cxce15

[cxce15]

This is a stick up! Hand over the Jimmy Olsen x reader fics and no one gets hurt!

[cxce15]

Snotlout Jorgenson in HD now with extra scenes

I am fulfilled

[cxce15]

I get the Jimmy olsen hype guys

[cxce15]

[cxce15]

🎆🎇🎉🎉🎉 Celebrate Sam Wilson and Riri Williams fans 🥳🥳

[cxce15]

HOOKFANG’S PⵊCK

The GIF will be updated with an HD version after the movie releases, allowing me to obtain scene packs.

Pairing: live action Snotlout x female!oc!reader

Warnings: fluff, mild jealousy, light romance tension, mild language, slow burn.

Credits: idea again from @cxce15. Since you liked my last one I hope you like this one too!

You didn't quite ask to be adopted by a dragon. It just sort of. did.

There was no deal. No fiery declaration. No solemn Viking ceremony where Hookfang stood up in front of the village and gave you a stolen goat as a token of eternal fealty.

(Though, now that you think about it, you had received a goat. Three times.)

No—your new and unlikely friendship with the most theatrical dragon on the island began with him sitting—utterly sprawled—in your garden, in the middle of your lavender bed.

You stood there, dirty—handed, staring at eight hundred pounds of fire—breathing personality who had just crushed your mother's herbs without a second glance.

"Hookfang," you said mildly, "you're sitting on my basil."

Hookfang blinked.

"Which I just planted."

A second blink. Slower.

Then he blew smoke in your face and rolled over like a lizard claiming a warm rock.

You sighed. "Right. Okay. So we're doing this now."

And you were doing this now.

Because after the garden incident, Hookfang started showing up everywhere. Initially it was once or twice a week. Then daily. Then demanding every day.

You’d walk outside to find him waiting. At the stream. At the edge of the forest. Once, inside your woodshed, tail wrapped around a barrel like he was guarding it.

(he wasn't. He was sleeping. And accidentally seet it on fire.)

He brought you gifts. Rocks. Bones. A shield that quite clearly still belonged to a Viking who was actively using it.

And, once—a fish that quite clearly already had been chewed and spat out. On your front step. As a gift.

You had no clue what you'd done to warrant his loyalty, but there it was. A great scale—covered presence who followed you around like a winged horror with boundary issues.

The others told you it was strange.

Snotlout called it treason.

Which brings you to the present.

The sun was setting behind the western cliffs, casting the tall grass in warm orange glow.

You were sitting near the edge of the bluff, arms wrapped around your knees, letting the wind run its fingers through your hair.

The air still had the warmth of summer. Everything smelled of wildflowers, smoke, and dragonfire.

Peaceful. Serene.

Until the sky changed.

You didn't even need to turn around. You could feel it.

The wind parched up. The insects fell silent. A blast of heat rolled down your back like someone had just opened the world's grumpiest oven.

And then—

BOOM.

A very loud, very dramatic THUD vibrated the earth as Hookfang landed behind you like the world's noisiest punctuation mark.

You didn't even flinch.

"Hookfang," you said wryly, brushing your hair away from your face, "if this is about the fish thing, I already forgave you. Kind of."

Hookfang tucked his wings with an offended snort. Then—with all the elegance of a collapsing building—he dropped his massive head into your lap and set to work at once snuffling your pockets.

You leaned back on your hands, blowing out a breath. "I don't have snacks. This is a snackless zone. You've just eaten a sheep."

He ignored you and nuzzled into your hip like a child who'd just heard about blanket forts. Then, satisfied, he emitted a low, rumbling sound and went boneless across the grass.

You scratched behind his horn, and he made a noise that could only be defined as smug dragon purring.

"I'm amazed I'm facilitating this," you muttered.

And still—you stayed. Because for as much chaos as Hookfang wrought, he also brought warmth. Comfort. Loyalty. Bizarre gifts. The occasional goat.

And also—

Crashing.

Loud crashing.

