Darling

𝐇𝐢𝐜𝐜𝐮𝐩 𝐇𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐇𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐈𝐈𝐈

(If any of the links don’t work, pls let me know🥲)

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐖𝐡𝐨 𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐝

༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺

Summary: You and Hiccup as best friends. You’re the only one who never doubted him, not about dragons, not about the Night Fury. The boy who trusted you with his dreams.

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There were a thousand ways to be alone on Berk.

You learned them early.

There was the loud kind, being mocked in the training ring, laughed at when your axe missed its mark, dismissed as too small or too soft or too different. And there was the quiet kind, the kind that came when the whole village bustled around you and yet somehow no one truly saw you.

You didn’t mind it most days.

Solitude had weight, but it also had freedom.

And then there was Hiccup Haddock.

He was alone in a way that echoed yours, though his was sharper, more visible. The chief’s son. The village’s disappointment. Too thin, too awkward, too thoughtful in a world that prized muscle and noise.

You noticed him long before anyone else bothered to.

It was the way he lingered on the edges of the training field, pretending to be busy while watching the other teens fight. The way he flinched, not from danger, but from expectation. The way his eyes lit up at ideas no one else cared to hear.

You never thought of him as weak.

You thought of him as quietly brave.

You were there the night everything changed.

The forge was nearly empty, the fire burning low as Gobber muttered to himself and hammered out something vaguely axe-shaped. You were helping clean, because someone always needed help, and because it gave you an excuse to avoid the chaos outside, when the door burst open.

Hiccup nearly tripped over the threshold.

His hair was wild, his clothes scorched and torn, his face streaked with soot, and his eyes were shining like the northern lights.

“I did it,” he breathed.

Gobber didn’t even look up. “If this is another one of yer ‘inventions’, I swear—”

“I shot it down,” Hiccup said, voice trembling. “I actually— I hit it.”

Gobber froze.

You turned slowly.

“Hiccup,” Gobber said carefully, “what did you hit?”

“The Night Fury.”

The words landed heavy and fragile, like glass.

Gobber barked a laugh. “Ohh, you hit a Night Fury, did you?! And I suppose it asked for ya autograph while it was at it?”

Hiccup swallowed. His gaze flicked toward you, not desperate yet, but hopeful. Like he was bracing for the moment the last person would laugh too.

“I’m serious,” he said. “I built a new launcher. I calculated the wind. I tracked its flight path. And I— I fired.”

Gobber shook his head. “No one shoots down a Night Fury, kid.”

You stepped closer.

“I believe him.”

The forge went silent.

Gobber stared at you. “Ya what?”

You didn’t raise your voice. Didn’t dramatize it. You simply met Hiccup’s eyes and repeated it.

“I believe you.”

Hiccup sucked in a sharp breath, like he’d been holding it since the words left his mouth.

“Why?” Gobber demanded.

You shrugged. “Because he wouldn’t lie about something like that. And because if anyone could figure out how to do it… it’d be him.”

Gobber studied Hiccup for a long moment. Then he snorted. “Well, if you’re wrong, you’re both cleaning dragon dung for a month.”

Hiccup didn’t hear him.

He was looking at you like you’d just handed him the sky.

That was the beginning.

From then on, Hiccup told you everything.

His sketches, messy and brilliant, gears overlapping with dragon tail designs and notes scribbled sideways in the margins. His theories about dragon behavior. His quiet fears about his father, about never being enough, about wanting something different from the life Berk demanded.

You listened.

Not just with your ears, but with your attention.

When he snuck out to the woods to find the Night Fury he’d shot down, you followed. You didn’t question him when he said the dragon was still alive. You didn’t recoil when he described its intelligence, its pain, the way it looked at him not with hatred, but fear.

“You’re not scared?” he asked once, voice hushed as you both crouched behind a rock, watching Toothless from afar.

“I am,” you admitted. “But fear isn’t the same as doubt.”

He smiled at that. A small, real one.

You helped him bring fish. Helped him study the dragon’s movements. You stood watch while he worked on the prosthetic tail, passing him tools and steadying his hands when they shook.

When he said, “I think dragons can be more than enemies,” you didn’t argue.

You said, “Then prove it.”

And he did.

The rest of Berk caught up slowly.

There were battles. Losses. Fire and screaming and the Red Death’s shadow blotting out the sky. You fought alongside Hiccup, not as a rider, not as a warrior, but as the person who knew him before the world decided he was worth listening to.

When the Red Death fell, Berk roared.

They lifted Hiccup onto their shoulders. Chanted his name. Finally saw the boy you had always seen.

You watched from the edge of the crowd, pride swelling in your chest so sharp it almost hurt.

He found you eventually.

His hair was singed, his armor dented, his smile bright and disbelieving. “We did it,” he said, breathless.

We, not I.

You smiled back. “You did.”

He shook his head. “No. I couldn’t have without you.”

You believed him.

That was your mistake.

Because heroes grow fast.

And sometimes, the people who helped build them are left standing behind, still holding the blueprints, still remembering the one who whispered dreams in the dark when no one else would listen.

But for now?

For now, you were still his best friend.

Still the one who believed.

And the future hadn’t taken anything from you...

…

Well- idk. I’ll get the top 2 and make a final poll to finalize the type of dragon reader will have

𝙚𝙫𝙖𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙘𝙚

－𝘛𝘰 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺．

“A broken heart is like a shattered mirror: you can pick up the pieces, but they’ll never be the same again.” － unknown

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You hated them so much.

You hated her.

She took your place.

She didn’t deserve him.

Yet he maybe didn’t deserved you. Not after leaving you behind.

You don’t know if he simply didn’t know or even cared.

You didn’t really care. All you cared about was that the boy you spent your whole life with, left you behind.

He left you to fend for yourself.

…

….

…

You will never allow yourself to be left behind, ever, again.

You were there from the start.

Before Toothless, before the popularity, before Astrid and the weight of the entire Barbaric Archipelago hanging on Hiccup’s narrow shoulders. Before everything changed, you were the one person who didn’t look at him like he was a mistake.

You remembered the night he claimed he hit the Night Fury, breathless and wide-eyed, voice trembling with more hope than certainty.

Everyone laughed.

You didn’t.

“Then let’s go see it,” you’d said, and the way Hiccup looked at you, like you were the only person in the world who finally heard him, made your chest tighten.

But somehow, after the Red Death… everything broke.

He didn’t mean to leave you behind. But he did.

He was recovering, becoming a hero, becoming someone, swept from celebration to responsibility to Toothless’s side. You told yourself you understood. You told yourself it was fine.

But then came the Berserker raids.

Then came your capture.

And Hiccup… didn’t even notice.

Not when you were dragged onto a ship with shackles around your wrists.

Not when you screamed his name as the oars splashed and Berk blurred into the distance.

Not during the three years you spent in prison halls, surviving on scraps and fear and stubborn, bitter hope.

He never came…

He never looked…

He never asked…

Three. Fucking. Years.

༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺

I’m back 🥹

⚠️: some things might not make sense

‼️: bit lazy, no specific gender, and idk

➯ most of my work will be hiccup, but I will other characters if you want like

🝮𝐇𝐢𝐜𝐜𝐮𝐩 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐂𝐡𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐲! 𝐬/𝐨 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞🝮

𖣘~ this was a request from someone, so credit goes to them for this idea

~ I have five other fics that I’m working on and I want to get them all done by the end of this month.

Mlist.

❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙

Gᴇɴᴇʀᴀʟ Pᴇʀsᴏɴᴀʟɪᴛʏ:

In private, Hiccup is completely enchanted by how different you are when it’s just the two of you.

You’re so comfortable in your own skin, humming while you work, talking to yourself about random thoughts, even striking poses in the mirror like, “Look at this masterpiece, I’m hot.”

He always finds himself just watching, smiling softly because he gets to see that version of you, the one the world doesn’t.

But the moment another person walks into the room?

It’s like someone flipped a switch. You go dead quiet, shoulders tense, that radiant energy hidden under layers of nervous politeness.

Hiccup never pushes, just subtly adjusts, taking the conversational lead, gently guiding the social interactions so you don’t feel cornered.

༻༺༻༺

Aꜰꜰᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ & Aᴘᴘᴇᴀʀᴀɴᴄᴇ Aɴxɪᴇᴛʏ:

You overthink everything affectionate.

Like, Hiccup will just rest his hand on your thigh or give you a side hug and suddenly your brain is screaming: ’Oh gods, do I feel soft? What if he thinks I’m heavy? He’s literally feeling my stomach right now, abort mission—’

He can always tell when your thoughts spiral.

The moment he senses you withdrawing or fidgeting, he’ll quietly move his hand to your own and give it a light squeeze, whispering something like:

“You don’t have to shrink, you know. I like having all of you close.”

(Cue you turning into a statue because you’re not equipped for this kind of direct affection.)

When you bring up concerns about “weight limits” on dragon riding, Hiccup’s jaw literally drops.

“Wait— you actually think Toothless cares about that? They carried Fishlegs and Meatlug once, and Fishlegs weighs more because of all the armor!” (Sorry fishlegs lovers🙂‍↔️)

Then he softens, smiling gently.

“Dragons don’t care about weight. They care about trust. And I trust you.”

༻༺༻༺

Pʀɪᴠᴀᴛᴇ Cᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ ᴠs Pᴜʙʟɪᴄ Sɪʟᴇɴᴄᴇ

When it’s just you and him in the forge, or working on a saddle together, you’re in your element.

You’ll ramble about improvements or joke under your breath. “Okay, that bolt’s in. Don’t explode, please, I have enough trauma from the last time.”

and Hiccup absolutely loses it. You always make him smile without even realizing it.

He sometimes tries to encourage that same confidence around others by hyping you up mid conversation:

“Actually, [____] came up with that idea. They’re brilliant with designs.”

You’re cheeks would warm up and mumble something like, “Oh, um… I just… helped a little,” while internally malfunctioning.

Meanwhile Hiccup’s just smirking because he knows how talkative you get in private, and he loves watching people realize how talented you are.

༻༺༻༺

Fʟɪʀᴛɪɴɢ & Fʟᴜsᴛᴇʀ Mᴏᴍᴇɴᴛs

Any flirtation, whether it’s from Hiccup or anyone else, instantly short-circuits your brain.

Ruffnut once said you and Hiccup were “cute together,” and you just… stared into space for thirty seconds straight, like someone unplugged your personality.

Hiccup gently nudged you afterward, whispering:

“You okay there?”

And you whispered back, “No, I forgot how to exist.”

When Hiccup flirts with you intentionally, it’s devastating.

He leans in close, voice soft and teasing,

“Y’know, I think you underestimate how easy it is for me to get distracted when you’re around.”

You physically lock up. No sound. No movement. Just wide eyes and internal screaming.

Hiccup: “…Aaand now I’ve broken them again.”

Toothless: snorts approvingly.

༻༺༻༺

Cᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛɪɴɢ Mᴏᴍᴇɴᴛs

At night, when it’s just you two watching the stars, that confident side of you comes out again.

You’ll make quiet jokes, talk about things you love, maybe even lean against him without thinking.

He cherishes that, it’s the purest, calmest version of you.

Sometimes, he whispers:

“You know, I wish everyone got to see you like this. But I’m kind of selfishly glad I’m the only one who does.”

You always go quiet again, but that time it’s from being overwhelmed by affection, not fear.

༻༺༻༺

Bᴏɴᴜs: Hɪᴄᴄᴜᴘ’s Pᴇʀsᴘᴇᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ

He never once sees your body as a problem, if anything, he loves how warm and real you feel when he hugs you.

You’re his grounding point; the softness he doesn’t get from anywhere else in his rough, dragon-ridden life.

He’ll never understand how you can be so confident in private and yet so anxious in public, but he also doesn’t rush you to fix it.

To him, the fact that you can be yourself around him is what matters most.

Every time you open up, even a little, he feels like he’s earned something precious.

❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙

I currently have writer’s block and this actually helped me want to start writing again. So TYSM😭🙏

The forge was empty, the only light coming from the dying embers in the hearth. You were sitting on the worktable, legs crossed, watching Hiccup work on some little contraption he’d long forgotten the purpose of. His focus was admirable… and entirely too tempting.

“Y’know,” you murmured, your voice low, “you could take a break.”

He looked up, distracted, a smudge of soot streaked across his jaw. “A break? I’m almost—”

You slid off the table and stepped in close, your fingers brushing his arm. “Almost what?” you teased, smiling up at him. “Done? Or completely overworking yourself again?”

He opened his mouth to reply, but you caught his tunic and tugged, just enough to throw him off balance and make him stumble forward, his hands instinctively catching your waist.

“[____]…” he warned softly, though his voice had gone husky, his breath warm against your cheek.

“Mm?” You tilted your head, eyes sparkling. “What’s wrong, Chief?”

His resolve cracked. The word Chief always did it.

He kissed you, not hesitant this time like before, but deep and hungry, like he’d been holding back for days. His hand slid up your back, fingers splaying beneath your hair as his other hand gripped your hip with just enough pressure to make you gasp. You felt his cold hand through your shirt, sharp against the heat of his touch.

You smiled against his lips. “Guess you’re finally taking that break.”

