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thedensworld · 8 months ago

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Arrangement Crossed | K.Mg

Pairing: Mingyu x reader

Genre: arrange engagement au

Summary: Mingyu started to enjoy the arrangement between him and you. What should he do?

Why do birds suddenly appear everytime that you near? Just like me i long to be close to you. - Close To You by Carpenters

Mingyu sprinted from his car, heart pounding, as he rushed toward the scene. One of the doctors at the hospital had mentioned that a fire had broken out in a Gangnam district building—your building. His breath was ragged as he pushed through the crowd, his eyes scanning the chaotic scene. Paramedics and firefighters swarmed the area, the flames now subdued, but the remnants of the fire still smoked in the air. A police officer stopped him from moving closer.

"My fiancée lives there," Mingyu gasped, his voice tight with anxiety.

Just as the officer held him back, he spotted you in the distance. You were casually walking, still in your pajamas, holding a half-eaten ice cream cone. Mingyu's eyes widened, watching as your expression changed the moment you took in the sight of your charred apartment building.

"My apartment!" you exclaimed, your voice laced with frustration as Mingyu hurried over to you.

Mingyu quickly examined you, scanning for any signs of injury. A wave of relief washed over him when he realized you had been safely outside while the fire ravaged your home. His tense shoulders relaxed for the first time since hearing the news.

"Where were you?" he asked, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that you seemed so unfazed by the chaos around you.

You blinked, a bit dazed by everything. "I was out for a meal..."

Mingyu glanced at his watch—half and an hour left before his surgery. "I'm glad you're alright. I’ll drive you to my place for now. I’ve got surgery in an hour."

The procedure went smoothly, but exhaustion weighed heavily on him as he sat in his office afterward. All he wanted was to go home and collapse into bed. But he hesitated, remembering that you were now at his apartment. The two of you had never really shared a space before, and the thought made him uneasy. After all, this wasn’t a typical engagement.

A year ago, your families had arranged for you two to be engaged. It was strictly business—a merger of two powerful legacies. Your family owned the hospital where Mingyu worked, while his family operated a successful medical and paramedical equipment company. It made sense for the families to align themselves, and though the proposal had taken him by surprise, Mingyu agreed to the engagement. What really caught him off guard was that you agreed too.

From what Mingyu knew, you ran a small homemade Korean restaurant near Seoul University. It wasn’t a huge enterprise, but it had a loyal customer base thanks to its affordable prices and excellent food. When news of the engagement broke, everyone speculated that your family needed Mingyu to step in and continue running the hospital, especially since you showed no interest in taking it over yourself. Mingyu knew he benefited a lot from this arrangement—more than he was willing to admit sometimes.

It was nearly morning when Mingyu finally arrived home, expecting you to be fast asleep. He took a quick shower, hoping to unwind before getting some rest. But when he stepped into the living room, he nearly jumped out of his skin. You were sitting on the couch, staring into the darkness.

"You scared me!" Mingyu muttered, his heart still racing. "Why aren’t you sleeping?"

You shot him a sharp look, your voice dry. "My house just burned down. How could I possibly sleep soundly?"

Ah, right. He had forgotten that small but important detail.

"Right... of course." He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "Well, make yourself at home. Feel free to use the kitchen if you want breakfast. I’ll head to bed."

Mingyu retreated to his room, hoping for some much-needed rest. But as he lay there, he found sleep impossible. His mind kept drifting back to the strange reality that the two of you were now sharing a roof. It wasn’t that he didn’t like you—far from it. You were smart, independent, and capable. But the idea of being engaged, living together, and yet still feeling like you were strangers unnerved him in ways he couldn’t quite explain.

"Yeah, she's fine. She's alright. She's with me. I'll handle things with the building owner about her place. You don’t have to worry, sir." Mingyu reassured your father over the phone as he finished getting ready for work.

Despite having only gotten three hours of sleep, Mingyu needed to be at the hospital for an early morning meeting as the branch director. He had already filled your father in on last night’s fire, assuring him that you were safe and staying with him for the time being. Ending the call, he stepped out of the closet and made his way to the kitchen, where he was greeted by the sight of you preparing breakfast.

You were wearing one of his shirts.

"I’ll call you later, sir," Mingyu said quickly before hanging up, his eyes immediately locking with yours as he entered the kitchen.

You glanced at him briefly, then gestured for him to sit down as you placed the plates on the table. Mingyu couldn’t help but stare for a moment. You must have noticed because you spoke up.

"I didn’t have any clothes with me," you explained, a hint of self-consciousness in your voice. "I borrowed your shirt, if you don’t mind."

Mingyu nodded. "It's fine."

An awkward silence lingered for a moment before he asked, "Is there anything you need to do today?"

You thought for a second. "I definitely need to get some clothes first. And maybe check on the restaurant."

Mingyu thanked you for the food as you joined him at the table. He picked up his spoon, and as soon as he took a bite, his eyes widened in surprise. The breakfast was incredible. He had visited your restaurant a couple of times and knew you were the mastermind behind the recipes, having graduated with a degree in culinary arts. But still, he hadn’t expected his simple morning meal to taste this good.

"How about your belongings?" he asked between bites. "Anything important you need to check, like documents or valuables?"

"Luckily, I left all my important documents at my parents' place," you said, relieved. "But I do need to talk to the building owner about the fire and the damage."

Mingyu nodded thoughtfully. "I’ll go with you."

You both finished breakfast in comfortable silence, and as Mingyu got up to leave for work, he thanked you again for the meal. Before heading out, he made a few calls, one to the aunt who cleaned his house regularly, asking her to pick up some women’s clothes for you, and another to the building manager to arrange an extra parking space for your car.

As he drove to the hospital, he reflected on the morning. He hadn’t expected starting the day with you to feel so... easy. For a moment, he wondered what it would be like if your engagement weren’t just a business arrangement. The thought lingered in the back of his mind as he went on with his day.

"Doctor Kim, thank you for the meal!" the nurses chimed in as Mingyu passed by the emergency room station during his daily rounds.

He blinked in confusion, unsure of what they were referring to. Then, he spotted the neatly packed meals from your restaurant sitting on the counter. You had sent food to his staff. It was thoughtful—something he hadn't expected but appreciated. Mingyu smiled and waved to the nurses, telling them to enjoy the meal before heading to his office, where he found a meal from your restaurant waiting for him as well.

Mingyu quickly shot you a text: Thanks for the meal, everyone’s enjoying it.

You didn’t respond, and Mingyu wasn’t surprised. He rarely texted you, and from what he had observed, you were just as busy as he was. He could understand if you weren’t glued to your phone all the time. Besides, it’s not like he was your priority when it came to messaging.

Over the past week of living together, Mingyu had noticed that the two of you had fallen into a quiet, predictable routine. You would both wake up early, have breakfast together, head off to work, return late in the evening, and go straight to bed. The cycle repeated itself day after day, with only a few short exchanges of "How was work?" or "Did you sleep well?" in between. It was strange to be living under the same roof, sharing meals, and yet feeling like you were still strangers in many ways.

That morning, you casually mentioned that you had signed the lease on a new apartment, not far from your restaurant.

"Do you want to go furniture shopping with me?" you asked over breakfast.

"Sure" Mingyu agreed without hesitation.

And now, here he was, sitting on his couch in a casual outfit, waiting to go furniture shopping with you. It felt like an odd thing to be doing with someone who was supposed to be his fiancée, yet didn’t quite feel like one. Still, Mingyu couldn’t shake the curiosity growing inside him—the thought of spending more time with you, learning more about you beyond the polite small talk and daily routine. He wasn't sure if it would change anything between you, but part of him wanted to try.

"This couch looks good. It fits a lot of people," Mingyu said, running his hand over the fabric as you continued to browse.

You shook your head, clearly unimpressed. "I don't get visitors."

Mingyu chuckled, leaning in a little closer. "What about friends? Boyfriend, maybe?" he teased with a playful grin.

You scoffed and held up your left hand, flashing the engagement ring in front of him. "In case you forgot, I’m engaged."

Mingyu’s eyes flickered to the ring, and he was momentarily struck by the sight of it. You always wore the ring, even though the engagement had been arranged. He, on the other hand, rarely wore his—only during major events or family meetings where it was expected. His profession didn’t really allow for accessories, so he often went without it. But seeing you wear it regularly was a subtle reminder of the commitment hanging between you both.

"Right, how could I forget?" he replied, smoothly continuing the conversation as if the ring hadn’t stirred something unspoken inside him.

Despite the casual banter, the moment felt a little heavier than it should have. He couldn't quite shake the realization that the ring—a symbol of their engagement—was more present in your life than his. It was a quiet declaration, whether intentional or not, that you were his fiancée.

When it came time to pay, Mingyu insisted on covering everything, even after your countless protests. He waved off your refusals, casually brushing them aside as if it was the most natural thing in the world for him to take care of it.

"A rib for dinner?" Mingyu requested once he done paying. How dare you to refused.

After ten days of living together, Mingyu realized how quiet and empty his place felt without you around. He found himself looking for any excuse to see you, whether it was a quick text, a call, or even dropping by your restaurant. Without fully realizing it, the relationship between the two of you had begun to shift into something he hadn’t expected.

At this point, almost all of your staff knew him. They had even started referring to him as "the boss's handsome fiancé" every time he walked through the door. This month alone, he had visited your restaurant 8 times—sometimes for a meal, sometimes just to drive you home. And he was relieved that you didn’t seem uncomfortable with his presence. In fact, you appeared to be getting used to it, just as he was.

One afternoon, as Mingyu made his rounds at the hospital, he overheard a group of nurses whispering as he passed by, his name mentioned in their conversation.

"If she's the daughter of the owner, then she must be Doctor Kim’s fiancée, right?"

Mingyu, always the friendly type, chimed in with a grin. "I heard my name."

The nurses looked a bit startled but quickly filled him in. "Doctor Kim, the owner's daughter was brought into the emergency room after being assaulted. Isn't she your fiancée?"

What?

Mingyu’s stomach dropped. Without wasting a second, he grabbed his phone and immediately dialed your number. It rang, but someone else picked up.

"Y/n?" he asked, his voice tight with concern.

"Ah, Mr. Kim? She left her phone behind. She's at the hospital right now. A crazy person caused a scene and she got hurt."

Mingyu didn’t wait for more details. He bolted to the emergency room, his mind racing. When he got there, he hurried to the nurses’ station and asked for your whereabouts.

They directed him to a bed where he finally saw you—sitting up, your arm and head wrapped in bandages, while a doctor carefully tended to your injuries. Relief washed over him, but it was mixed with a surge of worry and anger at what had happened.

He approached you cautiously, his heart still pounding in his chest.

