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targaryen-dynasty · 3 months

Text

TO STOKE A FLAME.

Aemond Targaryen x servant!Reader

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT-MINORS DNI; p in v, oral (m receiving), power imbalance (prince and maid), mutual pining, female Reader

WORDS: 4K

NOTES: this is written for the writing challenge hosted by @targaryenvampireslayer I got the prompt "Just relax for me, I'll make it feel good" and the trope mutual pining. This was my first time writing mutual pining, and I hope it's at least slightly fitting lol.

When you’re first assigned to cleaning the chambers of the King’s second son, your heart leaps for it means you are able to escape the tortures of being a scullery maid for a position that is at least a bit higher ranked, and not as ungrateful and strainful.

Prince Aemond is an early riser, already up long before first light, and whenever he sets off to train with the sword in the morning, it’s time for you to take care of his quarters.

There’s another maid that has been offered the same opportunity, only that she is in charge of making the chambers Prince Aegon presentable, and from what you have gathered, you wouldn’t want to trade places with her.

Aemond’s chambers are always immaculate when you step into them. Everything is in its place, and the air is always filled with the cool morning breeze from the windows he’s kept open. Quite different to the quarters of his older brother.

But what they do have in common are their questionable reputations.

While Aegon is promiscuous, known to pinch and fondle at any serving girl who strays within his reach, Aemond is somewhat feared, at least among the staff. Most servant girls keep well away from the prince, and a part of you is certain it is solely because of the black eyepatch he dons after losing his eye, and the grim expression he usually holds on his face.

The other maid that tends to his chambers with you is overly cautious when dusting or putting fresh linens on his bed, something that even makes you swallow thickly. However, you can’t seem to bring yourself to share their sentiment.

How could you?

Despite only meeting the prince very briefly, you feel like every day that you sweep through his chambers, you get to know him more and more. If there’s bedlam following in Aemond’s wake when he leaves in the morning, it merely consists of several books scattered all over his desk, his armchairs and sometimes even his bed.

Most of them deal with dragon lore, history, and a variety of other subjects which you wouldn’t expect to be read by any other lord, making clear that the prince is very well educated, and always strives to learn more.

And though he keeps his chambers mostly spotless, there’s very much of his personality in them – if you read between the lines.

More oft than not, the armchairs close to the fireplace don’t stand in their usual positions, turned to the side to face each other with one of them being piled by books or scrolls. And you know from the servants that he’s often found sitting beside the fireplace either in deep thought or engrossed in a book with the flames of the fire dancing in the corner of his eye.

You’re cleaning his quarters all by yourself today for Darla, the other maid assigned, has been called to take care of something else, which means you’re granted slightly more time for Aemond’s chambers.

Kneeling in front of the fireplace, you’re knocking off as much ash and debris as possible back into it, before some of it is swept up and emptied into the pail standing next to you.

You’ve been a bit too engrossed in your task when the doors behind you burst open, catching you by surprise and startling you. There’s only one person that could and would enter the prince’s quarters at this hour of the day – the prince himself.

As you hurry to get back on your feet, already straightening and dusting off the skirt of your maid attire, you’re a bit too quick and hit your head on the ledge of the fireplace, your mob cap falling to the ground in the process.

It’s a stinging pain that shoots right through your whole body, and a throbbing that settles at the crown of your head. You bring a hand up to soothe the pain at least a bit, before you’re reminded of the reason why you got up in the first place.

Gritting your teeth, you take in a sharp breath and lower your hand, bobbing a small curtsy with a strained ‘Prince Aemond’ leaving your lips to the man that stands still in the room, clearly regarding you.

“My apologies, I–” you say, trying to make excuses and wanting to state that you’re just about to leave, but he cuts you off.

“Are you well?” he asks, though there is a lilt of amusement in his voice. “I apologize for startling you, that was not my intent.”

What’s even more unusual than him apologizing to you, a servant, for barging into his own chambers is that he's inquiring about your well-being. You’ve never before been acknowledged by any of the Targaryen’s, not that you expected it, and feeling his gaze on you kind of makes you nervous.

He raises his brow when there doesn’t come an answer from you, and you take it as your cue to speak. “I–Yes, Prince Aemond,” you stutter, bowing your head. Raising it again, your hand brushes the crown of it briefly, the spot still throbbing despite it happening a few moments ago. “I am well. It’s–It’s nothing, my prince.”

Gathering your things, you’re caught off guard for a second time since he’s entered his chambers as he slowly approaches you. He has a sympathetic smile on his lips now, and you’re not sure if it’s the embarrassment or him coming close enough to tower above you, but your body feels like it’s been put on fire.

“Are you certain you’re well?” he asks, eye flitting from your head to meet your eyes. “You’ve struck your head rather hard.”

He reaches to inspect the spot on your head, yet he hesitates and pulls back right before his fingers could brush your hair. You’re slightly disappointed, but your pounding heart is grateful. Just the mere proximity brings a blush to your cheeks and has you shifting your weight from one leg to the other, and you’re certain you wouldn’t have been able to handle him touching you.

There’s a moment of silence between you, and your hands clutch the handle of the pail tight enough for your knuckles to blanch from the force. It’s unnerving, and you’re torn between wanting to stay and wanting to leave. You’re afraid he’s not the man you’ve made up in your mind, that there’s just a hint of truth in the rumors that make their way around staff and court.

His voice cuts through the silence like a sharp blade, smooth and somewhat calming. “What’s your name?”

Taking in a deep breath, you tell him your name, but not without your eyes darting to the ground. His gaze is heavy, too heavy for you to meet it, and you feel as though there’s something else than curiosity woven within it.

“You’re quite flustered over nothing,” he hums, and the way your name slips past his lips with so much ease almost makes you melt right then and there; at least it’s enough to make you forget that he’s clearly noticed the effect he has on you.

Aemond takes note of you being nervous around him, his attention causing your blood to rush through your veins. It seems as though it’s a rather strong reaction that you have to him, something not many women feel when he comes near them. It’s endearing.

Your eyes flicker upwards to meet his good one again, and you straighten your back for another curtsy.

“M-my apologies, Prince Aemond.”

You can spot the exact moment the corners of his lips curl into a teasing smirk, your timid demeanor and your nervousness the trigger for it. And being as cocky as he is, he thinks he could have a bit of fun with you.

“It seems you’re rather out of sorts for something so trivial,” he notes, his tone teasing and playful, matching the flicker of mischief in his eye. “Perhaps I should inspect you myself to see if you have in fact sustained any injuries.”

His words make you feel as if the world around you is slowing down, making everything feel almost unbearable. You’re finding it incredibly hard to look him in the eye without blushing or your breath becoming heavy, and therefore fix them on the ground again. Noticing his large feet in comparison to your much smaller ones, your thoughts briefly stray to what else of him might be large.

But before you can answer him, or your thoughts can dive deeper, Aemond places a hand beneath your chin and gently tilts your face back up for you to meet his gaze. You’ve only seen one other in passing, and even then you’re certain he’s paid no mind to you at all, so his touch comes unexpected. But you don’t tense, and you certainly don’t pull away. However, you’re unsure if you should give in and lean into it.

His finger brushes along your jawline, trailing down the curve of your neck, and coming close to your collarbone, a heat following in its wake. He stops for a second, as if he’s debating whether or not he should move his touch any further.

Aemond’s surprised by your reaction, yet he also realizes that you’re much more interesting than any of the other maids for they were all alike – all not daring to look at him or stay in his presence for longer than a few minutes. But you’re different.

He could already tell by the way you so neatly clean and store his books when he’s spent his night reading by the fire, or how you seem to pay extra attention when you’re putting fresh linens on his bed, fluffing his pillows without the hurry the previous chambermaid has had.

And seeing his touch having such a significant impact on you, the little maid he’s spent so much time dreaming and fantasizing about, feeds a desire he didn’t have before – the desire to bed you, to claim you.

“Get on your knees,” he orders, hooded eye looking down at you.

Swallowing thickly, your mind struggles to comprehend what he asked of you. “I-what?” you stammer in disbelief.

“You heard me. On your knees.” He’s a bit firmer now, and uses the slight grip he has on your shoulder to give you a little help sinking down. You follow his lead, the pail rattling onto the ground.

Your hands are folded in your lap when you gaze up at him, eyes wide and curiously studying his next move. With your thumbs brushing over each other, you try to keep your fluttering nerves at bay, grazing your skin to distract yourself from the throbbing that blossoms between your legs.

Aemond looms over you, reaching out to cup your cheek with one hand. There’s something in the position you’re in, and the combination of his gentle touch and stern orders that gets to your head, and lures you in to lean into his hand. It also makes you a bit bolder as you place a hand on his thigh in return.

It piques his interest, obvious in the way he raises a brow, and his eye flickers to where your hand rests on his body. But he doesn’t shy away from the touch.

“Do you know what I require of you?” Aemond asks, sterner than before.

You bow your head, batting your eyelashes at him in an innocent manner. “I do, my Prince.”

That’s all he has to hear before he swiftly unlaces the front of his breeches and tugs them down barely enough to free his cock and stones, the sight alone making your breath hitch in your throat. He’s well endowed, and far bigger than the cock of the one man you’ve slept with before.

You release a shaky breath, replaying all the knowledge you’ve gathered about pleasuring a man with your mouth, and catch a whiff of musk mixed with the salty smell of sweat – he’s definitely trained with the sword this morning.

Squeezing his thigh, your eyes flicker between his and his hard cock as the slight nod of his head encourages you to curl your hand around it, your thumb and index finger barely touching.

He throbs in your palm already, and the tip is covered in a red that makes it clear he’s desperate to be buried inside of something; probably not caring whether it’s your mouth or your cunt.

Even though you cower beneath his dominating presence, a jolt of boldness strikes you that makes you lean in and lick a flat stripe from the base of his cock up to the bulbous tip. A salty taste lingers on your tongue as you drag it over the slit, making you hum appreciatively, seemingly pleased to witness the effect your touch and presence have on the prince’s body.

Aemond buries his hands in your hair, loosening the bun you’ve put it into this morning, and grabs a fistful of it. It’s a sharp tug of him that catches your attention, and your wide eyes flit up to meet his demanding gaze.

Spurred on by the heavy breaths moving his chest, you swallow, and eventually part your lips to slowly ease him inside, and even though he holds you by your hair, he’s generous enough to not force himself inside, allowing you to move as you please.

“Fuck,” he growls as he gets accustomed to the warmth and tightness of your mouth, head tipping back to release a bawdy groan.

You hollow your cheeks around him, and, after a few moments that allow you to adjust to him, start to bob your head back and forth his thick length, flattening your tongue against him for added stimulation.

Growing bolder and bolder with each passing moment, you squeeze your thighs together every time the tip of his cock brushes the back of your throat, robbing you of the ability to breathe until you pull off of him again.

With his hand in your hair, Aemond senses you getting more comfortable, and starts to guide your head along his member, encouraging you to set up a quicker pace to which you eagerly comply.

“That’s it,” he groans, not able to tear his eye from the sight of your lips wrapped around him as his cock repeatedly disappears inside of your mouth.

Droplets of your saliva dribble from the corners of your lips down your chin with how fast you sink down on him, and the lewd sounds of his soaked cock sliding back and forth past your lips fill the prince’s chambers, hardly drowned out by his grunts and groans.

At this point, you’re drenched in your arousal, the linen of your small clothes clinging to your swollen mound in a way that’s almost uncomfortable.

While you bring one hand up to clasp around the rest of his cock that doesn’t fit into your mouth, the other grips his thigh a bit harder than before, holding onto him for dear life as he uses your face however he pleases.

You feel the muscles of his thigh tense and contract under your palm and his cock throb inside of you, indicating that he’s close to reaching his peak. It’s the first time you pleasure a man with your mouth, and you’re not quite sure what to expect. But before you can brace yourself for whatever might come, Aemond pulls you off of him by your hair, prompting you to topple back to sit on your haunches.

You lock your teary eyes with his good one, lips smacking as his musky and salty taste spreads on them and your tongue. “My Prince, I–”

“Remove your clothes,” he interrupts you, his voice less friendly and more a command.

There are so many thoughts rattling your mind right now, and you don’t know where to start and what to process.

“I wasn’t asking,” he growls, his impatience showing as you don’t comply quickly enough.

With a bow of your head, you rise to your feet and peel the beige-ish apron off of your body, the red dress and smallclothes following suit. You waste no thought on your modesty, on the fact that you’re standing bare in front of a prince of the mighty House Targaryen. The longing for him that has built with all the days you’ve cleaned his pristine chambers, and the undeniable aching between your legs don’t allow you to.

You’re undressed when he stalks around you, regarding you like he’s the hunter and you’re his prey. You see that your obedience arouses him, his hard cock throbbing and bouncing with each step he takes around you. It’s thrilling in the best way possible, and the feeling of being desired by him feeds your confidence.

“Are you just watching, or will the prince undress as well?”

His eye narrows and flickers up to yours at your question, and there’s the hint of a smile adorning his features. “Would you like that?”

Biting your bottom lip, a blush creeps on your cheeks. “Very much.”

As you size him up, you notice a flush blossoming from his cheeks down his neck, the same warmth you feel obviously spreading through his body, too.

“Then I suppose that I’ll oblige.”

You watch with half-lidded eyes as he removes his clothing, slipping out of layer after layer, starting with the black leather robe, and ending with his smallclothes.

You all but drag your eyes over his lithe frame, taking in every muscle that ripples beneath his pale skin, and every silver, coarse hair that trails from below his navel to his cock and the sac of his stones.

It seems like he basks in your attention, in the way you stare at him in awe as you lick your lips, and he’s certainly not afraid of showing himself in his full glory.

“Get on the bed,” he says, smugly. “On your hands and knees.”

This time you know better than to take a few seconds to comply, bowing your head before climbing his bed right away, getting in the desired position. You suddenly feel vulnerable and exposed, completely at his mercy in a way you’ve never experienced before. However, your curiosity and desire overshadow any reservations you could have.

“Pray tell, have you lain with a man before?” You feel the mattress dip beneath his weight as he slowly settles behind you. His hands find your hips, and you shiver with anticipation.

Looking at him from over your shoulder, you nod. “Just once, my prince.”

A soft hm rubles in his chest at your words, and he raises an eyebrow, intrigued by your words. You certainly seem to take him very seriously, which isn’t unusual given his station, but it’s your honesty that’s a whole different matter to him. “You enjoyed it, I presume?”

Still meeting his gaze, you swallow thickly. You’re hesitant to answer, not sure why it’s of importance, but he doesn’t seem willing to let you off the hook just yet. “Yes, I did.”

Aemond gives your flesh an appreciative squeeze at that, and shuffles close enough for you to feel his cock press against your arse. “Would you be willing to again?”

You press your lips into a thin line to stop them from pulling into a grin, but fail miserably. The prince behind you takes that as his cue to continue, and you’re most grateful when you feel him drag the tip of his cock through your soaked folds.

“Just relax for me,” he purrs, his eye fixed on the motions of his hand, watching as his cock disappears inside of you. “I’ll make it feel good.”

The moment you stretch around him, you take in a sharp breath, his cock breaching your cunt at a teasingly slow pace that makes sure you feel every vein and ridge of him drag along your walls.

With his hands coming back to rest on your hips, he pulls you onto his cock until his hips press against your arse, taking his time to adjust to your tightness. The ‘shit’ he mumbles doesn’t go unnoticed by you, a renewed wave of your arousal drenching his cock and the sac of his stones.

If his impatience hasn’t been running thin before, it certainly does now, because the first gentle, sensual thrusts are quickly replaced by merciless pounding. You don’t mind it for you’ve been thoroughly soaked, and enjoy the feeling of his cock repeatedly brushing the spot inside of you that makes your vision go blurry.

Aemond brings a hand between your shoulders, applying a good bit of pressure to press your chest down and your face into the pillows. Your head turns to the side, but you’re not able to look at him.

His breathing is heavy, strained pants leaving him, and his hand trails back to grope your arse.

“Fuck, what an obedient girl they’ve ordered to take care of my chambers–of me,” Aemond rambles behind you, bowing forwards to put a bit more of his weight on your small frame. “Taking me so well. Giving me exactly what I want.”

The praise goes straight to your head, and you want to answer, but the words die on your tongue, replaced by quiet whimpers and whines that grow wanton as he splits you open with a hard, percussive thrust. Then another follows, and another, keening at the sweet sounds you make only for him.

Not able to focus on anything else than the pressure building inside of your belly, you push your hips back against him, and he counters by pulling you back with each of his thrusts, meeting him halfways which results in the lewd sounds of skin slapping on skin to echo off the walls.

He’s making you feel so good, so wanted, that you’re certain you would keep going even if someone is to barge into his chambers, interrupting you.

As his hand snakes beneath your body to make contact with your pearl, you’re overcome with the true knowledge of how experienced Aemond actually is. He strums your body like the most talented lutenist, bringing you closer towards your sweet release.

“Gods, I–” you whine into the pillows.

The taut string inside of you snaps, and the pleasure within you soares through your veins. White, hot pleasure clouds your vision, his arm around you the only thing keeping you up right now.

“That’s it,” Aemond grunts, and the snaps of his hips increase to the point your whines become hiccuped, catching in your throat with little to no time to fill your lungs with air.

And then, his hips stutter, his throbbing cock spending itself deep inside of your quivering walls. He twitches and trembles so much that he’s forced to still his hips, and you take it as your cue to roll yours against him, helping him through his peak.

The throbbing only stills once you’ve milked him for every drop of his seed and the last bit of the euphoric high subsides, making him come back to his senses.

But there’s not much basking in the proximity for you, not when Aemond pulls out almost immediately after, climbing off the bed to get dressed again. The red dress is crudely thrown into your direction, silently making clear that it’s time for you to leave.

It seems as though he’s embarrassed, because he has a hard time meeting your eyes, and doesn’t look at you when you get back in your clothes. But perhaps you’re just not catching the subtle glances he throws into your direction as your maid attire comes back to hug your curves.

Tying the apron and fixing your hair, you reach for the pail. It’s then, with you bowing forwards, that you finally feel his seed trickling out of your cunt, and the sensation alone makes you shiver in an uncomfortable way. You certainly have to look for a quiet spot in the keep where you can clean yourself, since you’re not done working.

You head for the door, but before you open it, his smooth voice catches your attention again.

“You may leave now, but I expect you to come back and finish your task at the Hour of the Ghosts, for you have not cleaned the fireplace thoroughly enough.”

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dark-and-kawaii · 6 months

Text

༺ 𝒜 𝒟𝑒𝓋𝒾𝓁 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝐿𝑜𝓋𝑒 ༻

You never expected a Devil to be your savior, never expected to be cherished by him…

PRT 2 (CLICK HERE) - Fluff - Soft Raphael - Past Talk About Abuse

Gazing outside his balcony, you watched as yet another red storm began to stir throughout Avernus. The wilted trees bend to the will of the fiery winds. The overcast clouding your view of the mountains, and with a deep sigh this dreary day has brought back memories you had thought you’d forgotten. A life full of pain and restrictions… But the devil took you away from it all, and gave you a new life with new meaning.

With a subtle startled expression as you felt your hand graze one of the small buttons on your wrist, you look down with a warm smile as you continue to run your hand along the soft cotton of Raphael’s opulent dress shirt. You nearly had forgotten that on days such as this you quite enjoy stealing his shirts. They always brought you such comfort and joy, who would’ve thought… A devil bringing you such comfort. It’s laughable really. Holding your arm to your lips you can smell the scent of cherries and sulfur, it relaxes your muscles and you can’t help but to thank him aloud to yourself, “Thank you, my devil.”

“For what, pray tell little mouse of mine?”

And just like a tiny mouse, squealing wasn’t the right word for the noise you had just made… But with a tiny cute noise, you hastily turned around on his silken bed to face the devil himself, Raphael… He was always so handsome no matter the form he took, right now though he appeared human. His milk chocolate eyes watching you with interest, his hand resting on his chin. Everything about him was so grandiose and each time you looked him in the eyes your heart would skip a beat.

The Devil wasn’t perfect, he had his flaws just as everyone else did… He also had his own ambitions to rule the 9 hells… But, for whatever reason, those flaws made him even more special to you. Yes, he was the son of Mephistopheles. Yes, he is technically one of the “bad” guys, but… unlike the last villain that had captured you… Raphael was soft with you, treated you as if you were some sort of delicate flower that would break apart if not careful. He had his souls he enjoyed to flail and torture, yet with you it was different… the devil had no need to put you through such horrors. He cherished and protected you like a dragon with its hoard of treasure.

“R-Raphael- I uh-… Thank you… For…”

Just his presence alone made you flustered, it couldn’t be helped.

“It would seem that the cat has caught this little mouse’s tongue.” A small laugh emanated from his chest, “How, precious.”

You grin at his response.

Damn near everyone would disagree with you, but in your eyes, Raphael wasn’t foul, not like Astarion was… This devil you came to know throughout your adventure didn’t hold you by a leash… Didn’t force you down whenever he pleased, or gauge your neck with his teeth to prove a point- Your flushed face reducing to a pale complexion as your hand cups where Astarion left his mark on you. A chill runs down your spine remembering when Astarion the Ascended chained you for days… All because you wanted to run out into the city for some fresh brioche and to say hello to Gale.

Raphael, a devil, son of Mephistopheles… Never chained you nor held you against your will. He let you run out into the real world… Let you do as you pleased. You knew he’d make Korilla follow after you. But it wasn’t due to lack of trust, it was plainly because he wanted to keep you safe and out of the Vampires grasps.

Like a falling feather, you gracefully glide off Raphael’s bed. His shirt on you flowed at the bottom thanks to it being far too big on you making this scene before him look like it was out of a book- and into his chest you fell. Your arms wrapping around him while your cheek pressed against his arm that crossed against his chest.

“What’s better than a devil you do know?” You looked up at him questioning.

“By all means please do enlighten me.” His hand never left his face and his other arm stayed crossed over his chest as you embrace him.

“A devil thats your savior…” -You looked away from him, staring back out the balcony-, “I don’t think you’d ever find a quote like that in a book, but I’m thankful for you, Raphael. Truly. Thank you.” You press your face into him, your lashes fluttering close.

Raphael would never tell you how he waited for your hope to whittled down to the very marrow of despair- how he waited for you to whimper his name between sobs while chained to the vampires personal bed. The Devil would also never admit how it pained him to see such a treasure being handled in such ways, yet he wanted you to call out to him. He’s still a devil after all… So he waited all that year, waited for you to call out his name for help, pleading to sign whatever it is he desired…

“You didn’t belong with such filth.”- you didn’t need to look up to know he was scrunching his face, you could hear it in his voice- “Fine beauty such as yourself belongs in a much more suitable home.” He finally moved his hand from his face to the top of your head. Petting you like some adored pet.

Raphael, from the moment he laid eyes on you, knew he'd make you apart of his plan forever someday. He just didn’t expect you to vanish all of a sudden… The damn vampire had ascended and taken you… All those years you were caged like some sort of animal. Nowhere to go, forced into things you wanted no part of… Living like a rat.

A rarity had shown its face as Raphael peered down at you, you didn’t see it and Raphael could only hope for once that Haarlep didn’t see the concern on his face.

Astarion still walks among the living, and Raphael can’t be everywhere…

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate #raphael x reader #raphael bg3 #raphael x tav #bg3 raphael #raphael the cambion #Astarion #astarion x tav #tav #bg3 tav #bg3 raphael x tav

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fan-goddess · 1 year

Note

Hello lovely xo, can I request Aemond reuniting with his childhood love/crush at a feast after not seeing her for six years.

Author Note: Hi love of course you can! I wrote so much more for this than I thought I was gonna write I really took of, plus after looking back at the request I didn’t make them meet at a feast… still I hope your happy!

Word count: 5.3K words

Warnings: None explicitly needed, though reader is described as being female, kissing stuff and insecurities

Other Links: My Ewan Mitchell masterlist for more Aemond content

Taglist: @blue-serendipity

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Aemond was one and ten when he first laid his eyes on you, the daughter of Tyland Lannister.

You had golden hair that resembled Sunfyres scales. Your eyes were green like grass. Oh and your smile, it could light over a thousand lanterns. He easily thinks the best part about you was that smile…

The first time Aemond saw you up close was in the library. He was researching Daenys’ prophecies when he heard a strange thumping noise go off within the shelves.

“Hello?” He called out. “Is anyone here?” An annoyed scowl taking over his face when no one showed up immediately to take credit. He went back to reading, though soon he became too on edge to even get past another sentence. What if there was actually a person hidden in the shelves and they wish to kill him?

Aemond put down his book and walked into the shelves, peeking round the corners to see if anyone lurked there. He looked for a couple minutes, shifting from his least favourite section the poetry books to his favourite the section on Targaryen history.

That’s however, when he sees golden hair peeking from the sides of the display. He doesn’t choose to call out to them, in fear the mysterious person will flee and he’ll never get to see them. Aemond slowly takes out his dagger and stalks towards the person, his heart beating rapidly at the possibility of a fight taking place.

When he turns the corner though, with his dagger held high and stance ready to take a fight, he feels his heart is about to burst from his chest when he sees you innocently sitting on the ground with a book in your lap. You seem to be asleep, as the pages aren’t being turned and your neck seems to have laid itself in an uncomfortable position.

He places his dagger back in its hold and kneels forward to take a look, and to see if you truly are sleeping. He nearly smiles when he sees how innocent you look in this view. Though Aemond knows he should not be jealous at that moment, and goes to wake you up as carefully as he can.