The snapping of twigs. The breaking of branches. Furious shouting.

You sighed. "Three… two…"

"HOOKFANG, YOU DOUBLE—CROSSING SCALED TRAITOR, I KNOW YOU'RE OUT HERE!"

Hookfang didn't even flinch.

You glanced over at the treeline, where an enraged, muddy Snotlout burst out of the trees like he'd just been chased by a bear and lost the fight.

He was dripping wet, held one boot, and was covered in leaves.

Hookfang let out a breath of steam out if his nose.

Snotlout panted, stalked up to you, and pointed a finger like he was accusing someone of a war crime.

"I SAID ONE BARREL ROLL," he shrieked, "AND YOU DUMPED ME IN A LAKE."

Hookfang blinked.

Snotlout spun on you. "And you—you just let him do this? Just—just lie here like this? Like some giant fire—lizard snuggling his soulmate while I was eating algae?! "

"I didn't let him," you said softly, scratching Hookfang's chin. "He does what he wants."

"He was supposed to be doing what I want. Because I'm his RIDER."

You nodded at the dragon. "Yeah, well, he's not riding anyone now. He's nesting."

Hookfang grunted happily and wound his tail carefully around your legs like a living blanket.

Snotlout felt personally betrayed. "He's spooning you. I have never been spooned by him!"

"That's a you problem."

"This is an end—of—the—world problem! My own dragon has traded me in for—" he gestured wildly at you—"a person who doesn't even fly."

You looked at him. "Perhaps he simply likes me."

Snotlout stared, mouth agape. "…I like you!"

You blinked.

He blinked.

Hookfang let out a long, meaningful snort.

Snotlout turned pink. "That's—not—what I meant. I mean, I do. Like. Generally. Platonically. Like—adjacent. Whatever."

You raised an eyebrow.

He coughed and dropped to the grass beside you like a wounded animal resigned to fate.

Hookfang immediately swatted him with his tail.

Snotlout shoved it off. “You’re the worst best friend I’ve ever had.”

Hookfang yawned in his face.

You bit back a laugh.

“You think this is funny?” he muttered.

“A little.”

“I almost drowned.”

“You smell like pond weed.”

“I found a snail in my pocket.”

You cracked a grin. “Is that a new pet or—?”

“Not the point!”

Hookfang rumbled again and rested his chin more heavily in your lap, smug as sin.

Snotlout moaned, falling onto his back in the grass with arms spread out like a Viking martyr.

"He's in love with you. This is worse than losing him to a Night Fury. At least Toothless is cool. You—you're just nice and thoughtful and non—flammable! That's not even fair."

You looked down at Hookfang. "You hear that, buddy? You broke up with him for someone non—flammable."

Hookfang let out a happy little puff of steam.

Snotlout sat up, defeated. "I trained him. I fed him. I made fire—based bonding rituals."

"He likes my face," you said.

He paused. "Yeah, well. It is a nice face. Stupid symmetrical features."

You looked at him.

He looked at you.

"Did I say that out loud?" he muttered.

“You did.”

"Cool. Just checking."

You shook your head, still smiling. He was absurd. But also—completely transparent.

In his own insane, backwards, emotionally—damaged way, Snotlout cared.

Maybe more than he realized.

And maybe Hookfang had realized that long before either of you had.

Snotlout sat beside you, pond water dripping off of him, scraps of moss still stuck to his knee.

His hair was mussed, his face a mess, and his dragon—his actual life—long bonded war—beast—was currently curled around your legs like a sleep—satisfied golden retriever.

Hookfang was purring.

Actually purring.

Like he hadn’t just emotionally devastated his rider.

The sky was warm with sunset now, the air cooling just enough to mist your breath.

You leaned a bit into the warmth of Hookfang's side, scraping your knuckles along the scales between his horns. He sighed like a tired king and let his entire weight fall into your lap.

Snotlout saw it happen.

Then hid his face in his hands and groaned.

"Okay. Alright. New plan," he muttered into his hands. "If I can't win him back, I'll just… win you instead."