He chuckled, the sound rough and low, before leaning in again, kissing you harder, deeper, until your knees hit the table behind you and he lifted you onto it without breaking the kiss. His breath hitched when you pulled at his hair, and for a second, the world was nothing but heat, the smell of smoke, and the sound of his name falling from your lips like a secret.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead pressed to yours, both of you breathless, he whispered, voice unsteady but full of that Hiccup charm:

“Okay… maybe I should take more breaks like that.”

𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍

You thought dating Hiccup would mean he would stop being so reckless, but you were wrong. If anything, he has only gotten more reckless. You lash out at him while checking on an injury. This leads to a conversation that needed to happen a long time ago.

𖣘~ this was long overdue and I finally got rid of my writer’s block 😭

warning~ mention of blood

Mlist.

❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙

The night was cold and wet, the kind of sea-borne chill that settled into bones and refused to leave. Rain hissed softly against the thatch roof of your hut, the rhythmic patter broken only by the steady scratch of your quill.

The candle burned low. You didn’t look up, didn’t need to. You knew that knock.

Three short taps. Hesitation. Then one last, weaker tap, like whoever was on the other side was deciding whether to enter or collapse.

You sighed through your nose, closed your eyes, and muttered to yourself, “Of course.”

A beat passed before you finally said, dryly, “If that’s who I think it is, I’m charging double.”

The door creaked open anyway.

There he was.

Hiccup Haddock, in all his reckless, bleeding, dirt-smeared glory. His hair was plastered to his forehead, his flight jacket half torn at the shoulder, and his right hand pressed over a dark patch just above his ribs.

“Hey,” he said with a sheepish little smile that should’ve been illegal at this hour. “Sorry to show up like this.”

You stared at him flatly. “You always show up like this.”

He winced. “I do not always—”

You gestured with your quill toward the bandages still hanging to dry on the rack behind you. “Hiccup, those are from last week. The ink hasn’t even dried on your last treatment notes.”

He opened his mouth to retort, then thought better of it. “…Point taken.”

You sighed again, quieter this time. You set your quill aside and stood, brushing stray petals and crushed leaves from your lap. The air in your hut was thick with the scent of herbs, tansy, comfrey, willow bark, a strange comfort that clung to you like a second skin.

“Sit down,” you ordered, pointing to the cot in the corner. “And if you bleed on my floor again, I’ll stitch you up without numbing salve this time.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he murmured, easing himself down with a hiss of pain.

You busied yourself pulling clean cloth, a jar of ointment, and a small ceramic bowl from your shelves. You didn’t ask how it happened, you’d learned long ago that if you waited long enough, Hiccup would fill the silence with his own version of events anyway.

And right on cue—

“Wasn’t anything serious,” he began, watching as you lit another lamp and crouched beside him. “We were just, you know, testing a new gliding maneuver with Toothless, and the wind caught us weird, and then—well—rock.”

“Rock,” you repeated blandly. “You mean the large, immovable kind that tends to win when collided with?”

He grimaced. “Yeah, that kind.”

You peeled back the torn leather of his vest and shirt, revealing a gash along his ribs, not deep enough to be fatal, but wide enough that you could see how it strained every time he breathed.

You inhaled slowly through your nose, the same way you did when balancing a new tincture, with precision and restraint. “You’re lucky you didn’t puncture a lung.”

“Lucky’s kind of my thing,” he said lightly.

You gave him a look. “No. ‘Lucky’ would be not showing up here again with half your blood on your shirt.”

He smiled faintly, eyes flicking to you through his messy fringe. “You worry too much.”

You dipped a cloth in the steaming bowl and dabbed the wound. “No. You worry too little.”

He hissed softly as the antiseptic stung. You ignored it, working methodically, efficiently. But your hands trembled ever so slightly, not from fear of the wound, but from what it meant.

Because every time he came through that door, pale and exhausted and pretending it was “nothing,” a small, terrified part of you wondered if it would be the last.

You didn’t say that out loud. You never did. You just worked, muttering sharp little barbs as if they could disguise the way your chest ached.

“Do you ever stop and think, Hiccup? About what you’d leave behind if something went wrong?”

He tilted his head toward you, voice softer now. “You mean, what you’d be left behind with?”

You froze, fingers still pressed to his side. His tone wasn’t teasing, not entirely.

“…I mean exactly that,” you said finally, forcing your focus back on the salve. “You think because you’re the great dragon master of Berk, you’re invincible. But even great men die stupid deaths doing stupid things.”

“Stupid things like fighting dragon hunters?”

“Stupid things like not asking for help.”

The silence between you stretched, taut as a bowstring.

You finished dressing the wound, tying the bandage neatly before sitting back on your heels. “There. Try not to undo my work for once.”

He glanced down, inspecting the careful wrapping. “You always do good work.”

“I always have to.” You met his eyes, your tone quiet but sharp. “Because you never make it easy.”

He smiled again, that maddeningly gentle curve of his lips that always seemed to undo you. “You love that about me, though.”

You scoffed and stood, busying yourself with cleaning the bowl. “Love’s a strong word.”

He chuckled softly. “Yeah, but not an inaccurate one.”

You froze for half a heartbeat, just enough for him to notice.

When you turned back around, your expression was the same calm, unimpressed one you always wore when he tried to fluster you. “You should rest. You’ll tear the stitches if you move too much.”

He tilted his head, still watching you with that infuriating blend of affection and amusement. “Only if you stay.”

“Someone has to make sure you don’t bleed out on my cot,” you replied briskly, turning away so he wouldn’t see the warmth rising to your cheeks.

Hiccup exhaled softly, part laugh, part sigh. “Fair enough.”

You blew out one of the lamps and settled into your chair again, the sound of rain and his slow, even breathing filling the space between you.

When he finally drifted off, you found yourself studying him in the dim light, the freckles, the scar on his jaw, the faint frown he wore even in sleep.

You brushed a strand of hair from your face and muttered under your breath, almost fondly, “You’re going to be the death of me, Hiccup Haddock.”

And then, softer still, a whisper even the storm couldn’t hear:

“…But please, not the other way around.”

༻༺༻༺

If there was one thing you had learned in all your years tending wounds and brewing tonics, it was that humans were creatures of habit. And apparently, so was Hiccup Haddock.

A few weeks had passed since the “rock incident,” and in that time, you had developed what you grudgingly recognized as a pattern, a schedule, even.

Every three or four days, just as the moon rose and your candle burned low, there’d be a knock.

Three raps.

A pause.

Then one last, softer tap, always like he was hoping you wouldn’t be awake to answer.

And every time, you’d open the door and sigh: “You again.”

To which he’d grin, eyes tired but warm, and say something that made your blood boil and your heart twist in equal measure.

“Sorry to show up like this.”

Tonight was no different.

The scent of burnt oil and sea salt clung to him before you even opened the door. He stood there, leather scorched, hair wind-tossed, a long scratch trailing down his cheek. Behind him, Toothless loomed in the darkness, rumbling softly as if apologizing on his rider’s behalf.

You didn’t even blink. “You smell like smoke.”

Hiccup gave a sheepish grin. “It’s possible a small fire may have been involved.”

You arched a brow. “Define small.”

“…Contained?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose and stepped aside. “Come in before you drip blood on my doorstep.”

He obeyed, muttering something about “overprotective apothecaries” as he shuffled in. You ignored him, already reaching for your mortar and pestle, grinding together comfrey and goldenseal while the rhythmic scrape filled the silence.

“So,” you said evenly, “what was it this time? Dragon hunters? A prototype backfiring? You tripped over your own brilliance again?”

Hiccup chuckled, lowering himself onto the cot like a man who’d learned to obey survival instincts. “Mostly the second one. Toothless and I were testing a new booster flame modulator—”

You froze mid-grind. “A what?”

“—and it sort of, you know… exploded.”

You closed your eyes, exhaled slowly through your nose, and said nothing for a long moment. Then: “Of course it did.”

His tone softened as you turned back to face him. “You don’t have to keep patching me up, you know.”

You gave him a look that could curdle milk. “What, you’d rather bleed out?”

“I mean, I could at least learn to—”

“Hiccup,” you cut in, voice sharp but not unkind, “I’ve treated stubborn men, dragon-bitten fools, and hunters who didn’t know hemlock from hyacinth, but you are in a category of your own.”

He smiled faintly. “That a compliment?”

“It’s a diagnosis.”

He laughed. a tired, soft sound that almost made you forgive him. Almost.

As you worked, dabbing at the cut on his cheek with careful precision, he studied you. He always did, quietly, as if trying to memorize how your hands moved, how you smelled faintly of herbs and smoke, how your brow furrowed when you focused.

“Hey,” he said suddenly. “You ever get tired of this?”

You didn’t look up. “Of what?”

“Me showing up like this.”

You paused for half a heartbeat, the question hanging heavier than either of you wanted to admit.

Finally, you murmured, “Every time you show up like this, I think about what it’d mean if you didn’t.”

That shut him up.

The silence that followed was brittle and tender all at once. He watched your expression soften slightly, your fingers steady even as your voice lowered.

“I’d rather have you here broken and bleeding than not at all,” you said. “But I’d prefer it if you stopped making me test that preference.”

Hiccup swallowed hard, guilt flickering across his face. “I’ll… try.”

“You always say that.”

“And I always mean it,” he replied quietly.

You tied off the bandage, sitting back on your heels. “And then you forget two days later.”

“I don’t forget,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “It’s just… there’s always someone to protect. Something to fix. You know me.”

You met his eyes, and something in your chest ached. “That’s the problem.”

He looked at you for a long moment, the rain outside tapping against the roof like an echo of your words.

Finally, he exhaled and leaned back slightly. “You really care, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” you said automatically. Then, realizing what he was really asking, you hesitated. “You’re my patient.”

He smiled faintly. “Right. Patient.”

The way he said it made your pulse jump, but you pretended not to notice. You started cleaning up your supplies, muttering, “You should rest. And don’t touch that dressing. If it gets infected, I’ll personally tan your hide.”

“Yes, Doctor,” he teased softly.

You shot him a glare that was far too fond to be effective. “Don’t make me sedate you.”

“Wouldn’t be the worst way to spend an evening.”

You rolled your eyes, but when you caught his faint, tired smile, the retort died on your tongue.

Instead, you said, “You’ll be fine by morning.”

He tilted his head, eyes soft in the lamplight. “You’ll make sure of it, won’t you?”

“Always do.”

Something passed between you then, something unspoken, fragile, and terrifyingly real. The kind of thing that made you suddenly aware of how close you were, how his voice dropped when he was near you, how his gaze lingered a second too long.

And when he murmured, “Thank you,” you didn’t answer. You just turned away before he could see your expression, the words don’t make me lose you sitting bitter and unspoken on your tongue.

༻༺༻༺

It was supposed to be a routine scouting run.

At least, that’s what Hiccup had told you that morning when he stopped by, all easy smiles and restless energy, strapping on his flight gear while you catalogued herbs by the window.

“Just a quick sweep near the northern reefs,” he’d said, voice breezy. “We’ve had reports of hunters, but probably nothing.”

You had only hummed in response, not looking up. “And if it’s not nothing?”

He’d laughed. “Then we handle it.”

You’d said nothing more, because that was always the answer. We handle it.

It wasn’t until later that you realized how much those words actually meant you handle it and get hurt doing it.

Two days later

He hadn’t come by.

Not a knock, not a flicker of shadow against the candlelight. You’d paced your hut so many times that the floorboards had memorized your steps.

Storms you could handle. Infections, venom, fever, they were measurable, logical. You could treat them, predict their course. But this? The endless not-knowing? It tore you apart.

When Toothless appeared at your door at dawn, soaked and agitated, your stomach dropped.

You didn’t even ask. You just grabbed your satchel and ran.

You found them at the edge of the forest, the Riders circling in disarray. Astrid was tending to a singed arm, Fishlegs was muttering about traps, and Hiccup.

Hiccup was sitting on a rock, pale, with one arm clutched to his side.

You saw the way he tried to straighten when he noticed you, as if posture alone could hide the fact that his shirt was dark with blood.

You didn’t say a word. You just marched up to him, grabbed his jaw, and turned his face toward you.

“You’re hurt.”

He tried a smile, that soft, guilty one that had gotten him out of too many arguments. “It’s—ah—it’s nothing, really.”

You froze. “Don’t. Don’t say that to me.”

The Riders fell silent.

He blinked. “What?”

“Don’t you dare say that to me,” you repeated, voice low but shaking. “You show up bleeding every week, I fix you, you promise you’ll be careful, and then—this.”

Hiccup’s eyes darted toward Astrid as if for backup, but she was already quietly herding the others away, murmuring, “Come on, give them space.”

You knelt in front of him, hands trembling as you reached for his side. “Lift your arm.”

He hesitated. “It’s not that—”

“Now, Hiccup.”

He obeyed, and you hissed when you saw it, a jagged gash along his ribs, deep enough that it had soaked through layers of bandage he’d clearly tried to wrap himself. The edges were angry, inflamed, and already seeping.

You clenched your jaw, words failing you for a moment. Then: “You hid this from me?”