“M-my lady…” He all but whispers, gently taking the book from your lap. His restraint shows well as his hands attempt to not caress the skin that’s being revealed from your slightly ridden up skirt. “My lady, I think you need to wake now.” He uses one hand to gently shake your shoulder and the other to grasp your chin and pull your head up. His restraint is tested once more when his thumb nearly brushes over your lips.

Aemond is ever so grateful when you let out a small groan and groggily open your eyes. It’s almost amusing when your eyes turn panicked when you realise the situation you were in. “M-my prince I am so sorry!” You shout. Attempting to stand up but you nearly fall over in the struggle. “P-please do not punish me for being here!”

Aemond cannot help but give an amused smile at your panic. “It’s okay my lady!” He smiled, now standing up to be level with you only to embarrassingly realise you were taller then him… “What is it you were reading?”

You look confused now. Probably wondering why he isn’t kicking you out and demanding your head for sneaking in. “It is not a trick question my lady. What is you were reading?”

“I was reading about your own dragon my prince…” Aemond had to strain his ears to hear what you said, but when he does his ears turn scarlet. You were specifically looking at his dragon and not Sunfyre or Caraxes? Even the book of Balerions journey could’ve been the one you were reading about but no, you chose to look into Vhagar. It made him smile almost cockily.

“And why my dragon in particular?” He grinned. If his mother was there she’d not be happy he was fishing for compliments from a Lannister, yet she wasn’t here at that moment to see the pride that filled him so he carried on anyways.

“She’s an important part of your family’s history! Her nickname is Queen of the dragons which is one of the best names for any of the dragons both still alive and dead!” The way you ramble about his dragons makes his ears burn and smile somehow both bashful and yet cocky at the same time.

Aemond nearly invites you to go meet Vhagar the moment he sees you begin to smile at him, though it takes all his restraint to just talk to you about Vhagar. The two of you become more and more passionate in your conversation and continue to talk until the shelves become dark and nearly impossible to see.

Aemond insists on escorting you to your temporary chambers, secretly relishing when you insist bashfully that you could very easily escort yourself. “I insist my lady you do not know the sort of people that hang around in the corridors of this castle. My brother being one of them…” He relishes even more when he hears you giggle and shyly accept his offer.

The next morning though, when he’s washed himself thoroughly and dressed himself as fancy as he could without Aegon picking up on his intentions, Aemond walks to your chamber doors and knocks nervously. For all he knows you could be half dressed, or still asleep, or even taking a bath… He’s only half sorry when his mind begins to wonder.

Aemond does begin to worry when he stands outside of your chambers for nearly ten minutes and he hears no movements. He takes a deep breath before heading into your chambers, and takes notice of its near pristine state. “My lady?” He calls, even though he knew secretly that it was useless to call for you. He does a little walk around the room to see if he could tell why your presence seems to have left the room.

The sheets and the bed covers are pulled tightly and tucked into the bed. The personal items Aemond had managed to get a small peek at when he brought you to your room last night looking as if they were never their in the first place. The room looked as if nobody had ever slept their that night.

The lack of life in the room made Aemonds skin crawl. Maybe you weren’t even there in the first place? A cruel figment of his imagination that made him believe for a short time he was normal. So he went to the first person he thought could help. His mother.

“Mother, I visited the Lannister daughter this morn to invite her to break fast with us, but she was not there and her room was empty. Do you know why this is?”

“Yes my sweet boy. The girl and her father were summoned back to Casterly Rock near late last night. It seems the lady Lannister had started her labours earlier than the maesters would have liked.” His mother said, looking to her son in sympathy when she saw the saddened look on his face.

“Do you know if she- I mean if they’ll return when her mother has given birth?” Aemond could not help but try and be hopeful, even if he knew their was no chance of it being anything like that.

“I doubt it, sweet boy. The mother has gone into labour nearly a month earlier than expected. I highly suspect the babe may not survive, so they will no doubt wish to mourn the child if it does pass.”

Aemond tried to stop the frown that he could feel was stretching on his face, though it was no use. His mother had already seen it and was looking at him like he was weak. Like he was a silly boy with just a silly crush on a silly girl.

That was the moment Aemond devoted himself to leaving that silly boy behind. Soon he’ll become a man. Maybe it was all secretly so you’ll want to marry him just as much as he secretly wishes to marry you… but he’ll never admit to that.

It’s been six years since Aemond last saw you. He secretly writes letters to you every week, imagining you receiving them and holding them to your chest in excitement. He has never forgotten you. Late at night when he goes to sleep he secretly always wishes for dreams of you to keep him company. None that are dirty of course! Though Aemond didn’t complain when he had one every once in a while…

“Aemond did you hear what I just said?” His mothers voice broke him out of his thoughts.

“No mother I was thinking about, things.”

“Well, as I was saying. We will be hosting the Lannisters for a ball for their eldest daughter starting next week. Her father wishes for her to stay here in kingslanding for a year to give her a better chance at finding a potential and acceptable suitor for her. I believe she’s around your age Aemond...” Aemond could feel his heart beating out of his chest. You were coming back here? He’ll finally get to see you again and see how much you’ve no doubt changed after all these years…

“A marriage with the Lannisters will no doubt be helpful in the long run. I suggest talking to her before anyone else. Her house is a useful ally, though her father will no doubt attempt to go for whoever possess the larger coin pouch.” His grandsire commented halfheartedly as he tucked into his food. Aemond only gave a simple nod before retreating back to his mind, indulging in the simple fantasy of seeing you again.

The rest of that week, Aemond could not take you out of his mind. He had not acted like this since you left six years ago, and it was easy to tell. He was less enthusiastic in his training with ser Cole, thinking of how when you were his bride you’d be sitting proudly on the balcony watching him. He couldn’t read peacefully in the library, only thinking back to how he first met you and how much you truly made him smile that day.

Thankfully to Aemond though the week went surprisingly quickly, and before Aemond knew it he was standing proudly yet nervously for your carriage to pull up and for you to come out.

He’d put on fresh clothes that morning and requested to have a bath drawn for him. He took an awful long time making sure every single part of him was clean and that his hair held no sweat or grease of any kind. Aemond could not shake the look of amusement from both Aegon and his mother, both taking notice of Aemonds sudden pristine condition and nervous exterior.

When the carriage carrying your house colours arrived, Aemond felt like his heart would beat out of his chest. Would you even recognise him? Would you even be the same girl he met and talked to all those years ago?

Aemond nearly lets his mouth fall open when you walk out of the carriage, and only just catches the actions before he could embarrass himself anymore than Aegon will no doubt bring upon them.

Your hair still holds the same golden colouring to it, the sun looking like it was reflecting off it. Your figure has quite obviously changed in the years you were gone, the most prominent ones being the fact you’ve… matured. It’s almost amusing to him that you’re shorter than him, when before you were the one who looked down at him as children. Your smile though, that has not changed at all.

He sees the way Aegon leers at you when you curtsy to his mother and thank her for his families hospitality. It brings him such a great amount of joy to kick Aegon swiftly and firmly in the legs when your back is turned talking to Helaena.

Over the next few days, as much as Aemond hates to admit it, he has been hiding from you. Aemond cannot bring himself to strike up a conversation with you, possibly due to a fear that he refuses to acknowledge.

Though he cannot deny the jealousy that takes over him when he sees you laughing with Aegon of all people. When you laugh, you hold your hand in front of your mouth, a trick taught to all young ladies according to Helaena. Though he believes it to be a terrible thing, as it hides the way your face lights up when you’re overcome by laughter.

Aemond even finds himself jealous of Helaena, who you seemed to have grown close to in the last few days. From what he has observed, the two of you like to sit under the tree in the courtyard and discuss a whole manner of items Aemond cannot hear from where he observes on a nearby balcony.

He’s disgusted with himself for acting like some common man, though even though he knows it’s morally wrong he still cannot bring himself to stop. As long as he cannot bring himself to talk to you, he watches you to bring himself a strange sort of comfort. To know that you are okay and safe and nowhere near himself.

Though it seems that you have been upholding a different idea, as one moment when Aemond is looking at you talking with Helaena, he sees you turn to him, look him dead in the eye and show him a kind smile. He can feel his eye widen in the sudden acknowledgement and hide behind a nearby pillar. It brings secret relief to hear your giggle. Assuring him that you are not disgusted as he is in his nature, and that instead you are amused by it for some unknown reason…

Aemond looks around the corner, expecting to see you resuming your conversation with another one of your beautiful smiles on your face, though he is scared nearly out of his skin to find you face to face with himself. It takes him a near minute to find words. No amount of words that he had read over the years seemed to come to him no matter how much he willed it.

“I-I’m sorry for intruding on you my lady Lannister!” He stammered with a bright red face. Aemond does not think he has ever felt as sheepish or as shy as he has at that moment. His face only reddens though when you seem to giggle at him, whether in amusement or in mocking he does not know.

“It is fine my prince.” You smile. Aemond cannot help himself from comparing your voice to the one you possessed as a child. It’s gotten lighter, he thinks. Before you seemed to be shy to talk to him, though that may have been more to do with circumstances rather than who you were talking to, and now your voice held a sense of ease. “Me and your sister were merely nibbling on some honey cakes and talking about the silly things? Would you care to join us?”

When he takes too long to respond, purely out of surprise that you wished for him of all people to join you, you seem to have taken his silence in the wrong context. “You do not have to join if you do not wish to participate in silly lady gossip-“

“Nonsense!” Aemond blurts with a shyness that brings him nearly straight back to his boyhood. “I would be honoured to join a lady such as yourself my lady for what you called, silly lady gossip.” Aemond cannot describe the joy he feels when he sees your reddened cheeks and happy smile. It should be you the painters should be painting, not himself when there’s such obvious other beauties in this world.

The roles are reversed however, when you take his hand in your own and lead him to where you and Helaena were previously conversing. It takes every fibre of his being to not send a cold glare in Helaenas direction. Especially when she sends an amused look and a raised eyebrow his way at the sight of his flushed cheeks and awkward expression.

It surprises Aemond though, when he finds himself enjoying what he had thought would be a dreary conversation. It brings a smile to his face when he makes you laugh so hard you forget to put your hand in front of your face. He even nibbles politely on a couple of the fresh honey cakes you offer him bashfully.

When the supposed picnic is over, Aemond is prepared for you to go off with Helaena and leave him. Though it surprises him when Helaena says her goodbyes, claiming she has a duty she needs to fulfil, and you turn to him with a small sheepish smile. “Do you wish to head to the library with me, my prince? I feel it has been an age since we had a conversation.”

It brings every part of him to answer normally. “I would love to my lady.” With a small smile. One that he doesn’t think he’s ever displayed to anyone else outside his family. He’s delighted that you also share a similar blush that’s painted across both of your cheeks.

Aemond wishes he could start a conversation with you. Though whenever he turns to you all he finds himself doing is turning straight back to the corridor looking straight ahead.

When he and you get to the library, he shyly holds the door open for you to go first. Delighted in the slight blush that appeared at his politeness. He notices how you seem to look around in awe and is delighted that you seem to hold the same love for books as you did as children.

“The library has expanded since the years you have been gone, my lady. I believe near a few hundred couple books were added since.” Aemond smirked. It was a strange get definitely not an unwelcome sight to see someone be as passionate about literature as he did. It easily became a bore when he had to handle people like his brother, who he doubted at this point of his life could even read at all…

“It’s still as beautiful as it looked the last time I saw it…” You whispered, looking at him in an awe. Aemond cannot help himself from wishfully thinking that you were saying that to him. That you’d whisper into his ear how you believe he’s beautiful even after all those years apart.

He’s soon knocked from those blissful thoughts when a pain hits his eye socket and he hisses lightly, gaining your attention. “Are you alright my prince?” You asked in concern, moving to be before him.

“It is alright my lady…” Aemond hisses. “It’s merely a side effect of my deformity…”

“Is there any way I could help?” Aemond could not help but look up at you to see if you were genuine, and by the way you anxiously held a hand to his shoulder and knelt down to him to get a look at his injury he felt like you were.

“I have a balm which the maesters found to help when the pain flared like this…” Aemond cannot help himself from confessing. It felt so strange and unnatural to be talking so freely about his ailment with another person. Though you weren’t just another person. It was you. “It should be in my left breech pocket. If you would be so kind as to grab it for me, my lady, I can apply it myself.”

Aemond attempts to hide the way he gulps when he feels your warm hands on his thighs, fumbling to find the small tube containing the balm. It probably would’ve been more effective if he had told you what the balm was in, though at that moment he cannot stop himself from indulging in your touch as you modestly fumble for it. Even when you do find the tube and remove your hands from him he finds himself missing that small warmth. “Thank you, my lady.” He murmurs, releasing his hold on his eye to unscrew the tube lid.

He’s about to apply it to his eye, when Aemond realises something vital about the process. He’d need to take off his eyepatch, and you’re still in the room watching him concerned. “I’m about to take my eyepatch and I don’t wish for you to be disgusted and feel like you need to watch this…” Aemond cannot bring himself to look at you, in fear you’ll look as disgusted at the mention of looking at him without his patch.

He’s brought out of his self pity though when he feels a sudden warmth on his cheek. Your hand. It’s almost embarrassing the way his cheeks suddenly flush at the realisation.

“I don’t care about your scar, my prince. I have seen far worse from my brothers in the training field.” You smile. The blush on his cheeks does not seem to want to leave, though by the matching colouring that appears on your own cheeks he’s glad.

“You do not need to continue calling me my prince, my lady. You can call me by my name.”

“Okay Aemond. Then I must then insist you call me by mine.”

“If you say so Daena. Though like I said, if you truly do not wish to see my ailment then I suggest you turn away now…” Aemond cannot help himself from near preening at the honour of saying your name out loud in your presence.

“And like I said to you Aemond, you strike no such thing as disgust nor fear in me. In fact, I think I’d dare say what it is you strike me with are the exact opposite.” You smile, not realising just how effective your words were affecting him. Maybe if he was braver, then he would’ve asked exactly what you meant by that. But he didn’t. Instead, Aemond removed his eyepatch and applied the balm to his eye, before covering the area once more and acting like the moment never happened.

Over the next few days, Aemond spent all he could with you, abandoning all his previous plans so he could see you and make you smile. It still brought a chill down his spine to hear you speak his name while you smile and place a delicate hand on his arm. This new pattern that Aemond has developed though is broken, when he heads to your usual spot to find you conversing with Aegon. Or more accurately, Aegon conversing with you while you looked uncomfortable. It only gets worse when Aegon spots him marching towards him.

“Ahh brother! I was just telling lady Lannister all about the pink dread!” Aegon smiled with a cup of some unknown substance. Aemond felt his heart stop in panic. He does not dare to look in your direction, in fear he will see pity within your sweet green eyes. Aemond does not even dare to utter a response to Aegon’s taunt, leaving with his hands clasped firmly behind his back as he feared if he wasn’t clutching his hands, he’d be clenching his fists and punching Aegon’s face till it was shining red with blood.

When Aemond arrives in the library, he attempts to distract himself from his horrid self-pity by rereading one of his favourite pieces of literature, Valyrian dragons and where to find them. A fantastic book playing on both fiction and non. He becomes so enamoured with the writing he does not hear the doors open and delicate footsteps coming towards him. It’s only until he hears a small cough he looks up only to meet your eyes.

“Hello Lady Lannister. What brings you here? Has my brother either bored you of my childhood sorrow or run out of stories to tell?” Aemond scoffs, returning to the page on Dreamfyre.

“I though I told you to call me by my name Aemond?” You said, not moving from your spot.

“Apologies Daena. Tell me, did you enjoy when my brother was telling you tales of how he humiliated me as a boy?” Aemond closes the book, marking the page with a random piece of paper before looking at you.

“No, I must confess I did not. If I am to put it plainly and honestly Aemond, I believe your brother to be an absolute pest and a prat.” Aemond let’s a scoff of laughter at your unladylike language, though it certainly is correct.

“I cannot agree more with you Daena. It’s a surprise my brother has even lived till now. I believe any day well here such sad news on Aegon dying in some brother or ale house. Maybe both if he’s lucky?” Aemond cannot describe the joy he’s feeling, nor can he begin to fathom just how much his heart is racing.

“I think I walked about not long after you did. It took everything in me to not strike him there and then. Especially after seeing how unhappy you seemed to become when he mentioned that pink dread.” Aemond once again looks away at the mention of that dreaded tale. He cannot bring himself to see the pity once more than used to fill so many eyes at the sight of him.

“Do you, do you feel disgust for me? Or even pity?” Aemond murmurs so quietly he didn’t even know if you had truly heard him until you knelt down to be level with him.

“Aemond, I feel a lot of things for you. None of them are anything of the sort that could be even compared to disgust or pity.” You smile again and Aemond feels like his heart will burst from his chest. If you requested it at that moment, Aemond would’ve ripped his heart out then and there and handed it to you on a plate made of pure Valyrian steel. It takes everything in him to swallow the lump in his throat and speak. “May I ask what these emotions you feel for me are? The ones that you claim cannot be compared to disgust, or pity…”

“The feelings I feel for you Aemond are ones that I do not think I am even allowed to tell you of…”

“I do not care,” Aemond now almost desperately grasps onto your hands within his own. He is so close to possibly hearing what he has wanted for more than six years. Your love. “I would kill any who dare to oppose you sweet Daena.”

“You are beginning to sound like your ancestor Maegor the cruel Aemond.”

“It is worth the title and the bloodshed if I am to hear what I hope to hear be uttered from your lips.”

“And what is it you wish uttered from my lips?”

“That you feel a fraction of the same way I feel for you…” Aemond can feel his heart beat from his chest. The library has gone silent. A notion he used to enjoy but now hates more than ever. “Please Daena. Tell me what it is you feel for me so I can no longer feel like my heart is beating straight out of my chest when I see you! So I can no longer think of you as I have been doing for the last six years you have been gone! So I can leave you and never bother you again with my unrequited devotion for you…”

Once again the library’s silence becomes overwhelming as Aemond stares at you in both hope and fear. Your face does not betray you, staring only blankly at the intertwined hands of yours and his.

“What I feel for you Aemond, I think in all the books we have both read and the stories we have shared amongst each other, can only be described as pure devotion to you and only you…” This is when your face reveals a sweet sweet smile that sends Aemonds own face into a blood red blush. “I too thought of you, nearly everyday since my departure. Of that sweet boy who listened to me while I rambled on about a topic he already know plenty of yet still craved for more. That sweet boy who insisted on walking me to my chambers even though he did not have to. That sweet boy, who has grown into such a handsome man, that I think my heart grew fonder the moment I saw you when I stepped from my carriage. I must say though, I was disappointed that you did not send any letters to me in all these years.” You seem to jest.

“I didn’t want you to think of me as an eager boy and a prat…” Aemond reveals with a slight blush, looking down at the ground. It only worsens when he feels you take a hand from his grip and place it on his left cheek to tilt his head up. “I could never think of you like that my sweet Aemond…” He feels his face grow to a deeper red as it spreads all over. He can even feel his ears burning. He stays content in your hold though, Aemond does not think he has ever felt safer in your grasp than he ever felt in his life.

“I do not know if you read those sorts of books, Aemond,” You begin to speak, drawing Aemond from his daze. “But when I was younger and read those old romantic books where the man got the girl he loved, he’d always kiss her…” You grin. Aemond reciprocates it fully, picking up on your definitely not so subtle suggestion.

“Are you suggesting sweet Daena I kiss an unmarried woman in this very room, where there is no one but us?”

“No no my darling,” Aemond can feel his heart go mad at the name you give him. “I am simply asking you to kiss the woman who loves you back with all her heart.”

“Then I guess I have to make my darling love happy then.” Aemond wastes no time in reaching forward to grab your hips, pulling you onto his lap. He relishes in the giggles you make for a moment before colliding his lips with your own.

It’s an awkward moment at first, since the two of you have never done this before, but eventually Aemond finds a pace that suits him and you. He finds himself letting out a deep groan from his throat when he tastes your sweet lips for the first time, the taste of strawberries and cherries overcoming his senses. That groan is released once more when he feels your hand make a place for itself in his hair and holding him firmly, Aemonds own hands staying in a near iron grip on your waist.

It is a great shame when he is forced to pull away from you, though he does get the great view of your swollen lips, red cheeks and panting form. “I believe I should talk to your father so I can get his permission to marry you, my sweet girl.” Aemond speaks, a hand removing itself from your waist to go to your face and stroke your warm cheek fondly.

“You truly wish to marry me?” You whisper, making Aemond raise a brow in surprise. “Of course I do. I would not be kissing you and finally confessing my love for you if I didn’t. Besides, the servants will no doubt talk if they are to see us alone here together and I would not wish to besmirch your honour like that.”

“I think that supposed honour left the moment your lips kissed my own…” You smile.

“Mine left the moment you smiled at me when we were children. I’ve never cared for another woman since… Are you truly happy? That I am to hopefully marry you?” Aemond asks, that insecurity creeping back in.

“Of course I am happy, my sweet boy.” You stroke the edge of his scar with your thumb and for the first time Aemond does not immediately jerk away at the contact. For once, he does not feel so ugly. For once he feels wanted and loved. “I would have no one else but you in my arms to love and cherish.”

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen/reader #aemond fic #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond imagine #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x you #house of the dragon request #aemond targaryen request #request #aegon targaryen #aemond fluff #house of the dragon aemond

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dumbificat · 4 months

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loneliness makes the heart grow weaker

☆ - how much longer must you wait for him? | hurt/comfort ♡ - neuvillette only | wc: 654 ♪ - no warnings | gn reader ★ - note: this is my @2023gisecretsanta secret santa for @euniveve !! sorry about the slight delay, i was fighting with tumblr to get this out in time >< i hope you like it !!

being the beloved of fontaine’s iudex has its ups and downs. not only do you have a loving partner who’s eyes are only ever on you, but you get to teach and introduce said partner to new feelings and help him articulate and put those emotions into words. right now, you were basking in the loneliness that you often found yourself swimming in. your hydro dragon was of course a very important figure of fontaine; he worked almost everyday of the year and rarely did he takes breaks. winter was one of the times where he was most busy, petty crimes increasing as the days got colder.

you were curled up in a warm blanket, fire blazing near you. your body was warm, but your heart… you felt so lonely. you understood how important his job was, how he was needed by fontaine. it was times like these that you questioned how much he loved you. times when he was too busy to have dinner with you, leftovers going cold waiting for him. times when you’d fall asleep to an empty bed, waking up to sheets long gone cold. the only proof of his stay being the wrinkles in the covers.

you let out a sigh, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself. it was late, you figured you should just turn in for the night. there was no point waiting for a man who was too busy for you.

as you entered your shared bedroom, you heard the familiar sound of the front door creaking open. you debated going to greet him: your brain screamed no but your heart begged you to finally see him again after so long alone. ultimately, your brain won, your heart being left to drown in despair.

you made yourself as comfortable as can be in a cold, empty bed and closed your eyes. it seems sleep wouldn’t come easy that night.

a while passed, your tossing and turning only serving as a reminder for that which was missing. that was until you heard quiet footsteps approaching the room, and then the sound of the door hinges trying and failing to silently move the door.

“mon chéri?” he whispered, assuming you were already asleep.

“neuvi…” you uttered. your forlorn heart won this time. he rushed to your side, dread etched into his features.

“what’s wrong? are you hurt? who did this to you?” hearing the concern in his voice made you tear up. you were hurt, but it was inadvertently his vault.

“i missed you so much,” you sniffled, closing your eyes as a tiny tear slipped down your cheek.

“oh, love…” he scooped you up into his arms, cradling your head to his chest. the sheer affection shown through that action alone made you sob, more tears flowing freely and soaking into his shirt. you clung desperately to him, afraid to be left alone once more.

“i’m so sorry. i love you more than you could ever believe,” he tilted your head up to face him, gloved thumb swiping away at your tears, “please, give me a chance to make it up to you. i swear i won’t make the same mistakes again.”

there was no battle needed this time, you knew you’d give him another chance.

“okay,” you whispered, unable to meet his eye, “i’ll give you another chance.”

pressing a kiss to your forehead, he replied,

“thank you, my dear. i promise never to hurt you again. i’ll take tomorrow off, we can spend it together, just the two of us.”

you were a bit shocked at how quickly it was happening; you couldn’t wait for tomorrow though. you two spent the rest of the night in each others arms, neuvillette rocking you gently to help you sleep. his presence was the fire that kept your heart burning. your presence was the current that kept him afloat. you knew now that being his beloved meant moments of loneliness; you also knew that he’d always be there to wipe your tears, even if he was the cause.

thank you for reading ! please reblog with tags if you enjoyed

i hope you liked it, eun !! have a good one <3

#gixreadersecretsanta2023 #astronetwrk #・ nouveau livre ˎˊ˗#genshin #neuvillette #hurt/comfort #genshin x reader #neuvillette x reader #genshin impact #x gn reader #dumbi #dumbi’s drabbles

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goldenseresinretriever · 7 months

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Snitches Get Stitches: Prologue

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Reader

Part of the San Diego Dogfighters universe

Summary: Jake Seresin, golden boy of the NHL and Captain of the Dallas Stars makes headlines when he unexpectedly signs with newly-formed San Diego Dogfighters. When your future seems at the verge of crashing down, you receive the opportunity of a lifetime to become the team physician for the Dogfighters. You never expected to be working directly with your favorite hockey player. Jake has a secret and you have a job to do. Will he be able to trust you enough to help and will you be able to trust him with your heart?

