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rhyrhy · 2 months ago

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“Hold me, console me and then I'll leave without a trace”

. ݁Unkissed Bruises- A.A . ݁

⤷ Pitfighter Abby! Forbidden Love x High Society

. ݁₊ . ݁⚠︎ cw: Angst, Caitvi inspired, sexual content, death/grief, based off this draft! . ݁₊

9k words- mlist

݁₊ . ݁ Once upon a time, Whitehaven and the Rookery were one. two halves of a thriving whole, a city of beautiful contrasts where differences coexisted rather than divided. The grand halls of Whitehaven stood proudly beside the winding streets of the Rookery, their people mingling, trading, sharing stories beneath the same sky.

But with time came greed, and the growing sense of hierarchy that came with seclusion. and seclusion greed came walls, not the kind built with stone, but with power and privilege. The wealthy of Whitehaven withdrew behind gilded gates, drawing an invisible line between themselves and the Rookery below. The divide deepened, fed by whispered justifications and the belief that separation was natural. That it was better.

Now, they were no longer one.

The Rookery became a place of struggle, of resilience, of those left behind to fend for themselves. It was a city of flickering lanterns and hurried footsteps, of shadowed alleyways humming with secrets. The air smelled of spice and smoke, of meals stretched to feed too many mouths, of rain-soaked stone and burning ambition. Lifestyle shaped by survival.

Whitehaven, in contrast, remained untouched, pristine, a city of towering buildings , and shimmering glass. Its streets were wide, its air perfumed with florals from large gardens. Voices carried in refined tones, syllables drawn out as if even words themselves had the luxury of time. Its people dined on delicacies, oblivious to the hunger just beyond their borders. Oil and water. Two cities, once bound together, now separated by more than just wealth. By history. By resentment. By the quiet understanding that though they still existed side by side, they had long since become worlds apart.

But When the sickness hit, most folk called it the “bug”, a constant infectious shadow that never leaves, leaving you a hollow version of the person you once were. It’s been contained for the most part, but its remnants linger, and those who fell to it never stray too far, no matter how high the walls around Whitehaven rise.

Your father, a respected scientist, kept you safe inside those walls. As a girl, you ran through his office, spilling coffee on important papers and giving him wide eyed apologies when he threw his hands up in frustration. Your mother, a talented caterer, made food that could heal you from the inside out. comfort in every bite. Growing up, you often found yourself perched on the window sill, watching the distant figures on the bridge, wondering about the people outside. The Rookery was rarely spoken of, but you knew why. The guilt and pride of those inside Whitehaven kept it at a distance, as did the stories of struggle that slipped through the faint cracks when the walls opened for supply runs.

You’d ventured outside the walls a few times, as a young woman, but you always returned to the duties and comforts inside. Letting that curiosity slip away in favor of the life you had. After all, those people had their own way of living. They weren’t helpless.

But little did you know, three-four years ago on Celestial Day; the city’s grandest holiday, marking the “enlightenment” of Whitehaven’s founders, would bring a taste of the Rookery right to your feet.

And she was just on the other side of those said walls. Staring right back. A younger Abby sat on the rooftop of the abandoned store, half listening to her friends beside her.

Abby knew ‘wallflowers,’ aka those who lived within WhiteHaven who turned their nose up at people who had lint on their clothes, ripped not by accident but by fashion, and looked down on those who didn’t. It was bullshit, honestly. Everyone would have the same fate if a cure wasn't found in the next 10 years for the bug. No gold or shiny shoes would save you when you were on your deathbed, lips cracked, eyes glossed over.

It was terrifying. The kind of thing that made you want to pray even if you didn’t believe. For some kind of hope.

Abby’s father, Jerry was a respected figure here, someone who people looked to for guidance. A man of science himself, just with the resources he could scrape together. She’d warn him to be careful; the last thing she needed was to lose her rock. The same man she had to beg to call her Abby; now, she was too old for ‘Abigail’. Made her feel like she was still in pigtails.

But there’s always sun after the storm, and for her? That’s Sidekick, Manny. And the definition of loyalty, Nora, is also from The Rookery; those down here were like family.

The kind of friends you could raid a junkyard and turn it into a mini shooting range. jumping off the large bridge into the blue waters below. Or—watching them do that as she’s terrified of heights. But it looked fun. Just…from a distance. That was her life.

. ݁₊ . ݁ in Whitehaven, on celestial day. It was ice sculptures, crystal glasses filled with drinks Abby couldn’t even pronounce, and so much food that even she knew she wouldn’t be able to try it all. Everything smelled like money. Everything from the banners to accents was navy blue, white, and gold, as polished as the people in attendance. Outside the walls, in the Rookery, people had their own ways of celebrating.

Officials claimed the walls of Whitehaven were meant to protect against crime and disease, but Abby knew better. They weren’t meant to keep anything out. They were meant to keep people like her from getting in. The suffrage these people would only hear about in passing.