You looked up at Mingyu and smiled, a wave of relief washing over you as soon as you saw him by your side. As the doctor finished tending to your wounds, he greeted Mingyu and explained that you would need to wait for the results of the X-ray, as you had hit your head during the incident.

Once the doctor left, Mingyu turned his full attention to you, his eyes scanning over your injuries with a mixture of concern and relief. Without saying a word, he gently pulled you into an embrace, holding you close as if making sure you were really okay.

"I'm so glad it wasn't worse," he murmured, his voice soft yet filled with emotion. He pulled back slightly to look at you. "What happened?"

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the lingering tension from the day. "There was this drunk guy, making a scene in the restaurant. He was about to hit one of my staff, so I stepped in. I got pushed and my head hit the table. This," you pointed to your bandaged arm, "is from some shattered glass."

Mingyu sighed, his jaw tightening in frustration. "I'm calling the police," he said firmly, standing up as if ready to take action immediately.

But you reached out and grabbed his hand, stopping him. "It's already been reported. My staff handled it."

Mingyu paused, looking down at you, the worry still clear in his eyes. Though the situation had already been dealt with, his protective instincts were hard to turn off. He sat back down next to you, still holding your hand, as if to reassure himself you were safe now.

Your mother, the vice president, appeared in the emergency room, her presence commanding attention as she quickly made her way toward you. You couldn't help but smile at the sight of her, though you could see the worry etched in her expression.

"My heart dropped when I heard my daughter was in the emergency room. Are you okay, honey?" she asked, her voice laced with concern as she reached out to touch your arm.

"I'm fine, Mom," you reassured her with a small smile, trying to ease her worry.

Mingyu stood quietly to the side, observing the exchange with a sense of relief. He was glad to see how close you were with your family, something he hadn’t really gotten to witness much before.

Then your mother turned her attention to Mingyu, who stood respectfully behind her. Her gaze softened as she acknowledged him.

"Thank you, Mingyu. I heard you’ve been taking care of my daughter, especially after she lost her apartment in the fire. And now you're here again," she said, her gratitude clear.

Mingyu bowed slightly, feeling the weight of her words. "It's my pleasure, ma'am," he responded with sincerity.

Your mother waved off the formality with a warm smile. "No need for 'ma'am.' Call me Mother. After all, you're part of the family now—my daughter's fiancé."

The words caught Mingyu a little off guard, though he masked it with a polite nod. He glanced at you, noticing the subtle shift in the room. The formality of your engagement suddenly felt a bit more personal, more real.

After spending some more time talking with your mother and assuring her you were okay, the X-ray results came back clear. The doctor recommended rest and monitoring for the next few days to ensure there were no lingering effects from the head injury. With that, Mingyu insisted on taking you home.

As you left the hospital, Mingyu walked by your side, his hand resting gently on your lower back as he guided you to the car. The day had been exhausting, but knowing that Mingyu was there gave you a strange sense of comfort. It was a feeling that was becoming more familiar lately.

The drive home was quiet, with Mingyu occasionally glancing over to check on you. You stared out the window, your mind still processing everything that had happened, from the fire at your apartment to the incident today. You felt the weight of it all, but at the same time, there was a sense of relief that you weren’t alone in dealing with it.

When Mingyu pulled into his apartment complex, he parked the car and quickly came around to your side to help you out. You couldn’t help but smile at how attentive he was.

As you sat on the couch, trying to unwind from the long day, Mingyu hovered nearby, clearly still worried. You noticed his eyes flicking over to you every few minutes, as if checking to make sure you were really okay.

"You really should rest," he said, standing up and grabbing a blanket from the nearby chair. "I can see you're exhausted."

"I’m fine, Mingyu," you protested softly, though you knew you needed the rest.

He walked over, gently draping the blanket over you, his hands lingering for a moment as he looked down at you. “Just lie down, please. Doctor's orders,” he added with a small, teasing smile, trying to lighten the mood.

You sighed, giving in. The exhaustion was catching up with you, and the couch felt more comfortable with the blanket wrapped around you. As you shifted to lie down, Mingyu crouched down beside you, his expression softening as he watched you settle.

"Better?" he asked, his voice quieter now.

You nodded, pulling the blanket closer. “Yeah, better.”

He lingered for a moment before standing up again, running a hand through his hair. "I think I’ll stay out here with you, just in case you need anything.”

"You don’t have to—" you started to protest, but Mingyu was already grabbing a pillow for himself and setting it on the other end of the couch.

"I know, but I want to," he said simply, lying down beside you, keeping a respectful distance. “We both need to rest anyway. This way, I’ll be right here if anything happens.”

You turned your head slightly to look at him, noticing how comfortable and natural he seemed lying next to you. The tension that had been hanging in the air for weeks felt like it was slowly fading, replaced by an unexpected sense of ease.

"Alright," you murmured, closing your eyes.

Mingyu lay there quietly, the soft rise and fall of his breathing the only sound in the room. He wasn’t saying much, but his presence was steady, reassuring in a way that made you feel safe. After a few moments, he shifted slightly closer, his hand brushing against yours under the blanket. He didn’t say anything, but the gesture spoke volumes.

You didn’t pull away. Instead, you let the quiet warmth between the two of you settle in, realizing that maybe this arrangement between you wasn’t so bad after all.

As you drifted off to sleep, you could feel Mingyu relax beside you. The weight of the day slowly lifted, and with him lying there next to you, it felt easier to rest.

As evening approached, the soft glow of the setting sun filtered through the curtains, casting a warm light over the room. You and Mingyu had both woken up from your nap, feeling more rested but still shaken from the day's events. Mingyu sat up, glancing over at you with a gentle smile.

“Do you need anything?” he asked, his voice still soft but with a hint of concern.

You shook your head, feeling more at ease now. “No, I’m okay. Thanks for staying with me.”

He nodded, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Actually, I should probably check and clean your wound properly. Just to make sure it’s healing well.”

You hesitated for a moment but then nodded, realizing it would be reassuring to have him take care of you. Mingyu moved to get a first aid kit from the bathroom, then returned and sat next to you on the couch. As he began to carefully clean the wound on your head, his concentration was palpable.

The proximity brought an unexpected intimacy. Mingyu’s breath lightly brushed against your skin, and you could feel the warmth of his body close to yours. You glanced up at him, and for the first time, you noticed how dangerously close his face was to yours. The closeness made both of you acutely aware of each other, and suddenly, your cheeks flushed a soft pink.

There was a moment of shared awkwardness where neither of you knew quite what to say. Mingyu’s fingers brushed lightly against your forehead, and a nervous laugh escaped both of you simultaneously. The sound was light and shy, a clear indicator of the tension and the new feelings stirring between you.

Mingyu’s hands paused as he looked at you, his eyes meeting yours with an earnest expression. The silence between you was thick with unspoken emotions. He seemed to be gauging your reaction, his gaze shifting from your eyes to your lips.

Without breaking eye contact, Mingyu leaned in slowly, and you felt a rush of anticipation. For a heartbeat, everything seemed to stand still. Then, ever so gently, he pressed his lips against yours. The kiss was tender and soft, a simple yet profound gesture that spoke volumes.

You responded instinctively, your lips moving against his in a hesitant, exploring dance. The kiss deepened just slightly, filled with a mutual tenderness that neither of you had expected but both seemed to crave. When Mingyu finally pulled back, his expression was a mix of relief and uncertainty.

“Sorry,” he said quietly, a slight blush still visible on his cheeks. “I just... I needed to do that.”

You smiled softly, reaching out to gently touch his face. “It’s okay. I think I needed it too.”

Mingyu’s smile was more relaxed now, a genuine warmth in his eyes. He resumed cleaning the wound with a renewed calm, the previous tension replaced by a new, comforting closeness. As he finished, you both settled back into the couch, the space between you now filled with a quiet, shared understanding.

Mingyu set aside the first aid kit and took a deep breath, his gaze locking with yours. “I... I know this might sound sudden, but I think we need to talk about where we go from here.”

You looked at him with curiosity and a hint of apprehension, waiting for him to continue.

He shifted slightly, his expression earnest. “I know our relationship started out as a business arrangement, and things between us have been... different from what I expected. But after spending time with you, especially today, I’ve realized something.”

You watched him closely, feeling a flutter of anticipation in your chest.

“Mingyu, what is it?” you asked softly.

He took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. “I’ve been thinking a lot about us. About how we’ve been living together, how you’ve been there for me in ways I didn’t expect. And honestly, I’ve come to realize that I really like you. More than just as my fiancée. I want to be with you, not just because of our families or the arrangement, but because I genuinely care about you.”

His words hung in the air, and you could feel the sincerity behind them. Mingyu reached out and took your hand in his, his touch gentle and reassuring.

“I want to start over,” he continued, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “I want us to settle everything that’s happened and move forward. I want to take you out on dates, to spend time with you as someone I truly treasure. Not just because it’s what’s expected, but because it’s what I genuinely want.”

Your heart raced as you listened, his confession a mix of relief and excitement. It was clear that Mingyu wasn’t just fulfilling a duty anymore—he was speaking from the heart.

“I’ve felt the same way,” you admitted, squeezing his hand. “I never expected this arrangement to lead to something real, but it has. I’ve come to care about you a lot, and I’d like to see where this could go, too.”

Mingyu’s face brightened with a hopeful smile. “So, are we starting over then? Taking a chance on something that’s more than just an arrangement?”

You nodded, a smile of your own spreading across your face. “Yes, let’s start over. I’d like that.”

With a sense of newfound clarity and excitement, Mingyu leaned in and kissed you again, this time with a deeper sense of commitment. It was a kiss that promised not just the continuation of an engagement but the beginning of something much more meaningful.

As the evening drew on, you and Mingyu talked more about your hopes and plans for the future, feeling a sense of anticipation and warmth. The journey ahead was still uncertain, but now it was a journey you were both eager to take together, as partners who truly cared for each other.

“Because you’re handsome?” Mingyu chuckled softly, clearly amused by your answer. He had asked you why you accepted the engagement in the first place, and he hadn’t expected your candid response.

“Of course, you’re very handsome and attractive,” you said with a playful glint in your eye. “But beyond that, I didn’t have anyone special, and I didn’t want to go against my parents’ kind intentions, especially when it didn’t harm me.”

“You didn’t go against it?” Mingyu asked, a hint of curiosity in his voice.

You paused to think before shaking your head. “No, not at all. I wasn’t planning to get married. I was just focused on my business.”

Mingyu nodded thoughtfully. “How about now?”

“What do you mean now?” you asked, a hint of confusion in your voice.

“Get married,” he clarified. “Do you want to get married?”

