#httyd x reader

HTTYD2

This will be a multi-chapter fic following a reader who was adopted by Valka and how they deal with everything.

Dragon- Titan dramillion

Reader is Gender Neutral

Love interests- None

2. HTTYD 1-2 (including all the TV shows/series)

Multi-chapter fic following a berkian (the Mc) through the first movie, defenders of berk, riders of berk, race to the edge, and the second movie.

Dragon- Timberjack

Reader is gender neutral

Love interests- none (might change as it's written depending on possible chemistry and number of interactions, just not Astrid or Hiccup)

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The fire in the hearth cast a soft glow in the hut, illuminating the interior. The flames swayed steadily to their own rhythm until the outside air caused them to coil away from the cold. The door to the hut opened and closed with a loud slam as bloodstained boots moved across the floor, stopping just in front of a woodpile in a corner. One hand tossed a log into the hearth while the other reached for a rug lying on a nearby stool. Dagur sat on the stool and started cleaning his axe, removing half-dried blood from the metal blades, then moved on to spots and handprints on the handle.

Not a moment later, a muffled voice sounded from the outside of the hut “Do not,” and the door slammed open “Walk away from me”, and slammed shut again with the same force “When I'm bragging and proving you right.” A second pair of bloodstained boots stomped across the floor to the same woodpile, tossing yet another log into the hearth; flames wavered again at the disruption.

“Uh, hello? Berserker chief? On Berserker Island.” He said, pointing at his armour, where the metal Skrill was bleeding from its wings, “If you haven't figured it out yet, I can do whatever I want.”

As he was swinging his hands, the other viking snatched the cloth from Dagur's hand and started cleaning their own sword.

“Hey,” Dagur tried to get the piece of cloth back, “I was using that!”

“Your axe’s clean enough.” You moved the rug out of Dagur's reach when he tried to grab it back. “Unlike your armour…” You bit your inner lip, eyes focused on the cloth sliding over the blade in your hands.

“Fine” he drew out the syllable while rolling his eyes. He grabbed a bucket with water and leaned against the table in the middle of the room.

“...or you”, you muttered under your breath once he was out of earshot, eyes looking up from the sword to stalk Dagur's every movement. “You gotta admit though today's hunt was much more fun than usual” you turned the sword towards the fire to check if you'd missed any spot, but the bloodied hands and forearms were far more enticing than any weapon maintenance.

“Definitely”, he let out this characteristic semi-maniacal chuckle confirming, his statement, “and how they all looked panicked when they saw us. Priceless!” He kept reaching into the bucket to wet his fingers the blood on them and his armour slowly dissolving while water droplet ran up his arm, creating lighter paths in the red coating, that glistened and shone in the light “Or when they started running wherever after we killed the first two” Dagur's fingers swiped and rubbed against the armour removing dirt and blood from the armour until he reached a particularly resistant spot. But no matter how many times he dipped his hand, some blood would still cling to his fingers, to his cuticles; hiding under his nails.

“And we did catch that buck,” voice steady and measured like you were approaching a wild dragon you didn't want to scare.

“Fuck yeah we did! It’s head will make a great trophy,” he said with a lilt in his voice, acting as if none the wiser of your slowly approaching figure.

“Since this hunt was sooo successful,” you made sure to emphasise the statement “Don't you have anything to say to me?”

Dagur let out a deep sigh momentarily stopping his attempts at getting rid of the stain and “I guess, I am happy we took your Terrors with us” he grumbled.

“Aaaand?” you drew out voice taunting trying to drag out a confession.

“And they're pretty good at tracking. There, I said it. Happy?” then he turned back to the offending stain using double the force to try end get rid of it. The more he moved the further the scent of blood reached in the room. And as he moved his arms and tensed his muscles scabs over the scratches strained to keep the wounds completely closed making little openings for the blood to lazily seep them.

“Very.” With your eyes narrowed to focus better you approached Dagur putting your sword on the table behind him and moving your hands to unclasp his armour. “It might be easier to clean if you take it off.” You helped him remove the armour “or…” you breathed in the metallic scent of blood mixed with a musky scent of forest where the wo of you have spent the better part of the day tracking a deer that was probably getting skinned somewhere in the village at that very moment. “You could leave it for now” you leaned in to kiss the corner of his lips and then moved to lick the stripe of blood from below his eye. Still wet, still fresh.

“Oh?” He leaned back to take a look at you fully. Your boots were in a decent condition save for a few darker spots, your pants were a bit worse off with additional dirt stains on your knees. But up from there it got messier. Your shirt at the hem was still wet and it still had that deep red hue which looked almost black in this lighting. But it wasn't the only part of your shirt that looked like that because Dagur could count at least 3 tears to the fabric that had this crimson blotch around them. However, this was nothing compared to your hands and arms. Your palms were rather clean since the worst of it has been left on the cleaning rug with the little bit of blood in the creases and a some red film here and there. The back of your hands and your forearms ,where the only way your skin could peek through the crimson coating was where a handprint would smear the fluid further up your arm, were like a carnage on a canvas. A few of your loose hair strands were matted, tangled and sticky at the tips all thanks to a mix of blood, sweat and dirt; some going as far as sticking to your face creating the illusion of dark veins or tattoos pointing at your eyes. Eyes that reflected the flames from the hearth highlighting their immense focus. Eyes that were meticulously scanning him like a predator sizing their prey. And at that moment Dagur wondered, if he sunk into your embrace just now would your scent match his; would the arms that embraced him stain his skin; was the blood on them still fresh enough to also leave a red tacky film in his hair as well. He wondered if you were to put your hand around his throat would it leave a red mark; would the handprint mirror the one you bear on your neck right now. And it reminded him of a time when similar thoughts crossed his mind.

Which was at most two hours ago while the two of you were tracking the deer a bit south of of Berserker Island. The animal was already hurt from Dagur's shot so now it was just a case of finding it and ending its misery. You threaded carefully following one of your Terrible Terrors you brought along. The little red dragon marched forward with its snout almost dragging on the forest floor occasionally climbing a tree or a bush and licking around.

“Admit it, it's much less tedious than blindly going around in circles.” You nudged Dagur yet again during your escapade trying to get him to say you were right.

Instead you got an eye roll in return “Maybe I like going blindly in circles. Maybe that's what I like about hunting.” he nudged you back “Have you thought about that? Hmm?” his face getting right into yours.

“Ha! Yeah right. If that were true you'd be looking for trolls and fairies” You pointedly stuck out your tongue to tease him. Just as Dagur was about to refute the Terror drew your attention “Oh she's got something! Come on!”

You pulled Dagur by the wrist and trotted after the dragon until it stopped before your prey. You praised the dragon by giving it chin scratches and some dried meat as a reward but it didn't rest. It kept walking around the area and sniffing around.

