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You Were Always | Raphael Hamato

Pairing: Raphael Hamato x Reader Summary: Your date ended horribly. You walked home alone in the rain, sobbing, with a red mark on your arm and a story to keep from your green best friends (because they brutalize bad people, plus you were just embarrassed of your judgment.) Big Red, however, was tired of being your best friend -- and was waiting to tell you that. Themes & Warnings: protective!Raph, emotional love confessions in the rain, mentions of violence and possible carrying out of violence, swearing, slight fluff, comfort, Raph being angry bc he's always angry.

Having mutant turtle best friends was not how you thought your twenties would go. Not that you weren't thankful.

You just thought you'd be hanging out with your girls, going to bars, meeting dudes and finding your calling while studying in college. You thought it would be full of mini skirts, glitter, vodka and dreams. You were wrong. Completely wrong. Instead, you were walking home drunk from a bar alone, fell down an open manhole cover, and were caught by strong, green arms.

You screamed for a second. Passed out. When you woke up, you were on an old tattered couch with a giant rat staring at you, then looking at the four hulking turtle-human men in disdain.

That was how you met your boys.

It didn't take you long to love them. You loved Leo's courage, his leadership, his perfect advice every time you asked for it. He was more mature than most people you knew, though he hadn't experienced a full life that was similar to yours. You loved Donnie's intelligence, his excitement about his hobbies, how gentle he was, and how eager he was to teach you about things you'd never heard about. You loved Mikey's carefree spirit, the way he could always lift you up when you were feeling down, and his spectacular sense of humor. And most of all, you loved Raph.

You always attracted a bad boy. Always, always. Though it wasn't romantic, it was natural for you to spend the most time with the most rough-around-the-edges motherfucker there was. It was just how your life went. When you met Raph, he was tough to crack at first. He was a little grumpy about a new human joining their lives, adding to the chaos that April O'Neil originally brought -- but he warmed up to you until he was ultimately the closest to you out of the four.

At first, he didn’t speak to you much. Just kind of grunted when you came by. Didn’t laugh at your jokes. Barely made eye contact.

But you noticed the small things. Like how he always checked the tunnels before you left. How he stood between you and the sketchier parts of the lair. How he walked you out even when you said you didn’t need an escort.

You started staying longer when he was around. He started lingering in the doorway when you visited.

Eventually, that turned into regular late-night talks, usually on the couch, or while he bench pressed literal cars in the corner of the dojo. You’d sit with your legs crisscrossed, talking about dumb things: your classes, your horrible job, your wild roommates. He’d grunt or smirk, occasionally tossing in a sarcastic comment that made you snort into your soda. Sometimes he’d say something unexpectedly thoughtful, and it’d stick with you for days.

What no one told you about Raph was that he listened. He remembered everything -- the names of your old pets, the fact that your mom was sick, your weird favorite candy that no one else liked. He noticed when you wore makeup to hide stress, or when your laugh didn’t sound quite right.

When you got sick, he brought you soup and didn’t make eye contact the entire time. When you got dumped, he punched the punching bag until his knuckles bled and didn’t say why. When you succeeded, a passing grade, a new job, a clean day, he acted like it was your world championship.

And you?

You kept him soft.

You gave him space to breathe. Let him be quiet when he needed to be. Made him laugh when he didn’t want to. You saw past the temper and the walls and the scowl and found the stubbornly loyal, deeply sensitive, fiercely protective man underneath.

You made him feel safe.

It was always you and Raph -- shoulder to shoulder, sarcasm for armor, both pretending it wasn’t more.

Even if everyone else already knew it was.

The day you came into the lair talking about some date, Raph surprisingly held his tornado of anger, disgust, and jealousy inward. You never even noticed it. He wasn't sure how he'd managed to hide everything he was feeling -- maybe through the "keep calm" tactics that you'd taught him one day -- but he did it successfully. It wasn't like you'd never gone on a date before. You'd even gone on multiple dates with one chump, calling him your boyfriend before you eventually got tired of him questioning where you went every Friday night (movie night with the boys.)

“He's actually really nice,” you said, sucking the last few drops of a smoothie Mikey had made through a straw noisily. “He does concrete construction or whatever. He helped with the new sidewalk outside my university.”

The boys listened. Donnie sat on a stool, staring down at some little gadget he was working on, making noises of acknowledgement to show he was listening. Mikey did dishes, occasionally stopping to look at you. Leo sat politely, eyes on you.

And Raph? Raph stood next to you, arms crossed solidly, wishing he could run away and beat the shit out of something.

“Well, angelcakes, he sounds like a nice one.” Mikey commented, grinning. “But remember Mikey's rules for date safety! Never--”

You rolled your eyes.

“Never leave your drink uncovered, never--” You attempted to finish.

“--go anywhere alone, and if he orders milk on a first date, run,” Mikey finished, snapping a soapy finger toward you like a coach on game day.

You snorted. “He ordered beer last time, so I think we’re in the clear.”

“Still kinda weird,” Donnie mumbled, not looking up from his work.

“Beer’s weird?” you asked, lifting a brow.

“No,” Donnie said, adjusting a dial, “him.”

That earned a laugh from Mikey and even the smallest twitch of a smile from Leo.

But Raph? Raph didn’t smile. He didn’t speak.

He just stood there beside you, hulking and silent, jaw tight, arms crossed so hard his biceps flexed like steel cables under his skin.

You never noticed the tension, not really. You never noticed how his eyes flicked to your exposed collarbone, still dotted with the leftover shimmer of whatever perfume you wore. You never noticed how he inhaled, just once, like he could smell him on you. How he fought the urge to throw that smoothie cup across the room.

You never noticed because Raph didn’t let it show.

It wasn’t the first time you’d mentioned some dude. You’d brought up a few before. Guys who left you unsatisfied, frustrated, confused. He’d always been there after. Quietly listening. Driving you home. Standing behind you in line at the bodega, just in case the ex showed up and needed reminding. He made a public appearance a lot now, since Donnie had invented the projection watches -- they gave the boys human bodies, human personas for when they had to go up top and not raise hell. For when they needed to be up there for regular, human business.

This time was different.

This guy was new. He was “nice.” He had a job that involved strength. You smiled when you talked about him.

You stopped by again before you went on tonight's date. Your outfit would've made Raph blush if he wasn't so fucking pissed. You had a short, black dress on, just long enough to keep it classy but with enough leg showing to make you look sexy. Your hair was curled and tucked into a bun, ringlets falling in front of your face. Your makeup wasn't dramatic, it accentuated your naturally beautiful face. You wore heels, but they still didn't touch Raphael's height at all. After all, the man was like six foot seven.

You twirled in front of the boys, smiling brightly.

“How do I look? Is there something I'm missing?”

You were standing in front of him, spinning like some perfect little fever dream, the soft lighting of the lair catching the shimmer on your legs and the curve of your smile, asking him -- the guy currently gripping the edge of the counter so hard it might crack -- if you were missing something.

Yeah. You were missing something. Him.

He didn't say it. He couldn’t say it. Not with Leo watching you like a protective big brother. Not with Donnie adjusting his glasses and muttering something about “statistical likelihood of safety.” Not with Mikey wolf-whistling in the background like he was front row at a runway show.

“Daaaamn, baddie,” Mikey grinned, dramatically fanning himself with a pizza box. “You look like heartbreak in heels. Don’t kill the guy. Unless he deserves it.”

“I won’t,” you giggled, smoothing the sides of your dress. “He’s just taking me to dinner. Somewhere nice.”

“Nice how?” Leo asked cautiously.

You shrugged. “Little Italian place near the East River. It’s casual. Wine, candles… pasta, hopefully.”

Donnie didn’t look up. “Call me if anything seems off.”

“You’ll know before I do,” you said, tapping your phone. “I’m sharing my location with you already.”

“Smart girl,” Leo said with a nod.

Then your eyes flicked to Raph, still standing frozen by the fridge, knuckles white where they wrapped around the counter. You smiled at him -- warm and sweet, like you always did -- and tilted your head.

“Well? You didn’t say anything. I look okay?”

His throat was dry. His jaw clenched. He couldn’t look at your legs again, not when you were dressed like that for someone who wasn’t him.

You looked like temptation itself. You looked like his worst mistake waiting to happen. You looked like everything he couldn’t have.

So he gave a grunt. “Yeah. S’fine.”

“Just fine?” you teased.

He forced himself to look at your face. Just your face.

“You look great,” he muttered.

You beamed, completely unaware of the furnace behind his eyes. “Thank you, Raphie.”

Then you stepped close, too close, and reached up to fix the collar of his tank top with that same tenderness you always had. Your perfume hit him like a punch to the gut.

“You’re always honest with me,” you said softly. “That’s what I like about you.”

His jaw ticked. “Don’t like lyin’.”

You smiled. “I’ll be back late. Don’t wait up.”

Then you turned, heels tapping across the cement floor, and disappeared into the tunnels with a quick wave goodbye.

And Raphael?

Raphael stood there silently, watching the spot where you’d been, breathing slow through his nose like if he didn’t, something in him might snap.

Because it should’ve been him.

Taking you to dinner. Making you laugh over wine and pasta. Driving you home with your heels dangling from your hand, your lips gloss-smeared and smiling just for him.

Instead, he was stuck underground. Fuming. Wishing he'd just said it.

Wishing he’d told you the truth the moment you walked in, all sparkling eyes and lip gloss:

You didn’t look perfect.

You looked like his.

He groaned, wiping his huge hand across his forehead in frustration. Leo watched him carefully, pursing his lips. Donnie said nothing, as usual, and Mikey sensed the tension, tucking himself back into his corner where he was eating his pizza and playing his video games.

“She's your best friend. You should have just been honest,” Leo hummed carefully, as if not to set off the beast. “The truth'll come out one way or another.”

Raphael didn’t answer right away. He just stood there, still leaning against the counter, still seething under the surface like a volcano that had been too quiet for too long.

His hand dropped from his forehead, falling heavy against the edge of the counter with a dull thud. His jaw flexed. Once. Twice.

“Yeah,” he muttered finally, voice low and full of gravel. “Well. Too late now, ain’t it?”

Leo tilted his head, arms crossed, giving him that look. The big brother one. The patient, steady stare that somehow made Raph feel like he was still twelve and throwing punches in the dojo.

“It’s not too late unless you decide it is,” Leo said, voice calm, but firm.

Donnie didn't glance up from the device in his hand, but his voice carried from behind his glasses.

“She trusts you more than anyone. Statistically, emotional vulnerability paired with long-standing companionship has a higher chance of success than new--”

“Donnie, if you don't--” Raph snarled.

Donnie blinked. “Right. Not helping.”

Raph turned away from all of them. Walked a few paces across the lair like he might burn the energy off if he just moved enough. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides, and his shell shifted with the tightness of his shoulders.

“She looked happy,” he said finally, bitter. “Talkin’ about him. Smilin’. Gettin’ all dressed up. Like he’s doin’ somethin’ for her that I can’t.”

Leo raised a brow. “Or maybe she was just excited someone finally asked. Doesn’t mean she picked him over you, Raph.”

“She did.”

“No,” Mikey chimed in from his corner without looking up. “She just doesn’t know you’re an option.”

That stopped Raph cold.

He stared across the lair, frozen in place, the words echoing in his skull.

She just doesn’t know you’re an option.

Because he’d never said it. Never given her the chance to choose him. Just stood beside her like a shadow while she cried over losers, complained about red flags, rolled her eyes at controlling texts and kissed cheeks that weren’t his.

He groaned again, dragging a hand down his face.

“What am I s’posed to do, huh? Run outta the shadows and confess like some kinda Hallmark hero? ‘Hey, surprise, I’ve been in love with you for years. Wanna ditch the dude who has fuckin' concrete all over his clothes and smells like Axe body spray?’”

Leo snorted. “Better than sulking in the sewers and letting someone else make her miserable.”

Mikey finally paused his game and looked over, eyes more serious than usual. “She’s not the kind of girl you can replace, bro. You know that.”

And Raphael did know that.

He knew it every time she laughed so hard she wheezed. Every time she fell asleep on the couch beside him, legs draped over his lap. Every time she saw him, really saw him, through the walls and the anger and the scars. She was his best friend. His anchor. The only soft place in a world that never gave him one. And he was gonna lose her to some prick in a hard hat who didn’t even deserve to breathe the same air as her.

Hours passed. No calls, no texts. But Raph had decided. No matter what happened, he had to tell the truth. He had to come out and say it before he fuckin' exploded.

You finally sent a text, telling them you were going home, the date had gone "fine."

He was going to tell you. Tonight. When you got home from your date. Then, you could tell him whether you wanted the concrete brained little shit -- or whether you wanted someone who'd actually love you. Who loved you. Now. Always. Since he'd let you break into his walls, touch the parts of him that had never had a hand on them.

He threw a hoodie on, grabbing his phone, and moved to leave. Twisting his watch, he became a vision of himself, not quite Raph, but Raph enough.