It had been three years since the engagement, and throughout that time, you and Mingyu had maintained your commitment to each other. Even though your parents had pushed for a wedding, you both had insisted on getting to know each other better. It was only after a year of engagement that you truly began to enjoy each other’s presence.

“With you?” you asked innocently, and Mingyu rolled his eyes with a chuckle.

“I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t with me. Do you want to get married to me?”

A scowl formed on your face as you stared at him, your emotions a mix of surprise and curiosity. “Are you proposing?”

Mingyu laughed, his eyes twinkling with affection. “Why? You don’t like it, baby?”

The scowl melted away, replaced by a warm and genuine smile. “I’d love to. I’ve been happy these two years with you. Why not be happy forever?”

Mingyu’s expression softened as he cupped your cheeks gently. “You’re really happy?”

You nodded, your eyes shining with sincerity.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a tender kiss. “Then I’m happy too.”

In that moment, it felt as if everything had come full circle. The uncertainty of the past had given way to a future filled with promise, and both of you were ready to embrace it together.

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chocostrwberry · 11 months ago

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•❃°•°❀°•°❃•

🌸 CHOCOAU MASTERPOST! 🌸

Here you should be able to navigate my blog and my AU!!

DISCLAIMER: MOST IF NOT ALL of the content on this blog is related to this AU. If you’re interested in the lore/have questions about what’s depicted or said, please read (or skim through) the ChocoAU Seasons explanation!

Everything: #chocoau

Character-based information: #chocoau char

Illustrations: #chocoau art

QnA: #thank you for the ask!! <3

Lore-based information: #chocoau lore

AU Headcanons: #chocothinks

Comics: #chocoau comic

Marinette and Adrien reference

•❃°•°❀°•°❃•

CHARACTERS:

Some posts/info that are probably important on the “main” characters in my au! (Being updated)

Marinette

MARINETTE

Marinette’s Luckiness

Marinette’s Legacy Post-Finale

Adrien

ADRIEN

Alya

ALYA

Chloe/Zoe

Chloe and Zoe Relationship

Chloe’s Character

Lila

Lila Design

Lila Backstory

Gabriel Agreste/Hawkmoth

Hawkmoth Design + Description

OTHER

Side/other characters that aren’t part of the main five!

Emelie’s Character

Nathalie Design

•❃°•°❀°•°❃•

BASIC LORE

ChocoAU SEASONS explanation

The Miraculous Curse

Mask Explanation

How Akumas/Akumatization Works

ChocoAu Ladybug and Chat Noir descriptions

Ladybug and Chat Noir Dynamic

The support means so much to me, it helps motivate me to continue sharing my ideas and I’m glad you went through my blog to look at them!! 🩷🩷🥹🌈 This master post will also be edited and updated accordingly!

#chocoau #miraculous ladybug #mlb #miraculous au #ml #miraculoustalesofladybugandcatnoir #I FINALLY DID IT #MASTERPOST IS UP #SCREAMS SOBS #I gotta celebrate this somehow #maybe I’ll draw something cute #giggles #the layout is butt ugly but it’s mine

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redux-iterum · 3 days ago

Note

Btw I really love how the lack of communication between the newly-named mentors and Bluestar is a huge indication of her declining mental health... As opposed to cannon, in which surprise mentoring is the norm lol.

The mentor-without-warning thing in canon both surprises me and doesn't surprise me. I understand its usefulness in causing shock or plot twists, but in a Watsonian sense it's such a bad idea. Cats should know when their days are going to be completely booked so they can train a younger cat to be the best warrior they're capable of being. That's kind of a big deal. You don't want to fuck that up, you know?

#ask #anonymous #i speak #charred legacy ask #canon

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ashisgreedy · 8 months ago

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Eating The "Kitty", Ominis Gaunt HC 🔞

18+ Smut || MDNI

Ominis Gaunt x f!MC

Hogwarts Legacy Fandom

All chars are 18+

-Ominis plants slow, languid licks and kisses from your knee to your inner thigh.

-Your panties are stuffed into his pocket while he allows you to keep your skirt on.

- Little nibbles here and there just to hear you gasp. He sports a self satisfied smirk.

-He doesn't ask, he just quietly places his hand in your opposite thigh and presses until your legs are spread wide enough for him to play.

-His kisses are soft and warm as he makes his way to your core.

-He sighs happily when your fingers run through his kempt hair, making it messy and fall into his eyes.

-He kisses all around your pussy, teasing you. Inner thigh kisses, and teasing misses of your core make you whimper with need.

-He uses his fingers to feel where he will kiss next, zoning in on where your core becomes slick.

-He reverently tastes you with small kisses and licks at your opening. He hums pleasantly, gently lapping at where his finger enters you.

-His other thumb presses just above your clit, pulling the skin to expose the nub hidden there.

-He slowly brings his mouth up and kisses your exposed clit. His tongue swipes over it before his soft wet lips encompase it.

-He gives you a gentle suck and lets out the lightest of chuckles when you gasp.

-The power he has over you in the moment, the way you relax your legs further apart causes blood to rush straight to his cock.

-He laves his tongue over your clit while his other finger presses directly against your gspot just inside your slick cunt.

-His finger presses inside you and rubs until your moans are louder and voice pleading.

-Ominis swirls his tongue in a circular motion over the throbbing nub.

-Your encouraging moans, the way you rock your pussy against his face, makes him speed up his ministrations.

-He laps at your pussy with increasing speed. He's so quick against your clit that you gasp, unable to take in a full breath if air.

-Your obvious pleasure makes his cock throb. He groans into your core, licking and sucking expertly with his warm tongue.

-His salvia drips down your pussy, soaking the bed with your mixed passions.

-He knows you're close when your fingers in his hair tighten and your thighs start to shake.

-He wants to say something to encourage you to cum, something dirty like he does when he fucks you. But, he can't bare to be parted from your pussy.

-His nose presses into your mound, tongue swirling just the way you like.

-It doesn't take long for him to bring you to your peak. After previous trials and errors, he knows exactly what to do now to drive you wild.

-He knows your body, knows just how you like to be touched and licked and sucked and fucked.

-You barely manage to warn him that you're cuming before your back arches.

-Ominis moans into your pussy, your clit throbbing against his tongue. He's in heaven, on cloud 9, as you chant his name with each pulse if your orgasm.

-He rides out the waves, lapping at your clit until you start to pull away from his overstimulating touch.

-His mouth moves down, kissing every inch of your pussy until he meets your entrance.

-He takes his time to clean up the mess you've made, lapping at the slick lubricant your body desperately made in hopeful preparation for his cock.

-By the time he's done cleaning you up, your body is already craving another round.

-"Again, my sweet?" He pauses.

-You nod, forgetting yourself before blurting out "Yes, ...please, Ominis."

-A flicker of a perfect gentleman flashes across his face before a devious smile takes over once again "Of course, my Darling."

#ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt x mc #ominis gaunt x f!reader #idk what possesed me to write and post tbis at 11 pm on a Monday night but here we are #i haven't posted original content in months 💀#i hope you enjoyed. cheers #ominis gaunt hc #I hardly proofread so sorry for any errors

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cursedonyx · 9 months ago

Note

I read the post about students reacting to mc dying in their arms. You should do the professors (including Black)

Thank you for the ask! 💚

Hogwarts Legacy Professors React to MC Dying in Their Arms

Link to student reactions here

⚠️Content warning for Death and Body Horror Below the Cut⚠️

Professor Hecat

Dina Hecat had rarely found herself as impressed with a student as she was with you. Your tenacity, your aptitude for magic, your ability to pick up new and complex defensive magic was unmatched, though Sebastian made a valiant effort to maintain a solid second place behind you. Such was your prowess that Dina thought you might make an excellent Auror, and determined to tutor you privately once you expressed an interest. It was a thrill to begin with, to teach you all the tips and tricks an Auror might need in their arsenal, you picking them all up as if it was as easy as breathing, to the point that Dina grew complacent.

She’d heard tales of your exploits during your fifth year, of course, and fought beside you during the Battle for the Repository. She was confident that you could handle anything thrown at you, and you impressed her over and over and over. But all it took was one tiny misstep, one foot wrong, and all her Ministry training and the reason behind it was thrown into sharp relief.

The troll was supposed to be an easy dispatch. You’d defeated one when you were brand new to magic, after all. Dina had taught you an advanced form of confringo, or at least, she’d taught you the theory. It was a powerful spell, a short step below feindfyre, and she was eager to see it in practice. But the troll had flung its club just as you began the incantation, and everything went wrong. You were distracted as it flew towards Dina, and you lost control of the spell.

The resulting inferno was too much for mere aguamenti, and there was nothing Dina could do but wait for the flames to die down, listening to you scream as you blundered about in the middle of the fire, unable to find a way out. When the smoke cleared, all that was left of you was a charred skeleton, your clawed hand leaving sooty streaks on her skin as she took it, hoping that this was some kind of nightmare, some kind of illusion or hallucination, anything but brutal, cold reality.

There was an investigation, of course. Why was a seventh-year student out fighting trolls? Why was this student doing so under the instruction of a faculty member that should have known better? Why had this professor allowed things to get so out of control?

Dina avoided Azkaban for her neglect by a narrow margin, but she had to give up her teaching post. She passed a little over a year later, having drunk herself to death, unable to cope with the guilt.

Professor Ronen

Abraham Ronen had always had such a love of fun and games, determined to make each of his classes a joy for his students. Yes, he recycled ideas through the terms, a large timetable in his office holding large lists of games he could incorporate that was appropriate for each year of Charms classes. But even so, after several years in his position, he found these games began to grow repetitive, and he wanted to liven things up.

That’s where you came in. Your ingenuity was famous throughout Hogwarts for a reason, and so he called on you one day after class, requesting your assistance in thinking up new games to play. He gave you a list of the spells he was to teach his seventh-year students, promising to waive your homework for a month if you helped out. You took to the task like a kappa to water, assailing Abraham with a variety of ‘games’ that would help the other students learn. The problem was, most of your games involved far too much risk for his liking, including trying to steal a dragon egg. Despite your protestations that you knew where to find one, Abraham wasn’t having it. But he’d promised, and you’d promised, and a deal was a deal.

So extreme were your ideas that when you proposed the still dangerous but comparatively tame idea of delayed-action bombarda combined with glacius, Abraham thought the idea of students running through a booby-trapped field, freezing the latent explosive spells, was a positively marvellous idea.

The students were less keen. They, unexposed to your particular brand of fun, saw the folly in such a practice. But you, determined that everyone should have fun, decided to be the first across the field. Abraham realised far too late just how foolish this game was, and had barely raised his wand as you danced across the minefield before disaster struck, and you were blown apart.

