#but i wanted to post a drabble ;v;

[surunoita]

okay i'm gonna post this in the hopes that tumblr doesn't nuke me for artistic nudity but here's some warmups i did of my character austin (they/them) in the blood moon universe <3 idk what else i could say but blood moon (by @barbwritesstuff ) was and is a huge inspiration to me and i could talk about it for hours so i'll just tell you to go play it :-) <33

[takami-takami]

I am having a hard time.

👍

[c-aptainslog]

The Captain’s fingers splay across the window, somehow feeling like they can sense the coolness through the thick glove. Two years since the ship landed. Two years since the colony was founded.

Two years since the wormhole.

It’s strange to be on a linear timeframe again, or as linear as it ever was. It’s something they should have gotten used to by now, they would have thought. No matter how far away they get from it, though, they still find themself falling into old patterns — flinching at drones, avoiding cryo pods, seeing blue in the corners of their vision.

But… it isn’t all that. The colony is thriving; the people are safe. It’s peaceful, even! Sure, there’s the occasional wayward explosion, but otherwise everything’s up to procedure.

From the now grounded Invincible, they can get a good view. But they’ve spent enough time in the past already.

The Captain steps away from the window, out of the ship, and onto solid ground.

[theroguedragons]

Drabble for @dragynfire

Daemon felt how it had become harder and harder for his queen to keep on living this lie. Of course they had managed over the years to deal with it somehow. They found ways to meet up secretly. The prince was somehow even able to raise their children from the back by training with them and teaching them high valyrian to control their dragons but all of it never changed that the eyes of his brother were always burning on their skin. While Daemon could deal with the fact of sharing her sometimes to keep their lie intact, Alicent was crumbling under her hard facade and there was nothing else he wanted more than finally releasing her from all this weight on her shoulders and protecting her from having her body used like other men wanted. His jealousy he could control, but he couldn’t bear to see her suffer. Since the beginning it was her who had to make so many sacrifices and having him every now and then was somehow the only thing she really owned and decided by herself. It wasn't enough though and therefore the prince had promised her to take care of it as he always did. “I'll find a way. I'll ask him to release you so I can take you as my wife.” It was a whisper he left in her ear during their last embrace and even if he noticed that Alicent wanted to believe him, she couldn't stop the scoff from her lips since she probably thought he was just trying to calm her like he always did. But Daemon wasn't a man of shallow promises. He was either all in or would let go of something when it wasn't worth his time, but his queen, the mother of his children was everything that truly mattered and he knew he had to at least try to make her as happy as he felt when he had her.

After asking for a hearing with the king, something that would be formal and official, Alicent and their kids joined them in the throne room where Rhaenyra and everyone from the kings council was already waiting. As Daemon had asked his brother for this Viserys just chuckled, saying “You do not need an audience to talk to your brother. What could be that important to bring it up in front of everyones noisy eyes and seek such an absolution for it?” but his brother convinced him to do it nevertheless even if he appreciated his support he knew would be tested on this day.

“What is it you came here to ask for, prince Daemon?” his brother asked, sitting on the throne with Alicent and their three kids standing close by on the stairs, watching him with constant fear glowing in her eyes. No matter how many times Daemon tried to convince her to trust him, he knew that sometimes love wasn't enough to trust someone that could act so reckless. Still he was calm himself and after a reassuring glare to his secret lover, his eyes wandered over to the princess before he kneeled down with a smirk. “I ask for the hand of princess Rhaenyra.”

A murmur went through the room and Daemon noticed the confusion and shock on Alicents face without even daring to look at her while Rhaenyras surprise turned into a pleased smile immediately. Viserys needed a moment until he suddenly scoffed, a reaction Daemon had hoped for secretly cause he knew what would follow. “You really think I would allow you to marry my daughter? The heir of the throne?” Daemon was aware that there was a secret fear in his brothers mind. That Daemon only ever wanted the throne no matter the cost and that's why his request would just play into that fear what got obvious in the way Viserys looked at him in full despise and anger. “My dear brother, we all mourn the loss of your beloved wife Rhea...” Words that only made Daemon silently scoff himself. “...and we all wish you happiness and a wife by your side, but I cannot give you my daughter. You must have known that and still you came here to ask?”

It was Rhaenyra who stepped forward, trying to adress her father while Daemons eyes were now focused on Alicent to assure her that everything went like he planned it. While his queen was still confused, he was glad that her grip around their daughter tightened to prevent any further reaction from their kids who probably didn't know what to think of this either. Viserys stopped his daughters words that tried to perceive him and looked back at his brother who now slowly raised to his feet again. “My answer is no, prince Daemon. But considering your bravery to step forward to ask for this, I will allow you something else. Someone else.” Now it was getting interesting and Daemon folded his hands in front of his hips to seem as innocent and surprised about his offer as he could. “Name someone else. And I will gladly accept any name you will come forward with.” Any. Exactly the word he had hoped for.

The smirk on Daemons face increased and now he knew that Alicent must've understood what he was really aiming for here: a compromise. When the king denies him something first, his kindness will make him offer something better. Something else. The prince created an impossible situation the king had to decline just to offer him something he couldn't say no to again. “I want Alicent.” The roaming that went through the room now was louder than before but then stopped as the king suddenly raised from his chair with fury written on his face he tried to suppress as good as he could, but Daemon knew anger when he saw it in his brother.

“How dare you?”

Daemon just shrugged and looked at his kids whose eyes were focused on him. “You said I can have anyone else. I want Alicent. I want to be with her and my kids.” Alicent shielded Helaena in her arms in that moment, but Aegon II just gasped and looked back to his mother in confusion. They had never told them the truth to protect them from the consequences, but they both knew that their smart girl would probably knew it through her dreams while Aemond had always looked at Daemon like a father figure already, that's why his expression probably didn't even shift at all.

“Everyone leaves the room.” the king declared with coldness in his voice and waited for everyone heading to the door besides Rhaenyra and Alicent with their kids. “You too.”

Neither the princess nor the queen wanted to leave, but they had no chance to disobey the kings command and slowly moved down the stairs to head to the door as well. “It’ll be fine.” Daemon whispered as Alicent passed him close enough to hear his words and lightly touched his fingers with her tips under strict glares of the king whose stare probably wanted to kill the prince right here. Just as the door closed Viserys approached his brother who lowered his head in respect, but the firm “look at me” forced him to raise his eyes again in the moment as Viserys fist hit him right to his face and brought him to his knees since he simply wanted him to have that moment of control when he was so close to losing it forever. “Your kids? How can you even dare of disrespecting your king like that, Daemon?”

Daemon needed a moment to recollect his thoughts but instead of getting up again he just spit out the blood in his mouth and looked up at his brother with full determination. “It is the truth. Or do you really think you’d be able to produce heirs at this point?” Another angry kick hit him right into his stomach, but this time it wasn’t something he didn’t expect to happen and could just laugh about. Pain was always a known thing for the prince, it pleased him in a way even cause it reminded him of how alive he truly was.

“This is my wife you’re talking about. My children.”

“A wife you never loved? A wife you only chose for her youth, for her beauty and name when it should have been me taking her.” Daemon wasn’t completely wrong in saying that even if he knew that Viserys probably had no other choice back then. The king had to remarry, but why did it have to be her? The only woman he truly ever wanted?

“And you love her?” Viserys spatted and reached down to Daemons collar to pull him back on his feet to face him. “Say it. Tell it to my face.”

The prince had many devious expressions, but in this moment the former evil smirk shifted into something soft just like his eyes that started to sparkle from the tears of awe he felt for the queen. “I love her. She’s beautiful and fierce and much smarter than both of us will ever be. She has gone through so much always with her head held high and you know what’s the only moment for her where she can be weak and let it all go to be herself? When she lays in my arms at night after I fucked her. I bet you’ve never seen her look at you the way she looks at me at night because she loves me, brother. She loves me and I love her and there’s nothing you can do about it. I love her like you only ever loved Aemma.”

It was too painful for the king to listen and Daemon respected that he saw at least some form of emotional reaction now that it was about the woman he adored so much and who never got anything from him as honest as the love Viserys had for Aemma. But the prince also knew in the moment that his brother let go of him in despise, that he would never give in to his request. Not even now. Instead he walked passed him and stopped with his back turned on the prince, eyes closing from the heaviness the realization brought that these kids indeed were never his. “Marry Rhaenyra then. But do it where I can’t see it. And never come back here or to my wife.”

Daemon couldn’t believe this, that even in this moment he would rather have him marry his daughter than to give up a woman he didn’t even love out of duty. “Even now you belittle your only daughter because of spite? Do you think she’ll ever forgive you that you favor a woman you don’t love to her? Give Alicent free, brother. End this madness for her, can’t you see your wife is suffering?” It didn’t seem that Viserys cared or maybe he was just too weak to settle this in another way that could make him lose his pride, but without another word he left the throne room to speak to Rhaenyra who waited outside.

Daemon shook his head in disbelief, angry about himself and his failed plan that he only could come outside with a lowered head, heavy from shame. It didn’t matter anymore. If he really had to leave kings landing for good, he didn’t care about any other consequences anymore and he should at least have the right to say goodbye to the love of his life, didn’t he? While the king was distracted by the argument with his daughter, Daemon approached Alicent with a defeated smile but before he could say something it was Helaena who released herself from her mothers embrace to wrap her tiny arms around the prince. “I always knew.” she murmured and left him no other choice than holding her, his hand caressing her long white locks which made all of this even more bittersweet.

“Why did you do that?” Alicent asked and knew that she probably was right, but still he could just shrug and murmured “I had to try. I promised you.” It was Aegon who was the only one still standing there with suspicions towards his real father, while Aemond just looked at him with respect and nodded. Even if he was the youngest and still too small to leave him behind, he often behaved like the most grown up and filled Daemons chest always with pride. Helaenas arms released from his waist and in the moment he approached Alicent to rest his hand on her cheek, Viserys head finally turned to sent them a last threatening look, but Daemon couldn’t care less anymore.

He was too busy with wiping away the tear that rolled down her cheek and leaned in to have their foreheads rested against each other. “Do not cry, my love. It’ll be worth it, time is on our side you have to believe in it.”

“Let me come with you.” Aemond suddenly said, his eyes firmly on his father who just shook his head.

“No, you have to stay with your mother. She needs you. All of you.”

“But Dragonstone might offer me a dragon. I might finally be able to…”

“I said no.” Daemon interrupted him with a commanding voice, his eyes now focusing on the small boy he kneeled down to now. “You can visit me. Visit me with your mother. For now I need you here. Help her to calm his mind. It is my fault that his blood is raging now, but it won’t be me who will be able to calm it. You will.”

The princess steps in their backs were the reason he got up again, a deep breath later allowing him to turn back to his queen so he could cup her face and lean in for a kiss to her cheek, her ear close enough to whisper in it. “Visit me. I’ll always wait for you.” Alicent nodded and what first just was meant as his goodbye, shifted now into an urge he couldn’t suppress and led him against her lips for a kiss of bittersweet devotion and a promise that even a marriage with the princess couldn’t break. “Find me.” he said to the family he had to leave behind before the king would behead him and even if Rhaenyra had witnessed the kiss with her former best friend it didn’t even seem to unsettle her. Maybe it shouldn’t have surprised him since her confidence was always her biggest strength.

“Let us leave, uncle. I have no interest in staying at a place where I’m constantly reminded that I’m worth less than anyone else to my father.” It was a reaction that was understandable and somehow Daemon felt regret for ruining her relationship to her father even more, but at least all truths were spoken now and hopefully everyone would know where they truly stood. Time would tell how it would solve itself, but for now Daemon couldn’t wait to mount his dragon and escape the mess he had created, even when the outcome wasn’t the one he hoped for and the woman by his side wasn’t the one he wanted to marry truly.

