#fic: tmdrabble

[lockewrites]

Come to Bed

F!LDB x Miraak || Slight-NSFT || 675 words

AO3 & FF.net

Prompt:  "trying to concentrate on a task, but your lover’s kissing your neck, making your head spin"  for our favorite pair of dragonborns, please :D

The candles were nearing their last minutes of life, the flame dimming with each second passed. And still Miraak remained hunched over the table, the whites of his fingertips surrounded in the pink of irritation, the weight of him and his worries pressing into the table.

“If you haven’t found it by now…” Telyra’s voice trailed off. Her body leaned against the doorframe across the room, her arms crossed over her chest.

Miraak’s form deflated with the long release of breath. “So you have said.”

“Will you come to bed?” she asked, the usual mirth in her voice replaced by fatigue. 

Moments of silence carried on the dust motes illuminated by the fading candles whorled between them. 

Letting out a sigh, Telyra stepped toward him, her sheer night robe brushing along the stone floor; skin unbothered despite the chill in the air. Her pale, silver hand pressed into the map on the table, sliding it to rest against his.

“Miraak.”

He turned at her voice, shadows well at home under his eyes and familiar with the red surrounding his irises. 

“You can’t see an answer if you can’t see,” she said. “The candles are just about through. We’ll gather again tomorrow, but you need to sleep.”

“My mind will not grant me the peace needed to sleep,” he muttered. “Not until we discern a viable strategy.”

Telyra placed her hand atop his. “The war can wait a night.”

A sigh was his only acknowledgment. 

With another of her own, she moved beneath his arm and placed herself between him and the table; it wasn’t the most comfortable of positions, her back having to arch around Miraak’s torso as he didn’t make any effort to provide her space. He simply looked at her, or perhaps through her to the map.

“Come to bed,” she repeated.

“I will shortly,” he replied, not meeting her eyes.

“No. Now.”

He offered nothing more than a soft grunt, no tonal inclination of ‘yes’ or ‘no.’

Asking politely found only failure. She touched his waist, opting for a new means of persuasion. His stomach twitched under her fingers, but otherwise, he remained still. Telyra’s hands grazed along his torso, slipping beneath the deep-cut collar of his shirt; his heart thrummed under her skin, harder and faster as he recognized the game she instigated. This was not their first stand-off in which words failed.

“Please,” she whispered.

With a deep sigh, he ignored her. It was naught but mere pride keeping him here at this point, Telyra believed.

“The bed is far too cold without you,” she pleaded.

“You do not feel cold,” he replied.

“Maybe not, but…” Telyra leaned up and pressed a kiss at the edge of his jaw. “I certainly feel you.”

He leaned into her on instinct, growing rigid as soon as he realized her play.

“I can take your mind elsewhere,” she promised against his skin as her lips followed the taut muscle of his neck.

“There is little that could free my thoughts of this war,” Miraak retorted. The color filling his cheeks spoke otherwise. 

Lower her kisses traveled, sucking on his skin briefly before placating it with tender presses of her mouth, leaving no physical trace of her affections beyond the blush creeping along his neck. She reached his collarbone and gave it the softest nick of her teeth.

“No honor to be found in your tactics,” he mumbled.

She smiled. “I’ve always preferred to play dirty.”

As she continued tracing the lines of his neck, her hands traveled down his torso, his waist, stopping only when they felt his growing excitement. A quiet moan vibrated in the back of his throat as she brushed across the front of his pants. 

Her mouth returned to his ear, and she asked, “Now will you come to bed?”

“No,” he replied. His embrace engulfed her, and without a chance to react, he lifted her onto the table and stepped between her legs.

Telyra stared at him for a breath’s moment before his lips claimed hers.

“Not yet.”

[lockewrites]

I Thought I Lost You

F!LDB x Miraak || SFT || 946 words

AO3 & FF.net

Prompt: Miraak and Telyra, "I thought I lost you" hugs, course whats not to love about hurt/comfort fics

“Search for survivors,” Telyra ordered. “Gather those well enough to transport to the healers.”

“And the enemy?”

“Bind any of higher ranking,” she replied. “Kill the rest.”

With a nod, the lieutenant rushed off, gathering her unit to carry out Telyra’s orders.

“General.”

Another soldier approached, his voice went unheard as Telyra looked over the battlefield. Iron and ozone weighing down the air, too heavy even for any bit of breeze; the scene stagnant, silent other than the calls of those looking for fallen loved ones and fellow soldiers.

