✎ Writing takes time, I would appreciate patience with your requests. Rest assured, they will be written—just not necessarily right away. However, I will decline any requests that doesn't meet my boundaries.
-ˋˏ When making a request, please specify the timeline in which you'd like the fic to be set [or if an alternative universe].
-ˋˏ Unless requested, I don’t describe race and gender in my writings—particularly for x-reader stories—to keep them inclusive.
-ˋˏ You are free to request any character who aren't in the main list.
-ˋˏ I post 2-3 works every week.
-ˋˏ DO NOT copy, duplicate, translate, modify, claim as your own, or repost my writings and headers in any media. You are free to take inspiration if given permission.
━━ RULES ━━
➥ WHAT I DO NOT WRITE !! ✘
1. NSFW of underaged characters.
2. Pedophilia
3. Incest
4. Beastiality
➥ WHAT I CAN/WILL WRITE !! ✓
1. NSFW of adult characters/of legal age.
2. Character x Character
3. Character x Reader
4. Plot focused
5. No pairings stories
6. alternative universe
━━ WORKS
⁀➴The Main and Supporting Characters
꒰꒰ HICCUP HORRENDOUS HADDOCK III
TOOTHLESS KNOWS BEST
THE GUARDIAN ANGEL
BRAVER THAN YESTERDAY
꒰꒰ ASTRID HOFFERSON
coming soon...
꒰꒰ SNOTLOUT GARY JORGENSON
coming soon...
꒰꒰ TUFFNUT LAVERNE THORSTON
coming soon...
꒰꒰ RUFFNUT EUGENE THORSTON
coming soon...
꒰꒰ FISHLEGS JUSTIN INGERMAN
coming soon...
꒰꒰ DAGUR THE DERANGED
coming soon...
꒰꒰ HEATHER THE UNHINGED
coming soon...
꒰꒰ ERET, SON OF ERET ♡
coming soon...
꒰꒰ STOICK THE VAST
coming soon...
꒰꒰ VALKA HADDOCK
coming soon...
꒰꒰ GOBBER THE BELCH
coming soon...
꒰꒰ VIGGO GRIMBORN
coming soon...
⁀➴The Villains/Antagonists
꒰꒰ DRAGO BLUDVIST
coming soon...
꒰꒰ GRIMMEL THE GRISLY
coming soon...
⁀➴THE WORLD OF DRAGONS [plot focused + alternative universes]
I received so many requests; 28 in total, very shocking! I WILL write all of them, but please be aware that academics are back so it will take long for me to work on all of them! [lots of requests for Eret, Daggur and Snotlout]
But here are what I'm currently working on, all are requests.
Hi! Your stories are very cute so far ❤️ I was wondering if I could request something for Hiccup? I was thinking a reader who’s scared of dragons and Hiccup helps her by having toothless spend time with them, and because they take it slow they spend a lot of time together. I think it would be very cute if the pair of them were helping the reader overcome her fear while Hiccup is also falling for her. Thank you! xx
BRAVER THAN YESTERDAY
pairings « hiccup haddock x f! reader »
✎ Being afraid of dragons while living on an island where they’re treated like family isn’t exactly an ideal combination. But no amount of rational thinking could quiet the fear lodged in her chest---That is but until one patient boy and his curious Night Fury begin to change everything.
【warnings; fear/anxiety themes [no major warnings] 】
notes: this took longer than expected, I was too focused on my art pieces and enrolling. sorry if I kept you waiting. I also used too many similes in this which I really hate
It has been a long six years since the last attack of the Red Death, leaving the people of Berk with a sense of peace. The war, with all its hardships and sacrifices, was over and done with. Berk was no longer a battlefield where courageous men went up against furious fire-spewing beasts who could be defeated only with incredible strength and brutality where steel met scale and fire meant death. There were no longer cries for help, suffering and torment of men and dragons alike.
But that didn’t mean you had changed with it.
The fear wasn’t logical. You knew that. The feeling that one experiences in respect to dragons flying in the air cannot be rationalized at all because it is practical. At all times, it is just impossible to miss the performance of dragons in the air. Eagles flaunt their ability to fly among the wind, but this bunch of aerial showstoppers leave all the birds amazed at their incredible aerial dramatics, it’s as if they had sails on them so that they could rent the wind. You have seen children climb on their backs, it is common to see them either flying free with glee or riding on the backs of dragons like huge Kites and getting an absolute thrill of joy by the accompanying rush of wind as they soared, which should have reassured you. You recalled Gobber's jesting reference that Toothless was as cuddly as a big tongue-laden cat.
None of it helped.
When dragons flew overhead, your shoulders still tensed. When they landed, your hands clenched unconsciously around the nearest object. And when one looked at you — those sharp, fierce eyes finding yours — your chest would tighten with something cold and sour, like a reminder of the past, triggering a primal response that made your heart race and your vocals would scream to flee from the nonexistent danger.
You told yourself it was instinct. A natural reaction to something that once meant danger, fire, and loss. No one blamed a soldier for ducking at the sound of thunder after a war. But still, when they passed overhead with their mighty wings stirring the sky, everyone else looked up in awe.
You didn’t.
You hated it.
You hated how your feet trembled at the sight of an infant dragos.
You hated how fearful you were.
There had been a time—brief, humiliating, and burned into your memory—when Astrid tried to help you ease into it. She meant well. Always had. It was one of those late afternoons when the skies were pale and full of salt, and the fish baskets were heavy with glistening mackerels, tails still twitching. Astrid had insisted it would help, said Stormfly was the most polite Deadly Nadder this side of Berk. That she wouldn’t bite unless you wore fish perfume or insulted her tail feathers.
You remembered gripping the bucket with both hands, knuckles pale against the cold tin. Stormfly had strutted up, talons clicking on the stone like she was walking a runway, head tilting with eerie grace. Then she opened her jaws.
A clean row of daggers—gleaming, serrated, too white to belong to something that could be trained. You dropped the bucket. Fish spilled across the dirt in a splash of silver. And then the world tipped sideways.
Astrid had caught you before your head hit the post, yelling your name loud enough to wake every dragon in the cove. You didn’t remember much else, except waking up with a wet rag on your forehead and Toothless sniffing your boots with the worried intensity of a mother hen.
She’d said something like, “Okay… maybe we’ll try again next week.” But there hadn’t been a next time. You’d avoided the stables for a month after that.
Then there was Gobber. Gobber, who thought everything was hilarious if it involved mild trauma and a dragon-sized punchline.
“Don’t worry about Grump,” he’d once hollered from across the forge, elbow-deep in smelted iron. “Too lazy to maul ya. By the time he decides to eat ya, you’ll be bones!”
You had laughed politely—because that’s what you were supposed to do—but your hands had been slick with nervous sweat the entire time. Grump had blinked at you from his mossy corner, half-asleep and chewing something that might’ve been a saddle or a very unfortunate stool leg.
Ruffnut and Tuffnut weren’t much help either—especially not when Snotlout was involved. The twins, with their wild hair and endless barrage of reckless jokes, were like a storm you couldn’t escape. Their loud laughter bounced off the rocky cliffs, often drawing unwanted attention from dragons or riders alike. You’d need to prepare for Loki day.
Snotlout, for his part, was the kind of presence that filled the air with bravado and bluster. He swaggered around, arms crossed, chest puffed out like a rooster, always ready with a challenge or a boast that made your skin crawl. When he caught sight of you, it was never a quiet greeting—more like a spotlight thrown on all your insecurities.
Then there was Fishlegs. Unlike the others, he meant well, truly. He’d shuffle up nervously, clutching a deck of his meticulously illustrated cards—dragons, their stats, facts about their habits. His fingers trembled slightly as he held them out.
“Maybe these will help,” he’d say softly, voice barely above the wind rustling the leaves.
But even the bright, colorful images—dragons drawn with playful accuracy—made your throat close up. The mere sight of those printed scales, the painted teeth, sent a shiver crawling down your spine. You’d swallow hard, nod politely, forcing a smile that didn’t reach your eyes.
Then there’s Hiccup.
Hiccup didn’t say anything, but you knew he noticed. He always noticed. And sometimes he’d speak gently to them in their strange, melodic tongue—words full of reassurance, not for the dragons, but for you. You hated how much that helped.
