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novaursa · 29 days

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The Last Dragonslayer (1/2)

- Summary: When young Luke came to Storm’s End as his mother’s emissary, Aemond wasn't the only one there to greet the young Prince.

- Paring: female!reader/Rhaenyra Targaryen

- Note: Reader is a Dragonslayer (a warrior) that saves Rhaeyra's child and fights for her. This is based on the request below, with my own twist in it, and it's the result of the votes that ended yesterday:

- Rating: Mature 16+ (last part will be rated higher)

- Word count: 8 000+

- Next part: 2

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

- A/N: male!reader/Rhaenyra Targaryen is currently under construction. It will be posted once the second part of this work is out. Also, for more of my works visit my blog.

The storm rages fiercely over Storm's End, the winds howling through the stone walls of the castle like a restless beast. You stand in the shadowed alcove, your eyes tracking the young prince as he dismounts from his dragon, Arrax. The creature’s scales gleam wet in the flickering torchlight, its eyes wide with agitation. The beast feels it, the looming presence of something much older and much deadlier. You know without looking that it is Vhagar, the monstrous she-dragon that casts her shadow over the stormy skies.

Lucerys Velaryon, the boy prince, has the look of a cornered deer as he glances around the courtyard, his gaze inevitably drawn to the dark silhouette of Vhagar looming ominously in the distance. His heart beats wildly in his chest, his breath coming in shallow gasps. The dragon he rides is no match for the ancient beast that waits, almost as if it hungers for the boy’s fear.

But it is not Vhagar that makes Arrax twitch nervously, shifting its massive claws on the slick stone ground. No, there is something else—another presence that unnerves both dragons. A primal fear ripples through the air, a fear that runs deeper than any rivalry between dragonriders.

You know what they feel. It is the Banshee, your mount, your companion. She lies in the caves beneath the castle, her leathery wings folded, her shriek an unspoken warning to all dragons that a Dragonslayer is near. You’ve ridden her across the skies of Essos, and now you have brought her to this cold, storm-battered land, a place so different from the sunlit shores of your origin.

As Lucerys is escorted into the great hall, you follow silently, a shadow among the guards, your steps barely a whisper against the stone. The hall is dimly lit, the flames flickering in their sconces as the storm rumbles outside. Lord Borros Baratheon sits upon his chair, his face a thundercloud of displeasure, while Aemond Targaryen stands off to the side, his single eye gleaming with malicious intent.

“Prince Lucerys Velaryon,” Borros announces with a voice as heavy as the storm, “sent by your mother, the Queen.”

Lucerys takes a breath, standing tall as he faces the Lord of Storm's End. His voice is steady as he presents his mother’s terms, but you can see the tremor in his hands, the boy struggling to maintain his composure under the weight of the situation.

Aemond steps forward, his presence dark and threatening, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “You’re a brave boy to come here alone, nephew,” he sneers, his hand hovering near the hilt of his sword. “But bravery only goes so far. You owe me an eye.”

The demand hangs in the air like the threat of lightning. Lucerys’ eyes widen, his breath catching as the terror grips him. He steps back, his hand instinctively moving to his sword, though you can see he knows it is futile.

Aemond’s voice drips with venom as he draws closer, reaching for the sapphire in his empty eye socket. “Don’t be afraid, boy. It’s a simple thing, really. Just a payment for what was stolen from me.”

Your movement is like a shadow across the floor as you step out from your place against the wall, your boots making soft, deliberate sounds against the stone. Aemond’s attention snaps to you, curiosity flashing in his eye as he sees a figure unlike any other in this hall.

“Who are you?” Aemond demands, his voice tinged with both suspicion and interest. The hall seems to quiet, even the storm outside pausing as if to hear your reply.

Lord Borros rises from his chair, turning his gaze to you, and his expression is a mixture of awe and unease. “This is the emissary from the Free Cities,” he says, his voice uncertain. “She arrived a few days ago, from across the Narrow Sea. An emissary, she claimed, from an ancient order.”

You tilt your head slightly, regarding Aemond with those eyes of yours, eyes that many have said carry the weight of ancient knowledge, of secrets lost to time. When you speak, your accent is thick, your voice smooth, yet carrying a hardness beneath it, like a blade wrapped in silk. “The boy will return to his mother,” you state, your tone leaving no room for argument.

Aemond’s eye narrows, his curiosity turning to annoyance. “You think to order me around in my own land? I am a Targaryen, the blood of the dragon. And you—what are you?”

“I am Y/N,” you say simply, letting the name hang in the air, as though it should explain everything. And to those who know, it does. “And I have no interest in your games, dragonrider. The boy leaves. Now.”

Lucerys looks at you with wide eyes, relief and confusion mixing on his young face. He knows not who you are, nor why you would intercede on his behalf, but he knows better than to question the chance at survival you offer.

Aemond, however, is less easily swayed. “You do not command me, woman,” he snarls, his hand finally gripping his sword hilt.

Your eyes lock onto his, and there is a cold, ancient fury in your gaze that makes Aemond pause, just for a moment. “Do you hear that?” you ask softly, almost a whisper.

He frowns, confusion crossing his features. But then he does hear it—a low, keening wail, barely audible over the storm, but there nonetheless. It is a sound that twists something deep in his chest, a primal fear that is older than his bloodline, older than even the dragons themselves.

“That,” you continue, your voice never rising, yet commanding all attention, “is a Banshee’s call. Do you know what it means, dragonrider?”

Aemond doesn’t answer, his grip tightening on his sword. But you see it, the flicker of doubt in his eye, the instinctive fear that his ancestors would have known all too well.

“It means,” you say, taking a step closer to the prince, “that the Dragonslayers are near.”

Silence falls heavy in the hall, the only sound the storm raging outside and that distant, eerie wail of your mount. Aemond’s confidence wavers, just for a heartbeat, and you seize the moment.

“Return to your mother, boy,” you say to Lucerys, your tone softening slightly as you address the prince. “And tell her the Dragonslayers have not forgotten.”

Lucerys doesn’t hesitate. He turns and strides from the hall, the guards parting before him. Aemond watches him go, his eye flicking between you and the retreating prince, torn between pride and the icy fear that grips his heart.

As the doors close behind Lucerys, Aemond turns back to you, but you are already gone, melted back into the shadows of the storm. The Banshee’s wail echoes in his ears, a sound that will haunt him long after this night has passed.

And in the distance, through the storm and the dark, Lucerys Velaryon rides his dragon into the night, the words of a stranger echoing in his mind as he returns to his mother—a warning, a promise, and a name that will not be easily forgotten.

The storm's fury is unrelenting as Vhagar takes to the skies, her wings cutting through the tempest with the power of a creature that has lived through centuries. Beneath her, the world is a blur of rain and lightning, the roar of the wind nearly drowning out the beat of her wings. Aemond’s eye is fixed on the smaller silhouette ahead, the young prince Lucerys and his dragon, Arrax. His pride, his rage, they drive him forward with a singular, furious intent.

"Do you think you can escape me, boy?" Aemond mutters to himself, the thrill of the hunt coursing through his veins. His grip on the reins tightens as he urges Vhagar onward, the ancient beast responding to his will, her massive form gaining on the fleeing dragon.

But then, something shifts.

It begins with Vhagar. The she-dragon, who has known no fear in over a century, falters mid-flight. Her great head swivels, nostrils flaring as if sensing something that doesn’t belong in this world. A deep, rumbling growl escapes her throat, a sound of unease that Aemond has never heard from her before.

"What is it, girl?" Aemond calls out, his voice straining against the storm, frustration creeping in as Vhagar slows her pursuit. He yanks at the reins, but the dragon resists, her great body twisting in the air as if trying to turn away from something unseen.

Then it comes—a sound like no other. Piercing, shrill, it cuts through the storm with an unnatural clarity. A cry that chills the blood, a scream not of any living thing, but of something that should never have existed. Aemond feels it like a knife in his gut, a primal fear that shakes the core of even a Targaryen prince. Vhagar responds with a bellow of her own, but this is not a sound of defiance—it is one of terror.

Through the torrential rain and flashes of lightning, Aemond sees it. Emerging from the swirling clouds above, the Banshee appears, its form massive and menacing, a creature out of nightmares and ancient legends. It is larger than any dragon, its wings long and leathery, resembling those of some dark, twisted bat. Its body is sinewy and powerful, covered in scales as dark as midnight, its maw filled with razor-sharp teeth that seem made to tear through dragon flesh. Eyes that glow with a sickly green light fixate on Vhagar, and in that gaze, there is nothing but hunger.

A hunger that could swallow the world.

The Banshee shrieks again, and this time, the sound is closer, more intense, reverberating through the storm as if the very heavens themselves are crying out in fear. Vhagar roars back, but her voice wavers, no longer the dominant force of the skies. She tries to pull away, her vast wings beating furiously as she begins to ascend, desperate to escape the horror that has locked its gaze upon her.

And there, atop the Banshee, you sit. The storm whips around you, yet you are steady, your body moving fluidly with the creature’s every motion. Your eyes are fixed on Aemond, a cold determination set in your features as you close in. The distance between the two monstrous creatures shrinks with every heartbeat, the Banshee’s speed unnatural, as if it is not bound by the same laws of the world as other beings.

"Vhagar, no!" Aemond shouts, desperation creeping into his voice as he feels his mount’s fear, her once obedient nature slipping through his control. He pulls harder on the reins, but the ancient dragon does not heed him. She banks sharply to the side, attempting to flee, the instinct to survive overpowering all else.

"Stay and fight, damn you!" Aemond roars, but his voice is lost to the storm and to Vhagar’s terror. For the first time, Aemond realizes that he has lost control. Vhagar, the greatest of all dragons, is fleeing like a hunted beast.

From behind, Lucerys and Arrax, seeing their chance, dart downwards toward the safety of the clouds below. The boy doesn’t look back, but his heart pounds with both fear and gratitude, his only thought now of returning to Dragonstone and the safety of his mother’s arms. The storm swallows them, the smaller dragon vanishing into the darkness, seizing the slim opportunity for escape that has been granted by the terror you’ve unleashed.

You see this, the boy’s escape, and though you could chase, though you could end him as well, your focus remains on Aemond. This is a message, a warning, and it is Vhagar who must carry it back.

Aemond’s face twists with a mix of rage and helplessness as he feels Vhagar’s massive body turning, wings beating harder now, not in pursuit, but in retreat. You let out a command, your voice carried by the storm, not in words that Aemond understands, but the Banshee does. She dives, a predatory speed that belies her size, closing the distance between them in seconds.

Another scream from the Banshee, and this time, Vhagar shudders violently, nearly throwing Aemond from her back. The ancient dragon, who has seen countless battles and burned entire cities to ash, is utterly broken by the presence of this creature from a bygone era. She dives desperately, fleeing into the clouds, seeking any refuge from the horror that chases her.

For a brief moment, as you pull back, allowing Vhagar to escape into the storm’s embrace, your eyes meet Aemond’s. In that gaze, he sees something that shakes him more than the sight of the Banshee or the fear in Vhagar’s eyes. He sees the cold, unyielding power of an order thought extinct, a legacy that has returned from the shadows of history.

And then you and the Banshee vanish into the storm, your form melding with the darkness as if you were never there. Only the lingering echoes of that terrifying scream remain, fading into the storm, a sound that will haunt Aemond for the rest of his days.

Vhagar continues her frantic flight, the once-proud dragon now reduced to a fleeing beast, her rider clinging to her, his pride shattered, his mind reeling. Aemond’s thoughts are a whirlwind of anger, fear, and humiliation. He came to these skies with the intent to prove his dominance, to assert his strength, but now he returns with the bitter taste of defeat and the knowledge that there are forces in this world even dragons fear.

And far below, Lucerys and Arrax race through the storm towards the safety of Dragonstone, the boy’s heart pounding with relief and terror. He will make it home, but the memory of this night will stay with him—the night he was spared not by his own hand, but by a mysterious stranger on a creature of nightmares.

The Dragonslayers have returned. And the dragons of Westeros will never be the same.

The skies over Dragonstone are dark, heavy with the remnants of the storm that raged over Storm's End. The air is filled with unease as the guards and retainers of the castle stand vigilantly on the battlements, their eyes scanning the horizon. They know who they are waiting for, though they dare not speak of the dread that gnaws at them.

Suddenly, through the mists and rain, a shape emerges. A dragon, smaller than most, with wet and weary wings straining to keep it aloft. Arrax lands heavily in the courtyard, his scales slick with rain and his breath labored from the flight. The beast's eyes are wide, pupils darting in a way that betrays its fear.

Atop him, Lucerys Velaryon sits slumped in the saddle, his small form trembling, soaked to the bone. He barely has the strength to dismount, nearly collapsing as his boots touch the ground. His hands are shaking uncontrollably, and his eyes—those eyes that should be bright with the fire of youth—are wide and haunted, filled with the terror of what he has just endured.

From across the courtyard, Queen Rhaenyra breaks from her retinue of Queensguard, her heart seizing as she sees the state of her son. “Luke!” she cries, her voice cracking with fear and relief as she rushes to him, her skirts billowing as she nearly stumbles in her haste.

“Mother,” Lucerys gasps, his voice a whisper against the wind. He’s shivering violently, his teeth chattering as the cold and fear clutch at him.

Rhaenyra reaches him, wrapping him in her arms, her grip firm and protective as she pulls him close, heedless of the rain that soaks through her own clothing. Her heart pounds in her chest as she feels the tremors racking his small frame. “Gods, what happened?” she whispers, her hand cupping his face as she tries to meet his eyes, searching for any sign of injury, any indication of what has terrified her son so deeply.

Lucerys buries his face against her shoulder, his breath hitching as he tries to find the words. “I—I saw him, Mother,” he begins, his voice shaking as badly as his body. “Aemond was there… at Storm’s End. Vhagar was with him.”

Rhaenyra stiffens, her blood turning to ice at the mention of Aemond and his dragon. “Did he harm you?” Her voice is fierce, though a mother’s terror lies just beneath it. “What did he do to you?”

Lucerys shakes his head frantically, clutching at her arms as if grounding himself in her presence. “He… he wanted to take my eye, Mother. He said… he said it was a debt. But…” His words trail off, his breath catching as he struggles to explain the horror he witnessed.

Rhaenyra’s grip tightens, her eyes narrowing with a mixture of rage and fear. “But what, Luke? What happened?”

Luke pulls back slightly, his wide eyes meeting hers, filled with a confusion that mirrors his terror. “She… she saved me, Mother. A woman… a stranger. She stopped Aemond.”

Rhaenyra blinks, her mind racing. “A woman? Who was she? What did she look like?”

Luke swallows hard, his voice trembling as he continues, “She… she wasn’t from here. She looked… different. Like no one I’ve ever seen before. She had an accent I didn’t recognize. Lord Borros called her an emissary from the Free Cities.” His voice drops to a whisper, as if saying the next words might summon the creature back. “And she had a… a beast with her. Not a dragon, but something else. It was… it was terrifying, Mother. The dragons, even Vhagar… they were afraid of it.”

Rhaenyra’s heart pounds faster as she listens, trying to make sense of her son’s words. “A beast? What did it look like?”

Luke’s eyes glaze over slightly as he recalls the image burned into his mind. “It was… huge, bigger than any dragon I’ve seen, with wings like… like a bat’s. And its scream, Mother… it was like nothing I’ve ever heard. It made the storm itself seem quiet. And she was riding it… commanding it.”

Rhaenyra’s blood runs cold, her mind racing through the possibilities, but nothing matches the description her son gives. A creature that could frighten Vhagar, the largest and oldest of the Targaryen dragons? It sounds like a nightmare given form, a horror from ancient times.

“Are you sure of what you saw, Luke?” she asks gently, her tone softening as she brushes his wet hair from his face. “Could it have been… something else? A trick of the storm?”

Luke shakes his head vehemently. “No, Mother. I saw it. I heard it. She told me to go, to return to you. And when I left… Aemond was chasing me, but then the creature came after him instead. Vhagar fled, Mother. She was terrified.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes widen, a shiver running down her spine at the thought. If Vhagar, the mightiest of all dragons, could be driven to flee… what manner of beast had her son encountered? And who was this woman, this stranger who had saved her child from a fate worse than death?

A feeling of unease settles over her, a realization that something far greater and more dangerous than she had anticipated is at play. The knowledge that ancient powers, long thought to be myths, might have returned to the world shakes her to her core.

But for now, all that matters is her son. She pulls him close again, holding him tightly as if to shield him from whatever darkness lies out there, whatever force has set its sights on the Targaryen bloodline. “You’re safe now,” she whispers, trying to convince herself as much as him. “You’re home, and you’re safe.”

But even as she says the words, her mind is already racing ahead, planning, fearing, wondering what this new player on the board means for the future of her house, for her claim, and for the survival of her children.

The night is still and heavy with the remnants of the storm, the winds howling softly through the dark corridors of Dragonstone. Rhaenyra is deep in a restless sleep, her mind troubled by the events of the day, her dreams haunted by the image of her son, drenched and trembling, speaking of a beast that defied all she knew of the world.

But suddenly, her sleep is shattered by a sound so primal, so raw, that it feels like the earth itself is tearing apart. The roar of dragons, rising in a cacophony of fear and fury, echoes through the stone walls of the castle. It’s not just any dragon’s roar—it’s the sound of dragons in terror. Rhaenyra bolts upright in her bed, her heart pounding in her chest as the walls seem to tremble around her.

She hears another roar, louder this time, unmistakable in its ferocity—the Cannibal. The ancient, wild dragon’s scream is so powerful that it seems to shake the very foundations of Dragonstone. The deep, guttural sound reverberates through the castle, making the torches flicker as if the flame itself is afraid.

And then, cutting through the night like a blade, comes another sound—a wail, high-pitched and unnatural, unlike anything she’s ever heard. It’s the cry of the Banshee, echoing through the skies above the island, a sound so filled with dread that it makes her blood run cold.

Rhaenyra leaps from her bed, pulling on a robe as she rushes toward the door. Her heart races, a mix of fear and adrenaline driving her forward. She flings open the door, her voice breaking the silence of the corridor. “Daemon!”

As if summoned by her cry, Daemon Targaryen appears, already dressed and armed, his face set in a grim expression. He doesn’t need to ask what’s happening—the screams of the dragons and the wail from the skies tell him all he needs to know.

“They’re afraid,” Daemon says, his voice rough with tension as he strides toward her, his eyes blazing. “The dragons are terrified, Rhaenyra. Whatever it is, it’s here.”

Rhaenyra nods, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she hurries to follow him. The two of them rush through the castle, Daemon’s men falling in around them, their faces pale as they hear the screams that fill the night. The ground beneath their feet seems to tremble as if the very earth is trying to recoil from the presence that has arrived on its shores.