At least he tried. At least he made his promise come true that he would try and ask for her hand to prove her that she would always get anything from him no one else would ever offer her. That at least one person in her life would risk it all for her and that what they had was true. Not her father, not her husband. But him. There would never be anything he wouldn’t do for her, even if it caused a war or the final loss of the man he called his brother.

[padfootastic]

ok ok ok so i think i kinda completed my remus & sirius conversation…thing that i was writing in my messages app lol

i haven’t actually compiled all of it in one place yet so idk how it’ll read bc it’s so spaced out in terms of writing and stuff and i’ll almost definitely to edit and add some more bits and pieces but it’s so. different from what i usually write? like way more dream of consciousness and almost too flowery? and it feels—incomplete but i’m wrestling w the urge to pad it with unnecessary details lol

but yah. very very nervous and very excited.

[kyoupann]

How about Four and "nostalgia"?

theeenks for making me write my mans Bee! 💛

Drabble Requests open!

Please send one-word promt and a character.

Over the years “mature” became a word most people would use to describe him; along with some not-so-positive ones. He always found it ridiculous that they would use it to, well, talk about and to a proper adult. But he can’t blame them for what his body looks like; he knows they mean well, after all. Four wishes some of that maturity everyone talked about would find its way into the confines of his mind, the ones he keeps deeply in for himself to ignore only. Those moments that he keeps telling himself there is no point in keeping bringing life to; they are gone, long gone, and nothing is like it once was twice. But there is a childish denial unwilling to let go of yet. His mind focuses on memories of warm evenings and desultory touches while picking wildflowers; a gloved hand on top of his callused one. Life is so that it will make these small moments linger longer in us than we think they’re worth, and yet there is the need to keep them alive. So he will disguise that denial as nostalgia for as long as he needs to be at peace with it. That’s how the process of change goes; he will peek at these moments with fondness and then carefully tuck them away until the next time.

[universestreasures]

@blasterdiablo (Yet another Club drabble for an idea I had to get out that you do not have to respond to but tagging you anyway LOL)

Dreams were a weird thing. At times, you could wake up remembering every thing in vivid detail as if it really happened to you. Others, you could recall nothing at all what you saw. Though, surely the dream Asaka was having right now would fall into the former category, a dream that seemed so intense and real it was as if it was a memory.

The college student finds herself in an unfamiliar location, one where silver weapons decorated the walls and It was a dark space that's only light came from the few candles from fixtures on the walls. She shifts her head to further examine the place, quickly realizing she wasn't alone in this strange room. Yes, with her right now was...

"Ren...? What are you doing here? And where is here?" She questions, being unable to get a good look at him. Much of his body, other than his red locks, were being concealed by the darkness that surrounded them, after all. Slowly, she approaches him, being careful where she steps, but eventually stops once she makes it in front of him and is able to see him clearly as the room suddenly becomes brighter with the addition of more candles being lit.

And what she sees before her icey blue hues is an image she never wished to see. It was a sight that can only be best described as her worst fear brought to life. What she sees is her love, the person she most treasured in this world, covered in blood from head to toe. His eyes were wide, his body covered in bruises and slash marks that could be seen through unfamiliar clothes, and most shockingly of all, his stomach had been peirced with a black sword, one that resembled the one Ren had hung up over their bed in their bedroom.

Worst yet...that sword wasn't stuck in there. No, it was being held there by something. As soon as Asaka's gazes follows the end blade to the handle...she realizes just what or rather who was holding it. The one who had presumably stabbed Ren, who presumably caused him great suffering was...was...

Herself.

"W-What?! This...This can't...This can't be! I wouldn't...! I couldn't...! I'd never...!"

It's then that his body finally limps and falls on her, bringing both her and him down to the cold stone ground. His blood now stains her own body, both now covered in the red substance that to vampires symbolized life and to humans symbolized death. A hand is swiftly placed on his neck, checking it for the sign of a pulse. However, it just as quickly goes limp as soon as she feels nothing coming from it, a coldness now surging through her body like it had just been hit with a winter breeze.

Ren was...dead because of her.

Ren had been killed...because of her.

Ren had been killed...by her.

Just as she always feared might happen to him one day...

"No..."

"No..."

"Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Her cries of agony echo throughout the dark room and back in her shared dorm room with Ren. They were so loud that they were probably heard by those in the floors below them, such as Aichi and Kai. Her eyes then shoot open, sweat dropping down her face as she quickly sits up and breaths in and out heavily trying to process everything. Though, her concern quickly switched from her own well being to search around her room, looking for the person who she had just witnessed being killed by her own hands.

However, Ren wasn't...in the room with her. She checked the closet. She checked their balcony. She even checked under the bed to see if he was trying to prank her or something. He wasn't there. He wasn't anywhere she looked. And that fact...made her body start to shake, Asaka's knees buckling as she sinks to the floor in the center of their shared space.

Asaka had a reputation of being strong and beautiful, the person who knew how to hold it together and get things done. She was the one who started the Pale Moon Club in the first place. If it wasn't for her efforts, her kind wouldn't have a sanctuary in this human-run university. The club president she prided herself on being was far from the horrified woman who was on the floor now, the one who was slowly starting to cry as panic and worry took over regarding the current fate of her beloved human.

"Ren...Ren you can't be...You can't be...dead... All because of me...Because of a miserable creature like me...A creature who doesn't deserve you...or the love you've given me..."

~

[almarantha]

Aurum - A Post-Skyrim TES Drabble

“You really must take better care of yourself, child.”

Amara’s eyelids shot open at the foreign voice, sending her scrambling to get to her feet. She would forgive herself this moment of impropriety, of weakness. It was a startling thing, being spoken to when you were supposed to be dead. Reaching down, Amara placed a hand over her stomach, searching for a fresh wound that should’ve still been bleeding.

Granted, that wasn’t the only thing that seemed to no longer exist.

There was… nothing around her. No walls. No ceiling. No ground, for that matter. There was a floor beneath her, she could feel it, but actually discerning it was another matter entirely. Her surroundings were but a blank canvas. Filled with anticipation, but nothing had yet been put onto the page. No words had filled the empty void of white. No paint had given color, given life, to the environment.

“Yes, but think of the potential.” The voice mused once more, as if reading her mind.

Amara spun her head around so fast that she feared she might have snapped it. Could she even? She was already dead, right? As is, her lengthy wine-colored hair had likely slapped the owner of the voice in the face. To her left stood an Imperial man, hands calmly folded behind his back. He had a handsome look about him. Square, noble features and umber-hued hair cascaded down his neck. It was a face that could have belonged to a warrior, if not for how scholarly his posture was and how soft he wore his expression. The man smiled softly and tilted his head in acknowledgement, seemingly content to wait for her to measure him up.

His attire was familiar, although Amara couldn’t quite place where she’d seen it before. It was something an Imperial noble would wear, fittingly enough; that much was certain. Long indigo robes were rimmed with white, spotted fur. The robes covered an ornate scarlet doublet decorated with intricate gold patterns. On the whole, it looked inordinately expensive, but nothing more so than the jeweled necklace that the man was wearing. A ruby the size of her fist laid set in a gold casing, while several other, smaller, jewels of different colors rimmed the outside of the amulet.

The ensemble was gorgeous. Any Imperial worth anything would kill to be seen in such an outfit.

And yet it seemed horribly ill-fitting on such a man. Just by looking at him, Amara got the sense that he would have been far more comfortable in much simpler robes. He had that sort of priestly disposition about him. Yes, she could imagine him in a monk’s garb.

“…Who are you? Where am I?” Amara asked slowly, having become more or less acquainted with her surroundings. As much as a Dunmer in a completely foreign environment could, anyway.

The man pursed his lips, as if mulling over what sort of answer he should give. “Those are questions that won’t serve you well here. It would be more apt to ask when.”

It only now occurred to Amara that the man had never once opened his eyes to look at her. He faced her direction and seemed to know where she was, but those eyelids stayed shut. Was the Imperial blind? Amara furrowed her eyebrows at the roundabout answer. Riddles. She hated riddles. Especially riddles coming from mysterious strangers.

“When are we then?” She asked, her tone far more demanding than it used to be. Even a few years ago, that would have been unthinkable. But she’d grown up a lot these past few years. One of the first lessons she’d learned was to not take shit from people if you wanted any modicum of respect.

“Hmm…” The man hummed, contemplating her question. “The Middle Dawn, perhaps? Or maybe the Oblivion Crisis…” He lifted a hand to his chin, gazing upwards at what should be the sky. As it was though, he was staring at nothing. Or, technically, the back of his eyelids. “Ah, no. This is the Fourth Era. The Second Great War, I believe you call it. This is the fifteenth year of the conflict.”

Amara’s eye twitched. “…I knew that already.” She growled out in the most respectful way possible.

“So you did.” The stranger turned his attention, such as it was, back towards the Dunmer. “My apologies for the confusion. Such things come naturally to me, but precision can be difficult. What’s the phrase…? Ah, yes, like a needle in a haystack.” His smile never dimmed, but nor did it grow in intensity. Their entire encounter was marked by that soft, serene smile on his face. It made the stranger give off the impression of peace.

Or maybe he was just insane from being trapped in this strange void? That boded well for her.

Sighing, Amara pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her crimson eyes, attempting to compose herself. That was another lesson. Stay composed. Stay above it all. Never let others know they’re getting to you.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” The stranger’s voice came unbidden, surprising Amara out of her frustrations.

She blinked. The last thing she remembered…

“I was… someplace… where was I…?” It was hard to focus in this place, but she needed to remember… “There were gears… Not the Dwemer kind, not nearly so ancient, but modeled after them.” A stoic face flashed through her mind, violet braids matted with oil. “Zamana was excited. Someone advancing her people’s technology… She wanted to see it. So we went home-“

Wait. Was it her home? She’d visited Mournhold a handful of times, but had never lived there-

Amara snapped her fingers. “Right! The Clockwork City! Almalexia told me she knew a way in and-“

For the third time in a row, Amara cut herself off as a realization hit her. However, this one was far more frantic. It was quiet. Far too quiet. It had been quiet ever since she had arrived at… wherever this was. Amara couldn’t believe it had taken her this long to realize it! There was no prideful voice whispering in her ear. No voice giving out unwanted comments and opinions at every opportunity. No analysis of what was going on, no advice on how to handle this situation.

Almalexia was gone.

“Where is she?!” Amara cried out, aggressively grabbing the stranger’s robes and yanking him forward. “What did you do with her?!” Fury and terror in equal measures danced in her crimson eyes, tinged by the light of budding madness.

Best to head this off at the pass, the man thought.

The stranger carefully placed his hands on top of Amara’s own, his expression serious but not unkind.

Was he pitying her? How dare-!

However, her thought process was cut off as the stranger finally opened his eyes. Amara slumped forward, falling to her knees in abject awe.

Staring down at her were the slitted pupils of a reptile, encompassed by the purest gold that Amara had ever laid eyes on. They were ancient orbs, brimming with power and eternity.

How foolish was she to not see the signs…?

Amara fundamentally knew who she was speaking to now.

“I have done nothing with she who once called herself Ayem.” Akatosh intoned. The smile he had been handsomely wearing was gone, but neither did the dragon god of time look all too upset. “Yet, neither is she gone.”

Amara clutched at her chest, head bowed so the man, the god, before her couldn’t see the tears freely flowing down her face. Her frame shuddered as she breathed deeply. It was as if she was in the midst of a mighty battle, and yet the dragon’s words brought such relief to her! Almalexia wasn’t gone!

But then… where was she…?

Once more, the dragon god answered those thoughts on the surface of her mind. “What do you remember, child?” He repeated the question.

Again with this? What did that have to do with anything…? But it seemed she wouldn’t get anything else out of time itself, so she valiantly wracked her mind for the details. A feat not made easier by her admittedly volatile emotional state… Something that had been becoming more and more common recently.

“We were…” Amara’s voice cracked and shut stopped in her tracks, clearing her throat before continuing. “We were exploring. We found the main chamber. We found… we found the artificial heart. We… I… Oh, ancestors…” Her hand clasped over her mouth.