Still tall. Still hulking with muscle. A buzz cut with a red bandana covering it, tattoos all over his skin, the same intimidating green eyes. He was hot actually, which you'd admitted when you first saw the projection. All of them were. Raph, though.. It truly did him justice.

Although secretly, you'd always thought Raph was hot. Projection or not. It was what originally drew you into him.

Raph heard Leo's voice from the corner of the lair, the dojo.

“Good luck.”

The rain was the first thing he noticed. He welcomed it, letting it pour down onto him in calming waves. He walked to your house, opting not to take the shell-raiser. After all, if things went badly, he'd probably find some dirty criminal to pummel.

He reached your apartment, sitting on your front steps under the overhanging roof. He pulled a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it, puffing on it slowly as he waited for you to approach.

What would he even say? What would he do if you told him to fuck off? He didn't let the nerves dissuade him. It needed to be said, bad results or not.

It was about five more minutes before he saw your silhouette in the rain. You were small, far smaller than him, of course. He knew it was you by the way you walked. You were walking, walking, walking, he was waiting to see your face through the waves of water. When he finally did, his eyebrows furrowed.

Mascara stained your cheeks. Crying. You were crying.

You walked awkwardly, the closer you got. Your hand clutched your arm.

Then, your e/c eyes lifted. You saw him.

Quickly, you wiped your face with one arm, acting like nothing had ever happened. Then, the hand quickly came back down to cover your arm -- Raph wasn't close enough to see what you were covering. You reached Raph, looking at him in confusion.

“Raph? What are you doing here in the rain--”

He didn’t answer at first.

His eyes were locked on you, all of you. The ruined makeup. The limp in your walk. The tight grip you had on your arm, like you were trying to hold yourself together.

You were hurting. That much was obvious. And trying to hide it from him.

From him.

He stepped forward without thinking, eyes narrowing. His jaw clenched, and his voice dropped low, rough.

“What happened.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the edge in his tone.

“Nothing,” you said quickly. Too quickly. “I’m fine. Really.”

“You’re not fine,” he said, stepping in closer. His eyes dropped to your arm, the one you were still guarding like a shield. “What’s under your hand?”

“Raph, it’s nothing, I swear--”

He was in front of you now, towering over you, not in a way that scared you, never in a way that scared you, but in a way that said he knew. That he wouldn’t let it slide.

“Move your hand.”

You hesitated. Looked up at him.

He wasn’t yelling. He wasn’t huffing and puffing, or pacing, or growling with his fists balled up like he usually did when something pissed him off.

No. He was quiet.

And that was worse.

“No. Raph, please, I am perfectly--”

“Move your fuckin' hand, shorty, now.”

“Raph.”

His voice cracked through the rain like thunder.

“You want me to move it?”

It wasn’t a threat. It wasn’t violence. It was a promise, for your own good. A promise that you'd heard before. He'd make shit happen.

You flinched, not because you were scared, but because you knew what was coming. You knew once he saw it, really saw it, there’d be no stuffing the rage back into the bottle. You hesitated just a second longer.

And then you moved your hand.

Raph’s eyes dropped immediately.

Silence.

The bruise was ugly. Purple and red, already deepening, shaped like thick fingers curled into the soft skin of your arm. It told a story you hadn’t even finished living yet.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t breathe.

Didn’t blink.

Just stared.

Then his chest rose -- slow, steady, dangerous.

His jaw flexed, his nostrils flared, and his eyes, those sharp green eyes, burned.

“Motherfucker,” he muttered, voice low and venomous.

You reached for him. “Raphael--”

You couldn't quite get him in your grip, just the fabric of his sweatshirt in a small hand. It was wet, soaked with rain, but you managed to keep your grip. He turned towards you, lip almost curled into a snarl. Anger heated the air up -- could've boiled the rain.

“You said the date was fine. Fuckin' fine. Look at your--” he cut himself off, taking a breath and looking up at the sky. “You lied to me. Why would you lie to save that waste of space?” He hissed, turning completely towards you.

You flinched, not from fear, never from him, but from the sheer weight of his rage.

The rain kept falling, soaking through your clothes, matting your hair to your face, but none of it mattered. Not with Raphael standing in front of you like a storm barely restrained, fists clenched, shoulders squared, breathing like he’d just fought ten men and still wasn’t done.

“I wasn’t protecting him,” you said quickly, gripping tighter to his hoodie. “I was protecting you.”

That stopped him.

His jaw twitched. His eyes snapped to yours, sharp as glass and just as fragile beneath the surface.

“I knew what you’d do, Raph,” you whispered, voice trembling. “And I didn’t want to lose you to a cell or a manhunt or -- or something worse. I didn’t want to see you destroy yourself for me.”

He looked at you for a moment.. Then laughed. Bitterly.

“Don't worry about it. Ain't no motherfucker on this earth that's gonna touch you and walk away fine. Whether you feel bad or not,” he said. He towered over you, trying to force his green eyes away from the nasty injury on your arm. “I'd burn this city down for you if ya asked me to. I'm gonna kill this fuckin' guy.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Not because you didn’t believe him, no, you absolutely believed him, but because you could feel it. You could feel the truth in his voice, in every clenched muscle, in the way his words shook with restraint.

“Raph--”

“I mean it,” he snapped, stepping closer, close enough that you could feel the heat rolling off his chest. His projection shimmered faintly in the rain, struggling to keep up with the fury boiling just beneath his skin. “I don’t care if I gotta rip the fuckin’ streets up brick by brick, he’s gonna learn.”

You reached for him again, laying your hand gently against the front of his soaked hoodie. His heart was hammering underneath, furious, panicked, wild.

“I’m okay now,” you whispered. “I’m with you.”

He shook his head.

“Not good enough,” he growled. “You should never have to feel scared. Not when you got me. Not when you been right here in front of me this whole time and I’ve been too chickenshit to say what I really feel.”

You swallowed hard. “And what’s that?”

His jaw flexed again, rain trailing down his face like it was trying to cool him off. He took a breath, deep and shaky, and looked down at you like you were the only thing tethering him to the earth.

“Shoulda been me.”

“W-What?”

He looked down at you still, his hand traveling down to pull your wet strap back up over your shoulder.

“Shoulda been me. Takin' you out, now that we can go up top,” he said, his voice gravelly. “Shoulda been me walkin' you home. Kissin' you at your front door step. Shoulda been me you were gettin' all pretty for.”

You stared, eyes wide and glassy.

“You were walkin’ around in that dress, hair done up all nice…smilin’ about some guy who didn’t even deserve a hello from you,” he muttered, eyes locked on yours, voice just shy of breaking. “And I stood there like a fuckin’ idiot, pretendin’ it didn’t kill me.”

His hand slid up, gently brushing your cheek with his thumb, rainwater tracing the movement.

“I ain’t ever felt more useless than watchin’ you leave tonight, knowin’ I wasn’t the one takin’ you out. Knowin’ I let someone else touch you ‘cause I was too much of a coward to say somethin’. And now,” he hissed, “I gotta kill the stupid fucker. Cuz he laid his hands on the girl I love.”

You didn’t even flinch at the words, the girl I love, but your breath caught like a rope had cinched around your chest and pulled tight.

The rain still fell in steady sheets, soaking you both to the bone, but neither of you noticed. Not really. Not with the confession hanging in the air between you, burning hotter than the storm around you.

“Raph…” your voice was soft. Barely a whisper. “Please.”

His gaze flickered, wild for a second, like he’d just realized he’d said it out loud. Like the truth had broken out of him without permission. But once it was out, he didn’t backpedal. He didn’t retreat.

He stepped in even closer, your bodies almost touching, his massive frame shielding you from the worst of the wind.

“I love you,” he said, voice low and rough, thick with emotion. “I love you. You think I’ve been watchin’ you all this time just to be your backup plan? Some guy you crash on when the rest of the world sucks?”

“No,” you breathed, shaking your head quickly. “No, I never thought that.”

“I been in love with you since the second you looked at me like I wasn’t just a monster. Since you laughed at my dumb jokes, shared your food, yelled at me when I got too hot-headed. You see me, and it scared the shit outta me.”

A warm tear ran down your face. His thumb caught that too.

“You're too good for this world. Too good for me. Too good for him. And even though you ain't mine, I'll happily shit-stomp any man that crosses you.”

You let out a soft, broken sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob, as your hand reached up to cup his face, rough jaw and all.

“But I am yours,” you whispered. “I’ve been yours, Raph. This whole time. Was just too stupid to see it.”

His breath hitched, just for a second, and his hands flexed on your waist, like he couldn’t believe he was actually hearing the words. Like maybe the rain had messed with his head, or the universe was playing some cruel joke.

But your eyes were honest. Open. No walls, no filters, no fear. Just you, standing there in the storm, bruised and soaked and choosing him.

“You’re-- you wanna be?” he asked, voice cracking, like a kid afraid to hope.

You nodded, fingers curling at the back of his neck, drawing him closer. “Yes. I was just too scared to ruin us by saying it. I didn't want to lose you, Raphael. You're all I have. The only thing worth it.”

A beat of silence passed, thick, electric, before he pressed his forehead to yours with a low, aching groan.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he breathed, voice hoarse, reverent. “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me.”

And then he kissed you.

Hard. Fierce. Real.

He kissed you like he’d been holding back for years, because he had. His hands tangled in your hair, one arm wrapping around your lower back, lifting you off the pavement like your feet didn’t deserve to be on the same ground as the man who hurt you. His lips were warm despite the cold, pressed firm and sure to yours like he had no plans of letting you forget how long he’d loved you from the sidelines.

When he pulled back, you were both breathless. His voice was low and shaky when he said:

“If you’re mine… then you don’t ever gotta deal with this shit again. No more cheap dates, no more fake shit, no more bruises you try to hide.”

You swallowed, tears welling fresh again.

“Okay.”

“I mean it,” he said. “I’ll keep you safe. I’ll keep you loved. Proper. The way you always shoulda been.”

You rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady, thundering beat of his heart under soaked fabric.

“I know,” you whispered.

And he just held you tighter.

Because you were his.

And now, finally, he was yours too.

BONUS:

However, your date, though you thought Raph forgot about him.. did not escape retribution.

A couple nights after the incident, your date, Todd, stood alone. He was sweeping the new concrete, cleaning up after a week of work, headphones dangling from his ears. He hummed a tune, staring down at the pavement, admiring his work.

Didn't even notice the two hulking shadows approaching from behind him -- 'til his headphones were ripped right out.

“What the--”

He turned, startled, just in time to see something big and orange spin toward him. Todd took a full-on roundhouse kick to the chest from Michelangelo and went flying into a pile of sandbags like a cartoon.

“Yikes, bro,” Mikey said, cracking his knuckles. “You can put your hands on women but you can't take a hit yourself? Bummer.”

Raph stepped forward, massive arms crossed, that black hoodie of his soaked from rain and rage. “So you’re Todd, huh?”

Todd wheezed, struggling to sit up. “W-What the hell?! Who the hell are you?!”

Mikey grinned wide. “Let’s just say we’re the after-party to that date you fumbled so bad.”

Todd blinked, confused, then scowled. “This is about that chick? She said it was fine. What, you two her brothers or somethin’?”

Raph’s jaw ticked. “Somethin’.”

Then he grabbed Todd by the collar and lifted him off the ground like a rag doll. “She said it was fine,” he repeated mockingly, eyes narrowing. “Right after she came home cryin’ with a bruise in the exact shape of your grubby little hand. Sound fuckin’ familiar?”

Todd squirmed. “I-I didn’t mean--she was getting mouthy, I just--”

That was all he got out before Raph slammed him into a cement pillar, holding him there like a schoolyard bully from hell.

“I should break every bone in your slimy little body,” Raph growled. “But I promised her I wouldn’t kill you.”

Todd whimpered. “Then what--what are you gonna do?!”

Mikey stepped up beside Raph with a sweet, sunny grin… and a bright pink backpack.

“Oh, we’re gonna teach you, bro.”

Cut to:

Todd, thirty minutes later, is tied up Spider-Man style with neon pink jump rope, suspended upside down from the scaffolding. Mikey had drawn flowers and hearts all over his face in washable marker. His pants were missing (they were now duct-taped to the top of a flagpole nearby), and his shirt had been swapped with a hot-pink crop top that read: “I Cry When Girls Yell.”

A chalk sign was propped up beneath him. It read:

“Hi, I’m Todd. I’m a big, dumb, concrete-throwing jerk who hits girls. My biceps are fake. Don’t be like me. This could happen to you.”

“Next time,” Raph said, crouching down beside him, voice calm but terrifying, “you keep your hands to yourself. Or I’ll let Mikey use the glitter glue.”

Todd whimpered, nodding frantically, tears dripping down his inverted face.

“Glitter. Never comes out,” Mikey added with a wink.

With that, the brothers disappeared into the night, high-fiving as they vanished into the shadows.

Lesson taught. Message delivered.

And Todd? He never went near another woman without a very polite tone -- and two feet of personal space.

You, however, saw it in the news the next day.

The headline read:

“Masked Vigilantes Hijack Construction Site to Publicly Shame Harasser -- Chalk Sign Warns: ‘Don’t Be Like Me. This Could Happen to You.’”