They reach the courtyard just as another roar shakes the air, but this time it’s different. This time, it’s a sound of submission, of retreat. In the distance, high atop Dragonmont, the dragons that make their home in the ancient volcano are pulling back, their massive forms retreating into the dark, smoke-filled caves, away from the open sky. Even the Cannibal, the most feared and untamed of all the dragons, has gone silent, its defiance turned to fear.

Rhaenyra’s eyes follow the direction of the retreating dragons, and there, near the rocky coastline, she sees it—the Banshee. It stands on the blackened sand, its vast wings partially spread, casting an ominous shadow that stretches out over the churning waves. The creature is even more terrifying than she had imagined from Lucerys’ description, a monstrous form that seems to absorb the darkness around it, its eyes glowing with that sickly green light that cuts through the night.

And before the Banshee, standing with an air of calm command, is the woman—Y/N. She stands tall, her presence as formidable as the beast behind her, her eyes fixed on the castle. Even from this distance, Rhaenyra can see the confidence in her stance, the ease with which she controls the horror at her side.

Daemon’s hand moves to the hilt of his sword as he stares at the woman and her beast, his eyes narrowing in a mix of fury and awe. “Is this the creature the boy spoke of?” he asks, his voice low and dangerous.

Rhaenyra nods, unable to tear her gaze from the sight. “It is,” she whispers, her voice tinged with fear and a growing sense of foreboding. “And that… that is the woman who saved him.”

Daemon takes a step forward, his gaze shifting to Caraxes, who is visible in the distance, his great head peeking out from the entrance of his cave. The Blood Wyrm, who has faced down dragons and men alike, recoils, his body pressed low to the ground as if trying to melt into the rock itself. He refuses to come forward, his instincts telling him that this is not a foe he wishes to face.

Rhaenyra watches as Daemon's knuckles turn white around the hilt of his sword. “Even Caraxes is afraid,” he mutters, almost to himself. “What manner of beast is this? And who is this woman?”

Before Rhaenyra can respond, Y/N takes a step forward, moving with a grace that belies the danger she embodies. Her voice carries across the distance, strong and clear despite the howling wind. “I come not as an enemy, but as an emissary.”

Rhaenyra feels a shiver run down her spine at the sound of the woman’s voice. There is something in it, an authority, a power that feels ancient, something that commands respect and fear in equal measure. She steps forward, placing a hand on Daemon’s arm to still him, her eyes never leaving Y/N.

“You saved my son,” Rhaenyra calls out, her voice steady, though her heart is pounding in her chest. “Why?”

Y/N’s gaze meets hers, and for a moment, Rhaenyra feels as though she’s being weighed, measured by a force that sees far beyond the physical. “Because the time has come for old debts to be paid, and old alliances to be rekindled,” Y/N replies, her accent unfamiliar, each word carrying an air of inevitability.

Daemon steps forward, his posture rigid, every muscle coiled with tension. “What are you?” he demands, his tone edged with suspicion. “And what do you want from us?”

Y/N regards him calmly, her eyes as unreadable as the stormy sea behind her. “I am the last of the Dragonslayers,” she says, her words cutting through the air like a blade. “And I seek what was lost to time—an alliance, forged in blood and fire, that will reshape the fate of the Seven Kingdoms.”

Rhaenyra’s breath catches at the mention of the Dragonslayers. The name is one of legend, spoken of only in whispers, a myth more than a reality. Yet here stands proof, undeniable and terrifying. “An alliance?” she echoes, her voice a mix of intrigue and caution. “With whom?”

Y/N’s gaze sharpens, and a ghost of a smile touches her lips. “With House Targaryen,” she says, the name carrying weight as if it alone could alter the course of history. “If you will accept it.”

The words hang in the air, filled with promise and threat alike. Rhaenyra and Daemon exchange a look, the gravity of what is being offered sinking in. The roar of the dragons has died away, leaving only the sound of the wind and the waves crashing against the rocks.

The Banshee shifts behind Y/N, its wings rustling like the ominous whisper of death itself. Rhaenyra takes a deep breath, stepping forward, her voice firm as she speaks. “Come inside,” she says, a queen’s command, but also an invitation. “We will speak more.”

Y/N inclines her head slightly, a gesture of acknowledgment, before turning to her beast. With a simple, fluid motion, she mounts the Banshee, the creature responding to her touch with a soft, almost affectionate growl. “I will come,” she says, her voice carrying across the distance. “But know this, Queen Rhaenyra—what I bring is not just an alliance, but the power to change the very destiny of your house.”

With that, the Banshee lets out one last, bone-chilling wail that echoes across the island. The creature takes to the skies, its massive wings beating against the wind as it rises into the air, carrying its rider away from the shore and into the stormy night.

Rhaenyra watches as the dark silhouette disappears into the clouds, her mind racing with a thousand questions, her heart heavy with the knowledge that whatever comes next, it will be like nothing Westeros has ever seen.

Daemon stands beside her, his eyes still fixed on the sky where the Banshee vanished. “We must be ready,” he says quietly, his voice laced with both determination and unease. “Whatever she brings, it will not be easily controlled.”

Rhaenyra nods, her gaze steely as she turns back toward the castle, already thinking of the steps she must take, the alliances she must forge, and the preparations she must make. “Then we shall be ready,” she replies, her voice firm with resolve. “For House Targaryen will not be brought low, not by dragons, and not by beasts.”

Together, they walk back into the heart of Dragonstone, the weight of their decisions pressing heavily upon them, the storm outside now a mere whisper compared to the storm that is yet to come.

The great hall of Dragonstone is eerily quiet, the only sound the occasional crackle of the fire in the hearth, its flames dancing in the dim light. The storm outside has settled into a steady, rhythmic beat against the stone walls, as if the very island holds its breath, waiting for what comes next.

Daemon Targaryen stands by the fire, his eyes fixed on the flames, deep in thought. The warmth of the fire does little to chase away the cold unease that has settled in his bones since the arrival of the stranger and her beast. Rhaenyra sits at the head of the table, her posture regal and composed, though her gaze is sharp and searching as it rests on the woman before them—Y/N, the self-proclaimed last of the Dragonslayers.

You stand before them, calm and composed, the flickering firelight casting shadows across your face. Your expression is inscrutable, your eyes reflecting a depth of experience and knowledge that stretches far beyond the walls of this ancient castle.

Daemon finally speaks, his voice low, but filled with the weight of old memories. “When I was a boy, I used to sit at my wet nurse’s feet as she told me the tales of old Valyria. Stories of dragons soaring above the world, of their might and majesty… and of the terror that once threatened them.” He turns his gaze from the fire to you, his eyes narrowing slightly. “She spoke of the Dragonslayers, warriors from an ancient order, born from the fear and hatred of those who had no other means to fight back against the dragons. It was said their beasts were as fearsome as the dragons themselves—monstrous creatures that could strike terror into the heart of even the most battle-hardened Targaryen.”

He pauses, his lips curving into a wry smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “But those were just stories. Tales meant to frighten children and remind us of our place in the world. When the Doom of Valyria came, the Dragonslayers were said to have perished along with the dragons. Swallowed by the same flames that consumed the Freehold.”

Daemon’s smile fades, replaced by a hard, calculating look. “So you must excuse me, Lady Y/N, if I find it difficult to believe that I now stand face to face with a ghost from those old tales. A Dragonslayer, here to negotiate with the very people her kind once hunted. It seems… unlikely, doesn’t it? Like a dragon holding court with a woman who eats dragons.”

Rhaenyra watches you intently, her fingers lightly drumming against the arm of her chair as she waits for your response. The tension in the room is felt, the air thick with unspoken questions and unvoiced fears.

You meet Daemon’s gaze without flinching, your expression unreadable as you consider his words. When you finally speak, your voice is steady, carrying an authority that demands attention. “You are right to be cautious, Prince Daemon. The tales of the Dragonslayers are shrouded in myth, and much has been lost to time. But make no mistake—those tales were born from truth. My order existed long before Valyria rose to power, and our purpose was never simply to destroy dragons.”

You pause, your eyes flicking between Daemon and Rhaenyra, measuring their reactions. “Our purpose was—and still is—balance. The world must be in balance, or it risks falling into chaos. The dragons of Valyria were a force of nature, powerful and wild. But when they were allowed to spread unchecked, to conquer and dominate, the balance was threatened.”

Rhaenyra leans forward slightly, her brow furrowed in thought. “And now? What is your purpose here, in Westeros? You say you seek balance, but what does that mean for my house? For my children?”

You turn your gaze to her, your expression softening slightly as you consider your words carefully. “The balance is delicate, Queen Rhaenyra. It is not my intention to see the dragons of Westeros wiped out. That would tip the scales too far in the other direction. The dragons are a part of this world, just as you are, just as I am. But if they are allowed to overwhelm this continent, to destroy all in their path, or if they are allowed to die out entirely, the balance will be lost. And when the balance is lost, it is not just the dragons that suffer—it is the entire world.”

Daemon’s eyes narrow as he considers your words, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, though he makes no move to draw it. “So you would see yourself as some kind of guardian, then? A protector of the balance? And what if that means turning against the very dragons you claim to protect?”

You meet his challenge with a steady gaze. “If it comes to that, Prince Daemon, then so be it. But understand this—my purpose is not to hunt dragons for sport or to seek vengeance for old wrongs. My purpose is to ensure that the world does not fall into chaos. If that means working with the dragons and their riders to maintain the balance, then that is what I will do.”

Rhaenyra exchanges a glance with Daemon, her expression one of deep contemplation. “And what would you ask of us, then?” she inquires, her tone thoughtful, though there is a note of steel beneath it. “What role do you see House Targaryen playing in this balance you speak of?”

You take a deep breath, your gaze steady as you address both of them. “House Targaryen is at the center of the storm that is coming. The dragons you command are both a weapon and a symbol, and their power must be wielded wisely. I offer you an alliance, a way to ensure that power is used to preserve the balance, rather than disrupt it.”

Daemon raises an eyebrow, his skepticism still evident. “And if we refuse?”

You smile faintly, a hint of something ancient and knowing in your expression. “Then the balance will be lost. And I will do what must be done to restore it, with or without your cooperation.”

Silence falls over the room, the weight of your words sinking in. Rhaenyra’s eyes flicker with a mix of emotions—fear, determination, and something akin to respect. She finally rises from her chair, stepping toward you, her gaze unwavering.

“You speak of balance, but know this—we are not easily swayed, and we do not take threats lightly,” she says, her voice strong and clear. “But if you are truly here to preserve this balance, then we will consider your offer. For the sake of our children, and for the future of this realm.”

You incline your head slightly, acknowledging her words. “That is all I ask, Queen Rhaenyra. Consider my offer, and know that I am not your enemy. Not unless you make me one.”

Daemon watches you closely, his hand still resting on his sword, but for now, he remains silent, his thoughts unreadable.

Rhaenyra turns to him, her expression one of quiet resolve. “We will speak more of this, Daemon. But for now, we must be cautious. This alliance may be what we need to ensure the survival of our house.”

Daemon nods slowly, his gaze still locked on you. “Very well,” he says, his voice low and thoughtful. “But know this, Lady Y/N—if you betray us, if you threaten what is ours, you will find that dragons are not so easily tamed.”

You smile slightly, a knowing glint in your eyes. “Nor are Dragonslayers, Prince Daemon. But I hope it does not come to that.”

With that, the tension in the room begins to ease, though the underlying unease remains. The fire crackles softly in the hearth, and the storm outside continues to rage, a reminder that the true storm has only just begun.

The night has settled over Dragonstone with a profound stillness, the earlier storm having finally exhausted itself. The air is cool and crisp, carrying the scent of the sea, and above, the sky is a vast canvas of stars, twinkling like distant, forgotten fires. The castle itself is quiet, the flames of the torches flickering softly in their sconces, casting long shadows across the ancient stone.

Rhaenyra finds herself drawn to the open balcony, her steps light as she moves through the corridors, her thoughts still heavy with the weight of the day’s revelations. As she approaches, she sees you standing there, your back to her, gazing up at the night sky with a stillness that almost seems inhuman. The soft light of the stars bathes you in an ethereal glow, and for a moment, Rhaenyra is struck by your presence. There is something otherworldly about you, a beauty that is both mesmerizing and unsettling, even to one of Targaryen blood, who is no stranger to the idea of beings who are not entirely of this world.

Your figure is tall and graceful, your hair catching the faint light as it moves gently in the breeze. Your clothes, simple yet elegant, seem almost to blend with the shadows, as if you are a part of the night itself. There is an air of timelessness about you, something ancient and enduring, and it stirs a deep curiosity within Rhaenyra, a need to understand the enigma that is Y/N.

You speak before she can announce her presence, your voice soft but clear, carrying the weight of knowledge and memory. “It is said that my people came from those stars,” you begin, still gazing upward, your eyes tracing the patterns in the sky. “Long ago, when the world was young, their ship crumbled down in fire, crashing into what would become the Valyrian Freehold. Can you imagine it, Rhaenyra? A ship that sails among the stars, crossing the vast emptiness between worlds?”

Rhaenyra pauses at your words, her breath catching as she considers the image you’ve painted. The idea is both wondrous and terrifying, something beyond the scope of anything she has ever known. She steps closer, her eyes moving from your figure to the sky above, trying to see what you see.

“It’s a beautiful thought,” she says softly, “but also a frightening one. The idea that something so vast, so unknowable, could exist out there. Or worse, that there might be nothing at all. We would be so small… so insignificant.”

You finally turn to face her, your eyes meeting hers with a look that is both kind and ancient, as if you hold secrets that span the ages. “That is the truth of it, isn’t it? The vastness of the universe, the endless expanse of stars… it can make one feel so very small. All the battles we fight, all the kingdoms we build… in the end, they are but whispers in the wind compared to the forces that drive this world and all the others.”

Rhaenyra’s gaze softens as she looks at you, the intensity of your words resonating deep within her. She takes another step closer, her voice tinged with gratitude as she speaks. “I wanted to thank you… for what you did for Lucerys. You saved my son’s life. For that, I am in your debt.”

You incline your head slightly, acknowledging her thanks with a faint smile. “What I did was just,” you reply simply, as if there could be no other course of action. “The boy’s life was not meant to end that day.”

Rhaenyra studies you, her curiosity growing, fueled by the mysteriousness that surrounds you. She has faced dragons and men alike, but there is something about you that captivates her in a way she does not fully understand. “You said you were the last of your kind,” she begins, her voice gentle but probing. “Does that mean you have no family left?”

You turn back to the sky, your expression unreadable as you consider her question. “There are a few others of my order,” you say after a moment, your voice touched with a hint of melancholy. “They are scattered across the world, trying to survive as best they can. But they are not of my blood. My true family… they are gone.”

Rhaenyra feels a pang of sympathy at your words, a sudden connection to the pain you carry. She knows the weight of loss, the emptiness it leaves behind. “I am sorry,” she says quietly, her voice filled with genuine compassion. “To be the last of your kind… it must be a heavy burden.”

You nod slightly, your gaze distant as you continue to stare at the stars. “It is,” you admit, your voice softening with the weight of memory. “But it is the burden I was born to bear. The last of my bloodline, the last of those who once stood against the might of dragons. My family was everything to me… and now, they are nothing but memories and dust.”

Rhaenyra steps closer, standing beside you now, her gaze also turning upward to the stars. She feels a strange sense of kinship with you, this woman who has seen so much, who carries so much pain within her. “I understand what it is to lose those you love,” she says quietly, her voice filled with a sadness that mirrors your own. “I have lost many, and I fear I may lose more before this is over.”

You turn to her, your eyes searching hers, seeing the strength and sorrow within her. “That is the way of the world, Rhaenyra,” you say softly, your tone both comforting and resigned. “We are all bound by the same fate—loss, pain, and eventually, death. But it is what we do with the time we have, the choices we make, that define us. We must find the strength to carry on, even when all seems lost.”

Rhaenyra nods, her heart heavy with the truth of your words. She takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself, to find the resolve she needs to face the challenges ahead. “I will do what I must,” she says, her voice filled with quiet determination. “For my family, for my children… for the future of this realm.”

You give her a small, understanding smile, a flicker of something almost like pride in your eyes. “You have the strength within you, Rhaenyra Targaryen,” you say, your voice firm with conviction. “I see it, just as I see the stars above. You are meant to be more than a queen—you are meant to be a force that shapes the world.”

Rhaenyra feels a surge of emotion at your words, a mix of fear, hope, and a deep, unspoken bond with this woman who seems to understand her better than anyone. She looks back at you, her gaze filled with both gratitude and a growing respect. “And what of you, Y/N?” she asks softly. “What is your place in this world, now that you are the last of your kind?”

You turn away from the stars to meet her gaze once more, your expression resolute. “My place is wherever I am needed,” you say simply. “I will do what must be done to preserve the balance, to ensure that this world does not fall into chaos. Whether that means standing beside you, or against you, remains to be seen.”

Rhaenyra nods slowly, understanding the gravity of your words. She feels a deep respect for you, for the strength and resolve you carry, and she knows that your path and hers are now intertwined, whether by fate or by choice.

For a moment, the two of you stand together in silence, gazing up at the stars, each lost in your own thoughts, yet connected by the shared understanding of the burdens you bear. The night is a vast and heavy dread of what lies ahead, but in this moment, there is a sense of calm, of quiet resolution, as if the stars themselves have blessed this fragile alliance.

The morning sun has risen over Dragonstone, casting a warm, golden glow across the ancient stone walls and the restless sea beyond. The storm of the previous night has left the air fresh and crisp, with only a few lingering clouds on the horizon. The castle is stirring with life, as servants go about their duties and the guards stand watchful at their posts.

You are standing in the courtyard, the early light catching in your hair, giving it a strange, almost ethereal sheen. You are calm, composed, your posture relaxed as you watch the sea, seemingly lost in thought. The events of the previous night, the tension, and the conversations have left their mark, but you show no outward sign of it. You stand there, a figure of quiet strength, almost as if you belong to another time, another world.

Luke approaches you cautiously, his small feet making soft sounds against the stone. He is dressed in simple, practical clothing, appropriate for the heir of a noble house, but his expression is one of nervousness and gratitude. His young face is still pale from the fear of his encounter at Storm's End, but there is also determination in his eyes, a resolve to confront what haunts him.

He stops a few paces away from you, hesitant at first. “Lady Y/N,” he begins, his voice small but earnest. “I… I wanted to thank you. For what you did at Storm’s End. You saved my life.”

You turn to him, a gentle smile curving your lips as you look down at the boy. There is a kindness in your eyes that seems to ease his nerves, though the depth of your gaze still holds a mystery that he cannot quite grasp. “You owe me no thanks, young prince,” you say softly, your voice steady and warm. “I did what was just.”

Luke swallows, glancing down at the ground for a moment before looking back up at you. “But… Aemond,” he continues, his voice trembling slightly at the name. “He won’t forget what you did. He’ll come after you. He won’t stop until… until he gets what he wants.”