He never called you out in public. Never asked awkward questions or gave you that look others did — pity, mostly, or irritation. He was quieter than that. He simply started showing up more. You thought it was mockery, having someone titled as the Master of Dragons look out for you.
First at the market, unassuming. He’d appear beside the stall as you were weighing vegetables, casually asking about saddle buckles or spare ink like he hadn’t deliberately wandered over. Toothless, of course, waited obediently at a distance—eyes sharp focused on Hiccup and you, but manner gentle, letting you get used to the idea of company again. Hiccup never lingered too long. He’d talk just enough to ease the silence, then offer a crooked smile and let you go, no strings pulled, no explanations demanded. Though you were constantly shaking at the sight of a dark scaled dragon just a few feet away from your ground, even if its rider was just in front of you being friendly.
Then came the shoreline where he would pause sketching sea charts when he noticed you walking alone, letting his pencil fall slack in his hand while he waited. If you ever catch a glimpse of him, sometimes you’d nod. Sometimes not. He never seemed to mind either way.
And yet… Hiccup never asked you to be more than you were. Not once.
Eventually, he found you where you least expected: the old sheep pen near the forge,long since overgrown with weeds and ivy, repurposed as a training area for the younger dragons. Most people avoided it now—it smelled like scorched earth and singed fur, and the soil was too torn up to grow anything decent. The fencing was warped, the posts weathered, the soil uneven and pockmarked by old hoofprints. You liked it because it was quiet, untouched by the bustle of the main academy grounds.
No one thought to look for you there. But he did.
You were there scrubbing soot from the posts, the acrid smell of charred wood rising with every pass of your rag. A chore you took on that no one had asked you to do, and no one would’ve noticed if you hadn’t. But it rendered you useful and busy. Kept your back turned to the beasts.
Your sleeves were rolled past your elbows, fingers already tarnished black, when you sensed movement behind you. No claws, no wings—just a soft boot and the sound of metal, passing through the cement.
Hiccup.
“I, uh… I thought this place was off-limits,” he said with a sheepish grin.
You stayed silent. He was too, for a few wind passes.
"You, uh, always come here alone?” he said finally, voice casual, like he was commenting on the weather.
You glanced over your shoulder. “It’s quieter in the mornings.”
Hiccup ran his fingers along the edge of the rail, picking up a bit of ash. “You know, Gobber's been saying the same thing for days now. About the soot buildup, I mean. Just… no one’s bothered to actually fix it.” He glanced sideways, a smile tugging faintly at his mouth. “Until you.”
You kept your eyes on the fence, but your shoulders tensed slightly. “I like things that don’t talk back.”
His smile faded—not in offense, but with quiet understanding. He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned more of his weight onto his arms, exhaling slowly as he looked across the field. Dragons lazed in the sun or sparred gently with one another under watchful eyes. Even Toothless, stretched out near the edge of the pen, kept a wary but nonchalant eye on you both.
“You know,” Hiccup said after a beat, “Toothless used to be like that. Kept to himself. Didn’t trust anyone. Especially me.” He tilted his head slightly, the wind brushing his hair back from his brow. “It took a long time before he let me close. And even longer before I stopped being afraid I’d ruin it.”
“I guess,” he continued, “sometimes the best connections start with silence. And some patience.”
You turned toward him, eyes narrowed in faint suspicion. “Was that supposed to be advice?”
He gave you a crooked grin. “Only if it sounded smart.”
From the leather pouch tied at his belt, he pulled something small. Not a fish, as you expected, but what looked like a bundle of herbs—dried roots and sprigs of lavender tied together with twine, the kind Gobber used to keep Grump calm during storms.
“This helps Toothless relax,” Hiccup said, gently setting the bundle down in the grass, fingers lingering on the twine as if the shape of it meant something. “Sometimes the other dragons get nervous when the wind changes. They pick up things we don’t. Sounds. Smells. Fear.”
Your breath caught. You weren’t sure if he meant you—or them.
He didn’t look up. Instead, he brushed a hand through the long stalks of grass, letting the scent from the herbs mingle with the air. “I used to think being brave meant doing the thing that scared you. Charging in. But now… I think it’s more about staying. Standing still, even when everything in you wants to run.”
You stood up slowly, brushing your palms together, the fine grit of soot and dry wood scraping away beneath your fingers.
“I was wondering,” he said, keeping his eyes on the ground, “if you might help me.”
“With…?”
“Toothless has been a bit… bored. I think he misses new faces. But I don’t want to force him on anyone.”
You turned fully, slowly. Your heart kicked against your ribs. Toothless was watching you — not with hunger, not even with interest. Just quiet, unblinking patience. You hadn’t even noticed him being in the same place as you. Hiccup was still talking—his voice gentle, meandering, as if testing the words aloud rather than delivering them with certainty. But to you, it sounded less like a heartfelt pep talk and more like one of Gobber’s forge-side lectures, the kind where he’d yell at you to “quit waddling like a duck that sat on an axe” while waving a hammer the size of your head.
“You know I don’t know anything about dragons,” you murmured.
“But I can help y—”
“You don’t get it.” The words slipped out sharp, but not angry—more tired than anything. You lowered your voice, unsure if you even wanted him to hear the rest. “I don’t get it.” It came quieter, frayed around the edges. “You all… you ride them. You trust them like it’s second nature. Like they’re just big, scaly friends. But when I look at them—when I really look at them—my body just… doesn’t listen. My chest locks up. My legs want to run.”
You laughed, if it could be called that. It had no warmth—just air and irony. “And I know they’re not monsters. I know that. But try telling that to whatever part of my brain starts screaming every time I see teeth. Or when I hear that low, guttural growl they make—like the ground itself is warning me.”
Hiccup’s posture hauled, subtly. He wasn’t fidgeting, not like usual. His shoulders had lowered, the corners of his mouth drawn not in confusion or pity, but in something closer to understanding. He didn’t speak—not right away. And you were grateful. He never rushed to fill silence for the sake of it.
“[Name], I—uhm…” His voice was soft. Cautious. “I’m sorry if I was rushing things. I just… thought maybe if I stuck close, I could make it easier. But I didn’t ask what you needed.”
He scratched the back of his neck, eyes dropping for a breath.
“I should’ve.”
Why are you so afraid of dragons?
You still remember your first encounter with a dragon—no older than five, wandering the woods with wild curiosity and a basket too small for your eager hands. It was a baby Nadder, trembling and bright-eyed, alone beneath the tangled canopy. Gobber had warned you—never wander off alone. But you wanted to bring a gift: a bounty of mushrooms, handpicked and hopeful.
The Nadder’s mother was hidden behind a massive boulder, her breath hitching in the quiet forest air. When she saw you, so small and bold, playing with her daughter, something inside her snapped. Fire erupted, roaring and sudden, scorching through the branches like a vengeful storm.
Your hair caught first, flames licking and burning until it was nothing but a ragged, singed memory. Heart pounding, you fled, leaving behind the tiny mushrooms and your woven basket, You had been doing fine—more or less. Your hands were steady, your breath measured, your thoughts arranged like fragile glass figurines on a shelf. A little cracked, maybe, but intact.
That was, until Toothless started showing movements.
It was unnoticeable at first—a swish of his tail, the soft thud of a paw shifting against the cement. But it was enough. Your eyes snapped toward him. Your entire body went stiff. Every muscle locked down like armor trying to hold itself in place. You hadn’t even realized you’d taken a step back until the cool grass whispered beneath your heels.
“Hey—hey, it’s okay,” came Hiccup’s voice. Gentle. He didn’t raise it above a hush, as if speaking too loudly might cause everything—your composure, the moment, even Toothless himself—to shatter. “He’s not gonna come closer. Not unless you want him to.”
“I obviously don’t want him to!” you snapped, your voice breaking with rising terror. Your heels scuffed against the overgrown cement as you stumbled backward, heart galloping against your ribs. “Then why is he getting closer?”
Toothless paused. His head tilted—just slightly, curiously, like he couldn’t quite understand why you were retreating, why your scent had changed to something sour with fear. His nostrils flared once.
And still he moved.
“Hiccup!” you choked, voice high, raw. You could hear it—the thin edge of hysteria bleeding into your words—but you couldn’t help it. It was too close. He was too close.
Hiccup moved quickly now, slipping between you and the Night Fury in a heartbeat. “Toothless,” he murmured, his tone lower now, threaded with something softer than command—something more like understanding. “Back off, bud.”