“Well… it's already dead,” he said, while examining the corpse by nudging it with his foot.

“Are you serious?”

“Man, I was really hoping to strike a killing blow. Or like crush its neck with bare hands” disappointment clear in his voice. “Now it kinda feels like cheating if I hang the head in my hut” Dagur swung his axe at a tree in frustration.

“Ugh, this sucks!” you said with irritation clear on your face. You then proceeded to whistle and make clicking sounds with your tongue to call the other two Terrors you brought along. You moved to stand next to Dagur and knelt beside the deer’s head moving it to the side. “Still looks pretty nice and it's rather big and we did follow it around for half a day. I say we— huh?” you paused for a moment “We didn't shoot it in the head, did we?”

“No?” Dagur turned from abusing the tree and turned to you “I definitely didn't aim for the head” He moved closer to see why you were digging around in the dead deer’s mouth “The fuck is that?”

“That, my dear, is most likely a crossbow bolt” You said with the mocking seriousness then presented the thing you pulled out of the animal. “I'm not sure if you're familiar with this kind of ammunition” you threw a glance at his crossbow right beside him

“You!” he tackled you to the ground “You know that's not what I meant!”

“Do I?” you lifted yourself up using his arm as a leverage, your face mere inches from his as you flashed him a shit eating grin. That's when you heard a growl from your right “What is it girl? What did you find?” You scrambled from underneath Dagur to stand beside your dragon who was growling and huffing in one specific direction.

And indeed the little dragon found something— a pair of footprints leading farther into the bush.

“Ooo hoo ho ho, the plot thickens” Dagur chuckled while peering over your shoulder “I wonder who these belong to.”

“I don’t know, maybe we should just get the deer, the rest of our dragons and go back” hesitation clear in your tone while you examined the size of the tracks left.

“Don’t you want to know who stole our kill?” he leaned in closer, then his expression changed suddenly to a smirk “Don’t tell me you’re scared.”

You slowly turned your face towards him, closed your eyes and let out a deep sigh, “I hate how you can get to me in just a few words.” After that you leaned back to grab the crossbow and clicked your tongue to signal your red Terror to keep moving.

The two of you followed the tracks for a few minutes until the sound of waves clashing on the beach was loud and clear. That’s when Dagur yanked you down behind the last line of thickets before the forest turned into a beach. You threw an accusatory look his way but before you could say anything you saw him put a finger to his mouth and point farther into the beach with his other hand. You looked towards where he was pointing and you couldn’t believe your eyes.

“Dragon hunters?” you whispered under your breath. Then your eyes focused on the pair that was closest to the treeline one of them was a flyer sitting on a Singetail while the other person held two Terrible Terrors by their snouts “My boy–” Dagur slapped a hand over your mouth.

“I told you to shut up” he whisper-shouted.

You pulled his hand off your face “What do you want me to do? Wait till they’re gone with my dragons?!” you whisper-shouted in turn.

“Of course not. We definitely gotta tell Hiccup there are still remaining hunters and flyers scattered around. But now we have to think of a plan.”

“Riiiiight… a plan.”

Dagur kept talking to himself considering possible plans, but he stopped when he felt you reach into a quiver on his hip. “What are you doing?”

“Well, there’s no Hiccup here with his goody-two-shoe attitude,” you made a gagging expression “So I’m going to get back my dragons quick and easy,” you loaded the crossbow in your hand “And maybe take some hunter heads on the way,” you aimed at a target only known to you.

“What are you going to do? Fight them all?”

“Come ooon,” your expression twisted in annoyance “There’s like what? Five, six of them and one flyer?” you kept your eyes trained on the beach “Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft…” realising it might be the perfect opportunity to use his own words against him, you took it, “Don’t tell me you’re scared,”you cast a side glance at Dagur and sent a daring smile his way.

Meanwhile, hunters at the beach discussed something only they were privy to, since you could hear them talking but couldn’t distinguish any actual words from a distance. The flyer kept pointing at different people directing them to other places and most likely barking up orders now and then. They turned towards the hunter standing in front of them as he explained something while he presented the two Terrors before forcing them into a small cage. He then pointed towards the forest in the direction you and Dagur came from. The flyer turned their head towards where he was pointing and not a moment later something flew towards them. A bolt went straight through their eye socket knocking them back into the Singetail's back. Before the hunter realised what was happening two shouting vikings were running his way, so all he could think of was getting to the nearest place where they put their weapons and alarm other hunters.

You rushed towards the flyer and chucked the limp body off of the Singetail. You then reached to take off the bridle but instead had to dodge a fire blast from a disturbed dragon. Thankfully it decided to take the opportunity at freedom and leave without causing any more damage, although maybe you could’ve used some more chaos. Sword at the ready; you scanned the area looking for your next target and your eyes landed on Dagur as he swiftly overpowered the hunter he was currently fighting. He knocked the weapon out of their hand and shoved them towards the nearest rock. You felt mesmerised as you watched him grab the hunter by their head and pound it on the stone as it became more and more deformed leaving wet stains on the stone. The sound of bone and flesh cracking and crushing on the ragged rock echoed through the beach in rhythmic hypnotising beats. His hands dug deeper into their face and skull. His thumb pressed straight into the eye socket as little droplets of blood kept framing his face. The eye gave out easily and you imagined the squelching sound it made as the finger sank deeper into it. All of that accompanied by the agonizing screams of the hunter as they clawed away at Dagur's arms leaving deep scratches in his flesh in a futile attempt to save themselves. You wondered if you were in the place of that hunter, would your skull last longer; would your blood fall in the same places on his face and decorate it like morning dew on grass; would you be able to make actual wounds while clawing at his arms; would you be able to leave a mark? Unfortunately your little daydream session was interrupted when you got hit with an axe which that knocked you back . To your surprise, it was the same hunter that was mishandling your poor Terrors just moments ago. To his misfortune, you already planned his demise, so when you recovered from the blow you immediately charged with your sword.

When Dagur decided the hunter was sufficiently mutilated he ran towards the shore only to be met with “Retreat! Run! They’re fucking maniacs!” as one of the hunters shouted jumping into a boat.

He only had a chance to get to one other hunter, yank them back and carve through their arm with an axe followed by a series of swings and cuts to their torso until there were more cuts than flesh and blood was pooling beneath them. By the time he was done the boat had already sailed away with the few remaining hunters rowing frantically.