Chapter CW: 18+ ONLY, Swearing, minor car accident (no one gets hurt), Mav doing Mav things (he’s his own warning). No use of Y/N.

Word count: 1.3k

A/N: Our journey begins! Time to meet our girl, Bugs! I’m so happy to share the San Diego Dogfighters with you, please take good care of them!

Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

Two weeks out from the end of your fellowship should have felt better. Fifteen years of work and you were so close to the finish line that you could taste it. You’d worked your ass off, topped your classes over and over, sacrificing every bit of your social life, sleep, and general welfare to guarantee that you’d have your choice of job once you came out the other end, and you had. That was at least until three months ago when everything came crashing down. A misunderstanding, a miscalculation, something that felt so far beyond your control and the past fifteen years had been swept out from under your feet. Now you refreshed your email in desperation instead of excitement. You were sitting on a dragon’s hoard of student loans and not a single job offer. The downside of being at one of the top fellowship programs in the country was ironically the same as the upside, they were extremely well-connected. As a result, you were basically blacklisted by every potential employer.

Anyone else would question how you did it, getting out of bed like nothing was wrong and going to your fellowship with a professional smile plastered on your face as if everything was right with the world and you’d be on your way to the first day of your dream job in just two short weeks. It turns out that delusion is highly motivating. You’d refresh your email every morning as if an offer was going to suddenly appear, then go about your day as if maybe this evening something would show. At least that’s how most days went. Today everything that could have gone wrong, had. Your alarm hadn’t gone off because your phone was dead, your charging cord seemingly having given up its last breath sometime over the last twenty-four hours. Then the hot water had been out, for the third time this month, so you were shivering like a drowned sewer rat as you hauled yourself into your car, running too late to make your tea.

Even the Anaheim sun couldn’t seem to warm you as you pulled onto the highway toward Los Angeles. Not even five minutes later a piercing chime sounded through the vehicle and your dismayed gaze fell on your gas light, shining bright since last night, when you had been far too exhausted to brave a seedy gas station in the dark, relegating it as a “tomorrow problem.” Tomorrow was here and you swore defeatedly as you made your way to the next exit, issuing irritated commands at your phone to find the nearest gas station. You swore your whole attention was on the road as you did your best to follow the monotone directions from your speakers as you pulled into the gas station when the motorcycle flashed across your field of vision, fast but not fast enough. You screamed as your brain caught up to the sight in front of you. You didn’t remember putting the car into park in the middle of the entry to the gas station and vaulting out of the vehicle, burying your panic as you go into doctor mode, rushing to the aid of the driver sitting up on the asphalt.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, sir are you alright? I’m a doctor.” You sputtered as he turned to look at you, a rueful smile on his face.

“Oh, no worries, kid, I’m all good.” He scratched the back of his neck as he looked over to his motorcycle which lay abandoned a few feet away. “I need to remember I’m not twenty-five anymore.”

“Sir, I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist that I check to see if you have a concussion.” You glanced around, searching for something. “Especially since you weren’t wearing a helmet.” You couldn’t help the annoyed purse of your lips. He chuckled, nodding as you squat down next to him, fiddling with your phone to turn on the flashlight.

“So, you’re a doctor, huh kid? What kind, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Sports medicine, and I mean yes I’m a doctor, I’ve graduated from medical school, but I’m still finishing up my fellowship so I’m not employed as one yet per se.” You sat back on your heels, satisfied that he really was alright. His eyes brightened at your words.

“Sports medicine? What sport are you working with?”

“I’ve worked with a bunch of different ones through my fellowship but my dream job is hockey.” If you ever got a job that was.

His face split into a huge grin. “You don’t say? When do you finish your fellowship?”

“Two weeks… why?” You suddenly remembered that this man was a total stranger as his questions became more specific. It was at that moment that your brain finally exited doctor mode that you realized that he was in fact not a total stranger, not really and you recognized exactly who was sitting on the concrete not even five feet from you. “Oh my fucking god, you’re Pete Mitchell.” The words tumbled out of your mouth in a rush before you could stop them. He barked out a laugh as he extended a dusty hand to you.

“The one and only.” You stared at his hand like you were wondering if it was safe to touch, which is ridiculous. You worked with star athletes for a living and you’ve never gotten star-struck. But that was within the four walls of your job, where you were completely and totally in doctor mode, not squatting in the driveway of a gas station. You shook your head, unsure of how long you’d left him hanging before taking his outstretched hand and shaking it, introducing yourself. “It feels ridiculous to ask, but are you an Anaheim fan?” He asked, flashing his signature grin. You flushed, embarrassed.

“They’re my second favorite but my dad’s a ride-or-die.” Pete laughed at your brutal honesty. “But, I mean, everyone who’s everyone knows you.” You sputtered. “You have one of the longest records in the NHL. 26 years is a long time, and with three cups on top of that? You’re practically hockey royalty.” He smiled, seemingly amused with your floundering.

He stood then, helping you up with him. “Could I get your information?”

“Oh yeah, of course. I’m so sorry about your bike, is it good to drive?” You gave the abandoned motorcycle a worried look. “I’m sure my insurance can cover whatever repairs you need.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that.” He shook his head gently, laying a fatherly hand on your arm. “I actually wanted to offer you a job. Well, an interview, I’m not actually authorized to offer you a job, not my department.”

“I mean I did hit you with my car, WAIT WHAT?” The full effect of his words hit you like a truck. He laughed again.

“Sweetheart, I promise you I can take care of the damages,” giving you his best I’m a multimillionaire retired athlete look. “And as for the job? I’m serious. You’re clearly responsible, professional, good in a crisis, and the team I’m working with is looking for a physician. Unless of course you’re already committed to another job?”

“No! Uh, no, no I’m not.” Shame crept up your neck. “I really appreciate this, Mr. Mitchell.” You stammered as you fumbled for your wallet and produced a business card that you offered to him, doing your best to hold back the tears of gratefulness threatening to fill your eyes.

“It’s not a problem at all, kid. I’ll be in touch, and please, call me Mav.” He handed you a piece of paper in return and you stared down to see his signature scrawled across it with a brief note Congratulations on such a talented daughter. - Pete “Maverick” Mitchell “Tell your dad I said hi.” He said with a wink before turning away from you to his motorcycle. You stood there, frozen in shock as he got the bike upright and drove away with a wave. The moment he was out of view, the tears escaped your eyes. You’d been desperate for someone to take a chance on you, but never in your wildest dreams would you have expected that person would be Pete fucking Mitchell.

A/N: And we’re on our way!! Sorry no Jake this chapter but Bugs needed to be set on her path before the big meeting. I promise he’ll be in Chapter 1! Thanks for reading and if you want to be on the taglist let me know! As always, asks are always open to talk about the Dogfighters ❤️

#jake x doc #snitches get stitches // sdd #top gun maverick hockey au #tgm hockey au #tgm #jake hangman seresin #top gun maverick #jake seresin #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #hangman x reader #hangman x you #no use of y/n #san diego dogfighters au #San Diego Dogfighters #San Diego Dogfighters hockey AU

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count-alucard-tepes · 6 months

Note

What sexy things do the OP Hotties do that turn you on? 👀

Haha I normally wouldn’t do slightly spicy asks but I’ll respond to this one because I can’t resist😆😍

Kizaru ✨: he such a tease, you know he’s so smooth with the ladies and he dresses really well too. A well put together man is always desirable.

Akainu🌋: he’s stoic and cold and I’m a brat 😂 I feel like that would be the perfect match for someone like him. Also he has tattoos and he seems like he would protect me with his life and that’s so sexy.

Ryokugyu 🌱: he’s a bad boy and everyone loves a bad boy. And when ever I get mad at him he would just turn into a tree with my favorite flowers…a girl is sold.

Fujitora 🐅: he’s such a sweetheart, you know he would be the best husband ever.

Sir Crocodile 🐊: it’s his style, he just oozes sexiness in everything he does and says. He knows he can have anyone and that confidence is really sexy.

Doflamingo Donquixote 🦩: the ultimate bad boy who would have you wrapped around his finger literally and figuratively. It’s the sexy body, the laugh, the style! Not to mention, he’s someone you don’t want to cross the line with him. He’s the guy your parents say stay away from with good reason but you still want a taste.

Benn Beckman 🔫: he’s so mysterious and you know he’ll charm your pants off in 30 seconds. He’s also strong and smart…it’s a win-win situation!

Katakuri Charlotte 🍡: Oda thought everyone was gonna be terrified of this hottie! But no, this mochi baby daddy is the perfect example of don’t judge a book by its cover! He’s a family guy who listens to his mom and cares for his younger siblings! And not to mention he’s got a sexy body and can tell why you’re angry before you stomp around ! And he loves donuts so I never have to diet again! I AM SOLD!

Killer🔪: alright post time skip Killer is hot and all but pre time skip Killer had me on my knees! He’s is so cute and mysterious but also super intelligent and fine af! Blonde hair and blue eyes…that’s my punk rock Barbie right there!

Kaido🐉: he’s emotional af when he’s drunk and just loves the hell out of his kid and those around him that are loyal to him! To be Yamato’s mom and smash Kaido at him prime! Omg I’d cling to ankles, y’all !

King 👑 : he’s the hot character of color who is the epitome of tall, dark and sexy! He has the white hair! He’s that bitch! He’s got wings and legs for days! The fucking face tattoo!!! I would cling onto his knees (since that’s probably the highest point where I’d be able reach him) and die for this baby daddy!

Queen👑: oh man, Queen is so fucking cool! I just wanna party with him until I can’t walk anymore! You know he puts the party God to shame! Karaoke night at Onigashima would be everything!

Izou🔫🔫: he’s so beautiful…I would be so shy around him because he’s so freaken pretty and would always look hotter than me! It’s always nice to have someone else do your hair and make up and Izou is my main man to be my wifey!

Dragon D Monkey 🐉🐒: the face tattoo! You know he’s a badass when he got a face tattoo and his best friend is an Okama! I’m ready to see Dragon naked, y’all! I’m about to be Luffy’s stepmom! Croc is about to gut me😂😂😂

Oven Charlotte 🍞: feeling sad…he bakes some cake…feeling happy…let’s have croissants! He’s just gonna fatten me up and I’ll never have to diet again because I’ll always be smaller than him! These Charlotte men are just the best! He’s also got main character energy 😂

Buggy🤡: he has hair goals I want to achieve but will never reach even if I tried! He’s charismatic and funny af! Buggy-sama is everything!😍

Marco the Phoenix 🦅: he’s a doctor! Score! My parents would never be prouder since I’m not…next best thing is my hubby being a doctor! He’s also such a cutie who seems to always be smiling!

Eustass Kidd🤘🎸: our favorite angry firecracker! He’s a cutie who wears make up and looks like he should be a drummer in a rock band! He’s got beautiful red hair and he’s intelligent! He also can fix your appliances! That’s a wifey right there!

Rosinantè Donquixote aka Cora-San💕: he’s gentle and emotionally available! Not to mention he’s a natural dad! He’s funny and clumsy af but a total badass! Let’s not forget he’s the handsome sibling lol

Who’s Who ❤️‍🔥👹: omg he’s tall, has pink hair, has tattoos and has a sexy smirk! Not to forget he turns into a cute kitty man! I’m ready to have his kittens!

Gecko Moria🦇: now prime Gecko Moria was every fucking thing! I mean who challenges Kaido and doesn’t actually lose…kinda! He was really hot too!

Iceburg💜: he’s so cute and funny, I can’t with him! He’s also so intelligent and can build stuff, love it!

Gild Tesoro⚜️🏅: first of all, he’s rich and he’s hot! A girl is sold! He sings and dances…even better!

Rob Lucci🐆: he’s so cute! I can’t deal especially in his kitty form, he’s also mysterious. From hot to cold in a mere couple of seconds! I love it! His hair is so beautiful too! I can’t deal!

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drunkenskunk · 1 month

Text

Meanwhile, en route to the Icebreaker...

All was quiet on the Dragon's Tooth. The old IPS-N clipper being used as the home-away-from-Hell's-Gate for the Strategic Response Team was currently on its braking burn towards the Icebreaker Borealis, and the ship's clocks had all been set to the station's local time. As a result, it was close to “one in the morning,” and nearly everyone on board was asleep.

A hatch suddenly opened onto the mech bay. Scarlet stepped through the open door, wearing only a tank top and sweatpants. A part of her knew she shouldn't be walking around in here with bare feet, but she was worried about making too much noise. In fact, she was worried about a lot of things...

Before she knew it, she was standing before her mech: Big Red. An old Everest, battle scarred and rough around the edges, she'd been slowly tinkering with and upgrading the ancient beast over her last several months on the team. What stood out the most was the armored “boombox” she'd had custom fitted to the right shoulder. It housed the barrels, rotor assembly, and firing mechanism of the Leviathan heavy assault cannon, fed by a pair of armored ammo belts and connected to the immense ammo drum mounted on the back. It wasn't the newest addition, but it was certainly the most obvious, especially when compared to the other assault mechs in the militia's rank-and-file.

The war machine was still harnessed and braced in its alcove, completely immobile and powered down: exactly as she'd left it several hours earlier. That wouldn't have been notable, had it not been for the unexpected... calamity from earlier. And it was why she was here right now.

See, Scarlet had ordered some explosive vents for Big Red some time ago; after all, heat buildup during the last few fights was becoming a bit of an issue, so she might as well put that heat to some good use, right? But for one reason or another, she had kept putting off the installation. This was likely because everything had become Completely Fucked in Calliope ever since the arrival of all those warship fleets in system. She'd been way too busy running “all hands, repel boarders” combat drills with a lot of the Hell's Gate militia, on the ever-increasingly-likely chance that they'd need it.

Now that the SRT was on their way to the Icebreaker, she had plenty of time, and Agarin even offered to help her get them installed. Getting the physical parts slotted into the mech went as smooth as every other installation in the past, and everything seemed to be going fine. And then she powered up the mech to install the firmware updates.

The instant the fusion core spun up, the machine started moving all on it's own, ignoring any commands and struggling against the restraints and maintenance catwalks holding it in place. Big Red's distinctive purr – a clicking sound with an unknown source the mech would occasionally make – had turned into a ferocious, almost animalistic roar that Scarlet was sure must have echoed throughout the entire ship. The whole machine bucked and writhed uncontrollably, very nearly ripping the umbilicals out of the bay, and if Scarlet hadn't been strapped in by the assault harness and connected through the cranial jack at the base of her skull, she was sure she would have been tossed right out of the open cockpit like a ragdoll.

Just as she felt like her options were running out, Agarin had hopped into the open cockpit with a grace that she thought shouldn't have been possible for someone so damn tall (did that tail of his help with balance?). He was intent on interfacing with the mech using some of his implants and technical know-how in the hope that the two of them working together could get the machine to calm down... but as soon as the handsome dragon man plugged himself in, everything just got worse.

In truth, Scarlet could barely remember everything that happened. Big Red misidentified Agarin's presence in the system as an attack, battering him through the connection with words like INTRUDER, INTERLOPER, and HOSTILE, repeated over and over again... and because she was hard-wired into the machine as well, her mind was also hit with the same mental assault.

Combat recordings from dozens – maybe hundreds – of past engagements flooded both of their minds. Indescribable death and carnage on an unthinkable scale that she had never before witnessed. Screams of the dead, entire worlds on fire, and the machines who burned them. Pilots murdered by the score, one after the other, their names and faces blending together. Recordings, information, tactical data, and images force-fed directly into her brain through the cranial jack, overloading her senses and layering on top of one another until the horror and anger and pain of it all melted into nothing but noise.

The whole experience only lasted for a few minutes, but it had felt like hours.

What she did remember clearly was Agarin doing some kind of Clanner Space Magic to ask her a simple question: “Do you trust me?” And while she responded with as an enthusiastic “yes” as she could possibly muster right then and there, it was like the mech had also been given pause by the question. Before she knew it, the connection in her mind began to fade, and the mech powered down of its own volition.

That was several hours ago. She stared up at the wedge-shaped head of her mech, and the distinctive mass of cracks around the left optical unit. She half expected it to start moving again to look at her, but the trio of cameras remained shuttered, and the head was still and immobile.

“Can't sleep?” came a voice from behind her, and Scarlet practically jumped out of her skin. She wheeled around and was face-to-holographic-face with Siren, the Dragon's Tooth NHP pilot. She had her arms folded across her chest, and she was looking at Scarlet with a curious expression. Was that amusement or annoyance?

“Wh- I- well... no.” Scarlet stammered out eventually. She brushed some errant strands of red hair out of her face. “I'm just... y'know, I'm still... still just a bit on edge from earlier, yeah?”

“And you thought checking in on your haunted mech in the middle of the night would take the edge off?” Siren asked, tilting her head with her mouth cracking into a smirk.

“Hey, c'mon, Big Red ain't haunted, I just...” she tried to wave it off dismissively, but Scarlet briefly looked over her shoulder to glance up at her mech – as if checking to make sure it was, indeed, still not moving – and then quickly turned back at Siren. “Look, I know we're headin' to the Icebreaker for that party bein' thrown by the Kingdom Aniline or whoever, but you know what things've been like lately. Fer all we know, we're headin' into another fight, an' I... I just wanna make sure he's good t'go, and isn't gonna freak out. Don't want any more surprises.”

“Sorry marine, I'm not letting you boot up that thing again while we're in transit and without proper support,” Siren shook her head. “I heard about the Vent Crab Incident back on the Gate, and I'm not letting you blow any holes in my ship.”

Scarlet screwed up her face in frustration. Apparently that fake Muse post Pearce made a while back (do mechs even know what they're doing or do they just see crab flowing down a vent and think “absolutely not”) was still floating around the Omninet. And, sure, she had accidentally blown up a vent crab (and several bulkheads) with a mech scale rifle round that day, but she didn't even have a Muse account!

“I promise I'm just gonna run some diagnostics,” Scarlet said, holding up her hands in what she hoped was a disarming gesture. “I'll keep him in low-power, won't even spin up th' reactor. Just wanna be sure everything is fine, so I can put my worries to bed an' get some sleep.”

Siren was quiet for a minute, scrutinizing the mech pilot. The holographic NHP eventually sighed and shrugged.

“Alright, go on. But I'll be keeping an eye on things, and I'll have my hand on the kill-switch the second I even get a whiff that something is about to go wrong.”

“Hey now, you don't ha-” Scarlet began, but Siren held up a blue shimmering finger.

“These terms are non-negotiable, marine. Now go on, check on the spooky boy, I'll keep watch from here. But do try and be quick about it. I've got some friends in a game of Fleet Command 5016 on standby, and I don't want to leave them hanging for too long.”

And with that, the Siren hologram winked away.

Scarlet turned on her heel, scampered up the access later, and popped the cockpit hatch as quick as she could, just on the off chance Siren decided to have a change of heart. Once she got settled in the command couch, she flipped a series of switches to start the mech in low-power mode. While the monitors and consoles around her began to hum softly, warming up into a diagnostic boot sequence, she reached behind her head, feeling around for the metal jack behind her seat. She moved her ponytail out of the way with her free hand, and slotted the jack into her cranial port with the other.

The connection was immediate and made her grit her teeth, just like always: a sharp electric buzz at the base of her skull that blossomed into icy fingers prodding inside her brain. The sensation wormed its way down through her neck and flooded her extremities until everything tingled uncomfortably, as if her whole body had fallen asleep for half a second. Then the sensation passed, and a relative equilibrium was achieved between Scarlet and her war machine.

“Alright big guy,” Scarlet said, trying to blink away the sparkles on the edges of her vision. “Tell me what ails you.”

The low clicking reverberated through the cockpit in response, and words quickly typed themselves out on one of the monitors.

<<HOSTILE ARCHITECTURE DETECTED>>

“Hostile architecture?” Scarlet said aloud. “Wait, y'mean the new parts?” She figured that was probably the problem, but she still wasn't entirely clear as to why.

The mech rumbled. A different monitor on the other side of the cockpit flipped on, and began to playback a recording. This was one of the many recordings that had been force-fed in her brain earlier, but it took Scarlet a minute to realize that was what she was looking at. After all, seeing an image on a monitor was a slightly different experience than a video feed overlaid with tactical and sensor data flowing around it like water, and transmitted directly into her mind through a cranial jack. Especially when there had been so much other information to parse.

The recording looked like it was the camera feed of a broken mech lying motionless on the ground, surrounded by rubble. It was hard to tell from the quality and angle of the recording, but she was pretty sure the mech this recording came from was much bigger than an Everest. Even so, the mech itself wasn't the focus: it was the inferno all around. It was like the whole world had been set on fire, and through the heat haze, she could see crude juggernauts marching past in formation. The recording shook with every stomp of their heavy boots, and streams of liquid fire surged from titanic flamethrowers.

More words began to type themselves on the other monitor, drawing her attention:

<<Rec:4533u//Hercynia-MycolFields//Varano,J.(Clover)//DECEASED>>

Scarlet turned back to the recording, with slightly better understanding. This was from 483 years ago? She knew this mech was old, but she had no idea it was that old. Hell, she didn't think the Everest frame was that old. Was that why it looked so different, and... so much larger? Had this machine not always been an Everest? The techs back on Hell's Gate had always joked that the “Rage Machine” was an ancient piece of shit, but... did anyone actually know how old this beast was?

And then there was that word that stood out to her for some reason: Hercynia. That was... Agarin mentioned something about that, after he got Big Red to calm down earlier, hadn't he? Her memory was still a bit fuzzy about that. Hercynia was... it was a planet somewhere, wasn't it? She wasn't entirely sure.

“Hang on, somethin' else is botherin' me. What are those?” Scarlet leaned forward, squinting her eyes, trying in vain to get the grainy picture on the monitor to come into focus. “Those mechs stompin' around, they kinda look familiar, but... hell, if I didn't know better, I'd say they were the same kinda frame Andros Capella was drivin' when he came out of that fire gate.”

Big Red seemed to shudder at the mention of Andros Capella... though, it was probably more accurate to say it sent a shudder up Scarlet's spine, directly through the cranial jack.

“Heh... yeah, I feel ya, big guy. You wanted a crack at him, same as I did.” Scarlet started to chuckle, and patted one of the consoles. “Well, look on the bright side: Pearce murked him, what? Four times in the last fight? An' Cassilda punched him t'death the first time. We'll probably get a crack at him ourselves, eventually.”

The clicking sound briefly grew in volume, before settling back down again.

“Alright, so these mechs yer showin' me. What are they, anyway?”

Another monitor above her and to her left winked on. It showed a wireframe of the mechs in the recording, clearly generated from what looked a mixture of official schematics and tactical data. Again, words began to type themselves out, drawing her attention.

<<U-MEF//GMS-UPA.1//Mk-1.Genghis//Worldkiller>>

“Wait, Genghis? That doesn't look like a-” but she cut herself off before she could finish her thought, as another one intruded. The Harrison Armory license she'd accessed to order the explosive vents was for the Mk II Genghis. Mark 2. She'd always wondered about that. Scarlet looked back up at the wireframe: this squat, brutal looking monster of a mech definitely cut a significantly different silhouette than the smaller, slimmer, sleeker frame of the Mk II... but the more she looked, the more she could see the resemblance.

Before she had a chance to ponder that any further, all the monitors cleared themselves, as a string of more words on the first monitor appeared.

<<Protocol 1: Link To Pilot>> <<Protocol 2: Uphold The Mission>> <<Protocol 3: Protect The Pilot>> <<ERROR//PROTOCOL CONFLICT//ERROR>> <<HOSTILE ARCHITECTURE DETECTED>> <<PROTOCOL 3 IN JEOPARDY>>

“Y'know what... after seein' all that? I don't blame ya for takin' that stance,” Scarlet reached up to scratch at her head. “I wouldn't want somethin' from those big fuckers in me either.”

Big Red rumbled again.

“Protect the pilot...” Scarlet muttered under her breath. “Well... I dunno if it'll help things, but... that's the whole reason I got these parts. I wasn't thinkin' of where they came from, but what they could do fer us, y'know?” She gestured with her thumb above her right shoulder. “That big fuck-off assault cannon we got from the Drake license generates a lot of heat, and I'm not sure I know how to squeeze in any more heat sinks without sacrificin' some structure.”

The screen winked clear, and another string appeared in its place.

<<...PROCESSING...>>

“Hell, if you don't believe me, believe what Agarin told ya earlier. We're all part of a team. Agarin, Fern, Cassilda... hell, even Pearce and that gaggle of NHP's he's been collectin' like playing cards. We all look out fer each other. We all make sure we come out the other side of every fight in one piece. An' that's all I was tryin' to do, yeah? Use whatever I can to keep myself alive, so I can find my Five Minutes, an' keep all them alive.” Scarlet let out a heavy sigh. “I... hell, I don't know if I'm makin' any sense. Am I makin' sense?”

The clicking steadied, and Big Red rumbled in sympathy.

The monitor flickered, and one more message scrolled past:

<<Protocol 3>> <<I will not lose another Pilot>>

“Yeah, don't you worry 'bout a thing, big man,” Scarlet patted one of the nearby consoles. “I'm not goin' anywhere.”

With that, she flipped the switches to fully power down the mech. The connection at the base of her skull went cold, as the monitors winked off and the hum of the consoles fell silent. She reached behind her head to disconnect the cerebral jack, and she sat nestled there in the command couch, waiting for the pins and needles sensation of neurons firing at stimuli no longer present to subside.

And as she sat there, surrounded by silence and darkness, a memory crossed her mind. An errant thread, begging to be pulled.