You blinked. "I'm sorry—what now?"

He peeked through his fingers, realized he said that out loud, then sat up straight and cleared his throat like a man who'd definitely practiced this speech in front of a mirror.

"I just meant—since you and Hookfang are clearly a thing, and since I trained Hookfang, and since we're both, like, available adults with the same trauma—mostly dragon—inflicted—I thought perhaps we could… y'know."

You tilted your head to one side. "Are you asking me out? In third person?"

Snotlout tripped. "No! I mean, yes. Kind of. That wasn't the plan, but now it's beginning to seem like the plan, and to be truthful, I'm switching direction because you're looking very kissable in this lighting."

You laughed outright. "Snotlout—"

"I'm being vulnerable!" he cried, tossing a hand heavenward. "I'm saying I like you! In a genuine, sincere, chest—aching kind of way! Like, I'm thinking about you when I'm supposed to be thinking about dragon saddle upkeep, which has some very real safety implications, incidentally!"

You opened your mouth to reply.

And Hookfang—perhaps sensing the dangerous build—up of romantic tension—opted for violence.

He snorted loudly, swished his tail and slapped it squarely across Snotlout's chest, causing him to tumble backwards into the grass with a shocked "ooF!"

You stifled a laugh.

Snotlout sat up, his face flushing. "SERIOUSLY?! That was a confession, you big oven mitt!"

Hookfang let out a contented, self—satisfied growl and lazily shifted his body closer, wedging himself further into your side.

He wasn't in your lap now—he was sprawled across your lower half, regarding Snotlout with an expression of: You may speak when spoken to.

Snotlout glared at him, then, with stubborn determination, turned back to you.

"Alright. Alright. I'll repeat myself. Without the tail—smack.".

You raised an eyebrow, amused. "Okay."

He took a breath.

"'I like you,' he said, clearly trying very hard not to shout. "Like, really like you. Not because Hookfang does. Not because you're pretty—though you are, and that's been its own emotional crisis—but because you're actually nice to be around. You don't act like I'm a joke. You don't tease me for being loud or overcompensating or a bit… much."

You were quiet. He was actually talking.

"You make me feel like maybe being me is okay," he said. Then added quickly, "And not just because Hookfang kidnapped you and I'm trying to win some sort of strange cuddle—based custody battle."

You smiled. Soft and real.

And just as you were about to respond—

Hookfang sneezed.

Directly at him.

A smoky, aggressive blast of dragon breath hit Snotlout like an airbag of disappointment. His hair blew back. His shirt flapped. He just sat there blinking, eyes wide, face smeared with ash and confusion.

You bit your lip so hard you almost bruised it.

Snotlout wiped soot from his cheek “I am this close to sending you off this Island.”

Hookfang emitted a little chirp. That was a mocking chirp.

Snotlout stood before you once more, embarrassed but resolute.

"Okay, one last time," he said, standing up straight. "And if I get flamed again, I'm going to take it as a sign from the gods that I'm cursed."

You nodded solemnly. "Go ahead."

"I like you."

You blinked. "That was it?"

"YES. Because I've said it four times now and I'm sweating in my boots, which I only just got back on, thank you very much.

There was a pause. Waves crashing could be heard on the wind.

You leaned in slightly. "I like you too."

Snotlout's brain seemed to malfunction. His eyes went wide. His mouth dropped open. Then closed. Then opened again.

"…You do?"

You nodded.

A slow, stupid smile crept across his face. "Wait, really? You're sure? Like, not just sympathy liking, like when Hiccup says I look good in red just to get me to shut up?"

"Really."

He blinked at you. "This is incredible. This is better than dragon racing. Hookfang—buddy—did you hear that?"

Hookfang, who had already curled tighter around you like a smug, giant blanket, issued one last victorious rumble.

Snotlout smiled.

"Wait… do I still have to share you with him?"

You leaned back, your head on Hookfang's shoulder. "Pretty sure that was never optional."