“Telyra,” he said, speaking louder.

She turned this time, looking up despite every move causing her body to protest in pain. Erik, looking a little worse for wear but otherwise uninjured. 

“There’s been no word from Miraak.”

Any relief she felt at seeing her closest friend alive vanished. Her stomach dropped, nausea welling inside her as a lump formed in the back of her throat, threatening her breath.

“Find Miraak!” she cried across the fields, blood painting her tongue as her Voice sent a ripple through the grasses. “He takes priority!” 

Telyra pushed past Erik and hurried through the bodies in the direction she’d last seen Miraak. Eyes darting over each fallen soldier, praying he wasn’t one of them yet desperate to see his face.

“Miraak!” she Shouted. Again and again, she called out, her Voice piercing the air as her throat burned.

Her treatment of the dead was unsanctimonious, but she cared little; she flipped bodies, tore off helmets, pushed the dead aside with her bloodied boots. With each unfamiliar face, the bile in her throat grew. If anyone spoke to her, it was lost to the deafening pounding of her heart in her ears and her panicked focus. This frantic pattern continued, her trembling body pushing beyond the boundaries of exhaustion and her voice becoming nothing more than a rasp with each order barked at every passing soldier. Find him. Find him. Find him. Find Miraak!

It all felt in vain; with each minute past, his chances of surviving dwindled. If he was hurt, if he was on the brink of death… 

Telyra broke into a run, willing her spent muscles to continue through the exhaustion and pain. She fell to her knees beside a large, face-down body clad in familiar armor. Turning him over with what little strength she had left, Telyra was filled with an anxiety-provoking mix of relief and dread. His front was covered in blood, originating from multiple impacts in the armor.

“Miraak.” Her voice was barely a whisper. 

His eyes fluttered and opened, barely enough to see the blues of his irises. He placed a shaky hand on her arm a moment before it slid off.

“Miraak!” She cradled his face as tears rolled down her own. 

With his lips barely parting, he muttered, “Dii mal ruvaak.” 

“Don’t you dare leave me!” she cried.

His body grew limp.

“I need a healer!” she Shouted, her mouth filling with blood once more. “Get me a fucking healer!” 

______

“You need to sleep.”

Telyra ignored Erik and continued her pacing outside the infirmary. It’d been a struggle to get her out of the room, but Erik managed to talk her down; a feat that impressed even the seasoned healer.

“You passing out from exhaustion isn’t going to help Miraak,” he lectured.

She threw her hands up. “How am I supposed to rest knowing he could–”

“Telyra.” Erik pushed off the wall he’d been leaning on and placed a hand on her shoulder. “He’ll make it. He’s always made it.” His voice wavered, so subtle anyone other than Telyra would’ve missed it. 

Stepping away from Erik, she leaned against the wall and slid onto the floor, digging her fingers into her battle-greased hair and letting her head rest on her palms.

Tears pricked her already-raw eyes. They’d come so far, were so close to seeing the end of this war; stability and peace a near-reality on the verge of crashing. Their life together had been constantly plagued with the promise of another fight, another enemy, another world-ending threat. To see a life of quiet and love teetering on the edge, a breath away from falling into Oblivion; it tore at her soul.

The door opened, and Healer Arimon stepped out, his wrinkles looking even deeper, his eyes noticeably exhausted.

“General.”

Telyra looked up at him, her lips parted but unable to ask the question that caught in her throat and threatened to strangle her.

“He’s unconscious,” he began, “but stable.”

Erik held a hand out to Telyra, pulling her to her feet.

“It will take time for General Miraak to recover,” the healer explained. “We’ll need to keep an eye on him, but for now, you may go to him.” 

He stepped aside before Telyra could run through him.

“Thank you, Arimon,” she heard Erik say behind her.

“The gods truly must watch over him,” Arimon replied in a hushed tone. “Were he not Dragonborn, I don’t think he would’ve survived.”

Telyra was too elated to see the rise and fall of his chest to pay much mind to the implications of Arimon’s words. A basin stood in the corner of the room, bloodied rags fueled the fire, the light bouncing across Miraak’s face. She hovered over him, her fingers grazing over the raised, sutchered skin on his cheek. Her hand moved to rest against his other, thumb trembling across his cheekbone.

“I thought I lost you,” she whispered, fresh tears rolling down her face.