You groaned, rolling your eyes.

“Raphael Hamato! Come here! Now!”

You heard the unmistakable sound of his boots thudding down the stairs before Raph appeared at the entrance to your room, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised, a smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah, baby?” Raph said, leaning against the doorframe, all casual confidence. His smirk widened as he took in your unimpressed expression. “You, uh… saw the news, huh?”

You held up the newspaper, shaking it at him. “This was your idea of ‘handling it quietly’?!”

Raph shrugged, pushing off the doorframe and sauntering into the room. “Eh, we didn’t kill him. That counts as quiet for me.”

You groaned again, tossing the paper onto the bed. “Raph, you literally left a chalk sign. And Mikey drew on his face.”

“Yeah, and?” Raph flopped onto the bed beside you, stretching out like a smug cat. “Dude’s lucky that’s all we did. You shoulda seen the other ideas Mikey had-- we didn't even use the glitter.”

You shot him a glare, but the corner of your mouth twitched. “You’re impossible.”

Raph grinned, reaching out to tug you closer. “Nah, just thorough.” He pressed a kiss to your temple, voice dropping into that low, dangerous tone that still sent shivers down your spine. “And now everyone knows what happens when some punk puts his hands on you. He ever comes near you again, they ain't gonna find his body.”

You huffed, but you couldn’t fight the warmth spreading in your chest. “...You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” Raph agreed, unrepentant. “But I gotta make sure my girl's taken care of.”

You sighed, finally letting yourself smile as you leaned into him. “...Thanks, Raph.”

He squeezed you tighter, pressing another kiss to your bare shoulder, just above the strap of your tanktop. “Anytime, shorty.”

(And if, later that night, you may have doodled a little heart next to the newspaper clipping before tucking it into your desk drawer? Well. That was your business.)

[tinyfandomknight]

Not the First or the Last | Hiccup Haddock

Pairing: Hiccup Haddock x Nomad!Reader Summary: Turns out, Hiccup wasn't the first dragon rider -- and Toothless wasn't the last Night Fury. You prove to be a master of all things concerning the species. Themes & Warnings: kind of enemies to lovers, fluffy at some points, violence if you squint, sick Toothless, Hiccup is kinda an ass a little bit.

Things had been fantastic.

Since his father had accepted dragons as a part of life, the world had opened up for Hiccup. He spent all of his time working with Toothless, expanding the rookery, cataloging species, sketching maps and forging new gear. The village looked to him like he actually belonged. For the first time in his life, he wasn’t “useless.” He was essential. He was happy. Toothless was even happier. His friends had dragons, too, exploring their sense of self up above the clouds just as he was.

He had finally done something right.

Until the night he met you. He lost his sense of self immediately.

One of the seamen, Golberg, came sprinting back into the center of Berk, out of breath and sweating, eyes wide. His face was beet-red, easy to see even in the dark. He knocked urgently on the chief's door, waking Hiccup in the process.

Him and his father exchanged a look before opening the door.

Golberg immediately started rushing the words out of his mouth.

“IwasdownonthedockandwhenIwastyingtheshipupIheard--”

Stoick stopped him, holding a hand up.

“Breathe, lad. What's going on?”

Golberg sucked in a lungful of air, bent over with his hands on his knees. When he looked up, his eyes were still too wide, his voice trembling with disbelief.

“I heard the whistle! The whistle of a Night Fury! I saw the damn thing, in the sky, and there was--”

Hiccup interrupted.

“Not possible. Toothless is the last one alive.”

Golberg shook his head frantically. “I know what I saw!” he insisted, voice pitching higher. “It looked like a Night Fury -- almost exactly! But different. Bigger, maybe? And the sound -- gods, I swear it, Hiccup, it had the same shriek. The same lightless dive!”

Hiccup felt a chill crawl up his spine. Toothless stirred behind him, sensing the tension.

“Where?” Stoick asked, already turning toward his axe.

“The docks.” Golberg’s voice dropped. “It landed.”

Hiccup didn’t wait. He grabbed his flight gear and swung onto Toothless’s saddle before his father could stop him. The dragon let out a low, uneven chirp -- something between a question and a warning.

Hiccup’s brow furrowed. “You alright, bud?”

Toothless blinked, slow. His pupils were wide, body sluggish beneath him.

Strange.

Still, Hiccup tightened his grip on the saddle. “Let’s go.”

When he reached the dock, there was nothing but wet footprints. Footprints that looked exactly like Toothless's but bigger, like Golberg had mentioned, and then a set of small boot prints beside them. They reached the gravel and then disappeared.

“Damnit.” Hiccup grumbled. “They're gone.”

Toothless again stiffened up, a groan leaving his chest, before he oriented his body towards the thick line of trees across the water. He groaned again, his head shifting with more intention this time. His ears twitched toward the tree line, pupils narrowing slightly.

Hiccup followed his gaze.

A dense stretch of forest stood just beyond the edge of the inlet --dark and mist-veiled, with only the faintest shimmer of moonlight bouncing off the wet leaves. Nothing stirred. Not a single branch moved, no animal sounds. Too quiet.

Hiccup’s fingers flexed around the saddle grips.

“You smell something?” he muttered. Toothless gave a low rumble in response, tail swaying slightly.

It wasn’t just instinct. It was something deeper. Primal. A flicker of recognition from the Night Fury. Of territory being tested. Of something that felt too close, too similar… too other.

Hiccup slid off the saddle slowly, boots hitting the damp wooden dock with a muffled thud. He followed the trail where the prints ended, crouching down to touch the last visible one. Still fresh. Still wet.

Not gone. Just hiding.

He looked back at Toothless --who now stood perfectly still, shoulders hunched, wings twitching like he was bracing for a challenge.

“Okay,” Hiccup muttered under his breath, pushing up the collar of his flight suit. “If they want to play it like that…”

He drew his dagger from his belt -- not to use, but just in case. He wasn’t going to be caught off guard. Whoever you were, you had the nerve to fly into his village on a dragon that shouldn’t exist, insult his intelligence, and vanish into the woods like a shadow.

No. He wasn’t letting it go that easy.

And with one last glance at the still, dark trees, Hiccup stepped off the gravel path and into the forest. Toothless followed, body tense but curious. His black scales shimmered in the night glow.

The forest swallowed them whole.

No village lights reached this far. Just the occasional sliver of moonlight piercing the canopy and the steady rhythm of breath --Hiccup’s, then Toothless’s, both just a little too fast.

Twigs cracked underfoot. Moss muffled the rest. The air smelled like earth and storm.

Then, the brush moved. Deliberate. Close.

Hiccup froze. Toothless’s ears flattened. Another growl rumbled out of his throat, deeper this time, nearly a warning.

But the answer came before Hiccup could react.

A second growl. Lower. Rougher. From somewhere ahead.

Toothless surged forward, snarling, but then stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes locked.

A shadow melted from between the trees like ink in water.

It was your dragon again.

And you, standing to its left, one hand still resting on the beast's side, calm like you'd been waiting.

You tilted your head. “Bringing backup?”

Hiccup didn’t sheath the dagger, but he did lower it. “Didn’t realize I’d need it.”

“Neither did I,” you replied. “But here we are.”

The tension cracked in the air between you.

Your dragon was.. Toothless. But bigger. He had broader wings, shinier scales, and sharper teeth. Instead of green eyes, his were an intimidating ice blue, pupils thin, eyes trained onto Hiccup and Toothless like he expected a fight. His wing curled around the back of you, like a protective sheath, ready to curl you inward if needed.

Your eyes widened, not as hostile as your dragon's.

“It's true.. Everything I heard is true. There is another one.” You said, almost breathlessly. You ran a hand down your dragon's side reflexively, like a calming gesture to both of you.

Hiccup’s breath hitched, a mix of disbelief and something deeper stirring in his chest. The weight of it settled like a stone -- another Night Fury. Not just a myth or a legend. Real. Alive.

Toothless shifted beside him, low growl vibrating through the air, but his eyes were softer now, watching your dragon with cautious recognition.

“You don’t look like one of us,” Hiccup said slowly, eyes flicking back to you. “Not from Berk. Where are you from?”

You met his gaze steadily, fingers still lingering against your dragon’s smooth scales. “Far from here. I’ve been chasing stories for months, trying to find the Night Fury I've been hearing of. Your Night Fury.”

Hiccup’s eyes narrowed slightly, absorbing your words. The weight of months spent searching, the desperation and hope wrapped into one, was clear in your voice. It stirred something in him -- a mix of admiration and skepticism.

“Thor,” he murmured, glancing at his dragon, who let out a soft, almost curious chirp in response. “I didn’t think anyone was still looking for them. Least of all, someone like you.”

You smiled wistfully.

“I found Perseus,” you gestured to the huge dragon beside you, “when he was small. Thrashing around in the bushes, caught in a trap. I was never like the rest of the people in my village. I didn't want to kill them and I wasn't afraid of them.”

Perseus purred, nuzzling against you.

“I raised him. Learned how he works. Learned everything about his species.. The species I thought burned out. But it seems we were wrong.”

Hiccup’s eyes softened as he studied you and Perseus, the enormity of what you were saying settling in like a dawning light. “You raised him… from a hatchling?”

You nodded, fingers gently stroking the sleek scales along Perseus’s neck. “I had to learn fast. Night Furies aren’t like other dragons, they’re elusive, intelligent, and fiercely protective. If you don’t understand that, you don’t stand a chance.”

Toothless shifted closer to you both, his gaze flickering between Perseus and his rider with growing curiosity. The unspoken connection between the two Night Furies hummed quietly in the air -- familiar, like echoes from a past no one had dared to speak of.

Hiccup swallowed hard, a strange mixture of envy and relief flooding him. “I thought Toothless was the last. That the species was gone forever.”

You smiled in amusement.

“Toothless. What a fun name.”

Hiccup blinked, a slow smile creeping onto his face despite the tension lingering between you. “Yeah, well, it fits him. He’s… unique.”

You chuckled softly, the sound light but carrying an edge of knowing. “Unique is one word for it. I imagine he’s got a stubborn streak a mile wide.”

“Toothless?” Hiccup grinned, shaking his head. “You’re not wrong.”

The two Night Furies exchanged a brief glance, the older one’s eyes narrowing with something almost like recognition, before Perseus let out a soft, rumbling purr that seemed to say, I like him.

After the exchange, Hiccup brought you back to the village.

He couldn't decide whether it was a mistake or not.

You were loved. Immediately.

You could do things Hiccup couldn't. Perseus was new and shiny to the people of Berk, adoring fans crowding around him, but backing up when he let out a shattering roar, as if to warn people from coming too close.

Hiccup watched from a distance, a complicated knot tightening in his chest. You moved through the crowd with effortless confidence, sharing knowledge about Night Furies that left the villagers wide-eyed and eager to learn. Your connection with Perseus was undeniable -- fierce yet tender -- and the people of Berk couldn’t get enough.

But there was something else. A tension beneath the admiration. A shadow in Hiccup’s mind whispering that he was losing ground -- not just as a dragon rider, but as the village’s champion of dragon-kind.

A rivalry began.

Who could complete the most raids? Who could defend Berk better? Who caught the better approval from Stoick?

You and Hiccup were at each other's throats as soon as you could be.

One time, you showed up at the same raid, undermining each other and failing to complete it. Your eyes almost burned with irritation as you dismounted Perseus, approaching Hiccup immediately.

Hiccup wasn't much happier.

“What the hell was that, Haddock?!” you shot, voice low but fierce. “Trying to show me up? Because you just made a mess of everything.”

Hiccup’s jaw tightened. “I wasn’t trying to impress you or anyone else. I was trying to keep Berk safe. Something you seemed to forget when you decided to go solo.”

Perseus growled softly behind you, wings twitching nervously, while Toothless let out a warning hiss, sensing the tension crackling between the two of you.

You stepped closer, eyes locking with his. “Maybe if you weren’t so busy trying to be the hero, you’d see that we’re stronger together.”

Hiccup laughed bitterly, shaking his head.

“We have no business doing anything together,” he groaned, “You're only here because of your dragon. Not because we need your help.”

You blinked, momentarily thrown off by the sharp edge in his voice, the unspoken hurt beneath the anger. Your breath hitched, but you refused to show weakness.

“Is that what you really think?” you asked, voice steady but cold. “That I’m just some tagalong riding a flashy dragon? Maybe I’m here because I want to protect Berk. Just like you.”

Hiccup’s eyes narrowed, pain flickering there before the stubborn shield went back up. “It’s not the same. You don’t belong here.”

Perseus rumbled low, a protective growl that vibrated through your bones. You wrapped a hand around his neck, grounding yourself.

“I belong wherever I decide to stand,” you said softly but firmly. “And right now, that’s here. Whether you like it or not.”

For a moment, the silence between you was thick enough to cut. Then Toothless stepped forward, nudging Hiccup’s arm, breaking the tension -- a silent reminder that neither of you were alone in this.