“You okay?” he asked, even though the answer was painfully, absurdly obvious.
“NO!”
And then you fell—not dramatically, not with grace—just folded in on yourself, collapsing to your knees as if your body had finally given up the pretense of holding it all in. Your arms wrapped tightly around your middle, and you tucked your chin down, curling in as if your very shape could somehow make you smaller. Safer.
The ground was cold beneath you, the scent of wet grass and old stone clinging to your boots and sleeves. Your breaths came in short, stuttering pulls, and your chest felt tight, like there wasn’t enough space inside you for the storm gathering there.
You didn’t cry, not exactly. But your throat burned with the threat of it.
You were scared. Very scared. And you hated how Hiccup tried to help—hated it in the way people hate warm hands when they’re still shivering. Because no help could clear the nightmares in your mind. No amount of soft words or thoughtful gestures could undo the things you’d seen, the images stitched so tightly into the back of your eyes that even blinking brought them forward again.
He didn’t understand that. Or maybe he did—too well. Which somehow made it worse.
He tries.
Sometimes, he would leave things for you. Small things. A fire-baked hand warmer wrapped in cloth during colder mornings, left beside the bench where you sharpened your tools. A folded sketch of a dragon’s wing anatomy—clearly labeled, clean, detailed—placed just under your door with no name attached. One time, it was a sprig of lavender tied with twine, fresh from Gothi’s garden. You didn’t know if that had been for calm or comfort, but it stayed tucked in your coat pocket for weeks.
You hated how much those things mattered. How they wormed their way into the cracks you’d worked so hard to seal.
But he did it with Toothless nearby.
A dragon.
“Please, try to calm down, [Name]. You know Toothless won’t hurt you.”
Hiccup crouched in front of you, his voice spoken with the kind of steadiness that didn’t need to be loud to be heard. His right hand rested gently on your shoulder, steadying you. The other moved with deliberate care, reaching for your arm, gently guiding it down from where you’d raised it over your head, your body still tense from shock.
He extended his hand out, palms facing the Night Fury, fingers spread wide in a gesture of open trust. He’s inviting—not just Toothless, but you—to see. To really see.
Toothless sat a short distance away, his wings tucked, head tilted with that curious look he wore when he didn’t understand but wanted to.
“I want to help.”
You wanted help.
But you didn’t know how to ask.
You hesitated, eyes darting from him to the ground, unsure where to anchor yourself. The dirt beneath your boots was damp, soft from the morning drizzle, and speckled with fallen pine needles. You focused on those, counting the flecks of brown and green, willing your breath to pace slowly, to settle into something steady.
You did not want to look at his eyes—those green eyes—the same green that Toothless has.
You felt his gaze before you looked up. Hiccup didn’t speak. He rarely did when you needed silence more than answers. He just stood there—awkward, steady, concerned—his hands began to carefully tuck behind his back, as though even the way he breathed might startle you if he wasn’t careful.
“It’s not that I don’t want to try,” you said at last, your voice low, like the words might break if you pushed too hard. “It’s just—sometimes I feel like everyone’s already ten steps ahead. They get it. They’re fearless. I blink and they’re already flying.”
Silence.
It was quiet. “Sorry. I’m not trying to be difficult.”
“You’re not,” Hiccup said immediately, and the softness in his tone made you flinch more than if he’d yelled. “It’s okay to be afraid.”
You blinked, caught off-guard by how gently he said it—like fear was just another thing you could admit to and still be whole. You weren’t used to that. Not here.
He shifted his stance slightly, brushing his hand along Toothless’ side absentmindedly. The dragon purred low, a sound like thunder muted in velvet.
“They’re not perfect,” he went on, his voice barely above the wind. “They’re wild. Powerful. Sometimes unpredictable. But they’re also... more than that. You don’t have to love them. Just let them exist beside you.”
You looked up at him then, really looked—not at the Chief, not the dragon rider, but Hiccup. The boy who built things with his hands and still got grease on his sleeves. The boy who smiled at dragons like they were misunderstood friends instead of fearsome beasts. The boy who, for reasons unknown, chose to stand beside you when no one else did.
“…I’m trying,” you said finally.
He nodded once, a small, genuine thing. “I know.”
Hiccup had suggested that you and Toothless spend some time together, that maybe it would help you get over your fear of dragons. “Familiarity takes the teeth out of fear,” he’d said, half-joking, though his eyes had been serious
It was never easy.
Of course, you still flinched when Toothless moved too fast or got too close. Even the gentle sway of his tail or the soft thud of his padded feet could send a ripple of unease crawling up your spine. Your chest would tighten, and your lungs would burn with that frantic, invisible panic—like someone was pressing down on your ribs, making air feel scarce and heavy all at once, like you were breathing in fire instead of air.
But Hiccup never pushed. He was always nearby, not even patronizing, just close enough that if you stumbled, you wouldn’t fall far. He didn’t scold or sigh or give you that tired, disappointed look others did when you couldn’t keep up. He just kept bringing Toothless by, at quieter hours, when no one else was around. Sometimes they didn’t come close at all. Hiccup would sit a few paces away, scribbling into one of his notebooks while Toothless dozed in the grass, sun-bathing as if he were some oversized cat.
He gave Toothless simple tasks: to sit, to stay, to blink slowly at you like a feline signaling peace. And somehow, Toothless listened. Not just obeyed, but listened, as if he could sense the tremor in your bones and knew not to cross that unseen line. The dragon wanted a new friend, and that friend must be you.
Hiccup had started spending more time guiding you than he did at the forge. The clang of metal on metal had grown less frequent in the afternoons, replaced by the quiet murmur of his voice as he stood beside you, coaxing you through dragon behaviors, flight patterns, or simply hanging out with you.
He probably didn’t even notice it—the shift. But others did.
Vikings weren’t the most subtle people, and Berk was a place where whispers traveled faster than the wind. You caught the sideways glances in the market, the knowing smiles exchanged between older villagers. Even the children had begun to nudge each other whenever Hiccup’s shadow fell beside yours, wide-eyed and grinning like they were in on some grand secret.
Just murmurs… soft observations exchanged over stew pots and fire pits.
"How can a great leader be so oblivious of himself?" they would say, shaking their heads with fond disbelief. "He can tame a wild dragon with a glance, calm a storm with his words, but he can’t see what’s right in front of him."
They saw it—the spark. Something brighter than the flame of a Monstrous Nightmare, more enduring than even the North Star. It flickered in the way he stood a little closer when you were nervous, how his voice lowered when he spoke to you, gentler than he was with anyone else. It gleamed in the small, unspoken gestures: the way his brow furrowed when you flinched, how his hand hovered just near enough to catch you, but never touched unless you reached first.
Toothless seemed to notice too, often smiling when you and his rider are near to each other.
And you…?
You pretended not to notice.
Because if you noticed, you’d have to acknowledge what it meant. That this wasn’t just about your fear anymore.
Other times, Hiccup would talk—not about dragons, necessarily, but about other things. His thoughts. Old stories. Questions he had no answers to but liked to ask anyway. His voice was calm, always a little dry at the edges with humor, and something about it began to carve out space around you that didn’t feel so tight. So full of panic.
“I don’t really know if I’d make a good chief,” Hiccup said as he crouched beside the old training post, fingers idly plucking at a sprig of dry grass. The horizon was soft with the fading blush of dusk, and the only sounds were the distant calls of gulls and the rhythmic hush of waves against the cliffside.
“You won’t,” you replied without hesitation.
He turned sharply, a half-offended glare thrown your way, but before he could even open his mouth—
“You’ll make a great chief.”
That earned you a look.
You didn’t smile, but your eyes held steady. “I meant what I said.”
He blinked, as if caught off guard. Then, he sat back, letting his arms rest on his knees as he looked toward the horizon. “You know, most people just say what they think I want to hear.”
“I don’t do that.”
“Yeah… I’ve noticed.”
He enjoyed talking with you. He liked talking to you. He loves hearing you speak. You didn’t dance around things. You didn’t stare at him like he was still trying to fill a space his father had left behind. You spoke plainly, but there was a kindness in it—even when your words stung a little. He found himself waiting for your opinions. For your dry honesty. For your voice.
He loved hearing you speak, even if it wasn’t much. Especially when it wasn’t much.
Because when you did say something, it mattered.
“You can do this,” he’d told you once, when you were standing five feet from Toothless and barely breathing. “You’ll be braver than yesterday.”