You regard him with calm assurance, unbothered by the warning. There is a quiet power in the way you stand, as if the threats of men and dragons alike hold no sway over you. “Let him come,” you reply, your tone even, as if discussing something as mundane as the weather. “Aemond Targaryen is not the first to seek revenge against me, nor will he be the last. I have faced dragons before, and I have survived them. If he wishes to challenge me, then he will learn that some battles are not so easily won.”

Luke looks at you with a mixture of awe and confusion, struggling to understand the depth of your confidence. He is young, and the world is still a place of fear and uncertainty to him, but your words carry a weight that he cannot ignore. “But… aren’t you afraid?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

You tilt your head slightly, considering the question with a faint smile. “Fear is a natural thing, young prince,” you say gently. “But I have learned that there are things far greater and more terrifying than a man or his dragon. We are all small in the grand scheme of things, and what we fear today may be forgotten tomorrow. What matters is how we face that fear—whether we let it control us, or whether we rise above it.”

Luke nods slowly, taking in your words. There is a wisdom in them that speaks to him, even if he doesn’t fully understand it yet. He looks up at you with a newfound respect, feeling a little braver, a little stronger in your presence. “I’ll remember that,” he says softly, his voice filled with a quiet determination.

As you and Luke speak, Rhaenyra watches from a distance, her eyes flicking toward you every so often. She stands near one of the arches that lead out to the courtyard, her gaze following the interaction between you and her son. There is something in the way she observes you—a mixture of curiosity, admiration, and perhaps a touch of something more that she doesn’t fully acknowledge, even to herself.

Rhaenyra notices the ease with which you speak to Luke, the way your presence seems to calm him, to give him strength. There is a grace in your movements, a calm assurance that draws her attention, almost as if you are a beacon of light in the chaos that surrounds them all. She sees the way Luke looks up at you, his young face filled with awe, and she cannot help but feel the same pull, the same captivation.

She remembers the conversation from the night before, the way you spoke of balance, of the vastness of the universe and the insignificance of their struggles in the grand scheme of things. It had left her feeling both humbled and intrigued, as if she were standing on the edge of some great revelation, something that could change everything she thought she knew.

But now, as she watches you with her son, she sees another side of you—a protector, a guide, someone who understands the fears of a boy and can ease them with nothing more than a few well-chosen words. It is a quality that Rhaenyra cannot help but admire, and it deepens the connection she feels toward you, a bond that is growing stronger with each passing moment.

Luke takes a deep breath, standing a little taller now as he looks up at you. “Thank you, Lady Y/N,” he says, his voice more confident this time. “For everything.”

You nod, giving him a reassuring smile. “You are a brave young man, Luke. Never forget that. The world is a dangerous place, but you have the strength within you to face whatever comes. Trust in that.”

Luke smiles, a small, genuine smile that lights up his face, and then he turns to go, feeling a little more at peace with the world. As he walks away, he glances back at you one last time, as if to hold onto the strength you have given him.

Rhaenyra steps forward as Luke leaves, approaching you with a mixture of caution and curiosity. “He admires you,” she says softly, her voice carrying a note of gratitude and something more, something she does not name.

You turn to her, your expression thoughtful as you meet her gaze. “He is a good boy,” you reply. “He will grow into a strong man, one who will carry the weight of his name with honor. But he is still young, and the world is full of challenges he has yet to face.”

Rhaenyra nods, her eyes lingering on your face, taking in the details of your features, the way the light plays across your skin. There is something almost hypnotic about you, something that draws her in, and she finds herself feeling a connection that she cannot fully explain. “I can see why he admires you,” she says softly, her voice tinged with both respect and something deeper, something that stirs within her like the rising tide.

You hold her gaze, your expression unreadable, but there is a softness in your eyes, a recognition of the connection that is forming between the two of you. “And I can see why you care for him so deeply,” you reply, your voice gentle, almost tender. “He is your son, your legacy. You have given him strength, Rhaenyra, just as you will need to give him guidance in the days to come.”

Rhaenyra nods again, feeling a surge of emotion at your words. There is a bond forming between you, something that goes beyond mere friendship or alliance. It is a connection born of shared understanding, of mutual respect, and perhaps even of something more, something that neither of you is ready to name just yet.

For a moment, the two of you stand there in the courtyard, the world around you falling away as you share a quiet, unspoken understanding. The sun continues to rise, casting its golden light across the castle, and in that light, the bond between you and Rhaenyra grows stronger, deepening with every passing moment.

And in the distance, the sea continues to churn, its waves crashing against the shore, a reminder that the world is vast and full of challenges. But in this moment, on this morning, there is peace, and there is a connection.

#hotd rhaenyra #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd x female reader #hotd x y/n #hotd x reader #hotd x you #rhaenyra x y/n #rhaenyra x reader #rhaenyra x you #rhaenyra x female reader #rhaenyra targaryen

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flatlanderhank · 2 years

Photo

No big deal, just checking if there might be lake-monsters swimming around beneath the #ice 🤪 #sunlit #silhouette (at Scott, Saskatchewan) https://www.instagram.com/p/ClPyj9qLeSI/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#ice #sunlit #silhouette

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beekeeperspicnic · 2 years

Text

Let's play... Bella or Watson?

While waiting for the next Letters from Watson email to arrive, fancy joining me in a little game of BELLA OR WATSON?

Some of these statements were written by Dr John H Watson about his friend Mr Sherlock Holmes. Some were written by Bella Swan about Edward, the hot teenage vampire from Twilight.

[IMG Silhouettes of Dr Watson and Bella Swan, text reads Watson or Bella]

(This was inspired by a tumblr post, but I'm afraid it's lost to the mists of ancient dash for me by now. Answers are under the cut!]

With his long, white, nervous fingers he adjusted [REDACTED], and [REDACTED].

glanced sideways at the beautiful [REDACTED], who was [REDACTED], [REDACTED] with long, pale fingers

His eyes were gloriously intense as he uttered that last sentence

I turned and he was leaning toward me, his pale, glorious face just inches from mine.

In the darkness he looked much more normal. Still pale, still dreamlike in his beauty, but no longer the fantastic sparkling creature of our sunlit afternoon.

In height he was rather over six feet, and so excessively lean that he seemed to be considerably taller. His eyes were sharp and piercing Watson or Bella?

His face flushed and darkened. His brows were drawn into two hard black lines, while his eyes shone out from beneath them with a steely glitter.

An instant later he pulled me back into the blackest corner of the room, and I felt his warning hand upon my lips. The fingers which clutched me were shivering.

It was worth a wound—it was worth many wounds—to know the depth of loyalty and love which lay behind that cold mask. The clear, hard eyes were dimmed for a moment, and the firm lips were shaking.

ANSWERS UNDER THE CUT

Question 1 - Watson

With his long, white, nervous fingers he adjusted the delicate needle, and rolled back his left shirt-cuff.

Question 2 - Bella

I glanced sideways at the beautiful boy, who was looking at his tray now, picking a bagel to pieces with long, pale fingers

Question 3 - Watson His nostrils seemed to dilate with a purely animal lust for the chase

Question 4 - Bella His eyes were gloriously intense as he uttered that last sentence

Question 5 - Bella

I turned and he was leaning toward me, his pale, glorious face just inches from mine.

Question 6 - Bella

In the darkness he looked much more normal. Still pale, still dreamlike in his beauty, but no longer the fantastic sparkling creature of our sunlit afternoon

Question 7 - Watson

In height he was rather over six feet, and so excessively lean that he seemed to be considerably taller. His eyes were sharp and piercing

Question 8 - Watson

His face flushed and darkened. His brows were drawn into two hard black lines, while his eyes shone out from beneath them with a steely glitter.

Question 9 - Watson

An instant later he pulled me back into the blackest corner of the room, and I felt his warning hand upon my lips. The fingers which clutched me were shivering.

Question 10 - Yup, still Watson

It was worth a wound—it was worth many wounds—to know the depth of loyalty and love which lay behind that cold mask. The clear, hard eyes were dimmed for a moment, and the firm lips were shaking.

#letters from watson #sherlock holmes #twilight #twilight saga #dr watson #john watson #bella swan #bella or watson #acd holmes #johnlock #acd canon #acd johnlock

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foreverisntenough · 15 days

Text

‘Act II’

Summary: Attraction is like a gravitational pull that is undefinable and unavoidable. Unbeknownst to you, Jude had been keeping an eye on you since he caught a glimpse on his best friend’s girlfriend’s Instagram but he’s been loving his single life. You always were independent and know how to swim on your own but maybe you have been just treading water. Could the tides change on a holiday in Greece when you finally meet? It might get a little rocky but maybe you could be his paradise.

Index

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series! ‘Act II’ is interconnected to the 'You’re Mine' and 'Ours' Series but can read it independently.

Chapter 4 - Oldest Friend | ‘Act II’

word count - 11.8

The two of you decided to go back to familiar ways and sit outside in your bathing suits by the pool wrapped in each other’s company. There was no anxiety, no uncertainty—just the two of you, finally alone, finally able to be together without the weight of the outside world pressing down on you. Jude reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek.

"Today was perfect," he murmured, his voice low and filled with emotion. You smiled up at Jude, feeling the warmth of his touch and the sincerity in his words.

“Yeah?" you questioned him softly, leaning into him, your lips brushing against his in a tender kiss that quickly deepened, the promise of what was to come hanging in the air between you. As you curled up against him, feeling his arms tighten around you, you knew that this moment—this quiet, perfect moment—was one you were enjoying too much and it was terrifying. When Jude tucked inside to go grab you both something to drink he caught himself standing by the window, his eyes fixated on you lounging by the pool before he returned. Your silhouette was captivating against the sunlit backdrop of his Madrid home. He couldn't help but feel drawn to you in a way that was both confusing and exhilarating. There was something about you that was intoxicating, a mystery he was desperate to solve. Every word that came out of your mouth was like a puzzle piece, hinting at something deeper, something you never intended for anyone to see.

You grew up living a life many would envy but few truly understand. Your childhood was one of privilege and prestige, cocooned in a world of private schools, penthouse apartments, and summers split between the Hamptons and Côte d'Azur. Your parents were French expats who had found their fortune in the glitzy world of film. Your dad retired early, his wealth nearly obscene, opting to buy vineyards in Burgundy and live the life of a refined vintner. You were born there in France then moved to the United Stated but back to France shortly after. You lived in a sprawling apartment in the 7th arrondissement, filled with exquisite antiques and modern art. Your father’s success in film had not only bought him vineyards but also a lifestyle that many could only dream of. However, beneath the surface of this seemingly perfect family lay a complicated web of emotional neglect and unmet needs. Your parents, wrapped up in their own pursuits and societal status, often used money, lavish gifts, and trips to other homes around the world to compensate for their absence. They tried to keep a genuine connection but it was often though the phone. This emotionally cold upbringing left its mark on you. You had everything you could ever want materially. Although, you grew up without the warmth and emotional security you craved, something Jude clearly seemed to experience the exact opposite of. You learned early on that love and affection in your family were conditional, transactional, something that could be bought and sold just like the art pieces in your gallery. This realization made you cautious, a self-preserving instinct kicking in that taught you to protect your heart and to rely on yourself for your emotional needs. Despite the glamorous veneer of your life, you often felt a profound loneliness and used hook ups to fill that. Although you had Whitney of course. She was your closest confidant, the one person who understood the strange blend of opulence and emptiness that colored your childhood. You were bonded by your shared experience, but even with her, there were things you could never fully express—wounds that went deeper than words. After finishing your education at a prestigious private school in Paris, you returned to New York, eager to carve out a space of your own. You had always been drawn to art, finding in it an emotional resonance that you couldn't find anywhere else. You pursued your passion relentlessly, eventually opening your own gallery in downtown Manhattan. Your gallery quickly gained a reputation for its cutting-edge exhibitions and the way it seamlessly blended contemporary art with more classical influences. You were stunningly beautiful, with a look that turned heads wherever you went. You allure undeniable and enigmatic. Yet, behind the captivating exterior, you were a complex blend of vulnerability and strength, a woman who had learned to use your looks to your advantage but never let them define you. Men were drawn to you like moths to a flame, and you enjoyed their attention but never let it go beyond the surface. You used them for sex, a fleeting connection that never demanded more than you were willing to give. They were like your art—beautiful to behold, to experience, but not something you were willing to let into your inner world. Though you portrayed an image of effortless confidence and control, deep down, you longed for something more meaningful. You desired a connection that wasn’t superficial, a love that wasn’t just a transaction, but something real and raw, something that didn’t need to be bought or proven. Yet, your experiences had made you cautious. You built walls around your heart, protecting yourself from being hurt by the very thing you longed for the most. Your life was a series of contrasts—luxury and emptiness, beauty and solitude, strength and vulnerability.

Jude sighed wondering just all that. Who were you? You looked stunning, your bikini revealing just enough to be alluring without being obvious and as much he appreciated your outer shell he wanted to know what went on in that head of yours. The way the sun kissed your skin gave you an almost angelic glow, contrasting sharply with the cool, guarded demeanor you usually wore like armor. Jude knew there was more to you—something softer, sweeter, hidden beneath that hard exterior. He had seen glimpses of it in your quiet moments together, in the way your eyes softened when you weren’t paying attention or the way you laughed when you thought no one was listening. He was determined to see more. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever came next. The sunny late summer air was warm on his skin as he stepped outside, walking toward you with a casual confidence he didn’t quite feel. He dropped down beside you on the lounge chair, reaching over to playfully pinch your waist. You squealed in surprise, your body jolting slightly as you turned to look at him. Your reaction made him smile, but it was the way your lips curled into the most beautiful smile he had ever seen that made his heart skip a beat. There was something so genuine about it, a softness that you rarely showed.

"Hi." You simply greeted him with a giggle. You tilted your head, your hair falling effortlessly over your shoulders Jude’s breath caught in his throat. For a moment, he was speechless, lost in the depth of your eyes and the warmth of your smile. He couldn’t remember the last time a single word had such a profound effect on him.

“Hey,” he finally managed to say, his voice a little rougher than he intended.

“You look happy,” you noted, your tone light, but your eyes held a hint of curiosity, as if you were trying to read his mind.

“I am,” he replied, and it was the truth. He felt happier in this moment than he had in a long time. “Just enjoying the view.” He cooed. You rolled your eyes but smiled, a soft blush coloring your cheeks.

“Smooth, Judey. You’re very smooth.” You giggled. Jude chuckled. He waved you to scoot over on your chair. His arms around you fast as he slid next to your body before leaning back in the chair, his gaze never leaving your face.

“I mean it. I like having you here. I like… getting to know you.” He smiled, playing with a piece of your hair. There was a flicker of something in your eyes—hesitation, maybe even fear. But then it was gone, replaced by the familiar guardedness he was beginning to know well.

“You already know me, Jude,” you said lightly, though he could hear the edge in your voice.

“Not as much as I’d like to,” he admitted, his tone earnest. “I want to know everything about you, Y/N.” Jude, despite his love for a playboy lifestyle, was a significantly more open and emotional than you. He was close with his parents, his brother, his friends, he felt comfortable opening up. It was scary for him, sure, but he’d done it before. A significant more amount of times you had. Although he had never been this candid with a girl before and certainly not one he met only two weeks ago.

“Why?” You asked softly, almost to yourself. You glanced away, your gaze shifting to the shimmering water of the pool

“Because there’s something about you that I can’t get enough of,” he confessed. “You’re like… I don’t know. What’s a really beautiful painting?” He asked you and you couldn’t help but giggle at the overzealous nature of what he was trying to say. “I want to study you, to understand you. You’re beautiful, but there’s so much more to you than that.” He confessed. Your lips parted in surprise, your breath hitching. For a moment, you seemed at a loss for words, your guarded expression softening into something more vulnerable.

“Wow. I erm…I don’t know if I’m ready for someone to know all of me though. Maybe I’m just one of those paintings that’s meant to be behind the glass.” You whispered, your voice barely audible over the soft breeze. Jude’s heart ached at the admission, at the raw honesty in your voice. He wanted to pull you into his arms, to hold you and tell you that it was okay, that he wasn’t going anywhere. Tell you that he didn’t mind the glass protection. In fact, he understood it.

“That’s okay, angel,” he said softly, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “I’m not going anywhere though, Y/N. If the glass ever comes down, I’m here. But I understand.” He cooed. You looked at him for a long moment, your eyes searching his for something he hoped you found. Finally, you nodded, your lips curling into a small, grateful but sad smile.

“Thank you,” you whispered. Jude smiled back, his heart swelling with something he wasn’t quite ready to name. But as he looked at you, he knew one thing for sure: he wanted to be the one to remove that glass, to see the real you. And he was willing to do whatever it took to make that happen.

The morning sun streamed through the curtains of Jude's bedroom, casting a warm, golden light over the room. The soft, lazy glow bathed the bed where you and Jude laid entwined beneath the sheets, the world outside forgotten as they enjoyed the rare luxury of a day without responsibilities. Jude stretched slightly, wincing as the soreness from yesterday’s training reminded him of the bruises and aches that came with football fast approaching again. He let out a low groan, rubbing a hand over his shoulder as he settled back into the pillows. You, who had been resting your head on his chest, looked up at him with a playful smirk, your eyes bright and mischievous.

“Sore, are we?” You teased, your fingers tracing light circles over his chest, the touch soothing yet electrifying.

“You could say that,” Jude replied with a grin, his eyes half-lidded as he gazed down at you. Despite the discomfort, he felt an overwhelming sense of contentment. The softness of the morning, the warmth of your body against his—it all made the soreness a minor inconvenience. “But I’ve had worse.” He smirked lazily.

“Well, let’s see if I can make it better,” You murmured, your voice low and sultry. You shifted slightly, trailing your hand down his torso, your fingers dancing over his skin in a way that sent a shiver through him. The way you looked at him, with that blend of affection and desire, made his heart race in a way that no game ever could. Jude let out a soft chuckle, his hand sliding into your hair as he pulled her closer.

“You’re dangerous, you know that?” he whispered, his lips brushing against your forehead. You laughed, the sound light and teasing.

“Maybe,” you said, pressing a kiss to his collarbone, your lips lingering as you spoke. “But I’m good at it.” You giggled.

“Too good,” Jude agreed, a smirk playing on his lips. He shifted slightly, despite the soreness, so that he could wrap his arms more securely around you, pulling you fully on top of him. “You might be the reason I never leave this bed today.” He cooed. Your eyes sparkled with amusement as you looked down at him, your hair falling in a cascade around them, creating a private little world where only the two of them existed.

“I wouldn’t mind that,” you whispered, your voice soft yet heavy with meaning. Jude’s heart swelled at your words, a wave of emotion washing over him that he hadn’t expected. As he looked up at you, he realized just how happy he was to have you here, in his home, in his bed. The past week with you had been more than just fun—they had been… right. The kind of right that made him question everything he thought he knew about himself and what he wanted. “I need to go soon.” You dramatically pouted at him. That was a fairly unfortunate truth. You were scheduled to leave Spain tonight.