She’d died.

Rationally, she knew that. She’d known that since awakening in this place. But it was another thing entirely to replay the events in her mind, to hear the grinding gears of the automatons, to remember the cries of Zamana, the blade through her chest…

Daring to look up, she found the dragon god gazing… almost mournfully down at her. All he did was give her a slight nod, confirming her worst suspicions. She really was dead, huh? Amara had never been sure what fate awaited her once her mortal life was done. There wasn’t exactly an Ancestral Tomb waiting for her, and she doubted that House Redoran would look too kindly on allowing her one anyway… She’d burned a lot of bridges, making the roll of the dice and gambling that she would succeed in forging her grandfather’s empire anew… But it seemed that it was not meant to be. She had died too soon.

That still begged the question, however… What was to be her fate? Was this… “Is this the Dreamsleeve?” Amara asked the god.

Akatosh glanced around, observing the surroundings… or lack thereof. “No, I’m afraid not. This is a dream of sorts, but no, this is not the realm of rebirth. Your ultimate fate remains unknown, and it is not my place to speculate on matters of life and death. That is Arkay’s domain, not mine.”

Her ultimate fate…?

“Wait, what do you mean? Am I not dead? Should my soul not be bound for Aetherius or Oblivion?” Amara furrowed her eyebrows, squinting in blatant confusion. “You mention Arkay. I do not worship you Aedra, yet if one were to handle my death, it would be him. I am educated on that much. Yet here you stand, the dragon god of time… Why?”

Akatosh scratched at his clean-shaven chin. On anyone else, it would have looked almost sheepish, but surely the high and mighty Aedra had nothing to be embarrassed about, right?

Why he even had a chin to scratch was another question entirely. The humans depicted him as a dragon. The mer depicted him as a great golden eagle. Was this supposed to be a form she would be comfortable with? An avatar of his will? Amara had so many questions, but frankly, that was the least of them. So, she did not voice it, even though it was abundantly clear that Akatosh could read her mind.

“You have my blood.” The dragon god replied simply.

Amara blinked. What?

“You have my blood.” Akatosh repeated. “Your grandfather was dragonborn, surely you know this. The most famous dragonborn in Tamriel’s long history. The title is named as such for a reason. He was not mine in body, but in spirit... All dragonborn are my children. So in a way, I suppose that makes you my grandchild of sorts. Or great-grandchild. I care little for mortal semantics, however.”

She… okay, that was… wow, a lot to process. The metaphysics of it all… Yes, she had known that all of this was the official Imperial line, but… Well, she’d never exactly put much stock in it.

Akatosh glanced down at her and smiled that damnably soft smile once more, now looking almost, well… grandfatherly. Amara wasn’t convinced, however. Picking herself up off of the ground, she rubbed the dried tears away from her face. To say that she was wary was an understatement.

“And do you make a habit out of conversing with the descendants of dragonborn?” Amara asked dryly. She doubted that he even talked to actual dragonborn all that much, if at all.

The dragon-man shrugged, making the motion look far more dignified than it had any right to be. “Admittedly? No.”

“Then why me?” Amara shot back immediately. “Why are you here? In this… this dream, whatever this is?”

“You are mer.” Akatosh spoke softly. “A Dunmer who once worshipped the mortals who propped themselves up as gods. A Dunmer who does not worship the Three Good Daedra like the rest of your kind. A Dunmer who is unsure where she stands among Aedra and Daedra, and so devotes herself to worldly pursuits instead.”

The dragon god trailed off, looking down at the amulet which laid flat against his chest. Clutching it in his tanned and worn hands, Akatosh lifted it off of his neck and lifted it up so that it was level with his golden gaze.

“Despite all of that,” he continued, “you chose to follow not the path of any of your mer ancestors, noble and just and clever that they were, and instead chose the most difficult path of all. The path of your grandfather. You, Ra’athim Amara, a Dunmer of Resdayn, would restore the Septim Empire. A Cyrodiilic Empire. A human empire. Did you think that you wouldn’t catch our attention?”

Amara had remained silent as the avatar of Akatosh explained himself. And when he phrased it like that…

“People need help. Someone has to do something.” She whispered quietly, mostly to herself. She looked into those ageless eyes across from her ever so briefly, which beckoned her to continue. “Ever since I was a kid… Probably before that… Everything has been going to shit around me. You called me a Dunmer of Resdayn, of Morrowind, but I’m not. My father imparted as much of our culture onto me as he could, but I grew up in Falkreath. I grew up in Skyrim, surrounded by Nords. I’m an outlander, and I worked so hard for so long to erase that stain from myself… But it’ll always be true. It’s just who I am. A Dunmer who grew up outside the homeland, because my father was exiled after the Red Year.”

Amara sighed, only now realizing how exhausted she felt. She supposed she had the right. She was dead, after all.

“The Great War, the Skyrim Civil War, the return of the dragons, the Interregnum, the Falmer Raids, the Argonian Invasion, the Second Great War… It feels like we’re all trapped in a loop of pain and suffering. Everyone everywhere is hurting. And things didn’t used to be that way; dad was always fond of telling me. Father was never fond of the empire that his own father had established, but he was never afraid to admit… Things were just better when the Septims ruled the Empire. When all of Tamriel was more or less at peace. Sure, things weren’t perfect, but the world wasn’t almost ending every few years… There weren’t constant wars with… so much dead.

“I was a healer during the first Great War, you know that right?” Amara asked rhetorically. “Of course you know that. You’re the dragon god of time. But I saw… I saw so much death. So many died in my care, I couldn’t save them…” Her expression became unfocused, her crimson eyes haunted by memories best left buried. “I did my best, I really did. And it was more… it was more than my people as a whole did. They were just content to sit idly by and let others suffer. I can’t- I couldn’t... I could help. I could help so I had a responsibility to do so!”

Her fists clenched tightly and a fire roared in her stomach, determination rising up in her throat until she felt the urge to roar. For the first time, she met the dragon god’s gaze and kept at it, refusing to let the mere glance of a god bend her into submission.

“I am the granddaughter of Tiber Septim and Queen Barenziah. I am the Anticipation of Almalexia, with all of her wisdom and training at my side. I had the ability and the means to help Tamriel, so I decided to do it. And if you tell me the way out of here, I will continue to do it. I don’t care if I’m dead, someone has to do something!”

Amara was breathing heavily as she finished her speech. In a lot of ways, it felt like justifying it to herself more than to the dragon god. How often had she questioned herself? How often had she wondered if she was just letting Almalexia convince her to do things? Well, Almalexia wasn’t here right now. This was all her.

Akatosh remained silent for a long moment more, before finally nodding in satisfaction. He held the amulet out to Amara, letting it dangle off of his fingers. “Did you know…” He rumbled, sounding more like a dragon by the moment. Ancient and all powerful. “That it used to be that whenever an emperor was chosen, they had to hold this amulet and light the dragonfires? It was a symbol of my everlasting covenant with man, that so long as a dragonborn sat on the Ruby Throne, the gates of Oblivion would be shut.” He paused. “It was more than just a symbol, naturally. Since St. Alessia, no one could light the dragonfires without my approval or consent. It is I who judged each emperor worthy. If they weren’t… they didn't tend to last very long.”

The amulet dangling off of his fingers glistened, twirling slowly as the dragon god told his story.

“No one has worn this amulet or lit the dragonfires since the Oblivion Crisis. The amulet was destroyed. The last emperor of the Septim Dynasty, a righteous young man named Martin, sacrificed himself to seal the gates of Oblivion shut forever. The dragonfires no longer have any purpose, and it will remain that way. However… perhaps I have torn my gaze from the empire I claim to patron for too long. Perhaps it is time for the Amulet of Kings to be worn once more, as a symbol of my divine providence.”

Reaching forward, Akatosh lifted the amulet over Amara’s head and settled it on her shoulders. The giant ruby thrummed against her chest, and Amara couldn’t help but wonder if this is what the legendary Heart of Lorkhan felt like?

“I…” She tried to speak, but no words came out. Instead, Amara dropped to her knees, but in a far more orderly and dignified manner than her previous descent. She knelt before Akatosh, head bowed as if she were speaking to her liege lord. “I promise that I won’t let you down.”

“I very much suspect that you won’t.” Akatosh intoned his voice more of a growl than it ever was, yet somehow felt amused. Like he was chuckling to himself. “From this moment on, you are dragonborn much in the same way St. Alessia herself once was. The covenant is reborn. Now, my child, look up.”

Amara did as she was commanded, yet could not help her mouth dropping out from under her. For before her was no man. The mighty golden dragon of time stretched out before her, infinite in all of his glory. She saw him as he truly was, not merely stretched out before her in this plane, but across all of time as well. It was enough to render her blind. Or mad. Or dead. The fact that she was only one out of those three things was likely due to the grace of Akatosh himself… And the fact that she was already dead.

“At this point, I would normally send you off. However, there is… one more thing to attend to.” The dragon forced out. His voice was far deeper than it had once been. The voice before had felt borrowed, but this… This was the voice of time echoing throughout her very being. “Tell me, child, what do you remember?”

This again?

“I died.” Wasn’t that all there was to it?

“And, pray tell, how did you die?”

“I was run through by a blade.” Amara responded automatically. But that couldn’t be what he wanted to hear. The memory was fuzzy, there had to be more to it… Who had wielded the blade? Some sort of…

Oh.

“The Clockwork City, it was being run by… some sort of ghost. Except it wasn’t a ghost. I don’t know how to explain it, but… Sotha Sil, one of the Old Tribunal, was in the city itself. And he wanted revenge against Almalexia because she had killed his body centuries ago. Zamana and I fought through his machines… We reached the chamber where his mind was being held. He had made some sort of… dwarven metal body for himself. We fought. I killed the body, but the mind still persisted, we couldn’t kill it. Then… then he had reinforcements…”

She clutched her head, trying to remember.

“I remember Almalexia screaming… She was so angry… And so terrified. I could feel it all inside me. Another Dunmer walked into the room. Seht’s reinforcements. It was… It was the Neravarine.” Amara glanced up helplessly at Akatosh. “…The Neravarine killed me.”

The infinite dragon nodded. “And in so doing, completed the final piece of the puzzle. You must understand, my child… Ra’athim Amara Septim is dead. She cannot come back.”

Amara slumped, her assumption shattered. Akatosh had chosen her, but she could not return. Was all of this for nothing?

But, naturally, the dragon could read her thoughts. “You misunderstand, child. Ra’athim Amara is dead. But you are not Ra’athim Amara.”

…What?

Her disbelief must have shown on her face, because Akatosh continued. “Almalexia did not have your best interests in mind, child. Ever since she became attached to your soul those many years ago, she has lived in your shadow. Feeding off of you. Whispering in your ear. Plotting. It was her intention that you were to be her avenue to resurrection. So she influenced you to the best of her ability. She trained you. Molded you. Guided you. You, who was raised to worship her since you could walk, never thought to question it until it was far too late. She made you like her. She led you into the Clockwork City on purpose, having a good idea of what was down there. She needed you to follow the beats of her life so that you would understand her, and in that understanding…”

“She wanted me to mantle her…” Amara whispered.

Akatosh nodded, unsurprised that the Dunmer before him was aware of the concept. It was only natural, when she’d had a god whispering in her ear for years.

“Indeed. You asked me earlier if Almalexia is gone and where she went? Nowhere. She has gone nowhere and is not, in fact, gone. You are Almalexia. Almalexia is you.”

“I did it?” The woman formerly known as Amara asked, utterly dumbfounded. “I mantled Almalexia? But… I don’t feel like her. I still remember being me.”

“Have you? Do you not feel like her? To mantle her, you had to become so much like her that there ceased to be a functioning difference between the two of you. That the Aurbis itself could not tell the two of you apart. Do you not know things that you hadn’t before? Do you not have memories that Ra’athim Amara never experienced? You are ALM. But there is a caveat to that.”