Snotlout groaned, falling backward again. "This is the worst best day of my life."

[cxce15]

I am once again kindly asking someone to write for Parker Robbins from Ironheart because I'm tired of pretending that Anthony Ramos ain't fine

PLEASE 😔💔

[cxce15]

Amazing

10/10

Perfection

All the compliments you can think of I'm throwing your way

WHERE THE FⵊRE DOESN’T BURN ME

The GIF will be updated with an HD version after the movie releases, allowing me to obtain scene packs.

Pairing: Snotlout live action x female!oc!reader

warnings: Trauma and PTSD, mild violence, fire and destruction, loss and grief, mild non—consensual kiss

Credits: idea from @cxce15’s post. Thank you for the idea and I hope you like it! I apologize if you don't like it I just had no idea what kind of plot to do

Flames consumed everything you've ever loved.

You were twelve, little and exposed to the world already too harsh.

Your mother was a healer, hands always powdered with the pungent, green smell of herbs—yarrow to treat fever, chamomile to induce sleep, sage to close wounds.

She'd sit near the fire, mortar a constant heartbeat, hum a soft thread weaving through your existence.

Gentle were her fingers, stroking the black hair back when you leaned against her, exhausted from a day of struggling to keep pace with her through Berk's fields.

She was naming the plants to you, telling you how they were used, her voice low and level, like the light of the fire.

You had thought she could fix anything.

Your father was a fisherman, his palms hard and net—worn, his beard sea—salted. He smelled of salt and sea and wind, and his stories charmed your evenings.

He spoke to you of waves which whispered mysteries, of leading stars which brought ships home.

He'd carve little wooden boats for you by the fireside at night, his knife firm, his laughter rumbling deep in his chest to safeguard you.

They were not warriors, your parents, nor Berk's heroes of dragons. No, they were the quiet, obstinate ones, the ones who made your world hold together.

The smell of pine and salt hung heavy in the evening air, the moon the crescent of a brilliant shining silver in the black sky overhead of the village.

You were wedged in beside the fire, your mother's fingers in your hair, her soft voice reciting the history of the new salve she had prepared.

Your father sat across the room, repairing a net, his deep, resonant voice breaking the silence in teasing her for her constant picking of herbs.

The warmth of the moment encircled you, thick and secure, until the noise burst in.

It was something for which you could never prepare yourself—a Monstrous Nightmare's low, gravelly roar that shook the walls of your little house.

The door exploded open, wood breaking like bone. There was fire after that, a blast of flame that consumed the air, making the warm glow of the hearth a terror.

Red and gold, molten metal, shone across the dragon's scales, its wings casting shadows over the brilliance. Its eyes bored into you, still and slitted, burning through your frozen form.

You were unable to scream, could hardly even move, your breath caught in your throat.

Your mother's firm but shaking hands pushed you towards the rear of the house. "Hide, Nari," she whispered, the words reminiscent of crackling dry timber.

You staggered, scrambling your feet on the ground, and crept under the stack of overturned beams, the timber catching at your skin.

Smoke burned in your lungs, thick and choking, each breath a pain in your chest. Heat was palpable, pounding against you, scorching your arms, your face.

You heard your dad scream—a single, wracking cry—end in the crash of splintering wood. The dragon roared once more, its fire licking along walls, ceiling, everything.

You clapped your hands over your ears, but the noise was inside you, an ache that would never fade.

You don't know how long you're there, curled up, ashes and tears streaming down your face. The heat of the fire had disappeared, and cold set in that coursed through your bones.

You were still under the beams at the time the village found you early in the sun, your body shaking, your voice taken. Your home had burned, smoldering timbers scattered like bones.

Your parents were absent, their faces already disappearing in your memory, only traces of them remaining behind—their smell of herbs, the laughter & the weight of absence that’s been dragging you down since the day you lost them.

Now nineteen years old, the evening is an enduring scar you carry everywhere you go. Its memory is brought back to you by the sheen of Hookfang's scales, the rasp of his sibilant breathing.

