husband adored you as a child. However, I can see now that that was a mistake."

And as Hillary began to cry, begging the older woman to forgive her, and not to fire her, the old woman combusted. With another stinging slap, she sent Hillary reeling. "The people who you should be begging for forgiveness is Mathias and that brave little girlfriend of his," she uttered coldly, still emitting that frosty atmosphere. "Now, get out. I never want to see your face again. Not in this shop. Never again."

As Hillary ran out of the tattoo parlor, Layla turned back to the two of you with a regretful, remorseful half-smile. She patted your shoulder, and then stood - dwarved - in front of the frazzled, confused, and slightly bemused Mathias. "Guess this old lady still has some fire, eh?" she winked, patting his face kindly. "Go give your girl a hug and a kiss. Take the rest of the day off. When you come back tomorrow, expect a pay-raise and promotion, alright?"

Mathias stood taller and bowed his head respectfully to the elder lady. "Of course, frue. Thank you - so much."

Layla just smiled and left the two of you alone. You almost wished she hadn't because the silence that followed near about killed you.

"L-look, Mathias, about what just happened..." you began softly, avoiding his gaze.

But he just wrapped you up in his arms (which were totally buff and warm and oh-goodness-so-much-better-than-you-had-imagined), and held you close. You could hear his heart beating so rapidly beneath your ear, and yours had been on beat with his from the beginning of the confrontation to that moment. He just held you for the longest moment, his face buried in your soft hair.

"[Y/n], my silly, modig Valkyrie... Is it too late to tell you Jeg elsker dig?" he whispered, swallowing to say the words beyond a lump in his throat.

You pulled away enough to cradle his face in your hands. You stared deeply into his eyes and smiled, seeing the spark return to his soft blue eyes. And he just kept staring into your own (e/c) eyes with a goofy smile of his own.

Snorting slightly, you asked, "What are you thinking of now, Matt?"

"Just how much I think you're so much better than I deserve." He pulled you closer again and whispered, "Tak, my warrior Queen."

...

"Can we go get that ice cream now, min dronningen?"

Laughing, you kissed him softly and drew him away, nodding and starting to talk about your favorite flavors.

THE END~