He opened his mouth, closed it, then sighed. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

You laughed, short, bitter. “You didn’t want me to worry? Hiccup, you’re half an hour away from a fever that’ll knock you out cold.”

He winced. “I was going to come see you once the others were settled—”

“No. No, you were going to collapse first, and then I’d have to drag you back.”

He flinched at your tone, but you couldn’t stop. The words had been building for months, pressed behind every bandage and every sleepless night.

“You think being the leader means you get to destroy yourself for everyone else’s sake. You think it’s noble.” You grabbed a clean cloth from your satchel and pressed it to the wound. He hissed in pain, but you didn’t ease up. “It’s not noble, Hiccup. It’s stupid.”

His jaw tightened. “I can’t just sit by—”

“And you can’t keep pretending you’re unbreakable!” you shot back. “Because you’re not! You’re human, and you bleed, and one of these days you’re not going to crawl through my door, and then what am I supposed to do?!”

The question cracked something in your voice, raw and exposed.

He stared at you, the fury in your eyes, the way your hands trembled as you worked. Then, quietly, he said, “You really think I don’t care what happens to me?”

You looked up sharply. “You act like you don’t.”

He shook his head. “That’s not it. I just… don’t think about it. If someone has to take the hit, I’d rather it be me.”

You pressed another layer of gauze against the wound, your throat tight. “You’re not alone anymore, Hiccup. You don’t get to decide that unilaterally.”

He smiled faintly, tired, but almost relieved that you were saying what he’d always suspected you felt. “You sound angry.”

“I am angry,” you said, your voice soft but deadly. “Because you matter to me, you idiot.”

That shut him up.

You felt his breath hitch as he watched you work, your hands steady again despite the storm in your chest. When you finally tied off the bandage and sat back, your pulse was thrumming painfully against your ribs.

“Next time,” you said quietly, “if you’re hurt, you come to me first. No heroics. No hiding. You understand?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “I understand.”

You exhaled, exhaustion settling deep in your bones. “Good. Because if you pull something like this again, I’ll sedate you and chain you to that cot.”

He actually laughed, a small, breathless sound. “You’d really do that?”

You met his eyes, utterly serious. “Try me.”

And for the first time that day, Hiccup didn’t argue.

He just leaned back against the rock, pale but breathing, watching you pack your satchel again, the set of your jaw, the way your hands shook only when you thought he wasn’t looking.

He wanted to tell you that he was sorry. That he didn’t mean to scare you. That he didn’t know how to be careful when everyone needed him.

But all he managed was a quiet, “Thank you.”

You didn’t look up. “Don’t thank me yet. We’re not done talking.”

༻༺༻༺

The forest was quiet when you led Hiccup back to your hut.

Quiet except for the crunch of gravel under your boots and the steady, uneven sound of his breathing.

You didn’t speak, and neither did he. The tension hung heavy between you, not hostile anymore, just… tired.

Toothless padded beside you, tail low, eyes flicking between the two of you as if unsure who needed more watching.

When you reached the hut’s door, you didn’t even glance back as you pushed it open.

Inside, the air was warm, herbs drying overhead, candlelight pooling golden over jars and vials. It smelled of mint, pine, and something faintly metallic.

You pointed to the cot in the corner. “Sit. Don’t argue.”

Hiccup gave a weak smile, obeying for once. The moment he sat, he winced, hand flying to his ribs.

You sighed, rubbing your temple. “And that’s why I said don’t argue.”

“I wasn’t going to,” he murmured.

You shot him a look, and he shut his mouth immediately.

Pulling out a bowl of warm water, you began unwrapping the bandage you’d hastily tied in the field. His breath hitched when the air hit the wound, it was angry red, already crusted with dried blood.

“Hold still,” you said softly.

“I am still.”

“Relatively.”

His lips quirked, just a little. You ignored it, though your heart betrayed you with a flutter.

For a few long minutes, the only sound was the quiet clink of glass and the whisper of cloth. You worked methodically, cleaning, applying salve, rewrapping. The routine steadied your shaking hands, but not your mind.

Every time he flinched, you had to bite your tongue not to scold him again.

You loved him. Gods help you, you did. But loving him meant living in constant dread, waiting for the next knock on your door, the next injury, the next “I’m fine.”

When you finally tied off the new bandage, you sat back and exhaled, the fight gone from your shoulders.

“Better?” you asked quietly.

He nodded. “Much. Thank you.”

You started cleaning up your tools, keeping your back to him. “You don’t have to thank me every time. It’s my job.”

“It’s not your job to fix me,” he said gently.

That made you pause.

Slowly, you turned to face him. “Then stop making me.”

He blinked, startled by the sharpness that crept back into your tone.

You crossed your arms, standing by the worktable. “You think I like this? Sitting here waiting, wondering if the next time someone comes through my door, it’ll be Fishlegs or Astrid or—or Toothless, telling me you didn’t make it back?”

Hiccup’s throat worked. “I never meant to make you—”

“No. I know you didn’t mean to. That’s the problem.”

You took a shaky breath, lowering your voice. “You don’t think, Hiccup. You react. You run into danger because you’re you. Because you can’t stand the idea of anyone else getting hurt. But have you ever once stopped to think about what happens to the people who love you when you’re the one bleeding?”

That silenced him completely.

His green eyes softened, guilt pooling in them like shadow. “I… didn’t know it scared you that much.”

You gave a soft, humorless laugh. “Of course you didn’t. You think fear’s something you get to ignore if it gets in the way of your plans.”

He frowned. “That’s not fair—”

“It’s true,” you said, stepping closer, your voice trembling now with something that wasn’t anger, it was grief. “You’ve always been brave. But bravery isn’t dying for every cause that crosses your path. It’s knowing when to stop. When you’re not just risking yourself anymore.”

He opened his mouth, closed it, then looked down at his hands, stained with dried blood and ash.

When he spoke again, it was small. “I don’t know how to stop.”

Your heart broke a little at that.

You moved closer, sinking to your knees in front of him so you could look him in the eye. “Then learn with me, please.”

His breath hitched, that quiet plea cutting deeper than any wound he’d taken.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The air between you trembled, fragile, alive.

Then Hiccup spoke, voice barely above a whisper.

“I don’t mean to scare you. I just… don’t think about what happens after. When you’ve got the chance to save someone, it’s like—like everything else disappears.”

“And when you don’t come back?” you asked, voice breaking. “What disappears then?”

He swallowed hard.

“I might just fall for you all over again,” he said softly, almost to himself.

You blinked, thrown. “What?”

He smiled faintly, that crooked, half-exhausted, half-adoring smile that always undid you. “Every time you yell at me like that. Every time you patch me up and still don’t give up on me. It’s… it’s impossible not to.”

You felt your chest tighten. “That’s not funny.”

“I wasn’t joking.”

Your breath caught. He meant it.

For the first time in hours, the silence between you wasn’t angry. It was aching, heavy with everything you hadn’t said and everything you were terrified to lose.

You looked away first, trying to keep your voice steady. “You don’t get to make me fall for you and make me worry myself sick at the same time.”

He chuckled softly. “That’s fair.”

You shook your head, lips twitching despite yourself. “You’re hopeless.”

He grinned, wincing when the motion tugged at his ribs. “Only slightly.”

You sighed, pressing a clean cloth into his hand. “Hold this there, and if you so much as think about standing up, I’ll knock you out myself.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, obedient for once.

And for a few long moments, you just stood there, watching him settle back, the tension draining from his shoulders, the candlelight catching in his messy hair.

You wanted to stay angry. But gods, he looked so tired.

So you exhaled, softly. “Rest. I’ll keep an eye on you.”

“𝐇𝐮𝐡? 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭?“

For all your smarts, you’re really oblivious when it’s to someone flirting with you. Unfortunately for Hiccup, he finds that out the hard way when he tries to hint at his feelings for you. He decides enough is enough and blurts out his feelings for you.

𖣘~ This took longer than expected. I was working like on 3 requests plus something else at the same. They’re almost finished and will be posted within the next 24 hours or so.

𖣘 - Reader has a different dragon in this. There is no specific so choose one to your liking.

Mlist.

❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙

The first mistake was trying to copy the twins’ maneuver.

The second mistake was not realizing their “maneuver” was just chaos disguised as flight strategy.

Your dragon’s wings catching an unpredictable gust off the sea cliffs, banked too hard, too fast. You clung to the saddle, teeth gritted as the horizon tilted at an alarming angle. The others were dots against the sky now, laughing, shouting, soaring like it was second nature.

And you? You were plummeting.

“(Y/N)!” you heard Hiccup shout from somewhere above.

The wind roared in your ears. You wrestled with the reins, trying to stabilize, but the moment your dragon’s talons scraped a jagged rock outcropping, the saddle strap slipped. Suddenly, you weren’t on your dragon at all, you were freefalling.

The impact never came.

Instead, a black blur shot past, sleek and fast as lightning. Toothless swooped in, wings folding tight as he dove, then snapped open just in time. You landed unceremoniously against the Night Fury’s saddle, Hiccup’s arm locking tight around your waist to keep you from tumbling right back off.

For one dizzying second, you couldn’t breathe.

Then Toothless leveled out, banking toward the training grounds again. Your dragon, startled but unharmed, circled overhead before settling into a glide behind you.

Hiccup’s voice was right in your ear, breathless, half-panicked, half-teasing.

“Careful,” he said, with that shaky grin of his. “I might just fall for you.”

Your brain, still running on adrenaline, latched onto the most literal part of that sentence. You twisted in the saddle to look at him, brow furrowed.

“You’re standing,” you pointed out flatly. “Not falling. Get up.”

Hiccup’s smile froze.

He blinked. Once. Twice. His mouth opened like he was about to say something else, then snapped shut again. The tips of his ears went bright red.

“Uh—yeah. Right. Get up. Totally what I meant,” he stammered, tugging Toothless into a sharper turn toward the Edge. “Thanks for the clarification.”

You, meanwhile, adjusted your seat as if nothing unusual had happened, patting Toothless’s neck with a casual “Good catch, bud.”

The fact that Hiccup didn’t look you in the eye for the rest of training completely escaped you.

༻༺༻༺

The forge was Hiccup’s sanctuary. The heat, the smell of soot and iron, the steady rhythm of hammer against metal, it all fit him like a second skin.

Which is why you decided to intrude.

“Knock, knock,” you said, not bothering to knock at all as you slipped inside.

Hiccup glanced up from his workbench, goggles perched crookedly on his forehead. His hair stuck out in about six different directions from where he’d been running his hands through it. Toothless, sprawled like a lazy cat in the corner, cracked one eye open before dismissing you both as unimportant.

“Hey,” Hiccup said, smiling just a little too quickly. “What’s up?”

You wandered over, scanning the cluttered desk piled with half-finished sketches, gears, and scraps of leather. “So this is where you disappear to for hours at a time. I thought maybe you’d been eaten by a dragon and the others were just covering it up.”

Hiccup snorted, setting down his tools. “Nope. Still in one piece. For now.” He wiped his hands on a rag, then leaned against the bench in what was probably meant to look casual. “Though between you and me, you’re kind of my favorite distraction.”

You blinked at him, head tilting slightly.

“Distraction?” you repeated. “Oh. Right. Because I almost fell off my dragon the other day and ruined your training session. Got it. Glad to be of service.”

Hiccup’s mouth opened, then closed again. He ran a hand through his hair, clearly trying to regroup.

“I didn’t mean—” He paused, sighed, then gave you a helpless little smile. “Never mind.”

You raised a brow but didn’t press, instead picking up a sketch from the desk. It was a design for some kind of harness attachment, all neat lines and precise notes in his handwriting.

“This is new,” you said, holding it up. “Looks like it might actually not explode. Improvement.”

“Thanks?” he said, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “You really know how to compliment a guy.”

“I try,” you deadpanned, setting the sketch back down.

Hiccup studied you for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. Then he shook his head, muttering under his breath, “Unbelievable.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly, straightening up. “Just… don’t touch the unstable vials on the shelf behind you. Unless you want us both to get covered in glue. Again.”

You smirked. “Noted.”

From the corner, Toothless huffed, the kind of sound that was suspiciously close to laughter.

༻༺༻༺

Astrid wasn’t stupid.

She’d fought beside Hiccup long enough to know when he was distracted and he was definitely distracted. During morning drills, his eyes kept straying away from the formation, wandering toward you where you circled your dragon with practiced ease.

“Eyes front, Hiccup!” Astrid barked as Stormfly swooped past Toothless.

“Right, right—sorry!” he called back, jerking the Night Fury back into line.

Astrid narrowed her eyes. When Hiccup Haddock, the boy who spent half his waking hours overthinking every possible angle of a plan, got sloppy? That meant only one thing: feelings.

Sure enough, after training, she caught him on the edge of the clearing, scribbling half-heartedly in his notebook while very obviously sneaking glances at you as you adjusted your dragon’s saddle.

She smirked. Oh, this was too easy.

“So,” Astrid said casually, strolling over and crossing her arms. “How long are you going to keep making goo-goo eyes before you actually say something?”

Hiccup nearly dropped his pencil. “I—what—I’m not—”

“Uh-huh.” Astrid tilted her head. “Because if you were any more obvious, even Snotlout would’ve noticed by now.”