He could've sworn he saw a tear glisten in your eye before you stalked off. Perseus stuck behind for a second, grumbling at Hiccup judgmentally, a warning growl.

Hiccup stood frozen for a heartbeat, staring after you as your silhouette vanished into the darkening woods. The raw vulnerability beneath your fierce words twisted in his gut, conflicting with his stubborn pride.

Toothless shifted beside him, letting out a low, almost mournful hiss, before glancing up at Hiccup with those wide, knowing eyes.

Weeks stretched before you and Hiccup interacted again. You’d even been in the same place without speaking. You trained with the rest of the group, but you didn’t train with Hiccup and Toothless. You focused on training Perseus with the larger dragons, namely Snotlout (annoying and far too flirty) and his dragon Hookfang. You sometimes trained with the twins and their Zippleback too, but once again, Tuffnut got a little too comfortable with you.

Today, Perseus had done well. He always did, really. There was something odd about the session though.

Hiccup and Toothless hadn’t even shown up, they were nowhere to be found at all. So you, unfortunately, were kind of off your game. You looked off into the horizon, expecting to see Hiccup on Toothless’s saddle, apologizing awkwardly for being late. But the moment never came.

“Babe!” Snotlout called, gliding up next to you. You felt the heat off Hookfang’s scales seeping into your clothes. “Focus. What are you looking at?”

You rolled your eyes. “Babe? What have I told you about calling me babe, Snotlout?”

Snotlout grinned, completely unbothered. “That it gets under your skin.” He leaned a little too far toward you, raising his eyebrows. “Which I take as a sign you secretly like it.”

Hookfang let out a snort that sounded suspiciously like a laugh, and Perseus curled his lip, baring a row of glinting white teeth. The threat was clear -- one flap closer and Hookfang wasn’t the only one Snotlout had to worry about.

You sighed and gently tugged Perseus back with a hand on his jaw. “Back, boy. He’s not worth the energy.”

Snotlout raised both hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright! Don’t get your tail in a twist. Just trying to lighten the mood.” He squinted at you, then glanced toward the distant cliffs beyond Berk. “You’ve been twitchy all day. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were worried.”

You stiffened slightly, trying to hide the way your eyes flicked to the sky again. Still no sign of Hiccup or Toothless.

“I’m not worried,” you lied. “I’m just… distracted.”

“Mhm,” Snotlout said, clearly not buying it. “Well, for what it’s worth, I heard Hiccup was out early this morning. Didn’t say where he was going, just packed some gear and flew off. Toothless didn’t even say goodbye to Hookfang. Can you believe that? Rude.”

That sinking feeling returned in your stomach. Hiccup might have been petty -- and kind of a jerk when he wanted to be -- but he wasn’t reckless. Not without a reason. And not without telling anyone.

Your voice was quieter when you finally spoke. “Did he say anything to anyone?”

Snotlout shrugged. “Not that I heard. Maybe Fishlegs would know more. He and Hiccup always talk nerd stuff.”

You gave a quick nod, pulling Perseus around with a soft whistle. The massive Night Fury immediately followed, wings twitching with tension.

Snotlout called after you with a lazy wave. “Try not to miss me too much!”

You didn’t even glance back. You were already scanning the skies, muttering under your breath.

“Where the hell did you go, Haddock?”

Surprisingly, you didn’t have to go far.

When you went into the village to get some gear in preparation to go hunt them down, you found that they were already home.

Taking a deep breath, you knocked on the door. Hiccup answered, worry in his eyes, poorly disguised as annoyance to see you.

“Y/n. I’m kind of busy right now.”

Your brows drew together immediately. You could see it in Hiccup’s face -- the exhaustion, the unspoken panic. His shirt was wrinkled, collar askew, and his hair was a mess like he’d been running his hands through it nonstop. Something was wrong.

“Busy?” you repeated, trying to keep your voice steady. “I noticed. You disappeared without a word and didn’t show up for training. Toothless didn’t show up either. And now you look like you haven’t slept.”

Hiccup sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I didn’t think you’d care.”

That stung. You stepped forward anyway, peering over his shoulder, and your heart dropped.

Toothless was curled up on the floor behind him, his massive form sluggish, wings drooping over the sides of the rug. His breathing was uneven, too slow. His scales, normally iridescent and alive with movement, looked dull under the dim firelight.

Your voice softened, forgetting every ounce of rivalry between you. “Hiccup…”

“He wouldn’t eat,” Hiccup muttered, stepping aside reluctantly to let you in. “Didn’t fly right. He nearly crashed this morning, so I brought him back. He’s been like this since.” He dragged a hand down his face. “And I have no idea what’s wrong.”

You dropped your gear beside the doorway and approached Toothless slowly. Perseus, waiting outside, let out a soft, distressed hum that vibrated through the wood of the hut. You crouched beside the dragon, resting a hand against his muzzle.

He didn’t flinch, but the touch made his eye flicker open. It was hazy. Unfocused.

You took that as a sign that he wasn't hostile. Leaning down further, you calmly smoothed your hand across his head, starting from his jaw and ending by his folded ears. You frowned, biting your lip. He was warm. Feverish.

“I’ve seen this before,” you cleared your throat, standing. “He’s sick. Perseus has been through it, too. I called it Scorchrot.”

Hiccup blinked. “Scorchrot?”

You nodded grimly. “It hits Night Furies harder than other dragons. Starts with a fever, then weakness in the wings and limbs. If untreated, it can affect their fire glands -- that’s where the name comes from. They burn too hot on the inside, like they’re rotting from the core.”

Hiccup paled slightly, glancing back at Toothless. “How did you treat it?”

“Well, there's a medicine I can make that helped Perseus a lot. Also, cool compresses, a temporary shift in diet -- no fish, just soft roots and rainwater -- and something to lower his body temperature.”

Hiccup ran a hand through his hair, pacing slightly. “Medicine? What kind of--what do you need? Herbs? Minerals? Just tell me and I’ll get it.”

You gave him a steady look. “I’ll need frostleaf, ground thistle root, and dried skybloom petals. They’re rare this far north, but I saw some near the cliffs when I flew in.”

He exhaled sharply, the tension in his shoulders tight as wire. “Right. Okay. I’ll get them.”

You hesitated before stepping forward, voice softer. “You don’t have to do it alone. I know you don’t trust me. But trust me with this. I’ve done it before.”

He met your eyes, something shifting behind his, pride, maybe. Or fear disguised as pride.

“I’m not worried about trusting you,” he muttered. “I’m worried about losing him.”

Your expression softened. “Then we fix him. Together.”

A quiet moment passed. Then, from behind, a weak thrum of a purr came from Toothless’s throat -- hoarse, but there. Alive. Reaching.

Perseus, still just outside the hut, let out a low, supportive hum. He wouldn’t leave either.

And maybe, for the first time in weeks, the rivalry didn’t matter so much.

“Can you.. Will you stay here with him? I don't want him to be alone.”

Hiccup acted like it literally burned his throat to ask for help, but you accepted, smiling softly.

“Yeah. I'll stay.”

You moved back toward Toothless, kneeling at his side again with quiet care. His tail twitched at your presence, just barely, and you stroked along his jaw, murmuring something low and soothing. His eyes fluttered, half-lidded, but calmer now.

Hiccup lingered in the doorway, watching the way your hand moved so naturally, how Perseus let out another soft trill from outside, keeping vigil.

“Thank you,” he said, voice rough.

You didn’t look up. “Go get what we need. We’ll be here when you get back.”

There was a beat -- like he wanted to say something more -- but he only nodded. Then he was gone, off into the thickening clouds of the afternoon, chasing herbs and hope like his life depended on it.

Inside the hut, the heat from Toothless’s fever pulsed faintly in the air. You leaned into it, not shrinking away, fingers steady on his scales.

“We’re gonna take care of you,” you whispered.

When Hiccup returned, you were holding a cold compress to Toothless's head tenderly, stroking his scales. You'd loosed your hair from your braid, the curls tumbling down your back in soft waves -- before you even realized he was there, you cooed, speaking gently to the dragon. It was your nature, he'd realized. You were amazing with them, like you'd known how to love a dragon your entire life. Because in all honesty, you did.

This was the first time he wasn't envious of it. He leaned against the doorframe watching you, an unusual feeling building in his chest.

No envy. No distaste as there usually was. Just.. watching you. Watching how you worked. Watching how your h/c hair blew gently in the wind from the open window. Watching how you turned to smile at Perseus, who had somehow managed to curl his massive form around you on the floor.

You were beautiful.

The thought made Hiccup wince. Why the hell was he doing this?

Because for once, he wasn’t trying to win.

Not a raid. Not a title. Not Stoick’s approval.

Not even a rivalry.

Just--this. Toothless, sick but stable. Perseus curled around you like a shield. You, eyes soft and voice softer, hands moving like you'd done this a thousand times, like dragons were born trusting you.

Hiccup tightened his grip on the bundle of herbs in his arms, unsure what to do with the sudden ache blooming in his chest. You weren’t supposed to be beautiful. You weren’t supposed to be gentle and fierce in the same breath. You were supposed to be frustrating. Competitive. Impossible.

But now? You were kneeling in his hut, taking care of the creature he loved most in the world like he was your own. And for the first time, Hiccup felt like maybe you weren’t just here because of Perseus. Maybe you weren’t just a threat.

Maybe… you were something else entirely.

He stepped inside quietly, setting down the supplies. You turned, surprised but smiling.

“There you are,” you said softly. “I was starting to think you got lost.”

And just like that, Hiccup found himself smiling back.

“Not a chance,” he murmured, eyes flicking to Toothless. “Couldn’t stay away.” Then quieter, “From either of you.”

He winced, turning his head to apologize for being weird, but he hadn't realized that you'd already gotten started on preparing the medicine, probably having taken the herbs from his arms while he was staring like a moron.

His face flushed.

Get it together, Hiccup.

You hadn’t said anything about the comment -- at least not out loud -- so he was really hoping that you hadn't even heard it. If you had, you let it pass. Maybe out of kindness. Maybe because your focus was entirely on Toothless.

Your fingers worked with practiced ease, crushing herbs with a mortar and pestle, mixing them with a dark amber liquid that smelled earthy and sharp. The kind of scent that clung to the back of your throat. Hiccup stayed quiet, hovering nearby with his hands in his pockets like some awkward apprentice.

“Help me lift his head?” you asked, glancing up with that same infuriating, gentle confidence you always had. Like you knew exactly what you were doing. Like you didn’t need him but still wanted him there.

He nodded quickly, grateful to have something to do. As he cradled Toothless’s heavy head, you brought the bowl close, dipping a small ladle into it and holding it near the dragon’s mouth.

Toothless didn’t resist. He trusted you. That fact alone made Hiccup’s chest ache.

You sat back on your heels after the last of the mixture was gone, brushing your hands on your thighs. “He’ll need another dose tomorrow, but this should bring the fever down.”

Hiccup set Toothless’s head back onto the cushions gently and looked at you again.

And this time, when he looked, he really saw you.

Not the rival who beat him at raids. Not the outsider who dazzled Berk. Not the competition.

Just you.

Exhausted but unwavering. Fierce but kind. Beautiful, yes but in that wild, maddening way he never saw coming.

He cleared his throat. “Thanks. For… everything.”

You met his gaze, softer now. “I’m not here to steal your dragon, you know.”

“I know,” Hiccup said, voice low. “I think I just… didn’t know how to let someone help.”

You tilted your head, studying him, something unreadable behind your eyes.

“Well,” you said, finally, “you’re doing better than most.”

And he smiled. A real one. Small, crooked. Honest.

You stood to leave, gathering your things. A small wave of your scent hit his nose -- flowers, smoke from a fire, and leather grease.

He watched as you slung your pack over your shoulder, fingers deft and sure, the same hands that had soothed Toothless back from the edge. You didn’t look at him right away, maybe on purpose, maybe because you didn’t want to break the strange quiet that had settled.

And maybe he didn’t either.

You were halfway to the door when Hiccup found his voice again.

“Hey,” he said softly.

You paused, glancing over your shoulder.

And there it was again -- that look. Like you could see through him without even trying. Like you already knew what he was going to say.

Still, he said it.

“…Thanks for staying.”

A small smile tugged at your lips. “Thanks for letting me.”

And then you were gone, the door closing quietly behind you. The scent of flowers, fire, and leather grease lingering like a memory.

Hiccup stood there a long time after you left, watching the door, listening to Toothless’s steady breathing, wondering when everything had stopped being so simple.

And why the thought of seeing you again tomorrow suddenly felt like the most important thing in the world.

Over the next week, Hiccup watched you like he had the first night you'd been there. Watched you care for Toothless while he was sick. Watched you help the both of them through his recovery, helping the dragon regain his strength and teaching Hiccup how to help too.

You guided his hands to where he needed to hold Toothless, supporting him in regaining limb strength. Hiccup wasn't sure if he'd felt such soft, yet firm hands in his life. They were warm too.

And every time your fingers brushed his, by accident, or maybe not, Hiccup’s mind blanked for a second too long.