The memory was one of the visions she'd seen, when the team had been caught in that paracausal labyrinth deep beneath the surface of Botzmann. She still wasn't quite sure of how any of that shit worked, or how a cascading NHP was responsible, but it was like reality itself had been cut up and stitched back together; even time didn't make sense, experiencing pasts that never were, and impossible futures that still might be. And while Scarlet was lost, separated from the others, she had stumbled across a mirror. No words were said, but she somehow knew what it was the moment she saw her reflection looking back at her.

This Scarlet stared at her with tired, empty eyes. She was old and grey, with hands covered in blood... but none of it her own. A trail of death and carnage followed behind her. This was a Scarlet that had never found her Last Five Minutes, because she'd deliberately avoided finding them at any cost. This Scarlet was so good at keeping herself alive, that she had become the last one standing.

This was who she feared she could become.

“Yeah...” she said aloud, to no one in particular. “Guess I'm not goin' anywhere.”

#Lancer #Lancer RPG #lancer ttrpg #in golden flame #vex wasn't lying that one sure is plumed in golden flame #Strategic Response Team #Dragon's Tooth #GMS Everest #short fiction #my writing

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valorantmenheadcanons · 17 days

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Innocent and shy masc reader has an incredibly dirty search history and an even worse taste in porn, has a large collection of order receipts from bad dragon. Cypher goes snooping and finds this all out? They have a little "chat" about network security -🐩

this is like my biggest fear except with my parents accidentally opening one of my packages. its either shampoo or a toy gnmsfgns

cw: suggestive, mentions of Corn, technically kind of cyberstalking? it's cypher what do u expect

wc: 718

It's late when you hear a soft knock at your door. You put your phone down on the bed, wondering who's on the other side of the door, especially at this hour. You hope it isn't a call for a last minute mission- the last thing you want right now is to be in a plane in a matter of minutes, geared up to fight.

When you open the door, you're greeted to the sight of a familiar beige figure, standing just a little too close. Cypher never seemed to mind getting in other people's space as long as he was the one doing it; invade his and he'd scamper off in seconds. His blue mechanical eyes scan over you quickly, though in a way that reminds you of someone checking for weapons rather than looking appreciatively.

"I need to talk to you about something," the man chirps, inviting himself inside your room before you can say anything. He slides by you with a careful hand on your shoulder, the leathery material of his gloves cool against your skin. You flush a little at the contact, fleeting but strangely electrifying. You shut your door behind him, folding your arms over your chest as you turn around to face him. You assume he's going to ask for a favour of some kind, or he wants to steal a piece of machinery from you, again, but you're really not in the mood to humour his requests, tired, and a little cranky because of it. Cypher pauses for a moment, hand half-raised in the air like he's trying to figure out exactly what he wants to say. "You know that I am very technology proficient, yes?"

You nod, frowning at the opening. He's usually pretty straightforward when he's asking for something.

"Come on, everyone knows to delete it afterwards. Are you trying to tease me?" Cypher's voice is smooth, peppy and cheerful but calculated, any hint of hesitancy gone. He's talking to you the same way he chides his opponents in a fight he's already won. The realisation sends a shiver up your spine- he knows something that either you don't know or don't want him to know. But you have an inkling, a gut feeling, that it's something you didn't want him to know. Not yet, anyways.

"What are you talking about?" You try, a little too quick to appear genuinely confused. Cypher's head only tilts minutely.

"You're too smart to be playing dumb. I mean, really?" Cypher scoffs, taking a few steps forwards, forcing you to take one back to maintain a semblance of distance between you two. "Looking up Moroccan models?" Another step forward, and your back brushes against the wall next to the door. "Picturing me as any one of them, hm?" Another step, and there's barely any space between you, and you want to die.

You hadn't intended for him to see any of that- although that meant he was snooping around your private search history, a whole other issue to tackle- but you also hadn't not intended for him to see any of that. It was a blurred line, your attraction to Cypher.

"'dirty talk in arabic'?" He has the decency to stifle a laugh, which only makes your face flush deeper, embarrassment, shame, and something else washing over you. "Mm, not to mention your purchasing history. Dirty, dirty, dirty boy," he clicks his tongue. "I thought you were all sweet, not so perverted."

You finally find your voice, the tips of your ears burning at this point. "I'm not the one snooping around in other people's stuff!" You tout back, a weak deflection.

"I'm not the one imagining their coworker is fucking them."

"Shut up!" You groan, really wishing with all your heart that you could be anywhere but here.

Cypher's beady blue eyes lift with a mirth you can sense through his mask. "Ohhh... but you like it. You're so red," and this time he does chuckle, mean and condescending, and damn if it doesn't send a little jolt of warmth through you, the idea that that little laugh is just for you to hear. "How about this: You show me which videos you like, and I'll give you a... personal lesson in how to delete your search history. How does that sound?"

#valorant #valorant headcanons #valorant x reader #valorant cypher #valorant cypher x reader #male reader #x male reader #valorant fanfiction #valorant smut

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deafsignifcantother · 10 days

Text

the baby

♥ summary: almost loosely based off of this by @ukor02. This is really just a small little writing thing I did at 4am. ♥ relationship: no direct romance really, just some cute stuff between Lucifer and reader. ♥ word count: 1.6k ♥ notes: no childbirth mentioning and this is written like just as summaries of the situation tbh, almost like a bullet point format without the bullet points, the entire cast are characters, hospital scene, I made Alastor a main character and her main bestie because of course I did, reader is happy to be a mother

You wanted to give your baby a chance to get into Heaven, even if it meant they'd leave without you. Hell is no place for a child. Both you and Charlie knew that.

"What a pleasant surprise," you sign to Alastor when you see that damn smiling demon right outside your hotel room.

He laughs; aw, you're describing his arrival as pleasant. Did he make a good impression on you when you saw him last when he introduced himself in person in Pride Sign Language? You never seemed to have paid any mind to him, giving one motion signs as responses whenever he tried starting a conversation. But even when you interacted with him like that, he couldn't help but wonder why you always looked at him with your sweet, shy gaze. It's not on purpose, which is the worst part.

Pleasant, you called it a pleasant surprise.

"It's good to see you too, my dear!" He signs, bowing a bit and pushing past you into your room. "What have you been up to?"

What an obnoxious question.

You close the door, squeezing the doorknob tightly. This is going to be a long evening. When you turn back to Alastor, he's in your living room examining the decor, your random art pieces taped to the walls and organized together, though not concisely.

He waves his hands. "I love what you've done with the place."

"I've been bored." You sign with a slight nod to yourself. It's awfully isolating, which is obvious. Still, it has never hit you as hard as it does now as you watch another person walk through your chambers.

"I'm glad I can be in your company then." His smile widens, and the static he emits gets heavier. His ear twitched a bit, which you noticed but tried not to directly look at. Was it a good or bad thing?

"But it's often relieving to be alone," you start and look him up and down.

"You're quite used to being alone, aren't you?"

Your lips tighten, your hands stiff, and you are unable to finish your sentence. Absentmindedly, you rest them on your plump, pregnant belly. Alastor does his best not to let his eyes draw down to analyze it. Still, his head tilts, even just a little. He hates looking at your hands when you touch your stomach. Did his mother hold her belly like that when he was inside of hers?

"Don't you have others to talk to?"

"They're out on their little journeys, you know them."

"Of course."

Alas, he lets his eyes trail down to your stomach. It's not quite full, but it's obvious enough to gain attention from others. Charlie will put her hands on it every day, waiting for the baby to show its presence. She can feel the heartbeat, and so can you and Vaggie, though everybody else can't feel a thing. Alastor refuses to put a hand on your stomach. Life is precious and loud, and the few who were never human understand that differently than the others.

"I wanted to check in on the baby."

A twitch of your eyebrow makes his smile widen.

"Why?"

The day before, Lucifer arrived.

You try on your best clothes, laying them flat against your front, looking at your belly in the mirror. For the king, should you try to hide it or show it proudly? He has a daughter, but does that affect his thoughts about Hellborn pregnancies? Gosh, what do you have to worry about? So stupid.

With the other people, your new friends, you stood with your head proud.

He swirled with the dragons and hugged his daughter as if he hadn't seen her for years. What a kind man, unusually kind. His eyes... Those soft, precious eyes. And when they landed on you, your heart almost stopped. He looked at you as if you were an angel. When his lips started to move, the smile you didn't even know you wore faded.

Charlie put her hand on his shoulder and whispered something to him. And there came Alastor, saving the day.

"The idiotic king was just telling you how happy he is for you." With the signs came the grinding of his teeth.

Lucifer approached, his cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment. He addressed Alastor with aggressive hesitance. 'Tell her...' he said.

Charlie smiled excitedly, Nifty kept nodding, and Sir Pentious's eyes started tearing up.

Alastor grimaced. "He's asking if he could feel your stomach."

As always, you've put a thorn in the flow of interactions.

Still, you put on a smile. "Of course."

And there you stood, the King of Hell's hands gently holding you. You could feel the cold of his touch even through the fabric of your shirt. The heartbeat vibrated through both your body and his. The baby was alive and well; you could tell through the pure glee that spread across his face. Beyond your tiny ounce of worry, you knew he'd find hope within your baby.

Alastor watched with a terribly strained smile.

"Why?" You ask again when he doesn't answer. "What's with the sudden worry?"

"Worry? No, no." Alastor waves you off. "More like..."

You watch with interest as he trails off, a vulnerability you love.

He squints his eyes and clenches his fists, but only for a moment. His lack of vocabulary kills him. "...Intrigue."

You crack a smirk. "Are you finally gonna feel my stomach?"

Another pause. Alastor considers it, but all he can imagine is his claws accidentally drawing blood.

"No."

"That's okay." Again, your hands rest on your stomach.

Alastor has been watching it grow, but so has Lucifer. Charlie's father scarcely visits, and you've convinced yourself it's to see you. Every time he enters the hotel, he asks how you are. He tries to lift his hands to sign but finds no words forming. A language was created in his world, and he has yet to learn how to learn it.

Whenever he presses his hands against your belly, he can feel the liveliness of the soul forming inside you, and he can feel your appreciation at his care.

Begrudgingly, he always has to ask Alastor for advice on communicating with you. Alastor always has a cocky smirk when he teaches.

Charlie has to ask Alastor for help, too, but more willingly. Alastor raises his chin and squares shoulders when people ask him for help. Charlie went to him for help on a conversation you knew she was going to start with you:

"You're not going to stay here for the battle."

"I know." There was no argument on your behalf. Charlie's cheeks still went pink.

"But I have to figure out where it's safest for you. Alastor told me Cannibal Town, but uhh... Maybe not."

"They'll all be here anyway. Maybe they'll distract the angels from going over there."

Her bright eyes widen a bit. "Do you think so?"

"I can stay over there, even if they try to eat me." They won't, and even if they try, they know Alastor would end their lives, don't they?

She fiddles with her fingers before lifting them up again. "I suppose..."

She's so quickly convinced it's cute. You're right, though, of course. Cannibal Town might be the safest place, specifically under the hands of Rosie, who Alastor had previously told you would be more than willing to help you. You can imagine her smile at seeing your belly, twice the size as when Alastor first told you about her. Unbeknownst to Charlie, he's been planning this for a while.

Your stress for their safety irks you more than you expected.

You place a hand on Charlie's, lifting your other one. "I'll be okay."

Before you left for Cannibal Town, you met Lucifer once again, a more loving side of him. He cradled your head and held the back of your neck as he did. His cold body felt like warmth to you. He whispered things to you; you could only tell from how his breath constantly brushed against your ear in sing-songy waves. Was he singing to you? A lullaby? He pulled away and finally signed to you. "You're going to be a great mom."

A moment before, Alastor finally put his hands on your belly. His hands were warm. Like Lucifer, he was whispering to himself, holding silent words from you. In another life, you'd imagine they were prayers. At that moment, only an instinct, you put your hands on his, and he allowed it.

The stress of their safety worsened when they were left alone in Cannibal Town without a word of winning or losing.

The winning of Hell was all you wanted to focus on when you noticed the contractions getting worse, spaced out in purposeful ways. Oh goodness, you found yourself thinking, oh my God.

What if Lucifer dies on the same day your child is born?

But after the battle, he was right there to cradle the baby in his arms, his heavenly grasp relaxing the tiny baby. The rest of the group sat in your room, Sir Pentious absent, tears in their eyes at both the birth and the death.

Beyond Lucifer's cradling, Husk was the only one who touched your child that day. He placed his furry paw against the baby, feeling the body heat that they admitted. Life could be beautiful, he decided.

Vaggie's sense of revenge deepened. She sacrificed Heaven to save a child, and now she's even more than willing to kill her sisters to save yours.

While Charlie stares at your baby with tears, Alastor smiles warmly at you. He knew you could do it: birth something beautiful and worth protecting.

Your eyes are locked on Lucifer. He's an amazing, supportive dad to Charlie, and your heart begins to swell. Your heartbeat increases, and a blush weakly forms on your already flushed face. His rough hands hold a forgiving softness. He's beautiful.

#x deaf reader #hazbin hotel #x reader #lucifer #alastor #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel x reader

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immoralkombat · 7 months

Text

intricate rituals

Training was supposed to be finished three hours ago, and yet here Johnny is, wrapping his hands up in new bandages, getting ready to kick Kenshi's ass again.

It was Johnny's idea, naturally. After all, he and Kenshi never had a Madam Bo, so they need more training to compensate for Lord Liu Kang not giving either of them the advantage that Raiden and Lao got. Kenshi might've had the yakuza, sure, but Johnny only ever got stunt training. If this extra training session isn't for Kenshi, it's for Johnny this time.

He warms up, jumping in place as he stretches his arms across his chest. Kenshi meanwhile is practicing a couple slashes with a bamboo sword. He claims that Lord Liu Kang made him switch out his actual katana for it so that he wouldn't accidentally kill anybody, but Johnny tries his best to turn that into the belief that Kenshi doesn't want to hurt him.

It's been a month since Kenshi broke into his mansion, a month since Johnny found out that he was chosen by a literal god to defend the entirety of Earth against potential invasion, a month since he had Kenshi tied up in one of his kitchen chairs and grilled him about the history of Sento. And in that month, Johnny thinks that he's at least gone from 'mortal enemy' to 'frenemy' on Kenshi's list. They'd been bunked together at the Wu Shi ever since they got there, something that Lord Liu Kang insisted on as team-building. Johnny was lucky that he woke up at all during those first few days.

It's been three weeks since he first saw Kenshi smile at him, three weeks since he finally told a joke that landed, three weeks since he heard Kenshi call him "Cage" for the first time and it didn't sound like he was seconds away from pulling a sword on him. He thinks that maybe it's just because Kenshi has to spend time with him, or maybe it's genuine forgiveness that Johnny doesn't really deserve. Either way, he remembers it like it was yesterday, and if he weren't a better actor, it'd cause him to get flustered beyond words every time he thought of it again.

It's been two weeks since Kenshi first asked him to watch a movie together, two weeks since they started actually talking to one another, two weeks since Johnny caught him looking at him and smiling for the first time. Every time he thinks about it, it makes his cheeks warm. He has to ball his fists and leave little crescent shapes in his palms to get the blush off of his face. He wishes he could blame it on the lingering resentment he feels for Kenshi breaking into his fucking house and threatening his life, but he knows better. He knows way better.

It's been a week since Lord Liu Kang told them that the tournament was going to be in a few weeks, a week since Kenshi accidentally touched his hand while he was passing some salt at dinner and Johnny hasn't stopped thinking about it since, a week since Johnny finally came to terms with the fact that he had a bit of a crush on this guy.

It's been two hours since they last sparred. Two hours too long.

Johnny looks Kenshi up and down, an act he'll try and justify as sizing up his opponent when asked about it. "Hey, Brown Eyes Red Dragon, you gonna finally stop swinging that shit around and let me start kicking your ass, or...?"

The swordsman looks down at him. Kenshi's an inch taller than him. He shouldn't find that as pleasing as he does. "A good fighter will take as much time to prepare as they can. Something you'd know if you weren't snoring through Lord Liu Kang's lessons."

Johnny snorts. "I'm a fuckin' movie star, Keanu. I don't get time to prep. I just naturally kick this much ass."

He watches Kenshi roll his eyes and he smiles. He thinks that there's more affection behind that than it seems. At least, he hopes so.

Kenshi puts his sword back in its sheath and straightens his shoulders. His tattooed fingers flex and stretch at his sides as he rolls his neck. Thank God there aren't any mind-readers nearby, because every single thing running through Johnny's head is X-rated.

"Alright, Cage. Are you ready?"

Johnny nods, using his hands to help crack his neck. "Better question is, are you?"

Kenshi scoffs at him, his nose sneering upwards. He's even hot when he's pulling an ugly face and that's part of how Johnny knows that he has it bad. "Forget I asked."

He starts by throwing a punch while Johnny is preoccupied with staring at his sneer. It connects with his jaw and makes him draw his head back. He really should've told Kenshi that the face was off-limits, but he guesses that that's on him. He should've clarified beforehand. All's fair in complicated one-sided interest and war.

Johnny counters by going to a split and immediately tapping his nuts. He makes sure to restrain himself from going full strength because he knows that he could easily obliterate him, but he doesn't really want to do that. He thinks that maybe Kenshi deserves to have his balls. At least for now. That's completely subject to change in the future, but right now, he likes him. As expected, his tatted hands immediately go to soothe his jewels.

Johnny takes the time to get up and readjust before he goes for another hit, a kick to the leg that brings Kenshi to his knees. He tries to ignore the dirty thoughts that flood his brain when he sees him at that precise height, in that precise situation. He fails. Pretty miserably.

He looks down at Kenshi, a nice change of pace. "Gotta say, I'm a fan of this view," he says, unable to keep his ego in check.

Kenshi looks up at him with fire in his eyes and Jesus Christ, Johnny is the best actor in the world if he's gonna keep pretending that he's not already willing to do unspeakable things to this man for the foreseeable future. He lets out a long sigh, trying to figure out his next move.

Unfortunately, Kenshi seems to have already figured out what he wants to do to get himself in a better spot, which results in Johnny not even spotting the move before he's suddenly making contact with the cobblestone on the ground. He winces as he feels a particularly tall stone dig into the twinge in his back. He doesn't seem to care that he could easily have a concussion now, because Kenshi is looming over him, the sun haloing behind his head. Were he not responsible for the ache that spans the entire back half of Johnny's body, he could probably be mistaken for an angel.

"This view's more my speed," he retorts. Johnny's too occupied with the pain shooting through him to acknowledge how clever (and hot) that was.

Something he doesn't expect happens afterward; a tattooed hand extends forward and offers to help him up.

He thinks about it for a second, how easy it'd be to take it and accept mercy he doesn't deserve. It feels almost like a cinematic parallel. It's like the kindness Johnny refused to offer him when they first met. It's all of the best qualities of Kenshi, hidden beneath the yakuza ink that covers his hands. It's every reason why he fucking deserves Sento, why Johnny's dismissal is just another reason why he fucking sucks and why Cris left him. It's another reminder that he isn't John Carlton anymore.

He takes the hand and pulls him down to land on top of him.

Kenshi takes the brunt of the fall on his hands as he sticks them out to stop him from cracking his face against Johnny's big head. Johnny winces for him at the thought of how fucked up his palms are gonna be. He makes a mental note to play the hero later and help him bandage them up in their dorm after this.

Their chests are pressed against one another for a moment, too short to savor and too long to go unnoticed. It knocks the wind out of them both, and they seem to draw a breath at the exact same time, both ragged and loud.

There's a leg between Johnny's. He thanks Lord Liu Kang that Kenshi's knee didn't land high enough to bust his balls. He's less grateful for everything else about feeling Kenshi's leg between his.

"Congratulations, Cage. You've given me yet another reason I should just kill you in your sleep." Despite the words he's saying, his voice couldn't sound any more friendly and kind. It makes Johnny's heart beat just a little bit faster.

Johnny chuckles. "Oh, please. You're gonna keep me around. After all, there's no way you'd find a prettier sleep aid than me."

Kenshi rolls his eyes again, but doesn't make a rebuttal. Johnny wishes he would. That way it'd be easier. It'd be way fucking easier if Kenshi just kept bantering with him, that way he could ignore the nagging feeling in his chest.

He can't stop himself from looking down at Kenshi's lips. He knows it's a mistake even as he's doing it. He knows it's a mistake when he looks back up and sees Kenshi's eyes widen.

"You're a hell of a fighter, Last Samurai. You're lucky you caught me on a particularly bad day, y'know that right? My back hurts like a son of a bitch."

Kenshi doesn't respond.

"If I didn't have a movie career to think of, I'd keep kicking your ass."

More silence.

"C'mon, you usually got some sort of comeback by now? Cat got your tongue?"

Nothing.

"...Please, say somethin'."

"What was this really about, Cage?"

This time, Johnny doesn't have a reply.

Before he can even try to say something clever, he feels lips against his own. He lets out a surprised noise that gets muffled by Kenshi's mouth closing over his. His eyes are wide open and staring right at Kenshi, whose eyes are closed tightly as he kisses Johnny with full force. It almost feels like another attack, the force that's behind it. He feels their teeth clack together a bit on impact and he hopes that Kenshi didn't just break his nose with his own.

An inked hand moves to rest against his jaw as his eyes finally begin to flutter closed and his lips move to kiss him back. He moves his hands to rest at Kenshi's waist, every single fiber of his being screaming at him to go for the neck and bring him closer, push him down more. He needs to feel more of him pressing onto him, but he settles for a kiss for now. Kenshi's thumb smooths over his cheek. It's surprisingly tender considering that he's trying his damnedest to stick his tongue in Johnny's mouth right now. It's bold enough that Johnny lets him.

They finally start to get the hang of it after a few seconds, it seems. Kenshi finally tilts his head so that Johnny can breathe through his nose. He feels blood beginning to trickle out of it, but Christ alive, he doesn't fucking care because he's kissing him. He can taste blood in his mouth and he lets it mix into their spit, and he doesn't fucking care because Kenshi's hand is moving to grab him by the neck.

Johnny can't help but let out a hum of approval as he feels the grip on the back of his neck tighten and pull him up to rest on his elbows. He decides to let him manhandle him. He thinks that was the point of the sparring match, but he won't tell Kenshi that until they've sufficiently talked things through. He doesn't want to seem too eager, but he also wants to tell Kenshi that his hands would make for such a pretty fuckin' choker. He wants to play it cool, but he also wants to rut his hips up against Kenshi's thigh.

He settles for continuing the kiss until Kenshi pulls away.

Kenshi's dark eyes scan his face, first looking to Johnny's still-closed eyes, then to his kiss-swollen lips, and then to the blood running out of his nostril and into his mouth.

"Fuck, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that," Kenshi says. It hurts way worse than his nose.

Johnny shakes his head. "No need. Everybody ends up wanting to fuck me sooner or later. Just surprised by how quick the turnaround was for you, Neo. Usually I have to wine and dine my enemies before they start trying to get in my pants."

Kenshi's cheeks are a deep red as he gets up and the pleasant weight that had been resting on Johnny's groin is lifted with him. He turns his face away from Johnny, leaving him to look wistfully at the sharpness of his jawline. "Shut up. This never happened."

"Whatever you say, handsome. You're still not getting Sento back."

This seems to snap Kenshi out of the flustered state he's in, because his cheeks turn to a more normal color and his brow furrows. "You're lucky I left the yakuza, Cage. You'd be long dead by now if I hadn't."

He dusts off his knees, leaving blood from his palms on the cloth that covers him before he walks out. It's just then that Johnny realizes there's gonna be some of Kenshi's blood in his hair and around his neck.

He'll wear it like a scarlet letter for the next few minutes, before he has to go and shower off before dinner.

#johnshi #johnny cage x kenshi #johnny x kenshi #kenshi x johnny #kenshi x johnny cage #mortal kombat 1 spoilers #mortal kombat 1 2023 #mk1 spoilers #mk1 2023 #mk1 #johnny cage #kenshi #kenshi takahashi #second johnshi fic and i'm already making them smash faces like two dolls (or action figures ig)#me writing fic: i'm constructing intricate rituals that allow you to touch the skin of another man!~#cross posted on ao3 #this was also posted to my ao3 but i'm keeping works limited to registered users only bc. protecting my works and whatnot!

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flowerandblood · 9 months

Text

The Impossible Choice (20)

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Baratheon! • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, smut, angst, domination, murder ]

[description: Aemond comes to Storm’s End to choose his future consort. However, Lord Borros Baratheon presents him with only four of his five daughters. Being attached to his youngest child, he does not want to marry her. The prince, however, thwarts his and her plans with his decision. This is slow burn, with a lot of dark angst and sexual tension. (Anon Request)]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

______

As he watched Criston Cole place the crown on his brother's head, he thought that the gods were laughing at them in the heavens. That it was impossible for them to miss the punishment for such sacrilege, to plant such a man on the throne with full knowledge of his ruin. The matter was, however, a foregone conclusion.

His brother had become a King.

He remembered the subsequent events only as if through a fog. The dragon emerging from the ground ready to devour them, the face of his father's cousin sitting on its back. He knew that they had lost, that god's punishment had descended on them faster than he had anticipated.

Yet nothing happened.

They were not burned.

As they rode inside the carriage back to the Red Keep he had the impression that he was dreaming it all, that it was some kind of nightmare, from which he was about to wake up, and that his father was still alive. However, the nightmare continued, his wife snuggled against his chest sobbed quietly.

He was not surprised.

They had no reason to celebrate.

Nevertheless, his mother organised a feast in honour of the newly crowned King; everyone sat down in a grave atmosphere, and the only person who seemed happy was Aegon. He chatted lightly with everyone, raising his cup towards the servant once in a while to pour him more wine.