“I am not obvious,” Hiccup hissed, cheeks flaming.

“Sure you aren’t,” Astrid said, deadpan. “Just like you weren’t obvious with [____] back when you—”

“Okay!” he cut her off, ears red now too. “We don’t need to dig up ancient history, thank you.”

Astrid smirked wider. “You know, if you don’t say something soon, she’s going to keep thinking you’re just being awkward.”

“She already thinks I’m awkward,” Hiccup muttered, running a hand down his face.

“Not the point.” Astrid’s voice softened, just a little. “Look, Hiccup. You’ve been through enough to know what it’s like to wait too long. So maybe… don’t.”

Hiccup stared at her, caught between mortification and reluctant gratitude. “…You’re terrifying when you’re right.”

“I know,” Astrid said cheerfully, clapping him on the shoulder before striding off.

Meanwhile, you were blissfully unaware of the entire exchange.

When you walked over a moment later, wiping dragon soot off your hands, Hiccup snapped his notebook shut so fast he almost bent the cover.

“Uh—hey,” he said, smiling a little too brightly.

You raised a brow. “Hey. You look like you swallowed a Terrible Terror whole. Everything okay?”

“Y-yeah!” he said quickly. “Totally fine. Just, uh, thinking about… saddle adjustments. Nothing important.”

You gave him a skeptical look but let it slide. “Right. Saddle adjustments. Riveting.”

And once again, the hint went sailing clean over your head.

༻༺༻༺

Evenings on Dragon’s Edge were calmer than you expected. The ocean hushed against the rocks, the air tinged with woodsmoke from the Riders’ firepit. Most of the others had already drifted off to bed, their laughter fading into the dark.

But you couldn’t sleep.

Which was how you ended up wandering down to the beach, boots crunching against damp sand. The moon cast a silver sheen across the water, and sitting near the shoreline, sketchbook balanced on his knees, was Hiccup.

He didn’t notice you at first. Toothless was curled in the sand behind him, eyes half-lidded, his tailfin twitching lazily. Hiccup’s pencil moved in swift, precise strokes, head bent in concentration.

You tilted your head, curiosity sparking. “Do you ever stop drawing?”

Hiccup jumped slightly, then looked up, ears turning red. “Oh—hey. Didn’t hear you coming.”

You stepped closer, peering at the page. A dragon you didn’t recognize stretched across the parchment, elegant wings arched mid-dive.

“It’s… beautiful,” you admitted quietly.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Thanks. Just—helps me think, y’know?”

You sat down beside him, close enough for your knees to brush. He stiffened at the contact, then forced himself to relax, sketchbook shifting slightly so you could see better.

For a while, the only sounds were the waves and the soft scrape of pencil. You hugged your knees to your chest, watching the horizon glow faintly with starlight.

Then Hiccup spoke, voice low. “You know… if I’m not careful, I might just fall for you.”

This time, the words hung heavier in the air. Not a joke. Not rushed. Something quiet, deliberate.

You blinked, head tilting. “Fall… for me?”

“Yeah,” he said, meeting your eyes. His smile was small, nervous, but real. “That doesn’t sound so bad, does it?”

You opened your mouth, then shut it again, brain short-circuiting. Romance wasn’t your specialty. Sarcasm? Absolutely. Sharp observations? Always. But this? This was territory you hadn’t mapped.

So, naturally, you defaulted to the obvious.

“You’re sitting,” you said slowly. “Not falling. Again. You’d think the future chief of Berk would know how gravity works.”

Hiccup stared at you. Then groaned, dropping his face into his hands. “Unbelievable.”

“What?” you asked, baffled.

“Nothing,” he muttered into his palms, ears scarlet. Toothless let out a noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

And once again, you missed it entirely.

༻༺༻༺

It had been gnawing at him for days.

Hiccup Haddock had faced dragon hunters, giant sea serpents, and enough explosions in his workshop to last a lifetime. But nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to the sheer agony of trying to confess to you.

And watching you miss every single hint.

By the fifth day, even Toothless seemed fed up. The dragon huffed, nudging Hiccup not-so-gently in the back until he stumbled out of the forge and straight toward the cliffs, where you sat tossing pebbles into the sea.

You looked up as he approached. “Evening. You look like a man being bullied by his own dragon.”

“Because I am,” Hiccup muttered, shooting Toothless a glare. The Night Fury just blinked innocently and plopped down on the grass behind you.

Hiccup hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Then he took a deep breath and sat down beside you, close enough that your shoulders brushed.

You raised a brow. “Alright. What’s eating you?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly, then winced. “Okay, that’s a lie. It’s… something.”

You tilted your head, waiting.

Hiccup’s throat felt dry. He fiddled with the straps on his tunic, heart pounding. Come on. Just say it. Before you combust.

“I like you,” he blurted.

You blinked. “…Like me?”

“Yes! Like—like like you.” His words tumbled out in a rush. “All those times I said things, I wasn’t joking. I wasn’t talking about gravity, or distractions, or whatever else you thought I meant. I meant you. I might just fall for you because—I already have.”

The silence stretched. Your brain, scrambling, replayed every moment, the rescue midair, the workshop banter, the beach sketch. Every line you’d brushed off suddenly clicked into place like puzzle pieces you’d been too oblivious to see.

Your face went hot. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Hiccup echoed, voice cracking. “That’s all you’ve got?”

You snapped out of it, sputtering. “No! I mean—I just—why didn’t you say it like that before?”

“I did!” Hiccup groaned, running both hands down his face. “You just kept taking me literally!”

You bit your lip, torn between mortification and laughter. Then, softly: “You really… meant it?”

He lowered his hands, meeting your gaze with a small, almost shy smile. “Every word.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. The waves whispered below, Toothless watched smugly, and your heart hammered so loudly you swore he could hear it.

Finally, you exhaled, a crooked smile tugging at your lips. “Well… guess I might just fall for you too. So… get up.”

Hiccup blinked, startled, then laughed, the tension breaking. “That was terrible.”

“Yeah, but you’re smiling,” you shot back, nudging his shoulder with yours.

He was. And when his hand brushed yours, neither of you pulled away.

❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙

I just seen your prompt post and is it possible to request number nine for hiccup?

Maybe after a dragon hunter raid?

𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐇𝐢𝐜𝐜𝐮𝐩

During a dragon raid, a dragon hunter shoots an arrow at you and manages to hit you. Cue to a worried Hiccup who won’t leave your side.

𖣘~ I really need to make a minilist or whatever.

Mlist.

❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙

The smell of smoke still clung to the air when you landed. Your Monstrous Nightmare, flames still flickering faintly along his scales, lets out a low growl as his claws dug into the dirt. The edge of the island was scarred black, the grass singed from dragon hunter firetraps, and though the hunters were retreating back toward their ships, the damage they had left behind was obvious.

“[____]! Over here!” Hiccup’s voice cut through the chaos, hoarse but commanding as he dismounted Toothless. He was already pulling at a net strung around one of the trapped dragons, a poor Gronckle thrashing in panic. You didn’t hesitate; with a flick of your wrist, your Nightmare blasted a stream of fire across the ropes, burning them away.

The dragon bolted free, wings beating hard enough to knock you back a step. Hiccup steadied you by the arm before running forward again, his eyes scanning the mess of dragons, friends, and smoldering debris.

“Hunters won’t stay gone for long,” you said, mounting your dragon again, your tone clipped. You could still hear their ships groaning as they pulled away, but the sound wasn’t fading fast enough.

“I know.” Hiccup’s eyes narrowed, his jaw set. “We need to make sure everyone’s clear before they regroup.”

Your dragon huffed, curling flames licking across his scales again in agitation. He wanted to chase them make them pay for daring to set foot on Dragon’s Edge. And truthfully, so did you.

But then a cry rose over the din. Astrid, from near the base of the watchtower. “We need more hands over here! Stormfly’s caught in a trap!”

You didn’t think, you just kicked forward, your Nightmare surging toward the sound. The sight that met you made your stomach tighten. Stormfly was down, her wings pinned by weighted iron claws that pulsed with ugly red heat, the hunters’ newest trick. Every time she tried to move, the metal seared her scales.

Astrid was doing her best to pry the clamps off with an axe, but it wasn’t working.

“I’ve got it!” you shouted, sliding down from your dragon’s back. Heat blasted against your face as you coaxed your Nightmare forward. With a roar, he pressed his burning body against the iron, flames rolling down his scales. The metal hissed and groaned, the hunters’ cruel mechanism finally loosening.

Stormfly cried out once more before the clamps gave way entirely, falling into the dirt in a melted, twisted heap.

Astrid exhaled sharply, pulling Stormfly to her feet. “Thanks. You’re a lifesaver.”

You gave a curt nod, brushing the soot from your hands. But even as relief washed over you, the hairs on the back of your neck prickled.

Something was wrong.

From the treeline came a sharp whistle, the sound dragon hunters used to signal regrouping. And then, before you could shout a warning, an arrow zipped past your ear, burying itself in the ground beside you.

Your dragon roared in fury.

“Down!” Astrid shouted, yanking you aside as more arrows rained from the trees. You hit the ground hard, the breath punched from your lungs. For a split second, the world tilted, the chaos, the smoke, the shouting riders, and then you forced yourself back to your feet.

Hiccup’s voice cut through it all again, raw with urgency. “Fall back! Everyone, fall back to the Edge!”

You grabbed your Nightmare’s saddle, vaulting up just as the next volley of arrows came. But you weren’t fast enough.

A searing pain lanced across your side, so sharp and sudden that the cry stuck in your throat.

Your dragon leapt skyward, wings beating, carrying you out of range. The wind whipped past your face, the hunters’ shouts fading below. But the pain… the pain didn’t fade.

You pressed a hand against your side. When you pulled it back, your fingers were wet.

Your stomach dropped.

Through the haze, you heard Hiccup’s voice again, closer this time, urgent, breaking through your shock.

His green eyes locked on yours, wide with something you’d never seen so clear before: fear.

“Y-you’re bleeding!”

The words barely registered at first. The ringing in your ears drowned out everything except the steady rush of blood, and it wasn’t until Hiccup’s hands were suddenly on you, warm, firm, and trembling, that you realized how hard you were swaying in the saddle.

“I’m fine—” you tried to say, but your voice broke, thin and ragged.

“No, you’re not!” Hiccup cut you off, sharper than you’d ever heard him. Toothless hovered close, wings beating steady, while your Nightmare growled and shifted anxiously beneath you. Hiccup reached up toward you, his face tight with panic. “Get down. You’re hit. You can’t stay up there.”

You shook your head stubbornly. “We can’t—leave the others—”

“They’re fine!” His voice cracked, desperate. He pointed, just to prove it. Astrid was already regrouping with Fishlegs, the twins and Snotlout were circling to cover retreat, dragons were lifting skyward. “They’re fine. But you’re not.”

The pain in your side flared as if to underline his words, and suddenly you weren’t sure you could keep your grip on the saddle at all.

Hiccup didn’t wait. He grabbed the saddle horn with one hand, the other bracing against your leg as he guided Toothless closer. “Come on—easy now. I’ve got you.

You wanted to argue. You wanted to prove you could push through. But when your vision blurred, your body made the choice for you. You slumped forward.

The next thing you knew, strong arms were catching you. Hiccup hauled you against him, the leather of his armor rough against your cheek. For someone who always seemed awkward with touch, he was unshakably solid now, gripping you as if you might vanish if he let go.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured again, softer this time but no less fierce. “You’re safe. Just—just stay with me, okay?”

Your Nightmare shrieked in alarm, swooping in close, but Hiccup shouted over the wind. “Follow us back to the Edge! She’ll be okay—I swear!”

The dragon didn’t look convinced, but with one last snarl at Toothless, he fell into formation, his wings spreading wide.

༻༺༻༺

The flight back blurred. The only thing you were sure of was Hiccup’s heartbeat against your ear, hammering as fast as your own. He kept glancing down at you, his jaw tight, one hand pressed firm against your side in a makeshift attempt to slow the bleeding.

Every time you shifted, he hissed, “Don’t move. Please. Just hold on.”

His voice normally full of steady plans and clever solutions, was stripped down to raw pleading.

And for the first time since you’d joined the riders, you realized just how much you meant to him.

By the time Toothless landed back at Berk, the others were already rushing forward. Astrid was first. “What happened?!”

“She’s been hit!” Hiccup snapped, sliding down with you in his arms before she could reach you. “Arrow to the side—hunters got her. We need Gothi, now.”

Fishlegs paled, wringing his hands. “Oh Thor—”

“Don’t just stand there!” Hiccup barked, his voice cracking under the strain. “Move!”

That silenced everyone. Even Snotlout, usually so quick with a joke or jab, turned grim and darted off toward the healer’s hut.

Hiccup carried you through the chaos himself, refusing to hand you off even when Astrid offered. You tried to protest, weakly, but his arms only tightened.

“You’re not going anywhere except safe,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

You wanted to roll your eyes, maybe tease him for being overdramatic, but the pain was a fire in your ribs now, hot and unrelenting. Words came out broken. “You’re… bossy when you panic.”

