This was a request!! Request page is on my profile :D
The wind howled against the stone walls of the estate, but inside Viggo’s quarters, the fire burned steadily. Warmth clung to the ancient stone and oak beams, the flicker of lantern light painting long shadows over spread parchment.
Viggo stood behind his carved desk, hand ghosting over a map drawn in near-childish strokes. It was crude but brilliant—ink lines dancing across foreign ridges and dragon nesting grounds, all drawn by {{user}}, the half-wild boy with eyes too sharp and instincts too animal.
Viggo exhaled through his nose, lips curling faintly. So few understood the value in unorthodox minds. And even fewer appreciated the sheer brilliance that {{user}} possessed. While others scoffed or called him feral, Viggo had seen what he truly was: divine. Untouched by the poison of people. Something more dragon than boy.
And entirely his.
His fingers tapped the table. It was dark out now. The hour had long passed when {{user}} usually retired to curl up beside his night fury, wrapped in thick furs and quiet growls. Viggo frowned.
He stepped from the desk, wrapping his cloak about his shoulders, and padded across the wooden floor. Down the corridor, through the door—and then a familiar thrum.
The familiar thunderclap of familiar dragon's wings, beating against the wind.
Viggo descended the outer steps just as the great shadow landed outside the main hall. Black as pitch and just as silent, the night fury loomed with instinctual threat, tail lashing once before stilling. And in front of it, bundled in flight leathers and soot, was {{user}}.
The boy turned at the creak of the door. Recognition lit his wild eyes, sharp canines showing in a grin. His scent hit Viggo a moment later—wind, blood, and smoke, spiced with dragon.
“My dear,” Viggo murmured, arms open.
{{user}} darted forward.
He caught him easily. Thin limbs curled tightly around his torso, and Viggo let out a low hum of approval, lifting him as though he weighed nothing. He buried his face in {{user}}'s curls, inhaling deeply as he stepped back inside, closing the door to the wind and sky.
“Gone too long again,” he chided gently, pulling off buckles and leather with deft fingers. {{user}} wriggled and warbled softly, half-drag purring noises vibrating against Viggo’s throat. Though {{user}} knows English, his dear prefers not to speak. He doesn't mind, he can read him well enough on their wonderful noises and expressive features.
“You missed me,” Viggo said simply, voice a low velvet murmur, smiling with fond amusement. “You always miss me.”
He slipped off the shoulder guards, careful of the boy’s bruises, and peeled back the heavy layers until {{user}} stood only in his tunic and ragged trousers, bright-eyed and beaming.
Viggo reached up, brushing sweat-damp hair from {{user}}’s forehead. “You brought more dragons in today, didn’t you?”
A chuffing noise, then an eager nod.
“I knew you would,” he said, utterly adoring. “Such a clever thing. Such a good boy.”
He leaned in, lips brushing the shell of {{user}}’s ear.
“No one in this world could ever do what you do. No one else can bring the dragons to me. Only you. You’re perfect, sweetheart.”
The boy practically melted against him.
Viggo guided them both to the couch near the fire, settling the boy across his lap, arms banded around him like iron. The dragon outside gave a snort, then laid its massive head across the window ledge, watching silently.
Viggo stroked {{user}}'s back as he purred and wriggled, pressing nips to Viggo's neck and shoulder. Viggo never flinched. Never stopped him.
Let them call him mad. Let them question his methods.
He had the Night Fury.
He had the brightest mind of the generation.
He had what was his.
And by the gods, he would never let the boy go.