“Boooo! Get back here! Nobody likes cowards!” he shouted their way while he threw the hatchet from a nearby box in their direction. The weapon almost hit the side of the boat but ultimately fell into the water. With his last attempt at inflicting harm failed he turned around scanning the beach for any sign of you. And there you were right in the centre straddling the hunter that attacked you as he screamed like he was being skinned alive. He wasn't but this was close enough. Judging by your bloodied hands, a sword in his chest and his ribcage spread open like the doors to the great hall during the feast you were having the time of your life. And with your eyes wide open and a wide teeth-bearing smile made it was that much more certain. And it was hypnotising for Dagur to watch as you pressed your bare hands to the hunters throat as they tried and failed to push them away. How you murmured threats to your victim while baring your sharp teeth making you look like a rabid wolf toying with their prey. All that while you shoved your hand in-between the hunter's teeth. The sound of tearing muscle and a jaw being dislocated mixed with bloodcurdling screams created a perfect music for a scene before him. A scene where you tore away the hunter's jaw leaving him to gargle with his own blood. And he wondered if he was there on the sand, would he withstand it; would you act with the same ferocity you do now; would he bite you through your skin as you choked him; would he leave a mark?

“...Oh.” you could see a thought clicking into place in Dagur's head as his gaze changed from distant to focused.

Before you had any time to react he sidestepped, snatched you by the front of your shirt turning you ninety degrees and crashed your lips together. The force with which he pulled you almost made you trip but Dagur's grip was firm and you quickly grabbed his hips to regain balance. And when you fully leaned into the kiss when you pulled his lower lip between yours he could smell it. You did match his scent. The sharp smell of pine trees and moss clinging to your skin mixed with that copper smell characteristic of blood.

Your right hand moved from his hip to slide along his arm and neck to finally tangle in his hair. The movement wasn't smooth but he did feel the trace of the tacky fluid you left behind. “Gods, I was at my last straw trying not to pounce you right in the middle of the village.” You breathed out in between the kisses.

On the other end a cold wet hand cradled your face while Dagur kept nipping at your lip with his teeth. “I could say the same,” he rasped out against your lips “I just wanted to tackle your right then and there on that beach.”

Your other hand busied itself with the hem of his shirt, crumpling it, pulling it up just enough to slip in to grasp his waist. He kept walking backwards one step after the other while pulling you along until the back of his knees hit the bed. You used this as an opportunity to push him down on the bed and straddle his lap. You broke the kiss and both of you were already breathing heavily.

“You know, I think I got an idea,” you slowly pulled Dagur's shirt over his head. “Where to hang that deer's head.”

He sucked in a sharp breath when the dried blood on the shirt pulled on his skin “Oh yeah? where?” His hands started playing with the hem of your shirt and pulling it up.

“Right where that Changewing skull hangs.” You leaned in, placing slow kisses on his jaw.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he stopped mid motion “Why do you want to get rid of the Changewing skull?”

“Because, since we don't kill dragons it's weird that it just hangs right there as a fucking centrepiece…” you motioned with your head towards where it was hanging

“Oh right okay that makes sense,” his fingers resumed tracing circles in your sides and pulling up your shirt.

Then you leaned in to whisper in his ears “And those hunters’ heads are too bludgeoned to look nice anyway.”

At this he jerked his hands and yanked your shirt up. Freshly formed scabs ripped away and you let out a groan and dug your fingers into Dagur's arm.

“Shit, sorry,” the shirt got pulled off the rest of the way, slower this time; a delicate kiss on your mouth, which was still pressed together and stretched thin while your eyes were shut. Followed by another kiss and another as Dagur slowly flipped you over so you were now laying on your back while he repeated little apologies between kisses. Once you opened your eyes you could see his own green ones partially reflecting the flames from the centre of the room as they looked down on you.

You cracked a smile in response. “I bet you can't do it again.”

His expression changed from that of concern to determination. Determination to step up to the challenge he couldn't and didn't want to back out of. He let out a high-pitched chuckle and leaned in, capturing your lips pulling them between his own and biting with his teeth and you reciprocated in kind. His fingers ghosted over your ribs causing you to shiver. He moved from your lips to your jawline, then to your neck leaving open-mouthed kisses and breathing in the metallic smell from the handprint still lingering on your neck. And it didn't sit right with him that a mark made by a worthless hunter in a futile attempt to save their life still lingered on his beloved. Why should you be marked by a dead man but not him? And that thought made him laugh against your skin. He pushed himself up and put his hand on your throat. He kept moving his hand trying to align it with the handprint. Every now and then he would let out a chuckle under his breath. When he was finally satisfied and certain that his hand was covering as much of that hand-shaped bloodstain as it could he flexed his fingers.

“What's so funny, Dagur?” you asked, letting out a little laugh yourself since it was so infectious. Your hand moved to brush through his hair.

Then his fingers on your throat tightened and so did your grip on his hair. Your other hand instinctively moved to grab the one that was restricting your air flow but Dagur pinned it down. He tenderly started drawing circles in the palm of your hand, a stark contrast to the iron grip on your throat. You tried pulling on his hair but every yank resulted in his hand constricting even more around your neck. You tried gasping for air but each attempt failed to bring you relief; failed to push air into your lungs, triggering all sorts of alarms in your head, and tears started to form in the corner of your eyes. With eyes wide you looked at Dagur looming over you as his face was frozen in this sort of disturbing visceral expression with narrow pupils staring right through you fixated on one point matched with a maniacal smile. This impossible to interrupt focus and determination reserved only for the fiercest of battles and for you. But before you could dwell on it further, before you could lose yourself amongst the flames dancing in his green eyes your vision started to get blurry and darken. Whatever strength you had started fleeing you rapidly as your heaving kept fading into silence. When Dagur felt your grip on his hair loosen he let go of your throat and stared at it scrutinising if any changes appeared at all. And maybe it was the trick of light but he could swear there was a bruise already forming in this place. He traced the outline of his own handprint this time wondering how long it will hold.

It didn't bother him at all that you were shaking due to violent coughing and the rapid breaths you tried to take. Only when you dragged his head down to lay against your chest did he finally realise what here and now was. He could now feel how your chest rose and fell in time with your shallow breaths. He could hear how your heart hammered in your chest. How it resonated with the blood pumping in his head from excitement. And all he could do right now was continue where he left of. So he pressed a feather-light kiss to your throat. Then moved further to your collarbone and down your sternum and stopped at one of the larger freshly opened cuts. It wasn't extremely deep but it still has some depth and the blood seeped from it creating a sort of gory smile. Meanwhile Dagur's hand kept playing with your nipple pinching and rolling it between fingers; drawing out quiet moans you kept muffling by biting down on your arm. Suddenly you let out a pained yelp when you felt something push itself into your own flesh. Warm and wet on one side and cold and tacky on the other both rough, both painful sliding along the very inside of your exposed and vulnerable skin and digging through your muscles. You willed yourself to open your eyes despite the pain rushing through every nerve and moved your arm to see better and there he was. Looking up, satisfaction clear in his eyes as he studied the tensed muscles on your arm, how stiff your shoulders were bracing for more of that sharp piercing sensation; your teeth biting into your lower lip breaking the skin from the sheer force. He lifted his head grinning from ear to ear. He licked his teeth leaving red smears as if trying to show off. You reached with your one hand to grab his that was still digging in your wound. Your other hand reached to cradle his face then tangled itself into his red hair. Doing your best to lift yourself off the bed closer to Dagur just to capture any lingering taste of yourself from his mouth. With his chest pressed flush against yours you felt his heart beating rapidly and so did yours. And when you had your fill you tightened your grip on his hair and pulled on them, earning yourself a grunt and a breath being knocked out of him as he hit the bed when you swiftly flipped him on his back and pinned his shoulder.