The Rookery was her home. Over that broken bridge between the city’s. cracked sidewalks, flickering streetlights, and a kind of toughness where dirty looks were as good as compliments. But here? But here? In prissy Whitehaven, it was nothing like it. Everything was quiet, pristine, and expensive. And her borrowed dress shirt felt like a straitjacket. Suffocating even.

Noses pointed in the air. Ironed shirts, pleated skirts, and laughs that screamed financial stability. That was the first thing Abby noticed. That, and how fucking uncomfortable she felt standing in the middle of it all. She shifted against the stiff fabric, resisting the urge to roll her shoulders. “Remind me why I’m here again?” she muttered, just loud enough for Nora to hear. Nora, having family in Whitehaven despite the tension, would drag her friends to explore the city of bright and white across the bridge.

“Because I refuse to suffer alone,” Nora answered smoothly, scanning the crowd with the ease of someone who belonged somewhat. “And because my parents think dragging me to these things will make me ‘appreciate fine company.’ I think.”

Abby groaned, shifting her plate of food to her other hand. It was an unsorted mess of expensive appetizers and tiny, overly decorated portions that tasted too fancy for their own good. Nora glanced down at Abby’s plate and wrinkled her nose. “Are you seriously eating caviar with… a breadstick?”

Abby shrugged, chewing the piece in her mouth. “What? I’m hungry.” She trailed off. Before Nora could get another jab in, Abby’s attention flickered across the room. She didn’t even realize she’d stopped mid-bite until Nora followed her gaze. A girl around their age, working the room. Now she belonged here.

Nora turned back to her curiously. “So that’s what’s got you all quiet.”

Abby snapped out of it, rolling her shoulder. “What?” “The one with the stick up her ass?” Abby turned back to look at you. Standing near the center of the venue, posture straight, wearing something white and elegant. Talking to the right people, nodding at the right times. Everything about you looked polished. put together in a way that made Abby’s hands twitch at her sides, suddenly way too aware of the bandages she’d wrapped around them earlier that day out of habit.

She scoffed, tearing her eyes away. “She’s… okay, I guess.”

“Okay?” Nora snorted. “Try again.”

Abby rolled her eyes. “Fine. She’s hot. Are you happy?”

“Absolutely,” Nora grinned. She swore she was some kind of matchmaker. But the last time her friend set her up, she vowed to never let her meddle in her love life again.

Abby shook her head, as she decided it was best to step away before Nora found more ways to get under her skin. She needed an escape, just for a moment. Under the guise of grabbing another drink, she turned on her heel and strolled toward the kitchen, weaving through the crowd with practiced ease. The air was thick with laughter and the faint hum of conversation, the warmth of bodies packed into the space making it easy to disappear. As she moved, she brushed shoulders with strangers, their faces blurring into the background. A murmur of apology here, a fleeting glance there. But she barely registered any of it. She just needed a second. A breath. A chance to shake off whatever it was that had settled in her chest.

And then there you were again. You weren’t out in the crowd anymore. Instead, you were standing by the catering setup, arms crossed, giving one of the kitchen staff a very unimpressed look.

“No, seriously,” you said, exasperated. “What’s the point of me making a list of allergens if you’re not going to follow it?”

The staff member stammered an apology, but you barely heard it, too busy scanning the trays of hors d’oeuvres for any more potential disasters. This day was important. not just for the city, but for you and your mother. Celestial Day was more than just an extravagant celebration. it was a chance to prove your worth, to show the officials that you belonged inside these walls, that your family’s place here wasn’t just a courtesy. At all. One wrong dish, one guest sent into an allergy attack, and it would be a catastrophe. A stain on your mother’s reputation, on yours. Your grip tightened on the notepad in your hand as you exhaled sharply. There was no room for mistakes today. You earned your keep in these walls.

Abby leaned against the doorway, amusement tugging at her lips. Yeah, she was right about the stick-up-your-ass comment. But she wasn’t expecting to find it this entertaining. The way you talked with your hands. Politely ripping them a new one. She let out a small laugh at something you said louder than intended. You turned at the sound, eyes landing on her. And for the first time that night, or ever, Abby actually felt like she was being looked at.

Taking in the slightly wrinkled button-up, the way she wasn’t quite standing like she belonged here, the sharpness of her jaw, the broadness of her shoulders. her hair not neatly tucked out of her face. Your expression shifted just slightly, curiosity and…something else. You cleared your throat and spoke.

“Are you lost?” you asked, tilting your head.

She shrugged, glancing over your outfit. “Should I be?” Abby countered, pushing off the doorway and stepping closer.

You returned her once-over. “You just don’t seem like the type to frequent places with, hm… ice sculptures.” That sounded worse than instead, mentally kicking yourself.

“Mhm. And you don’t seem like the type to chew out waitstaff at over-the-top events.” She glanced behind you at the staff, remaking something she wouldn’t eat.

You exhaled sharply, almost a laugh. “Well, they had one job.”

Abby held back a laugh. “Aw, Tragic.”