“Nah, you need to take this off.” Jude cheekily cooed, dropping his tone. His hands began to roam all over you pulling at your clothes.

“Seriously, I have to shower and pack.” You frowned for real this time. You genuinely were sad but were trying hard not to deep it too much.

“Stay with me a little longer,” he found himself saying, his voice softer now, almost vulnerable. The words slipped out before he had time to second-guess them, but he knew they were true. “I like having you here, Y/N. A lot more than I expected.” You blinked, the teasing smile fading from your lips as you met his gaze. There was a flicker of surprise in your eyes, followed by something softer, more tender. You searched his face, as if trying to figure out if he really meant what he was saying.

“You mean that?” You asked quietly, your fingers stilling against his chest.

“Yeah, I do. I didn’t expect to feel like this, but… I don’t want you to go just yet. I want… more. I want more of you.” Jude nodded, his expression serious now. Your heart fluttered in your chest, a mix of excitement and fear coursing through you. You had been so careful not to let yourself get too attached, to keep your distance emotionally. But the way Jude was looking at you now, with that mix of hope and sincerity, made it hard to hold back.

“I’ve been thinking about it… and I’m not sure I’m ready to leave either.” You admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I think I need more.” You tentatively smiled. Jude’s lips curved into a slow smile, his hands tightening on your waist as he pulled you down for a kiss. It was soft and unhurried, a promise of the lazy day you had ahead of yourselves, a day where you could just be together without worrying about what came next. When you finally pulled apart, you rested your forehead against his, your heart pounding in your chest.

“So, what’s the plan then?” You asked, a hint of playfulness returning to you voice. “Stay in bed all day?”

“That sounds like a good start,” he murmured with a chuckle, the sound warm and content as his hands slid up your back, his touch sending sparks of heat through you. “And maybe, if I’m feeling up to it, we can move to the couch later.”

“I think I can handle that.” You laughed, the sound light and full of joy. Jude smiled, his heart swelling with a happiness he hadn’t expected to find. As you settled back into the pillows, you snuggled into his side, he realized that for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t worried about what came next. He was just happy to be here, with you, in this moment. Jude’s hand trailed down your back, sending shivers down your spine.

"Right now let's stay here though, yeah?" He nuzzled into your neck, his warm breath causing goosebumps to rise on your skin. Jude gently pushed you from your side onto your back, his eyes burning with desire as he peeled off your clothes, relishing in the gradual sight of your naked body. Your heart began to race when he spread your legs, revealing your glistening pussy to him. Honestly, you were already aroused from the moment you woke up with that boy next to you. Jude leaned down, his tongue tracing a path from your knee up your inner thigh, each touch sending sparks of pleasure through your body. As he reached your core, he blew gently, the cool air contrasting with the heat between your legs. You gasped, arching your back, as if you were offering yourself to him. When his tongue finally made contact, he teasingly flicked your clit gently. You let out sinful moans, the sound filling the bedroom. Jude was a master of his craft, and he took his time, teasing you with soft licks and gentle sucks and just when you're close to the edge, he’d stoped, leaving you teetering on the precipice of ecstasy.

"Please, Jude," you begged, your voice hoarse with need. "Please let me cum already." You asked desperately after his third round edging you. Jude laughed, the sound sending vibrations through your whole body.

"Not yet, angel, I have plans for you." He smirked and with that, he reached for his phone on the bedside table, his fingers deftly navigating the screen.

"What are you doing?" you asked almost in a panic, your curiosity piqued but your desperation at a boiling point, your body craved release.

"Changing your flight," he replied, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "I told you I don’t want you to go just yet unless you changed your mind. I can just get up.” He teasingly offered with a smug smile. You simultaneously wanted to scream with impatience but also pout at how much you liked that he was changing your flight because he wanted you to stay. You felt a true rush of excitement and relief that he wanted more of you, more mornings like this.

"Oh," you breathed deeply trying to compose yourself but your voice was heavy with desire. “Okay, thank you.” You mumbled shutting your eyes and dropping your head back into the pillow accepting that you’d have to wait a moment.

"You’re welcome, baby" Jude cooed as his tongue suddenly resumed its dance, lapping at your sensitive bundle of nerves. You gasped at the suddenness. He slid a finger inside you, curling it to hit that sweet spot you felt like he had discovered just for him. You cried out, your body trembling as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. Just as you were about to climax, he slowed down again, his finger stroking a more leisurely pace.

"Please, baby!" you pleaded, your words almost becoming incoherent as pleasure consumed you.

"Shh," Jude soothed you, his breath hot against your throbbing pussy. "I'll let you cum, but you promise to stay a little longer?" He smiled and you nodded frantically, a little confused because you thought you told him that already but anything to feel the release he'd been teasing you with. He chuckled, taking pity on you. He devoured your pussy with renewed fervor. His tongue worked in rhythm with his fingers, driving you wild. You clutched the sheets, your body tensing as your orgasm built to an explosive peak. "That's it, baby, cum for me," Jude encouraged you, his voice thick with desire. You whined his name as your body shuddered, waves of pleasure rippling through you. Jude didn’t stop though, he milked your orgasm, drawing it out until you were a trembling, satisfied mess. As you came down from your high, Jude kissed his way up your body, his lips claiming yours in a passionate embrace. You could taste yourself on his tongue, and it sends a fresh wave of desire coursing through you.

"That was… that was so fucking good," you whispered, running your hand over his slightly messy hair. “Why would I ever leave?” You cheekily asked him, moving to cup his cheek. In swift succession Jude positioned himself above you, his hard length straining against his boxers. His eyes went dark with want. His cock thick and long. You couldn’t wait to feel him inside you. You reach for his boxers, eager to free him, but he caught your hand.

"Not yet," he breathed, his voice a bit strained. "I want to be inside that pretty mouth first." He gently pushed your head towards his hard on, and you obliged, taking him in, swirling your tongue around the head, tasting his salty pre-cum. Jude moaned, his hands gripping you as you took him deeper, your hands caressing his firm ass. "Fuck, YN," he grunts, his hips thrusting gently, guiding you. You sucked and licked, taking him to the back of your throat, your hand stroking the base of his shaft. Jude's control seems to be slipping rapidly, his thrusts becoming more urgent. He pulled out, his cock glistening with your saliva. “I need to be inside you.” He growled, positioning himself between your thighs, With one smooth thrust, he filled you, his length stretching you deliciously. “You're not leaving. Too good of a girl f’me.” He cooed as you gasped, your eyes widening at the intensity of the sensation. Jude began to move, his hips snapping forward, pounding into you with a primal need. The bed creaking beneath the force of his thrusts, and you matching his rhythm, meeting him thrust for thrust.

"God, you’re so fucking hot." You whined. He grunted, his eyes locked on yours, your praise only fueling him. Your nails dug into his back muscles as you clung to him. “Jude, fuck! You’re so fucking deep.” You moaned when he repositioned you, picking up one of your legs drilling into you somehow impossibly deeper. Jude reached between you, his skilled fingers finding your clit, rubbing it in perfect sync with his powerful strokes.

“'Gonna make you cum again, yeah?" he panted, his voice hoarse. "Cum all over my cock, angel. Make a mess f’me." He commanded you to and as if possible, you listened just letting go of any control you had. You were a moaning mess as your high crashed over you. Your whines now matching the rhythm of his thrusts. Your lips stuck parted as he fucked you into another orgasm. The knot in your stomach coming completely undone. Your pussy gushing around his thick girth in uncontrollable squirts. The release causing your body to shudder. “God, you’re so fucking hot.” Jude groaned watching you. He continued hitting a spot deep within you, your pussy pulsating, milking his length. Your pussy gripped so tight and intensely around his cock as you came Jude couldn’t hold back his own release. He pumped you full of his warm cum, spurting into you while your pussy throbbed. You stayed in that position. Refusing to pull his cock out, preventing any of his cum from spilling out as he rolled his hips a few more times into you. As your orgasms slowly subsided, Jude collapsed onto the bed beside you, pulling you close, his breath ragged. "I think I can get used to mornings like this," he said, planting a tender kiss on your forehead. You smile, snuggling into his embrace, pretty okay if all your mornings were just like this one.

Returning to New York felt surreal after your extended holiday in Madrid with Jude was extended a little further. The city was buzzing with life as usual, but there was a new layer of nostalgia coating everything you saw. On your early morning run through Central Park, you couldn’t help but smile when you spotted a jogger wearing a Bellingham #5 Real Madrid jersey. It was like he was there reminding you just how much you missed him, even though he was thousands of miles away the ache was there. Without thinking, you quickly texted him, the familiarity of even seeing his name on your phone brought a warm feeling to your chest.

‘Just saw your jersey in Central Park xx’

As you continued your run, you decided to call Whitney to catch up. It felt good to hear her voice, her playful energy always bringing you a sense of home no matter where you were or where she was. You were deep in conversation, laughing about some silly story she was telling, when your phone buzzed with an incoming call. You glanced at the screen and saw Jude’s name flashing.

“Whit, sorry someone else is calling me,” you interrupted her mid-sentence, your voice slightly breathless from the run and the excitement of hearing from him. You couldn’t hold back the grin pulling your lips.

“Oh, Jude, huh?” Whitney teased, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Of course, answer, answer. Tell him I say hi, and that he should be thankful I’m sharing your attention.” She giggled. You rolled your eyes, smiling as you switched over to his call.

“Hi,” you meekly greeted him, trying to sound casual even though your heart skipped a beat at the sound of his voice. You slowed your pace, your feet hitting the pavement in a steady rhythm, your mind racing with thoughts of him.

“You were thinking about me?” Jude asked cheekily, his tone playful, but there was something more beneath it, something tender. “Was just thinking of that pretty face too, you know. I was going to call you anyway, see if you were awake.” He told you and you were fairly sure your heart grew three sizes. You stopped your run and began to walk needing to focus solely on him.

“You know I always get up early,” you reminded him with a soft laugh. It was a habit of yours he’d come to know well. Even if he wasn’t exactly a morning person, Jude missed feeling you kiss him in the morning before slipping out of his bed.

“Yeah, I know, angel. You used to wake me up with you, remember? And as annoying as it was,” he teased lightly, but there was a longing in his voice that he couldn’t quite hide. “I miss it… I miss you.” Jude sighed on the other end of the line, a sound that made your chest tighten. “Needed an excuse to call though, didn’t I?” Jude smiled hearing a slight giggle and hum from your end. His words hung in the air between you, the distance suddenly feeling more tangible. It was strange to be back in New York, in your own space, yet feeling like a part of you was still back in Madrid with him.

“I miss you too,” you admitted quietly, the truth of it all sinking in. Being back in the city was supposed to feel like coming home, but instead, it felt like you’d left a piece of yourself behind. Jude sat at the kitchen table in his house back in Madrid, staring blankly at the steaming cup of tea in front of him. The trip to Greece, followed by your stay in Spain, had left him with a whirlwind of emotions he hadn’t quite sorted out. He absentmindedly swirled the spoon in his tea, the clinking sound filling the silence of the room.

“Morning, hun,” Denise greeted him as she entered the kitchen with a warm smile, her eyes immediately landing on Jude. She reached out to squeeze his arm affectionately

“Morning, Mum,” Jude replied, still somewhat lost in his thoughts. He took a sip of his tea, hoping it would wake him up from the fog that had settled in his mind. Denise sat down across from him, a knowing look on her face. She had noticed how quiet Jude had been since you left for New York. It wasn’t like him to be this distracted, and she had a feeling she knew why.

“So, you had a good few weeks? Y/N is a lovely girl. I liked having her here. Hope you had fun.” she spoke casually, though there was a hint of curiosity in her voice.

“Yeah, it was all good. We had fun,” he said nonchalantly with a shrug trying to play it cool but he couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips when he thought about your time together.

“So only good?” she pressed, her tone light but probing. “You’ve been awfully quiet since she left.”Denise raised an eyebrow at his lackluster response Jude shifted uncomfortably in his seat, not entirely sure how to articulate what he was feeling.

“Yeah, it’s just… you know, holiday thing,” he said vaguely, trying to brush it off. “Nothing serious.” Denise leaned back in her chair, studying him for a moment. She could see the conflict in his eyes, the way he was trying to downplay what clearly meant a lot more to him.

“Jude,” she began gently, “is YN your girlfriend?” Denise asked cautiously but outright. Jude’s reaction was immediate.

“No!” he blurted out, perhaps a bit too quickly. He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. “No, she’s not my girlfriend. We’re just… having fun, you know?” He winced at what he had said. Denise nodded slowly, not entirely convinced by his casual dismissal.

“Just having fun, huh?” she repeated, her tone skeptical. “Because from what I’ve seen, it seems like there’s more to it than just a bit of fun.” She sympathetically smiled at her son. She watched you two for a week and a half, hell the fact that Jude brought you home was enough for her to know there was more.

“Mum, it’s not like that,” he insisted, though even he wasn’t sure what “like that” meant. “It’s just… it’s complicated.” Jude shifted again, uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation

“Complicated or not, you need to figure out what she means to you, Jude,” she said softly. Denise gave him another sympathetic smile, but there was a hint of frustration in her eyes. “You can’t keep her hanging on a thread because you’re afraid of what it might mean if you care about her.” She cooed. Jude felt a twinge of guilt at his mother’s words. He knew she was right, but the thought of defining what he and you were scared him.

“I don’t know, Mum,” he admitted, running a hand over his hair. “I don’t want to mess things up by making it more than it is. What if it’s just…” Jude sighed pausing not totally sure how to articulate what he wanted to say but Denise spoke first, filling the air.

“So, it's just sex, then?" she asked, her tone matter-of-fact. Denise, sensing his discomfort, filled in the silence. Jude immediately grimaced, recoiling at her bluntness.

"Mum, eugh," he muttered, his face scrunching up in embarrassment. It wasn't news to Denise that he was having sex—it was obvious, and they had an open relationship where they could talk about almost anything, sex included and they had but hearing her say it, especially about you, made him feel like a kid being caught doing something he wasn't supposed to.

"Jude, it's not a big deal. You're an adult, and I'm not naive. But it seems to me that it's more than just physical with her." Denise chuckled softly at his reaction, her smile warm but knowing. Jude shifted awkwardly. Jude had shared tidbits of his playboy lifestyle with her but only in doses never giving the full picture so it didn’t sound too promiscuous but for some reason Jude felt like it was more vulnerable to be seen falling for someone than to just be fucking them. Denise’s expression softened, but there was a firmness in her voice. “Hun, I know you’re scared of getting hurt or hurting her, but you can’t reduce what you two have to just… some holiday sex,” she said, the words almost sounding harsh as she repeated them. “You’re not being fair to her or yourself by dismissing it like that. You brought her home.” Even though Jude was thinking just that he didn’t like that she said it.

“I’m not dismissing it, I’m just… being realistic,” he argued, though his voice lacked conviction. Jude’s brows furrowed, defensive. He didn't want to admit to himself how deep his feelings for you really ran, let alone say it out loud to his mother. But how could he explain that to her without sounding like he was trying to convince himself?

“Realistic or not, it’s clear to anyone with eyes that you care about her,” she said gently. “And from what I can tell, she cares about you too. Don’t let fear of a label keep you from something that could be really special.” Denise sighed, leaning forward to rest her hand on his Jude stared down at his tea, Denise’s words sinking in. He couldn’t deny the way his heart ached when you weren't around, the way he missed your laughter, your smile, the way you made everything feel lighter and brighter. But at the same time, the idea of taking things further terrified him. What if he wasn’t ready? What if he ruined it? “Just be honest with yourself and with her,” she advised. Denise squeezed his hand, pulling him out of his thoughts. “That’s all you can do. Don’t let fear keep you from something you want.” Jude nodded slowly, the weight of his mother’s words settling on him. He knew she was right. He had to figure out what he wanted, and more importantly, he had to be brave enough to go after it, whatever “it” was.

“I’ll think about it,” he said finally, giving Denise a small smile. “Thanks, Mum.” Jude sheepishly got out feeling like a school boy all of a sudden who needed his mums help.

“Anytime, love,” she said. “Just remember, you deserve to be happy. And so does she.” Denise smiled back, her eyes soft with understanding

Your time apart from Jude was filled with a lot of nudes, a lot of dirty FaceTimes, and very little discussion about what the hell was going on between you too. Jude was sprawled out on his couch, his legs stretched across the cushions as he lazily scrolled through his phone. The house was quiet, the only sound coming from the occasional chirp of birds outside the window. Normally, he’d relish the peace after a grueling week of football, but today, something was off. He opened Instagram, mindlessly tapping through stories until he saw your name pop up. His heart gave a small, involuntary jump at the sight of your profile picture. He hadn’t physically seen you in a couple of days since you’d gone back home, and though he’d tried to shake it off, the distance between you was starting to weigh on him more than he’d expected. The story opened, and there you were, looking radiant as ever, your face slightly flushed from what he guessed was a drink or two. You were out at a bar, surrounded by friends, all laughter and carefree energy. The dim lights of the bar cast a warm glow over you, and the background music was just loud enough to drown out any coherent conversation. Jude watched as you tilted her head back, laughing at something off-camera, your eyes sparkling with a happiness that made his chest tighten. He should’ve been happy to see you enjoying yourself, to see you surrounded by friends and having a good time. But instead, a sharp, unexpected pang of jealousy twisted in his gut. It wasn’t anger—he knew you had every right to go out, to live your life—but something about seeing you there, in that atmosphere, without him, made him feel… possessive. Maybe this was ‘it.’ Maybe this is what his mum was talking about.

Because you didn’t really know where you stood with Jude, you found yourself in a confusing limbo when you returned to New York. The uncertainty gnawed at you—you weren’t sure if you were exclusive, or if you were still technically single. Deep down, you had no interest in other men, but the fear that Jude might move on the moment you left was hard to shake. To avoid overthinking, you decided to go out with some friends. You ended up tucked in a cozy corner of a bar, surrounded by some of your friends who just so happened to be gay men. You told yourself it was just by coincidence, but in reality, you knew it was because they were the only men you felt safe around—no expectations, no pressure, just a night out without the looming threat of complicated feelings. Jude hated how much seeing you with men bothered him. The men you were with couldn’t be less interested in pursuing you sexually but he didn’t know that. The logical part of his brain knew he was being ridiculous, that you were just out having fun. But another part of him, the part that was getting more and more difficult to ignore, wanted nothing more than to be there with you, to pull you close and remind you that you were his. Except, you were not.m and that almost bothered him more. The thought of some random guy chatting you up, making you laugh the way he did, sent a wave of frustration through him that he struggled to tamp down. Jude let out a low groan, running a hand over his hair as he tossed his phone onto the couch beside him. What the hell was happening to him? He’d never felt like this before—this desperate, almost embarrassing need to be close to someone. It was unsettling, and more than that, it was making him realize just how deep he was in. You had a hold on him that he hadn’t anticipated, and it was messing with his head in ways he hadn’t expected. He stared at the ceiling, trying to rationalize his feelings, but all he could think about was how much he wanted you back here with him. He’d never been the jealous type, never had to be. But with you, it was different. He couldn’t stand the thought of someone else catching your attention, even for a second. He needed you, and the thought of you being so far away, living your life without him, was driving him crazy. Before he knew it, his phone was back in his hand, his fingers moving quickly as he opened the flight booking app. It was impulsive, maybe even a little reckless, but he didn’t care. He needed you here, in Spain, with him. He found a flight that left the next day, booked it, and without thinking twice, sent the confirmation details to you with a simple message.