Dragons are the friends of Berk today, but to you, they represent fire and death.

Their roars, their wings, shake your hands, your heart, to the point where you are sure your heart is going to burst.

You've mastered the art of hiding, of burying the fear deep under work and problems no one can reach. And with every shadow, you're brought back to that night to relive what you've lost.

Calloused hands buffed the leather of a dragon saddle, the acrid smell of oil slicing through the smoke—filled air.

Sweat beads erupted on her forehead, her black hair pulled back into a messy knot, strands stuck to the back of her neck. Her shoulders were stiff, jaw clenched, as she concentrated on the texture of the leather — Gobber's roar brought her out of that concentration.

"Nari, lass!" The blacksmith hobbled in, peg leg pounding, mustache trembling as he gestured with his hook. "Hookfang's saddle is chafing his scales, and his reins are unraveling. You're skilled at working leather, so take it to the Dragon Academy for Snotlout. Make it right!"

Nari's hand froze on the saddle, her knuckles whitening. Hookfang's flaming scales, his searing breath—they grated against a night seven years ago when fire had destroyed everything.

Her heart quickened, her lips flattening into a thin line, her eyes narrowing. "Can't anyone else do it?" Her voice was low, tense, her body stiffening.

Gobber jeered, tossing a cloth over his shoulder. "Not if you want Snotlout crashing into the mead hall! Move it!" He went back to his anvil, muttering about "idle youngsters.".

Nari breathed a sigh, her shoulders sagging in resignation. She collected the saddle, new reins, and a tool kit, the iron tools clinking inside her pack.

She stepped into Berk's bustle, squinting in the sun at midday, the salt scent of the sea pungent in her nose.

Gronckles ambled by with nets, nadders slid over roofs, their scales glinting like polished jewels. Nari dipped her head, her boots scuffling in the dust, her fists tight on the saddle, as if it could anchor her against the dragons' radiance.

Her back was rigid, her movements gradual and controlled, as if she was bracing herself for a strike.

The Dragon Training Academy was in a flurry. Hiccup hunched beside Toothless, his fingers fiddling with the tail fin, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, his shoulders bent over what he was working on.

Astrid leaned against a stone column, her arms crossed, her braid swinging as she gave a half—hearted punch to Ruffnut, who was holding a dagger on the tip of her finger.

Tuffnut was reclining on a crate, bombing a nadder with small stones, his smile broad, his braids bobbing with every toss.

Fishlegs was seated cross—legged on the earth, nose in a book, fingers tapping impatiently as he mumbled something under his breath about dragon migration patterns.

Snotlout stood in between them, hands on hips, chest puffed out like a strutting rooster. Hookfang was huddled behind him, scales glinting like the heart of a forge, making a thick, smoky snort.

Nari's own chest tightened, her fingers trembling, a burst of flame and shrieking flashing through her head. She gritted her teeth, her gaze flicking to the dragon and then to the earth.

“Snotlout," she spat, her voice cutting through the talk. "Your saddle. Get this over with." Her shoulders were tense, her body stiff, her hand white—knuckled on the saddle.

Snotlout spun around, his blue eyes glinting, his mouth curled in a sneer. He strode across, boots scattering dust, leather armor creaking with every move.

“Nari! Come to bask in the Snot—man's brilliance?" His voice boomed, shoulders back, but his hands fiddled with his belt buckle, a nervous habit despite his ‘confidence’.

He smelled of sweat, leather, and smoked mackerel, his messy black hair sticking out beneath his helmet.

Nari shoved the saddle towards him, stiff—armed, pinched mouth. "Get your dragon's equipment functioning, or I'm gone." Her gaze darted to Hookfang, then away, her breath catching.

Astrid snorted, dropping her crossed arms, stance relaxed but eyes keen. "Snotlout, don't make her regret that. Some of us really do have actual training to get to." Her braid swung as she inclined her head, half—smile taking the sting from her rebuke.