His head turned, his hand covered hers, and he placed a soft kiss on her palm.

His voice was little more than breath. “Hi fen neh saan zey.”

[lockewrites]

Bumping Noses

Anon asked:  Hi! If you still taking prompts could you do; accidentally bumping noses for Mirrak X Telyra?

Miraak x F!LDB || SFW || 614 words

AO3 & FF(.)net

Telyra and Miraak find themselves in a compromising position while trying to infiltrate the Blue Palace. 

“To hide in such a manner is undignified,” Miraak muttered.

As she rolled her eyes, Telyra shushed him. She might’ve thrown an elbow into him if she had any room to properly wind up; the two were squeezed into an alcove in the gardens of the Blue Palace, hiding from the guards. Attempting to sneak with a giant of a man such as Miraak was clearly a mistake, Telyra thought.

“You could simply walk through the palace doors,” he continued, “and demand the information. Make a show of power. I would gladly have allowed you to borrow Sahrotaar for such an undertaking.” 

Telyra let out a long exhale through her nose. “We’re trying to stop one political shit-storm, not cause another.”

She would’ve loved nothing more than to hit her head into the stone wall over and over, but the only wall in front of her was that of Miraak’s broad chest. Focusing was difficult enough given their inconvenient situation, but being so near Miraak’s form; the smell of warm rain and embers always radiated from him, but nearly pressed against him, it filled her lungs with each breath. Telyra shook her head as if to dislodge the distraction from her mind.

It seemed Solitude’s security was increased greatly following the death of High King Torryg, or so Telyra assumed; highly doubtful Jarl Elisif would’ve devoted so many guards to keep an eye on mere flowers. The guards formed a perfect rotation that left nearly no room to slink into the palace–how they made it this far onto the grounds, Telyra couldn’t even recall.

She let her head fall back against the stone behind her and closed her eyes as she muttered, “Should’ve hired some Thieves Guild rats for this.” Releasing another sigh, she opened her eyes and caught sight of the divet in the wall that might provide just enough leverage to pull herself up to the upper floor of the palace. It was well beyond her reach and even Miraak’s, but maybe…

“Give me a boost.”

“What?”

Telyra nodded at the space above Miraak. “There’s a nick in the wall,” she explained, “but I can’t reach it.”

He craned his head back, his brown locks rolling off his shoulders in the process. “That takes care of your predicament,” he said, “but what of mine?”

“One step at a time, Miraak.” In truth, she simply had no idea.

Rolling his eyes, he held his hands out, but with no room for him to squat, Telyra didn’t have a hope of reaching them with her feet.

“I, uh, I can’t quite–”

His hands settled on her waist instead, sending a flutter through her stomach; before she had a chance to comprehend what was happening, he lifted her effortlessly. He stilled as their noses brushed, and he trembled just slightly keeping her in place.

Held at his height, her gaze bounced between his eyes; the gray-blue evident even in the shadow, even as his pupils grew as he returned her stare. Her hands came to rest in the crook of his neck, thumb mindlessly grazing his warming skin a moment before suddenly becoming aware of the situation. 

“Miraak, I… I still can’t reach.”

Miraak responded in kind, lifting her high enough to reach the divot and pull herself to balance on his shoulders. He gripped her ankles, his fingertips digging into the leather of her boots.

Every point of contact he’d made lingered on her skin; tingling slightly despite her efforts to ignore it. She should’ve dragged Erik along instead; at least then, she’d be at less of a risk of making a fool of herself over something as silly as a simple touch. 

[lockewrites]

Accidental Brush

{Prompt}:  4. An accidental brush of lips followed by a pause and going back for another, on purpose.

Miraak x F!LDB || SFW || 830 words

Miraak winds up wounded while exploring, and Telyra tries to clean him up.

I cheated a tiny bit, but I hope this is good!! As always, AO3 link can be found on my blog: /writings

“Aren’t you supposed to be this divine-like being?” Telyra shook her head as she wrung out the rag, water and blood spilling over her fingers and into the already-stained bowl. “How do you keep getting your ass kicked?”

Miraak huffed before it broke into a cough. “I believe I am due some sympathy,” he retorted. He was sat on a crate that appeared too flimsy for his weight but only creaked if he moved; his long torso made her feel short even as she stood over him. “I am still growing accustomed to my body. And I do not keep ‘getting my ass kicked.’” The last was said with the faintest hint of insult. 