That earned her a slow, assessing look that made her fingers twitch again. She could see it now, past the perfectly curated exterior. The way your eyes gleamed when challenged. The way you weren’t as prim and proper as she expected you to be. Watching your face as you continued on the conversation. She couldn’t help but like it. And maybe she really liked the way your breath caught just slightly when she leaned in a little closer. Holding her eye contact like you were trying to communicate something, whether it was intentional or not. It was there.

“Are you always this uptight?” Abby asked, voice lowering into something that made your heart race. You weren’t sure if she was testing you or teasing you. Maybe both.

You opened your mouth to respond, not sure how to. But before you could, a microphone crackled into the background. “Ladies and gentlemen, if we could have your attention for a moment—” your father’s voice pulling you back. Your head snapped toward the sound. your parents. About to give some speech to the crowd. You let out a small sigh of disappointment, before glancing back at the other girl.

“You should get back,” Abby said, smirking. “Wouldn’t want anyone thinking you ran off with the hired help.”

“Good idea, really wouldn’t want that.” Your feet moved before your mind could catch up, carrying you back into the sea of white and gold, but your head felt lighter, buzzing with something unfamiliar. You weren’t sure why it took more effort than usual to turn away. Why you had to smacking yourself not to glance back.

Abby, on the other had, didn’t look away. She stood there, arms crossed, watching as you disappeared into the crowd. Her brow furrowed slightly, lips pressed together as if she were trying to make sense of something. You weren’t what she expected. Not even close. She replayed the conversation in her head, the way you had looked at her, the slight hitch in your breath when she stepped closer. The way her own stomach had twisted in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time.

With a slow exhale, she rolled her shoulders, forcing the thoughts away before they took root. Whatever that was, it didn’t matter. At least, that’s what she told herself as she finally turned back toward Nora. But even as she walked away, that faint flutter in her chest refused to settle.

Nora took one look at her and groaned dramatically. “Oh, no. You’re making that face.”

“What face?” She huffed, knowing exactly what she was talking about.

“The ‘I suddenly don’t mind the stick’ face.”

Abby rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. “Maybe,” she said, biting back a smirk. “…Maybe I don’t.”

. ݁₊ . ݁ She never got your name that night, but she wouldn’t forget a face like that. those eyes full of curiosity, watching her, trying so hard to keep composure. There was something in the way you looked at her, like you were trying to figure her out, Abby almost admired the effort. Almost. She hated that she was so focused on you even with that sudden spike of the bug in the background.

She’d learned your name later, after prying it out of Nora, who had way too much fun making her suffer for it. Abby endured every teasing remark, every knowing grin, all for that small detail about you. God, did that make her desperate or just determined?

She liked you. A girl she barely knew. A wallflower, of all people. But she saw something beneath the polish, the grace the way you bit back at her, that sass behind your words. That familiar defiance. She wasn’t wrong about you. That much was clear when she caught sight of you near the bridge with Nora. Abby had no reason to stop. But she did anyway. That was only confirmed when she caught sight of you near the bridge with Nora. Abby had no reason to stop, but she did anyway. She knew you two knew each other, but something about the way you spoke, the way you glanced around like you didn’t want to be seen, made her think, no, know the conversation was about her. What did you want with her.

The next meeting wasn’t an accident. You made sure of that.

Late-night meetups just beyond the Whitehaven gates became routine, standing in the quiet where the city’s golden glow didn’t quite reach. It was easier in the dark—less pressure, fewer eyes. But the push and pull between you never let up. Abby kept her distance, stubborn in her refusal to be someone’s reckless experiment. And you? You stood your ground just as fiercely, unwilling to let her push you away. You were trying. Why couldn’t she see that?

This was new for you too. sneaking out, breaking rules that had never been yours to bend, just for the chance to see her. To talk. To exist in a space that wasn’t preordained by duty or expectation. It wasn’t about proving a point, or defying the invisible lines drawn between your worlds. It was about her. About this thing between you that neither of you could quite name.

And sure enough, it all came to a head one night. too much tension, too many words left unsaid, both of you too frustrated, with each other, with yourselves, to keep pretending there wasn’t something more. Abby huffed, arms crossed tight over her chest like she was holding herself together. “What—what is this? The wall’s not enough for you?” She was fighting herself more than she was fighting you. But that didn’t make it any easier.

You had come to see her, and things had been fine.until it got a little too close, a little too handsy. Until she suddenly pulled away, realizing what she was doing and who she was doing it with. “It’s not about that,” you sighed.

“Then what. Is. It,” she challenged, voice sharp, daring you to say something that would justify all of this. That would clear up what hadn’t been said outright.

But you didn’t say anything.

Instead, you stepped closer. Close enough that Abby could see the flicker of hesitation in your eyes, the way your fingers twitched at your sides like you were fighting yourself. She could feel your breath, shallow and unsteady, and for once, she didn’t know if she wanted you to pull away or get even closer. Abby’s jaw tensed, a muscle feathering beneath her skin as she forced herself to stay still, waiting. Seeing if you’d do it for her. Your gaze flickered down—to her lips, to the way her fingers curled into fists at her sides—before snapping back up. Like you were making a decision you couldn’t take back.