At first, he told himself it was just proximity. Just admiration. You were helping Toothless, after all -- he’d be an idiot not to appreciate that. But it wasn’t just that. It was the way you smiled when Toothless lifted his head for the first time without help. The way you murmured encouragement into the crook of his neck when his limbs trembled from fatigue. The way you praised Hiccup when he got it right, voice soft and proud, like it mattered to you.

Eventually, Toothless was himself again.

You cheered in happiness when he finally took flight, darting around the sky, diving like he used to. Perseus joined him, flying around in circles.

You stood with your hands cupped around your mouth, calling out to them both like a proud parent, laughter spilling from your lips as Toothless and Perseus twirled through the sky like black comets.

Hiccup stood beside you, unable to take his eyes off either of you -- not the dragons, not the joy on your face. Your eyes glowed with the reflected fire of the setting sun, and something about the moment twisted in his chest, bittersweet and beautiful.

“He’s really back,” you breathed, eyes tracking Toothless as he executed a perfect loop. “I was scared he wouldn’t be.”

Hiccup glanced sideways at you, his voice quiet. “Me too.”

Perseus roared playfully mid-air, and Toothless responded with a trilling chirp before they dove together, a synchronized flash of wings and light. Their bond was no longer wary or foreign. It was something else now. Familiar. Like they’d always known each other.

Kind of like… you and Hiccup.

You turned toward him just then, and he realized how close you were standing. Shoulder to shoulder. You’d always felt like competition before. But now, you felt like something else. Like part of his team.

“You helped him get here,” Hiccup said, voice low, a little rough. “I don’t think I could’ve done it without you.”

You blinked, surprised at the honesty. Then your lips curled into a slow smile. “Well, Haddock, maybe you’re not so bad at letting someone help after all.”

He huffed a laugh, half embarrassed. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

You nudged him gently with your elbow. “Too late.”

The dragons whooshed overhead again, close enough for a gust of wind to tousle your hair. As you both watched them chase each other across the sky, Hiccup wasn’t sure what tomorrow would look like -- but for once, he hoped it looked a lot like today.

When he returned home, his dad sat in his chair, reading from a big thick book. He looked up from it, smiling knowingly.

“Hiccup. How's Toothless today?”

Hiccup paused in the doorway, caught off guard by the warm familiarity in Stoick’s voice -- and the knowing look in his eyes. He stepped inside slowly, brushing the wind from his hair and shrugging off his riding gear.

“He’s better,” Hiccup said, glancing out the window for a moment as if he could still see the dragons dancing in the air. “Flying again. Strong.”

Stoick nodded, pleased. “And the other one? Perseus?”

“Also good,” Hiccup replied, then hesitated. “They’ve started flying together. It’s like they’ve known each other longer than we have.”

He closed the book, placing it down on the table next to him.

“You're right to be fond of that one. Y/n. She's fantastic with the dragons.”

Hiccup's jaw dropped immediately, his face burning. What was his Dad insinuating?

“Dad! We're not--”

Stoick interrupted, putting his hand up to silence him.

“My boy. There's no shame in it. She's fair in the face, she's honorable, and she’s got a spirit fiercer than any dragon I’ve ever met. A fine match for a chief’s son, don’t you think?”

Hiccup sputtered, his ears turning as red as a Monstrous Nightmare’s flame. “I--I don’t--we’re just friends! We train dragons together, that’s all!”

Stoick leaned back in his chair, his knowing smile widening. “Aye, and I just happened to notice the way you look at her when she’s not paying attention.”

Hiccup groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Oh, Thor.”

His father’s laughter boomed through the hall. “Relax, son. I’m only teasing.” He paused, then added with a softer tone, “But if there were something more… well, I’d be happy for you.”

Hiccup exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. Well. Thanks, Dad.” He shot a glance toward the door, desperate for an escape. “I should, uh… go check on Toothless. Again.”

Stoick waved him off, still grinning. “Go on, then. Just remember--dragons aren’t the only things worth chasing. Betrothal is just as important.”

Hiccup nearly tripped over his own feet on the way out.

The next day, everyone resumed training, pleased that Toothless was well again. He was the last one there, quickly saddling Toothless and climbing on. Looking up in the sky, he saw you already up there, Perseus dipping and blowing targets apart with blue flames. You giggled and cheered, praising him, your braid blowing in the frantic winds.

He could've swooned.

Tuffnut stood next to him, his arms crossed, smirking in that dumb Tuffnut sort of way.

"Wow," Tuffnut drawled, nudging Hiccup with his elbow. "You’ve got it bad."

Hiccup startled, nearly dropping Toothless’ saddle strap. "What? No I don’t." He fumbled with the buckle, refusing to look up. "I was just… assessing Perseus’ flight form. Y’know, as the resident dragon expert."

Tuffnut snorted. "Uh-huh. And I assess Fishlegs’ lunch every day before I steal it. Doesn’t mean I’m not hungry." He leaned in, grinning. "Face it, Hiccup. You’re smitten."

"I am not smitten," Hiccup hissed, finally securing the saddle and swinging onto Toothless’ back. "And even if I were--which I’m not--it’s none of your business."

Tuffnut clutched his chest dramatically. "Oh, but it is! As your best friend--"

"You’re not my best friend."

"--I have a sacred duty to point out when you’re being ridiculous." Tuffnut smirked. "And right now? You’re being ridiculous."

"Ooooh, Hiccup’s got a crush!" Ruffnut’s voice carried across the training arena as she and Astrid strolled up, both wearing matching grins.

Astrid crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. "And here I thought you were too busy being the ‘Dragon Master’ to notice anything else."

Hiccup groaned, rubbing his temples. "Oh, come on. You too, Astrid?"

"What? I call it like I see it," Astrid said with a smirk. "And I see you staring at Y/n like she just invented fire."

Ruffnut cackled, elbowing Tuffnut. "Told you! Even Astrid noticed!"

Hiccup’s face burned. "I do not stare--"

"You literally just sighed when she did that barrel roll," Tuffnut cut in.

"I was impressed by Perseus’ flying!" Hiccup protested weakly.

"Uh-huh," Ruffnut said, rolling her eyes. "And I’m just here for the free mead."

Astrid shook her head, still grinning. "Face it, Hiccup. You’re obvious."

Just then, you and Perseus swooped down, landing gracefully beside them. "What’s obvious?" you asked, hopping off your dragon and brushing off your tunic.

The twins exchanged exaggerated glances.

"Oh, nothing," Tuffnut said innocently. "Just Hiccup’s undying admiration for--"

"DRAGON TRAINING!" Hiccup blurted, cutting him off. "We should, uh, get back to it. Right now. Immediately."

You blinked. "…Okay?"

Toothless gave Hiccup a flat look, as if to say, Really? That’s the best you’ve got?

Astrid snorted. "Smooth, Haddock. Real smooth."

Hiccup buried his face in his hands as the twins howled with laughter.

Some days, being the future chief was really overrated.

At the end of training, Hiccup knew where to find you. Just where you usually were -- watching the sunset at the edge of the cliff with Perseus.

Your skin glowed in the orange sunlight, boot clad feet dangling from the edge as you scratched Perseus behind his ear. You hummed to an old folk song, staring out at the sun. Hiccup landed behind you, unclipping himself from his gear, before slowly starting to approach you.

Toothless, ever the mischievous wingman, nudged Hiccup forward with a low, encouraging warble, nearly sending him stumbling.

"Hey," Hiccup said, rubbing the back of his neck as he stepped beside you. "Mind if I join you?"

You glanced up, smiling. "Only if you promise not to trip over your own feet this time and make Toothless dive to catch you."

"Hey, that was one time--" he protested, but you just laughed and patted the spot next to you.

Perseus rumbled in greeting as Hiccup sat down, his tail thumping against the ground like an overgrown cat’s. The sunset painted the sky in fiery golds and deep purples, the ocean below shimmering with reflected light.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Just the wind, the distant cries of dragons, and the steady rhythm of the waves.

Then;

"So," you said, bumping his shoulder playfully. "Heard you’ve been admiring my flying."

Hiccup choked. "Oh, for Thor's sake--who told you that?"

You grinned. "Let’s just say the twins aren’t great at keeping secrets."

"I’m going to strangle them," Hiccup muttered, but there was no real heat in it.

You laughed again, leaning back on your hands. "Relax. I think it’s sweet."

His heart did a weird little flip. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Another pause. Then, softer:

"I admire yours too, you know."

Hiccup turned to look at you, really look at you. The way the fading light caught in your eyes, the way your lips quirked in that half-smile he’d come to memorize.

And suddenly, all the teasing, all the nerves, none of it mattered.

Because right here, right now?

This was perfect.

Toothless and Perseus exchanged a glance, then deliberately turned their backs, giving you two the closest thing to privacy two nosy dragons could manage.

"Hiccup?"

"Yeah?'

You cleared your throat.

"I know you thought I came here to.. take your place. Dull your shine. Whatever it was, but," you started to talk, turning in his direction. "I never felt like I had a place before I got here. I was always running, trying to figure out where I belonged. You make me feel like I have a home. A place where I fit perfectly."

Hiccup’s breath caught in his throat. The way you said it, so raw, so honest, hit him like a tidal wave. For a moment, he couldn’t speak.

Then, softly, he reached out, his fingers brushing against yours.

"You do belong here," he said, voice rough with emotion. "And not just because of Perseus, or because you’re an amazing dragon rider--though, y’know, that definitely helps."

You laughed, but your eyes were suspiciously bright.

Hiccup swallowed, his thumb tracing the back of your hand. "You belong here because… because Berk is better with you in it. I’m better with you in it." He huffed a self-deprecating laugh. "And trust me, that’s saying something, because I was really doing well before you showed up."

You leaned into him, shoulder against shoulder, warmth seeping through the contact. "Your dad told me some stories.. about when you were younger. From what I hear, you're a lot different than you were."

Hiccup groaned, his face flushing. "Oh no. What did he tell you? Please don’t say it was the eel incident--"

You grinned, mischief dancing in your eyes. "Oh, it was definitely the eel incident."

"I was twelve!" Hiccup threw his free hand up in exasperation, but he was laughing despite himself. "And in my defense, eels are slippery."

You leaned closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "He also told me about the time you tried to impress Astrid by jumping off the Great Hall--"

"Okay, wow, I see how it is," Hiccup interrupted, shaking his head. "My own father, sabotaging me. Some chief he is."

You nudged him, still grinning. "I think it’s sweet. He’s proud of you. And he likes me."

Hiccup softened, his thumb still absently tracing circles on your hand. "Yeah, well. You’re kind of impossible not to like."

The words hung between you, quiet but weighty. The sun had fully set now, leaving only the glow of the village fires below and the endless scatter of stars above.

When he finally glanced down, he saw your e/c eyes looking back up at him. The moonlight reflected in them, your eyelids slightly low. You studied his appearance like a painting, like you'd never seen anything more detailed.

This was the first time you'd looked at him like this. The first time you looked at him like he was something other than transparent.

Hiccup’s breath hitched.

There was something new in your gaze -- something intentional, something certain -- and it sent his pulse skittering like a startled Terrible Terror. Your fingers tightened ever so slightly around his, anchoring him in the moment.

For once, Hiccup Haddock didn’t overthink.

He didn’t stumble.

He just leaned in.

Hiccup’s first brush of lips against yours was hesitant: sweet, questioning, as if he still couldn’t quite believe this was real. But when you let out a soft sigh against his mouth, something in him ignited.

His hand slid up to cradle your jaw, fingers tangling gently in your hair as the kiss deepened. Your lips parted, and the taste of him -- warm, faintly of hearth-smoke and wild mint -- sent a shiver down your spine. His other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you, until you could feel the frantic hammer of his heartbeat against your own.

The world fell away.

There was only this: the heat of his touch, the rough calluses of his fingers against your skin, the way his breath hitched when you nipped lightly at his lower lip. A low, desperate sound escaped him, and he kissed you like he was drowning and you were air.

When you finally broke apart, gasping, his forehead rested against yours, his voice ragged.

"I’ve wanted to do that… for weeks. Ever since you first helped me with Toothless."

You smiled, thumb brushing the flushed curve of his cheekbone. "Took you long enough."

Hiccup laughed, breathless, his eyes dark and burning in the moonlight. "Yeah, well… I’m a slow learner."

"Liar," you whispered. "You’re the quickest one I’ve ever met."

His grin was wicked. "Prove it."

And then his mouth was on yours again, hungry and sure this time, swallowing your laugh as he kissed you like it was the only thing that mattered.

And maybe, just for tonight -- it was.

Until you heard slow clapping behind you. You broke apart, rolling your eyes, and turned in Hiccup's lap.

Ruffnut and Tuffnut.

"Bra-vo!" Ruffnut drawled, clapping with exaggerated slowness. "And here I thought Hiccup’s only talent was tripping over his own feet."

Tuffnut wiped an imaginary tear from his eye. "So beautiful. So pure. I think I’m gonna be sick."

Hiccup groaned, dropping his forehead against your shoulder. "I swear to Odin, if you two don’t vanish in the next three seconds--"

"Ooooh, scary!" Ruffnut cackled, elbowing her brother. "Think he’ll sic Toothless on us?"