He watched this with intense gaze full of disgust.

He clenched his hand into a fist as his brother addressed his wife directly; he had felt subconsciously since the day of their wedding that Aegon had tried to drag her to his bed, giving her a gentle signals that he was interested in her.

He trusted his wife completely and knew that she did not reciprocate this affection, but his strengthened position began to worry him.

He knew that Aegon was trying to get them off balance, mocking them and playing at their expense. He felt satisfaction at the sight of his wife responding to him without fear, feeling apparently no respect for him. He wanted to leave and spare her and himself this torment, but his brother's voice stopped him.

"I order you to stay. You will leave when I allow you to." He said in a tone that he had never heard from him before.

He turned to him slowly, looking at him over his shoulder, feeling the rage and fury flowing through his veins.

He thought he was a nobody, a zero, a pig on whose head someone put a crown.

He was already about to say it out loud when he saw his wife reach out to him under the table, looking at him imploringly, her face gentle and tired.

He swallowed loudly, thinking that his outburst might cost them everything.

He was not alone now and he had to think of her safety too.

He sat back, humiliated and furious, his jaw and hands clenched into a fist. When he felt his wife's small hand on his knee, he placed his own on hers and intertwined their fingers, feeling that he needed her patience and support not to kill his brother with his bare hands.

He felt that he was slowly losing his temper, that he was slipping further and further into madness at the sight of what was happening around him.

When they returned to his chamber he felt drained of emotion and empty. It had been one of the most miserable days of his life, all the events of it and his thoughts sucking him deep into himself like an infinite black hole, swallowing everything that came near it. He didn't even notice when her wife's maid helped her remove her gown and they were finally left alone.

He saw out of the corner of his eye that she had approached him, sitting in front of the fireplace, absorbed in his own thoughts. He shuddered as she knelt before him and wanted to tell her to stop, having no desire for that kind of closeness, too devastated and tired.

However, he only opened his mouth and closed it when he saw that she laid her head on his thigh, embraced his knee and closed her eyes, cuddling into him. He stared at this sight wordlessly for a moment and felt a pleasant warmth spread through his body.

He thought fondly that she alone made a light burn in the darkness of his mind, as if someone in a windowless room had lit a candle.

Her flame was warm and bright, offering safety and hope.

He involuntarily reached towards her with his hand, resting so far on his armrest and combed through her hair, playing with her dark, soft curls. He heard her purr with contentment at this gentle caress; he knew that she needed his affection. This realisation, the fact that she sought comfort and refuge in him, made him feel himself again.

Her husband.

"Come here." He murmured, and she looked at him sleepily, slowly climbing into his lap, sitting on top of him with her arms around his neck. He slipped his hand into her hair and drew her close, hugging her like a small child, sheltering her in his arms. He closed his eye, feeling the warmth of her body, her scent, her slowly rising and falling breasts.

He thought that she was the only person with whom he truly calmed down and quietened himself.

He felt that her presence cut off his thinking for a moment, allowing him to relax, to take his mind off the burden of the responsibilities and experiences that he had faced.

Her support, even if not clothed in words, was from her whole being, her glances, her gestures.

"One day I will make you my queen." He whispered in a trembling voice.

He revealed to her what he had hidden deep in his heart.

His desire to be King.

His desire for her to be by his side when it became a reality.

He felt her tremble all over at his words; she lifted her head, glancing up at his face, her eyebrows arched in worry and uncertainty. He sighed quietly as she ran her hand over his scar, tips of her fingers tender and soft.

He trembled all over, terrified, catching her wrist quickly when he felt her hand grab his black eye patch, his ears rang, his heart pounding as if it was going to jump out of his chest, his breathing accelerated and uneven.

"No." He said quickly, surprised, terrified, concerned. He didn't understand what she wanted to do, why the sudden unexpected gesture. He saw her press her lips together at his reaction, shaking her head.

"If I am to support you with my whole self, if I am to become your queen, you can no longer hide from me who you are." She whispered and he felt his heart squeeze at the tone of her voice. He swallowed loudly, looking straight into her eyes.

If I am to become your Queen.

She considered it.

She had not rejected his proposal.

Never before in his life had he felt so torn. He wanted nothing more than for her to see him, for her to accept him, dispelling all doubts.

That he could finally not be afraid that she would see him without his eye patch.

That she would walk into his chamber just at the moment when the maester applied ointment to his eye socket, sore from constantly wearing the precious stone in it.

He always chose a time when he knew that she was enjoying her time with Helaena, but he feared that she would forget something or simply return early without warning.

He always hurried the master, impatient, glancing fearfully at the door, reassuring himself that her gentle and understanding nature would certainly allow her accept his appearance.

He was afraid, however, that deep down she would begin to despise him.

That their intimacy would no longer be so frequent, that she would no longer be so wonderfully wet at the sight of him, would not touch his scars with such tenderness, that he would feel that something had changed, that something had been irretrievably lost.

"… it's a repulsive sight." He choked out at last, heartbroken by this thoughts, looking at her pleadingly.

He saw, surprised, that she smiled at his words.

"I find it repulsive to see your brother-king, even though he has two eyes." She said calmly, a light amusement in her eyes.

He couldn't help himself and snorted at her words, shaking his head. He sighed heavily, looking at her again, his grip easing slightly.

It would be what it was meant to be, he thought.

He couldn't hide from her forever.

He drew in a quick breath and froze when, without waiting a moment, she slipped his eye patch off his head. He stared at her, looking for any sign of disgust or fear, anything to tell him that she had reacted as he had feared. She, however, seemed amazed and curious, not even flinching.

He sighed quietly, surprised, as she leaned over him and closed his eye, feeling his heart pounding hard as she began to kiss his eyelid, the stone in his eye, his scarred cheek. He felt his cock swell in his breeches, surprised by her reaction, by how tender and warm she was, completely helpless to her caresses.

"'Ābrazȳrys (wife)…'" He whispered softly, almost in pain, feeling that his throat tightened all over with fear of her cruel rejection.

He moaned low as he felt his wife sense his condition, the place between her thighs began to rub the buldge under his breeches with slowl back and forth strokes of her hips, making his manhood throb hard, ready to possess her, to feel her.

He heard her begin to pant quietly, clearly herself aroused by their proximity, his gaze dropped to her breasts. He licked his lower lip when he saw her hard nipples peeking out wonderfully through the thin material of her nightgown.

He slipped it off her one shoulder and clung immediately to her firm breast, running his tongue around her nipple, bringing out her sweet whine. He murmured loudly, making her soft skin tremble as he felt her hand tighten in his hair, pulling him closer to her, their hips rocking against each other faster and faster, his hands tightening on her buttocks, wanting to feel her harder.

"One day I will caress your soft breasts like this on the Iron Throne, sweet wife." He purred with delight, shuddering at the thought, imagining that they were not in his chamber now, but in the barely torch-lit throne room, sitting on his Iron Throne.

He quickly untied his breeches and slipped them down a little, feeling that he could take no more, his erection all swollen and sore with arousal.

His wife fortunately did not keep him waiting, she immediately rose above him, directing the tip of his manhood to her entrance. They both moaned loudly as she fell on top of him, sliding the fat head of his cock all the way in, her tight, fleshy walls making him throb hard inside her, her thighs all wet with her juices.

"− is that so? − the King will not fondle his mistresses in the privacy of the Throne Room? −" She exhaled, beginning to move slowly up and down on him.

He groaned surprised and aroused by her question, his fingers clenching tighter on the bare skin of her buttocks. He chuckled lowly, his hips responding to her every motion with a determined thrust, making her breasts bounce slightly in front of his face.

"− as a king, I could indeed have a mistress −" He murmured, surrendering completely to the world of his fantasy, no longer seeing anything around him but her, riding him so wonderfully, her fleshy walls squeezing him from all sides, bringing him dangerously close to orgasm as he rooted into her. "− she would have to meet a lot of conditions to satisfy me though −"

"− to have your firm breasts −" He exhaled helplessly, running his tongue over her nipple, feeling her insides clench tightly against him, his cock pulsing painfully hard inside her at the thought of how much his words aroused her.

"− to have your soft hips − your small hands − your shiny hair − your bright eyes − gods, your tight, hot insides −" He breathed out, speeding up his pace, fucking her with a wet, loud click of their mingled moisture, breathing loudly along with her, his mind clouded and filled with the pleasure that her gorgeous body was giving him. He heard her humming in delight at his words, her lips clamped, bouncing up and down on him, filling herself to the brim with his thick, swollen cock.

"− and if she had it all − would you fuck her? −" She cooed, and he licked his lips at the question, digging his fingers into the soft skin of her hips.

She had been surprising him all day.

During the Small Council, at the table with his brother, now that she was riding him.

He realised what he'd suspected all along but hadn't wanted to admit to himself.

His wife had been submissive to him and giving him what he wanted because she'd decided so herself, not because he'd forced or broken her.

Criston was right. The reason he took her away from her father was because he didn't want a subservient, empty wife, working like clockwork, pretending to be someone that she wasn't.

All his life everyone had pretended in front of him.

The ladies of the court that they were not afraid of him, the men in training that they did not mock him, the old men that they did not pity him.

She was the only one when he arrived in Storm's End who showed him the truth.

Her terror and uncertainty, her requests and desires.

He stole her and took her from her home, because he wanted her honesty and innocence, wanted whatever she gave him to be true.

He preferred her to hate him sincerely, rather than pretend to love him.

What he hadn't expected was how much he would trust her, how well she would understand and respond to his needs. He had the feeling that she truly cared about him, thought about him and herself, their future, their happiness.

At first he didn't allow himself this thought, but eventually he had to accept that this marriage was surprisingly successful.

He knew that everyone at court envied them; he would sometimes hear as he walked down the corridor how the ladies of the court would stop mid-conversation seeing him, wondering if it was some lover who satisfied his wife every night or if it was he who caressed her body with such devotion.

He couldn't hold back a grimace of satisfaction at the thought that he finally had something that the others wanted.

Lords seeking fulfilment in the arms of mistresses, undermining his abilities as a man were now looking at him and his young wife with envy.

His wife was his lover.

"− no − fuck − she wouldn’t have your voice − your scent − she wouldn’t moan like you −" He mumbled out, feeling his fulfilment approaching, his cock throbbing and twitching hard inside her with each brutal thrust that pushed her walls apart, his thighs all sticky with her wetness, her moans echoing around them each time he rubbed her upper wall.

"− my king-husband deserves it all −" She gasped sweetly, making a powerful shudder run through him, her hands resting on his shoulders, her buttocks falling against him with a loud slaps again and again.

He felt the tension in his cock reach its peak when she called him her King, so shamelessly, fearlessly, wonderfully.

"− he can fuck me on his throne whenever and however he wants − ah, Aemond, please!−"

He groaned loudly at her words, feeling her strong fulfillment, tilting his head back, feeling like his manhood was about to explode with arousal, his pushes messy and sloppy, loud, wet, her hot insides clenching on him steadily, sucking him inside, making him breathless.

"− oh, fuck, yes, just like that − oh, gods −" He choked out with difficulty, clenching his eye, moaning helplessly as he came inside her at last, a wave of pleasure and relief shook his body, all tense by now from the events that had taken place throughout the day.

He hugged her to him, panting along with her, the scent of her oils, sweats and moisture filling his nostrils, her hot body pulsing in his arms, wonderfully alive and soft.

His wife.

"You're the only one one I trust." He whispered tenderly and she pressed herself against him, burying her face in his neck as he drew comfort from this wonderful moment of their closeness.

They both fell asleep, weary from the hardships and events of the last hours, but the next few days were no easier for them.

Word reached King's Landing that Princess Rhaenyra had suffered a miscarriage when she learned of her father's death and Aegon's coronation as King. The Queen Mother tried to pretend, but it was clear to see how devastated she was by her childhood friend's suffering.

"Don't feel sorry for her, mother. She's a whore. I'm sure her uncle will put into her many more white-haired children." Aegon muttered during the supper, busying himself with the roast, paying no attention to the murderous stares of the his wife and his mother.

Even he, though he despised his half-sister, did not mock such tragic matters.

The day of his and his wife's expedition to gain supporters for his drunkard brother was imminent.

It wasn't until the day before his wife's trip to Storm's End that he realised that they hadn't parted for a day since their marriage.

There had been a few weeks in the first month of their marriage when they had not spoken to each other, but he was still aware that she was in the chamber next door, close to him.

Now, however, they were to spend more than a week apart on either side of the kingdom, without any contact whatsoever, and he felt uncomfortable with that thought. Although they did not speak with each other much, her mere physical presence was a comfort to him and reassured him.

The night before they parted he spent between her thighs.

He rubbed her intensely with his fingers, sliding them in and out her hot core with a sticky click, teasing her sweet spot, driving her mad.

"− p-please − put it inside me already −" She mumbled pleadingly, thirsty and herself terrified of their impending separation, despairing as he was at the lack of his presence and touch for the next few days. He licked his lips at her words, restraining himself with difficulty from complying with her request.

"− first I need to make sure that you understand everything I've said −" He hummed, pulling away for a moment from her nipple which he just sucked, his fingers began to penetrate her insides at a faster pace, causing her to tilt her head back, moaning in pleasure.

"− does my wife have the right to bring herself relief when her husband is not with her? −" He asked expectantly, running the tip of his tongue over her swollen, puffy nipple, and she sobbed beneath him, her body trembling all over.

"− n-no − no, my husband −" She mumbled helplessly, panting loudly, clasping her hands in his hair and arms, writhing beneath him, feeling her fulfilment approaching. He hummed with satisfaction at her words, releasing her nipple from between his lips with a sticky plop.

"− that's right − you have no right to touch yourself − tell me, who is allowed to caress you here? −" He cooed, feeling his cock throb hard in his breeches, impatient, wanting to possess her already. She squirmed at his words, her walls clenching greedily around his fingers, sucking them inside her fleshy core.

He knew that she was on the verge of fulfillment.

"− only you, please, only you −" She mewled, parting her lips wide, a surprised moan erupting from her throat as her orgasm surged through her suddenly in long, intense waves.

He murmured with satisfaction at the sight, playing with her nipple between his lips, her breasts falling and rising in deep, raspy breaths, pushing against his face.

"− good − have no fear, your husband will take care of you − he will take care of you all night −"

And so he did.

He slid deep inside her and fucked her, looking at her sweet face, her walls puffy and moist from her fulfillment. His wife pulled his eye patch off his face as soon as he began root into her with his gasp of delight.

Since he didn't have it on, he took her more often by looking at her, pressing his face against hers, enjoying her scent and her hot breath on his body, burshing her plump, swollen lips and slipping his tongue between into her throat.

When he came inside her she thought that it was over.

When he did it a second time, she thought so too.

As she lay on her side with him, her back pressed against his chest, already half asleep, tired and sore, he began to rock his hips again.

She whispered pleadingly that she wanted to sleep, that she couldn't take it anymore.

"Sleep then. I don't mind." He purred, running his nose over her soft, rosy cheek. "Your husband won't see you for a week and you won't let him enjoy yourself?"

He heard her sigh at his words as she gave in completely, letting him fuck her until morning.

____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @astral-blossoms @randomdragonfires @amirawritespoorly @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @diosademuerte @rwdkarla @echos-muses @ipostwhtifeel @letmeloveyouuuu @yentroucnagol @valeskafics @tempt-ress @blairfox4

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jqnehr · 4 months

Text

les améthystes du ciel | neuvillette — part 9

two individuals under pressure to marry. one has the hydro archon on his back, and the other has her matchmaking friend pushing her along. when the two meet at a ball, and both in dire need of peace from two meddlesome females, what better arrangement is there than their own betrothal?

pairing : neuvillette x fem!reader warnings : too tired to put anything, this is sfw. word count : 4.8k note : I am about to collapse.

! not proof read

! do not copy, redistribute, translate, or use my work with or without credit in any way. thank you.

part eight ⋮ masterlist ⋮ part ten

ao3 ⋮ playlist

...

Neuvillette has sharp ears.

Perhaps it’s because of their peculiar, inhuman shape, and thus helps him receive sound waves the average human cannot.

No. It’s simply that he is not a human at all. As we all know, he’s the Hydro Sovereign, born from the remnants of a Divine Dragon long lost. Besides, he’d been able to hear Paimon hissing to the Traveller about him in the Epiclese right before Lyney and Lynette’s show—and before disaster struck.

So, suffice to say, he heard good and well what Navia whispered into your ear, leaving your cheeks flushed red—and the back of his neck and ears burning.

However, he masked it, seeing your clear discomfit and hope he had not caught Navia’s words; choosing to shelve it overthink later, he suggested the two of you heading off.

Now, he is helping unload the few (heavy) boxes of your belongings into your new room. He had personally selected this room—two halls away from his own, as he had a feeling you’d appreciate—and by the look on your face, Neuvillette is sure you’re pleased with the room.

It is a moderately sized room, but its expansive windows looking out onto the harbour and the sunlight it lets pour in makes the place seem more voluminous. He stands aside, out of the way of the movers, carefully watching your reactions.

Your eyes are wide, sparkling, darting all over the place and taking in every detail. The canopy bed with a king-sized mattress and a floral, gold-hemmed duvet; the plush rug splayed neatly upon the mahogany flooring; polished bookshelves lining the walls, already half-filled with books he had picked out himself based on personal favourites; and the intricate paintings on the ceilings, depicting great feats of Fontainian heroes in the past and the Archons’ awesome endeavours during eras of calamity. You place a box down by the bookshelf, straightening, mouth agape in awe.

“Neuvillette.” He inclines his head in your direction to show his attention, something that goes unnoticed by you, as you’re too busy ogling your new room to show your descry. “Did you say you picked out this room yourself?”

One of the movers steps forward, tipping his hat in respect, apologetic for interrupting. “Monsieur, Madame, everything’s unloaded now. We’ll take our leave.”

“Oh, thank you,” you reply, still taking in the entire room. “Have a lovely rest of your day.”

The men click the door shut on their way out, and Neuvillette promptly answers your previous question. “Yes. I thought it would suit you. Do you like it?”

“Oh, yes.” You’re a bit breathless with reverence. “It’s wonderful. The sort of room I read about in fairytales as a child, something I never imagined having ever the chance to live in for myself.” Too bad it’s for a year, you think glumly, stepping towards the windows, where the breeze gently lifts the sheer curtains. You gaze outside, towards the breathtaking view of the sea.

Neuvillette feels terribly relieved. “I’m glad. If you wish for any rearrangements, simply call on the head maid. She will do all she can to fulfil your request.”

“It’s perfect as it already is.” Why would I renovate when I’m only here for a year? “I see the books already here.” You turn to face him. “Whose are they?”

“…Mine.” He can’t quite put a finger on why he feels embarrassed. “They’re the books I have enjoyed thoroughly throughout my long years. Not all of them are fictional, by the way. I just thought…you might appreciate some new reads.”

Neuvillette has to resist squirming at the intensity of your gaze as you stare at him. It’s a look he has great trouble reading, and he doesn’t know why his ears feel flushed.

“Thank you, Neuvillette,” you eventually say after a drawn-out moment of silence. You turn towards the bookshelves. “Considering how well you appear to understand my taste in things, I’m sure our preferences in literature will be no different.”

He watches as you run your fingertips lightly over the spines of the books, head tilted to the side to read the books’ titles. “There are a good many here. And you said they’re ones you’ve collected over the years.” The look you give him is what he presumes to be ‘excitement’. “And you’ve lived a long time. How many of these books are antiques, or centuries old?”

“Some are ones that I’ve not seen in bookstores for a good 150 years,” he responds, stepping forward to pull one out that is roughly four-hundred years old. The book looks old and well-read, considering its worn spine and yellowed pages. It has the distinct scent of an aged book, a smell you adore, and it creaks as he cracks it open. You aren’t able to catch its title, as the cover is also worn down. “This was a gift from a Melusine centuries ago.” An expression of distant sadness washes over Neuvillette’s face. “She…ended her own life to disprove some cruel accusations against her. You see, I was only just instigated as Iudex back then, and Melusines had recently entered Fontainian society as citizens. The humans were very distrustful of both I and the Melusines, leading to…violent discrimination.” Neuvillette’s Adam’s apple bobs as he pauses, a knot forming between his brows. His eyes are lowered towards the book, long lashes obscuring the amethyst of his eyes and thus the sentiments within them. “It was a dark time for the Melusines and myself. I had to put a close friend of mine away in the Fortress as a result, for he was falsely accused also. That’s why…I am, essentially, putting much trust in you by lending you this book.”

He lifts it towards you, and you refuse to take it. “Neuvillette, if it’s that important of a book to you, then there is no reason for you to give it to me. To accept such a personal item is—”

“Well, take it as a confirmation of my sincere wish to be your friend.” He pushes it into your hands. “There is no need for awkward air or any walking on eggshells between us. We’re going to have to brave the next twelve months joined at the hip, no? We must learn to trust and rely on one another to successfully get through this.”

You lower your eyes towards the book, finally accepting it. You lightly brush your fingers over the faded gold lettering of what once was the title, feeling the rough leatherette cover under your fingertips. “What was the book’s title, Neuvillette?”

“It’s called The Soul of a Human. It’s about human emotions and how they work. It’s likely an outdated work, as it is about four centuries old. Either way, the book was an awesome help toward me fitting in with society, making the populace trust me as Iudex, and furthering my understanding of human emotions…but, it’s still something I struggle with.”

“If you aren’t a human, then what are you, Neuvillette?”

If there is a question Neuvillette has been dreading you to eventually ask, it would be this one. How do I explain who I am without telling her my true identity? So he settles for a safer route, something maybe a bit more believable. “I am…a Melusine hybrid.”

I suppose it’s marginally better than telling her I’m the Hydro Sovereign. But he can tell that you do not believe him, which you waste no time in voicing. “No, you’re not, Neuvillette. Is there even such thing as a ‘Melusine hybrid’? I know you are not telling the truth.”

Neuvillette has never been quite put on the spot before as now, with your direct calling out of his little white lie. What an embarrassing look for a man who is supposed to be the embodiment of honesty. He’s the one who told you he is ‘not predisposed to lying’. He even told the Traveller that he’s more than capable of distinguishing flavour differences between each region’s water—something the Traveller lifted a sceptical brow to, and he gave it to them straight that he ‘is the Iudex’ and that he ‘does not lie’.

So. Although he was telling the truth then, it’s quite humiliating how quick you just saw through his lie. He swallows and looks away, fighting back a blush. “Haha…how embarrassing. The truth is…”

“You can’t tell me?” You offer, giving him an understanding smile. “That’s okay. You could’ve just said that, you know. We’re not obligated to tell each other anything personal.”

He looks up at you through his lashes, tilting his head. “That is true. Thank you for being understanding.” Neuvillette draws in a deep breath, letting it out in a heavy sigh through his nose, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “I don’t think anyone else would’ve been suited for this role other than you. It is rare to find someone with as level a head as yours.”

“I suppose so.” Despite your outwardly calm appearance, the inside is a much different story. With your tendency to bottle up your deepest emotions, to call yourself ‘level-headed’ would be almost an overstatement. You’ve been in a very serious life-or-death situation before, something that has left its unfading mark on you, and to say you were ‘level-headed’ or even ‘rational’ would be a bald-faced lie. You suppose that anyone getting strangled by their fiancé would be pretty inclined to panicking—but, the point is, although you seem circumspect and grounded, your inner sentiments are the opposite, and they’re always fighting to burst out of you.

And they have, a few times. The aftermath was ugly.

Neuvillette has fallen silent, staring at you, as if watching your expressions, and that makes you school your features in one of careful, impeccable neutrality, almost detachment. “Now, what about dinner tonight?”

“Ah, yes.” That look in his eye hasn’t disappeared—a look where he can seemingly see right through you, and isn’t fooled by your blank expressions. “I dine at eight. How does that sound?”

“Fine.” You nod, offering a small smile. “You should take this chance to show me your water collection.”

The Chief Justice raises a brow, an amused smile pricking at the corners of his mouth. “You make it sound like such a joke. But, I will take you up on that. I doubt you’ve tried authentic Natlanian-heated Snezhnayan water before. The combination is unexpected, but quite pleasing to the palate.”

“Goodness, Neuvillette.” You place a hand upon your heart in faux-shock, giving him a look of mock-distress. “You will drain the Palais of its funds if you keep importing all this water and heating it in real Natlanian fire and chilling it in genuine Snezhnayan ice!”

He plays along—something you’ve found yourself very grateful for. Not many get your sense of humour, but the Iudex does. All your attempts at jesting were frequently met with blank, awkward side glances and suffocating silence. Your humour changed from one of true heartiness to dark absurdity upon the events of five years ago.

For a while, you didn’t have a sense of humour at all. For a time it felt like there was no need to laugh, smile or joke. That there was no point in doing so, because there was nothing happy about life and living anymore.

Maybe it’s part of the reason for your inexplicable sense of comfort and safety around the man. He may not be much of a smiler, but he does have a sense of humour. He knows how to appreciate a joke—although, more often than not, he’s a bit clueless. Wriothesley’s jokes go right over his head, more often than not.

That led you to believe that maybe, just maybe, he’s as comfortable around you as you are him. That maybe, he understands you intimately, and always knows you mean no harm.

“Uh oh. I’ve been found out,” Neuvillette says in a deliberately overly monotone voice. “I’m so scared. How will I ever go on without my water?”