"Training? I'm a natural!" Snotlout retorted, his smile broad, but his eyes flicked to Hiccup, anticipating some kind of response. Hiccup glanced up, his hands stilled on Toothless's scales, his posture casual.

Nari, thanks for the assistance," Hiccup replied, his voice relaxed, his head canted to one side. "Hookfang's been restless. Will you check the saddle fit and change the reins?" His fingers wiped dirt from his hands, his eyes friendly but watchful.

Nari nodded, her lips compressing, her shoulders tightening as she avoided Hookfang's slitted stare. "Yeah. But keep him back." Her voice strained, her fingers clenching on the saddle, her body leaning away from the dragon.

Snotlout sneered, thumping Hookfang's snout, his hand gripped firm but his shoulders quivering slightly, as if trying to stand straighter. "Back? Hookfang's a teddy bear!" A spark flew from the dragon's mouth, and Nari flinched, her hands shaking, her posture hunching even farther.

She swung to the bench, dumping the saddle down with a clunk, her movements jerky, her breathing tight.

Tuffnut pitched a pebble, grinning, his arms waving wildly. "Ha! Nari's got dragon jitters! Bet she'd run if we let Barf and Belch on her!" His braids bounced, his posture open, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

Ruffnut shoved him, hands on hips, her sneer cutting. "She'd flatten you before they even got to you, Tuff." She stood spread—legged, braid swinging as she laughed, her eyes flicking to Nari with a nod.

Fishlegs' gaze rose, his round face intent, his hands clenching his book tightly. "Hookfang's not so scary, Nari. His scales are just… really, really warm. Thermally efficient!" His shoulders hunched, his voice trailing off as he winced under her glare.

"Thanks," Nari said, her tone flat, her eyes on the saddle. "Just let's get this over with." Her fingertips traced the worn edges of the leather, feeling for rough patches, her movements precise despite the dragon towering in proximity.

Hookfang's scales glinted as her pulse quickened, her jaw clenching.

Hiccup rose, wiping dirt from his hands, his stance casual but commanding. "Okay, we're inspecting the north cliffs for storm damage. Snotlout, remain and assist Nari with Hookfang's equipment. Don't get it wrong." His voice was light, but his gaze rested on Snotlout, a wordless order.

Snotlout groaned, his shoulders sagging dramatically, his hands flying up in pretended despair. "What? I'm the best rider here!" His voice boomed, but his fingers twitched, his gaze darting to Hiccup, a shadow of uncertainty flickering.

Astrid snorted, slinging her axe over her back, "Best at bragging, perhaps. Don't make Nari crazy." She smiled at Nari, eyes warm, and left.

Tuffnut leaped down from the crate with a thud, arms outstretched. "If you two get trapped, I'm putting my money on Nari to break free first!" He ducked Ruffnut's elbow as they trailed after Astrid.

Fishlegs hesitated, his fingers drumming his book, his stance tense. "Nari, the stitching on the saddle is fantastic. Very neat." He smiled shyly, then darted after the others, leaving the arena empty.

Nari kneeled beside Hookfang, her toolkit clattering, back straight, not meeting the dragon's scales. She inspected the underside of the saddle, her hands firm but shaking a little, the leather smooth beneath her fingers.

Snotlout squatted next to her, too close, his arm touching hers, his back hunched but his fingers tapping on his knee impatiently.

“You're kinda good at this," he told her, his voice playful, his smile crooked. "Not Snotlout—level, but close." His gaze remained on her fingers, his shoulders easing imperceptibly toward her.

Nari's eyebrow went up, her lips twisting, her stance relaxing slightly. "High praise, Jorgenson." Her voice was dry, but her fingers relaxed, her shoulders unkinking as she cinched the saddle tight.

The reins had to be adjusted on Hookfang. Nari halted, her fingers clenching tight, her eyes darting to the dragon's nose. His breath puffed, hot and smoky, and her chest tightened, a surge of flame in her mind.

She backed up, her shoulders curling, her breath coming short. "You do it," she said to Snotlout, her voice tight.