“…Well what’s one more earth shattering realization, right?” She quipped, not knowing how else to cope by this point.

To his infinite credit, Akatosh took it in good humor, chuckling along with her. “The mantling did not occur as Almalexia had planned. She forgot to factor in one, crucial element…” He let the moment drag out. Imagine that, a god with a sense of dramatic timing. Then again, he was the god of time…

“The mortal element. For all that she spent millennia as a god and being worshipped as one. Almalexia forgot what it was like to be mortal. It drove her mad before her death, but when she had no choice but to endure it while her spirit was stuck to you… Almalexia went out of her way to influence you, however what she failed to realize was that you were influencing her in turn. Not intentionally, mind you, just simply by you being there. The bond the two of you shared was intimate by any metric. To put it in mortal terms… You rubbed off on her. She became more like you as you became more like her.”

“So we…” ALM began, trying to wrap her head around the idea. Former divine or not, it made her mind spin.

“Mantled each other.” Akatosh confirmed. “You are one.”

ALM couldn’t help but note that he looked insufferably smug about that. But then again, he would. The Tribunal had never had the best relationship with the Aedra. She lifted her hand to rub her temple in an attempt to alleviate the budding headache, but she noticed something.

“…My hand is gold.” ALM noted dully. Because of course it was. Almalexia’s skin had been gold, the last Chimer in existence, and now her skin was gold too. Because she was her. And yet was Amara too.

By the Ancestors, she was going to need a mirror later.

“The veil is lifted.” Akatosh rumbled. “You see yourself for what you truly are now. More than a mortal, less than a god. Somewhere in the middle. A soul retroactively made dragonborn and a soul that still held a spark of the divinity it carried for millennia. The two together… It is not unlike the ascension of Talos, although perhaps not as grand. Which is for the best. I require you on Nirn for the time being.”

“Right…” ALM muttered. “I need… to lie down. And I can’t very well do that here. Do you know the way out of here?”

“Indeed. Our time here grows short as is. I have spoken all that has need to be said, and your Dwemer companion will require your assistance if she is to survive the night. Although, I must warn you… The method of return will not be pleasant.”

“Whatever you have to do…” ALM sighed one last time, before giving the dragon god a soft smile to match the one he once wore. “And for what it’s worth… Thank you. This all… It really means a lot.”

Akatosh nodded, rumbling in confirmation. “You are worthy. Never forget that, even in your darkest days.”

Then, without any warning or pretense, Akatosh opened his maw and swallowed her whole.

Because being eaten by the dragon god of time in order to return to the land of the living just seemed logical after the day she’d had, she thought as she slid down the divine gullet.

Hmm. She was going to need a new name, wasn’t she? Amara and Almalexia were dead, yet lived. They were one.

Almarantha sounded pretty good.

[duckduckngoose]

Dang I'm rll brainrotting this au huh

[altrxisme]

[ FIVE DEATHS ] ( for Jackson, I'd like to suffer pls <3 )

𝐀 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐎𝐅 ‘𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒’ 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 // still accepting!! — [ FIVE DEATHS ]  send for five times our muses almost died together and the one time the sender does.

i. Luna could tell from their eyes, the shameless glee in their eyes, as Jackson writhed and struggled for air on the floor after he'd been told to taste her food as one of his duties as her newly appointed retainer. They looked at them, disgusting amusement curled on the corners of their lips as they tried to hide it behind shocked expressions.

Their fun didn't last long, however, turning into sheer HORROR when the young girl took a bite of the same food that had made the young boy collapse. Screams and the clink of glass vials, antidotes, quickly opened for both of them.

They learned not to make such an attempt at the little retainer after that, lest they PROVOKE the Oracle-in-training.

ii. Being scolded by a distressed Ravus felt as if death itself had come for them. Jackson shut his eyes whenever the older boy was in his face, yelling about how he should be taking his role as a retainer more seriously and to stop putting his sister in dangerous situations. He hadn't meant to, he wanted to gather the flowers that grew off the cliffs so that she would SMILE more.

When Ravus turned around, the young retainer opened his eyes slightly to glance at Luna to see how she was doing.

The sadness on her expression was much worse than when the entire debacle first started and he felt a part of him die in GUILT.

Part of her grieved in knowing that she had someone in her life willing to risk their well-being for her HAPPINESS, despite the fate the Astrals had set out for her.

iii. Some retainer he was if he couldn't even prevent his liege from getting kidnapped of all things.

Jackson sped down the streets after Luna and her captors, jumping over carts and dodging people that were in his way. It was part of her responsibility to travel the continent and heal those affected by the Scourge. Certain groups of people though, believed her to be a sacrifice to the Astrals to rid Eos of it. While that was partially true, they took the SACRIFICE portion of it farther than what was acceptable in society.

Legs pumping from fear of what they had in store for her, Jackson decided to bite the bullet and drew his gun, aiming at the legs of the people he pursued, thankful that Luna was being carried to avoid hitting her. They were quick to fall, but the person that had snatched the princess was certainly picked for a reason.

As if that was going to stop him.

He set his aim higher, praying that he doesn't hit Luna as he repeatedly shot at the man's back. The two tumbled onto the ground and he pushed himself even further to drag his liege away from the man. He was successful in keeping her behind him but was pulled down to by the desperate zealot who laid punches on him with the intent to KILL. A shot to his face was what took him out.

It was one of the few instances Jackson got to see Luna in tears outside the comfort of their rooms.

iv. At least they learned to not separate the two of them. The problem was that the two of them were now better coordinated for hostage situations.

Although, neither of them expected to be left hanging above a pit of DAEMONS and slowly getting lowered into it while the zealots chanted tongues unfamiliar to either of them. The group was certainly giving the Lucians a run for their gil when it came to successfully kidnapping the Princess.

Any other time, they would both find some HUMOR to this.

"—How long before Ravus comes ta rescue us, Luna? My arms are gettin' numb."

v. The Astrals were cruel beings if they were the ones that continuously put Luna in the most dangerous situations.

Jackson knew that the treaty signing wasn't what it seemed, it was clear as day to those who knew the Empire well. What he hadn't expected was for General Glauca himself to take her away in the middle of the night. He was frantic when he approached the Glaive, Nyx Ulric, about his missing liege. He'd been almost dismissed by the man until something in his communicator made him think twice.

When she went to defend Nyx with only herself against Glauca, he didn't pull her away to leave the Glaive on his own or take her place. Jackson STOOD BY HER to take the first blow in hopes that she wouldn't get the worst of it.

He could never take away the goodness within her that could very well get her killed. It was a decision SHE made, not led by anyone or anything else.

ø. He had to be dragged away from the ruins, refusing to leave his closest friend in her watery grave. His hands bled, voice hoarse, vision blurred with tears as he tried to keep them from taking him to the train.

He couldn't leave her. He will not leave her. He will not let her be alone in DEATH, just as he did for her in LIFE.

[ensnchekov-a]

DRABBLE ⸺ 1 / ?

Somebody always dies.

Sometimes, no matter how fast his fingers fly at the transporter controls, somebody does not make it off Vulcan. Sometimes it is Sulu’s beacon that disappears before he can even blink and Kirk is laying there on the transporter pad dazed but still alive, horror in the depths of his eyes.

Kirk says, “Sulu,” and his voice breaks and all Pavel can do is curse his own fingers, a misplaced decimal point in his hasty computation of gravitational pull, and subpar skill because clearly the fault must lie with him. If it didn’t, both men would be alive now, but only one has returned and so he waits for the inevitable backlash that is sure to follow.

Other times, Kirk is the one swallowed up by the singularity that is consuming Vulcan. Sulu materialises on the pad and Pavel’s heart stops because there’s only one and there should be two men, but he knows he’s hoping for an impossibility. He doesn’t know what happened as they fell, but Sulu looks in Pavel’s direction with a thousand-yard-stare and he feels the burn of accusation. “He lost his grip,” Sulu says, but what Pavel hears is “You couldn’t save him, kid. This is your fault.”

Pavel knows he’s right.

—

Tonight, he fails again to save Amanda Grayson. The red cliffs of Vulcan crumble and a woman screams and she is terrified, Pavel is sure of that, as she plummets dizzyingly fast toward her own grave. There is nothing he can do.

Five Vulcans make it aboard the Enterprise. One human does not.

—Я потерял ее, he whispers gravely, and the words repeat over and over in his head like a death sentence.

Four Vulcans maintain an air of cold impassivity on their faces that do not reach their eyes. There is anger in their eyes, unrestrained and unmasked, and Pavel feels the burn of their gaze searing right through his clothes, his skin, and he starts to believe—however foolishly—that looks can kill.

One allows his face to twist with a rage so thick he can feel it across the room. An apology forms in the back of Pavel’s throat, but he chokes on the words because an apology will not fix what he has done. It will not bring back the mother he failed to save, it will not make him less responsible, it will not absolve him of his failure.

—У меня получится! He hears his premature confidence echo in his head and never has he been so wrong.

His throat feels impossibly tight and he’s only semi-aware of the fact that he’s no longer sitting at the transporter controls. His back is firmly pressed against the wall and beyond the sound of his heart beating furiously in his chest, the room is deathly silent. He’s frozen still, not in control of his limbs. When he comes back to himself, Pavel sees it there in Spock’s eyes as his vision begins to fade: anger, betrayal, directed solely at him.

‘I trusted you to save her,’ Spock’s fury-darkened eyes say. Not a single soul moves to intervene. Pavel doesn’t remember how to speak, doesn’t think he’ll ever remember how to again.

—

Everything is still black when his eyes snap open and for a moment, nightmare is inseparably entangled with reality. He’s dead—Spock strangled him and he didn’t put up a fight now he is who-knows-where, there are no answers to what happens after death. But his heart is pumping like he has just finished a marathon—the hearts of dead men don’t beat—and he’s suddenly aware of the Starfleet issue blanket tangled around his midsection.

He is not dead. He is still on the Enterprise, startled awake by another nightmare. This is the fifth since they began their journey crawling back to Earth on impulse power and it will not be the last.

“Компьютер, свет на 20%.” His voice is far away and sleep-addled and it takes the computer a fraction of a second longer to obey when he mumbles in Russian, but the lights ease on. He digs his palms into his eyes and rubs away the exhaustion.

Almost any attempt at sleeping more than a few hours is thwarted by his subconscious—seventeen years is long enough to know how his body will react to certain things, and he has always suffered from nightmares in the wake of stress and trauma ever since he was young. They are defence mechanisms, he recalls reading in a journal when he was around ten years old, the subconscious mind’s way of working through difficult scenarios.

Some have suggested rewriting their nightmares and exerting a certain mastery over the dreamscape, but try as he might, this was never a skill he was able to achieve. Why, he can’t say—he knows what these nightmares are trying to tell him, so it should be simple to imagine a different outcome.

He finds this far more challenging than some of the courses at the Academy.

He’s tired—they all are, why should he complain?—but as long as he can continue to function as navigator and ensure their safe return home, he can endure the restless nights and Sulu’s constant enquiring after the faint dark circles under his eyes and the how are you? at the beginning of every shift. Sulu is a perceptive man. Pavel knows that he suspects something and that he does not really believe his smile and his automatic ‘I am fine, Mr. Sulu,” but he hasn’t pushed too far yet, and for that, he’s grateful.

He untangles himself from the covers and stands. His body wants to go back to sleep, but his mind and his heart are still racing. The chrono at his bedside reads 0229 hours and this may be a blessing in disguise. The Enterprise will be mostly asleep at this hour and he just wants to get out of this room, to wander the decks while he picks apart his thoughts and not have to worry about someone on the crew stopping to make small talk or smile ask how he is.

He’s fine. He just doesn’t want to smile right now.

Pavel snatches up the sweater he left hanging over the chair at his desk, tosses it on over his pyjamas, and slips out of his quarters in a pair of slippers.