He tried his best to gather the pieces of you that rained down. A severed foot here, a shattered forearm there, holding his robes like an apron and gathering you up. It was futile, of course, for once a witch or wizard’s head is detached from their body, even the very best healers only have a few seconds to make it right.

He could never get that image out of his mind. One moment you were smiling, laughing, joking, teasing the others for their hesitancy, and the next you were in bits, everything that you were tumbling from the sky in slow motion. Every student in that class was scarred for life, set to fail their Charms NEWTs, fifty promising careers suddenly thrown down the toilet. Abraham resigned in shame, and did not go home to his wife. He wandered until he became lost, and lost himself until he found a cliff. Only by shattering himself on the rocks below could he find some form of atonement for his sins.

Professor Sharp

Aesop Sharp had always preferred to be somewhat gruff and stern. It kept his pupils in line, and his firm but fair approach ensured that everyone that took his classes passed with good marks, even if they had a tendency to blow things up, a practice he’d secretly taken to calling “doing a Garreth.” You, on the other hand, slipped past his guard. Maybe it was your incredible aptitude for offensive and defensive magic, or perhaps it was your endearing wit and charm. It could have been your happy-go-lucky nature, your ability to smile no matter how dire things seemed to be, always poking fun at yourself before anyone else. He found himself growing fond of you, thinking of you as some kind of wayward nibling.

He still had to give you detentions on occasion, of course, because even you couldn’t cheek the Potions Master and get away with it, no matter how well-intentioned your words had been. He found such hours to be more of a delight than a chore, happy to talk to you about anything and everything, even laughing a little as you revealed some of the mischief you’d gotten up to, things he’d normally give more detentions for.

One evening in the dungeons, you were cheerfully scrubbing out the cauldrons, and you asked him about is days as an Auror. You told him about an Ashwinder camp you’d caught wind of, and how you wished you could eradicate them. Aesop knew he should report it to Officer Singer and keep you out of it, but hell, he’d seen you fight, and there was something in him that yearned for that spark of excitement that came with defeating his enemies. He suggested travelling with you to wipe them out, considering it worth at least three detentions. You joked that this meant you had two free passes to be cheeky in class, and he told you not to push your luck.

If only he’d known. If only he’d taken a moment to think. If only he’d listened to his Auror instincts that told him this was a bad idea.

You’d both crept up on the camp, wands at the ready. There weren’t many of them, but enough to pose a bit of a challenge. Aesop had every confidence in you, he knew your skills after all, but unfortunately, the Ashwinders did as well. The moment they saw you, they didn’t bother with their typical hexes. They knew enough about you to know they couldn’t waste a second if they wanted to live. Three Killing Curses were sent your way, and one found its mark.

Aesop thought he knew loss when his partner was killed in Scarborough, but this was something else. Watching the light go out of your eyes, the ghost of your last, confident smile on your face, broke him like nothing had broken him before. He didn’t even try to resist when the Ashwinders took him, snatching his wand and throwing him in a cage along with the kneazles they’d poached. He couldn’t get the image of you out of his mind, your still body lying amid the debris of the Forbidden Forest, already ignored and forgotten by your foes, left for whatever scavengers crept through the night to feast. He refused food and water as he was dragged from one end of the country to the other, kept prisoner by those that had killed you. It took weeks to kill him, but one morning, lying on the floor of that cold, hard cage, he just didn’t wake up.

Professor Black

Phineus Nigellus Black preferred to let the students of Hogwarts think he was a cold-hearted, pompous bastard. It was much easier to work this way, easier to make the tough decisions a Headmaster of Hogwarts needed to make. Budget cuts, cancelling quidditch, extending exam season and banning Hogsmeade visits to ensure student safety was easier to weather if his heart was already hardened to the complaints and cries of woe, the bitter mutters, the whispered insults, the playground songs made up to poke fun at him. Yes, it hurt, but he was better than that. Stronger. Prouder. He had a job to do, after all, and Merlin only knew the previous Headmaster had left a hellish mess for him to set right. He had to be hard to be kind. He preferred not to pay attention to those around him, erecting a hard wall around his heart.

You, however… you were different. He heard about what you did in your fifth year, and though he found it hard to believe at first, he paid a bit more attention to you as time went by, and found the tales of your prowess were, if anything, undersold. Phineas made an effort in your final year to take you under his wing, seeing a potential candidate for the position of Minister for Magic in your future. He wanted to teach you the finer points of politics and bootlicking, introduce you to the right people, like the Gaunts, the Blacks, the Malfoys and more to give you the boost you needed to clamber up that slippery ladder. The only gifts he knew how to give.

You were resistant, of course. What kind of firecracker would you be if you weren’t? Phineas relished the challenge, demanding more and more of your free time until you began to understand just what kind of privileges came along with knowing the right people and scratching the right backs. Ominis knew it and used it to his advantage perhaps less than he should have done, but this seemed to tip the scales in Phineas' favour, and you finally began to listen and learn from his wise tutelage. He found himself swelling with pride as you whipped about your newfound allegiances, terrifying students and teachers alike, reining you in when you frightened Hobhouse so much he wet himself, his scolding gentle and warm. He might have had five children, but you showed promise.

Unfortunately, even the shrewd and clever Phineas couldn’t have foreseen the simple dangers of existing in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

He’d taken you to the trophy room, waxing lyrical about the famous witches and wizards that had come through Hogwarts, pointing out their accolades with relish, his hand on your shoulder, a rare and affectionate gesture of genuine pride. He told you that you could achieve just as much, perhaps more, if you applied all your skills and knowledge in the right ways. He even smiled at you, and his eyes were warm.

You asked to see a particularly bright medal on a high shelf, and Phineas, taking a leaf out of your muggleborn book, decided to give the other life a try, just for once. If a muggleborn could be as impressive as you, perhaps he didn’t have to use magic for everything. He tried to reach the medal by hand, even climbing on the shelf to do so, smiling as it made you laugh. He climbed down, medal in hands, his brow furrowing as your face grew ashen. The next moment, you had barrelled into him, throwing him out of the way of the falling shelf.

By the time he picked himself up, scolding you for your behaviour, it was too late. The falling shelves and shattered glass had crushed you, slashing your neck. By the time Phineas realised you weren’t just pratting about like you usually did, you’d bled out, your skin pale, your eyes wide and unseeing. Phineas sat on the floor beside your corpse, holding your fingers closed over the medal that read:

Most Impressive Display of Honour.

Professor Garlick

Mirabel Garlick had endured her share of enamoured students, villagers, and even fellow professors in her time. She dealt with it all with the grace and decorum that was expected of such a sunny personality, treating all and sundry with the same level of ardent attention and big, bright smiles. She had a soft spot for you though, someone who appreciated magical plants for the marvels they were. She didn’t mind when you stayed after class to quiz her on the less known properties of pufferpods or the right way to tamp down earth around a mandrake to ensure maximum comfort. She’d heard all about your little adventure to see the giant venomous tentacula, and had been curious about your knowledge ever since.

She was more than happy to help you grow your plants bigger and better than what the school board advised. She even cleared out Greenhouse Four for your personal use, encouraging you to grow things most students would only ever see if they were extremely unlucky. But she trusted you. She believed you knew what you were doing, swept up by your enthusiasm, tempted by her own curiosity to see just how far you could push your skills.

So it was that the pair of you ended up breeding a new kind of Devil’s Snare, one that was resistant to light and heat. It took time, and though you both occasionally wondered what the purpose of such a plant would be, you were too excited by the prospect of your experiments bearing fruit to worry about consequences. Mirabel should have known better. The only defence against a Devil’s Snare is light and heat, and both of you pushed away thoughts of protection against such a thing. It seemed playful, intelligent, happy.

It was early on a Saturday morning when Mirabel decided to look in on Greenhouse Four. It was only by chance that she had decided to do so, and she would spend the rest of her life wishing she had been five minutes sooner. She saw the Devil’s snare distract you with dancing tendrils as it had so many times before, only this time, you were too close. It wrapped you up faster than a spider wraps a fly, crushing the life from you. No matter how many incendios she cast, no matter how much she shouted and beat at it, even conjuring a torch to hold against the vines, all it did was hurt you more as it crushed the life from you, each snap of your ribs loud above your gasping breaths, the crunch of your spine grinding in her ears, the blood from your nose splattering on the floor as your lungs punctured, your eyes bulging out of their sockets. Even still you fought to draw breath until there was no more room in your chest.

Mirabel had never felt so helpless. She sank to her knees, waiting as the Devil’s Snare took you into its core to feed upon your corpse. She didn’t resist when the vines caressed her face, then wrapped around her throat, her wand lying forgotten on the floor of Greenhouse Four.

Professor Fig

Eleazar Fig had always had a soft spot for you. He’d watched you grow from a novice to a master in the space of a year, popular and clever, beloved by your peers and professors alike. He always made sure to make time for you in his office, sharing a cup of tea as you discussed your past adventures, gossiped about the students, or just had a jolly good chinwag. You both shared a love of adventure, and made time at least once a month to get up to mischief, whether it was investigating old ruins, clearing out mongrel dens, or just running the occasional errand for those in need. You delighted in having your mentor along for the ride, and he adored helping you where he could.

Unfortunately for you, your exploits over the years made you enemies. Though you helped a good many people and made plenty of friends, there were those that were hard done by when you stole from them or caused them trouble on behalf of someone else. Eleazar knew this, and made sure to continually warn you to watch your back, clucking like a mother hen. Perhaps he warned you too much, his words of caution becoming background noise as you continually avoided retribution for your misdeeds. Eleazar did his best to keep you safe all the same, ardently researching your enemies and eliminating plots before they came to fruition.

But after almost a year of no schemes against you, he dared to relax. He invited you out to lunch at Steepley and Sons, intending to enjoy a quiet cup of tea, some nice sandwiches, and perhaps even a slice of cake, his treat, of course. He wanted to catch up properly, to make sure you were happy, on top of your homework, getting on with your friends. You wanted to know how he was coping after Miriam’s passing, if he was back on the scene, how his work as a teacher was going, and can he please get you out of detention with Professor Sharp?

Neither of you expected after all this time there were still those that held a grudge. The young wizard helping Mrs Steepley was actually an Ashwinder, and they poisoned your cup of tea. It took a moment to take effect, but once it did, the only way to save you was locked away in Hogwarts Castle. Even accio couldn’t have got the antidote to you in time.