‘Come back. I miss you.’

As soon as he hit send, he felt a mix of relief and anxiety. He didn’t know how you’d react—maybe you’d think he was being too much, maybe you’d laugh it off. But deep down, he hoped you felt the same way he did, that you were missing him just as much, that you wanted to be with him just as badly. The minutes ticked by slowly as he waited for your response, his mind racing with all the possible outcomes hoping you’d even be awake. Finally, his phone buzzed with your reply, and his heart leapt into his throat as he opened it.

‘ I miss you too. I’ll pack my bags xx’

A grin spread across Jude’s face, and the tension that had been knotting in his chest unraveled in an instant. He could already picture it—you walking through his front door, that smile on your face, the way you’d fit perfectly back in his arms. Yeah, maybe he was being a little overprotective, a little too eager to have you close. But he didn’t care. You were worth it. And he wasn’t going to let anything come between whatever was happening between you two, not even a little distance.

As you stepped off the plane in Mallorca, a wave of anticipation washed over you. You hadn’t seen Jude since your whirlwind holiday extension in Madrid and the thought of being with him again filled you with a mix of excitement and anxiety. His rather rash invitation purred on by jealousy for you to return to Spain consisted of you flying to Mallorca to go see his match there ahead of returning to Madrid with him. You were nervous but there was another reason for your unease—tonight upon your arrival you were meant to have dinner with his best friend, Toby. Your last interaction with him during the Greece trip had been brief, almost distant. He was polite, yes, but there was something in his demeanor that made you feel like he was holding back. It left you wondering whether he didn't like you, or if there was something else at play. The drive to your hotel from the airport was beautiful, the Mediterranean landscape stretching out under the setting sun, but you were too preoccupied to fully appreciate it. When you arrived at the hotel, Jude sent you a text because unfortunately you’d have to wait to see him until after his match tomorrow.

‘Toby's meeting you at the restaurant at 8. See you tomorrow, can't wait to kiss you.’

Jude's message was sweet, a reminder that he was thinking of you even amidst his hectic schedule. You appreciated it but the butterflies in your stomach refused to settle. Eight PM sharp, you walked into the restaurant wearing a silple YSL beige top, a pair of low rise red linen shorts, chunky black Gucci heels and a coordinated bag. Your eyes scanned the room until you found Toby seated at a corner table. He greeted you with a small smile and stood up, pulling out your chair for you. His manners were thoughtful. You sat down, giving him a polite smile in return, but inside, you felt a twinge of discomfort. The menu in front of you offered plenty of distractions, but you found it hard to focus on the words. Your mind was racing, filled with thoughts of how this evening would unfold. Toby ordered a bottle of wine, a Spanish red that the waiter described as ‘bold with a touch of spice.’ Normally you’d want to know more than that vagueness. The first few sips were a bit awkward, both of you sticking to safe topics like the weather and how lovely Mallorca was this time of year. Toby was polite, but his answers were short, almost clipped. You couldn't shake the feeling that there was an invisible wall between you two. It made you hesitant to open up, to be your usual self. But as the wine continued to flow, you started to notice a shift. The initial tension began to ease, and Toby started sharing funny anecdotes about his adventures with Jude. His eyes lit up as he recounted a particularly wild night out they had in Madrid, his laughter infectious. You found yourself genuinely laughing along. With each passing moment, you began to feel more at ease. The wine helped, but it was more than that. It was the realization that Toby wasn’t as standoffish as you’d initially thought. He was protective, sure, but as he let his guard down, you started to see the warmth beneath his exterior. He was someone who valued loyalty and friendship deeply, and it became clear that his initial distance had more to do with his protective instincts over Jude than any personal dislike of you.

"I have to admit," you began, swirling your wine glass, "I wasn’t sure how you felt about me when we first met. I got the impression you weren’t exactly my biggest fan." You took a chance, deciding to ask him about it directly. Toby looked at you, surprised for a moment, before his expression softened.

"It’s not that, really," he said, pausing to find the right words. "It’s just…Jude’s been through a lot, you know? And as his mate, I just want to make sure he’s with someone who’s good for him. Someone who’s in it for the right reasons." He explained. You nodded, understanding where he was coming from.

"I get that. And I appreciate it, actually. He means a lot to me too, more than I’ve probably let on." There was a moment of silence as Toby took this in. Then he smiled, a genuine, warm smile that reached his eyes. Dinner with Toby had started off better than expected. You were seated at a chic outdoor restaurant in Palma, the kind of place with white tablecloths, candlelight, and a view of the harbor that made everything feel a little more relaxed. The warm breeze carried the scent of saltwater and the distant hum of the city. Toby had been charming initially, offering compliments about how much Jude had mentioned you, and you began to think this evening might go smoothly. The conversation carried on with light topics—football, your recent travels, and even a bit of banter about the match Jude was set to play the next day. Toby seemed genuinely interested in what you had to say, and the wine was flowing easily between you both. He was quick-witted, effortlessly funny, and you found yourself laughing more than you had expected. You began to let your guard down, thinking that maybe, just maybe, this could be the start of a friendship. But then, the mood shifted.

“So, do you want to be a WAG because of Whitney?” The question was like a punch to the gut. Toby asked in a casual tone that didn’t match the weight of his words. Your stomach twisted as the phrase hung in the air between you, the atmosphere suddenly thick with tension. You hadn’t seen it coming, and your initial reaction was to gape at him, utterly thrown off. What had started as a pleasant evening suddenly felt like a test you hadn’t prepared for. You tried to answer quickly, stumbling over your words as you asserted,

“I mean I’m not Jude’s girlfriend and definitely not just someone trying to latch onto his lifestyle.” But as soon as the words left your mouth, you realized they sounded defensive, almost dismissive of Jude, as if you were trying to distance yourself from the very relationship you were defending. Toby’s brow furrowed slightly, his skepticism evident as he sipped his wine, studying you. Realizing you had inadvertently downplayed your feelings for Jude, you attempted to recover, but it only made things worse. You began to explain how much Jude meant to you, but the more you talked, the more it sounded like you were trying too hard, like you were selling something you weren’t even sure Toby wanted to buy. Each word seemed to dig you deeper into a hole, making you sound less like a genuine partner and more like someone trying to prove their worth. The conversation spiraled further out of control when you tried to pivot to something safer—your work. You thought talking about your career would help you regain some footing, but Toby was ready for you. With a hint of challenge in his voice, he started to compare his own journey, how he had built his business from scratch. His words carried a subtle jab, implying that whatever success you had achieved was simply handed to you. The insinuation stung, especially because you’d worked hard to establish yourself, but in that moment, Toby’s words made you feel small. You tried to counter, to explain how much effort you had put into your own career, but it felt futile. Toby was unrelenting, and every attempt you made to steer the conversation away from this uncomfortable territory was met with a calm but cutting remark. By the time the main course arrived, you were exhausted from trying to keep up, feeling more like you were under interrogation than enjoying dinner with someone who might become a friend. Despite the tension, you forced a smile onto your face, hoping to mask the unease that had settled in your chest. You could barely taste your food, too preoccupied with the feeling that you had failed some unspoken test. As Toby continued to chat, seemingly unfazed by the awkwardness he had caused, you nodded along, pretending to enjoy the evening. But inside, you were dreading the rest of the night. You weren’t sure how you were going to sit through 90 minutes at the match tomorrow, knowing that Toby might continue to dissect everything you said, looking for cracks in your armor. You only hoped that Jude wouldn’t pick up on your discomfort, though you knew it would be hard to hide how much this dinner had rattled you. At this point it was hard to even look forward to seeing Jude after his match. You could already picture the way his face would light up when he saw you, the way his arms would wrap around you, pulling you close. The thought made you smile but your earlier worries haunting every positive thought. The memory of the dinner still gnawed at you, the words he said lingering in your mind. It’s not that you didn’t understand why Toby would be protective of Jude; after all, they’ve known each other forever. But the insinuation, the way he asked if you were trying to be a WAG, felt like a punch to the gut. You didn’t want to just be seen as someone tagging along for the ride; you’re so much more than that.

The ride to the stadium was filled with light conversation. Toby talked about the match, mentioning that it should be a good one. You nodded, trying to focus on what he’s saying, but your mind kept drifting, wondering if Jude felt the same way Toby did. When you arrived at Son Moix, the energy was electric. Fans buzzing with excitement, and you could feel the anticipation in the air. You’d never been to a Madrid match before and the game itself is exhilarating. You loved watching Jude play; there was something mesmerizing about the way he moved on the field, so confident and in control. The crowd roared with each near miss. When Jude scored, your heart swelled a little with pride, and you couldn’t help but beam as you caught his eye from the stands. He winked in your direction, a small, private acknowledgement that made your cheeks flush.

After the match, you met Jude down inside the stadium hesitantly with Toby. He was waiting for you looking effortlessly handsome back in his tailored suit. His eyes lit up when he saw you though, and despite everything, your heart skipped a beat. Whilst Toby pressed to go out, Jude negated the idea claiming he was tired post match but settled for only dinner. Jude’s hand slipped into yours, a subtle but meaningful gesture that didn’t go unnoticed to you nor Toby. He was proud to have you by his side, and despite your earlier worries, it made you feel more secure.The drive to the restaurant was quiet for you, filled with conversation for Jude and Toby, the city lights blurring into a soft glow outside the car window. Jude’s hand rested on your thigh, his thumb drawing gentle circles that sent a shiver down your spine. When you finally reached the location, Jude held you close, his presence comforting and steady. It was a Mediterranean restaurant that was chic inside with low lighting and soft music playing in the background. It felt like the perfect setting to unwind after the adrenaline-filled game but also one you wanted to be alone with Jude in. Jude had made it very clear he wanted to go to this specific restaurant and you weren't sure why until you were seated.

“Good list, no?” He smirked whispering into your ear as his big hand squeezed your thigh. Your whole chest warmed as you inspected the menu. Your cheeks raised and there it was, your family's winery, a couple of bottles littered throughout the wine list. You blushed leaning into Jude.

“Wait, did you know?” You giggled just to him. He hummed kissing behind your ear. “Thank you, this was sweet.” You cooed with a pout. As you sat next to Jude, you couldn’t help but admire how at ease he seemed. He was still riding the high from the match, and it was fairly infectious. You tried to push away the nagging thoughts about Toby, focusing instead on the familiar wine and Jude’s easygoing banter. The conversation shifted to light topics, you were laughing, the earlier awkwardness dissipating. Jude’s mood was contagious, and you find yourself relaxing in his presence, grateful that you could with him. Despite the feeling of relaxation and flowing conversation, you were astutely aware you knew you needed to talk to him about your conversation with Toby. Even so, as the night went on, you couldn’t help but feel a deepening connection with Jude. There was something about the way he listened, the way he cared, that makes you feel truly seen and valued. And as you left the restaurant, his arm wrapped around your shoulder subconsciously, you knew that despite the challenges, it felt good to be with him.

Finally back at Jude’s the following evening, you and Jude sat outside. The soft glow of Madrid seeped into your evening enveloping you both, adding a warm intimacy to the night. The sushi you had ordered sat beautifully arranged on the table, a mix of vibrant colors and delicate textures. You reached for a piece, savoring the familiar taste of fresh fish and rice, all while enjoying the rare moment of quiet. Jude, on the other hand, seemed a bit out of his element.

"You know, I don’t have sushi that often," he admitted, almost sheepishly. He picked up a piece with his chopsticks clumsily, giving you a playful smile. You couldn't resist the opportunity to tease him.

"Really, Mr. World Traveler? All those Michelin-starred restaurants and yet sushi isn’t on your menu?" You grinned, leaning in a little closer. "I’m amazed. How is it that you, of all people, haven’t embraced the wonders of sushi?" You giggled, honestly it was just sweet he didn’t make a fuss before, letting you order what you wanted.

"Maybe I’m just not as cultured as you think I am. You still have to culture me, don’t forget." Jude chuckled, shaking his head before reminding you of a promise you’d made in Greece. You laughed along with him, but as the conversation flowed, your mind began to drift back to the dinner with Toby. The laughter faded as you remembered the awkwardness that had settled over that meal, the discomfort of feeling like you were being judged. You took a sip of your wine, trying to push the memory aside, but it lingered, nagging at you. At the match, you had managed to keep a smile on your face, cheering for Jude, hiding the unease that still bubbled beneath the surface. You wanted to support him, to show that everything was fine, but deep down, you knew now was probably the time that you needed to address what was bothering you. As you sat there with Jude, the intimacy of the moment gave you the courage you needed. You took a deep breath, setting down your chopsticks as you looked across the table at him.

"Jude," you began, your voice softer than usual, "I need to talk to you about something." He immediately picked up on your tone, his playful expression fading into one of concern.

"What is it?" he asked, leaning forward slightly, his eyes focused on you.

"When I had dinner with Toby, he asked me something... something that really kind of bothered me." You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest. But you knew you had to say it.

"What did he say?" Jude’s brows furrowed in confusion.

"He asked if I was trying to be a ‘WAG,’ you know, like Whitney." You took another deep breath, feeling the tension in your chest tighten. Jude’s face went blank for a moment, processing your words. You could see the wheels turning in his head as he tried to make sense of it. You expected anger, maybe even indignation on your behalf. But instead, his response caught you off guard.

"Toby’s just looking out for me," Jude said, his voice calm, almost understanding. "He’s my oldest friend. He knows how things can be in this world." His words hung in the air, heavy with implications. You stared at him, stunned, the weight of his response sinking in. He wasn’t angry at Toby. In fact, he seemed to understand why Toby had asked such a question. It felt like a betrayal, even though you knew it wasn’t meant to be.

"Looking out for you?" you repeated, trying to keep the hurt out of your voice. "Jude, he basically accused me of being with you for the wrong reasons. Do you really think that’s fair?" You asked him.

"It’s not about being fair," he said finally, his gaze returning to yours. Jude sighed, running a hand over his head as he looked away for a moment, clearly torn. "Toby’s just protective. He’s seen people try to take advantage, and he doesn’t want that to happen to me." His words were meant to reassure you, but they only made you feel worse. It was as if your character was being questioned, as if Toby—and by extension, Jude—didn’t fully trust your intentions. You felt a lump forming in your throat, the hurt beginning to overwhelm you.

"I’m not some gold-digger. Frankly Jude, I really don’t need your money nor your status, you know." You said quietly, your voice shaking slightly but with some fire. "I care about you, Jude. I thought you knew that.. I thought it was..." You felt your heart break in an instant. You were going to say you thought it was mutual but the sentiment just wouldn’t come out. Instead Jude began to speak.

"I know that. I know you do," he said, his voice filled with sincerity. "I know you’re not like that. But Toby... he doesn’t know you like I do. He’s just being cautious." Jude’s expression softened, and he reached across the table, taking your hand in his.

"But it’s not just Toby," you replied, pulling your hand back, unable to hide your frustration. "It’s you too, Jude. You’re defending him. You’re acting like what he said is okay, but it’s not. It’s insulting." You quipped. Jude’s eyes flashed with emotion, and you could see that he was struggling to find the right words.

"I’m not saying it’s okay," he insisted. "I’m just saying that I understand why he would say it. He’s seen people with bad intentions before. He doesn’t want that to happen." The conversation was spiraling into a place you hadn’t expected it to go. You could feel the tears welling up in your eyes, the hurt and frustration bubbling over.

"So, what? You think I’m just here because of who you are? Because of what you think you can give me?" You coldly asked. Jude’s eyes widened in alarm, and he immediately shook his head.

"No, no, that’s not what I’m saying at all. I trust you, I do. But you have to understand, people in my world... they can be suspicious. They can be guarded." His attempt to explain only made you feel more isolated, more misunderstood.

"I don’t want to be seen that way, Jude. I don’t want to be with someone who thinks I have an ulterior motive." You stood up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor as you did. Jude looked up at you, his face filled with a mix of guilt and confusion.

"I don’t think that," he said softly, standing up as well. "I don’t want you to feel like this. I care about you, and I know you’re not with me for the wrong reasons." He sheepishly explained, overwhelmed by all the facts and emotions swirling in his head and he didn’t know which were right or wrong.

"But you didn’t defend me," you said, your voice breaking. "You didn’t stand up for me." Your voice quivered.

"I’m sorry," he murmured, his voice full of regret. "I didn’t mean to make you feel this way. I just... I don’t know how to handle this." He stepped closer to you, reaching out to gently touch your arm. You looked up at him, the tears now threatening to spill over.

"This? You mean me? You need to figure out what you think then, Jude. I need you to be honest with yourself and decide what you think of me…not just because of who you are or what people think, but what you think." You told him outright. If you were putting yourself into uncomfortable territories for him, he had to at the very least meet you halfway.

"I know I like you," Jude’s eyes softened, and he pulled you into his arms, holding you close as he whispered into your hair. "I’m sorry if I made you doubt that. I’ll talk to Toby, okay? I’ll make sure he understands. I don’t want you to feel like this." You stayed in his embrace, letting the warmth of his body comfort you. The tension between you began to ease, but the hurt lingered. You knew it would take time to fully move past this, to really sort out what was going on between you two and how it just was so shaken. But in that moment, with Jude holding you close, you felt a small glimmer of hope that things would be okay.

The sun poured through the oversized windows of Jude’s Madrid home, casting a warm glow over the modern furnishings. You sat curled up on the edge of the couch, your gaze fixed on a Frieze magazine, though you weren’t really reading it. The argument from the night before still lingered in the air, creating an uncomfortable silence between you. You hadn’t fought like this before. Sure, there were disagreements and the occasional banter that could get a bit heated, but this had felt different—raw, unfiltered emotions bubbling to the surface, exposing the insecurities you both had been trying to keep at bay. Jude had a hard time fully wrapping his head around why you took such offense to Toby’s question but to you, it wasn’t nothing. It was a reminder of how fragile your situation was, how undefined and precarious your relationship felt despite how deeply you cared for each other or at least you cared about him and this amplified your questions about how important you were to him, were you ultimately just a holiday fuck?