Twenty-one steps takes him from his quarters to the turbolift and the only sounds in the corridor are his slippered feet tapping against the floor and the low humming breaths of the Enterprise. He mumbles, “Deck 2,” when the turbolift doors glide shut and steps out the moment they open about thirty-six seconds later.

He could spend some time on the Observation Deck and stare out into the black and let his mind wander. The stars have always been a comforting sight; something to focus on when his mind moved too fast for him to keep up. Tonight, he’d like to lose himself in plotting aimless courses and calculating within a minute the amount of time it would take them to reach home at this very moment.

Movement in the corridor in front of him momentarily makes him forget all that. He does not want company right now, but he quickly straightens his spine and attempts to muster up a cheerful smile. He’ll say hello, they’ll exchange small talk, and then he will be free to continue on.

It was a perfect plan had he run into anybody else on the crew. He should curse the universe for its cruelty.

“M-Mister Spock,” Pavel manages softly and forces his spine as straight as it can possibly go.

“Mister Chekov.” Spock tips his head a fraction of an inch and acknowledges him calmly. His voice sounds no different from the way he would address anyone else on the crew, but Pavel is still afraid to look him in the eye for too long and face what he’s seen in his nightmares.

Resentment. Blame. Anger.

“Is everything all right, Ensign?” Pavel swallows and forces himself to look up. It’s only now that he notices Spock is not in full uniform—he’s in black instead of science blue—and he looks perfectly relaxed with his hands clasped behind his back.

But he knows—it was a lie, then, just like his own. He remembers the mask of calm dissolving in the fire of explosive rage and how helpless the captain was when caught in it. He feels that same fury directed at him and he needs a minute to find his voice.

After a long pause, he answers, “You are not asleep. Sir.”

Spock lifts a brow. “No. Nor are you.” Pavel shakes his head and Spock continues, “You may join me if you do not have other arrangements. I am—amenable to the idea of company.”

He doesn’t elaborate any further. Pavel shuffles in place, momentarily stunned by the Commander’s easy invitation. He shouldn’t want anything to do with him. His guilt is written all over his face—the Commander should not want to spend time with the man responsible for the loss of his mother. It doesn’t add up.

The words he hasn’t said yet are eating a hole through his chest. In his nightmares, he never has the chance, but he can do it now, he can apologise, and he’ll understand if he blames him, he is well within his right t—

“Ensign.” Pavel’s thoughts come to a screeching halt. “Chekov.” Spock’s brows knit themselves together and a stone drops in Pavel’s stomach. Unless Spock used the telepathic abilities inherent to Vulcans to pick up on his thoughts, he hadn’t just thought all that—he said it out loud.

“Sir, I-I’m so sorry. I—”

“Come with me,” Spock says, less an invitation and more an order. “There are things we must discuss. Allow me to preface this with the following: I harbour no resentment towards you for what happened.”

[tojisun]

she wanting more

!! smut - minors dni; f!reader; unrealistic sex!! and its v short bc its just a messy drabble :3 // toji ver <33 // divider by @/plutism!!

thinking about neighbour!simon and how he deliberately wears skin-tight white shirts for him to shrug off whenever he mows his lawn because he knows you’re watching from your kitchen window.

thinking about how he also keeps inviting you to his house every game night.

simon has his other friends over but his full attention is always on you — it doesn’t matter if his team is making their play, all he is focused on is you. he’s a little possessive too: he always has an arm ‘casually’ looped around you or thrown over your chair; always has his head inched towards you to hear you better; always refills your drink or offers you food; always making small talk about your work and your week and everything and anything in between.

thinking about neighbour!simon coming over to fix your sink or your washing machine or to help you clean your pool. you greet him by the door and he’s leaning on the post, his bulging arms crossed over his chest, his lips tugged in a lazy smile.

“hey, darlin’,” he greets. “lemme check what’s bothering a sweet thing like you.”

you giggle, fiddling with the hem of your shorts. “oh, you,” you mumble, trying to ignore the tingle in your cheeks. then you swivel and tilt your head for him to follow you in.

simon grunts but he doesn’t move. not yet, anyway. he lets you walk ahead of him to watch the way you strut back into the comforts of your home. he savours the way your hips sway, your pyjama shorts softly riding up with every rub against your thighs. he waits with bated breath, knowing what’s coming next.

his need bloats when you bend over to pick up guest slippers for him, your shorts hitching up enough to have your red lace panties peak through. simon almost whimpers when your shorts kept riding higher, leaving the the fat of your ass exposed. christ, he breathes in sharply, you look absolutely ravaging.

he doesn’t even hide the desire in his eyes when you turn to look at him because he knows. oh how he knows that you deliberately tease him only to act coy after. he knows that you like him just as much.

your neighbour turns into a fucking monster when the pretense finally pops, and drills you, hard, in mating press. simon has always wanted to fill you with his cum; has always wanted to stuff you full and leave you drunk off of his cock and his spunk. he has always wanted your tits pressed flat against his; has always wanted his lips locked with yours. it doesn’t matter if you can’t even kiss him back with the way your lips are stretched as moans and squeals and sobs fall from them because simon has always wanted it messy.

he has always wanted to see you ruined of him.

“sii!!” you squeak after the aborted ah-ah-ahs, your hands scratching at his back in an effort to ground yourself from the dizzying pleasure. “so deep! so deep!”

simon laughs as he continues to humps your pussy, dragging his cock at your walls with every erratic thrusts. “yeah? y’ feel me reaching so far in you, huh? y’ve never been fucked like this, haven’t you sweetheart? haven’t been filled properly the way this pussy deserves? oh, doll,” he croons, his lips tugging up in a grin so mean it makes you sniffle.

“well, here’s good news for you — y’r needy cunt will never be lonely again.”

sooooo i kept rereading the toji ver bc it fit simon sm :(( so i buffed it up and made it fit him and here we are!

[adragonprinceswhore]

Soft & Hard

Aemond Targaryen x Ex Girlfriend

Summary: How do you forget about Aemond Targaryen when he’s everywhere you look?

Warnings: 18+, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns, angst, emotional infidelity, descriptions of self-hatred, situationship, intoxication, smut, heavy petting, drunk sex, P in V, (some) size kink

Word Count: 4000

A/N: This has been plaguing my mind for weeks now, so I really needed to get it out of me and into the world. This can be read as a continuation of my Hockey player Aemond drabble, but can also be read as a standalone. Aemond is a hockey player in this modern AU! 🩵

You prop your feet up to rest on the sides of your bathtub, angling the shower head just right so it hits that spot that sends pleasurable shivers rippling through your body.

Your eyes are closed, and you’re desperately trying to visualise the hot guy from the TV series you’d just binged; mind racing through any arousing scenario you can come up with.

It’s not an easy task; keeping yourself occupied enough to not drift towards the very man you’ve vainly tried to erase from your memory. 

You don’t want to think about him. 

Thinking about him always leads to missing him. 

It leads to longing for him. 

No matter how badly he hurt you. No matter how much you rationalise your reasons for leaving, your stupid heart yearns to fill the hole he’s left behind. 

Pathetic.

You shut your eyes with more force, thinking of the hot TV character. Upping the pressure of the shower head, you imagine it’s him going down on you that’s causing the pleasure building inside. Your hips begin to shallowly sway back and forth, and low whimpering moans slip from your lips. 

As the pleasure builds and builds, the image in your head morphs; the hot TV guys’ hair turns silver, no matter how hard you try to stay focused. 

You’re close, so close, and just as you’re on the edge of pleasure, you hear him,

“You’re so pretty like this”

And you cum so hard you drop the showerhead in your grip, legs shaking as your hips jerk upward aggressively. 

Water sprays across the bathroom as the shower head falls, but you’re too lost in your own bliss to truly care, giving yourself a moment to just disappear into the fleeting, fierce pleasure consuming you. 

After a while, when your legs have stopped shaking and your cunt has stopped clenching around nothing, you turn the rampant shower head off with a sigh. 

The satisfaction of your orgasm is short-lived, promptly followed by the lonely reality of you chasing pleasure alone in your bathroom. You could stay in the tub and make yourself cum 10 more times and it wouldn’t change the loneliness residing inside of you. 

You could try to picture that hot guy from the show fucking you for hours, still you’d feel the same. 

Still, visions of him would cloud your mind. And the chill of loneliness would penetrate your bones, as it does right now. 

Because no one kisses your forehead afterwards, or holds you tight, or whispers sweet things into your ear. 

You're alone, and the warm water quietly splashing around you doesn’t stop the cold porcelain of your bathtub from chilling your heated flesh. 

You shiver. 

Sick of yourself; of your self-pity and hatred, you leave the tub and throw on a dressing gown, already on a search for a new distraction. 

Anything to take your mind off Aemond Targaryen. 

Forgetting Aemond was nearly impossible. 

Not only did your mind remind you of your heart’s longing for the man that broke it. The world did as well. Like when you overheard your colleagues discussing his latest game, and how skillfully he tackled his opponents, landing a blow on them so precise yet hard that they flew into the rink. Or when you got home after a long day and turned on the TV, greeted by him giving a post-match interview all sweaty and panting. 

The only way you knew him. 

Being restricted to seeing the man you’d spent countless nights together with through the TV screen has brought you to the conclusion that ultimately, your relationship hasn’t changed much. 

Sure, you don’t send him nudes anymore. Nor does he fuck you into the mattress of whichever hotel room he brings you to. 

But the distance is the same. The loneliness isn’t new; it always existed between the two of you. He never really cared to let you in. 

You were convenient. 

Pliable. 

An easy fuck. 

You should’ve realised it sooner. Like that time when Alicent Hightower, Westerosi socialite and Aemond’s mother, stopped by one of his practices. You were helping him lace his skates when she appeared, and as soon as he noticed his mum approaching, Aemond’s large hand gently but firmly pushed you away. 

Ms. Hightower’s curious gaze had asked about you, and her son huffed out, “She’s an acquaintance”

An acquaintance. 

Not even a friend. 

To you, Aemond was the first thing you thought about in the morning, and the last thing you thought about before going to sleep. 

To him, you were an acquaintance. 

Pathetic. 

That should have been the last straw. But you kept seeing him. Not even the humiliation and hurt you felt as you excused yourself and ran to the bathroom with tears in your eyes could stop you from craving him. That was the power he had over you.

The power he still has over you, even in his absence. Even if you blocked his number 6 months ago and haven’t seen him once since. 

The actual last straw was a message you’d gotten from an unknown number, asking if you’d send more of those “hot slutpics in dat black thong”. For a second you thought it was Aemond having a laugh, but the message didn’t sound like him, and he isn’t exactly known for being a guy that appreciates humour, or ‘pranks’.

Turns out, the number belonged to Aegon Targaryen, Aemond’s older brother and notorious fuckboy. Word around King’s Landing was that every girl who’d slept with him had gotten chlamydia, and still he seems to find a new conquest to throw his arms around each weekend. 

Perhaps the sleaziest guy in the Seven Kingdoms.

Turns out, it runs in the family. 

You blocked Aemond’s number that night. After swearing to never let your desire for him get the best of you again, you begged your friends to take you out and get you so shitfaced the humiliation Aemond had inflicted on you would be washed away. 

It didn’t work.

You’re still tainted by his touch. 

So you switch tactics. You look for someone else. 

About a month after you’d called things off with Aemond, you thought you’d found a good replacement. A nice, inconspicuous guy who was eager to please; eager to make you like him. You would’ve felt guilty, really, if the dark hole of lonely self-hatred in your chest didn’t outweigh your selfishness. 

And still, Aemond Targaryen was everywhere. 

You’d find him in that adoring look your new partner gave you as you sucked him off in the shower. You’d find him in bed, when you couldn’t sleep and imagined it was Aemond’s heavy arms holding you tight. You’d find him in your fantasies, seemingly incapable of coming with your new partner unless you closed your eyes and pretended the short, curly strands greeting your hand between your legs were actually long, silky and silver. 