Eleazar watched as your face went ashen, seemingly sinking in on itself as you clawed at your throat. He caught you as you listed sideways, his eyes locked on yours, trying to comfort you, soothe you as you struggled to draw breath, not even a pin able to pass through the tightness of your throat. Your nails left bloody furrows on your neck, your feet kicking feebly even as someone ran for J Pippin’s, hoping he’d be able to help. Eleazar knew better. He just held you as your body jerked, the last of your life sliding through his fingers as he tried oh so hard to hold on to it, begging you silently to just hold on a little longer. You were all he had, the last spark of joy in his cold, dark life. Once you were gone, there was nothing left for him. A swift unforgivable curse delivered to his temple as he lay in his chamber was enough to ensure he could see you and Miriam again.

witchdoctorpirate ~💚

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy reactions #hogwarts legacy professors #tragedy #professor fig #eleazar fig #professor sharp #aesop sharp #professor garlick #mirabel garlick #professor hecat #dina hecat #professor ronen #abraham ronen #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt #duncan hobhouse #garreth weasley

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novaursa · 9 months ago

Note

Ok I have a thought and everything turn around this song

https://open.spotify.com/track/3gS0VrWH2NyPGXYiFmcagd?si=GyNvN-TlRdK8WaKeFUi8zw

Fem! Reader is supposed to be the daughter of Leanor but she had the strong’s look. She never had a doubt about who her real father is, she always loved Harwin cause he was very closed to her behind closed door obviously.

Growing up she ask her mother to come back to King’s Landing, she might be engaged to Aemond. But everything she had in mind is to kill Larys Strong, the anger she had is that strong that she might even died or get captured but when it’s happens her dragon goes back to harenhal and Daemon and the Strong’s family understand what happened

Blood For Blood

Requests are closed!

- Summary: Sheepstealer lands upon Harrenhal, alone.

- Pairing: None, can be assumed to be a daughter!reader/(father) Harwin Strong (platonic), as reader attempts to avenge her father.

- Note: The reader is bonded with Sheepstealer. I hope this is what you had in mind. Some information had to be left out, so the plot can come together in this short story.

- Rating: Mature 16+ (just to be safe)

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne

Smoke rises above the blackened stones of Harrenhal as the air thrums with the sound of wings. A massive shadow crosses over the crumbled towers and battlements, casting a darkness so deep it feels like the sun has vanished from the world. The creature circling the castle is unmistakable. Sheepstealer.

Daemon Targaryen, atop Caraxes, looks up from his perch on the scorched ramparts, brow furrowed. His silver hair shimmers in the dim light, an almost ethereal contrast to the beast circling above. Beside him, Simon Strong, one of the last of his bloodline, tightens his grip on the pommel of his sword. The weight of realization settles between them, heavy and oppressive.

“She’s not with him,” Daemon murmurs, his voice low but tinged with that ever-present edge of amusement that he never fully abandons, even in the face of tragedy. His eyes remain fixed on the dragon, the massive beast known for its temperament, who now glides through the sky riderless.

Simon glances at Daemon, lips pressed into a thin line. "It is as we feared, then." His voice is rough, aged and worn from years of bitter experience. His face, weathered by both time and the weight of his family’s cursed legacy, holds no surprise, only resignation.

“She went after him,” Daemon says with a certainty that causes Simon’s breath to hitch for a moment. He doesn't look at Simon, his gaze still held by the dragon. "After Larys."

There’s a stillness between the two men, a tension in the silence, as Sheepstealer lets out a deep, rumbling growl. The sound reverberates through the courtyard below, shaking the very earth. The dragon lowers itself to the ground with a grace that defies its monstrous size, its claws digging into the charred earth as it lets out a shuddering snort.

Daemon watches closely as the dragon’s head swivels, searching, waiting. There is no rider upon his back. No proud figure, no fierce expression to match the storm of fury that had been brewing ever since you left King’s Landing. And in that absence, Daemon knows. They both know.

“She’s dead.”

Simon speaks the words that hang between them, his voice barely more than a whisper. Daemon doesn't reply immediately. He doesn’t need to. They can both see it—the truth laid bare in the arrival of the beast without its mistress. You are gone, as surely as your father before you, lost in the flames of vengeance that have consumed your bloodline.

"Y/N..." Daemon finally speaks your name, voice barely louder than a breath, almost reverent. He had never truly known you, not as he had known your mother, Rhaenyra, or even your father, Harwin, but there was always a bond, an understanding. You were fire, like all Targaryens, but a different kind—quieter, colder. Until the day Harwin Strong died.

Since that day, your flame had burned hotter, more dangerously, and everyone knew where it would lead. Even your dragon, fierce and independent as he was, had bent to your will. You wanted vengeance for the father taken from you in the blackened ruins of Harrenhal. You had sworn to see Larys Strong dead for the part he had played in your family’s destruction.

Daemon steps forward, descending from the ramparts toward the courtyard where Sheepstealer waits. The dragon's great amber eyes follow him, unblinking. There's an intelligence there, a knowing that cuts through the air like a dagger.

"She fought bravely," Simon says, though his tone is hollow, lacking any conviction.

Daemon scoffs, the sound bitter. "Bravery? It was madness. The girl was bound to die the moment she swore that oath."

"You are one to speak of madness, prince." Simon’s voice hardens, a rare defiance in it, but Daemon only grins, a twisted, humorless smile.

"And yet, I still stand."

The words hang in the air between them, as heavy as the clouds of smoke rising from Harrenhal’s ruins. Daemon stops just short of Sheepstealer, his eyes locking with the dragon’s once more. He can feel the raw power of the creature, the pain that mirrors his own. Sheepstealer had been with you through it all—the fierce bond you shared had been envied, even among your own kin. And now, with your death, the dragon stands alone.

"She died trying to kill him, didn’t she?" Simon asks, though he already knows the answer.

Daemon gives a curt nod. "Larys Strong will not be easy to find now. He’s as slippery as a shadow in the night."

"That worm," Simon growls. His hand tightens once more on the pommel of his sword, though it’s more out of frustration than any desire for action. There’s nothing to be done now. It’s over. "She would have made a fine queen... had things been different."

Daemon’s eyes flicker with something dark and unreadable. "She was never meant for a crown. Too much of her father in her."

Silence falls again, the weight of the castle pressing down upon them both. Sheepstealer growls low, sensing the tension in the air, the grief that lingers in the stone itself. The dragon looks toward the entrance of the keep, as if expecting someone to walk out and take command, but no one comes.

"Will you tell him?" Simon asks quietly.

Daemon’s smile fades completely, and for a moment, he looks weary—older, burdened by the countless losses that have marked his long life. "No. Let the dragon keep his illusions for a little longer. He’ll find out soon enough."

With that, Daemon turns his back on the dragon, the courtyard, and the weight of yet another death added to the blood-soaked history of his family. Simon watches him go, feeling the same heavy resignation settle in his bones.

Sheepstealer lets out one last mournful cry, the sound echoing through the empty halls of Harrenhal. The dragon knows too now. You are gone, taken by fire, just as your father before you. The Strong bloodline is broken, and vengeance has consumed yet another soul.

#house of the dragon #hotd x reader #hotd #hotd x y/n #hotd x you #harwin x reader platonic #harwin strong x reader #ser harwin strong #harwin breakbones #reader daughter

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murtagh-thorn · 23 days ago

Text

Dark Legacies Part III: Kindred Souls

Pairing: eventual Murtagh x Rider!Reader Summary: After your and Gormlaith's timely rescue of Murtagh and Thorn, the Egg Delegation you were traveling with sees fit to take their prejudices out on you--luckily, Murtagh is there to return you safely to Vroengard and the two of you realize you're more alike than you first realized. Warnings: mentions of past trauma. A/N: Not sure how much I like this one, but I've stared at it so long, it just needs to be posted at this point.

This is a series of one shots and drabbles that all take place in the same universe, about six year after the events of Inheritance. You can read most of them out of order (except for the first three parts that will set up the series) and still understand what's going on, but they'll be listed in chronological order below, and some elements will be taken from other Murtagh x reader one shots of mine. There is a timekeeping system at the top of each fic/page break with "Ground Zero/Year 0" being the year of Gormlaith's birth, again about six years after the events of Inheritance, and going up from there. PSA: Gormlaith is an Irish name (meaning “illustrious princess”) pronounced GORM-lah. See the Dark Legacies masterlist here!

***

Year 1

The strength of Thorn’s headache made itself known through their mental link as Murtagh studied the sunrise through the trees. He groaned and slowly shifted behind his Rider.

Did the younglings leave? he asked.

Yes, Murtagh replied. Although Y/N seems close to my age, hardly a youngling. They returned to the delegation early this morning and told me to wish you well.

Thorn growled, carefully lifting his head and blinking blearily.

How are you feeling?

Groggy, but I think I could fly perfectly fine. Barring any more masked men—in which case, I will eat them.

Murtagh snorted before gathering up his bedroll and stomping the fire out. He took his time packing and eating, his eyes wandering to the still-charred landscape around them. It seemed strange that the forest that had been the source of so much chaos yesterday now calmly sat in the distance with meager birdsong and animal noises coming from within its half-charred branches again. A mourning dove cooed, and he couldn’t help but imagine it rebuilding its nest amidst the rubble—a feeling he knew well, and he was sure Y/N and Gormlaith did, too. It was something he also went through (and was still partly going through) when he first arrived at the academy, and was also the main reason he and Thorn were still helping Eragon operate things from the background with their own secluded cottage deep in the woods off-campus.

Eventually, he could stall no longer and with Thorn gaining coherency, mounted up and took off into the sky. From above, he could see the charred circle of forest much more clearly. He hadn’t realized before just how big the blaze was. Gormlaith was only a year old and already had the destructive radius of a dragon twice her age.

And she’s not even fully grown yet, Murtagh thought.

Thorn hesitated. Do you think she’ll grow as big as Shruikan?

That likely depends on her mother, but I suppose we’ll see. A dragon that large could be a boon to Eragon’s academy and the Riders as a whole though to be honest��especially after having such a sizeable dragon against them for so long.

Thorn let out a low growl of agreement before going silent once more. As they flew, Murtagh began composing a poem in his head as usual during long flights, although his thoughts kept straying to you. He couldn’t deny how impressive your entrance had been and were admittedly easy on the eyes as well—

I think something’s wrong, Thorn suddenly interrupted.

What’s wrong? Do you need to land?

No, I’m fine, but look below.

Murtagh peered around the edge of the red dragon’s neck as he began to slowly circle. Below lay the small town of Bullridge, its square bustling with the weekend market. Several yards away from the sea of tents and customers atop a grassy hill sat a familiar black dragon—alone. Murtagh’s eyes scanned the settlement, but he could see no sign of the Egg Delegation that was supposed to be with you and Gormlaith and a sinking pit began forming in his stomach. Surely not.

There was no need for words as Thorn descended a few feet away from the large black female. She craned her neck towards them as Thorn’s feet touched down, growling in what could’ve either been a greeting or warning. As seemed to be her wont, she was using her body to shield her Rider from view. She slowly moved her wing out of the way to reveal you standing next to her, biting your nail with a troubled look on your face.