Toothless, still sprawled dramatically on the ground, cracked one eye open--then promptly rolled onto his back, paws in the air, as if to say, Don’t involve me in this nonsense.

You sighed, twisting to smirk at Hiccup. "We could just ignore them."

Hiccup raised an eyebrow. "You think that’ll work?"

"Worth a shot."

"Actually," you smirked, "hold on."

And then -- without breaking eye contact -- you tapped Perseus's side, waking him up. His blue eyes opened slowly, then narrowed playfully. His throat released a growl, not malice, but pretending to be. His main goal was scaring the twins.

He didn't disappoint. The growl rumbled the dirt, stirring pebbles up.

The effect was instantaneous.

Tuffnut yelped, backpedaling so fast he nearly tripped over his own axe. "WHOA -- OKAY -- WE’RE LEAVING!"

Ruffnut, to her credit, stood her ground for a grand total of two seconds before Perseus exhaled an ear piercing roar.

"Alright, alright! Jeez!" She threw her hands up, but her grin was all mischief. "But just know -- this isn’t over! You two lovebirds are officially our new favorite entertainment!"

And with that, the twins bolted, their laughter fading into the night as Perseus gave a satisfied rumble and flopped back down, tail thumping like a pleased cat.

Hiccup stared after them, then turned to you, eyes wide. "…Did you just weaponize your dragon to scare off the twins?"

You shrugged, scratching Perseus under the chin. "What can I say? He’s got range."

Hiccup burst out laughing, pulling you back against him. "You," he said, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, "are terrifying."

You smirked. "And you love it."

"Yeah," he admitted, his voice soft. "I really do."

And as Perseus and Toothless settled in beside you -- one pretending to sleep, the other already actually snoring -- Hiccup decided something:

If this was what the future looked like?

He couldn’t wait for tomorrow.

[tinyfandomknight]

A/N: hi guys! my name is grace and this is my masterlist :> i write for a lot of tiny, unappreciated fandoms, but i basically just write to my heart's content and whatever i feel like putting out. httyd has been pretty popular for me to write at the moment, but i write just about anything that's interesting to me!

feel free to request anything u want to see and i'll see what i can do. thank you so much!

HOW TO TRAIN YOUR DRAGON

hiccup haddock: not the first or the last | turns out, hiccup wasn't the first dragon rider -- and toothless wasn't the last night fury. you prove to be a master of all things concerning the species.

snotlout jorgenson: out of character | snotlout's not used to mushy feelings -- but you, his most unlikely match, drown him in them. show of teeth | you're snotlout's girl. no one, absolutely no one, messes with you.

astrid hofferson: nothing yet!

ruffnut thorston: nothing yet!

tuffnut thorston: nothing yet!

fishlegs ingerman: nothing yet!

TMNT

raphael hamato: you always were | your date ended horribly. you walked home alone in the rain, sobbing, with a red mark on your arm and a story to keep from your green best friends (because they brutalize bad people, plus you were just embarrassed of your judgment.) big red, however, was tired of being your best friend -- and was waiting to tell you that.

leonardo hamato: nothing yet!

michaelangelo hamato: nothing yet!

donatello hamato: nothing yet!

[tinyfandomknight]

Show of Teeth | Snotlout Jorgensen

Pairing: Snotlout Jorgenson x Reader Summary: You're Snotlout's girl. No one, absolutely no one, messes with you. Themes & Warnings: slight violence i guess, protective!snotlout 🥰, fluff towards the beginning and end, bullying/harassment

He wasn't even sure how he'd managed to get you to be with him of all people.

He was a true viking, yes, which was great. But.. He was everything you weren't. You were gentle, humble, and quiet. You were beautiful in every way -- your face, your body, your soul. Snotlout knew that he was none of those things. He was aggressive, brash, arrogant and over-confident. He was rough around the edges, had dirty hair and sooty skin more times than not, and had a nasty temper.

How did you fall for him? How did you manage to love him for over a couple of days, let alone a year?

Snotlout was so shocked and so afraid to lose the opportunity that he began thanking Thor every morning, as soon as he got out of bed.

Little did he know, though, that you were more than happy with him. There was no one else in the world for you, you were certain of it. You loved that he was confident. You took your time to give your attention to every crack and flaw that Snotlout had, showing him your support and letting him know that someone was proud of him. You even loved his temper.. Oddly, you found it kind of hot when it flared, especially when it came to defending you.

Snotlout would defend you with his life. There was never a day that he hadn't been the first to dive into a situation where you needed to be protected, whether it was physically, emotionally, or both.

He may have been a bit overprotective, but you even loved that. You found it endearing how Snotlout and Hookfang, his dragon (who was literally only sweet and gentle with you), escorted you on all of your long walks, no matter where to, or slept in your hut when you had one of your pesky night terrors.

There was a rhythm to life with Snotlout -- chaotic, loud, sometimes exhausting -- but it had become your favorite kind of normal.

He liked to pretend he wasn’t soft for you, especially in front of the others, but it didn’t take much to pull back the curtain.

When you were cold, he’d toss his fur cloak over your shoulders and grumble something about “you being too weak to survive a Berk winter,” but the way he’d adjust it to make sure it covered your ears betrayed him. When you were tired, he’d scowl and bark at anyone who tried to talk to you, folding his arms and daring anyone to challenge his right to carry you home -- which he often did, whether you asked or not.

And then there was Hookfang, who somehow matched his rider in both energy and attitude -- except when it came to you.

You were the only person Hookfang willingly let ride with Snotlout, the only one he’d lean his massive, fire-warmed head against in greeting, rumbling low and satisfied. He’d nudge you gently with his snout if you seemed upset, and more than once, Snotlout had returned from training to find the dragon curled protectively around your hut, shielding it from the wind like a living wall.

Snotlout teased you about it, of course.

“Great. Now he likes you more than me,” he’d huff, crossing his arms dramatically as Hookfang rested his chin on your lap like a giant cat. “Don’t forget who feeds you, bud.”

Hookfang didn’t even look at him.

You’d just laugh, running your fingers along the dragon’s warm scales. “He has good taste.”

Snotlout would scoff, but his smirk always gave him away.

He claimed to be annoyed by the way Hookfang doted on you, but you caught him smiling every single time the dragon nuzzled your side or let out a huff of smoke when you giggled. Once, he even said -- in a very offhand, totally-not-emotional way -- that if anything ever happened to him, he knew you’d still be safe because Hookfang would burn the entire island to the ground for you.

And you didn’t doubt it.

When you had a rough day, both of them showed up at your door -- Snotlout with food he probably stole from the hall, and Hookfang settling just outside your window, warming your home like a dragon-shaped hearth. On those nights, Snotlout never pushed. He’d just sit with you, arm around your shoulders, letting you lean into his warmth while Hookfang’s slow breaths rumbled in the background.

You never had to ask for comfort. It just showed up, messy and loud and loyal.

And when you smiled at Snotlout -- really smiled -- you could always tell he didn’t know what to do with himself. He’d blink, flustered, and try to make some joke about how “devastatingly attractive” he was, but he always ended up staring a little too long, looking like he couldn’t believe his luck.

Maybe he couldn’t.

But you never let him forget he deserved it.

It started on one of those days where the air was cold and sharp, and the clouds hung low enough to bite.

You had gone to the forge to pick up some supplies for Gobber, who'd thrown his back out trying to lift a saddle hook with his bad arm again. Snotlout had offered to come with you -- loudly, and repeatedly -- but you’d waved him off, teasing that you could handle a walk to the forge without being escorted like royalty.

He didn’t love it, but he let you go. Hookfang watched you leave with a grumble, wings twitching. Maybe you should’ve listened to both of them.

Because that’s where it happened.

It started off with a voice that made your eye twitch.

“Y’know, I been thinkin’,” he said, leaning lazily against a post near the docks, gnawing on something that looked questionably like jerky. “You’re way too pretty to be with that guy.”

You turned your head, blinking. “Excuse me?”

He smiled -- or at least, showed his teeth in something that tried to be a smile. “Snotlout. That’s who you’re with, right? Big muscles, loud voice, thinks he’s Thor’s gift to the village?”

You knew who you were speaking to. Sven, one of the small breed dragon stablehands. He was annoying, the smell of him could clear a room, and he was way overconfident. Not like Snotlout, who could back himself up, but in a pathetic way.

Your expression flattened. “Yes. That’s him.”

“Yeah, see, that’s wild to me,” he said, like he wasn’t actively digging a hole for himself. “Like, no offense, but you? You’re all soft and smart and… not him. I mean, come on. You could do better. Like, way better. Like, me better.”

You blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Don’t get me wrong,” he said, clearly thinking he was being charming. “Snotlout’s probably fun for a bit. Y’know, until the yelling and chest-thumping gets old. But guys like him? They burn out. He’s not a long-term investment. But me? I’m the kind of man you settle down with.”

You stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “Do you hear yourself when you talk?”

“Sure do. That’s how I know I’m making sense.” He looked at you like he expected you to laugh. “Come on, sweetheart. You don’t really want a guy who spends more time flexing than thinking. You want someone who appreciates you. Someone mature. Someone with two brain cells to rub together.”

“Right. And that’s supposed to be you?”

He pointed both thumbs at his chest. “Bingo.”

You gave a long, slow blink. “Wow.”

“I mean, it’s not too late,” he added, leaning in slightly. “People make bad choices all the time. You’re young. You’ve got time to course correct. Ditch the viking bobblehead and I’ll show you what real affection looks like.”

You took a step back. “I’m not interested.”

“Oh, come on,” he whined, suddenly irritated. “You don’t even know what you’re missing. I’d treat you like a queen. Not like a trophy he can strut around with.”

“I said I’m not interested.”

That should’ve been the end of it. But he grabbed your arm.

“Don’t be like that--”

“Let. Go.”

“You think that guy’s gonna be around forever? You think he can protect you from everything?”

“Last warning.”

And then, there it was, the boots slamming onto the dock like thunder, that familiar growl that rumbled through your spine before the voice you loved broke through the tension like a war horn:

“Get your filthy hands off her.”

The man jumped, but didn’t let go fast enough.

Snotlout stormed up, shoving him back so hard he stumbled and landed square on his butt.

“You deaf and dumb?” Snotlout spat, standing over him.

"I-I--"

You could practically see Snotlout’s fury crackling off of him like fire.

“She said no,” he spat, voice low, dark, dangerous. “She tried to walk away. You think you’re better than me?” He laughed, humorless. “Try surviving me first.”

Hookfang growled again, smoke curling from his nostrils as he moved to flank Snotlout’s side -- tall, burning hot, and clearly seconds away from unleashing a very non-lethal but definitely scarring shot of flame.

The guy backed off fast, hands up, eyes darting between the livid Viking and the increasingly irritated dragon.

“I was just joking,” he stammered.

Snotlout stepped forward. “You touch her again, look at her wrong, breathe in her direction, and I’ll make sure your food has to be mashed for the rest of your life.” He smiled -- all teeth. “Then I’ll let Hookfang explain it in a way you’ll never forget.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. Just turned, stalked to your side, and gently tugged you behind him with a hand on your waist. When he looked at you, his expression softened instantly.

His eyes scanned you -- not just your face, but your arms, your hands -- searching for bruises or any sign that the guy had hurt you. “Did he grab you hard? Where’d he touch you?”

You held up your wrist where the guy had gripped you, red but not bruised. “Just here. I’m fine, really.”

Snotlout didn’t answer. He just took your wrist carefully in his hands and lifted it to his lips, kissing the skin with a surprising gentleness for someone who’d just threatened to reduce a man to a puddle of ash.

He leaned in, touching his forehead to yours for a second. “He’s lucky I didn’t break his nose.”

Hookfang snorted in agreement.

Snotlout pulled you closer, his tone grumbling now. “Told you I should’ve come with you. You’re too nice. You give people the benefit of the doubt. Me? I give ‘em free dental work.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling softly at him. "I know, babe. I figured that after they saw the Tuffnut incident, the men in this village would learn."

Snotlout huffed, pulling you flush against his chest. “Yeah, well, clearly that guy missed the show. Maybe I should host a rerun. With better lighting. Bigger audience.”

You snorted. “You just want to punch someone again.”

“I want people to remember what happens when they mess with you,” he grumbled into your hair. “You’re my girl. Any good viking defends his own.”

Hookfang let out a low rumble behind him, smoke curling lazily from his nostrils. Snotlout glanced back and gave his dragon a smug nod. “See? Even Hookfang agrees. You’re our girl.”

You tilted your head, amused. “Our girl, huh?”

Snotlout blinked. “I mean, I don’t share you with him exactly, but like… emotionally, he’s got a stake. You do pet him more than you pet me.”

You laughed, pressing your forehead into his chest. “He doesn’t whine about cuddle time.”

Snotlout gasped. “Rude.”

“I’m just saying,” you teased. “You could take notes.”