You locked eyes with Dagur while still holding his hand and pulling it closer to your face. “My turn.” You let out a rasp then licked the blood down from his wrist up to the tip of his thumb.

Once you were sure you got all the fluid cleaned you let go of his arm, which instinctively fell onto your thigh, and took in the view beneath you. His eyes, full of reverent, devoured every fragment of you, the flush on his cheeks disappearing into his beard, lips parted slightly with blood smeared around them. And yes, the scar on his face always drew you in, always wondering how deep that cut was if the scar itself was so wide? Did he do it himself or was he careless enough to get hit by one of the prisoners? But nothing could compare to the scars left by Skrill's lightning. The power carried by the beast that spreads its wings through each sail, each shield, each decoration on the island standing proud on Dagur's very own armour decorated his very own flesh. The thin lines you ghosted over with your fingertips, even though you wish you could dig your nails into them, spread like lightning across the sky from his shoulder to right below his navel. There used to be more, they used to cover his whole body creating a labyrinth of lines, but ultimately they faded leaving only the most prominent ones. Whether it was back then or now tracing them always caused the same reaction: a breathy halted sigh. One that you’ve always loved to draw out and steal from him; so you did. But all that you liked about this moment was pushed to the back of your mind as you grabbed his arm for stability and felt the scratches left on it. The traces left by a dead-man-in-the-making desperately trying to save themselves and it bothered you to your very core. Because why should your beloved bear marks of an insignificant hunter rotting on a beach and not yours? You guided his hand from your thigh to lay it beside his head and slid your hand into his to lay it flat and align your own hand with his. Meanwhile your other hand trailed along his neck feeling up for the right spot and when you found it you broke the kiss. Dagur's lips stayed parted as if waiting for your return, but your mouth moved on trailing down his neck ghosting over his skin until you reached the designated spot. You started sucking gently on the spot as if to test the waters and his reaction– the stretch of his neck to give you better access, the keen he let out, the fingers moving from the nape further into your hair– gave you all the confidence you needed to proceed.

When Dagur felt something sharp graze his skin he said your name with a questioning intonation “What are you doing?” But you didn't bother to answer, you just bit down on his flesh with all the force you had. “Fuck!” was all he could let out in a pained moan. He squirmed underneath you trying to get away from the piercing sensation but you didn't let go. The hand, balled up in a fist, instinctively tried to pull you away by your hair and despite it feeling like he would rip them from your skull, you didn't let go. Your hand that was splayed on his moved so that you could intertwine your fingers. And when he squeezed your hand back you broke through his skin. And just like his nails were digging into the back of your hand your teeth could finally sink into his flesh. He spat curses and profanities through gritted teeth, but you just sank deeper and deeper savouring the moment. Your mouth filling with the hot liquid, the metallic taste spreading to your tongue, palate and travelling down your throat. Whenever this thing beneath you tried to pull you away or move away you bit down harder like a predator on its prey. The hand clawing at your back leaving deep trails on your back enticed you to linger even longer savouring the burning sensation of nails dragging through your skin. And after few seconds, or maybe minutes, when attempts at escape finally ceased, you let go.

You let go and loomed over your work. Your pupils dilated to the point that Dagur couldn't see your eye colour at all. But what he could see was your open mouth breathing heavily, with shoulders rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Tongue sticking out dripping with red saliva and all that framed by a row of teeth crimson like the blood they were dripping with right onto his bare flesh. Right now he didn't care that his shoulder burned with the searing pain or that the blood from this wound seeped onto the furs on his bed. All he could think about right now was that he would do anything to see you like that every waking moment he spent with you. To see that primal, unbound look and behaviour that was reserved for the fiercest of battles and for him.

You were shaken out of your trance– from the blood lazily escaping your mouth, from its taste lingering on your tongue– when a tongue entered your mouth. And when your teeth clanked together, when your lips crashed into each other, when your eyes finally met his you knew this night was far from over.

And you just prayed to gods above that nobody would be stupid enough to ask tomorrow why their chief looks like a mauled dragon chew toy or why you look like you've been thrown off a cliff.

_______________________________________

Cold wind pricked against my flushed cheeks.

I’d describe my expression as one of sorrow or- perhaps melancholy, as I watch white foam lick the shore for the last time, if it weren’t for the fact my skin was numb and I probably couldn’t move my face if I wanted to.

The chill in my bones is much less fun when I’m not on a dragon.

Go figure. 

Though whatever attempts the Edge had to freeze me solid, and as much I act like I wish it did, they all leave tomorrow and I can’t imagine a warmth without them. 

That and- 

On cue, underbrush crackles behind me. Something along the gait and string of whispered curses meant even blind, I would recognize him. 

It’d go to his head if I told him that though.

“Snotface.”

Snotlout rolls his eyes, ”I know I know, in your awe of my presence you mis-pronounced my name.” Standing besides me.

”Yeah- what was it again?” I trail off attempting to instead recall the long list of names Dagur left behind. “Snothat, Snotnose, Snothole-“

”Okay! Okay! I get it you’re mad I stole your stuff.” 

Moving out did have its benefits. Like exposing the whereabouts of my axes, miscellaneous arrows, and secret stash of Changewing acid.

Not so secret apparently. 

“What if Hookfang got captured- or my dragon?” It took the us months to figure out a substance that’d melt the fire-resistant chains. 

“Yeah but,” He shrugs, “All that Viggo-Johann stuff is over now.” And Snotlout waves it off as if the vast ocean before us swept away his worries. 

Would it be so bad if it wasn’t over?

”This is the worst apology I ever heard.” 

But I shuffle asides. Creating a semblance of space for him to sit next to me.

He does. 

Even with my arms covered in layered cloth I felt the press his exposed shoulders against me. And, like always maybe the cold wasn’t so intolerable.

”What am I even going to do in Berk?” I blurt. 

The lap of waves fills the silence. 

I was a dragon rider, a strategist, a heavy hitter. 

What was all that to a people’s that prided themselves on peace?

Well,” He drawls before letting my name roll off his tongue, “There’s…uh…”

“Dragon Dentistry?”

“Snotlout.”

He huffs, “You’d be too mean to Hookfang anyway.”

Yawning I pass, “Next.”

“Okay, we’re still going to have the auxiliary team.”