That got a shaky laugh out of him, though his eyes still shone with worry. “Yeah? Well, you’re impossible when you’re bleeding out.”

You smiled faintly, and his expression wavered, caught somewhere between relief and devastation.

“Don’t,” he said softly, his forehead almost touching yours as he ducked his head. “Don’t act like this isn’t serious. I can’t—” His voice cracked again. “I can’t lose you.”

The words lingered in the air, raw and unpolished. And then he looked away quickly, jaw clenching, as if he regretted letting them slip.

Inside Gothi’s hut, Hiccup finally lowered you onto the bed of furs, his hands reluctant to leave you even for a second. He hovered, pacing, snapping instructions at the others until Astrid physically shoved him back.

“You’re no good to Gothi if you’re pacing holes in the floor,” she said firmly.

Hiccup opened his mouth to argue, but then he looked at you again, pale and weak but still managing to glare at him in stubborn defiance. And his shoulders slumped.

He sat down heavily at your side, his hand finding yours instinctively. His thumb brushed against your knuckles, and he held on like it was the only thing keeping him anchored.

“Stay awake,” he whispered fiercely, too low for the others to hear. “Just—don’t leave me.”

Your chest ached, but not only from the wound.

For the first time, you saw just how deep his feelings ran.

༻༺༻༺

Gothi moved with calm efficiency, as though the urgency in the room couldn’t touch her. She clicked her staff, gesturing for Astrid and Fishlegs to fetch water, clean cloth, and herbs.

Hiccup didn’t move.

He sat rigid at your side, one hand gripping yours, the other hovering near your wound as though sheer force of will could hold you together. His knee bounced rapidly, his lips pressed into a tight line.

“Hiccup,” Astrid said firmly as she set the water down. “Give her space.”

His head jerked up. “Space? She’s—she’s bleeding out, Astrid! I’m not going anywhere.”

Gothi whacked his shin with her staff. Not hard, but enough to make him snap out of his spiral for a breath. She gave him a pointed look, then pushed him back a step.

He clenched his jaw, but his hand never left yours.

The pain worsened when Gothi prodded at the wound. You bit back a cry, your body tense. Hiccup immediately leaned closer, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “Hey, hey—it’s okay. You’re okay.”

“Easy for you to say,” you ground out, your voice tight.

He let out a shaky laugh, though his eyes remained dark with worry. “Trust me, if I could take it instead, I would.”

You blinked at him, startled by the bluntness of the confession. For a moment, his eyes locked with yours, the air between you charged. But then Gothi drew out the arrowhead, and a hiss of pain dragged you back.

Hiccup flinched as if it were his own injury. “You’re okay,” he whispered again, over and over like a mantra. “You’re okay.”

The bleeding slowed once Gothi packed the wound with herbs. She wrapped the bandage tight, nodded once in approval, then turned and shuffled out, shaking her head in annoyance at Hiccup.

Astrid lingered just long enough to give you an assessing look. “You’ll live,” she said bluntly, though there was a hint of warmth in her eyes. “Don’t make me save your hide again.”

She left before you could answer, pulling Fishlegs with her. That left only Hiccup.

And silence.

You shifted slightly, wincing at the pull in your side. “You can let go now, you know.”

Hiccup blinked down at your hand, still clasped in his. He didn’t move. “I don’t want to.”

You raised a brow, managing a faint smirk despite the throbbing pain. “You really care too much, don’t you?”

His eyes snapped up to yours, wide, almost guilty, as if you’d caught him in the act of something forbidden. But then he exhaled, his shoulders slumping, and he gave a small, tired smile.

“Of course I care,” he said softly. “Do you really think I wouldn’t?”

The weight of his words hit harder than the arrow had. You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

Hiccup leaned closer, his voice low, raw. “When I saw that arrow hit you… I thought—” He stopped, swallowing hard. His hand tightened around yours. “I thought I was going to lose you. And that… that scared me more than anything the hunters could throw at us.”

For a boy who always seemed so good at hiding behind wit and plans, the vulnerability in his eyes was striking.

“You’re not going to lose me,” you whispered, your throat tight. “Not today.”

“Promise?” His voice cracked, the word nearly breaking.

You squeezed his hand, mustering a faint grin despite the pain. “Promise.”

Something in him eased, but only slightly. He brushed a bit of soot-streaked hair away from your face, his touch surprisingly gentle. His hand lingered, thumb tracing lightly along your temple.

For a moment, the world shrank down to just the two of you, the smoke outside, the others tending to dragons, even the ache in your ribs, all of it faded.

Just you. And Hiccup. And everything unsaid hanging heavy between you.

But before either of you could close that distance, your Nightmare shoved his head through the hut’s open door with a disgruntled growl. His eyes narrowed at Hiccup, his breath hot as he huffed in his face.

Hiccup startled back, coughing at the blast of smoke. “Okay, okay—I get it,” he muttered, throwing your dragon a sheepish look. “You don’t trust me with her.”

The Nightmare snorted in agreement, curling protectively beside your bed.

You laughed softly, then winced at the pull in your side. “Guess you’ll have to fight for my attention.”

Hiccup shot you a sideways glance, half exasperated, half fond. “Yeah, well… some things are worth fighting for.”

Your heart skipped at that.

༻༺༻༺

Night crept in slowly, shadows stretching long across the huts of the Berk. The raid had left the base scarred, but the fires were finally out, the dragons calmed, and the others asleep, or at least trying to be.

You, however, were wide awake. The pain in your side was a steady throb, but it wasn’t enough to keep you from noticing Hiccup, still seated right beside you. He hadn’t moved since Gothi finished treating you hours ago.

Toothless had curled up outside, keeping watch, but Hiccup remained like a stubborn sentinel, elbow on his knee, chin in his hand, eyes half-lidded but refusing to close.

“You’re going to pass out if you don’t sleep,” you murmured.

He startled, blinking at you. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” you countered softly. “You’ve been staring at me like I’ll vanish if you look away.”

His lips pressed together, but he didn’t deny it.

You reached for his hand again. This time, he didn’t hesitate, he let you take it, his fingers weaving through yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Why?” you asked quietly. “Why do you care this much?”

The question hung heavy in the air. Hiccup’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. He opened his mouth, closed it again, then finally let the words spill out.

“Because it’s you.” His voice was low, almost fragile. “Because every time we go up against the hunters, or face some new dragon we’ve never seen before, I’m not worried about myself. Or even Toothless. I’m worried about you. I can’t—” He broke off, shaking his head, his eyes burning with something you’d never seen directed so openly at you. “I can’t imagine losing you.”

Your breath caught. For a boy who built walls of plans, inventions, and leadership, the honesty in his voice was sharper than any blade.

“Hiccup…”

He leaned forward, his forehead resting lightly against yours. The contact was feather-light, careful, as though you might break if he pressed any harder.

“I thought I was too late,” he whispered. “When I saw the blood—I thought…” His voice cracked, and he squeezed your hand tighter. “I can’t lose you. Not now. Not ever.”

The tremor in his voice was enough to snap through your pain. You lifted your free hand—slow, shaky—and brushed your fingers against his jaw. His breath hitched, and for once, he didn’t pull away.

“You won’t,” you said firmly, your voice steadier than you felt. “You’re stuck with me, Hiccup Haddock.”

He laughed softly, broken, but real. And then his eyes flicked to your lips.

For a heartbeat, he hesitated. The weight of everything, the raid, the fear, the pain, hung between you. But when you tilted your head ever so slightly closer, that hesitation crumbled.

Hiccup kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed, or desperate, it was gentle, almost reverent, like he’d been holding onto the feeling for longer than he’d ever admit. His hand came up to cradle your face, thumb brushing softly against your cheek.

When he pulled back, his forehead pressed to yours again, his breath shaky. “I… I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”

Despite the ache in your ribs, you smiled. “Took you long enough.”

His laugh was quiet, but it lit his eyes in a way you’d never forget. He squeezed your hand once more, then settled beside you, his head resting lightly against yours.

“Get some rest,” he murmured. “I’ll be right here.”

And for once, you didn’t argue. You let your eyes close, the warmth of his presence steady beside you, your Nightmare’s soft rumble outside the hut.

also I am IN LOVE with how you write Hiccup!! I just got back into HTTYD and finding all of your fics gave me so much joy! (especially apothecary reader :]) <3

While out on an errand to get something from Trader Johann, you come across Hiccup, who noticed you and decides to talk. After that, he heads back to the Edge and debates whether to tell the others, while you finally finalize your escape plan.

𖣘~ This took longer than expected but it’s finished. I might turn this into a miniseries. Let me know what you think.

𝑴𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒍 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒍𝒍

❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙

The sea is calm, glassy under the early morning sun, when you steer Emberclash low over the waves. His wings cut the wind like knives, spray cools your face, and you can almost pretend this is just another supply run for the hunters. Almost.

You’ve got your plan tucked under your ribs like a second heartbeat now, but plans still need flour. Oil. Bandages. A few dried herbs Johann carries that can double as sedatives for dragons if you get creative. The market he usually anchors near is quiet this time of year, just a handful of ships trading and gossiping, but it’s far enough from Viggo’s main patrol routes that you should be in and out before anyone notices.

Emberclash lands on the narrow dock with a low growl. Johann doesn’t flinch; he’s used to the hunters and their dragons by now. He flashes you his merchant’s grin, gap-toothed and sharp with calculation.

“Well now, if it isn’t my favorite firestorm,” he says, voice oily-sweet. “Looking to spend some of Viggo’s hard-stolen coin?”

You give a tight smile, tossing him a pouch. “Supplies. The usual. And no chatter.”

Johann’s grin only widens. He likes secrets; he sells them for a living. But he knows better than to push you too far. He waddles off to fetch what you need, humming some off-key tune, while you stand with your arms crossed and eyes on the horizon.

That’s when Emberclash’s ears twitch. His body stiffens. A low rumble vibrates through your saddle.

“What is it?” you murmur, hand going to the hilt of your weapon. Then you see it, a dark shape slicing the sky, faster than anything but a whisper of legend. Black wings. A glint of prosthetic metal.

Toothless.

And Hiccup.

Your stomach flips. It’s been days since the kiss and the quiet, aching night under the stars. You told yourself you wouldn’t see him until you were ready to leave, until you had all your pieces lined up on the board. The universe clearly didn’t care about your timeline.

Toothless spots Emberclash first. The Night Fury hovers midair, ears flattening, warbling a low warning note. Emberclash snarls back, flame curling in his throat.

“Easy,” you hiss, even though your own pulse is hammering.

Hiccup reigns Toothless in just above the dock, hand flexing near Inferno. His hair is windswept, cheeks flushed from the flight, eyes bright and wary as they lock onto you.

“Of course it’s you,” he says, voice sharp but cracking around the edges. “The hunters couldn’t send anyone else to run errands?”

You smirk despite yourself, the mask sliding into place out of habit. “What, disappointed? You hoping for Viggo instead? We both know you’d be ash in a second.”

His jaw tightens. “I’m not here to fight.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” You gesture to his hand near his sword. “You always greet people like you’re about to duel them?”

“Only the ones who work for dragon hunters,” he shoots back.

The air between you hums. Emberclash and Toothless shift, muscles tight, but neither of you give the order to strike.

“What are you even doing here?” he asks after a beat, suspicion lacing his voice. “Johann’s market isn’t exactly hunter territory.”

“Maybe I wanted better prices,” you deflect, stepping closer without meaning to. He mirrors you unconsciously, the space between you shrinking with each barb traded. “Or maybe I just like the view.”

His brows lift. “Which view? The one where you hand over more dragons to Viggo, or the one where you pretend you’re not better than this?”

That hits a little too close to your midnight thoughts. You grit your teeth. “Careful, Haddock. You don’t know me.”

“I know enough.” His voice is low now, steady, like he’s aiming not at you but through you. “I know you didn’t kill me when you had the chance. I know you hate half the people you work for. And I know you kissed me back.”

Your face heats. Emberclash huffs as if he knows exactly what he’s talking about.

“That was… a mistake,” you lie.

“Funny,” Hiccup says, taking another step closer, his voice dropping. “Didn’t feel like one..”

For a moment, neither of you move. The dock creaks beneath you; the ocean laps at the posts. Johann is somewhere in the background muttering about dried eels, but the world has narrowed to the two of you and the almost electric pull between your bodies.

“You should leave,” you whisper, even as your fingers twitch toward him.

“You should come with me,” he answers, eyes burning into yours. “You don’t have to keep doing their dirty work. You know it. I know it. Whatever Viggo has on you, it’s not worth your soul.”

You swallow hard, memories of your plan flashing in your mind, the sabotage, the signals, the risks. He doesn’t know how close you already are to choosing him, choosing yourself.

“I can’t,” you say finally, voice cracking. “Not yet. But… I’m still thinking about it.”

His expression softens, just slightly. Like that’s enough for now.

“Then I’ll wait,” he says, and before you can stop yourself, you’re kissing him again. It’s quick, fierce, like you’re both stealing a moment from the universe. Toothless chuffs. Emberclash grumbles. And then you break apart, breathless.

Johann chooses that moment to come bumbling back with your supplies, eyes widening slightly at the sight of you both, though he wisely says nothing.