Then, without another word, you kissed her. It wasn’t hesitant, wasn’t careful. It was a decision. A line crossed. Abby barely had time to react before instinct took over. Before her hands found your waist, pulling you in like she’d been waiting for this longer than she’d ever admit. The tension between you-the late nights, the teasing, the push and pull, the distance she kept forcing-it all crumbled in an instant.

It was game over. Her fingers dug into your sides, desperate, like she was anchoring herself to this-to you. Your hand slipped into her hair, tugging slightly, and she groaned against your lips, her resolve snapping. She pressed harder, kissed you deeper, as if trying to make up for every second she'd spent pretending this wasn't exactly what she wanted.

By the time you pulled back, your breath was shallow, your forehead resting against hers. "That clear it up?" you asked, voice still breathless, a grin tugging at your lips.

Abby's hands stayed firm on your waist, thumbs tracing absentminded circles against your skin. She let out a short, breathless laugh, her lips still hovering over yours. "Might have to do it again," she murmured, tilting her head slightly, her lips barely brushing against yours. "Just to be sure."

. ݁₊ . ݁ That hesitation melted away after that. Late-night meetings turned into something more. something neither of you named but both understood. It was unspoken but ever-present, settling into the quiet moments between teasing and stolen touches. You fixing her posture when she slouched, Abby shoving some Rookery dish at you, practically spoon-feeding it while you tried not to gag. It was different, the good kind of different. The kind that made Abby actually do something with her hair in the mornings, especially if she knew she’d be seeing you.

And then one night, caught up in the warmth of her touch, your heart hammering against your ribs, you blurted it out before you could think better of it.

“I—want… mm, to be together. officially.” The words tumbled out, breathless, as Abby kissed her way down to your shoulder.

She froze for a beat before grinning against your skin. “Yeah? Not too scrappy for you, Miss Perfect?” She was always testing, always pushing, her lips traveling lower, her hands steady on your hips. That teasing smirk, the one that made your knees weak, stayed in place even as her eyes flicked up to meet yours.

You rolled your eyes, a breathy laugh slipping out, even as your fingers curled into the sheets. “Hah—mm. No. I like… ‘scrappy.’ Your version of it, I mean.”

Abby grinned. “I’ll take it.” Her fingers hooked into the waistband of your pants, slow and deliberate, her eyes never leaving yours.

. ݁₊ . ݁ As much as Abby wanted to focus on you, your smile, the way you smelled when you hugged her. there was something else looming. The bug wasn’t highly contagious, but when you were a scientist, trying to find some kind of cure, exposure was inevitable. And for Jerry, it had finally caught up to him. Despite her pleas for him to be careful. All her years and love.

Abby felt her heart plummet.

It was a sensation she wasn’t prepared for. the kind that stole the air from her lungs, that made her chest feel like it was caving in. One moment, she was standing. The next, she was falling, even though her feet never left the ground. Memories rushed in like a flood she couldn’t hold back. The sound of his laugh warm, familiar, something she had taken for granted. The way his hand would ruffle her hair, even when she grumbled about it, pretending to be annoyed. The way he’d look at her, eyes full of certainty, and tell her she’d be okay, even when the world around them wasn’t.

She blinked rapidly, but it didn’t stop the sting behind her eyes, the blur creeping into her vision. Her breath came faster, shorter, and suddenly, standing still wasn’t an option. She had to move.

Her feet carried her before she even decided where she was going, but she already knew. You. You were the only face she wanted to see right now. The only solid thing in a world that suddenly felt too vulnerable, too uncertain. You were okay. Alive. Real.

And you wouldn’t leave. You couldn’t. She wouldn’t let you.

The sound of rapid knocking on your window near the dresser jolted you awake. Your heart jumped , but the second the haze of sleep lifted, you knew who it was. Groaning, you swung your legs over the bed, already preparing to scold her for coming unannounced. Someone could’ve seen her. or worse, thought she was breaking in. Sneaking her into town was only a good idea in the daylight, when there were too many people to notice someone who didn’t belong.

Still, when you reached the window and found her standing there, cheeks stained, breath trembling, all the irritation drained from you.

You didn’t ask any questions. You just pulled her inside, wrapping your arms around her. She melted into you, gripping the back of your shirt like she was afraid you’d disappear if she let go. You felt her shudder, her breaths uneven against your shoulder. You wanted to ask, but you already knew. The spike in deaths recently, it had to be that. Another loss. Another name added to the ever-growing list of people Abby had loved and lost. And you? You were still here. You squeezed your eyes shut, holding her tighter. There was something you weren’t telling her. A possibility. A thread of hope so thin it barely held its shape, but it was something.