“Don’t they give you a glass a day down in the Fortress?” Frankly, you know nothing of how prisoners are treated in Meropide, and you’re not sure if you want to find out. At any rate, it’s humorous and utterly unrealistic to imagine the Iudex in such a place—a thought to which he himself chuckles. “Oho, I can assure you the Duke is much more merciful on the convicts than that. Either way, it would still be torture.”

Hm, okay… This entire time, you’ve, in a way, been fishing—trying to dig into why Neuvillette likes water so much, and how he doesn’t seem to complain about having to go to the toilet all the time, and how he lied about his true identity. So, you’ve concluded vaguely, that he must be some kind of Hydro being.

Oh well, better not read into it too much. It’s not your place, nor your business, as strictly stated by the contract. Besides, it’s clear the Chief Justice doesn’t want you knowing—if he’d even go against his own principles and lie about it.

You chalk it up to having just taken him off guard, forcing him to lie as he searched for a plausible excuse not to reveal himself to you.

“What time do you leave for your office in the mornings?” You change the topic, turning away from the bookshelf and for a box, kneeling to open it up. “Maybe we could have breakfast together.”

“I awake at 5AM, and leave at six-thirty,” he answers, tone somewhat apologetic, and you can’t fathom why. “I would never expect you to get up so early to join me—”

“That’s a perfectly normal hour to get up, Neuvillette.” If you were a morning person, your stomach maybe wouldn’t have dropped at the thought of having to get up at dawn to have breakfast with him. “My shift at the boutique begins at seven in the morning, so it’s not too ungodly of an hour to get up.”

“Don’t feel obligated, [Name]. I don’t have very big breakfasts anyway.”

He knows he’s said the wrong thing the instant you swivel around to look at him, face incredulous. “So that’s why you’ve been looking so gaunt! Neuvillette, you can’t live off of water alone.” You stand and place your hands on your hips, face stern. “Let me guess, for breaks you just have water also? No food? Do you ever eat full meals?”

“I—of course, I do.” Neuvillette feels strangely touched with how genuinely concerned you appear; brows upturned and lips pursed, jaw tight. He doesn’t know why the sight pierces him. “I’m not unhealthy, and you really needn’t worry for me.”

“How can I not?” He feels pierced once more, and you turn away from him with a hand over your face. “You’re the Iudex. You’ve got one hell of a burden on your shoulders, and you’re not even eating large breakfasts! The most important meal of the day! Neuvillette.” You whirl around once more, stepping closer and pointing a finger at his chest. You could be more intimidating if you were taller. The man positively towers over you. “You are my husband, and it’s a wife’s basic duty—and a friend’s—to worry for their companion’s health. And you tell me not to worry?”

Maybe I am overreacting, but it does his pretty face no good to have those eyebags! Yet, you suppose it’s nice to see him in such a human state. It’s strangely attractive. “You have higher chances of getting sick when malnourished, so don’t even think of wandering out about in the rain.”

Having silently stared at you while you were scolding him, the Iudex finally lets out a chuckle, raising his hand to take gentle hold of your pointer finger that is lightly nudging his chest. He lifts your hand to his lips, placing a chaste, gracious kiss to the top of it. You almost fall back in surprise. “I will keep your concerns in mind, dearest. Thank you.”

Despite his reassurance, your worries are not eased. You also pointedly ignore the blood rushing in your hearts from your thumping heart and his unintentional suaveness. “I-I trust you’ll eat proper breakfasts? And get full nights of sleep?”

Neuvillette gently lets go of your hand. You quickly realise how close you both are, and you take a quick step back to put more polite distance between the two of you, hiding behind your hair to obscure your flushed face. “I will try. Sometimes, my thoughts grow too loud, and I take midnight strolls.”

“I hope you dress warmly.” You’re beginning to wonder if you even have any right to be so concerned for him. This marriage is contractual, but you’re already acting like a nagging, forty-year-old housewife.

“Really, there’s no need for you to feel so concerned for me. My body is quite adapted to the coldness of rain.”

“…Alright.” You try to persuade yourself that you’re just worried for him as a sister would fret over the wellbeing of her brother. “Well, then. Shall I see you at dinner?”

“Oh, yes.” Neuvillette quickly understands your words’ implications. He now must leave you to adjust to your room on your own. “Until this evening, [Name]. Have a lovely rest of your day.”

・・・・

You don’t really know what to wear for tonight. You’re kicking yourself over not specifying with him about whether it would be formal, semi-formal, or just casual…so, you opt to dress the former, selecting a comfortable pair of black dress pants and a white button-up blouse with puffy long sleeves. You pop in two jewelled stud earrings for minimal embellishment, and brush your hair out, leaving it down.

You stare at yourself for a long moment in the body-length mirror before you. This time last year, your eyes would’ve been sunken, lifeless, lips chapped and set permanently in a grim line. Now, even though you have little makeup on, you look…lighter. You don’t look so tired anymore. Those haunted shadows in your eyes are almost traceless, and your cheeks are full with health, your cheekbones not so prominent anymore.

You’re smiling more, [Name].

You do a couple of poses in the mirror to fully assess your outfit for the evening, eventually ending up pleased with it. The pants look good on you, and, for the first time in years, you feel pretty.

I’m finally moving on from that man for good. In the last moments of your relationship—and what you thought were of your life—he made sure you knew how repulsive he found you. The insecurities have not faded, but you take comfort in the fact that Neuvillette has never looked at you with a sickened stare. He’s never seemed displeased with your presence.

With one final once-over of yourself in the mirror, you glance at the clock and quickly exit your room, trying to remember the way to the dining room. The Palais Mermonia itself is a maze, and Neuvillette’s wing of the building is no less of a labyrinth.

You spot a maid nearby, drawing the hall curtains closed for the night. “Um, excuse me, miss—could you please direct me to the dining room?”

The woman turns, surprised, before pointing along the hall. “Of course. Just go along here, take two lefts and then you’ll find a set of double doors.”

“Thank you.” You quickly send her a grateful smile and hurry off, hoping you’re not late. How embarrassing would it be to reveal that you’d been too busy admiring yourself in the mirror to arrive on time?

After a few moments, you arrive at the double doors the maid mentioned, and you politely knock on them. It’s swiftly opened, and there is Neuvillette, seated upon a chair before an average-sized dining table—neatly set out with a sea-blue tablecloth and cushioned seats—in the middle of taking a sip from his goblet of, presumably, water.

The food is already laid out, but the Chief Justice clearly has not touched it. He was likely waiting for you, and seeing the clock, you’re an embarrassing five minutes late. “My apologies, Neuvillette, I got a bit lost.”

“No worries at all.” He smiles and stands, pulling out your chair for you and stepping aside for you to sit. The gentlemanly act takes you pleasantly off-guard. “The food was only just set out seconds before you arrived.”

“Ah, so it’s still warm, then,” you muse, watching a male servant step forward to place your entrés before you—creamy chicken and onion soup. “Goodness! This is like eating at Hotel Debord.”

“The chef is a master at soups.” Part of why he hired the cook. He softly blows on his spoonful of soup, quickly swallowing it before speaking again. “He is eagerly awaiting your feedback.”

You let out a pleased hum once you taste the dish. “Very delicious. I dare say, the benefits of this little arrangement Furina forced on us is piling up.”

You’re inwardly relieved when Neuvillette chuckles at your jest. Of course, you are joking—but then again, if you’re able to eat like this for the next twelve months… “Don’t get too comfortable. She’s already demanded for us to meet, as she’s got our first event to attend ready for us.”

You grow solemn at his words. “She has? Oh. Shall we not talk about such dull matters at present, Neuvillette? It will ruin our appetites.”

The Iudex quite agrees with you. “Of course. How are you finding your room?”

“It’s wonderful, Neuvillette.” It’s the kind of room illustrated in all those old fairy tale classics you read as a child—a room fit for a queen. “It has such a lovely view of the harbour.”

“You should see the gardens.” You look at him, surprised at his words. “There’s a garden?”

“Of course. This is the Palais.” Neuvillette smiles at you amusedly. “There is a fountain. And no light pollution reaches the area, so you’re able to see the stars vividly.”

What if I told him that I want to stay here forever? And you haven’t even lived here for a day. In fact, you’re a bit overwhelmed. “Will I see you getting rained on out there at night, Neuvillette?”

His mauve eyes flit away, hiding behind his hair. “…That depends.”

You laugh under your breath at the sight. The man, despite having been a judge for hundreds of years, is so surprisingly innocent. It’s a cute quality you like about him. “I’m amazed you’ve never experienced a fever from it.”

“I just…don’t understand how strange it seems.” He appears genuinely puzzled. “The people of Fontaine always give me weird looks whenever I stroll through a downpour along the streets. Is it really so outlandish that a man just wants to be left to his thoughts in the rain?”

“I suppose it’s because, as humans, we catch colds, Neuvillette.” You lift the last spoonful of soup in your bowl to your lips. “Getting caught in the rain is the quickest way to catch a chill. And they’re awfully unpleasant.”

“Even when you have an umbrella?”

“Well, there’s less of a chance,” you concede, murmuring a soft thanks to the servant that steps forward to retrieve your bowl, preparing for the main course. “I’m happy to join you, as long as I either have a raincoat or umbrella on hand.”

Neuvillette looks pleased at your suggestion. “A bit of company would be nice. Furina must never find out, though.”

“Oh, yes.” If you are to put up your act successfully, then it is imperative she remains in the dark. “Anyway, I wonder how the public will react to the news of your marriage?”

“The tabloids will probably make it way bigger of a deal than it truly is.” Neuvillette's expression looks resigned. “And we will bear the brunt. You must prepare yourself.”

“Yes…” You stare blankly at your fork. “I’ll probably have to apply for leave at the boutique.” It’s quite dismaying, having to anticipate your privacy being stripped from you all because of the impulsive whims of a spontaneous archon.

“Don’t worry, as the contract stated, you will be protected.” Although, inside, Neuvillette is worried bodyguards won’t be enough. “No harm will come to you.”

“I can just sue them if they do overstep their mark.” The Steambird, as an example, is notoriously imposing, and bombardment from their journalists is guaranteed. “Is this what the Traveller deals with each day? No wonder they quickly head off to their next location as soon as they can.”

“Fame is a costly reward.” A long-suffering look passes over the Iudex’s handsome face. “For some, it is no prize.”

You understand his quiet referral to himself and the reception he has due to his exalted position within Fontaine and, essentially, Teyvat. “Perhaps some such as Furina, who revels in it, just cannot understand such a concept.”

Neuvillette considers your words for a brief moment. “Hm. Yes, you could say that. However…” He trails off as lidded platters with the main course prepared inside is placed upon the table. “There is much more to her than what first meets the eye. I’ve known her for a very long time, and she is certainly no superficial girl.”

That makes you fall into a thoughtful silence, just watching the servants bustle about. One finally lifts the platter lids, letting the hot food’s steam billow out, your pondering quietude broken. The aroma is heavenly. “Oh, my—a lamb roast? You spoil me!”

Neuvillette thanks the servant as the man bows and steps to the side. The lamb is already sliced, the meat cooked to perfection. “Of course. Help yourself.”

You notice that many of the dishes presented have a lot of sauce with them. You don’t mind—every dish smells divine and you’re quick to load up your plate. “What’s for dessert?” You’re unsure if you’ll be able to fit it in.

“I don’t usually have dessert, but I had a cake prepared for you.” He taps a serving spoon against the edge of a bowl to rid it of excess sauce. “A black forest layer cake. Is that alright?”

“Like I would complain,” you amusedly quip once you’d finished your mouthful. “And this sweet potato is exceptional, Neuvillette, do try some—”

A sharp knock at the door cuts you off, making the two of you pause in your tracks. Neuvillette sends a bemused glance to the nearby servant, who quickly opens the door.

A man stumbles in, hastily adjusting his spectacles and trying to neaten his flustered, unkempt appearance. A bolt of unease shoots through you at the sight, leaving no room to be offended at his abrupt and rude entrance during your meal.

“Monsieur Neuvillette!” He breathlessly exclaims, waving a newspaper around. “I am terribly sorry for the interruption, but this is urgent, and you were preoccupied today.”

“It’s alright.” Neuvillette dabs at his mouth with a napkin and stands, quietly approaching the disoriented man. “You may relax. What is it?”

“This, sir.” The man hands over the newspaper, and Neuvillette accepts it, curiously straightening it out and beginning to read the front page. “We’ve no idea how or when this was taken, and it’s all over the headlines—”

“[Name]. You must see this.” The absence of emotion in the tone of his voice sends a jarring chill down your spine and you quickly stand, making your way toward him. “What’s wrong?”

He silently hands the paper to you, and you feel your stomach plummet at the sight of the front page.

“Chief Justice Neuvillette caught with mystery woman on Tuesday evening. Is the ever-impartial Iudex not so impartial anymore?” You shakily read out the words, turning to look up at him with wide eyes. “This was when you were walking me home a few days ago. We didn’t even notice! I thought the street was empty.”

He lays a firm hand on your shoulder, giving a soft, comforting squeeze. “Don’t panic. I know how to twist this to our advantage. It is too early, yes, and this could become a major problem, but we mustn’t worry.” The Chief Justice gently pries the newspaper from your trembling hands, and you stare at the ground. “I think you’d best turn in for the night, [Name]. We shall discuss this in the morning.”

“It’s not like I’ll sleep anyway,” you mutter, shoulders slumped. “Alright. I’ll do as you say. But first thing tomorrow morning, we will talk about this.”

He extracts his hand from you, and you attempt to give him a reassuring smile. “Have a good evening, Neuvillette. Relay my thanks to the chef about the food for me, please.”

Neuvillette answers with a quiet “I will” before you exit the dining room, making your way back to your bedroom.

I’m sure it’s just a minor setback, you think you’re going to throw up. He’ll take care of it. He said he would.

But maybe this was the first of things to go awry.

hello hello, I am finally back with chapter nine <3

sorry for the two-week wait guys, it's been hectic. I have family coming up for Christmas and little time to Christmas shop, AND I got hit by a writer's block. also im so sorry if you were expecting a longer chapter because of the lengthy wait. I just couldn't be bothered to write as much this time 💔

and I did say two chapters before Christmas, but im gonna have to go back on that one too. in fact, this is the last chapter until january. I need a break haha. I hope you guys understand.

and if anything didn't make sense in this chapter, please attribute it towards my sleep deprivation. it hasn't gotten any less worse 💔

taglist!

@shiroonekoo @just-here-reading @avyakaslana @eternal-dokja @confusedparticle @xitrinez @tanspostsblog @vcatson @sek0ya @loving-august @mxyarylla @ultigoblin @constantlyoverthinking @pvbbyb0y @lynettezzp @esthelily @furblrwurblr @sangoqueenkoko

well, then, everyone. I wish you all a very merry Christmas (if you celebrate it) and a happy new year! I can't wait to continue this story with you all next year 💕

thank you all, and until 2024.

#neuvillette #genshin impact #genshin #fontaine #chief justice neuvillette #neuvilette genshin #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x you #genshin x reader #genshin imagines

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callofdudes · 3 months

Text

Call of Duty's How to Train Your Dragon pt1.

A/n: Is this finally being created after @itsscromp finally got my brain worms wiggling again? Yes. Is this also a get better fic? Yes. Is it an entire script for a move? Also yes.

Yes, it's also just shy of 20K words so... This half of the post is only about 12K. If you like httyd/cod crossovers you've come to the right place. But if you want to give it a chance and have a shit ton of free time. I'd also be honored.

Hiccup: Y/n. Astrid: Ghost. Fishlegs: Gaz. Ruff/Tuff: Soap. Snotlout: Graves.

I will reblog with the second half of the fic. Cred for the divider used goes to @straywords

This is Berk. It's twelve days north of Hopeless, and a few degrees south of Freezing to Death.

It's located solidly on the Meridian of Misery.

My village. In a word, sturdy. And it's been here for seven generations, but, every single building is new. We have fishing, hunting, and a charming view of the sunsets.

The only problems are the pests. Even if they carry away all our food… You see, most places have mice or mosquitoes. We have…

Y/n opens the door of the large house structure, watching Vikings go running by, a monstrous nightmare stalking across the ground, talons digging into the stone. It turned it's gaze on the door, letting out a stream of fire from its gut.

Y/n quickly slams the door shut as fire flicked up between the cracks and fades into dark smoke.

-dragons. Most people would leave. Not us. We're Vikings. We have, stubbornness issues.

Y/n rushed outside, smoke billowing into the clouds from the fire torching into the wooden buildings.

My name's Y/n. Great name, I know. But, it's not the worst. Parents believe a hideous name will frighten off gnomes and trolls. Like our charming Viking demeanor wouldn't do that.

Y/n falls back against the ground with an earth quaking tremor as another dragon flies into the area. Several Vikings greeting them. You. This is you. Flabby skin tight arms wrapped around thin layers of barely noticeable muscle.

Clothes seeming too big and too small, hands as soft as a newborn despite the experience in the forge. The only place you ever seem to be helpful no doubt.

What a life a Viking like you lives. You're bloody useless! Even a newborn baby could wield an axe better than you could.

You rush up one of the paths along the hills of Berk, multiple Vikings looking at your sorry figure and asking why you were out during a dragon attack. You only ever caused trouble. When you weren't being useless you were being an expensive clumsy step.

“What are you doing here!?” One Viking says before you rush past.

“What are you doin’ out??” Another.

“Get back inside!!”

You're grabbed up swiftly by the collar of your shirt, your stubby feet dangling above the ground. A dragon's fiery breath drawing a line in the road, barely were you saved from its wrath.

“Y/n?! What are they doing out again-?!” He looked at you, baffled. “What are you doing out?! Get inside!”

That's Stoick the Vast. Chief of the tribe. They say that when he was a baby, he popped a dragon's head clean off of its shoulders.

You watch as the large burly man grabs a cart along the road, swinging it and throwing it violently at a deadly Nadder in the sky. The dragon struggled and went down as it burst into splinters.

Do I believe it? Yes, I do.

While the others rush to the scene to take the dragons on, you cower and rush into the smithing shop nestled near the middle of the town road. The only place not burnt down by now.

Immediately putting on an apron and stumbling about.

“Oh, nice of you to join the party, I thought you'd been carried off!”

You turned briefly to another large man, his appendages having some work done, what with missing both an arm and a leg. Always wondered what kept him alive… it clearly wasn't his limbs.

“What, who me? Nah, come on! I'm waaaay too muscular for their taste. They wouldn't know what to do with all…” Your lack of any muscle is incredibly. Being born into the generation you were, how you managed to stay the same length and width of a stick was quite the sight. “...this.”

You moved a rather large weapon and opened the smithing window, a Viking immediately grabbing a weapon from the desk before you could take them back to the smelter.

He hums. “Well, they need toothpicks, don't they?”

You roll your eyes a tad and sigh.

The meat-head with attitude and interchangeable hands is Gobber. I've been his apprentice ever since I was little. Well... littler.

You look out the smithing window as Stoick tackles another dragon. A dragon landing on another roof and blowing fire into the scorching wood. It crumbling beneath its talons.

See? Old village, lots and lots of new houses.

“FIRE!!” A Viking shouted, followed by four teen rushing out with buckets of water.

Oh, and that's Gaz, Graves, Soap, and... Ghost. Oh, their job is so much cooler.

You watch the group walk from a fiery explosion as Vikings pass by, led by the snappiest rackater of them all.

Ghost may have been a hard head who bullied your entire existence in a subtle way that made you feel like you were the problem, but that didn't matter.

Graves was a real hard ass. Always following said lead teen around like he was gonna get a chance for even a morcel. Considering no respecting person in the village would take that…

There was Soap. They say he had a twin, but, had. Considering no one knows what happened or where said twin ended up. Easiest to say Odin didn't want them to live the hardships.

Or they got eaten by a dragon.

Gaz, well, no one really knew what his problem was. He was a tad odd, but damn smart, and somehow more popular than you, skellington.

You lean out the smithing window, a hooked hand pulling you back in. “Oh come on! Please, let me out! I need to make my mark!”

“Oh you've made marks all right, in all the wrong places!”

“Please, two minutes. I'll kill a dragon. My life will get infinitely better. I might even get noticed!”

“You can't lift a hammer, you can't swing an axe, you can't even throw one of these!” Gobber lifts a bola to express his exasperation, only for it to be pulled from his hook and thrown at a dragon, taking it down.

“Okay, fine, but this will throw it for me!” You smiled excitedly rushing back into the shop, showing off your cool canon mechanism.

“See, now this right here is what I'm talking about!” Gobber sighed, exasperated. Watching you fiddle with your contraption.

“Mild calibration issue-” You fiddled with some levers and the string on the draw.

“Don't you- no- Y/n. If you ever want to get out there to fight dragons, you need to stop all... this.” He gestured vaguely to you, looking you up and down.

“But you just pointed to all of me?”

“Yes, exactly! Stop being you.” Gobber smiled, thinking you were getting it. Poking you in the chest.

“Oooh…”

“Ooooh, yes.”

“You sir, are playing a dangerous game. Keeping this much, raw... Viking-ness... contained? THERE WILL BE CONSEQUENCES.” You pointed your finger up, brow turning down angrily.

Gobber looked bored at you. “I'll take my chances. Sword. Sharpen. Now.” He dumped the sword into your frail hands, leaving you to your devices.

One day, I'll get out there. Because, killing a dragon, is everything around here.

You can look out the smithing window while you put the sword on the grindstone, sparks flying from the blade as you contemplate your options of execution.

A Nadder head is sure to get you at least noticed. Gronckles are tough. Taking down one of those would definitely get you the spot light. A Zippleback? Exotic. Two heads, twice the status.

And then, there's the Monstrous Nightmare. Only the best Vikings go after those. They have this nasty habit of setting themselves on fire.

You watched from the window as one crawled up the wall of the tower and onto a catapult, lighting itself up and scaring off the Viking manning the device.

Stoick slamming his hammer into its face to ward it off from the top of the tower.

But the ultimate prize is the dragon no one has ever seen. We call it the-

There's a high pitched whistle across the sky. Vikings retreating desperately as they call out.

“NIGHT FURY! GET DOWN!” The Vikings rush to get down. From nowhere a catapult is torn apart with a plasma blast.

This thing never steals food, never shows itself, and... never misses. No one has ever killed a Night Fury. That's why you're going to be the first.

“Man the fort, Y/n. They need me out there!” He attaches an ax piece to his hand, rushing to the door.

“Stay. Put. There. You know what I mean.” Gobber runs off, leaving you in the shop. You tore off your apron and ran back to your catapult set up. Steering it out the doors and running up the hill along the catapults.

Vikings yelling at you to get back and go inside. You can't be trusted outside when the island is in chaos. They can't trust you not to make chaos.

“Y/n!” One yelled.

“I know! I'll be right back!” You led your catapult on wheels up the old path, Stoick pinning down a group of Nadders.

The others fought while you reached the edge of the cliff. Looking out at the darkness, a surprisingly peaceful corner of the island away from the chaos feet away.

You opened the catapult and set it up, the small aiming needle and the leader strap that held in the bola aiming around. You looked at the night sky, out at all the stars.

“Come on… Give me something to shoot at, give me something to shoot at.”

You watched the sky. Hearing the low cry of the dragon. Seeing the dark figure blacking out the stars, the only possible way you could see the creature that blended so easily into the night.

Attempting to track the shadow with the scope of your catapult.

You heard the dragon make its move, dive bombing from the sky and shooting a plasma blast into a nearby fire, knocking the tower down. As it cleared the explosion you clenched your eyes shut and pulled the trigger.

The catapult blasted you back on your butt, hearing the cry as the creature went down.

You hit it. For once in your miniscule life you hit it!! A dragon!! A night fury!!

“I hit it!! Yes! Did anybody see that??” You turned around, a monstrous nightmare creeping up on you, its narrowed face making it look like a devilish thing.

“Except… for you.”

It growled at you and you screamed, attracting the attention of Stoick. He sighed in exasperation, pulling away from the tied down Nadder heads. “DO NOT let them escape!” He commanded some others as he rushed to your aid.

You ran and stumbled from the dragon that stalked after you, firing at you. Hiding behind a pillar as your heart pounded in your chest.

You just killed a dragon and now you're dead. You're a goner. Oh you should have stayed inside.

It blasted a fiery blaze against the pillar, and you briefly squeezed your eyes shut. Slowly forcing one open and inching around the corner.

The dragon growled as its head turned, coming around from behind you. Before it could fire, Stoick slammed his fist into its face, getting the attention onto him.

It belched out the last of its flame, looking weakly down at the splatter and up at Stoick.

“You're all out of juice.” He clenched his fists and punched the monstrous nightmare, bullying it until it retreated desperately back into the night.

You tensed up, feeling the burning hot metal of the pillar crunch and crumble. The wooden pole leaning and the flaming bowl of coals on top spilled as it toppled. Falling to the side and crashing into a fire gust of ashes into a small pool of water.

Vikings gathered around you as you timidly looked up at Stoick.

Oh, and there's one other thing you should know…

A woman cried and gasped, the coals flickering and landing across the ground and the dirt. Your shoulders tensing and rising with each noise. Slowly turning to Stoick who did not look happy.

“Sorry… dad..”

You and the others all watched as the dragons flew by, the sound of the sheep they'd captured from the island sounding off as they left.

Slowly pursing your lips you turned to your father. “Ok but I hit a night fury-”

Stoick grabbed you by the back of your collar, dragging you off effortlessly.

“Ah! It's not like the last few times, dad! I really actually hit it.”

“You guys weren't around. I was alone when I hit it. I had a clear shot.”