And you had tried. Because he’d asked, because he believed you could, and maybe because some part of you—buried beneath all that panic—wanted to believe it too.
While other dragons were still wary of you, Toothless never pushed, as his rider did. Never came close unless you let him. He had this uncanny ability to read you, to sense when your muscles locked with fear or when your foot began inching back. He would stop mid-step, blinking those massive green eyes at you with a quiet intelligence that somehow softened the pounding in your ears.
He’d wait.
—--------
You sat a few feet away, knees drawn up, laughing softly as Toothless nudged your elbow with his snout. The dragon had grown patient with you over the past few weeks, almost unusually gentle, as if sensing that your fear wasn’t something to be conquered with force, but unraveled with care. Hiccup had expected you to give up by now—to walk away like so many others had when the reality of dragons became more than they could handle. But you didn’t. You stayed. Even through the trembling hands, the stiff posture, the wide eyes. You stayed.
And now, here you were, your fingertips hesitantly brushing the side of Toothless’s jaw.The dragon blinked slowly in response and let out a low, pleased hum that vibrated through the ground beneath them both.
Hiccup should have been focused on the saddle sketches or the list of repairs Gobber was probably waiting on. Instead, he found himself watching the way your hair caught the evening light, every movement slow and unsure, but not fragile. You were trying—for yourself, for Toothless, maybe for him too. And that realization caught him off guard.
He noticed how you bit your lip when you were nervous. How your laugh faltered when you were uncertain, but you laughed anyway. How you sat beside Toothless now, not quite touching, but not shrinking away either. You met fear with a kind of stubborn dignity that reminded him of something… maybe someone… but it wasn’t Astrid. It wasn’t anyone else.
It was just you.
He felt it in the way something in his chest tightened every time you smiled at him, like it wasn’t used to being looked at that way. He felt it in the way he started looking for your face first whenever he entered a room. And he felt it, most of all, in the moment your eyes met his and you gave him that small, uncertain smile—the one that said I’m trying, for you too.
He ducked his head quickly, pretending to fix a line on his paper, as if the way his throat suddenly went dry wasn’t obvious. But his hand froze halfway through the motion, the charcoal catching on the parchment as he glanced back up.
You were still looking at him.
And you didn’t look afraid anymore.
Not of Toothless.
Not of him.
He blinked, heart thudding once, heavy in his chest. Toothless made a soft grumbling noise beside you, casting Hiccup a knowing glance that made his ears burn.
Maybe the dragon knew before he did.
Maybe you did too.
But Hiccup only smiled, soft and barely there, and let himself look at you a second longer than he probably should have.
ALSO LOVE YOUR FICS!!! Can't wait to see what you have in store nextttt 💕💕
Haha, thank you so much! I am currently writing 4 requests of different characters and stories but they will take time to post as academics are coming back
Pl Please and thank you, if not please ignore this. A request for Hiccup x reader, it can be placed in the first movie when there is the training against dragons, specifically the scene of Astrid scolding Hiccup with that dialogue "....our parents' fight will become ours" and reader defends him, reader (she does not understand dragons but she respects them and is interested in them but only she knows that), and defends Hiccup verbally to Astrid, just a small discussion, from then on Hiccup is interested in reader because she defended him and because reader is not afraid of dragons in the training, which is strange because she never attacks him directly but it is like driving away a beast and generates interest in him.
THE GUARDIAN ANGEL
pairings « hiccup haddock x f! reader »
✎ When you quietly hold your ground during dragon training—never striking first, only observing—Hiccup takes notice. You're the only one who treats dragons with a strange, distance, and when you defend him during a heated clash with Astrid, he starts to wonder if he’s not as alone in his thinking as he thought.
【warnings; none】
Ash clung to the air, dense as flour, stirred by each step across the rugged ground. A fine coat of soot blanketed the arena like dust on forgotten parchment, and the scent—smoke, scorched rope, and something faintly sulfuric—settled stubbornly in your clothes. The roof above, a precarious structure of chains and stone designed with a singular purpose: to imprison dragons, and prevent their flight, groaned and clanged against one another as the deep wind swept through the cavernous space.
Gobber’s voice bellowed through the dusted air: “Today, we teach you how to not die! Keep your limbs, keep your pride, and maybe—maybe—you’ll live to see dinner!”
You tightened your grasp on the leather strap of your borrowed shield with rigid edges. It smelled like someone else's sweat and fire—ripe, acrid, and unmistakably used. Have you not any shame, oh, how you wished you could pinch your nose without looking like a complete amateur. After Gobber’s ‘I believe in learning the job’ you’d completely lost hope in finishing the academy training with the Deadly Nadder tailing your butts to destroy you with its spontaneous bursts of poisonous spines wherever it could fly. At least he had the time to explain that shields matter more than a sword.
“hey–Hey, you know I just happened to notice the book had nothing to do with night furies.” You hear a cranky voice just a wall behind you, assuming it was Hiccup, likely addressing Gobber. A Before you could react, a sudden burst of fire struck the wall—a Nadder’s blast—searing through the wooden wall and lighting up the space. The impact revealed your silhouette, exposed and clearly visible through the scorched gap.
“Today, it’s all about attack! Now get ye’ lots and butts movin’.”
You took off running, swatting at the small flames that clung to your clothes. Heat nipped at your sleeves as you pushed forward, doing everything you could to stay ahead of the Nadder. Sharp talons scraped against the wood behind you, and you heard the distinct whir of spines being fired. You ducked instinctively, heart pounding.
“Nadders are quick and light on their feet.” Gobber peeked from above. “Your job is to be quicker and lighter”
Easier said than done.
Turning a corner too fast, —only to slam into Fishlegs with full force. The impact sent both of you staggering, arms pinwheeling for balance, but managed to regain balance just in time. You managed to stay in your feet, just as a cluster of razor-sharp Nadder spikes thudded into your shield with a metallic crack. Others peppered the ground where you had stood seconds ago.
You would’ve been at peace if Gobber hadn’t insisted on training you, calling you a “wee lamb” that needed to transform into a “goat.” You’d been sleeping soundly, deep in the comfort of your blankets, your body relaxed and still. The world outside had faded away, the early morning stillness wrapping around you like a warm, quiet cocoon. Then, next thing you know your legs were up and high, snatched by his prosthetic hook.
“I’m really beginning to start questioning your teaching methods.”
“So do I!”
You sprinted ahead, putting more distance between yourself and Fishlegs, hoping to draw the Nadder's attention elsewhere. The dragon’s growls echoed in your ears, but you kept your focus on the creature's movements, looking for any sign of weakness, any gap in its defense. You had to figure out its blind spot.
Ahead, you spotted Astrid and Snotlout, their bodies low to the ground sneaking away from the spined dragon. They were working their way around the Nadder, trying to avoid being noticed. Just as you were about to make your move, Hiccup arrived, his figure appearing in the distance.
Astrid glanced over at him, quickly waving for him to crouch. “Get down,” she murmured, the command almost sounding like a scold. Hiccup, however, was still going on about the Night Fury, oblivious to the urgency around him. Astrid peeked her head over the edge, her eyes scanning the Nadder’s movements, watching for any sign that it had walked away from their direction. Once the coast was clear, Astrid moved quickly, rolling her body to the other wall alongside Snotlout and you.
Behind you, Hiccup tried to follow suit, but he wasn’t as quick. As he rolled, the weight of his shield caught the ground, sending a sharp scrape through the air that made everyone flinch. His eyes widened in mild panic as he scrambled to regain his balance.
The sound didn’t go unnoticed. The Nadder, its eyes scanning the area, whipped its head toward the noise, its focus shifting immediately from you to the others. In an instant, it let out a ferocious screech and surged upward.
“Don’t worry, babe, I got this.” Snotlout’s voice was as confident as ever, though you couldn’t quite tell if he was talking to you or Astrid––not that it made a difference. His grin was wide, almost too wide, as he swung his mace, aiming for the Nadder with all the flair of a showman.
But the moment the mace left his hand, it veered off course, flying wide and completely missing the dragon. It sailed past the dragon’s side. Way past. The Nadder didn’t even flinch as it soared past, instead charging straight toward them, its eyes locked on the three of you.
You turned to him, unimpressed, giving him a long, deadpan stare. “Really?”