Your father’s research had been extensive, more than most people knew. The world had given up on finding a solution, but he hadn’t. While officials praised his work publicly, behind closed doors, they questioned his methods, his choices—the ethical lines he had nearly crossed. You weren’t supposed to see most of it. But you had.

Late nights spent skimming through his notes, his private journals, his failed trials, looking for anything. And buried beneath the endless calculations, molecular breakdowns, and abandoned compounds, there was Potential. Not a cure. Not yet. But the closest thing to progress anyone had made in years. A formula that had almost worked before it collapsed under its own instability. Abby didn’t know. And you weren’t sure if you’d ever tell her. What good would it do? Hope was dangerous in a world like this. It could lift you up, make you believe, and then drop you from heights so cruelly high you’d never land on your feet again.

She had already lost so much. You’d seen the way she carried her grief. like a wound that refused to heal, an ache she never spoke about but always felt. You wanted to tell her, to give her something to hold on to, but what if you were wrong? What if it led to nothing?

You couldn’t do that to her. So you stayed quiet. Held her like you weren’t keeping something from her. Like you weren’t already pulling away, one unspoken truth at a time. And when she finally whispered, “I don’t want to lose you, too,” you just pressed your lips to her golden brown hair, forcing a smile she couldn’t see.

“Never,” you murmured. “I’m here. I’m right here,” you whispered, one hand cradling the back of her head, holding her as if you could carry her grief with her.

. ݁₊ . ݁ That was the first time of many she’d sneak in. It started small—meeting in hidden spots, then slipping past Whitehaven’s walls under cover of darkness. She learned more about your world—how effortless everything seemed, how trapped you felt in it. And in return, you got glimpses of hers. Stories of the Rookery, of scraped knees and hunger, of nights spent listening to her father’s voice, now just an echo. The seasons passed, watching the summer fun beat down, the fall leaves orange snd red, the flowers blooming, to the snow falling. You were right there, by her side through one of the in toughest times in her life.

“Shh, you’ll get us caught,” you giggled, pulling her hand as one of the maids nearly spotted you both sneaking out of the kitchen.

Abby only grinned, unfazed. “Please. I’ve been doing this for what—a year? We would’ve been caught by now.”

And later that night; Abby curled beside you, watching as you slept, her heart swelling with quiet adoration. She loved you. She loved this. even if it was little more than a secret. Privacy was good. Not everything needed to be known. People had a way of ruining things once curiosity got the better of them.

And Abby, unfortunately, wasn’t exempt from it.

She pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead before slipping out of bed, stretching as she padded toward the bathroom. But instead of returning to you, she let herself wander. The house was too big, warm in a way the Rookery never was. The towering windows, the gilded edges of every frame, the polished floors that barely made a sound beneath her socked feet.

Her fingers brushed over a portrait on the wall you and your family, untouched by the world beyond the walls. The navy of your dress reminded her of the night she met you. So prim and proper, the way you crossed your legs, the soft, pardon? instead of a blunt what?. the smallest details about you, the ones she once teased, were the ones she had grown to love the most. A wallflower she’d met grow its vines over her own.

But as she moved past your father’s office, that warmth inside her chest twisted into something else entirely.

A stack of papers lay scattered across the polished desk, your families last name stamped in the corner. And there, written in stark black and red ink, were the words that stopped her cold:

“Hypothesis for a Potential Cure.”

Her stomach fell. A cure?

Her fingers twitched at her sides before she stepped forward, pushing the heavy oak door open just enough to let the golden glow of the fireplace illuminate the papers. Her breath came in shallow bursts as she reached out, flipping through the documents, her movements hesitant at first, then completely desperate. This had been here. All this time. This research, this possibility. Did you know?

Abby’s pulse filled her ears. She didn’t think, she just grabbed as many pages as she could and turned, her feet carrying her back to your room, to you. She shook you awake with little patience. You weren’t sure what she was rambling about.

“I mean this—this is something, right? I just—” Her words stumbled out in a rush as you blinked up at her, groggy and confused.

Then you saw the papers in her hands. Your stomach twisted into a million knots. “Abby, it’s..that’s not what you think.” Your voice was quiet, but it didn’t soothe anything.

“Wait. You knew?” Abby snapped her head toward you, her voice sharp, almost disbelieving. You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Her breath hitched, her grip tightening on the papers as if she needed to steady herself.

“You… you held me that night,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “And you knew.” She held the papers up, blue eyes burning into you. “About this?”

Now, The room felt smaller, suffocating even. You sat up, pulling the sheets around you, trying to keep your voice even. “Listen to me. it’s just a thesis. A theory. My father isn’t even close to a cure.”But Abby wasn’t listening. She couldn’t.

“A theory is better than nothing,” she snapped, her voice cracking. “Do you know what we’d give for even a sliver of hope? My dad—he died for nothing while you’ve been sitting on this?”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to stay calm. “It’s not that simple, Abby. A cure isn’t just something you throw into the world. It could backfire, mutate, make things worse—”

Abby let out a small laugh. “Worse than what? Watching everyone rot outside your perfect fucking walls?”