With another shake of her head, Telyra dabbed at a particularly nasty gash along his hairline. The bleeding wouldn’t let up, and, while she hadn’t wound up anywhere near as damaged as him, her magicka was depleted; he’d be receiving no poorly healed scars from her this time. 

“All that work to get you out,” she muttered, “just to have you knock on Death’s door anyway.” She smiled as she spoke.

Pulling away, her back straightened with a great deal of protest after having been hunched over for too long. She watched as Miraak’s eyes followed her movements, never leaving her face; a curious look set upon his own. 

“What is it?” she asked, furrowing her eyebrows.

He blinked a few times and shook his head, wincing at the motion. “Nothing,” he replied. “Feeling rather lightheaded.”

“Considering all the blood loss,” she said, stretching and groaning, “I’m not surprised.” She knelt in front of him, grabbing the rag once more. Her fingers pushed back his hair, careful not to jab the wound; the red was already growing dark, his locks crunching slightly under her touch. “You need a bath.”

“Is that a rather unsubtle way of telling me I smell?” His head tilted down as he stared at her once more. “I pride myself on excellent hygiene.”

Her eyes flitted to his before returning to his injury; heat settled in her face. He didn’t smell particularly bad, though he didn’t exactly smell good; the sweat and copper were overwhelming, as was expected, along with the usual scent of magic: ozone and embers; but beneath was a lingering whisper of pine. She inhaled deeply and let her knees rest against the stone floor.

“Can you hold that?” She nodded toward her hand against his head.

He hesitated. Telyra leaned back and looked at the hand pressed against his torso; it was stiff, flexed as though he were applying pressure. Her gaze moved to his; he looked down. 

“Move your hand,” she ordered.

His eyes returned to hers, but he didn’t move.

Her jaw clenched and she grabbed his wrist; slowly, she pulled it away, revealing blood-soaked cloth.

“Shit, Miraak,” she hissed. “Why--” 

“It is nothing.”

“It’s not ‘nothing,’” she said. After folding up the rag and finding a slightly less stained patch, she pressed it against his stomach.

He hissed as she dabbed at the area in an attempt to clear enough blood to gauge the damage. Each press made him flinch further away from her. 

“Would you just--” Her hand dug into his thigh. “Hold still.”

His body stiffened, eyes wide; even in the dark, she could see the blues of his iris disappearing into his pupils.

“Okay,” he mumbled, unblinking. 

Returning his stare, her fingers lifted from his leg, and she absent-mindedly wiped the sweat forming on her upper lip with the back of her hand. Her gaze dropped back to his torso; still bleeding, of course, as was his head. So much blood. How could someone bleed so much without losing consciousness? she wondered.

As she resumed cleaning his injury, his fingers slipped under her chin, and his thumb ran over her lips. She stilled and glanced at him. 

“You have blood…” he muttered.

Without thought, her head naturally followed his hand, leaning toward him as he slowly attempted to pull away; he froze a moment, their position seeming to register behind his eyes. Her spine straightened, bringing her closer to the breath seeking escape from his lungs. Again, the pad of his thumb dragged across her lip, sticky now with the drying blood she’d unknowingly put there. 

His fingers brushed against her skin, settling against her neck, her pulse racing beneath his index. Lips parting as she sucked in a breath, she felt heat return to her face, spilling from his touch and reaching each limb, coiling in her stomach. 

Eyes bouncing between his, the storm of blue now a mere drizzle around an onyx sea; his flushed skin radiating and mixing with her own warmth. 

“Thank you, Telyra,” he breathed as he drew her even closer.

The tip of his nose grazed hers as they began to tilt, eyelids growing heavy under the weight of the unspoken desire they shared. 

His lips just barely skimming hers as he whispered once more, “Thank you.”

[lockewrites]

Fatalistic Recklessness

Requested via the @nirnwrote​ Discord: “The relief of fatalistic recklessness” for Telyra if you please!

Miraak x F!Dragonborn || SFW || 923 words AO3 & FF

Telyra’s arrogance lands her in a battle she can’t win.

She lay, her head and back against stone. Her chest rose in spurts, falling just as quickly. Tiny lights danced across her gaze; white, or were they orange? Warm. Hot. Too hot. They weren’t dancing, they were surging passed her, bursting against the pale blue shimmer spawning from her hand; the ward she didn’t remember conjuring.

The hum in her ears grew to a roar, vibrating in her mind, waking it from a daze.