Last night, you’d gone to bed without a word, turning your back to Jude, who had laid there in the dark, feeling the growing chasm between you. He wanted to reach out, to fix it, but pride and confusion had held him back. Now, the morning light only seemed to highlight the emotional distance, the words left unsaid building a wall between you. Jude left for training early, his departure marked by an awkward goodbye that didn’t involve your usual goodbye kiss or affectionate teasing. You had stayed behind, feeling both relieved and disappointed by the space. You didn’t want to talk, but you also didn’t want this silent treatment to stretch on or carry it home with you. As the hours passed, you found yourself thinking about all the little things—how Jude would usually text you from the dressing room, some silly message or a photo that made you laugh. But today, your phone stayed silent. The absence of those small gestures felt heavy, like a physical weight pressing down on you. You tried to distract yourself with anything you could—watching TV, flipping through social media, even cleaning up his wardrobe—but nothing could shake the sense of unease that had settled over you.

Jude wasn’t faring much better. On the pitch, his movements were mechanical, his usual flair and confidence dulled by the unresolved tension at home. His teammates noticed the difference, shooting him curious glances, but no one dared to ask. Jude was usually the life of a training session, but today he was quiet, barely engaging with the banter or jokes. His mind kept drifting back to you—how you’d barely looked at him this morning, how your usual warmth had been replaced by a cool detachment that made his stomach knot with worry. By lunch, it became unbearable. He found himself sitting alone in the cafeteria, pushing his food around his plate, unable to eat. His phone buzzed with a notification, but it wasn’t the one he wanted. He sighed, leaning back in his chair, frustration bubbling up inside him. He hated this feeling—this sense that he’d messed up but didn’t know how to fix it. After training, on Jude’s ride home from the training center his mind was racing. He didn’t know exactly what to do, but he knew he needed to make things right. He ended up stopping at a small flower shop he remembered. He picked up a massive bouquet of a myriad of green flowers, mostly hydrangeas though—your favorite. The shopkeeper wrapped them in delicate paper, adding a ribbon that matched the soft hue of the petals. Jude stared at the flowers, hoping they could somehow convey what he couldn’t seem to put into words. Before home, he made one more quick detour to Serrano, Madrid’s upscale shopping district. He remembered how you had gushed over a pair of Bottega Veneta heels you’d recently seen on Instagram, but you hadn’t bought them, saying you probably didn’t need another pair. Jude disagreed; he loved spoiling you, not just because he could, but because he wanted you to have everything and anything that made you happy. So he bought the emerald green strappy heeled sandals, picturing the look of surprise and delight on your face when you saw them. When Jude finally walked back into the house, it was late into the evening. You were back on the couch, though you’d switched from the magazine to your phone, scrolling absentmindedly. You glanced up as he entered, your expression unreadable. He held the bouquet and the gift bag a little awkwardly, feeling suddenly self-conscious.

“Hey angel,” he started, his voice softer than usual. He walked over, holding out the flowers first. “I know last night ended a little rough… I just wanted to say I’m sorry.” Your eyes flicked from the flowers to his face, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure if you were going to accept them. His bottom lip rolled and it made you just want to undo it all. But then you sighed, putting down your phone and taking the bouquet from him.

“They’re beautiful,” you said, your tone no longer as distant. “Thank you.” The tension in your shoulders seemed to ease slightly as you breathed in the subtle scent of the flowers. Jude let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

“I got you something else too,” he added, a hint of his usual playful charm returning. He sat down beside you, the shopping bag still in his hand. You raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued.

“What is it?” You asked, recognizing that Bottega green shopping bag with it’s signature triangle cut.

“Open it and see.” With a small smile, Jude handed you the bag. You pulled out a shoe box, your eyes widening in surprise.

“Jude, you didn’t have to…” you began, but your voice trailed off as you opened the box to see the pair of heels you’d been lusting over. “They’re perfect.” You cooed, running your fingers over the smooth leather.

“I just want you to know that I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean to downplay how you felt. I get it now… I get why it hurt.” Jude reached out, his hand finding yours, your fingers intertwining. You looked up at him, your eyes softening as you saw the sincerity in his expression.

“It’s not just about what Toby said. It’s about us… I don’t want to feel like we’re just floating, you know? Like this thing between us doesn’t matter but if that’s the case for you, you need to tell me.” You shyly told him, leaning your head onto his shoulder beside you.

“It does matter,” Jude said quickly, his grip on your hand tightening. “It matters a lot. I know I don’t always say it, but I… I really care about you, Y/N. More than I’ve ever cared about anyone.” He cooed. Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and for the first time since the argument, you felt the weight on your chest begin to lift.

“I care about you too, Jude. That’s why it hurt so much.” You squeezed his hand, your voice softening. He nodded.

“I don’t want to hurt you. I just… I don’t always know how to do this. But I’m trying, and I’m going to keep trying.” Jude spoke calmly and securely, his gaze never leaving yours. A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips. You whispered an ‘okay,’ leaning in to close the distance between you. Jude met you halfway just like you’d hoped he would although this was a bit literal as he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, a kiss that held all the apologies and promises he hadn’t been able to say. When you finally pulled apart, the tension that had filled the house earlier was gone, replaced by a quiet understanding and the warmth of reconciliation. You spent the rest of the evening together, the argument fading into the background as you rediscovered the comfort of each other’s presence. You slipped on the Bottega heels, playfully showing them off to Jude, who couldn’t stop grinning at how perfect they looked on you. There were still things you needed to figure out, conversations you needed to have, but for now, you were content to just be with him, knowing that despite the challenges, you were both committed to at the very least hearing the other person out.

•

🪩🫶❤️‍🔥🍹🌞🍒 Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter 🍒🌞🍹❤️‍🔥🫶🪩

Next part - Chapter 5 - Important to Me xx

#jude bellingham smut #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham #jude bellingham fanfic #jude bellingham x reader #jb5 #bellingham x reader

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xxsycamore · 11 months

Text

OFFICE ACTIVITIES

╰┈➤ ❝ That's why I can't go on with my day before I do this to you. I need to see you squirt on my fingers, and I need it now. ❞

Roy Mustang x f!Reader • rating: E (MDNI) • tags: Office Sex; Secret Workplace Relationship; Semi-Public Sex; risky sex; Desk Sex; Sexual Fantasy; Dirty Talk; a lot of dirty talk; Teasing; Kink Negotiation; Glove Kink; ROY'S GLOVES; you know where they're going; Hand & Finger Kink; Finger Sucking; mouth fucking (w fingers); Begging; Praise Kink; Pet Names; Roy is both rough and very loving; Female Ejaculation; Squirting; and i mean SQUIRTING; squirting is the main focus of this fic; Vaginal Fingering; Multiple Orgasms; Overstimulation; Masturbation; Vaginal Sex; Creampie; Kissing; Neck Kissing; Aftercare; Some Humor; Light Dom/sub; Dominant Roy; Dacryphilia • wordcount: 5,211 • masterlist

"Colonel, you wanted to see me—"

"Lock the door."

Blinking, you look at Roy's silhouette where he remains with his back to you in his chair, facing the windows of the sunlit office. You do a small bow while complying like a good subordinate, even when he won't see it, and lock the door from the inside. Still, you can't help but let out a small sigh. The pile of paperwork on his desk is bigger than what you saw this morning, when you expected to find it at least halved by now. But alas. And while everyone is away taking care of their own duties, you have the office to yourselves today, so locking the door is hardly necessary…

"With all due respect Colonel, you really, really don't have to hide the fact that I'm helping you with paperwork. I'm sure everyone knows by now."

Roy spins in his chair bossily, raising a hand to signal he doesn't want to hear more. "I'm not going to ask you to do that."

"No, seriously, it's okay, I-"

"Come here."

You do as told, ready to take the load he'll hand you from another pile, or something else to be taken care of in his stead, anything, really. He's in the habit of procrastinating often, you know your Colonel well. There is something almost endearing about it, when he doesn't realize how bad he is at masking it.

He's gesturing you to stand not in front of his desk but rather to join his side, and you do, finding yourself close enough to notice even how the irritation colors his gaze to make it fiercer. Once you're where he summoned you, Roy removes the folder he was holding in his lap and throws it on the desk.

This tricks you into thinking that the folder is the object of importance in this exchange. When your eyes shift to those of the Colonel for further cues as to what is wanted of you, your attention is inevitably stolen.

Roy's blue uniform trousers are tented with an obvious erection.

Face heating up, you quickly close your slightly agape mouth and try to look anywhere else, and disastrously you meet his gaze. Judging by the way he does nothing to hide the fact that he has a noticeable hard-on, or by the way he looks you right in the eye, you have the feeling that you'll get to live another day. Then he speaks again.

"I can't work like that."

His tone is stern, not even a whisper; something akin to one of his less-straightforward orders that would see him click his tongue when failed to comprehend by the other party.

And you don't want to disappoint.

"I understand. You can't work like that indeed, Colonel…"

And you do understand. If he went this far, then that's all you need to understand that you're allowed to lower your guard now.

It's all so natural with you when Roy beckons you into his lap, and you don't lose time maneuvering yourself because you've claimed this seat dozens of times already; your Colonel has a high sex drive. Despite being lovers after work hours, he still needs you during the day, when you're stuck playing this game of pretend. Or maybe that part is exactly what entices him?

Claiming his lips for an impatient kiss, you can't help the small grunt that escapes your throat as soon as Roy's hands begin roaming and foundling about your chest.

The worst part, you never get used to this.

With color on your cheeks, you try your hardest not to hump his leg and miss entirely the point of your being summoned here. You place another chaste kiss on his lips, boldly taking the decision of when enough is enough as you nudge things forward. Undoing the first button of his uniform, you make place for your lips to touch the heated skin underneath. To feel his hot pulse under your tongue as you place kitten licks there.

Roy's curiosity leaves him enjoying the show as you find your footing again, removing yourself from his lap and instead sinking to your knees with a thud. Your hands make their way downward on his torso and then fall on his thighs, his clothed arousal right in front of you.

"You should've told me sooner, Colonel… I could sneak under your desk, I could even stay there while you attempt to take care of those documents… With the way I'm hidden, surely the door doesn't even need to be locked."

You time your suggestion with palming the tent of his trousers, eager to feel how your words get to his head. But he only smirks.

"As much as I feel compelled, no."

It leaves you confused as you stand between Roy's legs. It's rare for him to refuse a blowjob, the balance of powers in this game of teasing is once again off in favor of his striking dominance.

"On the desk. Now."

Pulse quickening, you find your head clouded when you rise to your feet again. Roy all but backs you onto the desk with his body, your legs parting to make space for him in between.

His backlit frame only highlights the darkness of his eyes as he has you cornered; you prop yourself up on your elbows and wait for something, anything.

"You know, you're the reason I can't do my work right now. I've been thinking about you again. About fingering you."

Fuck. This close up, you're sure he can observe even the tiniest of bodily reactions he rips out of you with words alone. The slight twitching of your leg, the way your teeth sink into your bottom lip as you realize you're at fault for his hard-on. The expectation in your wide eyes that are pleading him to share the images birthed by his brilliant mind that led to this.

"That's why I can't go on with my day before I do this to you. I need to see you squirt on my fingers, and I need it now."

Your breath hitches in your throat, and you swear you can feel the blood pumping in your veins turn to liquid fire as you burn from the inside. Something deep in your belly awakens, steals your resolve and fills your mind with cries of hunger.

Roy wants to make you squirt; to send your body into tremors overpowering your very control of it until you're helpless and making a mess of his hand, of possibly everything - the thought is almost scary, for reasons unknown to you, and you shiver. The signals your brain unwittingly sends south make you feel a certain pressure rooted deep within your core - as if, almost by his spoken command alone, your body can obey and leak arousal through the layers of clothing that you want gone now.

And so you begin to undress, making him chuckle with your impatience. He meets your hands halfway and easily takes over with his much steadier ones, unshaken by building lust unlike you - even if his firm erection which is now pressing against your thigh says otherwise.

He mutters something about how much easier this process would be if you were wearing a miniskirt right now and not those troublesome uniform pants - and the distraction returns some blood to your head as you exaggerate a sigh followed by a tiny laughter. It makes the task of taking off your uniform jacket and unbuttoning your shirt easier.

Unlike the hushed pace of removing the article of clothing, Roy noticeably slows down while peeling the underwear off your lower half, enjoying how he renders you naked and completely on display before him. He pokes a firm index finger on your glistening folds to part them, and you can see his gaze clouding with desire as he inspects the wetness seeping from your core.

Before you can avert your eyes, he locks his with yours. The gentle caress of his warm palm on your belly right over your womb startles you.

"Do you think you can do this for me?"

The whine coming from deep in your throat surprises you, and you feel as if you can get off on this simple, chaste sensation alone. Your pussy throbs in neglect.

"Please."

Roy mocks you just a little bit with his laughter for receiving pleas in place of an answer. Even if it works just about alright with him.

Instead of feeling his fingertips returning to your folds, upon withdrawing, you hear a desk drawer opening. Willing your heart to take the chance and relax, your eyes follow Roy's ministrations as much as they can. He takes something from the drawer and - to your utter surprise, it's a new pair of white pyrotex gloves.

Your legs twitch in a manner of closing, instinctively, as you stare at Roy confused.

"Don't play coy now, I know you've always wanted this. You can't take your eyes off my hands when I'm wearing those."

You puffer your bottom lip, defeated. He's way too observant. Or you're way too horny when it comes to this, to him. Especially now that the only thing you can call the display of his fingers pushing their way inside to find their designated places, vain at the back of his hand protruding, ministrations rougher and rushed because he's not touch you right now, is simply pornographic. They look so good on him, stressing the deftness and length of his beautiful fingers, the flame alchemy transmutation circles at the back stark red to remind they're no ordinary gloves.

"But… isn't this…"

"Dangerous? You think I'd put you in danger?"

There's irony in that line when it comes out of the mouth of Roy Mustang putting on the gloves that give him the name of the Flame Alchemist, but you can will your brain into pushing through the surface to see the offering of trust here. Especially because he is so dangerous is that line so delightful, stroking the trust of your heart that would let him do everything, anything to you.

Combined with his touch returning to caress your skin, this time on the inside of your thigh, you genuinely relax - but only for a second, because you're now busy trying to commit to memory every second of feeling the texture of his gloves on your naked, sensitive skin.

"Besides… I thought you love to say that they're useless when wet."

. . . . .

"Pfft—"

"Are you laughing now?" Roy's eyebrow arches as he stares you down, one part genuine disappointment, one part overemphasis as he knows you'll only laugh harder at his reaction. And laughter is a good balm for relieving the nervousness that made your belly noticeably tense up and cave into itself.

His thoughtfulness goes mostly unnoticed as your laughter quickly morphs into another whine as Roy's glove-clad hand brushes against your arousal. The touch is feather-light, yet when looking down you can unmistakably see the glistening juices on the tip of his middle finger where he used it to swipe along the slit of your pussy.

"Have you fantasized about this before?"

Roy is awful for ending most of what he says with the curve of a question, giving tasks to your brain that are a little too hard to take on. He drives your mind to a place inside the darkest nooks and corners of your perverse imagination where you see yourself stealing his gloves to masturbate with. Or where he's letting out his frustrations on you, you being dragged in an ally just meters away from where some bastard managed to run away from him, tarnishing his plans. You love how he fights but manages to never get his hands dirty. Being dragged to these dangerous missions that give you the chance to see him in action never fails to mix pure, incontrollable desire with the adrenaline running through your veins.

"Yes…" You confess in a tiny voice, and Roy rewards you with another barely-there touch, even if it aims not to bring you pleasure but to simply coat his fingers in your juices and prepare them for penetration. Roy raises them up for you to see. You're already wetter than when you'd finish fingering yourself to the thought of him, and it makes your face red with embarrassment.

"How unfair. I remember being way more concrete when sharing what goes in my mind than you, just now. But I will allow it… you seem to have a hard time forming coherent words right now."

Your brain goes haywire with the rising expectation of feeling him either on your clit or inside you first - the seconds stretching out endlessly before he finally makes his attack, the tip of his middle finger rubbing the tense muscles of your entrance.

Roy is careful as he pushes his finger in, having a good idea about the impact of this long-awaited exploration of the material of the gloves in your most sensitive place.

You're erratic, body spasming to suck him in deeper and pelvic arching to scratch the itch you have deep inside. The fabric adds a delicious layer of thickness to his already girthy finger, but…

"Not- enough— More…!"

Roy clicks his tongue. "You're way too impatient. I'm already being so generous to you, pushing my fingers inside you to give you what you want. Perhaps you can learn from a little exercise before we continue."

Roy's finger exits your heat roughly, in vivid contrast to how he entered you, bringing forth more wetness that helplessly leaks on the office desk. You exhale heavily in defeat, pleading Roy with a wet gaze. He remains unwavering, like training a dog that refuses to obey, and raises his other, dry hand to your face with fingers stretched forward.

The little cute tilt of your head has him letting out a mocking sneaker, and he suppresses the need to scold you for needing verbal orders as well.

"Suck."

Following every little twitching of your pupils as your eyes get hazed with the desire to worship him, Roy is not sure if your mouth falls open to moan or to take him in first. Either way, his fingertips already register the softness of your lips, even through the texture of the glove.

You part your lips further with the intention to fit two of his fingers in your mouth, and Roy allows it. Your tongue explores them, tracing over the seam running down the sides, then the junction of his index and middle fingers. You suck there, barely remembering to look Roy in the eye like you wanted to instead of remaining with your eyes closed in bliss.

He looks… aroused. With how much composure he possesses, the thought of how, in turn, you might look right now scares you. But you can't do anything about it - this, too, is a major fantasy of yours. And it only gets better.

Withdrawing with a wet pop, next you hope to fit another finger in, if Roy is willing to bring them closer together, and he quickly gets the idea.

This is his left hand that he uses to do this to your mouth, and he is still so very skillful with it. He tricks you into thinking you could do whatever you want with his three fingers in your mouth, but as soon as you lower your guard, Roy shifts their position, grabbing your tongue.

Your eyes widen, pathetically trying to call out to him in the one moment your ability to speak is stolen. Roy enjoys the muffled sound that resembles his name and continues to hold out your tongue between his fingers, watching you begin to droll.

From there on it's easy for him to shift his fingers once more, placing them flat against your wet tongue before gathering them together again…and beginning to slide them on your tongue.

The place between your legs is burning, and it feels like torture when you already know what it feels like when he pleasures you. You'd much rather he didn't touch you there at all before this, inner walls contracting to chase after the faint memory of his single digit's shape where it was buried inside you.

Roy fucks your mouth with his gloved fingers, and you moan around them. It's a filthy display, with your cunt dripping on his desk, and he can't avert his gaze for a second.

"Enjoying yourself? Maybe I can keep doing this until you cum and we end things here?"

Alerted, you want to communicate your wish to go all the way with what he planned for you, and to speak you need to withdraw - but the second you lean back, Roy's hand pushes forward, following your movement without letting you escape.