Murtagh quickly dismounted and jogged over to you. “Y/N! Are you all right? Where’s the delegation?”

You took a deep breath as you hugged yourself, murderous rage and hurt in your eyes. “They left.”

The pit in his stomach grew deeper. “…They can’t have—”

“They did. Some of the vendors at the market said they saw them leave before dawn had even fully broken. They said they were setting up and the whole group seemed in a hurry to leave before I could even return. The plan was to leave after dawn—that’s what they told me after I got permission to come check on you two—”

Murtagh gently took your forearms in his hands. “Breathe.”

You did as bade, this time not so tense.

“Stay with Thorn. I’ll be right back.” He hadn’t even fully finished his sentence before he was marching towards the town square, pulling the hood of his cloak to obscure his face.

He could sense Thorn moving towards the pair of you from the back of his mind. If they truly left them, the dragon began, then that was incredibly foolish and dangerous, and Eragon needs to get involved.

I agree, Murtagh replied. I sincerely hope this is some sort of misunderstanding, but I fear not. After all their strife to get to the academy and the danger still lurking, I can’t believe they would do something like this—especially the elves should know better.

Murtagh easily blended into the crowd, his simple cloak and clothes concealing Zar’roc strapped at his hip. He approached a stall with an older man selling small trinkets and clothes. He beamed at Murtagh. “What can I do ye for?”

“You didn’t happen to see the Egg Delegation from Eragon’s Academy here this morning, did you?”

“Oh, yes! You just missed them.” He pointed towards the hill where Gormlaith could just be seen cresting the top of it. “That big black one is all that’s left. They left in the wee hours of the morning while I was settin’ up me stall. Didn’t even wait for first light before they was off. Seemed in a might hurry, too.”

Murtagh bit his tongue to withhold the curses and couldn’t help but close his eyes and sigh.

The man’s smile disappeared. “Is somethin’ the matter, sir?”

“No,” he gritted out, forcing a smile. “Everything’s fine. Thank you for your time.”

The man nodded as Murtagh turned and stalked back through the crowd. The shoppers took one look at his determined stride and parted quickly before he trudged back up the hill. Upon return, the look in your eyes told him you knew exactly what he was going to say, so he just sighed. He shook his head, hands on his hips as he looked out over the field below. A dirt road led from the town square to several farms, the animals braying from their fields as the bustle and talk of the shoppers created a jarring atmosphere against the dangerous situation you were now in.

You leaned against Gormlaith in defeat.

“Those irresponsible…daft…pig-headed…snobbish…” There weren’t enough words in the common tongue to describe their idiocy and arrogance—especially for someone as bright and loyal as you. Although the rumor mill could be quite vicious, especially among the older students and elves who had very clear memories of the war, the younger students and dragons seemed to balance the scales with tales of your successes and kindness. Not to mention Eragon praising how advanced you were and calling you and Gormlaith one of his best multiple times. Your only crime was of association, and Murtagh couldn’t help the protective twinge that ran through him.

“It’s fine,” you muttered, chewing on your lip.

“No,” he turned towards you, hands still on his hips, “it’s not fine, it’s unacceptable. If we hadn’t been here, and especially if those masked men had been, you’d be in very real danger right now.”

You and your dragon shared a look. “We’re used to it.”

Now it was Murtagh and Thorn’s turn to share a look. He returned his gaze to you as you half-heartedly kicked a clump of dirt with your shoe. “Well, we’re headed back anyway, so we’ll escort you.”

You glanced at Thorn before nodding and fully standing. “Well, um…the rest of the delegation had the rations, so we’ll need to stop by the market before we go. It’s about a day and a half flight back and we’ll likely need somewhere to camp or stay this evening.”

Murtagh fumed. They took the food with them, too?

Thorn growled. What insolence.

If Eragon doesn’t punish them, I will. Consequences be damned.

As will I.

Murtagh swallowed the insults he wanted to throw into the wind and tried to develop a calm demeanor for your sake. He gently touched your elbow and hoped it didn’t seem like the harshness in his gaze was directed at you. “We could use a restock as well, so I’ll come with you. Thorn can keep Gormlaith company.”

You nodded, laying a hand on your dragon’s snout and giving her a firm pat. Gormlaith gently butted her head up against your back before turning and descending over the crest of the hill after Thorn.

You followed Murtagh back down into the town square, drawing your own hood. Although with the academy symbol emblazoned on your armor, you were hard to miss. The locals, however, were so caught up in their shopping and trying to wrangle their own children that they hardly paid you any mind. For all they knew, you could be a young couple completing your morning shopping.

A couple, eh? Thorn teased from over the hill.

Murtagh meandered over to a stall selling preserved meats, staring a bit too intently at the package of jerky. All right, yes, I find her…intriguing. But you know it would take far more time and friendship than this for me to even consider anything like that.

I know. Lucky for you, she seems to have that time, being a Rider.

Let us hope. I would like to befriend at least. She seems she could use one…How goes it with Gormlaith?

She seems to prefer keeping to herself. Not that I mind, necessarily. I’m still not used to being around other dragons with how much time we’ve spent away from the main group at Vroengard.

“Back again, I see!”

Murtagh glanced up to see the trinket salesman from earlier. He stood behind the table happily, smiling so big his eyes disappeared.

“Did ye find a solution to yer problem, sir?”

“Yes,” he glanced back around to find you at the bread stand as the vendor followed his gaze.

“Ah! A lady friend!” He gestured towards the table in front of him that held all sorts of simple, but finely crafted jewelry. “Me son and I crafted these ourselves in our home forge! Perhaps one as a gift?”

A small, silver dragon ring that looked like it would fit your finger caught his eye. A tiny black jewel made up the dragon’s eye as its wings spread in flight from a side view, the tail twisting around to create the ring shape. He hesitated.

Well? Thorn piped up.

The vendor smiled expectantly at him, but he shook his head. It’s far too soon. “Maybe some other time.”

“As you wish! Me son and I are here every Saturday until midday if you ever change yer mind. We also take commissions if ye’re looking for something specific.” He pointed to the banner above his head. “Olric and Sons, if ye ever want to find us again.”

Murtagh gave the man a faint smile before turning back to the jerky, handing over his coin to the saleswoman before taking the packet with him.

No ring? Might’ve cheered her up a bit.

I told you, it’s far too soon. We only properly met yesterday.

Bah, you could use a good time.

You just said you understood my need for more time.

Thorn sighed. I do and I will respect whatever you decide. Just don’t discount it as an option for the future. And who knows when we’ll be here again. You could always pocket the ring for later.

You can fly. We can come back anytime we want.

He finally caught up with you at the bread tent, several small, bagged slices in your hands. You gave him a small smile before scurrying over to the meat stall he was just at. The shopping trip continued in much the same fashion: the two of you going your own separate directions while throwing the occasional glance and smile at each other from across the way. Murtagh couldn’t deny he found your comfort with silence reassuring. After spending four solitary years in the wild and the last two still acclimating to being part of a community again, some people’s need for constant chatter unnerved him.

A half-hour passed before he made his way back, carrying a bag with enough food to last until midday tomorrow. You had already returned and were securing Gormlaith’s saddlebags by the time he began carefully storing the food away in Thorn’s.

You glanced over at him. “Has Thorn eaten yet?”

“He ate enough yesterday morning to satisfy him until we return—unless you feel you need more after your ordeal yesterday?”

I am fine.

Murtagh nodded. “What about Gormlaith?”

You finished strapping the flap of the bag in place. “The same.” You let your hand hover over the lip of the bag and the air rippled as the flap suctioned in place. He raised his eyebrows in question as you made eye contact. “Gormlaith goes upside down a lot when we’re in combat.”

Murtagh began to strap his own bags closed. “But you didn’t use the Ancient Language.”

“I grew up in a small village with a healer who was powerful in magic and that was how she taught me whenever I could get away.”

“You had magic before Gormlaith?”

“Yes, I was born with it.”

No wonder Eragon mentioned how advanced she is. “What village are you from, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Ivorson, about a half day’s ride from Dras-Leona.”

“Is your family still there?”

You hesitated, a dark look crossing your face that made Murtagh regret asking.

“Forgive me, I shouldn’t have—”

“No, it’s all right. My mother began a relationship with a man when I was young, but she died before they could marry. He took pity on me and adopted me, but then he died as well. I…was never close with the woman who later became his wife and their children. We don’t communicate.”

Murtagh nodded solemnly, sensing there was more to the story but refused to pry. “I’m sorry.”

You nodded with a tight smile before rubbing your hands over your thighs in what seemed to be a soothing motion. “We should head out before it gets too late. From here, we can likely reach the outskirts of Narda by nightfall, then make it to Vroengard by midday tomorrow. Well,” you smiled ruefully, “you two are well-traveled, you probably already know that. I’m not sure why I felt the need to tell you.”

He smiled. “It’s all right. We’ll let you two take the lead so we can cover your backs if necessary.” He climbed and swung himself up into the saddle, watching curiously as Gormlaith lowered her belly to the ground. You used her foreleg to hoist yourself up, swinging onto the back of her neck, but not into a saddle like his. Your setup was…peculiar, to say the least.

What looked to be a giant, leather blanket covered the back of Gormlaith’s thick neck, held together by straps that wrapped around her neck and shoulders. With her size, she was much too big to sit on and wrap your legs around her throat. Instead, you laid flat on your stomach between the spiked ridges along her neck. At the top of the “blanket” was a raised lip that ran all the way around. Two triangular handles protruded from two holes in the front. Several raised strips of more leather ran along the blanket perpendicular to you, and a curious lever sat on one side. You settled onto your stomach, scooting up into place, before pulling the lever. The raised strips on the side came up around your waist and the backs of your thighs, securing you in place in a tight fit via buckles that clicked together.

Both dragons stood in preparation. Murtagh and Thorn had obviously noticed Gormlaith’s large size yesterday, but now seeing her raised to her full height next to Thorn made him realize she was already bigger than him. Even with Murtagh’s tall height, he doubted he could’ve wrapped his legs around Gormlaith’s neck the way the saddle wrapped around Thorn’s. Barring a pavilion like Galbatorix used to ride Shruikan, as odd as it was, that did seem to be the only way you could ride.

Before he could question you, both dragons took off. He could sense Thorn’s curiosity about your “saddle” as well, but the pair stayed quiet. Woadark Lake passed below them as they climbed higher and higher into the sky, enjoying the peace and quiet, briefly interrupted by a flock of birds noisily flying by. The first part of the flight included a blue, cloudless sky, but more gloomy clouds gathered as they pressed on. Around mid-afternoon, both dragons landed to let their Riders stretch, relieve themselves, and have a late lunch.