Gobber watched regretfully as you were dragged. “It fell just off Ravens point I say let's get a search party out there-”

“Stop!” Stoick interrupted you, making you purse your lips again silently as he now stood you in front of him. “Just stop.”

“Every time you get out, trouble follows. Can't you see I have bigger problems?? Winter is almost here, and I have an entire village to feed.”

An awkward pause before you speak. “Well between you and me the village could use a little less of that? No?”

A Viking behind you silently disagrees as he rubs his round stomach. No, no, the village can stay well fed. They like it.

“This is not a joke! Y/n!” Stoick sighs. “Why can't you just follow the simplest of orders??”

You bounce on your feet. “I-I can't stop myself. I see a dragon and I have to just kill it.” You twist your hands, looking up at him.

Yeah, right. Like you could ever kill a dragon.

“It's who I am, dad.” You say, sighing. You're full of crap.

Stoick rubs his face. “Ey… you are many things y/n, but a dragon killer? Is not one of them… get back to the house.”

He looks up at Gobber, motioning him. “Make sure they get there.”

Gobber comes over and gently hits your head.

“I have their mess to clean up…” Stoick walks past as Gobber leads you sulking home.

To make things worse you passed the other teens, Soap snickering with Gaz. “Quite the performance.” Gaz commented.

“Wow, I've never seen someone mess up that badly.” Graves leaned in your face. “That helped.”

You sulked by, noticing Ghost admiring his axe in the background, leaned up against the stone ledge.

“Thank you, thank you. I was trying.”

As you pass Gober grips Graves helmet and shoves him back, making him choke. “Ow-!”

You two walk back to the house, your annoyance stewing. “I really did hit one.”

“Sure you did.”

“He never listens.”

“It runs in the family.” Gobber replied.

“And when he does it's always with this disappointed scowl, like someone skimped on the meat in his sandwich.”

You turn just before the door, making a mock impression of your father, raising your eyebrows in anger. “Excuse me, barmaid! I'm afraid you brought me the wrong offspring.”

You raise your arms in annoyance, doing wild gestures. “I ordered an extra large boy with beefy arms. Extra guts and glory on the side. This here, this is a talking fishbone!”

“Now, you're thinking about this all wrong. It's not so much what you look like, it's what's inside that he can't stand.” Gobber offers you a smile, to which your expression drops.

You sigh flatly. “Thank you for summing that up.”

“Look, I'm trying to tell you to stop trying to be what you're not.” Gobber says as you open the door to the house.

“I just.. wanna be one of you guys..” You say, closing the door behind you.

Gobber sighs sadly, starting to leave, giving you space.

All the space you needed to sneak out of the back of the house. Immediately rushing down the back of the hill the house was set on…

“Either we finish them, or they'll finish us! It's the only way we'll be rid of them! If we find the nest and destroy it, the dragons will leave. They'll find another home! One more search. Before the ice sets in.”

Stoick looks around the Meade hall, slamming his knife into a map on the table, seeing all the hesitation.

“Those ships never come back!” One Viking calls out from the end of the long table.

“We're Vikings, it's an occupational hazard. Now who's coming with me?”

“Today's not good for me. I've gotta do my axe returns.” One mumbles.

Stoick leans back from the table. “Alright. Those who stay behind can look after y/n.”

Immediately every hand at the table went up. And Stoick nodded. “That’s more like it.”

Gobber sat at the table, finishing off a tankard of drink. “Alright, I'll pack my undies.”

Stoick came over to him, sitting next to him at the table. “No, I need you to stay here and train some new recruits.”

Gobber mulls over his cup, before replying sarcastically. “Oh, perfect. And while I'm busy, Y/n can cover the stall. Molten steel, razor sharp blades, lots of time to themself... what could possibly go wrong?”

Stoick sighed, slouching slightly. “What am I going to do with them, Gobber?”

“Put them in training like the others.”

“No, I'm serious.”

“So am I.”

They look at each other, Stoick leaning his arm on the table. “They'd be killed before you let the first dragon out of its cage!”

“You don't know that.” Gobber goes back to his drink.

“I do, actually.”

“No, you don't.” Gobber points a finger at him.

“Listen, you know what their like.” He got up from the table. “From the time they could crawl, they've been… different.”

He walked around the table by the fire against the wall.

“They don't listen,” Gobber chokes on his drink as he listens. “They have the attention span of a sparrow.” Stoick goes on.

Gobber looks into his drink for his missing tooth which he previously choked on.

Stoick is still on. “I take them fishing and they go hunting for- for trolls!”

“Trolls are real!” Gobber points his drink arm at Stoick. “They steal your socks. But only the left ones… what's with that??”

Stoick sighs. “When I was a boy.”

“Oh here we go.”

“My father told me to bang my head against a rock and I did it. I thought it was crazy, but I didn't question him.”

Stoick turns. “You know what happened??”

“You got a headache.”

“That rock split in two. It taught me what a Viking could do, Gobber. He could- He could crush mountains, level forests, tame seas!” He gestures loud. “Even as a boy, I knew what I was, what I had to become.”

Stoick goes and sits at the table again, slouching. “Y/n is not that kid.”

“You can't stop them, Stoick. You can only prepare them. Look, I know it seems hopeless.” Gobber gestures his drink arm.

“But the truth is you won't always be around to protect them. Their going to get out there again. Their probably out there now.”

And he was right. Out the forest at Ravens point, he exasperatedly crossed another X in your book. You'd been searching everywhere for this damn dragon, eventually giving up.

“Oh the gods hate me…” you snapped the book shut. “Some people lose their knife or their mug, not me.”

You scuff your feet. “I manage to lose an entire dragon.” You walk down the path, angrily slapping a tree branch that comes right back at you.

Turning your attention to the part of the part that is disturbed. A large dirt train plowed through the land.

You frown, following it up to a small hill. As you climb it, your eyes land sight of the dragon. You gasp, your heart racing as you immediately duck down.

Your eyes go wide as you hide behind the mound, panting. What do you do?? What do you do??

You sat up, immediately searching for your knife. Grabbing it out shakily and holding it like your life depended on it.

You slid down the hill, hiding behind a large rock before poking out. Seeing the dragon tied up and caught in the net you'd flung it into.

You disastrous human. How could you? How could you do this?

You smiled though, shocked, in pure shock. “Oh wow, this- this fixes everything!” You walked over, putting your foot on its shoulder. “I have brought down this mighty beast-”

The dragon bellows in pain, shrugging its shoulder to push you off, making you jump and scramble back.

You shake and pant as you hold your knife out in front of you, walking closer. You can see the dragon's blue green eyes on you, staring at you.

“I'm going to kill you, dragon. I'm gonna cut out your heart and take it to my father. I'm a Viking. I am a VIKING!” You hold the knife down, pointed at the beast.

The night fury breathes heavily, clearly scared as it stares at you with a sharp gaze, awaiting its horrific fate.

You raise the knife above your head, steeling yourself for the moment, peeling an eye open to look down at the dragon. It still stared at you, helpless, and scared.

You readjust the knife, taking a deep breath. The dragon moans, laying its head down and closing its eyes. Scared, but knowing it's fate.

And that breaks you. It's the last noise of distress going unheeded to any cruel human that would have found him.

You attempted to shoo the thought and claim its life, but instead.. you couldn't. You groaned, slumping the knife handle to the top of your head.

You slumped, rubbing the side of your face and looking at the knife, then the dragon. No, no you couldn't do this.

“I did this…” You slowly back up, returning to leave, but looking back at those ropes.

You went back, and you started to cut. The dragon’s eyes shot open in an instant, looking over as you sawed the blade through the ropes and pulled it free.

As soon as the last rope that freed its legs was off, it jumped at you, growling in your face as it pushed you to the ground.

Your head hit the edge of the rock as its claw kept your chest pinned. You gasped for air, looking up at the dragon, into its sharp eyes.

The dragon growled down at you as you leaned your face away, your heart pounding. The dragon leaned his arm off your chest, slamming you down and roaring in your face.

It turned and dashed, flying off, taking off lopsided and flying into a tree. It wailed when it hit the ground and then tried to take off again, wailing in pain as it flew into the fog.

You slowly reached for your knife, clutching your heart as your eyes remained blown wide.

You tried to stand, your knees shaking like a deer and weak. You felt wheezy and like you would vomit at any moment. Not making it far before hitting the ground with a thud and falling unconscious.

It was late by the time you came home, walking into the house to see your father, Stoick stoking the fire, waiting for you.

You slowly closed the door, seeing him and attempting to rush by and head upstairs. Going full hands and knees rushed, but it was futile.

“Y/n.”

“Dad, uh…” You swallowed awkwardly, your thoughts immediately rushing back to earlier that day and the shit you'd probably get into if he knew you let a night fury free…

“I uh, have to talk to you, dad…”

Stoick stood, coming over. “I have to talk to you too, y/n.”

Both of you took deep breaths.

“I've decided I don't want-”

“I've decided it's time you learn-”

“To fight dragons. What??”

Stoick clears his throat. “You go first.”

“No, no you go first.” You started to sweat a little, gripping the stairs, feeling your collar getting tight.

“All right.” Stoick sighs, massaging his knuckles. “You get your wish. Dragon training. You start in the morning.”

“Oh, man, I should've gone first!” You panicked a lot, shifting from foot to foot awkwardly, looking away.

“Uh, 'cause I was thinking, you know, we have a surplus of dragon-fighting Vikings, but do we have enough… bread-making Vikings, or small home repair Vikings-?”

Stoick leaned over, picking up an axe. “You'll need this.” He hands it to you, making you huff with the weight on your incredibly toothpick durability, q-tip quality arms.

“Gah-” you panicked, looking at him worriedly. “Dad, I don't want to kill dragons.” You protested.

Stoick laughed. “Of course you do.”

“Rephrase… Dad, I can't kill dragons.” you held the axe, your legs weak and your stomach churning sickeningly with the thought of being ignored in this.

“But you will kill dragons.”

Your worry grows, gripping the axe. “No, I'm very extra sure that I won't.”

“It's time Y/n.”

“Can you not hear me!?” You ask desperately and exasperated.

“This is serious, y/n.”

He gestured. “When you carry this axe, you carry all of us with you.” Stoick picks the axe up from your arms and adjusts it.

“Which means you walk like us.” He bunches your shoulders together and fixes your slouch. “You talk like us. You think like us. No more of…. This.” He gestured vaguely to you.

“You just gestured to all of me.” You pouted.

“Deal??” Stoick asked, making your heart sink at once again being completely ignored.

“This conversation is feeling very one-sided.”

“Deal!?” Stoick repeats.

“Deal…”

“Good.” He nods to you, not even touching you. He picked up his sack for the voyage and his Viking hat.

“Train hard. I'll be back. Probably.”

“And I'll be here… maybe.”

“Welcome to dragon training.” Gobber says as you all enter the ring. A large stone pit tug into the groups full of armory and cages with chain domed across the top.

Ghost leads the group of teens into the ring, holding his axe firmly in his hand. He looks around, parts of his slightly long blonde hair hanging in front of his sharp brown eyes.

Such a warm color, such a cold stare. “No turning back.” He said to mostly himself, the others checking out the place.

Oh and there's you in the back. Toothpick.

“I hope I get some serious burns.” Graves says.

“Yeah, I'm hoping for some maulings. Like on my shoulder or my lower back.” Soap commented with a grin.

Ghost spoke up, tilting his head. “Yeah, it's only fun if you get a scar out of it.” He already had a few. From dragon fights? No. But scars nonetheless. He wanted a scar from the dragon's he killed.

Even if he would have to force the mark.

You mumbled sarcastically from the background. “Oh yeah… pain, great.. love it..”

They all look back, simultaneously looking at you with disgust, while Ghost just scrunched his nose. “Oh great, who let you in??” Graves complains.

“Let's get started! The recruit who does best will win the honor of killing his first dragon in front of the entire village.” Gobber said, motioning you all into the middle of the rock pit. Closer to your doom.

“Well, Y/n already killed a Night Fury, so, does that disqualify him or…?” Graves smirked at you antagonistically.

“Can I transfer to the class with the cool Vikings?” Soap added on to the taunt as they walked away without you.

Gobber got closer to you, smiling softly. “Don't worry. You're small and you're weak. That'll make you less of a target! They'll see you as sick or insane and go after the more Viking-like teens instead.”

With that Gobber explained the essence of dragon training. Behind each of the doors is a dragon. The training sessions will focus on an aspect of fighting. The person last standing against the dragon is to be the winner of the round.

Whoever wins in the end?? You get a brag tag for a good chunk of years.

Gobber went on. “Behind these doors are just a few of the many species you will learn to fight! The Deadly Nadder!”

“Speed: eight; Armor: sixteen.” Gaz finally spoke up.

“The Hideous Zippleback!”

“Plus eleven stealth times two.”

“The Monstrous Nightmare!”

“Firepower: fifteen.”

“The Terrible Terror!”

“Attack: eight; Venom: twelve!”

“CAN YOU STOP THAT?! And... the Gronckle!” Gobber snapped, getting to the last door. He hooked his interchangeable arm to the latch.

“Woah, hang on- aren't you going to teach us first??” Graves asked in disbelief.

Gobber shrugged. “I believe in learning on the job.”

He pulled the door open and released the Gronckle. The others tensed up and watched the thing as it flew toward them, eyeing them all like snacks.

It swallowed some of the rocks set out and blasted it's fiery molten liquid at you four.

“Today is about survival. If you get blasted... you're dead! Quick! What's the first thing you're going to need?”

“A doctor!?” You cried worriedly.

“Plus five speed!?” Gaz countered.

Ghost eyed the dragon, then around the ring. “A shield!”

“Shields! Go!” Gobber instructed, Ghost being the first to turn and run for one.

“Your most important piece of equipment is your shield! If you must make a choice between a sword or a shield, take the shield!”

You rushed to grab one, picking it up and heaving up the heavy thing. You attempted to find the arm strap, searching rapidly before Gobber came over.

Exasperation filled as he lifted it up and shoved it gently into your chest.

Graves grabbed a shield with skulls on it, Soap frowning. “Hey!” The only shield left being one with flowers.

“Take that one, that one has flowers.” Graves teased, pouting his lip at Soap.

“But- ah!” Soap was thrown to the ground when the Gronckle’s tail hit him in the side.

“Soap, you're down.” Gobber called.

“What…??”

“Shields are good for another thing. Making lots of noise. Throw the dragon's aim off!”

You, Ghost, Graves, and Gaz all start banging your shields, the Gronckle's eyes crossing and trying to shake the disorientation off.

“All dragons have a limited number of shots. How many does a Gronckle have?” Gobber asks.

You all circle around the dragon, it's eyes trying to focus on anything. You rush back to a corner, hiding back behind one of the armor walls, holding your shield in the crack.

Pussy.

“Uh, five??” Graves replies while he rushes away.

“No, six!” Gaz counters.

“That's correct. Six. One for each of you.”

The Gronckle gets its surroundings back and blasts molten at Gaz’s shield, making him cry with surprise.

“Gaz, you're out!”

Gaz gulps and yells as he runs for safely of the out zone.

Gobber notices you. “Y/n! Get in there!!”

You attempt to move away from your wall only to get a blast thrown at you. Fearing you scuffling back away, Gobber ones over and pushes you into the ring again.

Ghost faced the Gronckle as it came around again, ready to take it down, distributing his weight well.

Graves came right up behind him, rolling his shoulders. “So, anyway I'm moving into my parents' basement. You should come by sometime to work out.”

Ghost rolls his eyes and starts to move, Graves looking surprised. “You look like you work out!”

The Gronckle fires it's shot for Ghost at Graves, hitting his shield. “Graves! You're done!”

Ghost rolled over next to you, both of you the only two left. You looked nervously over at him. He's so cool. Just a tad taller than you. Lanky but you can see he has muscle definition on his arms.

He's just.. ah! A real Viking. That's what your dad wants you to be.

“I uh.. guess it's just you and me now huh?” You ask him nervously.

He glowers before lifting his head. “Nope, just you.” He dashes out of the way, the Gronckle fires.

“Gah!!” You raise your shield to take the blow meant for Ghost. The shield knocks from your hand, barely missing you.

Without shield and one shot left you run back for your shield, the Gronckle hot on your track. The shield rolls away from you across the ground, looking back and you panic seeing the dragon right there.

“One shot left! Y/n!” Gobber calls.

It manages to corner you to the wall. Face right against your chest. Your heart pounds, your limbs feel cold and rigid, and on fire all at once.

It opens its mouth and down its throat the molten glow of its last shot, before a hook pulls it away. It blasts it's shot into the wall and you cover your head, curling up.

Gobber drags the dragon back away.

“And that's six! Go back to bed, ya overgrown sausage!” He shoves it back into the pen and closes the door.

“You'll get another chance, don't you worry.” He says to you as he walks back over, bending down. “Remember: a dragon will always- always- go for the kill.”

He grabs your arm and picks you up. You looked at the wall where the charred remains of the burn flickered down the rock incline…

Leading you back to the site of the crash, your curiosities got to you as you picked up one of the rocks on the bola. Where you'd freed the night fury from.

“So… why didn't you??”

Why hadn't the dragon gone for the kill. You would have stabbed it, you had a weapon for crying out loud! It had every opportunity… and it didn't.

You place the bola down, standing and hopping over a log. Walking the path down to a split between two rock digs. You slipped through the small passage, which opened up.

The tall rock face harbors trees and a small lake. It was nice… peaceful. The tall walls of rock keep it hidden and closed.

“This was stupid.” You say, moments before looking over and seeing a couple of black scales resting down the dirt incline down into the small crop.

The dragon.

You kneel down and pick one up, looking it over before hearing a roar. In an instant you jump back in fear as the Night Fury dives up over the small passage, climbing at the walls.

It's claws dig in, scrambling frantically and attempting to flap its wings and get over the edge of the rock.

You watched as it wailed and gave up, falling back and gliding awkwardly over the pond and landing on its side across on the other side.

Pant, scared but fascinated. Watched the dragon moan in sadness and pain. You hop down from the ledge, scrambling onto another rock stool and watch the night fury as it moves about.

It tries several more times to fly. Flapping its wings and hopping up but never managing to pull itself over the ledge. Crying angrily as it lands.

Your eyes widen, pulling out your sketchbook. No Night Fury had ever been recorded, you had to do this. Wow wow.

You quickly sketched up a drawing of the dragon, watching it snarl angrily.

“Why don't you just.. fly away??”

The dragon snarls and shoots a plasma blast at the ground.

Looking at the dragon you notice it only has one tail fin, while your drawing has two. You rub away the charcoal with your sleeve, your curiosities only growing.

The dragon tries to fly, swerving along the rock and slamming down onto the ground. It whines in pain, it's nose near the water's edge. Noticing some fish. It perks up in hope, diving its head into the water, but the fish are fast enough to escape its attempts.

It whines, still hungry.

In a moment of weakness, you feel bad for the creature. Why was this happening, why was it stuck here?? Your pencil rolled from between your fingers.

Your eyes widened but before you could grab it it fell down the steep rock. Bouncing on the rocks and attracting the Night Fury’s attention.

You froze, and it froze. Both of you are looking at each other. It glares at you, growling low. But it looks.. curious in a way.

When you finally make your way to the Meade hall it's late. You'd spent all your time watching the night fury and becoming so fascinated that you didn't care to come back. Until now.

Walking in and seeing the other teens gathered around Gobber. Talking over strategies and what happened in the ring.

“Now, how did Ghost go wrong today??”

“I mistimed my somersault dive. It was sloppy. It threw off my reverse tumble.” Ghost said with some sarcasm as he poked at his food.

“Yeah, we noticed.” Soap mumbles.

“No no, you were great. That was so… “Ghost.”” Graves said, once again attempting to land an unflattering attempt.

“He's right, you have to be tough on yourselves.” Gobber notices you walk in soaked, coming to the table. “Where did Y/n go wrong?”

“Uh, they showed up??” Soap said.

“Their didn't get eaten??” Graves said.

“Their never where they should be.” Ghost said, watching you with a nasty look as you scoot yourself over to the next table, knowing you weren't welcome around them.

Gobber walked over to you. “Thank you, Ghost.” He smacks Soap and Graves in the head. “You need to live and breathe this stuff. The dragon manual.” He holds up a book.

Leather bound with a dragon symbol burned into the front, tied with string to keep old pages together.

He cleared a part of the table and put the book down. “Everything we know about every dragon we know of.”

Thunder crackled overhead, Gobber sighed, knowing lightning to come. “No attacks tonight. Study up for tomorrow.”

“Wait, you mean, read??” Graves frowned, crossing his arms.

“Well maybe it would do you some good.” Gaz spoke up.

“Shut your mouth, I don't need to read nothing! Why read words when you can just kill the stuff the words tell you about??”

“Oh! I've read it like, seven times. There's this water dragon that sprays boiling water at your face. And- And there's this other one that buries itself for like a week-”

“Yeah, that sounds great. So there's a chance I was going to read it…” Soap starts.

“But not now.” Graves says, causing Soap to glare at him a little.

Even if they all were irritable brats at the age of sixteen, they all had some kind of friendship with each other. Some kind… more than they had with you. Because you're a loser.

Your eyes drift back over to Ghost who hadn't said a word about the book while the others bicker. Dragging his knuckles along the side of his tankard.

You could see the scars that started just before his wrist guards hid them away. Occasional Knicks and scratches along his arms and biceps.

Must have been from falls or accidents because he'd not properly fought a dragon or a hunter…

The others move from the table to go back home. You get up, going to the book by where Ghost sat. “So I guess we’ll… share??”

“Read it.” He pushed the book, getting up and walking off.

“Oh, uh, all mine, then. Wow. So, ok, I'll see you…” You looked up as the door shut. They were already gone…

The hall was dark with only you in it. You sat down at the table with a candle and opened the book.

Dragon classifications. Strike Class, Fear Class, Mystery Class.

You started to read. Reading through the book, the endings of each of the entries being extremely deadly: kill on sight.

Each page. Extremely deadly: kill on sight.

You continued to flip the pages. “Burns its victims, buries its victims, chokes its victims, turns its victims inside-out.”

“Extremely dangerous, extremely dangerous, kill on sight, kill on sight, kill on sight…”

Through every page of every class. Until you got to the end.

You flipped the last page. At the top it said Night Fury. The page being otherwise almost completely empty.

“Night Fury: Speed, unknown. Size, unknown. The unholy offspring of lightning and death itself. Never engage this dragon.”

You hesitated on the last part. “Your only chance: Hide and pray it does not find you.”

You pulled out your sketchbook, dropping the sketch of the Night Fury on the page. You had found a Night Fury. It had let you close. It .. hadn't killed you.

You stood the next day in the training ring, in the middle of a training session. Holding your shield and axe, you shifted from one foot to the other. Surrounded by a maze of tall builds all put together for the Deadly Nadder to find and kill you.

“You know, I just happened to notice the book had nothing on Night Furies. Is there another book? Or a sequel? Maybe a little Night Fury pamphlet?”

The Deadly Nadder jumps atop one of the lofts, firing at you, taking off the head of your axe. “Gah!”

“Focus y/n! You're not even trying!” Gobber scolds.

“Today is all about ATTACK! Nadders are quick and light on their feet! Your job is to be quicker and lighter!” Gobber continues.

Gaz gasped, running away as the Nadder searches him out. Throwing spikes from its tail at him, sinking into the wall above his head and his shield. “Ah!! I'm really starting to question your teaching methods!!”

Gobber, undeterred, continues. “Look for it's Blindspot. Every dragon has one. Find it, hide in it, and strike.”

You rush by as Soap turns a corner, coming face to snout with the Nadder. He gasps, holding in a breath as it moves its head, attempting to stay in the Blindspot.

“Steamin’ hell… this thing stinks.” He wheezes. “Do you ever bathe??” He gags, trying to cover his mouth.

The Nadder turns its head, growling and spitting fire at him. “Ah!”

“Blind spot? Yes. Deaf spot? Not so much.” Gobber grins, leaning his face against his palm as he watched from above the chain net.

Seeing Ghost running through the intricate maze, you hanging on his tail like a mouse finding safety with the cat.

You pause, looking up at Gobber. “Hey, so how would one sneak up on a Night Fury?”

“No one's ever seen one and loved to tell the tale.” He snaps his fingers. “Now get in there!!”

“Y/n.” Ghost whispers your name. You turn to see Ghost kneeled down by one of the platforms, Graves behind him, nodding to you to be quiet. You skip over, hiding against the wall.

Ghost pokes his head out, seeing the Nadder coming around. He hides again, taking a deep breath and preparing himself before rolling forward on his shield.

He pushes off, hiding behind the next wall, Graves following and doing the same. When you attempt it, the shield does not follow your small body through the roll, trapping you against the ground.

The Nadder sees you, and runs. “Gah!” You scramble up and run. The Nadder roars and flies up on top of the walls, jumping down in front of Ghost.

He readied himself but Graves pushed him aside. “Watch out babe, I'll take care of this.”

“Hey!” Ghost growls at him, seething at him as he throws his weapon, completely missing.

The Nadder growls, Ghost glaring at him. “The sun was in my eyes, Ghost.” The Nadder roars, Ghost making a run for it away from that meat head.

“What do you want me to do?? Block out the sun? I could do that, but I don't have time!” He dodges the attack, running after Ghost as the Nadder makes chase.

Graves continues rambling, looking back and making a swift turn down another aisle. Ghost looks back, gasping and crying as the Nadder is seconds away from him. He dashes around the corner and turns, slamming into the wall.