You grab the goods, climb onto Emberclash’s back. Hiccup doesn’t stop you, but his eyes follow you like gravity.

“Three sparks,” you murmur so only he can hear. His brow furrows, then his eyes widen with understanding.

And then you’re gone, skimming the waves, your heart hammering. The plan is still in motion. But now it’s no longer just for you.

༻༺༻༺

The wind has shifted by the time Hiccup and Toothless crest the cliffs of Dragon’s Edge. The salt air that usually smells like home now feels heavy, tinged with the memory of you, your smirk, your stubborn eyes, the way you kissed him back despite everything.

Toothless lands with a soft thud on the watchtower platform. Hiccup doesn’t move right away, just sits there in the saddle, staring out over the horizon.

“You’re quiet,” he mutters to Toothless, as if the Night Fury isn’t always quiet. Toothless snorts in response, nudging Hiccup with his head. It’s as if he’s saying: You’re the one thinking too much.

And he is.

He should tell them. Astrid, Snotlout, Fishlegs, the whole team deserves to know that he ran into one of Viggo’s scouts, that you’re still out there. But if he tells them the truth, that you kissed him, that he kissed you, he knows exactly how it’ll go.

Astrid will narrow her eyes and warn him he’s letting his feelings cloud his judgment. Snotlout will make some crude joke about “falling for the enemy.” Fishlegs will panic about what this means for their security. The twins will probably run their mouth about forbidden love or whatever. And they’ll all want to know why he didn’t bring you in when he had the chance.

He swings his leg off Toothless and drops to the platform, running a hand through his hair. His chest still feels tight, like there’s an ember trapped behind his ribs that won’t burn out.

“Come on, bud,” he says softly. “Let’s… just keep this between us for now.”

Toothless chirps, tilting his head. There’s no judgment there, just understanding.

By the time Hiccup walks into the clubhouse, the others are already there. Astrid leans against the table, arms crossed, Snotlout is arguing with the twins over who broke a saddle strap, and Fishlegs is buried in a map of supply routes. The twins were nowhere to be found, but probably gathering the boars for their boar pit. They all look up when Hiccup enters.

“Back already?” Astrid asks. “You find everything?”

Hiccup hesitates a fraction of a second before nodding. “Yeah. Got what we needed from the southern market. No problems.”

The lie sits like a stone in his stomach, but he pushes on. “How’s everything here?”

Astrid studies him with that sharp look that makes him feel like she can see right through him, but she doesn’t press. Not yet.

As the others chatter about repairs and patrol schedules, Hiccup only half-listens. His mind drifts back to the dock. The way you said three sparks like it meant something. The way you looked at him, torn and defiant all at once.

He tells himself he’s not hiding it because he’s ashamed. He’s hiding it because this isn’t just about him, it’s about you. And you’re already risking enough.

Later that night, when the Edge is quiet and the moon hangs silver over the water, Hiccup stands alone on the cliff’s edge. Toothless sits nearby, tail flicking.

“She’s thinking about it,” Hiccup murmurs into the night. “She wants out, I know she does. She just… she needs time.”

Toothless warbles low, almost like he agrees.

Hiccup stares out at the horizon where the ocean meets the stars. Somewhere out there, you’re looking at the same sky. And for now, that’s enough.

But not for long.

༻༺༻༺

By the time Emberclash glides over the treeline and the flicker of campfires appears below, your heart is pounding for reasons that have nothing to do with the flight. You’d told Hiccup you’d think about it. That was all. No promises. No commitments. But as the wind tore past your face on the way back, you couldn’t stop replaying his words in your head.

“You don’t have to stay with them. You could come with me. You deserve better.”

Your stomach knots as Emberclash lands with a low rumble. The guards at the perimeter nod at you. You give them the same easy smirk you always do, like you haven’t been thinking about betraying everything you’ve ever known.

Inside the camp, the air smells of smoke and oil, the usual crackle of metal being sharpened somewhere nearby. You make your way to your tent, giving Emberclash a reassuring pat. His sharp eyes follow you, almost like he knows what you’re feeling. Dragons notice more than most people give them credit for.

You drop onto your bedroll, staring at the worn canvas ceiling. If you left… what would happen?

Viggo would send hunters after you. No question.

You’d have to watch your back every second, not just for yourself, but for Emberclash.

They might even target the Edge if they found out where you’d gone.

The risks feel endless, and yet… there’s that ember in your chest again, the same one that flared to life when Hiccup kissed you. A warmth you’ve never felt here.

Your fingers curl into the blanket. You need a plan. A real one.

First, you’d need to gather information without drawing suspicion. Supply routes, patrol rotations, Viggo’s movements. Second, you’d need to make sure Emberclash could fly far and fast enough without rest. And third… you’d have to decide when. The moment you make the choice, there’s no undoing it.

You glance out the slit of your tent at the star-speckled sky. Somewhere out there, Hiccup’s looking at the same stars. Waiting.

A quiet, almost dangerous thought blooms in your chest: Maybe you want him to.

“Not yet,” you whisper to yourself. “But soon.”

Emberclash rumbles softly from outside, as if he understands. And for the first time since you joined the hunters, you feel something strange.

Hope.

༻༺༻༺

Morning comes cold, the kind that seeps through the canvas and stiffens your fingers. You rise before most of the camp stirs, an old habit of scouting routes before others wake. No one questions it; it’s what you’ve always done. This time, though, there’s another layer to it.

You grab your boots and step outside. Emberclash lifts his head from where he’s curled, golden eyes sharp and awake. He watches you as you reach into his saddlebag. Instead of just your usual gear, you quietly slide a half-full waterskin and a pouch of dried fish jerky into the bottom of the bag. Small. Inconspicuous. Enough for a day or two, enough for an emergency flight.

The first piece of your plan.

As the camp wakes, you wander toward the supply tent with your usual swagger, tossing a casual smile at one of Viggo’s lieutenants. “Need some rope for Emberclash’s harness, again. He’s been restless.”

The man grunts, distracted, and waves you in. Inside the tent, your eyes flick quickly over the inventory. Extra flint. Bandages. A small vial of oil. You slip a couple of each into your belt pouch, making a note of how much you’ve taken. Nothing big. Nothing that would raise alarms if they’re even noticed at all.

On your way out, you notice Viggo across the camp, standing with Ryker. Their voices are low, but you catch snippets: “Eastern patrol… doubled guard rotation… Edge activity increasing.”

You pause to adjust your glove, feigning distraction, while your mind commits every word to memory.

Eastern patrol. Doubled guards.

You’ll need to chart which nights they pull extra watch.

Over the next several days, you perfect the art of invisibility.

At meals, you sit where you always sit, laugh when you’re expected to, even bicker with a fellow hunter to keep your image intact. At night, when everyone sleeps, you slip out under the cover of Emberclash’s shadow. You practice low, silent takeoffs, flying short loops beyond camp and back, gauging how far he can go before his breathing deepens with fatigue.

Each flight is a test. Each stolen glance at Viggo’s maps when no one’s looking is another puzzle piece. You mark mental notes of supply ships that come in, the timing of Trader Johann’s visits, even which hunters drink themselves unconscious fastest on cold nights.

Emberclash seems to understand. He’s quieter with you now, more watchful. He moves when you move, and when you whisper your secret thoughts into his ear, he rumbles like he’s promising he’ll follow you anywhere.

Still, there are nights when you lie awake staring at the tent roof, questioning everything.

What if Hiccup was wrong? What if you’re walking into a trap? What if Viggo finds out?

The fear is there, yes. But so is the memory of his voice, soft and steady: “You don’t have to stay with them. You deserve better.”

So I’ve been having writer’s block recently so I made this for you guys to do request from these prompts and whatnot.

: "n-no! I'm not scared."

“I knew you'd be here."

“why do you hang out with me?"

“Are you tired already?"

“I'm worried about you."

“let's do it together!"

“just trust me."

“You deserve better."

“Y-you're bleeding!"

“why are you awake?" "I could ask you the same thing."

"Are you upset with me?"

"no- I wann hear about it!"

"so... Friends?"

"take it back."

"Do you want my jacket?"

"you don't need to do this." "I want to."

"You look great."

"I see you've found my shirt *laugh*"

"No. You're sick!"

"There's about to be a storm."

"here, you can wear mine."

"what are you looking at, hmmmm?"

"this isn't your fault, i promise."

"I might just fall for you" "get up"

"wait, dont go yet... please"

"I mean... I like you a lot"

"oh, god. I'm so sorry-" "No. I liked it."

“Who did this to you..?”

"holy shit I thought you died! never do that to me again!"

"Is there a reason you're blushing like that?"

"I can't keep letting you do that"

"n-no! It's not like that" "your face is bright red, dumbass.

"C'mon! give me a chance at least!"

"Did I interupt something?"

"don't ever let me hear you say that again!"

"Don't lie."

"your hair is really soft"

"I'm just happy to see you again."

"It's alright, I don't want to hassle you."

"Here! we can share!"

"Sorry for showing up like this." "*sigh* come in."

"I knew you'd be here."

"did I fall asleep on you?"

"do you think they feel the same?"

"can i kiss you?"

"come on, smile."

"Rain rain go away..."

“Who else would I do this for?"

"Flowers?"

“How about a bet?”

Where is my kiss?”

❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙

One moment you’re looking for poisonous plants, the next everything goes into darkness. Turns out you’re got kidnapped by the dragon hunters, who caught wind of your ability to create poisons and all that. Obviously, you try to buy yourself time by stalling the progress making a poison for dragons. Unknowingly also buying time for some dragons riders…

𖣘~ this is long overdue😭😭 anyways here you have it🙂‍↔️

𖣘~ Apothecary!reader

Mlist.

❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙

The tide pools at the edge of the cliffs steamed faintly in the afternoon light, salt crystals glittering along their edges. You crouched low, careful to scoop the thin sheet of iridescent algae with a shell instead of your hands. The stuff was mildly caustic when fresh, irritating the skin, hardly lethal, but irritating enough to keep your curiosity piqued.

Another jar snapped shut, and you tucked it into the basket slung across your shoulder. To anyone else, these pools were useless. To you, they were libraries.

“Concentrated, you make a dragon sneeze itself into helplessness,” you muttered under your breath, jotting a quick note in your field book. “Diluted with a touch of bitterwort, you’ll clear congestion in humans. Funny, that. Equal opportunity ingredients.”

The scratch of your quill stopped when a pebble rolled somewhere behind you.

You stilled, fingers tightening on the basket’s strap. Tide Glider shifted restlessly in the surf below, head lifting with a low, warning trill.

That was answer enough. You were not alone.

“Step away from the pools,” a gruff voice barked. “Hands where I can see them.”

You turned slowly, eyes narrowing. Dragon Hunters. Six of them. Two with crossbows leveled, the others with swords half drawn. Their armor stank of tar and smoke, their expressions hard with the confidence of men who thought numbers guaranteed success.

Internally, you sighed. Externally, you arched a brow. “Really? All this for one apothecary? I’m flattered.”

“Don’t move,” the leader snapped. His beard was streaked with grey, his teeth yellowed. He looked like the kind of man who confused cruelty with intelligence. “We know who you are. What you know.”

“Oh?” you drawled, shutting your field book with deliberate calm. “Do enlighten me. Sometimes I forget myself.”

“You make poisons,” he growled. “Poisons that work. Our master has plans for you. You’ll be coming with us.”

You tilted your head, feigning thoughtfulness. “And if I say no?”

One of the hunters grinned, cruel and expectant, while another kicked the sack he dragged behind him. The faint, muffled whine that escaped told you everything. A dragon, hatchling-sized, terrified, caged inside.

Your stomach clenched, but you kept your face neutral. “Ah. The persuasion method.”

“Smart girl,” the leader sneered. “Now move.”

༻༺ ༻༺

They bound your wrists, rough rope cutting skin, and shoved you toward the waiting ship. Tide Glider hissed, thrashing the water to froth, but a net weighted with iron spikes was thrown before she could rise from the waves. Her scream of frustration echoed as the ship pulled you away.

You forced yourself to breathe slowly, logically. Panic wasted energy. You needed clarity.

Observation one: Their knots were sloppy. Any decent knife could cut them.

Observation two: They stank of smoke and oil, they’d been burning something recently. Possibly bodies, possibly tar pits.

Observation three: They thought they were clever. They were not.

The moment they dragged you below deck, into a cramped hold stinking of rot and stale water, you catalogued everything, the number of steps, the position of the door hinges, the way the guard leaned too heavily on his left leg.

You sat, legs tucked under you, and smiled faintly to yourself.

“Yes,” you murmured. “This will be interesting.”

༻༺ ༻༺

By nightfall, you were marched into a makeshift “lab.” Wooden tables sagged beneath piles of herbs, powders, and jars, all scavenged, none stored properly. Half the plants were already molding. Someone had clearly tried their hand at mixing, given the array of foul-smelling brews littering the shelves, but their incompetence was obvious.

You wrinkled your nose. “This is… insulting.”

“Make it work,” the leader barked, shoving you toward the table. “You’ll give us something that can bring down the big ones. Skrill. Monstrous Nightmare. That damn Night Fury.”