Snotlout narrowed his eyes playfully, then leaned in to nip lightly at your jaw, pulling a surprised yelp from you. “Fine. New rule. No more walking around alone. No more letting creeps catch you without backup. You’re gonna wear my arm like jewelry everywhere you go.”

“Oh yeah?” you asked, lips twitching. “And what about when I’m bathing? Or training with Astrid?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “I’m waterproof and very durable.”

You were still giggling when he kissed you -- a firm, claiming press of lips that made it clear you belonged to him. But when he pulled back, his hand stayed against your cheek, thumb brushing your skin in that tender way only you ever got to see.

And behind you both, Hookfang made a low purring sound -- yes, purring -- before flopping dramatically to the ground with a thud that shook the dirt.

Snotlout glanced over, grinning. “Told you. Totally whipped.”

You blinked. “Were you talking about you or the dragon?”

“...Yes.”

Then, from behind a nearby fish cart, a familiar voice cut through the moment like a knife:

“Wow,” Tuffnut deadpanned, peeking over the crates. “That was terrifying and romantic. Ten out of ten. Solid performance. You guys gonna smooch it up big time now, or should I give you privacy?”

Snotlout rolled his eyes. “Privacy would be great, thanks.”

“No promises!” Tuffnut called, already walking off. “Just remember, when your kids ask where babies come from, this was the moment it started.”

You buried your face in Snotlout’s shoulder, groaning. “Why is he like this?”

Snotlout snorted, arms still snug around you. “Ignore him. You’re mine. He’s just jealous.”

He tilted your chin up and kissed you again -- slow, certain, full of everything he couldn’t say out loud without shouting it to the whole island.

And yeah, you were his. But more importantly?

He was yours. And he definitely wasn't afraid to show some teeth in your honor.

[tinyfandomknight]

Out of Character | Snotlout Jorgenson

Pairing: Snotlout Jorgenson x Reader Summary: Snotlout's not used to mushy feelings -- but you, his most unlikely match, drown him in them. Themes & Warnings: Snoutlout is his own warning, yearning, Jealous!Snotlout, fluff!

Since you were a baby, you'd made your father proud.

You were just a tiny little one, left on the doorstep of Gobber’s blacksmithing shop. Wrapped in a bear pelt, silently staring up at him with big, curious e/c eyes -- like you were daring the world to challenge you even then. Gobber, surprisingly gentle with babies despite the rough edges and missing limbs, had scooped you up with a gruff laugh and decided on the spot: you were his. No questions asked.

You grew up with soot-streaked cheeks, calloused palms, and the clang of hammers as your lullaby. Gobber taught you everything he knew: how to mold metal, fix a saddle, and keep your heart soft even when your hands were strong. He raised you like a Viking, but he let you be kind. And when you showed your worth in dragon training, no one dared question how a blacksmith’s foundling could outmatch half the village.

When you reached the age of fifteen, you started dragon training. You were surprisingly different from your father at that time -- clean, organized, and deadly.

Where Gobber was chaotic, you were calm. Where he bellowed, you spoke with measured words. You didn’t need to shout to be heard, your actions did the talking. In the training ring, you moved like you’d been born to it: precise, quiet, efficient. You didn’t rely on brute strength. You thought before you struck. And when you did strike, it landed.

By the time the first week of training had ended, you’d already impressed Hiccup and irritated Snotlout beyond reason.

“Who even are you?” he barked one day, panting, sweaty, and scowling as he watched you perfectly disarm a Gronckle in under ten seconds.

“Just someone who sharpens her weapons before training,” you said lightly, not even sparing him a full glance.

He scoffed. “Must be nice having a blacksmith for a dad.”

That got your attention. You turned, eyes narrowed, not angry, just sharp. Controlled.

“It is nice,” you said, voice even. “You should try appreciating your father sometime.”

Snotlout went red at that, clearly not expecting a comeback so calm, so devastating. It wasn’t that you were cruel. You just didn’t entertain nonsense. And that confused him more than anything.

Because Snotlout Jorgenson could handle yelling. He could handle sarcasm, challenges, even dragons breathing down his neck.

But you? You were terrifying in a whole new way.

You didn’t chase attention. You didn’t puff your chest. You didn’t care if people were impressed by you. You were so unlike him -- so unlike anyone he’d ever bothered to pay attention to.

As time passed, you got closer with Hiccup.

He became your best friend. You lead him through the training, sparing him the biting remarks from the other students, and you often hung out outside of training too.

But when he discovered that dragons weren't all bad through his secret pet, you'd called him crazy for a moment. Until you met Toothless.

Maybe it was because you trusted Hiccup. Maybe it was because you needed to see the madness to believe it. Or maybe, somewhere deep down, you were hoping he was right -- that the world was bigger and better than you'd been raised to believe.

You didn’t breathe the first time you laid eyes on Toothless.

He was curled like a sleeping cat, wide eyes tracking your every move, tail twitching with a wariness that matched your own. His scales shimmered in the dappled forest light, his wings tucked in like he was trying to make himself smaller.

And you knew, instantly, that you weren’t looking at a monster.

You were looking at a creature who had been hurt. Hunted. Hiccup’s trembling hand reached out, and Toothless leaned into the touch.

That was the moment your world shifted.

And then, everyone's did.

The day Berk learned that dragons were not their enemies was the day everything shifted. And you were there through it all, fighting beside Hiccup when the old ways collapsed, standing firm against the doubt of elders, defending the very beasts that once haunted your village's nightmares.

Years passed. The war was over. Dragons flew free, and the people of Berk had adapted.

You had, too.

Now, you soared through the sky like you’d been born with wings. A blur of grace and steel, high above the forest, your dragon Blight roaring beneath you. He was a Timberjack -- wild and razor-edged, with wings like blades and a voice that could split the sky. You’d named him after the illness that stripped bark and rot from trees -- not because he was a disease, but because he left nothing untouched in his path.

Much like you.

It was peaceful work, harvesting timber from the outskirts of the woods per Gobber’s request. He needed handles for axes, staves for spears, and who better to do the dangerous tree-cutting than the girl who practically danced with danger?

And so many years later, you still pissed Snotlout off.

Not in the usual way people irritated him with whining or bragging or breathing too loud.

No, you pissed him off in the way that made his jaw tighten and his thoughts get scrambled. In the way that had him flying out to the edge of the woods like he had any reason to be there, just so he could catch a glimpse of you slicing through the sky like you owned the air.

And of course, you did.

You always looked so damn effortless.

No matter how effortlessly you flew through the air, your hair always stayed in its neat, intricate braid. You were usually covered in soot and grease, but your nails were always clean and when you washed it off, your face remained clear with a few scars from your old dragon training days. You weren't ever loud or boisterous like he was, but you somehow commanded the world's attention anyways.

He hated it. Or he tried to convince himself he did.

You weren’t dainty. You weren’t trying to be anyone’s fantasy.

And maybe that’s why you were his.

Because Snotlout had spent his whole life being loud. Flashy. Always trying to prove something -- to his father, to the village, to himself. He'd carved out his place in Berk by sheer force of personality. By shouting until someone listened. By throwing his weight around and demanding attention.

You never had to do any of that. You just were.

Quiet, competent, calm and maddeningly brilliant at everything. You were the kind of person who walked into a room and made people shut up. The kind of girl who could spar, forge, command a dragon, and still roll her eyes when Snotlout flexed.

And Thor help him, he wanted you to look.

Not the way you looked at Hiccup, or Fishlegs, or even Gobber -- with patience and friendship and understanding.

He wanted the look you gave Blight when you were proud of him. When he did something right and you whispered something soft under your breath that made the dragon puff up with pride.

He wanted that.

He wanted you to see him, really see him, not the idiot who cracked jokes or puffed his chest or ran his mouth. But the part he rarely showed anyone: the one who tried hard, who felt too much, who just wanted to matter.

And worst of all?

He knew you already did see that part of him in glimpses. Quick flashes. Like the time you caught him gently wrapping a wing splint on a hatchling. Or when you stood beside him during a dragon attack without needing to say a word. Or when you casually handed him a perfectly sharpened axe after he’d been struggling to fix his own for hours.

You never rubbed it in. Never made him feel smaller. But you didn’t coddle him either.

You just existed. In his world. On the edges of his thoughts, in the pit of his chest, and deep in the marrow of every stupid decision he made to try and impress you.

And now here he was again, standing in a forest you’d already claimed as your own, watching you steer Blight into another flawless landing, wind sweeping your braid over your shoulder, soot trailing along your cheekbone like a badge.

“Beautiful,” he muttered, before he could stop himself.

Hookfang grunted beside him in agreement.

Snotlout blinked. “Shut up.”

The dragon made another soft grunting sound, like he was laughing at Snotlout, or maybe judging him, and nudged him gently with his huge snout.

“Seriously?” Snotlout hissed, swatting uselessly at his dragon like he could bat away the truth. “I didn’t mean it like that. It was a -- it was a reflex. A stupid one. Just… shut up, alright?”

Hookfang blinked at him slowly, unamused. Another low rumble vibrated from his chest, as if to say, You keep lying to yourself, bud. I’ve got time.

Snotlout crossed his arms, turning back to the clearing, jaw clenched. But you were already off Blight’s saddle, tying him off to a tree with practiced ease. Your dragon flicked his bladed wings once, letting out a huff before settling down -- completely relaxed, because you were. Snotlout felt a tug in his gut watching the bond, that unspoken trust between you and the beast.

You were humming. Barely. Just under your breath.

He hated that he noticed that, too.

And then, as if the gods weren’t already cruel enough, you turned. Locked eyes with him across the space like you knew he’d been staring. You didn’t smile. Not at first. You just watched him, quiet, composed, unreadable as ever, and Snotlout’s brain completely short-circuited.

You tilted your head slightly. “You here for a reason, or are you just stalking me again?”

Again. That word knocked the breath out of him.

“Pfft, no,” he said too quickly, voice cracking halfway. “I-- patrol. This is, you know… enemy territory.”

You raised a brow. “The Berkian forest?”

“Could’ve been raiders.”

“Could’ve been trees, which you nearly walked into because you were staring so hard.”

Snotlout flushed scarlet. Hookfang snorted.

You started walking toward him, braid swinging against your back, fingers brushing soot off your tunic like you had all the time in the world. Every step you took made his stomach twist tighter.

“I’ve seen you flying out here more than usual,” you said. “Following me.”

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Your voice lowered a fraction, softer now. “Why?”

Because he couldn’t stop thinking about you. Because your laugh haunted his sleep. Because you weren’t scared of him, not the puffed-up version, not the insecure one underneath. Because when you looked at him like this, calm and curious and just a little too close, he forgot how to breathe.

But all he said was: “Dunno.”

You gave him a look that felt like it could cut through armor.

Then, softly, teasing, “Want to help me bring the wood back for my dad? I'm not gonna make Blight do it. He's tired today and he always does it.”

Blight purred beside you, lifting his head to you. You cooed, scratching his scales gently.

“I know, Blighty boy. This is your break.”

You scratched gently along the sensitive part of his jaw, and Blight let out a huff of air, satisfied, curling his bladed wings in a relaxed posture. It was a kind of tenderness Snotlout didn’t think you ever let anyone else see. Not Hiccup. Not the other riders. Maybe Gobber, if he was lucky.

And suddenly, Snotlout felt kind of honored. And kind of jealous.

He cleared his throat, voice jumping slightly. “You name a dragon Blight, and then baby-talk him like he’s a newborn sheep. That doesn’t mess with his ego or anything?”

You glanced over your shoulder, unbothered. “He can slice through a tree in one flap. I think his ego can survive a little affection.”

He cleared his throat. “Anyways, carrying wood with you? Alone?”

Your smile turned dangerous. “Unless you’re scared of a little work. Too heavy for you?”

“Me?” he scoffed, straightening his back like you’d just challenged his honor. “Never.”

“Good,” you said, already turning your back to him. “Then grab the straps. The load’s heavier than it looks.”

You didn’t wait for him, didn’t watch to see if he struggled because of course you knew he’d follow. You always knew. And gods, it made him want to scream. Or kiss you. Or maybe both.

He hurried after you, grumbling under his breath about stupid trees and stupid dragons and stupid girls with perfect braids and sharp tongues.

Hookfang stayed behind, lying down next to Blight like they’d already formed some dragon bro pact of mockery. Snotlout glanced back at them, narrowing his eyes.

"Traitors."

You were already hauling two large bundles of freshly cut wood toward your makeshift loading sled. Blight had stacked the timber cleanly in rows with his wings, and you moved like someone who’d done this a hundred times -- smooth, efficient, no-nonsense.

“Thought this was supposed to be the part where we bond,” Snotlout muttered as he picked up the harnessed end of the sled and gave a grunt.

You threw him a dry look over your shoulder. “This is bonding. You want me to hold your hand too?”

He nearly choked on air. “I mean-- I wouldn’t hate that.”

You rolled your eyes, but a faint smile tugged at your mouth.

And that was all the encouragement he needed to keep talking.

“You know,” he started, dragging the sled effortlessly, “most people flirt with me. Like, a lot. All the time, actually. It’s kind of exhausting.”