Ultimately, your conscience caught up with you, and you broke things off with the new guy as well. He had told you that he loved you, and the sweetest of confessions felt like the sharpest of needles prickling your heart. 

Aemond never said it. 

Oh, how you wish it was him saying it. 

Sometimes, even after six months of not seeing him, you’re still surprised by how incredibly piteous he’s rendered you. 

Yearning for a man who only saw you as a plaything. Who only ever cared for you when you were conveniently there for him to do as he pleased with. Who refused to expose your relationship to his mother, and shared your nudes with his brother. 

Fucking prick. 

Today’s Friday. 

Single and lonelier than ever, you beg your friends to go out dancing with you. It’s become your new weekend ritual; go out and dance until your feet hurt and you’re so tired you collapse on your bed, mind delightfully empty. 

Now, you're back on the dancefloor, drink in hand, eyes closed as you sway to the music. 

You always drag your friends to the same place, The Three Towers, a nightclub of the slightly more exclusive kind, with proper DJs and strong drinks. 

They must’ve figured out by now that it was Aemond who introduced you to this place. You see it in the pitiful looks they give you every time you insist on coming here instead of going to any of the many other places in Oldtown. Their eyes say what you’ve known to be true for over six months;

Pathetic. 

It’s not like Aemond likes to go out anyway. He hates crowds, dislikes strangers, loathes the fake people gathering around him to tell him empty words of adoration. 

But that one time you’d wanted to go dancing, he’d brought you here. 

Maybe he brings all his “acquaintances” here. 

You tell yourself that you don’t come here for him, that it just happens to be a great place, but still, every time you catch a glimpse of something silvery in the corner of your eye, dread punches you in the gut. 

Why do you seek him out when you know actually meeting him would destroy you? What if you saw him here with another girl? Maybe one of the models his brother so often gifts his infected cock to? 

Tumultuous thoughts swirl in your mind until you notice that the flash of silver isn’t Aemond’s hair at all, and ease settles over you. Well, something akin to ease. The self-hatred is still there,

Pathetic. 

Your feet quickly carry you to the bar, eager for more of the numbness only alcohol provides. You order another G&T and almost spit it out after the first sip; it’s basically all gin.

Good.

You take three large gulps and move back to the dancefloor, searching for your friends who you’ve lost in the crowd of intertwined bodies. 

You scan your surroundings, and then it happens again. A flash of silver. Only this time, it’s him. 

You remember the first time you saw him. TV appearances and watching him on the ice doesn’t do him justice. In person, his ethereal beauty’s blinding. Just like it is now. One of the spotlights over the sofa he sits on hits his hair, causing it to glow like the beacon of a dark night at sea. 

Calling you in. 

Your feet work by themselves as they walk towards him. You panic, desperately searching for any excuse to talk to him. 

What do you say? 

Suddenly you’re right before him, drink in one hand and the other nervously touching your hair as you dumbly stare at him. He looks up from the drink in his hand, a whiskey on the rocks you’d guess, and meets your eyes. 

His gaze is cold and stoic. 

Unimpressed. 

He raises an expectant eyebrow. 

And yet you say nothing. All the witty, insightful, hard-hitting truths you’d wanted to tell him for the last six months vanish as you stand before him frozen in panic. 

Pathetic.

Pathetic. 

Pathetic!

You have nothing. Your mind’s empty, the only thing you can do is feel. Feel the self-hatred, the loneliness, the insecurity he’s inflicted upon you. 

He rolls his eyes. Aemond’s not known for his patience, “If you’re looking for that new boyfriend of yours, he’s not here”

“I don’t have a boyfriend”, you blurt out, prompted by the shiver running through you caused by the venom dropping from his words. He sounds so hateful. 

He stands abruptly, forcing you to take a faltering step back as he tower over you,

“Come”

He takes the drink in your hand and places it on a nearby table before grabbing your hand and leading you out of the rowdy club. The chill of the night air hits your scarcely clad body as he drags you towards a cab waiting outside, your ears still ringing from the loud music in the club.

He opens the door and pushes on your arm to get in. His touch is still impossibly warm; just as you remember it. 

He slams the door shut and walks around to the other side, getting in and grunting an address you’ve never heard of to the taxi driver.  

You know your friends would be furious if they knew who you left with, so you send them a quick text stating that you’ve left ‘cause you didn’t feel well. 

You place your phone back in your purse and look outside. It seems like you’re driving towards the north part of the city, a place you hardly know. 

The deafening silence in the taxi is so tense, any sane person would ask the driver to stop and get out in a heartbeat. 

Aemond, sitting next to you with his jaw clenched and fidgeting with his customised black and red lighter, sends nervous ripples of fear through your being. You know he’s contemplating something, yet you wouldn’t dare ask. 

Any sensible person would get out. 

But you can’t. 

Because he still smells the same. And it’s everywhere in the stuffy cab. And your heart hurts, a tear threatens to spill, because you’ve missed it all so much; his smell, his hair, his voice, his touch. 

Him.

The silence persists, until you're finally freed as the taxi driver stops and Aemond hands him a few copper stars. 

You get out and take a deep breath of the late summer night's air. The buzz of alcohol still clouds your judgement somewhat, yet you feel more aware of yourself than ever before. 

You look around and see Aemond approach the entrance to a sleek building in that brutalist, modern design, and you follow in tow. He still hasn’t said anything, and neither have you.

You get in a lift, go up to the top floor, and enter a dark flat with only a small table lamp lit by the entrance, obscuring your view of the place. 

Just as you make way to move further into the room, Aemond hinders you. 

He doesn’t allow you entrance to the rest of the space, cornering you against a low side table by the entrance door. He’s so tall, and so broad, you disappear into the wall as he steals all the space around you. 

“Why did you agree to come with me?” 

He’s so close you feel his breath tickle your skin. It’s too dark to truly see the expression on his face, but the shadows cast on him makes him look stern. The smell of him intensifies. You feel warm.  

This is all you’ve wanted. All you’ve feared. 

You still desire him so.

“You told me to”

He’s quiet for a moment, and you know it’s because your reply’s caught him off guard. He’d assumed you’d fight back, jab at him in some way. He tries again,

“My mate saw you at that club last week, you know”

Is he keeping tabs on you? 

“What happened to your boyfriend?” 

How does he know about that? 

You swallow, “Nothing. It just wasn’t right” 

“Hm”

Your eyes are locked together, his mismatched gaze just as alluring as you remember it. Without looking away, he brings a hand up to gently stoke the cold skin of your arm. 

The harshness of his stare falters, 

“Did you miss me?” 

“Did you miss me?” 

The retort leaves your lips before you register it forming in your head. Can’t give in to him that easily. Can’t make your suffering known to the person causing it. 

The harshness reappears. 

“Did he fuck you the way you like?” 

His tone is cold, yet heated with anger. The same hateful tinge from before. 

Your drunk mind works without you operating it, 

“He wasn’t you”

The confession slips out, and so does the pitifulness. The loneliness. The pathetic mess you’ve become. 

Aemond didn’t expect your admission either, eyes narrowing in suspicion, 

“What do you mean?”

Is this the time? 

To tell him how utterly devastated you’ve been without him? How he plagues your mind? How your entire being is tainted by him? 

No. 

“Why did you bring me here?”, you ask, foggy mind finally cooperative enough to let you change the subject.

“Because you wanted me to”, he replies, the gentle hand on your arm suddenly travelling down to caress your exposed thigh before  harshly cupping your cunt. 

A startled gasp espaces your lips. 

His touch is so nostalgic it travels from your aroused core to your heart, and squeezes it painfully.  

His hand is big enough to cover you entirely, and with the heel of his palm, he pushes harshly where he knows your swollen clit lies obscured under your panties. His long finger taps against your hole, and he huffs a quiet, condescending laugh as he feels how moist the fabric is.

When did you get this wet? 

You feel the heat of his touch radiate from his palm to your cunt, so persistent it finds its way through your underwear. He only moves his hand to stroke you over the fabric and press at your clit, but the gratification of finally being granted his touch works you towards release at a speed you’d thought impossible. 

“Still a little slut for me”  

He brings two fingers up to press right over your clit, rough circles demanding that you obey his touch and come for him. 

His breathing hard through his nose, the look in his eye is hard to decipher, 

Arousal? 

Fury? 

Fuck it feels good to be pushed against a wall by him. To be subjected to his rough treatment. Anything to feel his touch on you again. 

Your hips move upwards to meet his fingers; you’re so close to falling apart. 

“You missed me. And that fucker you were seeing couldn’t compare to me. Isn’t that right?” 

He spits out the words, teeth grazing the shell of your ear as he leans even closer. 

Your arms have been hanging limply at your side, and you have to fight the sudden urge to grab him and press him against you. To feel him closer. 

“Did he make you this wet?”

Aemond’s tongue licks the sensitive spot behind your ear and you moan loudly, fully consumed by the way his fingers push you towards release. 

You angle your face so that his mouth is right by yours. With parted lips, you look up at him pleadingly, begging him to kiss you. 

Something in his eye shifts, and a victorious smirk breaks out over his face, 

“Come”

And you do. So hard you see stars and your legs give out. The pleasure is intense, it steals everything from you; your breath, your senses, your self-discipline. 

Your hands fly to Aemond’s biceps, anchoring yourself to him as your body twitches forcefully in the pleasure rupturing you. It’s cathartic; a long awaited release only his hands can coax out. 

When you come back to reality, to the dark hallway you're trapped against Aemond’s body in, the dreaded self-hatred you’d gotten to know so well makes itself known again. 

The brutal reality of exactly how far your pathetic infatuation with Aemond has driven you crashes over you like an ice-cold wave of regret. You feel hot tears well up in the corner of your eyes as they stay casted down, refusing to look up at the man who’s greatest pleasure in life seems to be to torment you. 

Why had he brought you here? Why did he enjoy hurting you? Why had you fallen for it? 

“What did I do to make you hate me so?” 

It’s the alcohol talking. Or maybe it’s the last thing you need to hear from him before you can finally let go. The last shard of your heart crushed in his grip. 

Silence is the only answer he gives you, and without looking up, you push him to move so you can get away from him. Instead of allowing you to leave, he brings one hand to your cheek, engulfing it in warmth, and drags your face upwards to meet his eyes. 

Before you can read his expression, he ducks his head down, letting his lips graze over yours. His tongue comes out to swipe over your lower lip in a slow, gentle caress that feels more sensual than anything you’ve ever experienced, and in retaliation your greedy arms pull him closer, eagerly kissing him back. There’s a slow urgency to the way his tongue seeks out yours, bending your body backwards to taste you deeper. You relish in it. 

You want him to eat you up. To devour you completely. You’re his anyway. 

Without breaking the kiss, Aemond leads you down the dark hallway and into a dimly lit room. The only thing you register is a large bed in the middle, where he takes a seat and keeps you standing between his legs, still kissing you. 

His hands roam over your body; over your exposed arms and legs. They find the zipper at the back of your dress and pull it down, slowly undressing you until you're completely bare. 

He stands for a brief moment to rid himself of his own clothes, and then sits again, guiding you to climb onto his lap. 

You follow his every command in enchantment. You grant him every kiss he seeks, allow him every touch he craves. He can have it all. 

He guides you to sink down on him slowly. You’re still so wet, yet he’s so hard your insides are forced to mould after his stiffness. 

Once he fills each part of you, he wraps your legs around his waist, sighing in satisfaction as he presses your body so close to his the skin of your torso sticks to his. 

“I won’t last long-”, he whispers into your ear, “-a 6 month wait is excruciating”

The touch that you’ve known as harsh and demanding is now so soft. So delicate it slowly picks up the shattered pieces of your broken heart and mends them together again with each gentle caress.

Your hands cup his cheeks, gazing into his lilac and blue stare as you slowly begin to move. 