Your eyes flicked up sharply. Night Fury. So they wanted weapons for the Riders’ dragons.

You smirked, ignoring the cold knot of unease twisting your gut. “Do you want me to brew you poison, or are you asking me to perform miracles?”

The leader slammed his hand on the table. “Don’t test me, girl.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” you said sweetly. Then you picked up a jar of dried leaves, turning it in your fingers. “Although, if you’re planning to poison a dragon with this, you’d be better off seasoning your stew. At least it would taste better going down.”

The guard snorted before catching himself. The leader glared. “Enough talk. Work.”

So you did, or at least, you appeared to.

You ground herbs, measured powders, and let your hands move with precise familiarity. What they didn’t notice was that you were deliberately selecting the wrong concentrations, the wrong combinations. Enough to look convincing, not enough to harm anything larger than a flea.

When they forced you to write instructions, you scribbled in your usual shorthand, effective for you, useless to anyone else.

And all the while, you made mental notes.

Field Notes — Captivity

Dragon Hunters possess neither basic botany skills nor the ability to tell parsley from deathwort. Tragic.

Their “lab” is a breeding ground for mold. Recommend burning the entire establishment before it develops a sentient fungus.

They want a weapon for dragons. Will stall as long as possible. Experimenting with harmless formulas disguised as dangerous.

Secondary plan: create something volatile. Smoke. Distraction. Escape.

You glanced up, catching one of the guards watching you. His brow furrowed, clearly suspicious of the faint smile playing on your lips.

“Problem?” you asked, tone sweet.

He scowled and turned away.

You went back to work, heart steady, mind calculating.

If you were going to survive this, it would be on your terms.

༻༺༻༺

Heather landed hard on Dragon’s Edge, kicking up sand and gravel. The Riders gathered immediately, Astrid and Snotlout rushing in first, Tuffnut and Ruffnut tumbling after, Fishlegs stumbling with his notebook already half open.

The way Heather’s expression hardened as she dismounted told them this wasn’t a friendly visit.

Hiccup pushed forward. “Heather? What happened?”

Heather’s jaw worked, as if she were chewing the words before spitting them out. “The Dragon Hunters have someone. They… they’re trying to use her.”

Astrid’s eyes narrowed. “Use her how?”

Heather’s voice dropped. “She’s an apothecary. Knows everything about plants, poisons, remedies. They’re forcing her to make something to take down dragons. Something powerful.”

The air around the group seemed to snap taut. Even Ruffnut, who had been in the middle of braiding Tuffnut’s beard, froze.

Fishlegs sputtered, “W-wait, so they’re planning to use… what? Poisons? On dragons?!”

Heather nodded grimly. “That’s the plan.”

Snotlout crossed his arms. “And what? We’re supposed to care because—”

“She didn’t choose this,” Heather cut him off sharply. “They took her. She’s their prisoner. And if they get what they want, it could mean the end of every dragon we’ve sworn to protect. Including Hookfang.”

Snotlout’s jaw snapped shut.

Hiccup rubbed a hand over his face, processing. “Okay. Where are they keeping her?”

Heather exhaled slowly. “Outpost east of a deserted island. Hidden cove, cliffs on all sides. The ship that took her docked there last night. I only overheard bits before I had to leave, but… she’s not just any apothecary. From what I’ve gathered, she’s brilliant. Too brilliant. If they break her…”

“They won’t,” Hiccup said firmly, though a chill crept down his spine. “We won’t let them.”

Astrid’s hand found his shoulder, steadying. “What’s the plan?”

༻༺༻༻

They crowded around the map table inside the Edge’s clubhouse. Hiccup spread a fresh sheet of parchment, sketching quickly as Heather described the outpost: guard towers carved into the cliffs, ships anchored in a crescent bay, narrow paths winding to a central compound.

“They’re keeping her in here,” Heather pointed, tapping the sketched square at the center. “Heavy guard, but not impossible.”

Hiccup nodded, mind already racing. “We’ll need distraction. Something to pull their focus off the main compound while the rest of us get her out.”

“Explosion?” Tuffnut suggested brightly.

“Fires?” Ruffnut added hopefully.

“Dragons,” Astrid corrected. “Target the towers. Knock out their line of sight.”

Fishlegs frowned. “But if they realize what we’re after, they might…” He trailed off, shivering.

“They won’t,” Hiccup said quickly, sharper than he intended. He cleared his throat, softer this time. “They won’t. We’re in and out before they know what we’re doing. No risks to her.”

Heather’s gaze flicked to him. “You don’t even know her, Hiccup.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he shot back. His fingers curled tightly around the charcoal in his hand, smudging the map. “She’s not just some stranger. She’s the key to their plans. If Viggo gets his hands on someone with her knowledge…” His voice faltered. “We can’t afford to lose her.”

Astrid studied him quietly but said nothing.

Snotlout finally spoke, voice gruff. “Fine. What’s my part in all this?”

Hiccup glanced at him. “You, Fishlegs, and the twins will handle distraction. Fire, noise, chaos. Keep them looking at the cliffs, not the compound.”

“And us?” Astrid asked.

“You, me, Heather. We’ll go inside, find her, and get her out.”

“Alive,” Heather added, tone firm.

Hiccup nodded once. “Alive.”

༻༺༻༻

Later that night, Hiccup stood outside the stables, brushing soot off Toothless’ saddle. His chest ached with the weight of the plan, heavier than usual. Normally, he’d thrive in the challenge, but this was different.

He didn’t even know you. Not your name. Not your face. Only that you were out there, alone, surrounded by men who saw you as a tool instead of a person. And if they succeeded… dragons everywhere would suffer.

But it wasn’t just about the dragons.

He didn’t like to admit that part.

Astrid’s voice cut into his thoughts. “You’re awfully quiet for someone about to charge into a Hunter base.”

He looked up. She leaned against Stormfly, arms crossed.

“Just… thinking,” he muttered.

“About her.”

Hiccup froze, then tried for casual. “About the mission.”

Astrid smirked faintly. “If you say so. Just remember, you can’t save everyone. You’ll drive yourself mad if you try.”

He met her gaze, stubborn fire sparking in his chest. “Maybe. But I can try.”

Astrid studied him another long moment, then nodded once, satisfied. “Alright then. Let’s go save her.”

༻༺༻༻

The Dragon Hunters smelled like rancid fish oil, sweat, and poor life choices. You sat cross-legged in the corner of their makeshift “laboratory,” which in truth was just a damp hut with a table, a mortar and pestle stolen from some poor trader, and bundles of herbs hung upside-down with rope.

Your hands were bound, but loosely. They needed you. That was their mistake.

The leader, a scarred brute with a voice like gravel, shoved a crate toward you. “Make us something that’ll bring a dragon down. Quick. Boss wants results.”

You raised a brow, unimpressed. “Oh, of course. Just whip up dragon-killing elixirs in a rusty pot over a fire pit. Because that’s how science works.”

The man scowled. “Don’t get smart with me.”

“Too late.”

Still, you leaned over the crate, examining the contents. Fire Fern. Widow’s Root. Badly dried Nightshade that any apprentice worth their salt would’ve discarded weeks ago. You sighed, long and loud.

“If this is your idea of raw materials, I can see why you kidnap people instead of running a respectable business.”

The brute growled, but you were already working. Grinding leaves, mixing powders — but with small, deliberate errors. A ratio off here, a little too much dilution there. Enough to waste their time without being obvious.

Field Notes: Captivity, Day One

Hunters ignorant of basic botany. Asked if Nightshade is “the spicy one.”

Current mix: harmless irritant. Will sting if rubbed in eyes, not lethal.

Testing escape possibilities: rope knots sloppy. Guard rotation every four hours.

Have hidden splinter of flint in sleeve. Possible fire opportunity.

Side note: If I die here, it won’t be from plague or poison. It’ll be from secondhand embarrassment at their incompetence.

By the second day, they grew impatient. They dragged in a cage, a terrified Deadly Nadder, its fight nearly all gone. Your stomach twisted.

“Test it,” the brute ordered.

You swallowed your disgust, forcing a bored expression. “If you want results, I’ll need more time.”

He shoved the cage closer. “Now.”

Your fingers itched to act, to smash the concoction, to hurl the burning mixture into their faces. But you forced yourself still. Too many eyes. Too many blades. The Nadder’s gaze flicked to you, frantic, pleading.

“Fine,” you muttered. You smeared a dab of the mixture onto a rag and waved it near the dragon’s nose. The Deadly Nadder sneezed violently, scales starting to irritate, but otherwise remained unharmed.

The Hunter grumbled. “That’s it?!”

“Congratulations. You’ve just discovered the world’s first dragon cold remedy.”

They roared in anger, one striking the table hard enough to scatter herbs across the floor. You hid a smile behind your sleeve.

༻༺༻༺

Night brought a thin blanket and nothing else. The outpost stank of tar and salt. Chains clinked outside as Hunters moved barrels, and you counted footsteps, memorized the rhythm of the guards’ patrol.

Every detail was a puzzle piece. Every mistake they made, your splinter of flint, their loose knots, the half-rotted wood of the door went into your growing ledger of “ways to survive this mess.”

But you also knew patience was key. One wrong move, and they’d force your hand with the Deadly Nadder again.

༻༺༻༺

By the third day, exhaustion gnawed at you. You’d feigned enough incompetence to buy time, but they were growing restless. The brute loomed over you as you ground herbs, spit flying as he snarled, “You give us results today, or we’ll find new ways to motivate you.”

You kept your face blank, even as your stomach tightened. “Motivation. Right. Does that involve another stirring lecture about how I’m wasting your time? Because I assure you, I’m very motivated already.”

He grabbed your arm, yanking you close enough that his breath made your eyes water. “Careful, girl.”

You smiled sweetly. “Careful is my middle name. Right after Sarcastic.”

He shoved you back with a curse.

༻༺༻༺

What you didn’t know was that outside, above the cliffs, the Riders were already in the air. Heather’s Stormcutter circled wide. Astrid and Stormfly clung to the shadows of the ridge. And Hiccup, perched low against Toothless, watched the flicker of torchlight in the compound below.

The distraction would start soon. And for the first time in days, you weren’t going to be the only clever one in the room.

༻༺༻༺

The night smelled of smoke before you saw the fire.

One moment you were grinding herbs under the watchful eyes of two guards, the next a deafening whoosh rattled the rafters. Flames flared along the watchtower outside, painting the compound in stark orange light.

Shouts rang out.

“Fire!”

“Dragons—!”

“Get to the cliffs!”

The guards bolted, leaving you alone with your half-finished mixture. You arched a brow. “Subtle.”

You rose, tugging experimentally at your bonds. Loose. Finally. But before you could work the knots free, the door splintered with a violent kick. A blur of black and green stormed inside, followed by a boy, no, a young man, lean and sharp-eyed, sword raised.

“Stay back!” he barked, scanning the hut. His gaze locked on you. “Are you—”

“I hope you’re here to rescue me,” you cut in, unimpressed. “Because if you’re another one of theirs, I’m going to be very disappointed.”

He blinked, caught off guard by your tone. “Uh… yeah. Rescue. Definitely rescue.”

“Good,” you said crisply. “Untie me.”

He hesitated just long enough for you to notice the way his eyes flicked to your wrists, then back to your face. Suspicious, but not unkind. “You’re the apothecary?”

“And you’re wasting time.” You thrust your bound hands toward him.

That snapped him back into motion. He slashed the rope with a quick motion. “Name’s Hiccup.”

You flexed your wrists, smirking despite the situation. “Figures.”

Before he could ask what that meant, a roar shook the compound. The Deadly Nadder’s cage had been overturned in the chaos, and the dragon shrieked in fear. Hiccup’s eyes darted to the door.

“They’ll use it as bait,” you said immediately, reading his mind. “That’s what I was for.”

Hiccup’s jaw tightened. “Not anymore. Come on.”

༻༺༻༺

Outside, chaos reigned. The twins had apparently gone for “maximum distraction,” because one tower was already collapsed and smoke billowed from a burning ship. Astrid and Heather cut through Hunters like a storm, Stormfly’s spines whistling overhead.

Hiccup led the way, staying low, his dragon—Toothless, you realized, moving like a shadow at his side. You trailed close, your analytical brain cataloguing every detail. His prosthetic leg. The easy trust between boy and dragon. The way he moved like he’d done this a hundred times before.

He glanced back. “You keeping up?”

“Better than you think.”

A Hunter lunged from the smoke. You reacted before Hiccup did, snatching a vial from your sleeve, smashing it at the man’s feet. A sharp burst of powder erupted. He staggered back, coughing violently, eyes watering.

Hiccup stared. “What was that?”

“Improvised irritant.” You smirked. “Also known as don’t-breathe-this.”

For a second, even in the middle of a burning compound, his lips twitched like he wanted to smile. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

“Smart boy.”

༻༺༻༺

You reached the dragon’s cage together. The dragon thrashed, panicked, as Hunters tried to force a net over its wings.

Hiccup didn’t hesitate. “Toothless, plasma blast!”

Blue fire lit the night, shredding the net. The Hobblegrunt screeched, scattering Hunters before bolting skyward, scales flashing frantic relief.