He blinked, then raised a hand as if that explained everything. “The sun was in my eyes, [Name].” Before you could even reply, the Nadder reared back and spewed a burst of fire. “What do you want me to do? Block out the sun? I could do that, but I don’t have time right now.”
Hiccup stood in place, still distracted, flipping through the pages of the dragon manual and pointing out something to Gobber. “They probably took the daytime off, right? Like a cat—’”
“Hiccup!” you barked, but he didn’t take notice. The Nadder roared and charged again, this time lunging straight for Astrid.
“Hiccup!” Gobber called out
“Hiccup!” Astrid shouted too, her voice laced with both panic and fury. She sprinted across the shaky remains of the training structure, the Nadder crashing after her, claws tearing into the wood as it climbed with terrifying speed. You watched from below, tense, trying to find an opening to help—but everything was collapsing too fast.
“Look out!” you yelled.
She lost balance and fell—straight onto Hiccup, knocking them both to the ground with a heavy thud. The air left his lungs in a wheeze, but the worst of it wasn’t the impact—it was the sharp clang that followed. Astrid’s axe, still tightly gripped in her hand during the fall, drove straight into the rim of Hiccup’s shield. The metal bit into the wooden frame and lodged itself deep, the two now stuck together awkwardly.
“Ooh, love on the battlefield,” Tuffnut snickered, elbowing his sister as he peeked over the edge of a half-crushed platform.
“She could do better.”
You wanted to help, but the Nadder was almost free from the stacked pile of wood, its claws scraping against the debris as it struggled to get out. Every second counted.
"Let—let me... why don’t you—?" Hiccup stammered, trying to talk to Astrid, taking off her hand from squishing his face. He was still holding onto his shield, clearly trying to make sense of the chaos, but Astrid wasn't having it. She leaped forward, eyes locked on the Nadder, now fully freed from the pile of wreckage. Panic surged through her, and she pushed her foot onto Hiccup’s face with an unceremonious shove, yanking the axe from his shield with a sharp jerk.
Before Hiccup could react, Astrid was already swinging the axe, driving it into the Nadder’s advancing form. The force of the blow knocked the dragon back, sending it reeling. The sheer power in her movement was enough to force the Nadder to hesitate, if only for a moment, as it tried to regain its footing.
Ignoring your weapon, you threw it aside, the clatter barely registering as you focused entirely on the dragon. You rushed forward at the same time, your own fists raised, staying close to Astrid as the Nadder snarled, its fiery eyes narrowing. The tension in the air was palpable, the ground would be shaking with each step the dragon took if it didn’t have light feet.
You stepped forward, standing firm in the Nadder's path, trying to get its attention. No weapons. Just your instincts. You weren't going to fight this dragon with blades; you had to be smarter.
"Hey, hey!" you called, voice steady despite the adrenaline flooding your system. The Nadder’s head swung toward you, its eyes narrowing.
The dragon was close now, its massive, scaly head turning toward you, its nostrils flaring as it caught your scent. You raised your arms, palms open, trying to appear larger, more intimidating. You shouted, not out of fear, but to be heard above the mess.
“Get away from them!”
The Nadder snarled in response, its tail flicking to the side as if it might strike you. But you didn’t flinch. You couldn’t afford to. In a matter of speaking, you weren’t exactly the type to fight dragons. They intrigued you—fascinated you in a way that made it hard to see them as mere enemies. You weren’t one to simply engage in a battle with something you didn’t understand, especially when their behavior wasn’t entirely rooted in malice.
You knew this was a high-risk situation, but you weren’t about to make things worse by provoking it further. Your eyes stayed locked on the Nadder as you slowly approached, hands up, keeping your posture calm and open. The dragon’s fiery gaze met yours, and for a split second, it seemed to hesitate, assessing you, its growls softening.
This wasn’t a fight—it was a standoff. And you weren’t going to fight if you didn’t have to.
Hiccup was still laying down to the ground, his eyes narrowed in concentration as he watched the scene unfold. The Nadder was on the offensive, its spines raised, ready to strike. The rest of the group was scrambling, trying to keep the dragon at bay with their weapons, but you... you weren’t doing what everyone else was.
A few tense moments passed. Then, with an almost reluctant grunt, the Nadder turned, its body coiling as it began to retreat, its fiery breath dissipating into the air.
You stood still, watching it leave. Only when it had fully backed off did you allow yourself to exhale, the adrenaline of the encounter still buzzing in your chest.
"You didn’t even use your weapon," Astrid said, her voice sounding a bit more incredulous than usual as she caught up with you. Her eyes were still wide, likely processing what had just happened.
Gobber, who had been watching the whole exchange from the sidelines, let out a low whistle of approval. "Well done, Astrid and [Name]." His gravelly voice was full of respect, and that made you feel a little less on edge.
Just as you were about to pat Astrid on her shoulder, however, her focus changed—badly—to Hiccup. Her eyes burned with frustration, the fire in them hard to ignore. “Is this some kind of a joke to you?” she spat, her fists clenched at her sides. “Our parents' war is about to become ours! Figure out which side you’re on.”
Hiccup shrank back slightly, fiddling with the strap of his tunic, his voice faltering. “I was just—”
“No, you weren’t,” Astrid interrupted, her voice sharp, her eyes narrowing as she stared down at him. “You never fight back. What happens when that hesitation gets one of us burned alive, huh? What if it’s me? Or him?” She jabbed her finger toward Snotlout, who looked momentarily offended, furrowing his brow at the gesture.
“Hey, hey, calm down, Astrid. Leave him alone.”
Hiccup looked up, surprised. The words weren’t directed at him—they were directed at Astrid, but somehow, they wrapped around him like a shield. You gave him a hand and helped him get up. His breath caught in his throat as you stepped forward, standing between them with an easy, almost casual determination. You were standing up for him. He wasn’t used to that, especially not from someone who he had never tried to make a conversation with. Now, you and Hiccup weren’t close, nor were you friends. but something about the situation made you act.
Astrid whipped her head toward you, her frustration evident in the tight line of her mouth, though now there was a flicker of confusion mixed in with the anger. “What? You’re going to defend him now?”
You nodded, standing your ground. “He’s trying to figure things out, Astrid. You don’t have to push him this hard. We’re all under pressure, but that doesn’t mean you get to tear each other apart.”
“And it’s not like we asked the Gods to give the responsibility of our parents to us,” you said, your voice a little more strained than you intended. Hiccup looked up at you, his brow furrowed, his hands still clasped tightly in front of him. He hadn’t expected that response. Neither had you. It just slipped out.
“Eh, she’s got a point there, lass.”
Astrid’s eyes flicked to you, her jaw tight. But she didn’t say anything. With a sharp exhale through her nose, she turned on her heel and walked off, boots striking the ground with clipped steps. The others followed in silence—Snotlout tossing a last glance back, Fishlegs adjusting his belt awkwardly, Ruff and Tuff muttering to each other but keeping close behind.
None of them looked at Hiccup.
Only Astrid’s shoulders stayed tense as she disappeared around the corner of the training paddock. Her anger wasn’t aimed at you—you could feel it in the way she hadn’t met your eyes. It was Hiccup she couldn’t even look at.
You didn’t stay behind like usual. Not today. You threw your gear over your shoulder, kept your head down, and started walking away—off the academy grounds, past the watchtower, and down the slope that led toward the cliffs. You thought of catching some fresh air in the woods, they normally have great scent due to the petrichor after raining.
“Hey—wait, [Name]!”
You slowed slightly but didn’t turn. You could hear him fumbling behind you. The voice was familiar—uncertain, hurried—but you’d recognize Hiccup’s anywhere, nervous, a little hoarse and scrawny like the cry of a newborn yak. You heard his boots scuff as he jogged to catch up, the unevenness of his steps telling you he wasn’t used to chasing people down. His voice always sounded a little too big for him, like he’d borrowed it from someone braver.
He reached your side, a little out of breath, one hand holding the strap of his satchel as if it might anchor him. “You—uh—you left kind of fast.”
“Food won’t wait for me,” you said, not breaking stride. The excuse slipped out easily, but it was a half-truth at best.
Hiccup hesitated, looking ahead before speaking again. “Why... why did you defend me?” Hiccup finally asked. He wasn’t sure if he even wanted to hear the answer. Part of him thought he didn’t deserve it—he hadn’t earned it. He’d been a disappointment to so many already.