The Nadder follows, roaring at him as Ghost scrambles and runs, the walls starting to knock over from the collision.

You were still rambling to Gobber like an idiot. “Like so they take the daytime off?? Like a cat. Has anyone ever seen one, napping??”

Gobber looks up from his bored expression as Graves run by.

“Y/n!”

The walls of the maze collapse, the Nadder snapping at Ghost’s heels as he jumps up across one of the falling walls. He jumps to another wall, and you're right in his landing path.

“Y/n!!” He yells, and jumps. You scramble back, falling on the ground as he lands with a thud on top of you.

“Ooh,” Soap teases.

Ghost glares at you, shoving your face away and attempting to stand, his axe lodged in your shield.

“Hey, why- let me… why don't you…?” He shoves your chest down, standing up, his knee between your legs causing you to gasp in pain.

He does not care. Grabbing his axe angrily trying to pry it away. The Nadder turns back, readying its shot for you and Ghost.

Ghost sees it and grows more panicked, grabbing his axe, his foot landing on your cheek. “Ow! Ow! Ow!!”

He attempts to pull his axe away as the Nadder comes closer.

He finally pries it from your arm and swings his axe at the Nadder’s face, your shield splintering.

The Nadder cries in pain and turns, walking off. Ghost pants, looking off in panic as he grips his axe.

“Well done, Ghost.” Gobber commends.

Ghost doesn't respond, the interaction having a grip on his core. Before his fear replaced with anger and he turned to you, curled up in the fetal position.

“Is this some kind of a joke to you!? Our parents' war is about to become ours!” He points his axe at you. “Figure out which side you're on.”

Back to trying again with the Night Fury. You head down to the cove, bringing a new shield. Propping it between two rocks and tossing a fish into the open. You slide under it, crawling on your hands and knees.

Once on the other side you attempt to pry the shield out but it's stuck. You sigh, heading over to the fish and picking it up by under the fin.

You look around, slowly walking into the open. Feeling slightly panicky, but you've had decent luck with this dragon so far. What with it not eating you the first time.

Perhaps it was wise enough to know you weren't worth it. You'd be more of a chew toy than a hefty meal.

You walk along the pond, looking around for the night fury, aware it had eyes on you minutes earlier. It peers out from a rock as it watches you pass. It's eyes focus on you, tail swishing.

Finally it comes down from the rock, and you see it from your peripheral. You gasp, gripping the fish tight as the dragon comes down and around, sniffing the snack in your hand, growling at you.

You hold the fish out. Would it take it?? It cranes its body sideways like a cat, tilting its head and sniffing the treat.

It's pupils softening before growling and jumping back. Your hand retreats with the fish, gasping softly.

You pull your sweater open, your knife tucked into your clothes. When you reach for it, the dragon snarls.

You gasp, feeling your heartbeat picking up again, slowly removing the knife and dropping it.

The dragon's ears go down, growling away, and you kick the knife away into the pond.

Afterwhich, the dragon relaxes, pupils softening again. It sits, ear flicking. It continues to hold its body arched like a cat as it comes over when you extend the fish again.

“Ah, Toothless.” You say, seeing his gummy mouth and lack of teeth. “I could have sworn you had-” His teeth suddenly snap out and he snatches the fish from your hands.

Your eyes widen as he scarfs down the snack. “-Teeth…”

He enjoys his snack before looking back at you, lowering his head and coming over.

“Ah, ah.. uh, I don't have any more.” You stammer, backing up and tripping over your heel back against a rock.

Toothless gurgled, looking at you before starting to regurgitate his food. You tense up, cringing a little when he spits up part of the fish in your lap.

“Ugh…”

He sits back, looking at you expectantly. His eyes move from the fish, then to you when you do nothing.

You sigh, hesitantly taking a bite of the food, retching it up, putting a hand over your mouth and forcing yourself to swallow it.

Toothless perks up, you shudder and look up at him, attempting to smile after that…. Delicious cuisine.

You smile awkwardly. Toothless frowns, before attempting to smile back. His lip twitching and showing his gummy smile that he gives you.

Your eyes widen a little. This… was not a kill on sight dragon. This wasn't something you'd slaughter for sport.

He was smiling at you. Why, from all the dragon's you'd ever been taught about, the most deadly was smiling at you. Sharing his food…

You slowly stand, extending your hand, to which Toothless’ smile drops. He growls, and flies off, crying as he spirals against the wind, only able to drift and hit the ground a ways away.

He huffs against the dirty, slowly getting up and shaking himself off. He walks over to a small hill, blasting a controlled amount of heat against the ground, charring it into a nice warm bed.

He looks up at a bird in its nest, chirping and flying away. And then… he sees you. How unsightly. No one wants to see that before bed.

He groans and curls up. Folding in his wings and wrapping his tail around his face to keep him well hidden and secured.

You smile, inching a little closer. You boldly reach out to touch his tail, but Toothless is one step ahead. He lifts his tail, huffing at you.

You quickly stand, wobbling on shaky legs and awkwardly walking away from him. Toothless stares dully, getting up and moving from his spot, somewhere you surely couldn't get him.

Hanging from… a tree. Such an odd dragon.

You let him be. Sitting on a rock a couple feet away. Wasting away the time until the evening rolled around and Toothless slowly came out of his nap.

Moving his tail and looking over at you, drawing in the dirt with a stick.

He gurgled, hopping down and quietly coming over to see what you were doing.

You rested your cheek against your fist, aimlessly drawing a little figure of Toothless in the dirt.

Toothless watches curiously, purring a growl and getting up on his back legs. He waddled away. You look back when you hear the snapping of a tree branch.

Toothless comes back with his own drawing stick, purring and trailing it around in the dirt.

You watch him in shock and surprise as toothless drags the stick around, smiling and clutching it tight in his mouth.

He purrs as he swirls and twists around, finally finishing his creation of spirals and mapping trails between you and him.

You finally stand, looking around at what he's created. All the lines and the paths. You walk out toward one of the lines. When your foot steps on it, Toothless growls.

It shocks you a little, looking over at him and quickly taking your foot off the line. Toothless raises his head, purring at you in response.

You put your foot on the line, and he growls.

Taking it off, Toothless purred.

You did it a couple of times before understanding. It's trust. Toothless is offering trust. You smile softly, stepping over the line, aware of where your feet when as he stepped around and over the lines.

Finally stopping with your back to Toothless. You sink a little, feeling a warm breath fan across the nape of your neck and down your back.

You turn and look up at him. Toothless’ gaze is soft. You pant softly, reaching your hand up. Toothless pulls his head away slightly, growling a little.

You pull your hand back, looking into his eyes. So you turn away. Closing your eyes and extending your hand again.

Toothless’ eyes soften. He looks at your palm, leaning his head forward and hesitating, before gently leaning his nose into your palm, closing his eyes.

You exhale softly in surprise, feeling it. Toothless… trusts you. This was trust.

You looked up at Toothless. His eyes narrow again. He pulled away, wriggling his nose and huffing before dashing off.

The incident didn't leave your mind. Even when you went home, you couldn't face anyone after the thought of Toothless.

Sat atop the watch tower with Gobber and the others, roasting food over the crackling fire while he went on about a tale.

You weren't particularly listening, your gaze focused on your fingers, slowly turning the stick that was jabbed through your fish.

“...And with one twist, he took my hand, and swallowed it whole!” Gobber waved his stick, with a whole chicken on the end of it.

“And I saw the look on his face: I was delicious. He must have passed the word, because it wasn't a month before another one of them took my leg.”

Gaz frowned in concentration, digging into his food. “Isn't it weird to think that your hand was inside a dragon?” He motioned one of the meat legs toward Ghost, who glared and shifted away.

What was that idiots problem. Ghost was close to biting his arm off.

“Like if your mind was still in control of it, you could have killed the dragon from the inside by... crushing his heart, or something.” Gaz continued, Graves staring at him from across the firepit as it grew silent.

“Right…” Graves muttered. “I swear, I'm so angry right now! I'll avenge your beautiful hand and your beautiful foot. I'll chop off the legs of every dragon I fight. With my face!”

“Un-unh. It's the wings and the tails you really want. If it can't fly, it can't get away. A downed dragon is a dead dragon.” Gobber said, snapping a leg off his chicken.

Your eyes slowly widen. Toothless. Toothless was down. That's the first thing you'd listened to all night. Pulled from your stupor of pointless thoughts.

Gobber yawned and got up. “Alright. I'm off to bed. You should be, too. Tomorrow we get to the big boys. Slowly but surely making our way up to the Monstrous Nightmare. But who'll win the honor of killing it?”

“It's gonna be me! It's my destiny, see??” Soap rolled up his sleeve, showing his arm.

“Woah, your mom let you get a tattoo??”

“It's not a tattoo, it's a birthmark.”

“I've known you literally since we were babies, and I've never seen that.” Graves replies.

“Yes, it was. You've just never seen me from the left side until now.”

After hearing what Gobber had said about dragons, your interests turn to the forge. If you're going to get Toothless out of there alive you'd need to help him.

It wouldn't be on his own…

Ghost watched you, cold gaze following as you walked away from the fire and back down the watch tower.

You headed to the forge quickly, pulling out your sketchbook and laying it out on the table. Alright, now for something that could help Toothless. Time to get to work.

You worked long into the night. Heating the forge and putting together a device that you knew would help. You worked until your eyes were heavy and the sunrise poked over the edge of the water.

Finally putting out the flames and grabbing what you could, you headed back to the house. Stumbling inside and slumping into your hard bed for just an ounce of sleep.

After a bit of rest and recuperating you headed out a few hours later, ready to help Toothless. Your plan was foolproof. And you brought along a giant basket of fish just for it.

When you got back to the cove, Toothless was waiting for you. “Hey Toothless, I brought you some fish.” You set down the basket and kicked it over with your foot. “We've got some salmon, some nice Icelandic cod…”

Toothless began to sniff through the fish, nudging through to find the good stuff.

“And a whole smoked eel…” You slowly stepped around the pile when toothless growled. He backed up, snarling at the pile.

You tilted your head and reached in, pulling out the eel. Toothless saw it and expanded his wings in defense, roaring loudly.

“No, no no no! It's ok!” You quickly threw the eel away and placed out your hand to him, your contraption firmly under the other.

He huffed and you wiped your hand on your coat. “Yeah, I don't much like eel either…”

And Toothless went sniffing through the pile of fish again, wolfing down a few without wasting time.

“That's it…” you slowly backed up behind him. “That's it. Just stick with the good stuff.”

You slowly set up the wing you'd made. “And don't you mind me I'll be back here… minding my own business…”

You attempted to wrangle Toothless’ tail. Strapping the belts around it as he dug around the basket. Having to sit on his tail and gently spread open the fabric.

When you finally got it hooked on, you sat back. “Hey, doesn't look half bad.”

Toothless’ head perked up as soon as he felt it. A weight on his other tail. He slowly patted his feet into the ground. He could fly… he could fly.

Toothless spread his wings, and took off. “Woah! Whooaa!!” You gasped, seeing the ground suddenly falling away from you. You leaned down, grabbing and holding onto Toothless’ tail tightly.

“No no no!!” You cried as Toothless darted for the coves edge. You watched wide eyed, your adrenaline pumping.

The tail had closed and was flailing in the wind, Toothless starting to lose air.

Oh fuck oh fuck. You managed to pry one sweaty hand from his tail and pull it open. Toothless caught air and zoomed up into the sky.

“Oh, my…! It's working!!” You cried as Toothless flew away from the island. He twisted in the air, flying back over the cove and back across the pond.

“Yes! Yes! I did it!”

Toothless looked back. What the?? Why is this toothpick still hanging on to me!?

He twisted upside down and flicked his tail, tossing you into the pond and flew away.

Losing control of himself, he shrieked as he slammed back into the ground across the lake. He looked at the folded in tail angrily.

You swam above the water furiously, smiling. “Yeah!” You splashed.

The next day at training you were faced with the Hideous Zippleback. Teamed up with Gaz, your goal was to work together to disarm the two headed dragon of its abilities.

One head spreading flammable gas, the other head lights that gas.

“Razor sharp, serrated teeth that inject venom for pre-digestion. Prefers ambush attack, by crushing its victims-”

You frowned at Gaz, gripping your bucket tight. “Would you please stop that!?”

As more gas filled the arena, Graves and Soap turned back to back, looking around for any sign of the dragon.

“If that dragon shows either of his faces, I'm gonna- there!” Graves spotted something through the gas, both him and Soap frantically throwing their buckets of water.

The gas cleared, and there stood hell itself. A soaking. Wet. Ghost.

Oh.

“Oh it's just Ghost, we thought you were a dragon!” Soap shrinks back, smiling like an awkward idiot.

“Well, clearly,” he snapped coldly. “I am not!”

“Well, your butts big like a dragon.”

Graves hit Soap with his elbow. “Not that there's nothing wrong with a…” Ghost was already marching toward him.

“dragon-esque figure- Ow!”

Ghost punched him hard in the nose, sending him back. He landed on his butt, before he could get up something snatched him into the gas.

Ghost put his arm in front of Soap. “Wait.” He whispered.

There was a cry and Graves ran from the smoke. “Ow! Ow!”

Gaz gulped, you and him still back to back. “Chances of survival are dwindling in the single digits now…”

One of the dragon's heads peered out from the smoke and came toward you two. Sharp yellow eyes trained on Gaz.

“Woah, Woah!” He scrambled back as it cornered him, and he threw his bucket of water onto it.

The dragon rippled a growl, gas billowing from beyond its maw.

“Oh… wrong head.” He smiled awkwardly. It drenched Gaz in gas, Gobber calling out for him, and Gaz made a run for it.

Leaving you the last one with a water bucket. Both of the heads now coming around, the dragon facing you from both sides.

One of the heads created sparks between its teeth.

“Now y/n!” Gobber said.

You raised your water bucket. “Eh.” You threw it up, the water barely hitting the dragon. “Oh come on…”

You. Are completely… and utterly useless… be thankful you have a dragon now or you would not survive let me tell you.

The dragon surrounded you. “Y/n!” Gobber yelled, coming over.

But I admit, what you lack in physical strength you make up in your capacity to learn.

Standing up slowly, the dragon snarled and whipped back. You pulled the eel from your vest, holding it out to them.

“Back! Back!” You snapped, the dragon snarling and backing away from the eel.

“That's right! Back in your cage!” You corralled it back in, slamming the door shut with all the might you had. Which isn't much.

The others watched. Ghost’s signature glare burning into your skin. This was fucking ridiculous.

You clapped your hands together. “So uh… are we done??” They all stared at you wordlessly. “Because I uh.. I got some stuff to do so I'll just… yeah. See you tomorrow!”

You smiled, spending the rest of the day at the forge. Creating some more things you could use in your adventures with Toothless.

Putting together a saddle.

You brought it to Toothless and when he saw it he smiled. Perking up and running away. “Hey!” You laughed, running after him.

Toothless gurgled and fled around the ground as you chased after him.

After getting the saddle on you learned pretty quickly you'd need some way to hold on. After a failed fly test force Toothless to panic and throw you off his back into the water again.

No problem, just a little waist retainer was all that was needed. Hooking it onto the saddle and having another go.

The second time was slightly better. You'd tied a rope around your ankle that would help you pull the tail fin open.

Toothless roared when you tried again, losing control in the air just after getting out of the cove.

“Hold hold ha!!” You cried as Toothless squirmed and fell into a bed of tall dragon nip.

You stumbled, looking around the tall grass and going back to see Toothless rolling around comfortably in the grass. Relaxing fully in total relaxation.

Huh. Odd.

You picked up some of the nip, looking at it curiously. Again, it's best you have a bigger head than bigger biceps.

When faced with a Gronckle for the next training exercise, you ended things quickly. It crashed into Graves and went for you. You held up the dragon nip you had taken and it immediately slowed down.

The Gronckle crashed to the ground and you rubbed the dragon nip against its nose.

The villagers gathered around the top of the pit to watch you in awe, the village elder also noticing how much you'd suddenly improved your dragon prowess in recent days.

After which all the teens were gathered around you. Well, almost all of them.

“Wow, how did you do that??” Soap asked.

“I never would have thought about that-” Gaz piped up.

“I've never even seen a Gronckle do that!” Graves blurted.

Ghost trained behind, watching as you laughed awkwardly. “Oh I uh, I left my axe in the ring.” You turned, bumping into Ghost as you did.

He jumped, pushing you lightly and you went around him. “Sorry, sorry.”

They watched, the others smiling excitement. Ghost glaring down your whole existence.

Spending more time with Toothless, you began to introduce the fondness of scratches and pets. Scratching the patches of scales along his neck and ear fins.

Toothless groaned, leaning up into it, turning his head and closing his eyes. You scratched under his chin and he went limp, falling to the ground with a content exhale.

The next day, back in training.

Ghost yelled, throwing his axe at the deadly Nadder that turned, running back over to you two. It roared loudly, pushing Ghost to the ground, skinning his upper arm.

You readied yourself, quickly dropping the axe as the Nadder ran to you.

Ghost scrambled back up, grabbing his axe. His heart pounded as he lifted it and ran. You noticed him and turned quickly to the Nadder.

You reached up, scratching behind its ear, down to its chin and right… there.

The Nadder dropped, happily out for a nap.

Ghost panted, lowering his axe in disbelief. You smiled at him and shrugged.

This continued on. Spending time with Toothless you learned he was just like a cat.

Using a hammer to shine a light across the ground, you watched with amusement as Toothless chased after it. Hopping and purring to catch it.

Training faced you with the Terrible Terror. Which admittedly you didn't expect it to be as small as it was.

“Meet the Terrible Terror.”

A small door attached to the main door opened, like a cat door. The tiny dragon scuttling out, licking its eyeball, staring at you all.

“Aw, it's like the size of my- ah!!” Soap jumped back as the Terror jumped at him. You all scattered as Soap landed on the ground, the terror chewing on his nose.

“Oh I am hurt, I am very much hurt!”

The Terror perked up, seeing a light moving across the ground. It flicked its tail, smiling and rushing from Soap after the light.

You guided it with the shiny part of your shield back into its small hut, closing the door with your foot.

“Wow, he's better than you ever were.” Soap rubs his nose, looking at Ghost.

After which you spent more time working on a harness and a better string attachment for the tail fin.

When rushed through the woods up ran into Ghost, throwing his axe into different trees, training his aim.

He raised his axe, pausing when he saw you. You two looked at each other, and then you rushed off. You couldn't let him see Toothless.

When Ghost turned to follow after you, you had somehow already disappeared.

Fuck!

You began to work on the positions of your contraption with Toothless. Strapping him to a tree stump so you could write down the number of each foot turn.

Able to move your heel and shift the position of the tailfin through the rope.

“Position one.” You shifted the lever, writing it down on your little piece of paper. “And position two.” He shifts it, Toothless' wings catching air and the rope snapped.

“Gah!” You gasped as you were thrown back to the ground.

Toothless groaned and rolled over, pulling you up by the waist, the waist retainer stuck to the clip of Toothless' saddle.

“Oh brother…”

Forced to drag Toothless back to the village while still tangled together, you snuck past a few guards and led him into the smithing shop.

You looked around for something to pry the hook open, Toothless shoving his nose in a basket. When he flicked it off, it hit one of the weapons on the wall, causing noise.

Ghost who was passing, heading back, begrudgingly home, heard it.

He walked over to the smithing window. “Y/n?? Are you in there??”

Both you and Toothless looked up. You quickly dropped what you were doing and pushed yourself out the smithing window, looking at him.

“Ghost- hi, Ghost. Hi, hi… hi Ghost.” You fumbled with the waist trainer. Toothless sniffing around and pulling you back against the doors.

Toothless looked around, spotting a sheep. The sheep spotted him, immediately rushing away.

“I normally don't care what people do but you're acting weird.”. Ghost points an accusatory finger. “Well, weirder.”

You huffed, stumbling back. The trainer lifted you off your feet. Ghost stared at you as the doors of the smithing window gave in and sucked you back. Ghost immediately rushed over and opened it, seeing the smelter empty.

You and Toothless sneaking away and flying off. That. Was. Way too close…

That day was the day your father arrived back. One of the boats with several holes in it and barely survived. Their search for a nest of dragons once again produced no fruit.

Gobber was there when Stoick arrived back. “Well, I trust you found the nest at least?”

“Not even close.” He growled, walking past with a fixed frown.

“Oh. Excellent.” Gobber said sarcastically, following Stoick.

“I hope you had a little more success than me.”

“Well, if by success, you mean that your parenting troubles are over with, then... yes.” He took a basket of supplies over his shoulder while he walked.

Various different Vikings congratulating Stoick on his kid actually becoming vikinglike. Can you imagine that eh?

“Their gone??” Stoick asked.

“Yeah... most afternoons. But who can blame them? I mean the life of a celebrity's very rough. They can barely walk through the village without being swarmed by his new fans.” Gobber replied.

“Y/n??”

“Who would have thought it eh? He has this… way with the beasts.”

Stoick’s eyes widened. Yes. What he'd been waiting for your entire life!

Off somewhere near the edge of the island, you were busy with Toothless. Having written up your complete cheat sheet, you secured the small paper with all of your positions to Toothless' saddle. Slowly gliding through the air.

“Alright bud we're gonna take this nice and slow” You looked over the sheet. “Here we go, here we go. Position…”

“Three. No… four.” You looked down at the foot pedal and positioned it, the tail fin opening. Toothless looked down at it, wiggling his head and getting used to it.

The gentle glide turned into a slow fly, Toothless guiding with your help through the winds, his wings catching air flawlessly.

Toothless flew you up into the air, passing some clouds. You held on, looking back at the tail fin. “Alright. It's go time, it's go time.”

Toothless roared and dove down toward the sea stacks littering around the island ocean.

“Come on buddy! Come on buddy!” You encourage. You held onto the saddle tightly when Toothless flew down over the water, the waves lapping up to touch his belly as you went by.

You looked up as you passed through two connected sea stacks, watching the birds startle and fly off. “Yes, it worked!”

The tail was holding up so far.

You flew up away from the water, attempting to make a turn and throwing Toothless into a sea stack. He growled and flapped violently. “Sorry!” You winced.

Barely recovering you saw another stack, attempting to pull him up sharply and hitting another. He growled again. “It was my fault.” You cringed.

He hit you with his ear. “Yeah yeah, I'm on it. Position four- uh, three.” You shifted the foot pedal and took off into the sky. Soaring up over the sea stacks and into the fluffy clouds.

“Yeah!! Aw this is nice. The wind in my -” the paper attached to the saddle flew off and into the wind. “Cheat sheet!” You reached back to try and grab it.

“Stop!!”

Toothless flapped his wings, halting as best he could, sending you forward. The hook on the waist belt and the saddle came off.

“No!!” Toothless saw you and panicked, falling back and scrambled. “No!! Oh no!!” You yelled as you fell and spiraled in the sky down toward the sea.

Toothless roared when he saw you falling faster than him. “Oh, gods! Oh, no!!” You cried your lungs out.

“Alright! You gotta kind angle yourself!” You flipped onto your back, trying to help Toothless. “Okay, no, no, no... come back down towards me! Come back down-- YOW!” Toothless’ tail smacked you as you fell.

You flipped onto your front, reaching out to grab the hook on the saddle, just out of reach.

Toothless wailed and cried when you finally grabbed it, managing to pull yourself on. Reattaching and gripping the saddle, angled downward.

The cheat sheet hit you in the face and you grabbed it, putting it between your teeth. You zoomed straight toward a downward plain of trees, trying to pull Toothless back up.

He roared and whined, zooming down at an angle over the trees, his wings catching wind. As you zoomed down to the bottom you pulled the cheat sheet again. With all the wind you couldn't read anything on it.

Looking between the sheet and some sea stacks, you tossed the sheet,grabbing the saddle and readjusting the foot pedal.

Toothless roared and zoomed to the side, making the corner before you could hit the stones.

You zoomed through the various passages, shifting the foot pedal again through the fog. Coming shooting out the other side into the clear open air.

You panted, blood pumping with adrenaline. “Yeah!!” You raised your arms. Toothless smiled and shit a blast into the air, ruining your celebration. “Come on…”

You were pummeled into the fire, pushing your hair back and covering your clothes in specs of dirt and char.

You flew with Toothless some more, your adventure leading you back to a sea stack, there you got some fish and made a small fire.

Toothless laid down, retching up one of his fish heads while you leaned back against him, cooking your own dinner over the fire.

“Uh, no thanks, I'm good.” You refused the fish head.

Some small dragons spotted you and flew over to your little set up. Those tiny Terrible Terrors. Toothless growled, protecting his fish as they came over, snapping at one.

You watched as one of them grabbed the head of the fish Toothless had belched up and shot at another dragon who tried to take it.

Toothless watches unimpressed, when his food started moving. One of the dragon's trying to sneak a fish from his pile. Toothless growled, grabbing the fish in his teeth and pulling it back.

The Terror whined, causing toothless to bellow a low laugh.

The Terror squeaked and stood up, snapping at Toothless.

You looked between the two as it stood up on its back legs and inhaled. Before it could do anything Toothless shot a small blast at it, inflating it and it puffed out smoke, whining.

You chuckled. “Not so fireproof on the inside are ya?” You tossed one of your fish. “Here ya go.” It scuttled over and wolfed it down quickly.

Licking its eyeball and cautiously wandering over to you. It whines, curling up beside you, purring softly.

“Everything we know about you guys… It's wrong.”

Unfortunately it won't let me post this much so to read the rest of it please see the reblog I did for the rest of the post. ❤

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