“Right,” I nudge him, “Me and everyone else on standby.” Though I suppose without the riders, A team might get some more action.

He crosses his arms, “Hey! My dad always sees active combat.”

I don’t have the heart to tell him it’s because Spitelout doesn’t follow orders.

Closing my eyes, I imagine the island. Even if I never stayed, Berks colorful buildings from above was a painting imprinted in my minds eye.

I have to stop myself from humming the song of the wind howling against the jutting rocks that protect her inner beauty.

“What are you going to do when you go home?”

It was obvious, apparently.

Snotlout rolls his eyes and puffs his chest. “Bring pride to the Jorgenson name. The usual.” He flicks invisible sand off his nails.

I couldn’t contain aughter bubbles out, “Hadn’t you already done that?”

“Har har, laugh it up.” He waves off.

I didn’t even notice he moved closer, like we were just two boys in on some half-cocked whispered joke.

I remember when it was that simple. 

Propping my head upon my fist, anything to cover the dusting red upon my cheeks. Moreso, than what the biting weather had already done at least. 

“Don’t you get tired of it?” I ask before I can stop myself. 

“Of what,” He blinks, “Being awesome all the time?” 

I nudge him again, “Proving yourself.” 

Wind cuts between us, and he pulls away. 

“I-I don’t-“ He scoffs, “-Need to prove myself.” 

…

”Okay, MaybeIDoBut-“ Words merge together, he glances at me with pleading eyes. 

And, I have to look away. Snuffing the snort of laughter that escaped me in my sleeve. “Sorry- Sorry- I didn’t expect you to admit it so fast.” 

He pressed his lips in a line, “What’s that supposed to mean?” A string pulled taut between us. 

Now the loss of contact feels so noticeable, as if our time together slipped through my fingers like sand and I hadn’t even noticed till it was gone. 

I nudge myself closer, annoyingly, proddingly, in a way that was sure to bother him except for the fact he never moved away. “Sorry I laughed.”

“Blah-“ I squeak as a large hand pushes my face away. “Hey, come on man!”

 “You’re taking too much space on my side of the emotional support rock.” 

Sand kicks up while I drag my leg back for forwards leverage. Anything to stay on the stone even as I near the edge. Though, that includes grasping onto Snotlout like a lost princess. “What sides! It’s my rock!”

“It’s the Jorgenson rock, cause I said so.” He pushes back. Even if he is at a loss for brains I struggle against his brawn.

I somehow manage needle into his side, after a girlish yelp he finally releases his grasp. “Are you going to talk about your dad or what?”

He opens his mouth, then closes it. Rubbing his side. “Well, you know how he is…”

I don’t respond, watching as the ocean rises in a fit of foam before pulling back.

“Snotlout why arn’t you deadlifting two bears right now. Snotlout where’s your undying army behind you. Snotlout get behind me. Snotlout, why arn’t you leading.”

“Snotlout, Snotlout, Snotlout, Snotlout.”Over and over again it no longer resembled a name but an empty husk of sound.

Of everything he isn’t.

My tongue rolled in my mouth. It was easy to say ‘You’re perfect just the way you are!’ and other copy paste complacentries. And while it was true, no words truly captured everything Spitelout disregards in the Jorgenson quest for everything ‘honor’.

Should I tell him the way his laugh lights up the whole room? How he can complain and grumble but it will never beat the fact that he’ll still be right besides you in the worst of hardships? How when his dad isn’t a snake in his ear, Snotlout morphs into the most capable person on the Team?

So, I don’t say anything. In the lapping silence my head finds retreat on his shoulder. First, he seizes but one by one I feel his muscles relax as he inhales. “Yeah- yeah, I know.”

I don’t have the answers. In fact I’m at the exact same point that I started at. But, if it’s like this in Berk, I think I’ll figure something out.

What was the saying again?

Yandere MBTI

Hiccup Haddock is a RAHL:

Reverent

🐲​Once upon a shy and scrawny boy riddled with many insecurities, over the years Hiccup has truly grown into a man confident in his own set of skills and talents as he no longer feels less like a Viking due to being physically not as strong as others. Whilst his feelings for you have also matured, I'd say that the core of his love has retained a lot of resemblance to the one of when he used to be a teenage boy too anxious too approach you. He's always admired you from afar even when he used to be little and he has always prided himself in noticing your best qualities about yourself and memorising every little detail you mention. As the future chief of the tribe he may preach that he is going to treat everyone equal yet to his friends it really is no secret that he holds a certain amount of favor towards you. Never enough to have anyone claim that it is unfair but definitely enough for others to roll their eyes at times. Despite all the wisdom he has gained, Hiccup tends to not even be aware that he lets you off easier than others or that he is compelled to help you first when there is nothing urgent happening. Perhaps it is just kind of natural for him to treat you like this as he loves you. That's what he supposes, at least.

Aware

🐲​Hiccup is kind of tricky for me as I think he has aspects of both traits within him. I'd say he has greater resemblance as the aware type as he grows up though. Throughout his childhood and early teenage years he is insecure to approach you due to being indirectly constantly aware that he is not the typical viking - especially because he is the son of the chief. Instead he spends his time dwelling in silly fantasies or just scribbling conversations with you or surrounding you in his personal notebooks. As he gets older and gains more confidence, he learns that he doesn't need to impress you with his muscles or physical strength. He has to approach you to begin with instead of quietly stalking you from a distance which is what he ends up doing. Whilst he is going to stop with his admittedly bad stalking attempts, I don't think he is ever going to be fully capable of realising that his obsession tends to be inheritantly wrong. He sure as hell is not going to stop his religious practice of sketching your face in his notebooks and writing down everything he noticed about you on this day. However, he does know that your love for him is not granted because of his status or his dragon. He has to prove himself to you by being himself which si why I would ultimately say he is aware in that aspect.

Honest

🐲Back in the days he could barely talk a sentence without stuttering or feeling his ears going red when you were the one listening to him. Snotlout is going to let him know still that his ears are in fact still getting red when he is talking to you. Yet it doesn't bother him as much any more as it used to be though he can obviously still get embarrassed at times. He's doing it smart for once though as he is not just going to recklessly blurt out his feelings to you. You barely know him enough to give him a fair answer and he wouldn't want to make you feel pressured due to his position as Stoic's son. However, he doesn't intend to play any complicated games either. He constantly lets you know indirectly that he likes you but refuses to tell you this out of consideration. You need time and he still needs to work on his own skills and confidence too before he feels like he is worthy enough to finally confess to you. Some could joke that you most likely wouldn't deny him due to him being the future chief but Hiccup despises this comment so much, even if it is only meant as a light-hearted joke. He wants to be accepted and loved by you for who he is and not for his position and his parents. It entails that otherwise he as a person could never be loved by you.