Aemond doesn’t say anything, doesn’t say that one phrase that you want him to, but the look in his eyes is mesmerising. You’ve never seen him so vulnerable. It’s intimate.

He’s giving himself to you. 

You wrap your arms around him, accepting him. You want all of him, all to yourself. You’ve wanted him for half a year. You’ve wanted him since the first time you met him. 

He meets your hips each time you sink down, and the otherwise carnal pursuit for pleasure feels dreamlike as Aemond’s arms envelop you and you disappear into him. 

You want to say it, but not yet. You don’t dare. Would he retreat again? You know it to be true, but it’s too early. Maybe someday. 

Instead, it’s Aemond who speaks over the moans and sighs of pleasure,

“Don’t leave me again” 

You don’t know how long you fuck, but each orgasm feels more consuming, more powerful, than the last. Ultimately, you collapse together on the bed, legs and arms still intertwined. The familiarity of Aemond’s heavy arms over your waist soothes you, yet the soft sheets of the bed provide a stark contrast to the stiff, clinical sheets of the hotel rooms he’d always brought you to before. 

There’s nothing left between you, no more layers to shed, so you ask him about everything that had led up to your separation. About how he dismissed you in front of his mother, and about the text from his brother. The latter seems to genuinely surprise him, 

“I’ve never shared your pictures with anyone, especially not him” 

Guess Aegon Targaryen isn’t above snooping through his brother’s stuff. 

You talk all night, and Aemond tells you about his strained relationship with his family, “My family has an ability to ruin things for me”, he confesses, “I didn’t want that to happen with you”

As the rays of sunrise begin to seep through the window, you admit to the loneliness that’s been eating away at you since parting from Aemond. 

He cups your cheek again, thumb stroking your cheekbone,

“I fucked up. I’ve missed you more than I thought possible”

Your loneliness hadn’t been solitary. He’d felt it too. You’d shared it. 

You lay your head on his chest, listening to the slow drum of his heart. Before it lulls you to sleep, you remember the last thing you’d like to ask him,

“Aemond, where are we?”

“My place”

A/N: I never know if I should write it as come or cum? After some studious research (not), I decided that come is the original and therefore works better! Thank you for reading, I write these drabble for fun to improve my writing, so don't be too harsh please 🫶🩵

[anundyingfidelity]

AFFECTION — Soldier Boy

Summary: During a mission, Soldier Boy receives a hug from you unexpectedly. He likes it.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x female supe!reader.

Word count: 0.9k

Warnings: canon violence and language, reader is kinda hurted, descriptions of blood and stuff, AU where Ben is working with the team on missions (which is what should've happened on the show btw), Soldier Boy being Soldier Boy lmao, Ben and reader are totally opposites and I live for that. Based on this post.

Note: soooo I'm still making some arrangements to my Soldier Boy long fic and instead I have this short drabble in the meantime. Hope you enjoy it hehe.

the boys/jackles tags: @k-slla

(if anyone would like to be added to my tags just tell me^^)

☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

GEN MASTERLIST!

You groanned, feeling the hard wall hit against your back. It was hard to believe but you thought probably you wouldn't go out of this alive. Your body ached and not even your strenght could stop this guy.

Fucking Butcher, why did you have to follow him to suicide again? Just a couple of cunts, he said. But he forgot to mention they had a weird improved dosis of V injected.

You fell to the ground as the man walked towards you. He was extremely tall and well-buff. No sense the Compound V on his system made him better, or at least that's what he thought. He was tossed to the ground by your side, and you crawled to the corner of the small room.

The distance was not enough to let you run away. You stayed there, watching Soldier Boy's big frame over the man. He used his shield, beting him to death and destroying his face and neck during the process. You were so damn sure his loud groans of pain would remain on your mind at least for a couple of days.

"Fucking pussy," the old man said, wipping some blood off his face. He got on his feet ungracefully and grabbed his shield back. He turned to look at you, still sitting on the floor. "You okay?"

You nodded. "Yeah."

He held you a bloody hand, which you took to stand up. There was an akward silence as you and Ben left the small room, you followed him around the dirty basement, filled with lifeless bodies and fluids on the ground, to meet with Butcher and Hughie.

"Guess those were all," Butcher announced.

"I have the remaining dosis," you took the tube from the pocket of your pants and showed them with a smile on your face. "Was the last one."

"Excellent," Butcher grabbed it and tossed it to Hughie, who saved the tube on a bag.

"We made it out, huh," you mumbled.

"Well, we're still down here, so," Hughie shrugged and three pairs of eyes narrowed at him. "What?"

"Just think positively, for once," you pleaded with a fake sharp tone. "Isn't that hard, y'know."

Ben rolled his eyes.

"We're on a fucking shithole, the kid's right. Let's go now before any of you fuck this up," he ordered and passed by between Butcher and Hughie, hitting his shoulder intentionally in the process.

You quickly followed behind his long soldier strides. "Wait!"

Soldier Boy scoffed and closed his eyes slowly only to open them again. You stood on his way with a big smile and wide eyes. Bruises and blood adorned your face and neck, your clothes were also splattered with dry blood and dirt after killing those clandestine stupid supes on an undercover mission at night, and still you acted like nothing had happened. He stood in place, with Hughie and Butcher standing behind expecting what the fuck you'd be doing this time. Sometimes he thought you were so fucking annoying.

"The fuck you want?"

You opened your lips to say something but nothing came out. Once you closed them, you beamed again and closed the distance between him and you. You wrapped your arms around his strong waist and rested your grubby check against his chest. He tensed visibly under your hug and after a moment you pulled away, your hands behind your back with a shy smile. Hughie and Butcher were clearly holding back a good laugh. They knew better not to mock Soldier Boy, not yet though.

Ben blinked a couple of times, trying to process what happened.

"What the fuck was that?"

You giggled. "Affection."

He wrinkled his nose. "Disgusting."

You gasped and faked sadness on your voice. "Why? I was just saying 'thank you for saving my ass'."

"It's fucking nothing," he rolled his eyes and started to walk again to guide the team outside, with the other two men with playful smirks on their faces following behind.

"Ben!" you quickly caught his pace to stand by his side. "Thank you, okay? Probably you don't like physical contact but I do. And this is how I show others that I care about them and that I'm thankful. I also give hugs because I like them and–"

"Shh!" Ben raised his hand, suddenly stopping his tracks by the end of the stairs that'd lead you outside. He turned and looked at you with that grumpy face of his. "I said you're welcome, sweetheart. Now we need to go, you can talk to me about your hugs shit later."

He pointed to Hughie and Butcher. "Now, you, cocksuckers, go up."

Butcher grinned, going first. "Sure, cap."

"You shut up," Soldier Boy warned, Hughie gulped and nodded, and made his way up on the stairs.

You stood there, with a smile on your lips. Always that fucking, idiotic, stupid smile, even after hard missions like the one you just had. It was like if you were the only one who didn't seem scared of him or anything else. Sure, you were a supe and a smart asset on the team. But still, a very peculiar lady through his eyes.

He sighed and rolled his eyes. Once Butcher and Hughie were out of sight he finally talked.

"Do it again."

"Excuse me?"

"The stupid hug, do it again."

You raised your eyebrows, eyes bright as you realized his request. "Really?!"

"God, woman. Do I need to fucking repeat my—?"

His words were cut by your strong hug. You crashed against his frame so hard he lost balance for a bit. He was certainly surprised by how warm your hug it actually felt. You angled your eyes to see his face.

"Thanks!"

You let him go and got up the stairs. He barely curved his lips at how happy you climbed them. Yeah, well he actually liked your stupid hugs.

soldier boy / reader

[hannieween]

heartbreaker series | choi seungcheol (M) ongoing

Three events made you wonder if you are the unluckiest person in the world. First, the constant hopping from job to job, only to land in a local bar. Second, the revelation that your new boss is none other than your ex. Third, the painful realisation that you're not completely over your him.

✧ pairing: choi seungcheol x female reader ✧ genre: angst, smut (18+) ✧ aus: boss seungcheol, gambler seungcheol, exes to lovers ✧ word count: 65.4k words

navigation post: part i | charmer The thing about Seungcheol is that when he loved, he loved with a fervent force that nothing could ever stop it. When he wanted something, he would stop at nothing to get it. He was passionate like that. And he loved you. Past tense. Loved.

part ii | wanderer You were far from the girl that Seungcheol use to love. Because, time has a funny way of changing things and it sure as hell changed you.

part iii | killer Choi Seungcheol is a strategist to his core. And he thought it would be simple to steal princess from her castle. Well, he thought wrong.

part iv | chaser Breakups are tough. For years, you had to push your feelings down to try and move on. But now, you were back again with Choi Seungcheol, rekindling the ardent flame of your love, and lost promises.

drabble | lover You and Seungcheol finally get a chance to get away from finals, homework and your parents.

part v | coming soon

last updated: 08.13.2024 (˶ˆ꒳ˆ˵) JOIN MY TAGLIST

[spookykoolkat]

summer breeze | eddie munson 18+

wrote a drabble cus im just thinking about drugdealer!eddie at a party (ones that hes tired of going to) to sell and make money, but you take him completely off of his game once he notices you.

drugdealer!eddie x plus sized!fem!reader

warnings: 18+ only! minors do not interact or get BLOCKED. pwp (sorta), eddie and reader are both in their early twenties (eddie is a year or two older than reader), flirting, p in v (protected pls wrap it up!), fingering, mentions of oral (fem receiving), descriptions of feminine fat bodies, itsyyy bit of body issues (reader isn't insecure just aware of her body), very light choking if you squint, dirty talk (i think hes filthy here), body worship, use of pretty girl, daddy, baby, sweetheart, etc lmk if i missed something.

please do not forget to read and educate yourself on the genocide in gaza! please do your daily clicks and donate to families in need for sudan, congo and palestine + more. https://arab.org/ scroll down on my page for resources and posts about palestine! it will always be free palestine and boycotting the show stranger things as there are three raging zionists on set! no longer taking requests for stranger things or tlou!

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i definitely see eddie munson being the one that's invited to the party to make money, find customers, manage to provide the entire party with weed and other drugs people wanted. maybe he's not the most fun, given he was burnt out after his teen years from doing crazy shit like trying pills and psychedelics to skipping class to drive two towns over, drinking and partying to make up for a life time.

he's not there to necessarily party. he's there to make money, drink, and observe. he doesn't even really miss the partying, or the people. since he was the plug, it was only ever about business. how much can someone get, what can they get, for what price, thanks, have a good night. he didn't get much socialization done in his life right now, so his best bet was to just watch.

he took his place on the couch, somewhere in the clouded area of the living room of whoever's house he's in right now. it was almost deja vu for him.

eddie would be SUCH an observer. quiet, listening and watching to everyone and everything since he was always in the corner unless he was needed. so when his eyes scanned the room after taking a puff of his blunt, it wasn't odd that his eyes latched onto you first.

you were wearing your usual, tube top, fishnet and jean shorts that rode up your ass and hugged the dips of your hips and waist. i think eddie tried to stop looking at you, especially when you saw him staring from your spot where you poured yourself another drink. but even you catching him didn't make him have any shame.

he was checking you out unabashedly. he was staring at the way your tits squeezed against the fabric of the tube top, how your tummy poked out of your shorts because they squeezed into your curves, how the fishnets had holes in some spots on your legs probably from stretching over the width of your thighs.

i think eddie would definitely try to make a move on you, his confidence wasn't lost on him, but he would wait. and while he would wait, he would think about touching you, talking to you, maybe even talking you through it.

he was a freak.

he waited until you finally decided to dance with a few of your friends, getting up from his spot and mixing in between the bodies to get next to you. eddie wasn't a dancer. not in these settings, even he surprised himself.

the obsession was mutual. your hands couldn't stop touching him as you two danced, whispering little things in each other's ears.