The words hit like a slap. Your jaw clenched, fingers digging into the sheets as you forced yourself to breathe. “We have to be careful.” Abby was still standing there, fists clenched, jaw tight, like she was forcing herself not to shake. The papers lay scattered on the floor between you, proof of what had been hidden, proof of everything that now stood between you. But you weren’t ready to let her go.

“Abby, please,” you stepped forward, reaching for her, but she flinched. just barely, but enough that you froze. Her hand raised up near her shoulder like she couldn’t bare you touching her.

“No.” Abby stepped back. “You have to be careful. Because you live up here. Because it’s not your people dying.” The silence that followed was deafening. Abby wanted you to fight her on this. She wanted you to say, fuck the risks, to agree that something anything. was worth trying. To prove you were different. But you didn’t. You stayed silent. And that silence was what destroyed her.

“You.” Your voice cracked, but you kept going. “You are my people, Abby.”

Abby sucked in a sharp breath. You watched her throat bob, her fingers twitch, like she wanted to believe you, like she wanted to hold onto it, onto you. Onto us. But the moment passed. She exhaled, slow and steady, pressing her lips together like she was biting back words she couldn’t afford to say. Then, finally, she shook her head.

“No, I’m not,” she whispered. “Not anymore. Not when you are making me choose between you and them,” she said, voice hoarse, like the fight had already drained her. “Because I can’t do that. I won’t.”

The night had started like any other. And ended in the worst way possible. She couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe you were the one person she let herself trust. had known. Had held her. Had whispered reassurances while keeping something this big from her. Your voice barely registered as she grabbed her shoes, her movements sharp and hurried. She turned toward the door without another word, slipping into the dim hallway, the only light guiding her the pale silver glow of the moon.

You sat there, frozen, the strap of your nightgown slipping off your shoulder, sheets pooling around you, growing colder by the second. And then she was gone.

. ݁₊ . ݁ Weeks had passed since you last saw Abby, and the ache in your chest wouldn’t let you be. You had to see her again. You had to fix this. The rain fell in sheets, cold and relentless, as if the world itself was telling you to turn back. But you couldn’t. Not when there was so much left unsaid.

The city’s glow felt miles away as you approached the edge of Whitehaven’s borders. The place where the city’s light couldn’t quite reach, the place where it all began, and now, where it would end. The gap between you two had stretched farther than you could have imagined, and with every step closer, you could feel that distance growing. She saw you coming, but Abby didn’t turn to face you. No acknowledgment. No greeting. Just the sound of the rain, the rhythm of her breaths as she stared out at the empty space before her.

“Abby,” you said, your voice shaking with desperation. “Please, you have to stop this.” You could feel your hands trembling, the rain mingling with the sweat on your palms. “This hope you’re clinging to…it’s dangerous. People are dying. My father’s work wasn’t some miracle cure. It was just a theory, one that never even had the chance to be tested.” You stepped forward, reaching out, but she didn’t budge. You gripped her arms, trying to make her see reason, trying to stop the madness before it consumed her. “You can’t give people false hope. Not after everything we’ve already lost.”

Her eyes remained forward, a steel edge to her gaze. It was like your words couldn’t reach her, like you weren’t even speaking the same language anymore. She didn’t even flinch, her jaw set tight with defiance. “I’m not giving them false hope,” she said, her voice strained but firm, as if she was holding on to every word just to stay grounded. “I’m giving them something to hold on to.” She motioned toward the far-off horizon, the rain blurring everything. “Hope is all we have left. You can’t take that away from them.”

Your heart thudded painfully in your chest as the weight of her words crashed over you. This wasn’t what you wanted. You just wanted her to understand. your voice cracking, pleading with her, “you don’t get it. I can’t be the one to bring that hope. Not when it’s not real.” You could feel your frustration spilling out, every ounce of anger and sorrow mixing. “You’re fighting a battle you can’t win. It’ll tear you apart.”

She shook her head, the rain soaking her hair, her face hardening in a way you hadn’t seen before. But beneath her anger, there was fear. fear of losing everything. Fear of facing the truth. “You think I don’t know that?” she spat, taking a breath as if the words themselves were choking her. “You think I haven’t been trying to make sense of all this?” She looked up, gesturing to the city behind her, where once there had been dreams. “You’ve got all this. All the answers. And I’ve got nothing. Nothing but a fight.” Her voice faltered, and her gaze dropped to the ground, her shoulders slumping under the weight of it all. “And you want me to just give that up?”

There was silence between you, thick and suffocating, as the rain continued to pour. You could feel the pressure of her words crushing you. “I’m not just doing this for me,” she whispered, barely audible over the rain. But you could hear the steel in her tone. “I’m fighting for the people I’ve lost. Your people. I’m fighting for the ones who died thinking they were forgotten.” Her voice cracked on the last words, raw with emotion.

Your heart was in pieces, but the cold reality of it all stung. You wanted to fight back, to tell her that there was nothing more to fight for, that this war was over, but all you could do was look at her. Really look at her.