Once on solid ground, both of you sitting with your backs to your dragons, Murtagh finally said, “I can’t help but be curious about your…saddle situation.”

You nodded. “Most are. I know it’s not typical, but it was the best I could manage the six months we were on the run. Gormlaith grew quickly and still does, and it would’ve been too difficult to just keep making a new, bigger saddle each month. So, we improvised, and now we’ve just become comfortable with this setup.”

“You’ve never considered any sort of chair or pavilion? That looks hard on your back.”

You shook your head, the breeze gently rustling your cloak as sounds of nature softly played in the background. The sky was beginning to look darker as the clouds rushed by overhead and the wind picked up. “We’re comfortable this way and I fight on dragonback a bit differently than everyone else. This accommodates for that.”

“How does it work? And how do you fight?”

“I’ll show you—plus it looks like rain might be coming, so we should continue heading for Narda anyway.”

You both mounted up again, but before laying flat, you grabbed one of the triangular handles protruding from the front of your saddle. “It’s a pulley system.” You pulled and a thick chord came out, allowing the handle room to become longer and longer with a soft vvvrrrrr noise. You let go and it snapped back into place, then patted the raised lip. “The reason this is raised is because it needs room to coil around the pulley inside. There’s also a lock here,” you flipped a switch on the side of the lip facing away from him, “so the handles stay in place. I always ward my clothes or armor before riding Gormlaith and hold onto the pulleys while I slide over her back to get at a better angle to fire projectile spells, arrows, or even swing around closer to our opponent. Then I release the tension and let the pulley pull me back up onto the saddle.” You settled onto your stomach, pulling the side lever and letting the buckles close in around you. “Then this helps keep me stable when we’re flying for extended periods.”

He raised his eyebrows, now grateful for his own normal saddle. “That’s an impressive contraption. Did you build that yourself?”

“I designed it but had help from a friend I grew up with who moved to a different town. He’s a bit of a genius when it comes to things like this.”

“I’m still not convinced that’s not harmful for your back.”

“It’s not so bad.” You smiled. “Plus, it’s the perfect position to take a nap if I need to.”

He laughed as both dragons again prepared themselves for takeoff. “I’m not sure how I feel about a nap on dragonback.”

“Only because you can’t lay down,” you grinned.

“Mm, did you bring a pillow with you as well?” he teased.

“Nah, it’d probably blow away.”

“You could always strap that down as well.”

You grinned. “Now there’s an idea.”

He laughed again, this time louder and brighter, as both dragons took to the sky once more.

You seem to enjoy talking with her, Thorn commented. I haven’t heard you laugh with another person this much since…well, ever.

I do. She’s bright, witty, quick—

Mmmmmm, Thorn said suggestively.

Stop it.

Stop what?

Murtagh sighed and shook his head, glancing at you where you lay on the saddle. He couldn’t help but admire your form for a moment before tearing his eyes away as you began to turn your head towards him. He did his best to distract himself by composing more poetry for a while, then switched to mentally going over all the words in the Ancient Language he’d learned from Eragon. Although his brother was usually so busy, he was nowhere to be found, he had carved out time specifically to help Murtagh enhance his skills in the language and magic itself. Galbatorix had only trained him enough to make a perfect attack dog, and never enough to make either Rider or dragon much of a threat to him.

He still was getting used to the idea of learning from Eragon and sometimes it still filled him with bitterness. During his four years in the wild, he had frequently stewed on the fact that their mother chose to save Eragon instead of him and he’d been given all the opportunities to learn and just be a Rider in full that Murtagh and Thorn never received. There had been many times when they’d first traveled together before Thorn had hatched, and then during their battles where Eragon seemed to judge him with no understanding of the lessons life had taught him—although he seemed a bit more forgiving now that he was older. He and Eragon had had many talks since he came to the academy hashing through arguments, understandings, apologies, and the like and he was sure there would be many more to come. But he was at least in a place where he didn’t feel an insurmountable grudge against his brother, and no longer felt the need to correct everyone who referred to him as such with “half-brother” instead. Although with how busy Eragon had been running the academy and Murtagh taking on the task of investigating these masked men, they’d only had a very small handful of lessons in the last two years. During much of the first year, Murtagh had also been away helping to track you and Gormlaith, but you hid your tracks well. Maybe that was also part of the reason he was so mentally invested in you two.

More time passed as the dragons flew through the sky. The clouds grew darker as the afternoon went on and a strong wind blew at their backs, speeding their progress. The air eventually began to feel heavy and warm, and thunder boomed above them as they passed the northern tip of the Spine.

An unfamiliar mind gently touched his and he couldn’t help but recoil. The presence didn’t delve any deeper but pulled back the tiniest bit. It’s me, you said.

Oh. Are you all right? he replied.

Yes, I just wanted to check on you and Thorn. We should also land soon. We’re almost to Narda and I think the storm is almost here. We’ve flown back this way before and there’s a small coastal village with an inn there, as well as a covered nook in the mountains not too far off that should fit both Gormlaith and Thorn easily. If you two agree.

After confirming with Thorn, he said, Yes, we’ll do that. He wasn’t used to the touch of another person’s mind who didn’t wish him harm, but yours felt almost comforting. Like warm tea after a cold, dreary day that held curiosity and compassion, but also had a twinge of darkness caused by a life full of hardship. He could sense you were kind but cautious—a combination he understood and held respect for.

The dragons landed in a grassy plain on the outskirts of town. Both Riders dismounted as the wind made the long grass dance beneath your feet and thunder continued to rumble overhead. Gormlaith reached out so that both Murtagh and Thorn could hear her. Although similar, her mind felt much darker with a much harsher “lone wolf” mentality, and Murtagh could sense she was fiercely protective of you, even more so than Thorn was of him. She would do whatever it took to make sure you were safe, even down to some questionable actions. The cave in the cliff isn’t far. Follow me.

Both dragons took off as you pointed down the dirt road. In the distance, he could see the lights of a small village. “This way.”

You both picked up the pace as several drops began to pour down. It quickly became a deluge, forcing the pair of you to run. He followed closely behind you as you navigated the streets with ease through the downpour, the lanterns on poles and houses swinging in the wind. Your foot caught in a puddle and you would’ve fallen flat on your back if Murtagh hadn’t been there to catch you and set you upright. You muttered a thanks, looking a bit embarrassed, before climbing the wooden steps of a large building off the docks. As the swinging wooden sign came around, he caught a glimpse of a painted tankard of ale and the words “The Singing Sturgeon.”

Murtagh held the door open for you as the two of you practically blew inside.

“Make sure to shut it firmly behind you please, else it’ll swing open again!” a man’s voice called from behind the bar.

Murtagh did as bade, sighing and glancing at you as you both lowered your hoods. The main room was a bit run down, but still warm and inviting. It was small, but there were plenty of empty tables and seating with a roaring fire on the left wall. A small boy stood on a stool and stirred the cauldron that hung over the flames, glancing at you and scurrying through a door behind the bar. Murtagh expected to see an old, grizzled man behind the bar, but instead saw a younger man with a slicked-back ponytail, kind face, and well-to-do outfit cleaning out a mug with a rag. He followed you as you made your way towards him, sliding into a stool at the bar.

The man smiled. “Welcome back, Y/N. I see you have a friend with you. Two stews and watered wines?”

You glanced at him and when he nodded, turned back to the bartender. “That would be great, Borden. Thanks.”

Borden smiled and wrapped his knuckles on the bar as if knocking on a door before setting the mug aside, slinging his towel over his shoulder, and disappearing into the kitchens.

“We only started off a few hours after the delegation did,” Murtagh said, glancing around the mostly empty main room. A few other patrons sat huddled in the corners, but seemed taken in by their own food, drinks, and company. “Would they be at this inn?”

“Not likely. Usually, the elves in charge of the delegation know the spell to teleport, so take turns teleporting everyone near the town we have to stop in. Then it’s the same for the journey back. They’re probably back at Vroengard right now. Eragon always gives delegation members the rest of the day off, so I’m not even sure if he’s noticed Gormlaith and I are still gone.”

“I’m sure he does. He seems to keep good track of his students—especially after what happened to you.” He paused as Borden and the child returned from the back carrying two trays laden with bowls, breads, and cheeses. Borden placed one in front of you, then took the tray from the child to place in front of Murtagh. He turned back to the child. “Thank you, Torg. Could you give the soup another stir?”

Torg nodded before racing over to the cauldron again. Borden turned and took two clean tankards off a shelf behind him and filled them with watered wine. As he handed Murtagh his glass, he noticed Borden only had two fingers on his left hand and three on his right.

You dug in your purse and handed him some coin. “How much for the bread and cheese?”

Borden smiled. “On the house. You two enjoy yourselves and do let me or Torg know if you need anything.”

“Wait, Bord, how is Torg? He was really sick last time I was here.”

“He’s much better now—and thank you for recommending those tonics, they did help immensely. I do have some things to take care of in the kitchen, but just yell if you need anything.” With that, he disappeared through the door again.

“You mentioned you were trained by your village healer. Is that how you knew what tonics to recommend?” Murtagh asked as he tore a piece of bread off.

You nodded, swallowing a spoonful of stew. “I learned magic from her as well as healing and anatomy. The original plan seemed to be that I would take over her position once she retired, but she abruptly just sort of…vanished. Then Gormlaith hatched not long after and that was the end of that.”

“Did this healer have a name?”

“Helena.”

“Helena what?”

You shrugged. “Just Helena. She was shorter than me, but had this big, brown curly hair that she always wore in a braid with all these headscarves to keep her hair out of her face when she made tonics or worked on patients.”

“Did she heal everyone with magic?”

“Sometimes yes, sometimes no. She seemed to be trying to keep a low profile. She didn’t even tell me her name until I’d been going to see her for six months and I was never allowed in her house or workstation unsupervised.”

Murtagh finally took a bite of his stew, expecting the usual subpar, but filling food most small taverns had. He made a sound of pleasant surprise. “This is delicious.”

“Borden’s an amazing cook. Torg, his son, helps out a lot, too, and they make some of the best food I’ve ever had.”

“I agree. This puts some of the food I’ve had in court to shame. Does Borden run this whole tavern and inn by himself?”

“His wife helps him. She’s likely asleep right now, but she usually manages renting out the rooms upstairs. There aren’t many of them, but they’re comfortable. I think this is my…fifth time here?”

Murtagh nodded. “So…you said you fire projectile spells from Gormlaith’s back as you slide around. What sort of spells are those?”

“Well, I sort of made them up and they are wordless, which Eragon doesn’t like. He prefers I use the Ancient Language, which I try to do in lessons and when I’m tired or really need to concentrate. But wordless magic just sort of is second nature after my training with Helena.”