Just before you can choke, Roy removes his fingers from your mouth, and you see how much they're covered in your saliva. The risk did things to you you're unwilling to admit.

"Okay, I get it. You need more."

Finally able to take mouthfuls of oxygen again, you feel silly for being so worked up and breathless from just this. But Roy likes what he sees, especially when you try to present your cunt better for him, spreading your legs further apart.

"You're absolutely leaking…"

"Colonel, Please…" You beg, attaching the honorific to your pleas because you know the effect it has on him. "Colonel Mustang, please fuck me with your fingers. Make me squirt."

He returns his right hand to the burning skin of the apex of your thighs, tracing along your outer lips with a small hum.

"Okay then. Let's make your cunt squirt for me."

You throw your head back a second too quickly, as the heavenly feeling of Roy entering you again domineers over the bits of decency left in you. His finger bottoms out in you, swirls around until his palm is facing downwards, and is taken out again - just for you to instead feel the tips of middle and ring fingers prodding your hole next, in the same position.

"Nghh—" You groan, remembering to breathe as Roy explores your tight insides. You begin to relax, and the movement of his fingers gradually becomes smoother. The wet sounds of his entry come to your ears every time he pushes out the way out and pushes in again, and they embarrass you a little.

After a good few strokes like this, Roy turns his hand around.

He keeps his fingers buried deep inside, unmoving save for his fingertips that begin to search around, prodding into your front wall, looking for that spongy part inside you that will make you see stars.

More heat rushes to your lower body and you let a particularly loud gasp when Roy finds it. He mutters a word of self-satisfaction and repeats the motion, hitting your G-spot.

The pleasure begins to build with a dangerous speed, and you barely contain your moans. There's still something missing, but if you receive it right now, it will be too much.

Roy knows your body and its limits well. He doesn't force the pleasure on you, and keeps a steady but slow pace. Monitoring your sweet sounds, he is careful as to when to move on to the next step.

"I'm going to touch you here next."

Narrating his ministrations, he manages to make you focus. You fix your position on the desk again, making sure to watch what he's doing.

Roy puts the thumb of his left hand flat on your clit. At first, the mere presence of it is enough to send sparks of stimulation deep inside you, creating a loop of pleasure with where his fingers are buried, but you get used to it quickly. Then, he begins to rub your aroused nub, and you go erratic once again.

"Ahh— Too much-"

"Shh, I got you." He gives you a break, simply resting his thumb there without caressing, while he focuses on thrusting his fingers in and out.

Your heavy breaths are entangling with needy moans as the pleasure builds, this damned feeling of not enough threatening to eat you up from the inside. Roy knows your body well in combination with masterfully reading your reactions, and generously gives you more when you ask for it. The balls of your feet press harder into the surface of the desk near the very edge of it, your torso lifting just a little bit, to chase after Roy's movements inside you. He lets you rock back into his fingers, more wetness coming out and lubricating his entry.

"I'm going to speed up now. Tell me if you need to stop."

You breathe heavily through your nose, nodding your head more times than he needs for confirmation, and it makes him chuckle. The corners of his lips don't stay curled for longer than a second because of his growing concentration.

The rubbing on your clit returns, and Roy's fingers don't slow down. Standing there with nowhere to escape but to receive his rough, filthy yet loving pleasuring, you grip the edge of the desk behind your back preparing yourself, as it builds up.

"Roy- it feels a bit strange—"

"In a good way? Like you wanna go?"

Your answer comes a bit late because your mouth is stuck falling open in the face of those unfamiliar sensations. You hurry to blurt it out before stops, god forbid.

"In a very good way…! Just please, don’t stop!"

Not needing to be told twice, Roy keeps the pace, firmly hitting that same spot inside you with his fingers while rubbing on your clit. He watches your body spasm as you let out a scream, and then it happens.

Liquid begins to stream out of you, coating Roy's fingers - a small flow at first, before you all but hear the sound of a squirt escaping you.

"Mmm…" Roy grunts at the sight and the feeling of you closing up from the inside on him, fingering you through it until your body begins twitching too much. Careful not to overstimulate you, he withdraws your fingers, causing a smaller squirt to flow out.

Breathing heavily with your mouth open, you close your legs a little bit now that Roy's hands aren't between them, and you look at the puddle next to them. When you return your gaze to Roy, he's looking straight at you, leaning in for a kiss.

He's definitely not kissing you enough during all of this, but you don't feel too cocky right now to complain about that. Not when his kiss feels so rewarding.

"My good girl. I knew you could do it. Did that feel good?"

Roy drinks down your small noises of lingering satisfaction, and you whisper a breathless 'yes' before kissing him yet again. It makes you a bit too distracted, and you almost jump at the feeling of his hands parting your legs again.

"Think you could do it again?"

You look at him in disbelief, but it might be directed at yourself and the ridiculously deepening arousal you feel more than anything, your core pulsing in anticipation, aching to feel Roy's fingers again.

He knows that look. Pecking your lips with his once again, he slips his fingers in.

"Put your hands around my neck."

Your heart leaps at the command and you shift your body, grabbing into him for purchase. Your ass is on the edge of the desk now, and you're holding Roy for dear life, his broad shoulders being your anchor.

"Will it be easier for you this time, hmm? You're nice and open for me."

"Roy… don't say things like that…"

"But it's true. I love knowing that I can make your body soft and pliant, letting me do such a naughty thing with it."

You groan and shove your head in the junction of his neck and shoulder, warming the skin with your breath.

"Don't hide. Come on, kiss me."

It's easier said than done, when the sensation of what is happening between your legs rules over every coherent part of your mind. Roy knows your kiss would be lacking and sloppy, and maybe that's exactly why he wants it.

His tongue shoves between your agape lips, dominating yet another part of you as he continues to finger you while avoiding the place that is swollen and needy for his touch, as if testing if you can start leaking juices again even without the stimulation.

The strange feeling builds again, and this time you're not afraid of it. You break the kiss to plead.

"Roy…Roy! Touch me more! Now!"

Hearing the low rumble laced with dark wanton deep in his throat, you roll your eyes to the back of your head as he begins stroking your clit again.

Your moans of his name grow from encouraging to warning, as you feel the water balloon deep in your core close to popping once again. And then it happens.

Large portions of liquid fall noisily to the floor, mixing up with the sound of water squirting out of your body. Tears form in the corners of your eyes as a purely physiological reaction, the pleasure playing a big part in it.

Roy's large palm is so warm as it moves up and down whole, unlike how he'd only move his fingers earlier, and you feel played like an instrument; like you're close to witnessing the true strength in him that you lustfully admire finally inflicted on your body - in the most perverse, but loving and safe kind of ways.

"Gods— I can't tear my eyes off of you. Look at you."

Planting his forehead against yours, your eyes trail from his beautiful lashes up close to the place he's admiring, and you have to fight a surge of embarrassment. This is what he made out of you, you're so very his in this moment.

"Roy…—Ahh-"

He speeds up again, not having left your core for a moment, and you feel yourself starting to do it all over again, even if it's more of a current flowing out of you instead of the earlier powerful jets. What builds up inside you is different this time, a feeling you know all too well, something that you were lingering along the surface of for the past few minutes but that was always pushed to the back of your nerves in the face of the new, unfamiliar sensations.

"Come for me. Come on my fingers."

Roy fingers you silly, your walls clamping down on him as he does it just the way you love, no tricks this time to conquer your body, he just gives it to you. And you take it oh so willingly and greedily.

It takes no time for you to reach the heavens, and you moan out his name once again, feeling the electricity of an orgasm surge through every nook and corner of your being, toes curling in pleasure.

Roy holds you through it, making sure you ride your high all the way. Towards the end of it, your leaking hole begins helplessly pushing out more liquid.

"Roy— Too much—Roy-"

"Fuck." He curses as he slowly withdraws his fingers, noticing how thickly they're covered in your warm juices all the way down his palm. He enters you with one finger to tease just a little, meeting no resistance. "Fuck." He repeats as he reaches down to palm his bulge. He moves to his belt and begins undoing it in a hurry.

Pulse beginning to drum in your ears, you continue holding onto his tall frame as your eyes widen. Just how worked up did that make him? You figure he must be painfully hard by now, watching you perform the one thing that would get him erect relying on fantasies alone.

Wrapping the hand dripping with your juices around his cock, he uses the slick to lubricate his pumps as he pleasures himself at the sight of you. It lights a new fire inside you and you can't help but watch; the reddened head of his cock, the vein running down his side protruding with the rush of blood, and his culmination dragging closer.

He lies you back down on the desk and you place your hands below your hips, opening up more for him, so Roy can get a nice view of your still swollen lips and pulsing hole. He moves in closer, bringing his strokes so close to your pussy that it makes you clench down so hard when he accidentally brushes the tip against your inner thigh.

"You're perfect. So perfect for me- Haah—"

You rarely hear him let out more than a grunt, a man in control of himself even in the face of consuming wanton. It's rewarding, knowing that it's you who turned him into that. There's nothing more that you want right now than to watch him spill all over your spent cunt, coating it with his warm cum.

Roy keeps stroking, and you wonder if he's fallen prey to the heightened stimulation of the gloves too, seeing that he didn’t bother to take them off even after making use of the juices coating them. It could be this that works him to orgasm so soon, or it could be everything else combined with it, but you soon hear the familiar sounds of him losing control.

In the next moment he erupts, hot-white pleasure reaching to his very gaze as you see him taking in the sight of you hungrily. Warm ropes of cum land on you one after another as Roy pumps his cock, the swollen tip kissing your sensitive folds.

He loses the inner fight and presses forwards, pushing the bulbous head of his cock inside you, moaning as another gush of semen leaves him and fills you with scorching warmth.

You mewl at the unexpected contact, shudders of pleasure rippling through your body as you continue to feel his cum even after he removes his cock from inside you. You feel it drip out thickly, mixing with the rest of the mess left by your passionate session.

"Kiss me, Roy!"

"So demanding…" Hurrying to comply with your weak, adorable command, Roy seals your lips with his before you can scold or bite him. With how good he seemed to be making you feel, he's not too worried about facing those protests, though.

You and Roy remain like that for awhile, catching your breaths but losing them right anew in passionate kisses, not breaking off the contact even as he tucks himself back in his trousers and readjusts his messed-up clothes, removing his gloves as well. He tells you to wait for him as he goes to take something to clean you off with, but you just cling harder to his frame.

"Stay a little longer…"

He exaggerates a sigh but still smiles stupidly against your nape.

The late morning sun has nothing on the warmth that comes from Roy's embrace, and you bask in it.

"You know…" He begins, playing idly with your hand with his now bare one, as if he had started missing the direct touch so soon. You hum in question, and he continues.

"I want to take care of those documents even less now."

"…ROY!"

Taglist: @arsnovacadenza @ale-teodora @kimi00twin @otomelady @privilegedpancake @g-kleran @thesirenwashere @devonares @galaxyprison @sadshaxk @starshards26 @thewitchofbooks @ikevamp-shrine-2 @nad-zeta @crystal13unny @lordsister @ikemen-banshou @themysticalbeing @otome-scribbles @rhodolitesrose @coornn @kpop-and-otome @queen-dahlia @kisara-16 @chaosangel767 @ikemenlibrary @queengiuliettafirstlady @aurora-morning @aquagirl1978 @ikemenlover24 @mcofthemansion @joy-the-reader @katriniac @ikemen-writer @tele86 @lovely-bubb1es @aria-chikage @babyblue0t7 @rhodoliteschaos @shrimpy-kitsune @nightghoul381 @xbalayage @lucyw260 @kittygrimm88 @lokis-laugh @princess-pray-a @datsleepygirl @yarnnerdally @m-mmiy @whatever-fanfics Let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged!

#fullmetal alchemist #fma #roy mustang #fma roy #fmab roy #fullmetal alchemist roy #fullmetal alchemist roy mustang #fma x reader #roy mustang x reader #fullmetal alchemist brotherhood #fullmetal alchemist brotherhood roy #fullmetal alchemist smut #fullmetal alchemist fanfic #fma fanfic #roy x reader

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deathmoth-blog · 4 days

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The family Cranchiidae comprises the approximately 60 species of glass squid, also known as cockatoo squid, cranchiid, cranch squid, or bathyscaphoid squid. Cranchiid squid occur in surface and midwater depths of open oceans around the world. They range in mantle length from 10 cm (3.9 in) to over 3 m (9.8 ft), in the case of the colossal squid. The common name, glass squid, derives from the transparent nature of most species. Cranchiid squid spend much of their lives in partially sunlit shallow waters, where their transparency provides camouflage. They are characterised by a swollen body and short arms, which bear two rows of suckers or hooks. The third arm pair is often enlarged. Many species are bioluminescent organisms and possess light organs on the undersides of their eyes, used to cancel their shadows. Eye morphology varies widely, ranging from large and circular to telescopic and stalked. A large, fluid-filled chamber containing ammonia solution is used to aid buoyancy. This buoyancy system is unique to the family and is the source of their common name "bathyscaphoid squid", after their resemblance to a bathyscaphe. Often the only organ that is visible through the transparent tissues is a cigar-shaped digestive gland, which is the cephalopod equivalent of a mammalian liver. This is usually held in a vertical position to reduce its silhouette and a light organ is sometimes present on the lower tip to further minimise its appearance in the water.

#deathmothblog #beauty of nature #nature #wildlife #animals #sea life #sea creatures #artists on tumblr #Cockatoo Squid

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nemuro-incinerator · 6 months

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I decided to rewatch Episode 26 (Miki’s Nest Box (The Sunlit Garden - Arranged)) which was a bit of a horrible decision to watch at this hour but also made me realize something. This is the definition of dude trust me analysis. There is one scene in the entire show that features both Kozue and Nanami. Within that scene, there are only a few angles that show both of them

This wide shot places the camera at an angle and position in which Kozue and Nanami are both visible, but pillars are placed between them. While there is no physical blockade between them, the view visually separates them, creating an artificial barrier. While they are capable of coming together, the narrative as presented to us prevents it. Not to mention that their conversation after this point is focused on Akio, or “Daddy Long Legs” *retching noises* as Kozue refers to him.

In the second, while Nanami is approaching Kozue, Kozue is walking away and out of frame to Akio. There is no barrier separating them - real, imagined, only perceived at a certain angle - but it’s too late. They are on different paths now thanks to Akio’s influence. After a shot of Kozue and Akio in silhouette walking into the night, the scene ends. Their moment is taken from them. In conclusion Akio is clearly actively trying to separate Kozue and Nanami and I have never overanalyzed anything in my life

#unfortunately for all involved I currently feel deranged about them #kozunami #shoujo kakumei utena #sku #revolutionary girl utena #rgu #kozue kaoru #nanami kiryuu #utena analysis #more like overanalysis done out of sleep deprivation #ohtoriposting #I am tempted to apologize but I won’t

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arsheyee · 7 months

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SMUT AHEAD KIDS BELOW 18 STAY OUT

Gojo x Y/N Morning in the Balcony

TW: sub gojo, exhibitionism kink, mommy kink

This is first time writing a sub smut.

I wrote this post for @15lyis balcony sex and sub gojo

I hope you like it and everyone will like it

Edit: Sorry about the mistakes in the writing I wrote it on my phone and blackout next thing I knew I had this and I posted it without thinking 🥲🥲

Can we take a minute to look at this cute blush man ❤️😩

———————————————————————

The sunlight peeked into the room from the small crack in the satin white curtains. It show directly on your eyes making you wince and rub them. The wind gently blew the curtains apart . A familiar silhouette stood in the sunlit balcony. You sat up on the bed holding the duvet covering your chest. Your perfectly styled hair was now a mess. You ran your hands through them to give them some shape. The clothes were scattered around the room like a trail of breadcrumbs making you smile and think about last night. You picked up the large grey T-shirt in front of you and your panties and walked towards that silhouette in the balcony.

Outside Gojo was sipping his morning coffee. You shiver as a gust of cold wind hits your warm body. You sigh at the coolness of the morning and walk towards your lover. He oblivious to the fact you have woken up jerks as you wrapped your hands around his waist.

“Oh my, that surprised me! Good morning sweetheart ❤️” He kissed you on your forehead turning himself to face you.

“Good morning handsome. Did you sleep well last night”

“Haha Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” I had the best sleep yesterday.” He reminisced to yesterday looking in your eyes.

“Are you hungry baby?” He asked you

“Starved” you replied him rubbing your belly . He chuckled at your response and headed towards the kitchen. You stopped him by pulling his arm.

“What is it sweetie?” He questioned

“Can I be direct about this?” You warned him about what you were going to ask him.

“Baby you can tell me anything in this world” he reassured you

“I want to fuck you here”

“Here? Then let’s go to bed”

“No I mean I want to fuck here , in the balcony.”

His eyes widened at that statement and he blushed like crazy

“Baby everyone will see us”

“So, I am okay with that I want them to hear” you assertion surprised him even more.

You pulled his arm harshly and turned him around, pushed him of the chair beside you. He was still in shock and surprise by your dominant nature . Had sex awakened a new side of you that he isn’t aware of? Usually you are quite a cool headed person seeing you crave him turned him on in an instant.

You sat on his lap and removed your t shirt

You were naked in front of him. Your panties was the only fabric that separated your sexes. He is still staring at you, not out of that shock.

Baby? Are you okay? You asked concerned

He stuttered “ Y- Y- y- yes oh fuck baby you really want to do it here, in the day where everyone can see and hear everything?

“Yes didn’t you hear me saying I want you means I want you.” You spoke with utmost dominance

Gojo was tempted to call you mommy at this point.

You rubbed yourself on his semi hard dick, that you could feel through his flimsy synthetic short.

“Ahh fuck you seem to be getting bigger and bigger baby. Do you like me dominating you like this?” you moaned in his ear.

He literally almost came when you moaned in his ear. The whole scene was to hot for him. It would be a surprise if he didn’t faint by now.

You continue to rub him though his shorts kissing his neck, making him hum and moan occasionally. You kept saying such sinful things in his ear of how big he was and how you are going to put him in your pussy slowly just so he can watch you swallow his length. This was torture he couldn’t do anything because if he tried to touch you, you would stop his hands from touching you saying No touching, I am going to touch you but you can’t touch me. He was hard it was painful to hold it now. The friction was not enough even for you. As your slick gather up your panties stopped giving that friction you wanted.

You pulled his cock out of his pants and tugged on it.

“Offff baby baby please baby I really need to be inside you right now…” he was whining and panting for relief

“Do you now?” You teased him back

“Baby please “ he was so desperate to be inside to you at this point.

“Beg to me baby”

“Mommy please make me come already I want to make you happy by making you come too help me too please please mommy” he begged

Hmm let me think first why don’t you eat me out the we will see if I want to reward you or not.

You sat on the wooden table in front of the chair and spread your legs for him.

“Come on baby if you want to come you have to eat me out” you called him over .