You glanced at your back. His expression wasn’t angry or accusatory—just... confused. Tentative. Like someone standing on a frozen lake, unsure how thick the ice really was.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he said. “Back there… with Astrid. I mean, she wasn’t wrong. I mess things up. All the time.” There wasn’t self-pity in his voice—at least not the performative kind. It was just fact, spoken plainly. Like he’d memorized that line after hearing it too often.
“Don’t think of yourself badly, Hiccup.” Hiccup looked down, brow furrowed. He kicked at a pebble near his foot, watched it skip across the path.
“You’re brave,” you added, your voice softer now. “Not in the way people like Astrid think of it. But in your own way. The kind that matters.”
He blinked. For a moment, he didn’t seem to know what to do with your words. Then he laughed under his breath—a short, awkward sound, more surprised than amused.
“I don’t feel very brave,” he murmured.
“Most brave people don’t,” you replied.
“Thanks,” he said finally, quietly. “For saying that. For... being there.”
From that evening on, Hiccup started sticking closer than ever, almost as if he’s your second shadow.
At first, it was subtle. He'd show up early to group meetings, always managing to sit beside you even when the others rearranged themselves chaotically. He'd offer to carry an extra pack, pass you a flask of water without asking, or stand just a step behind you when tensions with the others ran high—as if your presence somehow steadied him.
Then it became impossible not to notice.
You’d turn a corner in the stables and there he’d be, scribbling in his sketchbook but glancing up the moment your heels hit the stone floor. He trailed you during patrol shifts under the pretense of wanting “extra field experience,” and at mealtime, his tray would somehow always end up across from yours. You never called him out on it. You didn’t need to. And strangely enough, you didn’t mind.
Whenever you were out in the field, testing your own methods—fast, unorthodox, bordering on reckless—Hiccup’s eyes never left you. Not once. While the others braced for dragon fire or fumbled with their shields, he’d be watching you, his gaze locked in quiet awe, trying to memorize the way you moved, how you timed your shifts between evasion and precision, like you were dancing with danger rather than dodging it.
You called him out the third time it happened.
“You’re gonna get torched if you keep staring like that,” you snapped, yanking him behind cover after a Nadder’s blast barely missed his leg. “Keep your eyes on the dragon, not on me.”
At first, the others teased him for it. Snotlout made howling noises every time Hiccup moved to follow you, and Ruffnut started keeping an imaginary tally—“That’s ten sightings today, folks. At this rate, he’ll be part of [Name]’s shadow by next week.” But Hiccup didn’t rise to it. He didn’t deny it, didn’t make excuses. He just gave them that sheepish smile of his and kept doing what he was doing.
✎ When you help nurse Toothless back to health after an unexpected illness, the Night Fury grows protective of you. Hiccup is surprised by the dragon’s sudden attachment—and even more surprised when Toothless starts shadowing your every move and nudging you toward his rider.
【warnings; none, second hand embarrassment if you care enough.】
They say dragons were once fearsome beasts, horrifying beings of terror who reveled in the suffering of vikings. With their hooked fangs, which set them apart from the common order of nature, breaking the harmony of the world. They would sink their jagged teeth into the skin and gnaw upon the bones of unsuspecting men, dragging their broken bodies to nests forged in the heart of molten rocks built in the high sky.
These creatures, capable of soaring across the heavens with wings that defied reason—vast and powerful—could span the heavens, forcefully ruled the skies with an iron grip, a terror unmatched by any other force. Berk, the beast of the archipelago, stood as a testament to the fragility of peace amidst a history of unyielding strife. A land carved by scars, scarred by the ceaseless struggle between its people and the creatures they dubbed “monsters.” told this story that had echoed for seven long generations, a tale of ceaseless strife and bitter hatred.
But it took seven generations. Seven long generations of struggle, sacrifice, and transformation for Berk to heal. The land had changed for the better—No longer did the people cower beneath the shadow of these mighty creatures.
A misunderstood child who knew no war was the reason to hit them with the realization that dragons weren’t vicious beasts whose sole purpose in life was to spread fear, but a gentle creature who were curious just as the people. They had learned, through years of conflict and understanding, to bend the essence of their deepest fears into something stronger—a bond forged in the crucible of mutual respect. Where there was once hatred, there now stood the beginnings of trust.
The villagers, who once spent sleepless nights bolting their doors and sharpening their weapons in anticipation of the next raid, now spent their days working alongside the very creatures that had once been their enemies, now companions in the sky, and partners in the pursuit of new horizons.
While the majority of the villagers had forged unbreakable bonds with their dragons, they wore their titles with pride—Riders, they were called, as though it were a crown, you stood apart. You were not one of them, you never will. You were not one who yearned the heights or the thrill of the wind in your hair as you perched atop a Nadder’s sharp-spined back or to cut through the depths of the sea with a sleek Tidal-class dragon beneath your orders. Your feet remained firmly planted on the ground—and truth be told, you didn’t mind.
It wasn’t just your fear of heights, though that certainly played a part. The idea of being thousands of feet in the air with only leathery wings and blind faith keeping you aloft made your stomach churn. While others saw dragons as mounts, instruments of power and glory to be ridden into the heavens. You became attuned to their every movement, their subtle shifts and nuanced gestures.
Over time, you learned how to read them — the way their wings twitched when they were agitated or how they softly curled their tails when they felt safe. You understood that a dragon’s body spoke volumes, even when they couldn’t. Noticing the shift in their posture, how their eyes softened when they trusted you, or how their breath would quicken if something was amiss.
You preferred to nurse them, to soothe their wounds with a gentle touch, offering comfort where others might only offer a quick, dismissive pat. Others would offer praise with the calloused palms of their hands, clapping a dragon’s back after a triumphant hunt, their actions rough like the bark of an old tree—kind in their own way but lacking the softness that true care requires.
That was the way you had always handled things in old Berk. Thankfully, no dragon has yet to be injured on the new island.
Then Toothless fell ill.
"[Name]! Oh, thank Thor’s maidens you're here," Hiccup called out to you, his voice strained, a clear edge of panic curling the words. His eyes flicked back and forth, darting between you and the frantic Night Fury pacing erratically across the room. Toothless' wings twitched uncontrollably, the delicate membranes brushing against shelves, knocking over bottles made of stone and glass, the contents spilling in chaotic arcs across the floor. Toothless’s eyes were wide, pupils tiny pinpricks of frantic energy. His mouth snapped open and shut, his sharp teeth glinting as if trying to convey something that couldn’t be expressed.
You’d seen Toothless angry, playful, even fearful before, but this was something else entirely. This was distress. What could have made such a strong dragon like the Night Fury become so distressed? What could he convey with his actions and movement that left no process of communicating plainly?
You’re bound to make a promise to figure out why Toothless was like this and help him if you could.
You turned, wiping your hands against the fabric of your cotton-sewn tunic, the remnants of purple crushed herbs leaving faint streaks on the cloth. The scent of the mixture still lingered on your fingertips, bitter and sharp, along with the sweet scent of wet flowers that hung in the unfinished hooked wooden roof.
As you looked up, your gaze met Hiccup’s. He was standing in the doorway, looking like a newborn yak with an amputee—his breathing labored as though he had just run a great distance of a race. Hiccup’s hair appeared matted and his eyes looked restless as they were doubtful. His chest was rising and sinking almost melodically. His face was pale, and his eyes were just as wide as his dragon’s, filled with that mix of concern and urgency you’d seen only in moments of true danger.
"Toothless?" You called softly, taking a careful step forward while trying to be calm, taking hold despite the growing worry in the pit of your stomach after seeing the dragon’s current state. He was scared. Toothless, although startled by your almost fretful tone, did not pay attention to you and continued with his line of thought oblivious to your attempt to soothe him down the situation. His ears flattened back at the sound of your voice, but his movements didn’t slow. In fact, he seemed more erratic now, each step heavier than the last, each twitch more desperate than what came before.
“What happe–”
His words tumbled out in a rushed whisper. "I-I don't know what's happening. One minute, he was fine, and the next... this." Hiccup gestured helplessly toward Toothless, who continued to pace, his wings stiffening and shaking. Toothless growled lowly, his body tense and rigid as he backed into a corner, his breathing uneven and labored. Every attempt to approach him resulted in a defensive response—his ears folded back, tail lashing sharply, and a clear warning in his posture that he felt threatened despite the familiar presence of his two trusted people.