"you're really fucking pretty, you know that? like, insanely pretty. i couldn't stop looking at you from across the room." his voice was all you heard even when the music tried to drown it out, he was the only one you could listen to.

"eddie right?" you asked in his ear and your voice was even sweeter than he thought. he just nodded and let his hands fall onto your hips.

"you think i'm pretty?" you asked, your eyes fluttering up at him and biting your lip.

eddie only put his hands on your waist and squeezed, pulling you into him and smiling as you both danced together. putting your hands on his chest as he moved his hands to the lower part of your back and dipping his finger tips into your shorts, he leaned down and whispered in your ear,

"more than pretty. can't even focus on my job when you're right there in front of me just begging for me to come and take you away."

your eyes flutters again, this time with your lips parted and small hitch in your throat.

it was the same expression you had that night, upstairs in the guest room as everyone partied below you when he pushed his fingers inside of your heat.

"oh, ooh baby," he would say as he watched your cunt suck his fingers in, coating him in your juices and making a mess over his hand.

"i-i'm, eddie, oh my god eddie," you groaned, jean shorts discarded and panties moved to the side as he played with your cunt.

his hands ripped the fishnets between your thighs, letting his fingers spread the thick of your cunt and press his finger pads onto the glistening pearl that made you flutter your eyes shut.

it was the same expression you gave when he pushed his length into your sopping heat, and grabbed onto every inch of skin he could. once he entered you after making you cum on his fingers, he got eager.

eddie pulled your top down and let your tits free, becoming even more obsessed you might end up having to put a restraining order on him. it turned out, eddie was a tit man. he played with your tits as he slid in and out of you, squeezing your pebbled nipples and teasing them. sucking on his fingers just to play with your nipples, grabbing your tits and pushing them together to watch them bounce as he fucked you.

he was in love.

you didn't know eddie much, but he took his time with you. even when the party seemed to get even more rowdy, he only fucked into you harder. his hips snapping against your thighs, now calves on his shoulders as he quickly grabbed a pillow and slid it under the small of your back.

"my fucking god, sweetheart, look at you," he said, slipping back into you and adding a stretch that added to your pleasure, "even fuckin' prettier like this, you know that? goddamn, i'm gonna fucking get addicted to this pussy,"

the wind had been knocked out of you, breathless and scrambling for something to say but without missing a beat eddie ran his fingers through his hair and grabbed your ankles, spreading your legs wide beside him to see you open for him.

"i, i, daddy please, i can't, too much, can't breathe," you could feel his cock in your throat, punching into you and making your legs twitch at his lace.

"just like that, pretty girl, hold yourself open like that, be good for daddy." he groaned, sitting on his knees to slide back into your gaping hole as you placed your hands on the back of your thighs.

"there we go, so fuckin' good, so pretty," he whispered to himself, watching as tears ruined your perfect makeup and sweat collected on your forehead and chest. you were ruined, aching and throbbing, still begging for him even when he was giving you what you wanted.

"please, please, so fucking good s' so fucking big," you said, out of breath as he moved to your liking.

he couldn't fuck you like that for long, not when he was watching the weight of your tits bounce and move to the rhythm of his thrusts, not when you begged for him, not when he looked at the way your legs pressed against your stomach that was so soft and round for him—now becoming his favorite part to touch as he lifts himself from his knees and putting his weight into your waist.

he got a good grip like this, you thought, feeling how his hands molded into the skin you bashed for so long just to fuck you deeper and more relentlessly.

it was when someone knocked on the door, asking for eddie, (after your second orgasm) when he decided to flip the two of you over so that his back was now against the random headboard of the bed and your thighs sat on top of his.

you were positioned at his tip, most of him sliding out after your orgasm pushed him out. you couldn't help but feel yourself drip onto his length as you looked at the state of him, hearing the man call for his friend outside of the door, and watching as eddie got lost in your curves and softness.

"fucking hell. goddamnit, look at you," he breathed, hands moving all over you, "this will never leave my mind. i'm telling you right now. gonna be thinking about this for fucking ever, thinking about this pretty fucking body on me,"

he was touching everything, all over you, squeezing parts of you you'd never though you'd let anyone see. kissing the stretch marks and moles and the extra flab of your arms and leaning you back to kiss the width of your tummy.

"sit down on me, baby, please, let me have it, let daddy have it, i've been real good for you, baby," he begged, whined, pressing the side of his face into your tits and gently suckling on the skin.

he was growing tiresome, feeling your hole clench around his weeping, red tip that ached for you. eddie didn't even realize he could throb this hard for anyone, or that he even wanted anyone as bad as he wanted you when he saw you. he didn't even know he could last as long as he did, not with you being right in front of him begging for him to fuck you.

you were beautiful, you had something about you that he couldn't take his eyes off of, something he knew he wasn't going to stop thinking about even if he tried.

"but, they're asking for you," you whimpered, fingers dragging through eddie's hair and fingernails scraping his scalp as he groped your tits and sucked on them. "the party, you have customers,"

he leaves kisses when he speaks again.

"the fuck does that matter, hm? as far as i'm concerned," he said and leaned back, watching the way your cunt looked so he could remember every detail. how juicy your cunt was, how he could palm it and rub your clit at the same time, how well your cunt wrapped around his cock when he gave everything for you to take,

"i got the prettiest, juiciest fucking pussy i've ever had in my fuckin' life right here about to sit on my cock, you think i'm gonna stop trying to make you cum so i can get a 20 dollar bill?" he scoffed, "absolutely fuckin' not. fuck that party. now let me fuck that pretty cunt baby, please, let me feel it again,"

he whimpered when he met your eyes, desperation for a nut especially like this, and you melted. you clenched around his tip and he winced as you slowly lowered yourself onto him. you were gasping at this point, trying to fight for air while you let your cunt take all of him until your clit was pressed against his thatch of hair.

"oh fuck, FUCK, fuck baby," he practically yelled, throwing his head back against the headboard and you couldn't help yourself. his hands were gripping your asscheeks so hard they left hand prints, pulling and spreading them apart just to leave slaps to imagine how your ass would jiggle with it.

it left him moaning even more.

your lips attached to his neck and kissed everywhere you could, licking his pale skin and sucking on his neck and chest. you left hickies where you could. the soberness in you wanted him to remember this, to be looked at so people can know someone fucked him this good and it was you.

the drunk in you just wanted to claim him as yours. let everyone know he was fucking you. and only you. or so you convinced yourself to think.

as you buried your face into his neck and suckled and licked, your cunt clenched around him and slowly you lifted your hips up, just to slam them back down and make lewd noises fill the room. his moaning was turning you on even more, knowing his was sounding fucked out like this because of you.

"eddie, yo what the fuck? i'm tryin' to get some weed man! come on!" the obnoxious voice was drowned out by eddie's moans and whimpers as you decided to speed your bouncing up.

you did it for a hot minute, rolling your hips and bouncing your ass on your knees as you took him in with every lift of your hips. he was so much more filling this way, so much more bigger and reaching places it felt like was your stomach.

"eddie, e-eddie, p-p-please, eddie," you were crying into his neck when you whined and it only made him release a guttural groan as he quickly wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled your body down to his.

"eddie, what, wh-" you tried as he fixed positions, planting his feet and raising his hips before continuously slamming up into your cunt.

"oh, oh, oh my, f-fucking, mmphf, my," you really tried, to make sense of what he was doing until your mind went blank, until you felt the head of his pink cock hitting your cervix over and over again until it began to mix pleasure with pain.

it was delicious, it was everything, and yet the man was still at the door. "eddie, eddie," you moaned, sort of forgetting about everything else but the man ramming into your sore hole, you corrected yourself quickly as he fucked you harder, "daddy!"

"woah, hey, are you, are you fucking in there?? eddie!!! my man!!" the man cheered through the door but to you it was muffled.

you couldn't hear anything but the messiness of your cunt, the squelching, the groaning and crying, the moaning and whimpering, his words making you tighten around him.

"take that fucking dick, baby, take what daddy's giving you, yeah?" he growled in your ear as he kept his pace up, your tears hitting his shoulders and your whines being muffled by his chest.

"i know baby, you're taking me so well, being so good, feel so fucking good,"

"cmon baby, let me have another one, cum again for daddy,"

"next time i'm gonna bury my fucking face between those thighs and let your ride my tongue, just wanna taste my pretty girl the right way," he was breathless, and listening to you cry from his words and beg after every sweet nothing he couldn't hold it anymore.

"get it man!" again. eddie was almost getting pissed off. actually. he was pissed off.

this random man was able to hear the way you sounded just for eddie, the way you called for him and said his name, the way you cried when his cock hit your spot over and over again in this angle.

"get the fuck out of here, fuckface!" eddie screamed angrily away from your ear, only making you clench harder as he then flipped you to lay on your side.

his cock was still inside of you, only now he laid behind you in the same position and lifted your leg by the thickness of your thigh and held it there as he lifted his thigh and slipped further inside of you.

"m' the only one that should hear you like this, not him, nobody else. look at that," he says in your ear as he uses his other hand to point your head downwards to see the way his cock slammed into your cunt over and over again, barely being able to see it over your tummy, "see how she's crying for me? god i wish you could fuckin' see yourself, how fuckin' pretty you are,"

"daddy, daddy, fuck, fuck me, fuck my pussy please, make me feel good," you managed to get out as he moved his hand from your hair to your throat, forcing you to throw your head back against his.

eddie puts his chin right at the top of your head, somehow seemingly bigger than you and crowding you as he kept his pace.

"touch yourself, princess, touch that pretty little clit for daddy, daddy's gonna make you cum all over his big fucking cock, how's that sound, pretty girl? you like that?" he asks, and you can hear the smirk in his voice.

it only grows deeper when he sees your weak hand move to your messy cunt, finding your clit and rubbing firm circles into her. eddie can feel you clench and drip onto him, covering his cock in your cum and juices as you reach your climax for the third time.

you didn't know eddie. he didn't really know you. but in this moment, holding you to his chest as you leaves kisses in your hair and on your cheek sweetly, fucking you roughly and messily, palm still at your throat.

you were crying by now, tears slipping down just for eddie to dry them back up.

"i know, i can feel you baby, can feel you gettin' close for me," he boasts, his own thrusts getting sloppy and missing the rhythm as he struggles to hold his own release back.

"so good, feels so good daddy," you gasped, voice dry and strained, "gonna make, fuck fuck, baby i can't, too much,"

"uh-uh baby, what were you gonna say? gonna make you what? cum? gonna make this pretty little cunt cum all over my cock again?" eddie's balls pulled taut, fighting back his orgasm until you clenched hard one last time and yelled out.

"yes! yes! yes! make me cum, you're making me cum, i'm cumming, daddy please," you shouted, body shaking in his hold as you move your hands to grab at his wrist and try to wriggle out of his grasp, his thrusts becoming too much too fast.

"oh fuck, oh fuck, baby, fuck," he whimpered, wincing and releasing a string of moans and groans as he cums in the condom; desperately wishing he could've painted your walls. you were still shaking in his grasp, whimpering when eddie pulls out of you and moves his hands to fix your hair.

eddie moves you to lay on your back as he sits up on one arm and admires you, the lipstick smeared and eyeshadow messy, eyeliner running and your face makeup staining whatever pillows were there.

eddie wasn't the type to think he was going to call back. thats for sure. he wasn't a dating man, a 'see you more than once in a year' man. eddie was confused for the most part, not knowing where this was gonna go next depending how he went about this last part of the interaction. he especially wasn't a girl. not that girl who asked what we are on the first hook up. not the girl who day dreamed about someone when they weren't near.

he wasn't a girl. he especially wasn't that girl.

you opened your eyes to him staring with a lopsided smile, scanning over your face and chest.

"what?" you smiled, breathlessly and sleep pulling at your eyes.

he shakes his head with a small smile and drowns out the music playing from downstairs, watching you scan his face.

"so, are you gonna call me after this? when can i see you again?"