Lenient

You weren’t the only star in the sky, but you were the only one descending to the earth. The wind was deafening, but just over it, you could hear a voice calling to you. A shout reduced to a whisper in your ears.

It was supposed to be an easy mission, the kind you'd already gone on a hundred times. A surprise attack under cover of night, raining destruction from above on the hunters' camp. Normally, you had no trouble with these missions. You would have executed your part perfectly, and then you would have gone home to celebrate a job well done. It was as simple as that. So how had you gone wrong here? Had their aim improved, or did the fault lie with you and your own failings?

However it had happened, you were here now. A net was tangled in your dragon's wing, making it impossible to stay in the air. Try as you might, you couldn't untangle it, not while they were panicking and thrashing about. You nearly fell off just trying.

So here you were, the woods below racing towards you. The falling star was about to fizzle out. Your only hope lay with your dragon, that perhaps they'd pull off a miracle.

And thankfully for you, a miracle they did pull.

ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ

The longer Dagur found himself allied with the Grimborns, the more he thought it to be a mistake.

The alliance made sense at the time. They were both dragon hunters, their goals appeared to align. More importantly than anything else, they had a common enemy. But where Dagur was focused on revenge, Viggo was much more interested in profits. It might not have been so large a problem, but Dagur kept getting roped into things that really had nothing to do with him. It felt more like being an employee than an ally.

This trip, at least, was a bit more his speed. The Grimborns' usual source of changewing acid had dried up, so they'd sent out a hunting party to replace it, Dagur at its head. This was just the kind of job he liked to pull off. Changewings were tricky beasts, with their tendency to vanish into thin air, and Dagur loved a challenge. He would have to keep a few alive for Viggo, but after that? He would have the run of the island.

The hunting party had arrived on site the previous day. They got camp set up, erecting their tents and making sure their defenses were ready. Dagur had led a few men out today, but they found nothing of significance. A few critters were scurrying about, but there was a notable lack of dragons. Odd, considering the island was reported to be crawling with the things. Hopefully they'd have better luck tomorrow.

The sun had just set on the island, leaving the hunters to their supper. The scent of roasted boar wafted through the air, but Dagur had already had enough. He was sitting on the ground by his tent, watching the sky. That seemed to be where his eyes usually came to rest. It probably read as paranoid to others. He was always on the lookout for attack, but he had his reasons. An attack meant bloodshed, chaos, a chance to take down his nemesis. And it also meant getting a glimpse of you.

"Done eating?" A shadow cast over his face, and Heather came into view. She was standing over him, one hand on her hip and the other holding a plate of food. Dagur had been overjoyed when his sister returned to him, and he much preferred when she came on expeditions with him, but he hadn't been expecting her to tag along on this one. The one thing she refused to give up was her dragon, and he knew very well she didn't like seeing any of the scaly things come to harm. Volunteering for a hunting trip was out of character for her. But he who was he to refuse her company? Especially after so long without her. So, he'd accepted it without much question.

"Ugh, I've had more than enough." Dagur gagged. "These idiots couldn't cook a good meal to save their lives." He was pretty sure he'd eaten dirt that tasted better than whatever it was he'd just consumed.

Heather dropped down next to him with her food. She hadn't tried it yet, so she took a bite to see what he meant. "Hm… Yeah, it's not great, I'll give you that." She sat there, considering the taste for a second. "Should've cooked it longer," she concluded. " And I think they roasted it heavier on one side than the other."

"We really pulled the short straw with these guys, huh?" He snickered. Dagur's gaze finally broke from the sky, falling instead to his sister. She'd been back for a good few months now, and he was happy to have her back. Sure, she acted a bit strangely, and her dragon was freaky. Honestly, he felt she'd forgiven him too quickly. But she was his sister, and it would be stupid to complain about forgiveness. The dragon left him alone for the most part, so everything was okay in his books.

He had almost everything he wanted.

Almost.

You were that missing piece that remained stubbornly out of reach. Each time you met, he'd beg you to come with him, and each time, you'd staunchly refuse. But maybe, someday, you'd change your mind. You'd finally realize this was the better option, and Dagur would stop staring at the sky. You could bring your dragon, he wouldn't mind, just as long as you were there.

Speaking of dragons, Windshear had come to rest behind her rider. That wasn't particularly surprising, she went everywhere with Heather. But right now, something seemed off with the dragon. She was alert, her gaze darting across the camp. It was like she expected something to jump out at her any second. Maybe not an unreasonable assumption, in all honesty - most people in this camp would jump at the chance to harvest a razorwhip's scales.

"Does that thing ever relax?" He asked, scooting away from Windshear's restless tail. It wouldn't be the first time he'd gotten cut by being too close to her.

"She's just a little on edge," Heather answered, reaching up to press a hand to her dragon's nose. "She's in an unfamiliar environment with unfamiliar people. She can probably sense there are other dragons on the island. She'll calm down after a few days."

He sincerely hoped she was right about that. Dagur didn't want to be around that thing while it was on edge. He'd learned to tolerate Windshear more than most dragons, but if he had to fight her, he would, and he didn't want to have to do anything to his sister's pet in front of her.

Instead of dwelling on the thought, he turned back to the sky. It was purely out of habit, he wasn't really expecting anything to happen. The chances that the riders had found out about this particular hunt without an inside informant was near impossible. All he was expecting to find were stars.

And he did find the stars, but he didn't find only the stars.

He jumped to his feet right as the first explosion hit.

ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ

It was Hiccup who fired the first shot.

The hunters' camp was right where Heather had said it would be, and it was just as she'd described it - occupied by a couple dozen men, and defended by three catapults. At least, it had been defended by three catapults, until you struck.

You watched as the first of three exploded into splinters. Instantly, the clearing below erupted into shouts, men scrambling for their weapons and trying to avoid the debris that had once been their protection. You had the advantage of surprise, but it would last for long.

The goal was to do as much damage as quickly as possible, forcing them to leave the island without their supplies. The top priority was their weapons. Once you didn't have to worry about being fired at, you could move on to other matters.

Wordlessly, the formation broke. By now, the hunters had gotten ahold of their crossbows, but arrows whizzing past your face was nothing new. You trusted your dragon. Their reflexes were far more refined than yours, and you knew they'd keep you out of harm's way. You were focused on the larger weapons, one of which was loaded and aimed at you.

“(D/n), catapult!” You barely had to say it before your dragon was barrel-rolling out of the way. That was a wasted shot - good. It would take them time to reload, giving you time to retaliate.

You leaned forward and prompted your dragon to dive. Your descent was steep, bringing you so close to the ground, one might've thought you were landing. You continued to fly low over their camp, and from your dragon's mouth, a stream of fire followed. Before you, men scattered. You brought fire as though it were rain, and destruction rained upon their camp. In this moment, you were to be feared.