He took them, his fingers brushing against hers, his hand warm, his stance relaxing. "Alright, alright." He readjusted the reins, his movements surprisingly gentle, his voice low as he calmed Hookfang. "Lookin' sharp, buddy."

The dragon grumbled, almost gentle, and Nari's shoulders relaxed a little, her breathing steadying.

They finished their work, and Nari stored her tools, the clang of iron on iron grounding her. The arena was empty, the sun low, elongating shadows and painting Berk with gold.

The sea's salt blended with the distant tang of the forge, the air cold on her warm flesh. Snotlout leaned against a stone wall, arms folded, smirk less haughty, fingers tapping his elbow nervously.

Hookfang lay next to him, tail twitching lazily, his scales shining like amber in the dying light.

"So," Snotlout stated, his voice somewhat lighter, shoulders at ease but eyes seeking hers. "We work well together, right?" His head was tilted to the side, his smirk in play but his posture open, as if waiting for her to agree.

Nari snorted, slinging her bag over her shoulder, her posture easing but her arms crossing defensively over her chest. "You're still annoying." Her mouth relaxed somewhat, her eyes darting up to his before she looked away, a blush creeping up her neck.

He moved in a bit nearer, his boots scraping the ground, his armor creaking, his smell—leather, sweat, fish—cutting through the cold of the night. "Come on, Nari. You like me a little." His voice was gentle, his grin lost, his gaze fixed on hers, his shoulders relaxing a fraction in her direction.

Her heart skipped a beat, her hand tightening on her bag, her body stiffening. "Don't think you're that important," she breathed, but her voice was softer, her eyes holding his, her breath catching.

The arena was silent, Hookfang's breathing a low hum, the village sound a distant rumble.

Snotlout's hand rose, hesitating, before sweeping a loose hair from her face, his fingers warm, his touch gentle. "You're sort of pretty when you're not scowling," he murmured, his voice low, his eyes seeking.

He leaned forward, slow but certain, his lips finding hers—warm, soft, flavored with salt and daredevilry, his breath twining with hers.

Her mind went blank. Hookfang's scales gleamed before her, and a flash of fire and terror spurted through her, and she struck out blindly, slapping his face with a crack.

Snotlout recoiled, clutching his face, his eyes wide, his posture dissolving in shock.

"Ow!" he cried, rubbing at the red mark on his fingers, his shoulders stiffening. "What was that for?" His voice was a half—gasp, a half—laugh, his eyes still shining with amusement.

Nari's hand burned, her face on fire, her heart pounding from the dragon's presence and the surprise of the kiss.

"Don't!" she stammered, voice trembling, posture tense, hands curling as the recollection of flame surged. She backed away, her breath coming in jerks, her gaze darting to Hookfang before snapping back.

Snotlout blinked, grinned, straightening, his hand falling to his side, his stance easing. "Okay, my bad. But, like, worth it." His tone was teasing, his eyes glinting, his shoulders easing as he rubbed his cheek. "You're cute when you're angry."

Nari frowned, her lips trembling, her shoulders relaxing a bit. "You're an idiot," she snarled, her voice lower, her hands relaxing, her blush receding.

He stepped closer, smiling softly, his hands at his sides but shaking like he was itching to touch.

“Hey, you wanna try something?" he said softly, his eyes flicking over to Hookfang, who was asleep, head lowered, eyes half—closed. "Pet him. He's not so bad."

Nari's stomach dropped, her hands clenching into fists, her body tense. Hookfang's scales shone, too reminiscent of that night, and her heart sped up, her jaw tightening.

"No way," she snarled, her voice cutting, her eyes locked on the dragon's snout, her breath coming in short gasps.

Snotlout tilted his head to one side, his expression gentle, his hands drumming against his belt. "I know he's big. But he's my friend. One touch, Nari. I'm here." His voice was low, his posture relaxed, his hand resting on her arm, firm but not pressing.