A legendary dragon, the most powerful type she’d come across. That’s what she had been fighting. A long arduous battle that she couldn’t recall much of, not that it mattered. She only could think of the pain of being thrown into the Word Wall the dragon had claimed as his home. Head smashing against stone, stomach lurching at the claws that tore into it, wind stolen from her lungs when her back collided with the wall.

She should’ve waited, sat tight until reconnecting with Miraak, but hubris, it seemed, was stronger than logic. Erik had warned her, but…

“You’re getting reckless.”

Telyra rolled her eyes and chuckled. “We’re adventurers. Heroes. We’re supposed to be a little reckless.”

“I’m serious,” Erik said, his usually jovial tone long gone. “You’re going to get yourself killed, and you’ll probably take me with you.”

“When have I ever needlessly put you in danger?”

“How about when you launched yourself off a cliff?” he asked.

“How did that endanger you?”

“I almost jumped down after you! I couldn’t see you. I didn’t even know if you were alive!”

“That wouldn’t have been my fault,” she said. “I have the means to protect myself.”

“Yes, yes, your legendary dragon powers,” Erik said sighing. “You’re not invincible.”

“I mean, aren’t I?” she asked. “Prophecy and whatnot.”

He scoffed. “You think some divine intervention is going to keep you from dying?”

“Kind of,” she admitted. “If I die, Alduin takes over the world or ends it. I don’t think the Divines would allow that.”

“You… You really believe that.” He shook his head and held up his hands. “You know what? You can act however crazy you want, but I’m not going to get myself killed trying to save you.”

“I never asked you to.”

Where’s my divine intervention? she thought.

Telyra let out a bark of laughter and continued staring upward at the sparks flying by. Her body grew numb: she couldn’t even tell if her magicka ran low. The dragon continued spewing its fiery breath against her ward; it sounded like glass breaking as little cracks began to form in her iridescent shield.

Worse situations than this hadn’t managed to kill her, yet here she was with no apparent victory or even escape in reach. But prophecy needed her, the world needed her. She was to kill Alduin, she was the Last Dragonborn. Well, no. That wasn’t really true anymore, she reminded herself. She messed with prophecy. She brought back the First, the original meant to destroy Alduin.

Prophecy didn’t need her anymore.

She took a deep breath and let her shoulders slump as she released a sigh and looked into the fire breaking against her magic. Her gaze bounced to each of the forming cracks.

“Huh,” she breathed. “It looks like the Ritual.”

The constellation-like fractures deepened and reached out to one another.

Her thoughts returned to Miraak, and she couldn’t find it within herself to regret saving him, even if it meant the abandonment of her prophetic armor. He’d be angry with her, she was sure, but he would fulfill his role this time. And he’d live. He’d continue bettering his name, rewriting his story.

And Erik… well, that was an argument never to be mended it seemed. She could see him standing at her gravesite, crying and gloating. I told you, Telly, you damned fool. He’d have her buried next to her father, or at least have her marker there. There likely wouldn’t be enough left of her to bury.

Closing her eyes, she returned her head to the wall, resting it as if she were taking a nap.

“The eternal nap,” she mumbled and chuckled. “Erik would appreciate the drama.”

Licks of flame pushed through the deepest fissures in her ward, catching her fingertips. The cracks suddenly stretched across its diameter, crackling before bursting completely.

“TIID KLO UL!”

Her body became limp, ready to accept whatever came next. She expected the blinding pain of fire to engulf her, but instead she felt an embrace, something wrapping around her and lifting her off the ground. Her eyes remained closed, not daring to look for fear of triggering the pain that should have swallowed her.

Icy wind bit at her exposed skin as she was carried away. It was a welcome pain, certainly more so than what fire would’ve brought, but as quickly as the chill came, it stopped. It was replaced by a soft glow and a comforting warmth that filled her stomach and spread to her limbs.

“Vopraan,” a voice pleaded. “Zu’u bolog hi.”

The words were lost to her, but she was too busy basking in the warm light.

“Dii fask ruvak,” a voice said.

A low hum sounded from her throat. She knew those words.

“Telyra?”

She hummed again, smiling and blinking her eyes open. A face she knew well, marred with scars she’d mapped out countless times and frown lines etched deep enough they were near-permanent, stared down at her.

“My divine intervention,” she muttered, chuckling as best she could and reaching up to touch his face. “Miraak.”