In the split second before you pivoted back upwards, you came face to face with him. Spiked red hair, beard to match, a scar across his face. You were mere feet apart. You weren’t shocked to see him, but he certainly looked shocked to see you.

Then, you were making the steep climb through the air, leaving Dagur behind.

You always felt odd, coming face to face with him. You’d been friends, once, before the dragons. Even after that, your interactions had always reflected more than what was warranted. There was a time you had found yourself alone with him, and by the time you took your leave, everything had changed between the two of you.

You eagerly awaited each meeting just as much as you dreaded each meeting.

You were back in the sky, gliding just out of reach of their arrows. You made a quick scan of the clearing below, now lit by your handiwork. While you’d been burning a path through the camp, the second catapult had been taken out. That meant there was only one left to worry about, and Astrid was already en route to take care of it.

That was your fatal mistake, assuming that she had it under control. You saw her and immediately took all attention off the weapon. If you'd been watching, you would've seen it coming. But you weren't. You didn't know anything was wrong until you heard Astrid shouting, and by then, you had already been hit.

Your body shook with the impact, and down you went. Down, down, through the air, through the trees, time slowing to a crawl, and you were gone.

ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ

The past few minutes had been a complete whirlwind.

Dagur was born on the battlefield. It was his happy place. Seeing that man without blood on his hands felt a bit like looking at an unfinished painting. Unfortunately, it was quite difficult from him to get blood on his hands when his opponents were playing a particularly intense game of keep-away in the sky.

"Damn it, have none of you shot a dragon before?" He shouted over the din. The camp had broken into largely useless chaos - some men went for their weapons, but others were running around like headless chickens, contributing absolutely nothing to the fight. "Aim for the dodge, idiots, aim for the dodge! Someone get me a fucking crossbow!"

Clearly, the men Viggo had sent with them were incompetent. Dagur lost sight of Heather shortly after she mounted her dragon, but the Gronckle was also missing. She must have chased him off. What was that rider's name? He could never remember. Birdarms? Something like that. That was besides the point - Heather was gone, and everyone else was plain stupid. If anything was going to be done, Dagur would have to do it himself.

Dagur continued shouting orders as he looked for a weapon. He'd been stupid to let his guard down. You should never be caught in battle unarmed. He was running for the hunting supplies when the wind rushed past him. The field was afire, and he was eye to eye with a dragon. Not just any of dragon, your dragon. There you were, mere feet from him. He could reach out and touch you, if he wanted. Your eyes glistened in the light of the fire, meeting his own.

You were most beautiful when you were wreaking havoc.

And just like that, you were gone. Dagur stood there in awe, though he knew he should be grabbing something to shoot with. That always happened when you were with the riders. Curse you for being such a distraction - it put him at a distinct disadvantage. That probably wouldn't be remedied if you were by his side, but at least it wouldn't come with that ache in his chest.

Dagur was brought back to his senses by the heat. Everything was on fire, including the majority of the camp's equipment. Only one catapult remained, to the detriment of everyone on the ground. Something needed to be done. He'd finally found a weapon, a crossbow discarded on the ground. Someone must have dropped it in their hurry to get out of your way.

He loaded an arrow into the crossbow. Now, he was ready to shoot anyone who descended far enough that they'd be in range. Oh, how he'd love to bring Hiccup down on that dragon of his.

Unfortunately, it was not Toothless who would be hit tonight.

"IT'S A HIT!" He heard someone call. Finally, those idiots had landed a blow on someone. He looked up in delight, hoping to see a nightfury falling to the earth, but he would not be so lucky. It wasn't a nightfury, or a zippleback, or even a gronckle. It was your dragon that was plunging down to the woods.

"Shit-" he mumbled under his breath. He ought to stay here and keep the situation under control. He was the head of the party, and his second in command was absent. But the situation was already out of control, wasn't it? It was all burning. Whatever they managed to save wouldn't be enough to sustain them. No matter where it went from here, they were leaving this island empty-handed. Why should he stay?

He sprinted off with his crossbow, away from the camp and into the woods. The air got cooler the further he got from the fire. He'd come up with some excuse later. He was making sure you were truly dead, maybe, ensuring you wouldn't be a problem. He was already a loose cannon. No one would be surprised by his elopement.

It wasn't hard to pinpoint where you'd gone down. Your descent had caused a lot of damage. A path of mangled trees marked your path; all he had to do was follow it.

And there you were. He could only barely see you, just the top of your head. The rest was obscured by your dragon. A majestic beast, to be sure, but heavily injured. They were bleeding from several gashes cut by tree branches, and their wing was still tangled in the net. He doubted they could even fly in this state. And yet, despite their injuries, they were still fiercly protective of you.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Dagur stepped back as the overgrown reptile snarled at him. They were shielding you with one wing, and though they was snapping their jaws at him, they weren't advancing. They didn't seem eager to leave your side. "Calm down! You don't gotta set the forest on fire!"

You blacked out around the time you hit the trees. It was a small mercy, saving you from the sensation of your skin ripping open, but only a small one. Once you woke, you could feel every ounce of pain shooting through your body. It would have been a lot worse if (d/n) hadn't cushioned your fall. They'd taken the worst of it, and yet they were still trying to protect you, even now at their lowest.

It occurred to you, once you were fully conscious, that you should probably question what they were protecting you from.

There was someone there, a person. Not one of your friends, or (d/n) wouldn't be so hostile. A hunter come to finish you off, most likely, or so you thought until you heard him speak.

"(D/n), down." Something cracked in your ribs as you sat up. Something else cracked as you soothed your dragon, bringing their wing away from its defensive position. Gods above, it hurt like Hel. The fact you were even upright was a miracle.

Though confused, you dragon lowered their wing, retreating behind you so you were leaning against them. Sure enough, there he was, crossbow in hand. He was staring at your dragon like they would attack at any moment. Maybe not an unwarranted assumption, but as long as you told them to stand down, they would.

Dagur took a cautious step forward, waiting for a reaction. When your dragon didn't lunge for him, he dashed to your side. "Holy shit, how are you conscious right now?"

You weren't in good shape, to say the least. You were bleeding in a few places, but for the most part, you had been saved from anything catastrophically bloody. Your left arm was at an odd angle, definitely broken, but your other limbs seemed fine. Your ribs were another story, if your breathing was any indicator. Overall, while it wasn't good, it could be significantly worse.

"It's okay, it's okay," he started chanting. His words weren't particularly convincing, but they seemed to be more for his benefit than yours. "Just a couple of broken bones. No biggie, right? You're gonna be fine. You're gonna be just fine."

"Would you stop that?" Oh, talking hurt. Every word felt like a dagger was being driven into your chest. And yet, you pushed through it.

"Stop what?"

"Talking to yourself like a crazy person." As if that wasn't exactly what he was. You didn't earn the epithet "The Deranged" for nothing.