“You mentioned crossbows as well. Do you prefer that over a longbow?”

“I, um…actually was never taught how to use a longbow and inherited two crossbows from my mother’s lover when he died. So, I’ve always used those.”

Murtagh hesitated, suddenly feeling slightly bashful. “I would be happy to teach you sometime, if you’d like.”

You nodded, suddenly shy as well, as you turned back to your soup.

Doing all right? Murtagh sent to Thorn. He’d been so enraptured with his conversation with you, he’d nearly forgotten to check on him.

Nice of you to drop in, his dragon teased. Yes, we’re doing just fine. Gormlaith is finally starting to talk, albeit slowly and in small spurts.

What are you talking about?

Maybe the pair of you.

Thorn.

Murtagh.

Murtagh made sure to send the mental grumble through their link, feeling Thorn’s amusement in return.

We’re doing just fine. Don’t worry about us. I’ll let you know if we need anything and will be keeping an eye on any danger towards you as well. It wouldn’t take us long to get you if need be.

Murtagh nodded before returning his attention to you as you began asking questions about the longbow. The rest of the meal was an enjoyable mix of talk of combat, more books, your trainings compared to his own knowledge and experience, and more. It truly felt as if he could talk to you for hours without running out of topics. You were highly intelligent and insightful, and he found himself wanting your opinion on several topics just to hear what you had to say. But the silence between you two was just as comfortable and he found himself enjoying being in your presence alone.

It seemed neither of you noticed once you’d finished your food and he was unsure how long you sat there after. He felt the familiar tug of sleep on his lids by the time Borden came around to check on you again. He smiled at your whistle-clean trays. “Did you enjoy your meals?”

“Yes,” you replied. “Thank you, Bord. Do you have any rooms available? I’m assuming Suzy is asleep.”

“She is, and we do! Would you prefer two singles with double beds, or one double with two twin beds?”

“Two singles,” you both said in unison before glancing at each other in embarrassment, then looking away.

If Borden noticed, he was kind enough not to say anything as the two of you worked out the payments, Murtagh handing over his own coin when necessary. The academy was funded by tributes from all the kingdoms, which in turn became the teachers’ and other staff members’ wages. It was odd, but good to have a regular form of money again.

Borden handed over the keys before telling you your room numbers and bidding you a good night. The pair of you climbed the stairs to the second floor, where the hallway lay open to the floor below. Another set of stairs ascended to a third floor that Murtagh assumed led to Borden and his family’s private quarters.

You both reached your respective doors, and he hesitated putting his key into the lock. He glanced at you just as you began to open the door. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

You gave him a small smile. “Goodnight, Murtagh.”

“Let me know if you…need anything?”

You nodded. “Same to you…I’ll, um, see you in the morning?” The tiniest spark of fear danced behind your eyes, belying your sudden anxiety about being abandoned again while sleeping.

Murtagh nodded. “We won’t leave without you. You have my word.”

You smiled, seeming more at ease, before disappearing behind the door just as he did his.

***

Murtagh smiled to himself as you rubbed at your eyes again from Gormlaith’s back. Early in the morning, you’d both broken your fast together in the tavern again, said goodbye to Borden, and were off into the sky. You and Gormlaith both were clearly not morning people, which Murtagh and Thorn found amusing. They weren’t exactly either, but you were exceptionally grumpy, and it took all Murtagh’s restraint not to laugh at your unamused facial expressions and grumbles.

He felt your mind gently touch his, your crankiness tinged with slight amusement. I know you’re laughing at me back there.

Need a nap already? Too bad you don’t have that pillow.

You be quiet.

Murtagh couldn’t withhold his laugh then and thought he saw your shoulders shake with your own. You turned back to glare at him, but he could tell you were trying not to laugh, which only made him laugh harder. You smiled and shook your head before facing forward again.

The rest of the flight continued much the same as yesterday: comfortable silence with the occasional check-in, although you always reached out first. He didn’t want to invade your privacy and felt odd purposely reaching out to another person. He hadn’t done it in so long and during his travels with Thorn, only reached out enough to sense danger nearby.

Vroengard finally came into sight just as the sun climbed directly above them. Gormlaith pushed faster, Thorn following and struggling to keep up. She glanced back and slowed, growling quietly to herself.

It’s surprising how a dragon so big moves so fast, Murtagh thought.

Not necessarily, Thorn replied. Her wingspan is bigger than mine and will likely become even bigger than now. He paused. It feels very odd not to be the biggest dragon anymore.

Murtagh wondered how big Thorn would’ve been now if Galbatorix hadn’t sped his growth. Even without magic or torture involved, he’d heard from Eragon that most dragons had some growing pains as they got older and the bigger the growth spurt, the worse it was. He hoped Gormlaith didn’t suffer too greatly.

He sighed as the academy came into view below. Both dragons began to sink closer to the treetops, making for the grassy hill where you and Eragon had first met and where returning dragons and their Riders usually landed. The hill stood empty before them, but several students and elves pointed up and shouted at your group’s return.

Gormlaith touched down first, Thorn not far behind. The red dragon sighed, settling onto his haunches with closed eyes as he still felt some lingering effects of the poison. Murtagh quickly unbuckled himself and slid down to give him a reprieve from his weight, watching as Gormlaith sank to her belly again so you could do the same.

A roar sounded in the distance as Saphira flew towards them. She landed quickly with a whoosh that sent hair and cloaks flying before Eragon quickly scrambled down.

“There you are!” He ran towards you as you met him in the middle. “Thank the gods you’re all right.” He turned to Murtagh. “And thank the gods you happened to be nearby. Thank you for bringing them back.”

Murtagh nodded. “I take it you know what happened?”

Eragon scowled. “Yes. The delegation members have been dealt with and reassigned as necessary.” He returned his attention to you, putting a comforting hand on your shoulder. “I’m so, so sorry and swear to you I will do everything in my power to make sure this never happens again. Thank you for doing your duty to protect the eggs and new Riders—or trying to, at least.”

You clenched your jaw and nodded, obviously still feeling the sting of the ordeal.

Eragon tried to give you a comforting smile and a small pat on the arm. “Why don’t you and Gormlaith go bathe, eat, and rest for the rest of the afternoon? I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow morning for our private classes.”

You sighed and nodded, your face finally showing some signs of fatigue. You made your way back over to Gormlaith several yards away as Eragon stepped closer to Murtagh, lowering his voice. “And you look as if you’ve something to tell me.”

Murtagh nodded, gripping Zar’roc’s pommel. “The masked men showed up while Thorn and I were alone, not far from where the delegation was—and they were dangerously well-equipped. If Y/N and Gormlaith hadn’t been close by and insisted on checking on us, I don’t think we would’ve returned here.”

Eragon took a deep breath, a troubled look on his face before glancing at you. Murtagh followed his gaze as you wrapped your arms (well, as best you could) around Gormlaith’s snout. She gently lifted you several feet off the ground before lowering you back down, parting to take off towards the lake most dragons used to bathe. You made eye contact with the pair, smiling sadly before jogging off towards the Riders’ quarters.

“Come with me,” Eragon said, nodding back towards the main building. “Tell me everything once we’re in my office.”

Murtagh and Thorn did as bade, looking down over the settlement as they flew. Several students trained with other teachers and elves while others played, read, and flew about with their dragons, creating a cacophony of joy and safety. For all his faults, Murtagh couldn’t help but admire the hard work his brother had put into creating this community and wished he’d been more a part of its creation.

Both dragons landed on the large balcony outside Eragon’s office, the Riders disappearing inside. Murtagh gave him all the details of his attack, as well as your rescue, then his rescue of you.

Eragon pinched the bridge of his nose at the end. “By the gods, it was even worse than I feared.”

“I’m not sure if this is too advanced for her,” Murtagh started, settling back in the chair across from his brother’s large oak desk, “but it might be a good idea to teach Y/N and Gormlaith whatever teleportation spell the elves use. Although you said they were punished, rumor mills like this are hard to shake. Someone may very well do something similar to them again.”

Eragon sighed. “It’s a spell that requires a lot of energy, which is why usually only the seasoned elves perform it. Once it’s been used, the user will have precious little energy left, which is why there are always multiple elves in each delegation, as well as at least one dragon and Rider duo. But perhaps you’re right. The knowledge alone might be good for them.”

“Exactly how advanced are they both?”

“Very.” Eragon paused to take a drink out of a glass of water on his desk, the fire crackling in the background. “She’s mentioned she had talent in magic before Gormlaith hatched, and then I suppose life on the run is a good teacher. I have them in group classes with the much older dragons in the afternoons, then Saphira and I have been giving them both private lessons most days from morning to midday. Although that does mean the work piles up in the afternoons…” He glanced at the high stack of papers on the corner of his desk and sighed.

“What sort of things do you train them for in the mornings?”

“More basic magic that’s commonly used between dragons and Riders, hand-to-hand combat, meditation, some poses Master Oromis taught me, reaching out to sense living things and connecting with nature, combat on dragonback—that sort of thing.”

Murtagh nodded, thinking back to his few lessons with Eragon where he’d also learned some of Oromis’ poses and mental exercises. “I could help, if that’s an option. I have plenty of experience with combat, both on the ground and on Thorn, and we could always practice any of the elves’ teachings together.”

“Mmm,” Eragon raised his eyebrows. “Now, there’s an idea. She’s extremely advanced in magic, too, so she might be able to help you. Although she uses a lot of wordless magic, which I’d prefer she stop, she does know a decent amount of the Ancient Language enough to hold quite complicated conversations with the elves.”

“Is she fluent?”

“No, but she’s getting there. That’s a good idea, I think you two could really benefit each other. I’d still like to meet with her once or twice a week just to see how she’s doing, but you could take…” he leaned over to glance at a piece of paper on his desk, “Monday, Wednesday, and Friday if you’d like? We usually meet around eight o’clock in the morning and go until midday, then break for lunch, then she joins the others for group lessons with the elves.”

“I can do that.”

“Good! I’ll show you where I train with her later this evening.” He smiled lightly to himself. “Well. Your first student.”

Murtagh laughed dryly. “Sounds like I’ll be learning from her just as much.”

“That’s how any good teacher and student relationship is: sometimes, your student ends up being the one to teach you.” He paused. “I’d always hoped you’d teach one day. Perhaps this will be a good trial run? You did travel together for two days and stayed at an inn together, yes? How did you get on?”

“Very well. I enjoyed talking to her.”

Eragon smiled wryly, gently scraping the handle of his letter opener over his jaw. “Mmmm.”

Murtagh sighed in defeat. “Why does everyone keep making that noise at me?”

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