Hiccup took a quick step toward you, avoiding Toothless in case it was to ensure that he remained calm, dragging a hand through his unkempt hair, his fingers gripping at the strands as he exhaled sharply,
“Something is wrong. He’s been like this for nearly an hour now,” the young Viking explained, his tone quieter but no less urgent than before. “It started after he accidentally swallowed a yellow eel. He fell ill almost immediately—developed a high fever, I think, then he became noticeably weak, and…” Hiccup’s body was taut, every muscle in him was bracing for the worst. His eyes darted to Toothless, but his dragon refused to meet his gaze, his pupils slit, with his body sinking lower to the ground, curling into himself, trying to make himself smaller in the face of whatever pain was coursing through him.
Toothless’s breathing was shallow, his sides heaving slightly as he fought to stay still, to hide the tremors that racked his frame. Hiccup took a cautious step forward, but Toothless flinched at the movement, lowering his head as if to shield himself. “He refuses to let anyone near him. Not even me,” Hiccup finished, the last words a quiet confession that only deepened the worry on his face.
“Won’t even let me close,” Hiccup whispered, his hand hovering just over Toothless’ back but never touching.
“Please, [Name], help him.”
His voice was flat, but his expression said more than words could. He didn’t fidget, didn’t avert his gaze. You nodded once, not out of reassurance but acknowledgment, and moved past him. His red tunic smelled faintly of iron and damp leather, his sleeve brushing yours like paper worn thin.
Toothless was lying near the hearth, his body tense. His wings were pulled in close. His claws scraped lightly against the floor, his movements uneven and sluggish. His head remained low, eyes dull, unfocused. There was no protest, no attempt to move away.
You crouched beside him and opened your satchel. The supplies were still warm from being near the fire—clean cloths, crushed herbs, a sealed vial. Your fingers moved without hesitation, but your eyes scanned every detail of Toothless’s condition. His breathing was irregular. His tail had a slight swish, and the skin around his jaw looked strained. Whatever had happened to him, it was already spreading.
“I’ll do what I can,” you said.
You didn’t wait for thanks. There was no time.
The fire had burned low, its glow reduced to a warm shimmer beneath the stones, casting gentle light over the room’s stillness. You knelt beside Toothless, your hands steady as they hovered near his flank, gauging the subtle rise and fall of his breathing. The fever that had held him in its grip for so long had finally broken during the night, and now, for the first time in what felt like hours stretched into days, there was calm in the air.
He started to blink slowly. His head turned slightly toward you, his nostrils flaring with a soft, measured breath. His tail, which had remained curled protectively around his body during the worst of his illness, loosened and stretched faintly across the wooden floor. His throat rumbled with a sound so quiet you almost missed it—a low, cautious greeting, like a voice forgotten, then remembered.
You inhaled deeply, feeling the tension ease from your shoulders all at once
“He’s responding,” you said quietly, almost to yourself.
Across the room, Hiccup sat in a slump against the wall, his body slack from the exhaustion of too many sleepless hours. The blanket draped haphazardly over his legs had slipped to one side, revealing a tunic stained with soot and worry. His head, tilted at an uncomfortable angle, rested against the beam behind him. Even in sleep, his brows twitched with unease, his jaw faintly clenched—seeming as if he didn’t quite trust peace to last.
Toothless raised his weight, testing the strength in his limbs. He paused once, winced slightly, then adjusted his stance. The tremors that had racked his body earlier were gone, replaced by deliberate, if cautious, movement. His wings stretched, not in full flight, but enough to show that he could. It wasn’t strength, not yet—but it was progress. More than you had dared hope for yesterday.
Then, with surprising care, he began to walk. Each step was certainly slow, the soft pads of his feet brushing against the floor with faint thumps. He crossed the room without hesitation, his eyes never leaving the boy in the corner. When he reached him, Toothless lowered his head, pressing his snout gently against Hiccup’s arm. A quiet, purposeful sound left his throat—not loud, not demanding, but enough.
Hiccup stirred. His eyes opened blearily, and for a second, he looked confused, as if his mind hadn’t yet caught up to what was happening. Then his gaze focused on the dragon in front of him, and everything else fell away.
“You’re awake,” he said, voice hoarse and raw. He leaned forward, one hand lifting to rest on Toothless’s head, the contact hesitant at first, then grounding.
Toothless nudged him again, a bit firmer, with a breath that seemed almost like a sigh.
You let them have their moment.
It started the moment you stepped outside.
You didn’t say anything at first—you assumed Toothless was just being clingy, the way most dragons acted after being healed. A little spoiled, maybe. Like a puppy demanding belly rubs and scratches behind the ears. You’d seen it plenty of times before.
But then he didn’t just nudge at your hand for attention.
He got closer. Much closer.
Without a sound, Toothless lowered himself until his head was resting across your lap, the full weight of his trust pressing gently into you. His tail, smooth and sinuous, coiled loosely around your leathered boots—not in a possessive way, but as if anchoring himself to you. Like he didn’t want to drift too far, even at rest.
Your hand didn’t stop moving. You continued to pat his head, your palm caressing from the ridge of his nose to the top of his forehead in slow, steady passes. The texture of his scales came to be familiar with your touch now—cool and sleek like river stones warmed just slightly by the sun. You could feel the subtle rise and fall of his breath beneath your touch, each exhale a quiet puff of warmth against your clothes.
Hiccup had been watching from just behind, peeking curiously over your shoulder, his brow furrowed as he eyed his dragon with a mix of confusion and suspicion. He knew Toothless better than anyone—of that, there was no doubt. They were best friends, bonded for life, closer than brothers. He could read the Night Fury like a book, from the flick of his ear fins to the way his pupils shifted in size. But right now? Hiccup didn’t have a clue what was going through his dragon’s mind.
Toothless was being clingy—uncharacteristically so. That kind of affection, that gentle insistence to be close, was usually reserved for Hiccup alone. Or, on rare occasions, when Toothless decided he wanted someone’s food and pulled out that ridiculous, wide-eyed look he’d perfected over the years.
He didn’t offer his head to rest across laps like some tame house cat. And he especially didn’t wrap his tail around someone unless he absolutely meant it.
Hiccup hovered just behind your shoulder, shifting his weight with an almost imperceptible unease. His posture suggested casual interest, but there was a tension in the way his hands fidgeted near the leather harness, as if he needed something—anything—to justify standing that close. He leaned slightly over, his voice low and deliberately nonchalant.
“He’s, uh… made himself very comfortable,” he remarked, casually, though his tone betrayed a hint of something else, pretending a study of the saddle straps that he himself had fastened not even an hour earlier—though his eyes never once flicked to the gear.
You didn’t answer right away. Your hand remained where it had been for the past few minutes, gliding in slow, absent circles across the midnight scales stretched over Toothless’s brow.
“He was restless earlier,” you murmured, eyes still on the sleek silhouette resting across your legs. “I think exhaustion finally caught up with him.”
Hiccup exhaled through his nose—a quiet, incredulous sound, the kind he often made when something didn’t quite add up. “Tired, huh?” he echoed, one eyebrow arched as he crossed his arms. “Right. Because Toothless is known for voluntarily laying down and offering his head like some… overgrown feline.”
“He’s been... different since he got better,” he said eventually. “Clingy, I guess. But only with you.”
As if prompted by the remark, Toothless flicked one ear back lazily and released a deep, sonorous sigh—a low rumble that vibrated warmly against your legs. Then he adjusted his weight just slightly, curling tighter around your boots in a gesture so deliberate it might have been smug.
“You know,” Hiccup continued, now frowning slightly, “he only gets like this when I’m injured… or if there’s leftover fish and he’s trying to butter me up.”
You said nothing—only smiled faintly, the pads of your fingers tracing along the ridges where scale met bone. The rumble of the dragon’s throat deepened—a smug, vibrating hum that practically radiated satisfaction.
There was a pause.
And then, perhaps against his better judgment, Hiccup added under his breath, “Honestly, if I didn’t know better, I’d say he was flirting.”
That definitely caught your attention. You turned your head slowly, casting a glance over your shoulder with one brow arched so high it might’ve escaped orbit. Every line of your expression—your knitted brow, the sharp squint of your eyes, the downward curve of your mouth—broadcasts a very clear and unfiltered what the actual hell without needing to say a word.
Hiccup’s eyes widened, his brain seemed to catch up with his mouth a second too late.