“I’m sorry, Abby,” you whispered, the words tasting like butter of defeat. “But you’re not going to win this. Not like this.”

Her face humed with disappointment, the kind that came when something that once seemed so sure had already fallen apart.“Then I guess this is where you— we, say goodbye,” she said quietly, almost as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Her words were a finality, a door slamming shut with no chance of being opened again. You stood frozen as she turned away, her silhouette swallowed by the night, the rain still falling relentlessly between you. The space between you had never been wider. The ache in your chest felt like it would never end.

And just like that, she was gone. Again.

. ݁₊ . ݁ Over the course of those years, time seemed to move in an endless blur. Days bled into weeks, weeks into months, until the seasons cycled in their usual pattern, but nothing felt the same. The vibrant world, once bursting with color and life, now seemed washed out, as if the sun itself had pulled away its warmth. It was as though some part of her, some crucial spark, had been drained, leaving behind a muted echo of what once was.

The holidays came and went, each one marked by the absence of someone she had once held close, the absence of something that had given her life meaning. Friends and family would smile, laugh, and carry on as if the world hadn’t shifted, but Abby couldn’t shake the hollowness that settled deep in her chest. It wasn’t just the space left by her father’s death—it was the space left by you, too. Your absence had carved a hole in her heart, one that no amount of distraction or pit fighting could fill.

The people she’d once called her own were still there, still around, but everything had changed. Manny, Nora, and Leah stayed by her side, watching with worried eyes as she slipped further away, the woman they knew turning into someone they didn’t quite recognize anymore. They tried to pull her back, to remind her of the life she had before, but she had already started losing herself in the fight, in the chaos.

The nights were the hardest. Alone, in the silence, memories of your time together would rise to the surface. Laughing over dinner, the quiet moments shared, the way her heart had raced when she was with you. Those memories were bittersweet now, tainted by the unresolved tension between them, the words left unsaid. Abby couldn’t bring herself to visit your home, to see the space where she’d once felt safe. She couldn’t bear the thought of the ghost of what they had, and yet, the thought of you lingered in the edges of her every waking moment. It wasn’t just the time that had passed; it was everything that had changed. What once felt like a solid, comforting bond had turned into something fragile, a thread she was afraid to pull on in case it unraveled everything she’d become since. The love she once felt for you wasn’t gone, but it had hollowed out, turned into a quiet, aching weight that never fully left.

For you She was missing. The curtain by the large window, the one that once overlooked her home. stayed drawn. Closed, like it could somehow keep her absence from creeping in. And for the most part, it did. Rumors of a potential cure began to swirl through the city, whispers slipping through cracks in the walls. You heard them in passing, read them in coded messages, felt them like a knife to the ribs. You never spoke about that night.

How could you?

And for that figure burnt into your memory, her father died, and there was a chance everything didn’t have to fall apart. The Rookery, once her anchor, now felt like a prison. The streets she had memorized since childhood. The ones he had walked beside her, teaching her, protecting her, felt foreign. Empty. The home they shared, the one filled with his voice and his warmth, was nothing more than walls and silence.

And you. The one person she might have turned to was nothing more than an abandoned, open string. A thread she couldn’t follow, not without unraveling completely. What happened was nothing more than an act of betrayal from the woman she loved—wanted to love.

So, she stopped trying.

With no direction, she let herself drift. And the drifting led her to the underground fights. The first time she went, it was just to blow off steam. But she found herself too immersed to stay away long. Pain made sense there. It had rules. A punch landed, and a bruise formed. A hit taken, a price paid. The fights weren’t about winning, not really. They were about feeling something: anger, exhaustion, clarity. Anything but the ache in her chest that refused to fade.

The view of Whitehaven above fueling each blow.

Manny, Nora—they tried. They watched from the sidelines and made excuses for her when she came home battered and bloody. They pulled her out of back rooms, patched her up, and told her she was better than this. But they didn’t understand.

She needed this.

She needed the weight of a fist against her ribs, the sting of split knuckles, the satisfaction of someone else’s blood on the floor. It was easier to be this. A fighter, a brute, a body in the ring. than the girl who had lost everything. More than she could bare.

. ݁₊ . ݁ And now, years later.

Her knuckles wrapped, a second skin of bandages soaked with the memory of harsh punches. The jet black hair, new and darker than before, fell messily around her face. Her back tattoo was hidden under the faded tank top, but she could feel it, the weight of the meaning of the ink on her skin. A portrait of what she’d lost. She carried it with her, always.

The pit always reeked of sweat, blood, and alcohol, or desperation. The heat pressed in from every side, a suffocating feeling. Bodies packed together, their faces lit by the lights hanging above, the heat causing a bead of sweat. It was the usual crowd, rowdy, ready for a show, but none of that mattered to Abby. She didn’t care about the noise, the smell, or the grimy underbelly of this place. She just needed the fight. To hit something, someone. Whatever idiot would be brave enough.