The Hunters cursed, regrouping. “Get them! Don’t let the girl escape!”

You rolled your eyes. “Original.”

Hiccup grabbed your arm, pulling you toward Toothless. “Time to go!”

You resisted just long enough to quip, “First date and already grabbing me? Bold.”

He flushed crimson. “Not—! Just—get on the dragon!”

“Fine, fine.” You vaulted onto Toothless’ saddle with more grace than he expected. The Night Fury shot into the air just as more arrows whistled past. Astrid and Heather rose from the smoke to join, flanking you as the outpost shrank below, swallowed by chaos.

༻༺༻༺

The flight was dizzying. Wind tore at your hair, salt and smoke sharp in your nose. You clung instinctively, though not nearly as tightly as Hiccup probably expected.

“Ever flown before?” he shouted over the wind.

“Not on purpose!” you yelled back.

He glanced at you, startled by your flippancy even now. Then his expression softened, just slightly. “You’re safe now.”

You raised a brow. “Safe, while riding the unholy offspring of lightning and death itself?”

He blinked. Then he laughed, a quick, surprised sound, almost disbelieving. “You’re… something else.”

“Flattery won’t get you better medicine, boy.”

But you smiled despite yourself.

༻༺༻༺

By the time you reached the Edge, your adrenaline had worn off, leaving only exhaustion and the faint sting of rope burns. The Riders swarmed the landing platform, shouting over each other.

“Who is she?”

“She doesn’t look dangerous.”

“Did you see that vial thing she threw—”

“Can we keep her?” (That was Tuffnut. Of course.)

Hiccup dismounted, offering you a steadying hand. “Let’s get you inside. You’ve been through enough.”

You took it, grip firm. “Lead the way… future dhief.”

He froze, eyes snapping to yours. You smirked. “Yes, I know who you are. What kind of prisoner doesn’t listen when her captors rant about their favorite enemies?”

He huffed, shaking his head as he guided you toward the clubhouse. “Great. So you’re sarcastic, dangerous, and too observant for your own good.”

“Exactly.”

And for the first time in days, you felt like you might finally be in the right hands.

༻༺༻༺

The clubhouse on Dragon’s Edge smelled of smoke, fish, and faint dragon musk. A half-circle of Riders surrounded you as you perched at the edge of the map table, arms crossed, chin tilted high.

“So,” Snotlout began, leaning across the table, “we risked our lives, stormed a Hunter base, set fire to at least three ships… all for her?”

Astrid smacked his arm. “She was their prisoner, Snotlout.”

“Yeah, but look at her!” he argued. “She doesn’t even look grateful.”

You raised a brow. “Oh, forgive me for not swooning at your feet. Thank you ever so much, great and noble warriors, for gracing me with your presence. Better?”

Ruffnut snorted. “I like her.”

“Can we keep her?” Tuffnut chimed in immediately.

Fishlegs pushed his glasses up his nose, peering at you with a nervous kind of fascination. “Actually, if what Heather says is true, then her knowledge could be… invaluable. Herbs, poisons, antidotes… She might even be able to document medicinal plants we haven’t even catalogued yet—”

“Excuse me,” you interrupted. “I’m right here.”

He flushed crimson. “S-sorry!”

Heather, leaning against the wall, spoke for the first time since landing. “She’s dangerous in the wrong hands. That’s exactly why Viggo wanted her. We can’t just let her walk away.”

The room went still.

You narrowed your eyes. “So what, I’m just supposed to trade one set of captors for another?”

Hiccup, who’d been unusually quiet, finally stepped forward. His gaze locked on yours, calm but steady. “That’s not what this is. You’re not a prisoner here. But if you leave… Viggo will find you again. And next time, we might not get there in time.”

Your jaw tightened. “So your solution is what? Keep me here, under guard?”

“No,” he said firmly. “My solution is to give you a choice.”

That caught you off guard.

“You can leave,” he continued, “and risk being taken again. Or you can stay here, with us. Use your knowledge to fight back, not for them.”

You studied him carefully. He meant it. He wasn’t offering with conditions, wasn’t pretending it wasn’t dangerous. But there was something in his eyes, an unshakable conviction that you deserved more than being used as a weapon.

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. So you defaulted to sarcasm. “You really know how to make a sales pitch. Ever thought of trading instead of dragon riding?”

Astrid groaned under her breath.

Hiccup’s lips twitched. “I’ll take that as a maybe.”

༻༺ ༻༺

Later, they insisted on introducing you to the dragons. You followed, skeptical but curious, your sharp eyes darting over every detail.

Stormfly ruffled her feathers proudly. “Deadly Nadder,” Astrid explained.

“Colorful. Spiky. Poor sense of personal space.” You crouched low, watching Stormfly cock her head at you with a curious warble. “If her spikes weren’t pointy, I’d say she’s ornamental.”

Astrid bristled. “She’s deadly.”

“I did say Deadly Nadder, didn’t I?” you deadpanned.

Hookfang strutted up next, Snotlout puffing his chest. “Meet Hookfang, the most fearsome Monstrous Nightmare in existence.”

You squinted at the dragon. “Mild scale flaking. Poor diet. He’s compensating with aggression.”

Snotlout’s jaw dropped. “What—he’s not—Hookfang, show her your fire blast!”

Hookfang belched a column of flame that singed the nearby shrubbery. You raised a brow. “Yes. Very impressive. Perhaps get him some seaweed for the skin condition.”

The twins shoved Barf and Belch in your face next. “Our baby!”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Two heads, one brain cell. Perfect match for you two.”

They gasped in delight. “She gets us!”

Fishlegs brought up Meatlug, who promptly slobbered on your sleeve. “Grónckle saliva,” you observed aloud. “Mildly corrosive. Potential as a cleaning agent if distilled properly.”

Fishlegs blinked. “I… never thought of that.”

Finally, Toothless padded forward, sleek and silent, green eyes glowing in the torchlight.

Your sarcasm faltered. Just for a moment.

“Night Fury,” you breathed, analytical tone softening. “The unholy offspring of lightning and death itself. Last one it’s kind and also an oversized feline.”

Hiccup tilted his head at you. “That’s… oddly specific.”

You recovered quickly, arching a brow. “Did I stutter?”

Toothless sniffed at your hand, then nudged it gently, surprisingly warm for a creature with so much legend draped across his wings. You hesitated, then rested your palm against his snout.

He purred.

Something in your chest shifted. Just slightly.

༻༺ ༻༺

That night, you were given a small hut, clean, quiet, overlooking the sea. You sat at the desk, scratching observations into a fresh sheet of parchment.

Field Notes: Dragon’s Edge, Day One

Captors now include motley band of teenagers and assorted dragons. Competency questionable.

Hiccup (the Chief’s son) suspiciously persuasive. Should investigate further.

Night Fury = fascinating. Possible link between plasma blasts and chemical combustion of unknown compound. Requires more data.

Side note: Not a prisoner. Not quite free, either. But for the first time in a while… not entirely alone. Uncertain if this is progress or a mistake.

༻༺ ༻༺

Outside, Hiccup lingered by the door, unsure why he hadn’t gone to bed yet. He could still hear the scratch of your quill, steady, relentless.

Astrid found him there, arms crossed. “You’re not seriously thinking of keeping her here, are you?”

“She deserves better than being used,” he said quietly.

Astrid’s eyes softened, though she sighed. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“So do I,” he admitted.

But when he thought of the way you’d looked at Toothless, sharp mind giving way to awe, he knew one thing for certain.

He wasn’t letting you go.

❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙❧☙

Bᴏɴᴜs:

The Riders noticed it gradually.

At first, they assumed you were just restless, always vanishing down the cliffs, always back before dark, always scribbling notes after. But after three days, the pattern became impossible to ignore.

“She’s always at the shore,” Snotlout muttered, spying from the clubhouse window. “Always. What’s she doing down there? Skipping rocks? Talking to herself?”

“She could be gathering plants,” Fishlegs suggested. “There are a lot of rare seaweeds and shell-based compounds you can only harvest at low tide.”

Tuffnut leaned in, eyes wide. “Or maybe she’s meeting her secret lover who’s actually a selkie!”

Ruffnut gasped. “That explains her hair always smelling like salt water!”

Astrid groaned. “Or more realistically, she’s hiding something.” Her gaze cut to Hiccup, sharp. “Have you asked her?”

Hiccup rubbed the back of his neck. “I was… going to. Just wanted to give her space first.”

“Space?” Snotlout barked. “She’s probably planning to poison us all and sell our dragons to Viggo!”

“Or…” Hiccup shot him a look, “she’s just more complicated than you give her credit for.”

Astrid folded her arms. “Then let’s find out.”

༻༺༻༺

That afternoon, you sat cross-legged on the rocks near the waterline, the tide lapping close enough to dampen your boots. You weren’t writing this time. Instead, your hand skimmed idly over the waves, murmuring something low and soft that the Riders couldn’t hear as they crept closer through the brush.

Then the water shifted.

A sleek, iridescent shape rose from beneath the surf, long wings glinting with a rainbow shimmer. A dragon, slender, fluid, beautiful, eased its head above the surface and pressed it gently against your shoulder.

A Tide Glider.

The Riders froze.

You smiled faintly, scratching the dragon’s jaw in a practiced rhythm. “Nereid,” you murmured, voice carrying just enough for them to hear now. “You really shouldn’t linger where they can spot you. I told you it’d only be a matter of time.”

The Tide Glider rumbled, low and affectionate.

Hiccup stepped out first, the others stumbling after him in a clumsy chorus of exclamations:

“She has a dragon?!”

“That’s a Tide Glider!”

“How come she didn’t tell us?!”

You didn’t flinch. You just kept your hand on Nereid’s scales, turning slowly toward them with your usual dry calm.

“Congratulations,” you said smoothly. “You’ve discovered my secret. What gave me away? My repeated absences, or your utter lack of subtlety while spying on me?”

Astrid’s jaw tightened. “Why didn’t you say you had a dragon?”

You shrugged. “Because it wasn’t relevant.”

“Not relevant?!” Fishlegs nearly shrieked. “You have a unique Tidal Class dragon! She secretes a paralyzing toxin from her mist that can disable dragons ten times her size! She’s—she’s—” He broke off, wheezing with excitement. “She’s magnificent.”

“Thank you,” you replied dryly, “though she doesn’t need you to tell her that. She’s aware.”

Nereid preened, tail curling elegantly in the water.

Snotlout spluttered, pointing an accusing finger. “So what, you’ve just been hiding her here? Sneaking out to have secret dragon parties while the rest of us thought you were being all mysterious?”

“Accurate.”

Astrid scowled. “You could’ve told us. We introduce you to our dragons, but you keep yours hidden?”

You met her gaze evenly. “Because trust takes time. And because Tide Gliders are highly sought after by Hunters for their venom. The less people knew, the safer she was.” Your tone sharpened slightly. “I’ve kept her alive this long by being cautious. Forgive me if I don’t immediately abandon that because some strangers told me I should.”

The silence stretched. Astrid’s scowl softened, just a fraction.

Hiccup finally stepped forward, eyes fixed on Nereid with open awe. “She’s beautiful,” he murmured. “I’ve read about Tide Gliders, but I’ve never seen one in person. You’ve… clearly taken good care of her.”

Nereid tilted her head, studying him curiously before flicking a misty spray in his direction. Hiccup froze, half-expecting paralysis, but the mist dissipated harmlessly. You smirked.

“She likes you,” you said. “That’s rare. Don’t let it go to your head.”

Astrid muttered under her breath, “Oh, too late.”

Hiccup ignored her, eyes still locked on yours. “You could’ve told me.”

“I could have,” you agreed. “But I didn’t. That doesn’t mean I won’t.”

He studied you a long moment, then nodded once. “Alright. We’ll do this on your terms. But if she’s going to be here, the Riders need to know. And… I think the dragons deserve to meet her.”

Nereid huffed, fins flaring as though in challenge.

You smirked faintly. “Good luck convincing her of that.”

༻༺༻༺

That evening, the introductions were… chaotic.

Stormfly squawked indignantly when Nereid slithered closer, fanning her fins like a peacock. Hookfang tried to show off by setting half the beach ablaze, only to get blasted with a spray of Tide Glider mist that left him twitching on the sand. The twins were convinced Nereid was “their new best friend,” while Meatlug just blinked sleepily, unfazed.

Through it all, you sat calmly at Nereid’s side, scribbling observations in your notebook.

Field Notes: Dragon’s Edge, Day Four

Riders possess expected lack of subtlety.

Nereid tolerated introductions, though displays of bravado (esp. Hookfang) resulted in predictable paralysis.

Tide Glider social behavior: surprisingly tolerant toward Night Fury. Interesting.

Side note: Hiccup is more insufferably earnest than anticipated. Nereid approves. Still deciding if I do.

༻༺༻༺

Hiccup lingered after the others drifted back to the clubhouse, watching you stroke Nereid’s fins as the Tide Glider sank back into the surf.

“You trust her,” he said quietly.

You glanced at him. “More than I trust people.”

He nodded, thoughtful. “Maybe we can change that.”

You smirked, leaning back on your hands. “Maybe. But don’t get ahead of yourself, Chief.”