“With you! I mean—not you—like, not literally!” Hiccup stammered, his words tripping over each other in a spectacular, crashing spiral of embarrassment, not knowing how to stop, he just continued. “Thors! Dragons don’t flirt. That’s not—I mean, I don’t think that’s how it works. I just meant—” He stopped himself again, grimacing and raking a hand through his already-messy hair, as though hoping sheer friction could erase the mortifying sentence from reality. “I meant dragons don’t flirt! At least—I don’t think they do. Not in any, you know, intentional way. Not that you’re—ugh, never mind. Just forget I said anything.” He was done for. Absolutely cooked. And you? You just sat there, rigid as a stone sculpture, your entire expression locked in a state of horrified disbelief—lips drawn in a taut line, eyes slightly widened, your entire face twisted into that exact look you reserve for the unfortunate occasions whenever Gobber absentmindedly scratches his ass mid-conversation in front of you.
“Oh, by Odin’s beard. I sounded insane just now, didn’t I?” yes, yes you did. You wanted to say.
There was a loud snort.
Toothless lifted his head just enough to crack one luminous green eye open, as if to gloat. If a dragon could sport a smug grin, almost as if he were fully aware of the awkward tension hanging in the air and relishing every moment of it. Toothless was wearing it now—his posture relaxed, almost lazily victorious, as if he knew something the rest of you didn’t. It was a quiet, undeniable triumph. Then, with the most deliberate motion imaginable, the dragon raised his head just enough to nudge your arm... right into Hiccup’s thigh.
Your hand collided with him before you could stop it—fingers landing just above his knee. His leg jerked slightly. You froze.
He froze.
Even Toothless stopped moving, watching you both with an intensity that would’ve been terrifying if it weren’t so smug.
“I—he—what is wrong with you?” Hiccup half-whispered to his dragon, voice strained.
Toothless gave a tiny, airy chirp and nosed your hand again, this time with more force, like a toddler shoving two dolls together hoping they’d kiss.
“Well, if he is flirting,” you said, eyes glinting with amusement, “I’d say he’s got excellent taste.”
Hiccup let out a strangled noise, somewhere between a scoff and a nervous laugh, quickly raising his hand to shield his reddening face. “Please,” he muttered, voice nearly cracking in desperation, “I’m begging you. Don’t encourage him.”
A soft chuckle rumbled in your chest, the sound barely escaping as you continued to run your fingers along the smooth curve of Toothless’s jaw.
“Relax, Chief,” you teased lightly, your tone as calm as ever, well, nervous also, “I think your dragon just likes being pampered.”
“You know what,” he muttered, his hands already pulling toward the saddle straps, “I think his saddles make him itchy. I should change it.”
It continued after
New Berk lay quiet in the late afternoon, blanketed in the mellow hush that followed a long day’s labor. The skies were stained in hues of peach and gold, the sun dipping low behind the ridge, its last light brushing the rooftops with amber fire. Down by the dragon stables, you were crouched beside a weather-worn harness, your fingers working the frayed leather with practiced precision. The air smelled faintly of salt and dragon musk.
Toothless sat only a few feet away, his wings partially tucked, tail curled lazily around his paws—but his eyes never left you. That deep, verdant gaze tracked your every movement with a focus that was… unusually intent. For a moment, you swore he was studying you, like you were the dragon and he the expert.
The silence was broken by the familiar rustle of boots—well, boot, and the clink of a prosthetic leg against gravel. “Got the saddle gear you wanted—oh, hey, looks like someone started without me,” Hiccup called out
You offered a small smile. “Just got started. Figured I’d prep the straps while I waited.”
You glanced up as he jogged toward you, the dying light of the sun catching the mess of buckles and saddle slung over his shoulder. His tunic, stained with smudges of charcoal, bore the marks of the day’s labor. A grease-streaked cloth hung loosely from one shoulder, and smears of oil lined the edge of his jaw like war paint, a testament to the effort he’d put in.
“Gobber had the replacement buckles hidden under a crate labeled ‘Definitely Not Dragon Parts.’ I didn’t ask,” he added, crouching beside you with a huff of exertion.
Toothless twitched an ear.
Hiccup began to kneel down beside you—but before he could get comfortable, Toothless leaned in. It wasn’t aggressive. Just a firm, intended nudge with his snout to Hiccup’s side.
Which, unfortunately, was all it took.
With a muffled yelp and a sudden lurch of limbs, Hiccup lost his balance. In one swift, ungraceful motion, he toppled sideways—right into you. The unexpected impact sent you crashing backward, your back hitting the earth with a startled gasp. The air whooshed from your lungs as you were flattened to the ground, Hiccup landing awkwardly above you, his hands splayed in the dirt beside your shoulders as if trying to catch himself, but failing miserably.
You both froze.
For a moment, neither of you moved. Just the sound of the wind and Toothless’s faint chuckle broke the stunned silence. You lay there, staring up at him. Hiccup, his face flushed and eyes wide with embarrassment, shifted slightly, trying to regain his balance, but his awkward position only seemed to deepen the comedic nature of the situation.
“I—I swear that wasn’t me—he bumped me, I swear!” Hiccup stammered, his voice cracking under the strain of sheer mortification. His entire face flushed a vibrant crimson as if the embarrassment alone might send his ears into flames.
Toothless, meanwhile, let out a low, throaty trill—undeniably smug—before flopping onto his side with a soft fwump. He stretched his wings in a manner that could only be described as exaggerated satisfaction, purring contentedly like a mischievous feline who had just knocked over a vase and couldn’t be prouder of the chaos he’d wrought.
You laughed softly. “I think he’s trying to herd you.”
“Toothless,” Hiccup groaned, glancing at his dragon. “Stop it, I’m not a sheep!” He lifted himself just enough to look at Toothless, who was now shamelessly lounging in the grass, with an utterly smug look on his face.
Toothless chirped again—this time with what could only be interpreted as sure you’re not—and used the tip of his tail to slide a small stitched pouch directly between the two of you. The sewing kit skidded to a perfect stop at your knees, like he’d been practicing the maneuver all day.
“Yeah, he’s a real genius,” Hiccup grumbled as he shifted, trying to right himself. But the moment his hand pushed into the grass to grab the harness—wham. Toothless’s tail snapped out in a swift arc, tapping the small of Hiccup’s back.
And, just like that, Hiccup tumbled again. This time, he didn’t just lose his balance—he fully sprawled on top of you. His weight came crashing down with a perfect lack of coordination, and just like that, the last shred of dignity between you both evaporated in a heap of tangled limbs and groans.
Now it wasn’t just awkward—it was catastrophic. His face was far too close, hovering a few humiliating inches from yours. Everything else seemed to vanish. Your noses almost touched, and the proximity sent a rush of warmth through your chest that you didn’t quite know how to process. His hair, soft and surprisingly warm, brushed your cheek as he scrambled to push himself up, but instead of finding balance, he only succeeded in awkwardly elbowing you in the ribs.
The jolt of the impact made you wince, but the real sting came from the overwhelming closeness, the sheer absurdity of the situation, and the fact that neither of you could move without causing yet another small disaster. It was like the universe had conspired to take every shred of composure you both had left and toss it out the window.
Silence.
Well, except for the unmistakable sound of Toothless making a pleased little gurgle behind you, followed by the soft sound of him flopping dramatically onto his side like he’d just orchestrated the greatest comedic performance Berk had ever seen.
“I—I didn’t mean to—I mean he—Toothless—I swear he—” Hiccup stammered, his voice tripping over itself like a cart on cobblestones. He scrambled to push himself up, flinching every time his elbow threatened to jab your side again. His face was flushed a mortified crimson, a shade that clashed violently with the soot smudges across his cheek.
Hiccup looked like he wanted the earth to open up and swallow him whole. His wide eyes flicked to the ground, then back to you. You lay there, stunned, still half-flattened against the grass, your brain desperately trying to reboot from the shock of having Berk’s most awkward chief sprawled on top of you like a felled pine.
“I believe you,” you finally breathed, your voice catching somewhere between a laugh and a wheeze.
Hiccup’s face turned even redder, if that was even possible. “I—I’ll just… get up now. Slowly.”
“I swear,” Hiccup muttered, finally offering you a hand as he tried to extricate himself with the last scraps of his morality, “I’m usually much better at not falling on people.”