"Oh, I'm sorry for trying to be comforting." You didn't find his panicked speech particularly comforting, but maybe it was helping him. Clearly he was shaken if he'd broken off from camp to find you. If that tidbit got back to the Grimborns, their trust with him would certainly take a hit. Then again, you had just set said camp on fire, so maybe leaving was the better choice regardless.

While you were alternating between considering such things and finding yourself overwhelmed by how badly it hurt, the man kneeling before you was trying to decide on a plan of action. Dagur wasn't a stranger to injury by any means. It came with life on the battlefield. But the forest floor was not the best place to set a bone, especially next to a dragon he was pretty sure would bite his head clean off if you showed any sign of discomfort. And yet, what else was there for him to do?

"Okay, (y/n), I'm going to try and set the bone back in place-"

"No!" To his great confusion, you reached up to stop him. "If you set the bone-" You were cut off by a sharp pain shooting through your body. The pain in your arm was really quite dull next to that in your chest - you must have at least two broken ribs, since the pain wasn't relegated to one side. Maybe more.

You took a moment to compose yourself before continuing. "If you set it, Gothi won't have to, and she'll know someone else did. It'll raise questions." You paused again, wishing the pain would pass. It did not. "Wait for the others."

Wait for the others. It was sound advice, sure, but when would your peers come for you? The selfish part of Dagur, the part that would usually prevail, hoped it wouldn't be for a while. Each moment with you was precious, and this moment would pass as soon as your friends came for you. But it was different this time. You needed to get out of here and see a healer, and for once, he wanted you to leave as soon as possible.

"Well, I'm not leaving you alone here."

Of course he wasn't. Truthfully, you didn't want him to. You didn't want to be lost here, hurt and alone with a dragon liable to kill themself trying to keep you safe. You didn't want the pain to be the only thing keeping you company.

So you didn't protest when he settled in next to you. He came to sit next to you, on the side of your good arm. He seemed nervous being so close to your dragon, but when they didn't attack him, he relaxed.

There you sat, leaning back against your dragon with Dagur sitting at your side. It was hard to focus on much beyond your hurting chest. Every so often, your dragon would growl at something in the darkness. As much pain as you were in, you were more worried about them than yourself. You wished there was something you could do, but you'd just have to wait for the other riders.

Dagur, feeling pretty helpless himself, was left holding your hand. You would hold it limply, most of your strength gone at the moment, but every so often you would squeeze hard. It was a reflex that came with the sudden bursts of pain.

You weren't sure how long you sat there in silence. Dagur never remained quiet for long, but he rarely found himself in this situation. He didn't know what to do with himself, sitting next to a loved one in pain. The logical thing, he thought, would be to treat the injury, but you'd already refused that. Comfort didn't come naturally to him, so would it not be better to keep his mouth shut?

For potentially the first time ever, you were the one to break the silence. "Tell me about your day?" You asked. You needed something besides your broken bones to focus on - it felt like you'd go crazy otherwise. "Or whatever else you want to talk about, anything's fine."

You were asking for sound. You were giving him instructions, and he finally had something to do.

To your great relief, as well as his, he started to talk.

"I'm really starting to think Viggo's an idiot," he started. "Either that, or he's setting me up for failure." You honed in on his voice. Not many people would think of it as calming - no, it had this underlying madness to it, this sort of sound that made you expect maniacal laughter at any moment. But it wasn't about the voice itself for you, it was about who the voice belonged to. You'd learned that hearing his voice meant you were safe. No matter how far you fell, he was always there waiting on the ground.

"You wouldn't believe how stupid the people he sends with us are. I mean, I thought my crew was bad, but gods, it's like these guys never learned basic life skills! It's a miracle no one's died on this trip yet. Well, not that I know of, anyway. I'm pretty sure you set one guy on fire back there, so uh, don't know how he's doing." He broke into a short laugh. Only he would find the image of one of his own on fire to be funny. There was something wrong in that brain of his, but then again, there had to be something messed up in your own to match it.

"Sorry about that." Whispering didn't negate the struggle that came with talking, but it eased it a little bit. Then again, it could just as easily have been a placebo effect. "In my defense, he was in the way. It's not easy to divert (d/n)'s path when they're already going."

"No hard feelings. It's probably better for him in the long run - maybe he'll remember how to think while he's out of commission!" You could feel his laughter next to you as much as hear it. He thought his own jokes were so funny, and while that was an annoying trait in most people, you liked to hear his laugh. It was as loud and boisterous and him.

Being next to him felt right. This was right, and yet, it wouldn't stick. Not as long as you were you, and he was him. Both of you knew that. It always came to an end, and it would end again tonight.

And as much as Dagur wanted to ask you to come with him, he knew better. This wasn't a night for dredging up that argument. It was bad enough seeing you slumped over from your injuries - he didn't want to start a fight with you on top of it.

That was something special about you. He didn't want to fight with you. Anyone else he was ready to face, to scream at and bash open and rip to pieces, but that wasn't what you deserved. You weren't an ant to be crushed under his boot. You were more than anyone.

The clock on your time together was ticking down. This was never going to be a particularly long meeting. The fight had been basically over when Dagur ran from it, and the dragon riders had an annoying tendency to never leave each other behind. He was telling you about supper that night when he heard the first shout for you.

You didn't hear it at first, lost in the constraints of your physical body and the small comfort of his voice. You didn't know anything was happening until he abruptly stopped talking. He moved away from you, and your eyes snapped open. There you saw him, now standing, looking up at the sky.

He was going to leave. You knew it was for the best, but you still wished it could be different.

He knelt back down, grabbing his crossbow from where it had been left on the ground. You took a moment to memorize how he looked in the moonlight, how his silhouette glowed.

Then, he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "I better see you in the sky again, or I'm coming to get you myself."

He stood back up, began to retreat, and then the moonlight was blocked out.

There was a loud thud next to your dragon, who finally seemed to drop their guard with the arrival of the cavalry. Stormfly's tail bristled, poised like a scorpion's stinger, and Astrid jumped before her dragon was fully on the ground.

"Get the fuck away!"

One of her axes went flying past Dagur, and he broke into a sprint. When she was sure he'd vanished into the woods, Astrid turned and dropped to her knees in front of you. "Are you okay?! Stormfly, go signal the others!"

You felt the rush of air as Stormfly took off, and you felt the warmth of Astrid's palms as she set them on your shoulders. She was here now. You'd be safe. You and your dragon were going to heal, and everything would be alright.

For a quiet moment, you sat there, letting Astrid assess your injuries. And as she did, you looked over her shoulder, staring in the direction Dagur had run away in.

It wasn't the first time he'd run, and it wouldn't be the last either. But to leave, he had to be there first, and wasn't that the important part? That he'd been there.