He was drooling at the sight of your pussy wet and delicious for him. He got up from the chair and kneeled down so your dripping cunt was right in front of him.

His tongue slid over you, between every fold, lapping up your arousal as if it was the last meal he was ever going to have.

"Oh baby," You cried out as he began to swirl his tongue over your clit, sucking harshing as you jerked your hips up involuntarily. His toy hue went deeper inside you causing you to pull his hair. He sucked on your clit making you jerk up into his mouth causing his tongue to slip deeper. He took your labia in his much and began sucking on it, moving his tongue with precision over every inch of your sensitive flesh. He could never get enough of making you moan out the way that you were.

"Taste so fucking good, mommy." He moaned out causing you to squirm in his grasp, bucking against him.

"Look at you, eating mommy out. You love it down you eating mommy out?” He moaned in response to that

“Yes mom-“ you pushed him into you pussy muffling his words his tongue plunging in and out as you mercilessly pushed his head deeper into your pussy causing him to choke. You struggled to sit up straight as he ate you out good and speeding his head with your thighs.

He sped up his tongue. He then later added a finger in your pussy curling it upwards to hit your g-spot causing you to moan so loud people below might have heard you.

You squirted all over his face as your toes curled on his back.

Looking at him all wet from eating you out made you more horny. Beads of precum were already leaking from his dick. You could see it he was a sight that you wanted to burn in your eyes again and again.

“Ohh damn he looked so delicious right now.” you thought.

You pushed him back in the chair and shoved his hard and throbbing dick inside you.

“Good job baby Mommy will reward you for all your hard work”.

You started riding him hard and faster, clenching around him making him moan loudly that the neighbours could hear.

“Ah ah ah mommy mommy ahhh I’ll come

I am g-go-gonna come so h-ha-hard m-m-mommy ohhh fuckkkk“ he was moaning in between words.

Come baby come in mommy’s pussy I know you want it and you have earned it baby let mommy take care of you “ you said panting as you rode his cock.

You could feel him getting close

“You getting close baby ?

Come on come inside mommy I’ll allow it today just today…”

He choked as he came hard inside you after a couple of more thrusts. His cum leaked out of you as in came down and fell on the chair and his pants. Both you juices were mixed. You kissed him not roughly but passionately. After catching you breaths

“So mommy kink huh??” You chuckled at him asking him

“Stop baby you looked totally hot doing that” he blushed like crazy admitting it.

You guys looked in front and saw your neighbours looking at you both like they just saw a ghost.

“Well I guess one thing is for sure we aren’t doing this here again”

“Yes we aren’t” Gojo agreed looking at the neighbours hoping they won’t complain as you both walked inside shutting the door behind you.

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fresh-new-yoik-watah · 9 days

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Duplicity

CHAPTER SEVEN

an: I’m actually so happy with how this chapter came out

pairing: Hiccup x OC

warnings: none

word count: 3.2k

MASTERLIST

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The morning sun broke through the white, fluffy clouds, casting a warm golden hue across the short grass that surrounded Hiccup’s hut on the top of the hill. He was kneeled beside Toothless, fastening his saddle to the dragon’s back, dark scales glimmering in the sunlight. Hiccup’s fingers deftly worked the intricate straps, like tying his own laces, wafting in the familiar scent of dragon skin and leather.

The soft thud of footsteps coming from behind broke his attention, glancing up just as Aja approached, her silhouette framed by the morning light as she wiped the remnants of sleep from her eyes. Hiccup straightened up, “Great, you’re here, let’s go.”

She halted a few paces away, her brow furrowing as her eyes drifted to Toothless. The dragon turned his head slightly, regarding her with curious emerald eyes, and her gaze snapped back to Hiccup, a flicker of uncertainty in her expression. The chances of finding her father alive were slim, but they were still there, and she wasn’t sure how well it would go over to have him with a Night Fury. “Flying?”

Hiccup blinked at her blankly. “We’re not swimming the ocean.”

“I’ve never ridden a dragon.”

The corners of Hiccup’s mouth lifted slightly. “False,” he said, “You did when I found you.”

Aja narrowed her eyes, “And I was unconscious. Doesn’t count, like at all,” she shot back.

“It’s not as scary as it seems. And Toothless and I won’t let anything happen. You’re the one that wanted to do this.” His tone was light, teasing even, but he was sincere.

She shot him an annoyed look. “Okay fine,” she relented, her heart fluttering with trepidation.

Hiccup mounted Toothless with a practiced grace, his movements fluid as he settled onto the leather saddle. He then turned, extending his hand toward her. Her eyes flicked from his faced-up palm to the dragon, and back again, hesitating. She was still irritated with him from yesterday, she wondered if she could climb on herself without his help, but then imagined a scenario in which she ended up flat on the ground, and a laughing, sunlit Hiccup above her. Making her decision, Aja grabbed his hand, her fingers wrapping around his, textured and rough, as she felt a jolt of warmth from the contact, and with a firm, but gentle pull, he helped her climb onto Toothless’s back, settling in the space behind him.

The dragon’s scales felt cool and smooth through the fabric that wrapped her thighs as Toothless shifted below them slightly, adjusting to the added weight. She marveled at him, watching his muscles ripple and coil like a tightly wound spring and couldn’t help but wonder how it might feel to have someone on her own back, the feeling of another while soaring through the sky.

Hiccup’s voice broke through her thoughts with a confident, “Hang on.” She had no time to register his words before they were launched into the air, the world below dropping away in an instant, her heart leaping into her throat, caught somewhere between excitement and sheer terror.

In all fairness, Toothless was flying as tamely as he could, but being on the back of a dragon, in the open sky, felt entirely different than flying as one herself. She felt miniscule, fragile, as if she were a delicate feather that could be lifted by the wind. Aja instinctively grabbed onto Hiccup, clutching tightly onto the leather vestment that was belted over his brown tunic, as she leaned slightly over, looking down as they flew over Berk’s forest, watching the shadow of Toothless, wings wide, over the blurring treetops. Feeling the air against her human skin did feel nice, and freeing, in a way, much different than as a dragon. Being so small in the vast sky, so out of place, made the sensation feel like an escape, freedom pure and unfiltered, as if anything was truly possible. As a dragon, it just felt normal, like she were part of the sky herself, there didn’t exist that distinction.

She glanced at Hiccup in front of her, barely recognizing this version of him. He was confident, as if he had done this a million times, which she was sure he in fact had. All awkwardness he carried on the ground had melted away, and she could feel the energy radiating off him. Hiccup belonged in the sky.

Toothless’s wings beat rhythmically under them, carrying them out over the expanse of glittering blue ocean, shimmering like a blanket of sequins, as the forest faded away into the background.

Aja squinted against the rush of wind, her eyes darting over the endless sea, frowning. “I’ll never be able to see anything going this fast.”

Hiccup turned in his saddle to look back at her, his hair whipping against his freckled cheeks. “Toothless will,” he assured her. “If there’s something, he’ll find it.”

They fell into silence as they continued to fly, the only sounds filling their ears being the beat of wings and the waves crashing below as they skimmed the ocean’s surface, occasionally sending up sprays of water. The deep blues contrasted with the lighter shades where the sun struck right, Hiccup momentarily losing himself as he watched the waves rise and fall steadily.

He glanced down at Aja’s hands still gripped onto the sides of his vestment, her knuckles turning white. He peeked back at her, seeing her gaze locked on the ocean below, blue eyes frantically scanning back and forth. Hiccup had felt guilty about his outburst the previous day, knowing he overstepped a line. He would’ve gone to the ends of the earth for his own dad if there was a chance he would still be alive.

“Hey,” Hiccup’s voice was soft as he broke the silence. “I’m sorry about yesterday, what I said.”

Aja looked up, face dropping slightly. “You weren’t wrong, though,” she replied, her tone measured and quiet.

He internally winced when seeing her reaction. He knew he had been blunt, his frustration spilling over in a moment of weakness, but he hadn’t intended to hurt her. “I could’ve been nicer about it,” he admitted.

Aja didn’t meet his eyes, letting his words settle. He was right, he could’ve been nicer, but she appreciated that he knew his wrongs, that unlike most Vikings, his stubbornness didn’t maim his ability to apologize. Her lips twitched into a small smile. “Maybe, just a little,” she teased gently. It was a small moment, but it felt like a bridge being built between them.

Hiccup returned her smile, but slightly forced. “It’s all kind of been a lot,” he confessed, his voice steadying as he continued. “I just blew up.” He wasn’t exactly sure why he was opening up, letting his guard down in the midst of a flight. He wasn’t one to talk about his feelings, ever, unless it was alone with Toothless, and even then, most of their moments passed in silence, his dragon understanding him in ways that didn’t need words.

Aja returned her gaze back toward the ocean, her eyes reflecting the shimmering blues. “If anyone understands that, I do,” she said as wind teased a few strands of dark hair across her forehead. “Sometimes it just feels like everything is happening all at once, and you can’t catch your breath.”

Hiccup’s mind wandered to the endless responsibilities—the village, the dragons, the trappers—all the things weighing him down, responsibilities he had no time to adjust to, no time to slowly take on, overnight they became his problems.

“I guess I’m still trying to figure it all out,” he said.

Aja watched his fingers twiddle with his saddle handle, fidgeting and tapping lightly.

“Me too.”

It was nice, the feeling of being less alone, even if it was one person. Hiccup felt guilty for even feeling that way, when he did, in fact, have people who were really there for him, but no one truly understood him. He was different, there wasn’t a single person in his village that acted like him, which wasn’t necessarily bad, as he’s come to figure out over the years, however, it meant even the closest people were still constantly disappointed by him, for doing things not their way.

After a moment, Hiccup spoke suddenly, desperate to vear the conversation. “So, Sand Wraiths, what else do you know about them?”

Aja’s grip loosened, not by much, but enough that he noticed.

“That’s not part of our deal,” she teased, to which Hiccup rolled his eyes, despite that she couldn’t see his face as he turned forward again.

“I’m tweaking it,” he said with a mock-serious tone, relaxing back slightly in the saddle.

He felt her readjust her right foot, barely brushing against his boot as she found a position more comfortable. “Well what do you want to know?” She asked.

Fire. That was the first thing on his mind.

“What’s the fire situation? Do they even breathe fire?” He asked.

“In a way,” she said. “It’s sand mixed with fire.”

“Staying true to the name there,” Hiccup remarked.

She laughed. “Well, I didn’t name them,” she shot back playfully.

Her fingers loosened more.

But the moment was lost as quickly as it came, Toothless’s demeanor shifting as his ears perked up, letting out a low rumble in his throat. Aja didn’t like that she could feel his muscles tense up and vibrate beneath her.

Hiccup leaned forward, eyes narrowed, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever had caught his dragon’s attention. “What is it bud?”

Without warning, Toothless dove downward, wings folded against his body as he plummeted toward the water. Aja let out a yelp, hands abandoning their place at Hiccup’s side and wrapping her arms around him completely as the wind blew her hair completely upright.

Toothless broke the surface with his legs, his claws slicing through the sea with precision, grabbing something swiftly just as his wings opened again, acting as a parachute and catching against the wind. He beat his wings, gliding them just above the waves as he ascended once more. Hiccup leaned over the side of his dragon, craning his neck to look down. He was barely able to make out a piece of charred driftwood in Toothless’s grasp, its darkened surface standing out against the bright blue below them.

Toothless flew them back to shore, releasing the driftwood with a flick of his claws, letting it tumble onto the sand with a soft thud. Hiccup hopped off Toothless’s back with ease, Aja taking a few moments longer, stumbling slightly as her feet met the ground. Hiccup picked up the piece of wood, inspecting it closely. It was rough and weathered, barely the length of his arm and marred with deep scorch marks. Ash smeared on his fingers as he turned it over with his hands, brows furrowing in concentration.

He held the piece out to Aja. “Do you think it’s from your ship?” He asked. “Can you recognize the paint?”

She took the piece from him, turning it over and running her own fingers along the lines of the burn marks, jagged edges catching on her skin. Beneath the blackened surface, she caught glimpses of red, dulled but still present, barely peeking through the wet soot.

“It could be,” she said, staring at the driftwood in her hands. “But I really can’t tell.”

She handed it back to Hiccup, their fingers brushing against one another again for the briefest moment.

“These burns aren’t from a dragon,” he said. She watched him, her brows furrowed, unable to grasp what he was trying to insinuate. “It wasn’t a dragon that attacked your ship.”

Aja felt a knot tighten in her stomach. “You think someone attacked us?”

Hiccup reached into a leather satchel that was attached to Toothless’s saddle, pulling out a coil of rope and using it to secure the piece of wood to the side of the saddle.

“Can you think of anyone who’d want to target you?” He asked while tying the last few knots.

Ragnar had his fair share of enemies, Aja knew that, remembering the countless nights she’d find her father passed out over maps and battle plans with an almost completely melted candle beside him, but the fights never reached their village, he was good about that, and no one had ever gotten the jump on him.

She shook her head. “Our enemies are further south. No one knew we were coming here.”

An attack so close to Berk, the world was getting bigger by the day and creeping up on their shores.

“Once we get back to Berk, we’ll send a Terror mail to Volsung,” Hiccup said, “let your people know what happened and that you’re safe.”

He made a move to remount Toothless, the cool wind ruffling his auburn hair, but he caught a look at Aja, her shoulders slumped, her frustration palpable.

“So I’m just stuck here till who knows when now,” she muttered.

Hiccup inhaled a breath, pondering his words before he spoke. “Honestly,” he began, “Yeah. I just don’t think it’s a risk you should be taking, not yet at least.”

He watched her reaction, the way her eyes drooped down and her lips pressed into a thin line. He shifted his weight, the leather of his pants creaking slightly. He wanted to reach out, to offer some form of comfort, but he was never good at this sort of thing, never said the right words. Vikings didn’t sympathize very well, too proud and stubborn to drop their hardheaded shells and stone hearts, offering condolences and gratitude with brute force and gifts—lots and lots of gifts—but beneath it all, they did care, and would die for one another. They were all family, one big, messed up family.

The flight back to Berk was quiet, both Aja and Hiccup’s mind plagued with plenty of thoughts. Upon arriving back, it was nearing lunch, and after a few stumbled over words, Hiccup managed to invite her to eat with him, wanting to be polite and hopefully get her more comfortable.

The Great Hall was notably quieter during the lunch hour, many of the Vikings too busy engaged in various tasks around the village during the daytime to eat. Aja was sat at one of the many long tables, watching as Hiccup spoke animatedly with his mother away from everyone. She couldn’t hear them, but she assumed it was about their earlier discovery, based on the way Valka’s brows furrowed at Hiccup’s words.

In Hiccup’s absence, a Viking, who bore an uncanny resemblance to Snotlout, but seemingly much younger, had wedged himself beside Aja. She hadn’t paid much attention to him, her eye’s remaining locked on Hiccup, but the Viking was oblivious to her disinterest. “—and that’s how I took down a Changewing, all by myself!” he exclaimed, puffing out his chest with pride.

“Right,” she replied, barely focusing on his words as she nodded slightly.

Tuffnut burst into a fit of laughter. “Um, no,” he said, standing up from his side of the table. “You were stuck in Deathsong spit. WE,” he pointed a slim finger back and forth between him and his twin sister beside him, “saved you!”

The young Viking next to Aja shifted uncomfortably, his bravado deflating as he realized he had been upstaged. Tuffnut continued, dramatically reenacting the scene as he leaned forward. “And there you were, covered head to toe in goo.”

Ruffnut snorted as her brother mimicked the Viking’s struggle, his arms flailing comically.

The boy grumbled something about “real bravery,” but Aja barely registered it, her attention interrupted by a drawn-out groan from behind them. Hiccup stood there, his arms crossed and eyes narrowed.

“Gustav, what’re you doing here?” Hiccup rubbed the side of his temple, exasperated.

The Viking, Gustav, seemed to have a grin permanently affixed to his face as he stood up. “Hiccup! My man! I always sit here!” He proclaimed, slapping Hiccup’s shoulder with a force that sent it forward, causing Hiccup to stumble slightly.

Before the chief could respond, Fishlegs bulldozed past them, knocking Gustav. In his large arms, he carried a thick leather-bound book that looked like it had seen much better days. The cover was worn and scuffed, edges frayed and smoothed over by countless hands that had touched it, leaving behind oils from their skin.

“Shoo, Gustav. You’re supposed to be on patrol,” Fishlegs huffed.

Gustav shrugged, unfazed by the reprimand. He grasped Aja’s hand with a grip that was too comfortable for being a stranger. “Duty calls, but I’ll pick you up at eight.” He flashed a roguish smile at her as she internally cringed, the warmth from his touch making her skin crawl.

She watched him rush off, disbelief and distaste written on her face as she flexed her fingers, trying to shake off the remnants of his grip.

Tuffnut, ready to capitalize on a situation, leaned over the table with an impish grin. “I bet Astrid’ll be happy he’s off her back,” he quipped.

Hiccup rolled his eyes, replacing Gustav’s place beside Aja while Fishlegs set the book down with a heavy thud. She leaned over, curious, seeing the faint outlines of script along the book’s spine, and a barely-visible etched dragon on its front cover.

Tuffnut’s loud voice cut through again. “What’d you bring that ancient thing out for?” he scoffed, his nose scrunching up in disgust.

“If you had paid attention at our last council, you would know,” Fishlegs retorted, doing his best to keep his tone level.

Hiccup saw Aja craning her neck to look at the book, so he leaned back slightly, allowing her more space and a better view.

“What is it?” She asked as she shifted over to get closer.

“This is the Book of Dragons,” Fishlegs replied, beaming proudly. “It has everything we know about every dragon we know of.”

“And now your Sand Wraith,” Hiccup added.

Fishlegs perked up, turning his attention to Aja completely. “You’ve seen the Sand Wraith?” He asked, eyes wide with excitement.

She opened her mouth to reply, but Hiccup jumped in again, enthusiastic. “They’re native on Volsung.”

He slid the book over so that it was in front of him directly, and opened it toward the middle, revealing his earlier sketch of a Sand Wraith, her, and his other sketches of the dragon burrowing itself.

“I put it in Tidal class, because beach and all,” he said, glancing up briefly at Aja, searching for a glimpse of an approval from her.

But they were abruptly interrupted by a cough. “Nerds,” a familiar voice rang out behind them.

The three of them turned to see Snotlout smugly striding past, a chicken leg gripped in one hand with grease glistening on his fingers.

Hiccup was undeterred by the interruption, clearing his throat, pressing on, “Fishlegs, I need you to add that they breathe fire mixed with sand.”

Aja chimed in, eyes still on the detailed sketches drawn on the page. “Hardened balls of sand surrounded by fire, actually.”

The two men looked at her with wide eyes. “Incredible,” Fishlegs breathed, his voice barely above a whisper as he scribbled furiously in his notebook.

Perhaps Berk wouldn’t be so bad.

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