Her heart raced, but his calm kept her stable. She staggered forward in an unsteady stride, her boots scraping, her hands shaking as she extended her hands.

Her fingers brushed against Hookfang's nose, smooth and warm, the dragon's eyes slowly opening, serene, not hunting.

She retreated, gasping harshly, her shoulders relaxing, her breathing slowing.

Snotlout's grin was dazzling, his chest puffing out, his eyes smug. "Told ya! He's a softie." His voice was warm, his hand inches from hers but not quite touching, his posture relaxed.

Nari's throat tightened, relief mingling with something softer. "Don't get too big for your britches," she snarled, her lips curving up, her stance easing, her eyes meeting his in a flash of heat.

They trudged back to the village, the sky striped pink and gold, dragons soaring overhead, their wings a steady whoosh.

Gobber was banging away at the forge, oblivious, his mustache quivering as he bellowed a song. "Saddle repaired, lass?" he shouted, his hook glinting.

"Yeah," Nari replied, her voice even, her stance easy, her hands relaxed at her sides. Snotlout was beside the door, his cheek slightly pink, his smile less assured, his fingers drumming the frame anxiously.

"Hello, Nari," he said, moving closer, his boots grating, his armor groaning. Forge heat eddied between them, the stench of soot heavy on the air, the far tang of salt.

His eyes met hers, his smile absent, his shoulders leaning in. "I'm not so terrible, am I?" His voice soft, his fingers grazing hers, his hand warm, hesitant.

She lifted her eyes, her heart skipping, her lips parting. "You're all right," she breathed in, soft voice. The firelight cast its beam on his face, his eyes glinting, his breath catching.

He bent, more slowly this time, his hand cradling her cheek, his fingers shaking a bit, his thumb stroking her skin.

Their lips connected, sloppy and warm, his kiss hungry, a bit sloppy, salt and smoked fish flavoring him, his breath searing against her mouth.

Her hands clenched on his armor, drawing him nearer, her lips moving with his, soft and starving, the heat of the forge echoing the heat in her chest.

They recoiled, panting, her face flushed, her eyes shining, her stance relaxed. Snotlout smiled, his hand still on her cheek, his fingers outlining her jaw.

"Told ya you like me," he muttered, his voice husky, his eyes glinting.

Nari laughed, a tiny, genuine laugh, her hands falling to her sides, her shoulders easing. "Don't push your luck, Jorgenson."

[cxce15]

Currently unemployed and hungry for fanfic content

But I know yall have jobs ( get that bag ) and school and in general lives so I'm being patient

But this weekend I really hope that a lot of yall writers ( who I'm generally so grateful for ) pull through and update me with new fics while I'm reeling from another failed job application

[cxce15]

Yall I'm watching the live action Snow White

It's actually good ( I never thought the movie was gonna be bad anyway )

Music was on point

CGI wasn't bad

Cinematography was good

It wasn't completely in tune with the original but I didn't even really like the original anyway

And I didn't mind the changes made if we're being honest

I actually prefer the live action

The only bad part about this movie was Gal Gadot

We don't stand zionist ass-holes in this house

Rachel slayed this role and is my Snow White

[cxce15]

Having them play cousins was such a w

I need fanfics of them both tho cause they high key FIONEEE

[cxce15]

riri williams: i'm so hungry i could eat.... alexander hamilton

hood: who the fuck told you that

[cxce15]

AHGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

[cxce15]

Current character fixations are Snotlout Jorgenson, Parker Robbins, and his fine ass cousin John King

I will now be asking for Parker and John fics

And with the way my head is going might just put up a few ideas I got for them too

[cxce15]

That heist crew is a bunch of good looking mofos. Every.single.one. of.them. 👏👏👏

[cxce15]

I'm bout to watch Ironheart

Can't wait to see more goated marvel characters come to life

And simp over Anthony Ramos

[cxce15]

Coming up with 19 different fic ideas but having absolute shit writing skills is slowly killing me inside

( please check them out and if you can apply those writing ideas to other characters that would be great )