You hummed thoughtfully. “Poor thing.”

“I mean, not that I blame them. I’m pretty great. Brave. Muscular. The best dragon rider Berk’s ever seen--”

“The modesty’s what really gets me,” you cut in.

He narrowed his eyes at the back of your head, then smirked. “So you have been paying attention.”

You paused, adjusting the straps around your shoulders, and glanced at him, really looked at him, a strange expression in your eyes. Something unreadable. Something soft, almost.

“Of course I’ve been paying attention,” you said simply. “You're just too loud to sneak past unnoticed.”

His breath caught, not because of your words, but because of how you said them. Casual. Easy. Like it was just a fact. Like he was a fact. Something permanent in your life.

And for a second, he forgot how to breathe again.

Then you turned back around and kept walking.

“Coming, oh great dragon-riding muscle god?”

He snapped out of it with a sputter. “I-- yeah. Obviously.”

As the two of you disappeared into the trees, the sound of wood dragging behind and the rustle of branches above, Snotlout let the quiet stretch for once. Just for a moment. The breeze shifted, and he caught a whiff of smoke and pine and something that was just you.

And it hit him, terrifying and thrilling all at once.

He was in love with you.

And he was so screwed.

He was used to little crushes. In fact, he used to stare at any girl that walked by. He'd had a huge crush on Astrid back in the day, Ruffnut somehow too, but now? No one else was even worth a glance to him, no matter how infuriating you were.

But it wasn't the same for you. You didn't only look at him. And that bothered him.

Now, you sat in the Great Hall next to Hiccup, laughing at something he’d said, face lit up by the torchlight and framed by your freshly unbraided hair. It tumbled over your shoulder in soft waves, streaked faintly with soot still, but he’d never seen anything more unfair in his entire life. How could someone look like a warrior, a blacksmith’s daughter, a dragon-riding menace and a goddess all at once?

It should’ve been illegal.

Snotlout sat across the hall, glaring into his mug like it had personally offended him. Ruffnut and Tuffnut were arguing over something stupid beside him, goat racing, probably, Astrid sat reading quietly, and Fishlegs was rambling to someone who wasn’t listening, but Snotlout didn’t hear a word.

Because Hiccup leaned closer to you, and you leaned back in that easy, relaxed way you only ever gave to a few people. He watched you nudge him playfully with your elbow, and something snapped.

He slammed his mug down. “I’m gonna kill him.”

Hookfang, curled up near the back wall, cracked open one eye.

Tuffnut leaned over. “Who? Fishlegs?”

“No, Hiccup,” Snotlout hissed.

Tuffnut raised a brow. “Dude, he’s been your cousin since birth.”

“That just means it’ll be easier to explain to the elders,” he muttered.

Because Hiccup got that laugh from you. That rare, nose-crinkling laugh that made your whole face glow. The one Snotlout ached to be the cause of. And maybe he was being dramatic. Okay, he was being dramatic. But how could he not be?

He didn’t do soft feelings. Didn’t know how to be soft without tripping over himself. And you, you were gentle in a way that wasn’t weakness. You were quiet power. Calm confidence. And Snotlout? He was loud chaos. Fire and ego and swinging too hard in every direction. You shouldn’t fit. But gods, he wanted to try.

The hall grew louder as dinner was served. Mead spilled. Fishlegs accidentally got a turkey leg launched at his head. Gobber bellowed a laugh from the far end of the table.

And all Snotlout could think about was how your shoulder touched Hiccup’s for a second too long.

He stood abruptly.

Ruffnut blinked. “Where’re you going?”

“To do something stupid,” he grumbled, already moving.

You looked up as he approached, brow raised in mild surprise. Hiccup glanced up too, smiling in greeting but Snotlout wasn't in the mood for being cordial.

“You,” he said, stabbing a finger at Hiccup. “Come outside.”

Hiccup blinked, brows shooting up in surprise. “Uh... hi to you too?”

You didn’t say anything at first, but you did give Snotlout a look. Calm. Curious. Barely amused. Like you already knew exactly what this was about.

Snotlout didn’t even look at you. Couldn’t. If he did, he might do something dumb like say what he meant. And Thor knew he wasn’t ready for that kind of stupidity.

Hiccup, ever the peacemaker, held up his hands. “Look, if this is about the new tail design for Hookfang, I told Fishlegs I’d--”

“It’s not about Hookfang,” Snotlout bit out, jerking his head toward the doors. “It’s about something else.”

Your brow arched a little higher, but you stayed quiet, lips twitching just slightly.

Hiccup hesitated. “You want to… talk about--”

“Yes,” Snotlout snapped, already regretting this entire interaction. “Outside. Now. Before I say something really stupid in front of her.”

That caught your attention. You tilted your head slightly, clearly intrigued now, watching with interest as Hiccup stood awkwardly, glancing between the two of you.

“I’ll… be right back,” he said slowly, still trying to make sense of it all, and followed Snotlout out into the cool evening air.

The moment the door shut behind them, Snotlout spun around, jabbing a finger at Hiccup’s chest.

“Back off.”

Hiccup blinked. “Back off what?”

“You know what,” Snotlout hissed. “Her. You sit next to her. You smile at her. You look at her like you’ve got some shared secret, and I don’t like it.”

There was a long pause.

Then Hiccup said, “You dragged me out here to tell me to stop being friends with someone I’ve known for years?”

Snotlout scowled. “No! Yes. Maybe. I don’t know, alright? I’m not good at this... feelings thing. But I’m good at spotting competition, and if you are even thinking about--”

“I’m not,” Hiccup said, firmly but gently. “She’s my friend. That’s it.”

Snotlout stared at him, suspicious. “You’re sure?”

“Yes,” Hiccup repeated, a small smile pulling at his lips. “Though, if you’re serious about her, maybe you should tell her all this. Instead of threatening me like a territorial yak.”

Snotlout grimaced. “I don’t know how.”

“Well,” Hiccup said, clapping a hand on his shoulder, “start by not stabbing your friends with your finger in public. Then maybe try talking to her like she’s not gonna gut you.”

“She might gut me.”

“Only if you deserve it.”

Snotlout sighed heavily, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “I hate this. I hate her. I mean I don’t. I mean I do. Ugh, you know what I mean.”

Hiccup nodded, half-laughing now. “Yeah, I really do.”

Inside, you sat still, watching the door with a knowing expression. Because if there was one thing you’d always known about Snotlout Jorgenson -- it was that he felt everything loud. And when he finally figured out why he felt it?

He was screwed. Royally.

The sun had dipped low by the time he found you again, casting the village in warm, golden light that made everything feel softer. Less threatening. Even the usual chaos of dragon wings overhead seemed quieter, like the whole world had taken a breath and was holding it just for this moment.

You were sitting near the edge of the cove, where the grass met the rocky path down to the water. Your dragon was curled nearby, dozing peacefully, and you were picking at a wildflower with idle fingers, lost in thought.

Snotlout stopped a few paces back. Just... watched you.

He hated how you made him feel like this. Like his chest was too full. Like words piled up in his throat, and none of them were good enough for you. You could throw axes better than anyone he knew. You didn’t take his crap. And sometimes, like now, when you were quiet and still and not yelling at him or teasing him—he found it hard to breathe.

He cleared his throat.

You didn’t jump. Just turned your head slowly, eyes lifting to meet his. Calm. A little curious.

“I’m not here to say something stupid,” he said quickly. Then paused. “I mean, probably. But I’m trying not to.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s new.”

“Hey,” he huffed, then stuffed his hands in his pockets, pacing forward until he stood a few feet from you. “Look. Earlier… with Hiccup… I wasn’t mad at him. Not really.”

“I know,” you said simply, setting the flower down beside you. “You were mad at yourself.”

That made him blink. “How’d you…?”

You shrugged, like it wasn’t worth explaining. “Because you never know what to do when you’re not punching something.”

“…Yeah. That’s fair.” He blew out a breath, then dropped down to sit beside you, not too close, but not far either. “I listened to him. Like he said I should.”

You tilted your head. “And?”

“And he told me to talk to you. Like I’m not an idiot.”

A small smile tugged at your lips. “He thinks highly of you.”

“He’s delusional.” He glanced sideways at you, jaw tight. “But he’s right about one thing. I gotta stop acting like an axe-headed moron and just say it.”

You looked at him. Waiting. Patient. Like you knew how much effort this cost him.

“I like you,” Snotlout said quietly. “Not in the weird 'Snotlout way' people joke about. Not because I think you look good in armor, though you do, obviously. But like… when you’re not around, everything feels loud. And when you are around, it’s worse, but it’s a better kind of loud. And I think about you. All the time. Even when I don’t want to. Even when you’re yelling at me. Especially then.”

You stared at him, quiet for a beat.

Then, softly, you asked, “So… what do you want?”

He hesitated. Then turned to you fully.

“I want a chance. I want to try. I want you to know I’m serious. And if you’re gonna gut me for this, fine. Just make it fast.”

You let out a soft laugh, surprised, warm, a little breathless. “You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “But I’m your idiot. If you want me.”

There was a long pause before you reached out, tugging the edge of his sleeve, your fingers brushing his wrist.

“I always did,” you said.

Snotlout blinked. Then grinned. A little wild. A little awed. “Really?”

You rolled your eyes fondly. “Don’t make me say it again, Jorgenson.”

He didn’t. He just reached for your hand like it was the most natural thing in the world -- and when you let him hold it, everything in him quieted.

For once.

And he thought maybe this was what Hiccup meant.

Your fingers were still tangled with his, the silence between you stretching -- but this time, it wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t tense or confused. It was warm. Easy. The kind of quiet that hummed with something new and good and just beginning.

Snotlout stared down at your hands for a moment, as if grounding himself, then looked up at you again. His grin had faded into something softer now -- still him, still smug in a way only he could manage -- but gentler at the edges. A little unsure, a little hopeful.

“Can I--?” he asked, voice low, almost husky. “I mean, should I--?”

You didn’t let him finish.

You leaned in first.

It was simple, the kiss. No dramatic sweep of arms, no crash of firelight or clatter of armor. Just the soft brush of your lips over his. A hesitant meeting. A testing of new ground. He froze for a half-second, like his brain had short-circuited -- and then he kissed you back, just as gently.

His hand came up to cradle your cheek, rough palm warm against your skin, surprisingly tender. He didn’t rush it. Didn’t deepen it. Just held it there, like a moment he didn’t want to break.

When you finally pulled back, your noses were nearly touching, his breath fanning against your skin.

“Wow,” he whispered. “So… this is happening?”

You smiled, eyes shining. “Looks like it.”

After that, it was easy.

Snotlout was still Snotlout -- loud, smug, obnoxiously confident -- but softer. Around you, he eased the weight you carried, always finding ways to protect you, to cherish you. He’d sharpen your blades without being asked. He’d scowl at you if you skipped meals. He still bragged, but now it was about how lucky he was.

And yes, he was still a little territorial. Still kind of an idiot. But now he was your idiot.

Which is how you found yourself sitting beside him in the Great Hall a few nights later, sharing stew and laughter while the rest of the gang shouted over each other across the long table. You were tucked under his arm, his hand playing idly with your braid like he couldn’t help himself.

That’s when Tuffnut plopped down across from you, a wicked grin on his face.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Berk’s most terrifying blacksmith angel,” he said, giving you a dramatic wink. “Tell me -- are you into slightly unhinged men with questionable hygiene and a flair for goat impressions?”

You snorted into your cup. “Can’t say I’ve considered it.”

“Consider it now,” he said, leaning forward, eyes gleaming. “I’ve got charm. Mystery. Probably lice.”

Snotlout, who had been too busy shoveling food into his mouth to notice at first, finally looked up -- a spoon still hanging out of his mouth.

He narrowed his eyes. “Are you flirting with my girlfriend?”

Tuffnut blinked. “Depends. Is she gonna kill me, or are you?”

“Me,” Snotlout said cheerfully, dropping his spoon and grinning like a dragon who’d just spotted a sheep.

He stood, grabbed Tuffnut by the back of the collar, and bodily hoisted him from his seat like he weighed nothing.

“Say it louder for the folks in the back,” he called to the hall. “My girlfriend. This one’s mine. The smart, terrifying, annoyingly perfect one? Yeah, mine.”

You groaned, hiding your face in your hands.

Tuffnut flailed in his grasp. “Alright, alright, you ox! Put me down! I was testing her loyalty! Science!”

Snotlout dropped him unceremoniously, then flopped back down next to you, smug and glowing with pride.

He slung his arm around you again. “You hear that? People are testing you. You passed, obviously. But still. You gotta be careful. With a face like yours? Trouble magnet.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t move from under his arm.

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered.

“And yours,” he said, pressing a quick, loud kiss to your temple. “Totally, undeniably, unreasonably yours.”

Across the table, Tuffnut rubbed his neck with a groan. “Next time I flirt with someone, it’s gonna be Astrid. At least Hiccup doesn't brag after he brutalizes.”

“Still gonna lose,” Snotlout called, stuffing more stew in his mouth. “But hey -- shoot for the stars, bud.”