But she wasn’t thinking about any of that when she felt her eyes land on her.

You. Fuck

For a second, Abby froze. The noise around her blurred. She didn’t want to look, didn’t want to be caught looking. Didn’t want to meet your gaze, but before she could stop them, they were snapping toward you. You were standing across the pit, just at the edge of the crowd. There was no mistaking the way her chest tightened when their gaze locked. She hadn’t expected to see you again, not here. Not like this.

What are you doing here, in the rookery?

Her jaw clenched. She almost turned away and walked out before you noticed her, but her feet stayed planted to the spot. Abby couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this exposed. The past few months had been a blur of anger, distraction, and fights, anything to numb the hurt. But seeing you again, in a pit of all places… It felt like someone had just torn open a new wound.

Your lips moved, and for a second, Abby didn’t even hear the words. She was too busy staring, too busy wondering if this was real or if it was just some fucking dream

“New look …suits you.” You said, scanning over her. “Bit intense, though.”

Her lips twitched. Intense. Yeah, that was the word for it. She could feel the weight of her own body, every bruise, every broken piece of her, and it all felt like it was on display now.

“Yeah?” She shifted her weight, rolling a shoulder, trying to shrug off the growing pit in her stomach. “What can I say? You always said I had a thing for dramatic.”

The words crawled their way out. Like she wasn’t standing there in front of the person who had seen her at her weakest. This was fine; she doesn’t care. It doesn't matter anymore. But if she was being honest with herself… it still did. All this time later.

She crossed her arms over her chest, just to make sure her hands stayed put. Keep it together. For her. For everyone else. She couldn’t let you see how much this hurt, even after everything. Watching your eyes scan over her “bloodhound” tattoo on her forearm.

“Don’t like it?” she added, tilting her head, trying to keep the cool distance.

“Just…different is all” you said.

She rolled her eyes, a habit she knew you’d always found irritating. But that was the point, wasn’t it? To keep you at arm’s length

“Different’s good. Keeps things interesting.” Her eyes flicked to the crowd, trying to focus on anything other than you. She should walk away. Get out of here. But she found herself glued to the spot, stuck between wanting you to leave and wanting you to stay. Wanting things she couldn’t have.

"You’re staring."

“Well sorry, it’s just not everyday you see an angry oil slick walking around” You huffed at her.

She snorted, trying her best to keep her demeanor nonchalant. "Angry oil slick? Jesus, I’m gone, and that’s how you talk to me? Nice to see you again, too.” She rolled her shoulders, ignoring the pang in her chest. She could almost forget how much she missed you when you were standing right in front of her.

She hated this . The familiar sting. She hated it, and she loved it. She didn’t want to feel this way, didn’t want to let herself care. But the truth was, she still did. Even after all the fighting, all the distance, she was standing here, willing to be hurt again. Her gaze softened for a second. She wanted to say something, anything, to bridge the gap between you. To make you understand. But the words got stuck, caught between her teeth like glass. The pit was suddenly too small. Too close. She needed to get away, needed to fight, but the weight of your presence was suffocating her. You were everything she was trying to forget, and everything she couldn’t let go of.

She glanced over at the entrance, where the next fight was about to start. The lights flickered above her, the sound of the crowd growing louder, but all Abby could think about was the tension between you, the hurt that never seemed to go away.

“Just leave,” she muttered, barely audible. She didn’t know if she was talking to you or to herself. “You’re not supposed to be here.”But you didn’t leave. You stayed, and she couldn’t stop the rush of emotions that flooded her chest. Maybe it was time to stop running. Maybe it was time to face what she’d been avoiding for so long. Maybe.

“Abby,” you started, but your throat tight. “I didn’t come here to fight. I—“

“You came all the way here… just to check if I’m alright?” she interrupted, her voice cutting through the tension. There was something in her eyes, a flicker of softness she wouldn’t allow herself to fully acknowledge. She’d be lying if she said it didn’t soften something deep inside. The fact that you still cared enough to show up. Damn you for that. But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t what she wanted, not anymore.

“Yes. I came here to see you. And now you’re telling me to just…go? Normally people would be appreciative, but sorry for trying!”

“Appreciative?” Abby scoffed, taking a step back, a bitter smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “When did I ask you to show up here?” Her fists clenched involuntarily, the anger boiling inside her. Frustration. Resentment. It was all-consuming, and she didn’t know who she was more angry at. You for showing up, or herself for still caring. “Jesus, I don’t need someone breathing down my damn neck,” she spat, her chest heaving with each sharp breath. “I’m fine.”

“Breathing down your neck? No one held you here to talk to me.” “And you don’t need to ask. That’s what you do when you care. Still.” You could feel the words sting, but the truth cut deeper. You were tired of standing by, waiting for her to come back to you.

“Well, I don’t need your care, not anymore,” she muttered, the words harsh, even to her own ears. She hated how much she still wanted it. How much she missed you. But she couldn’t admit that, not now. “You lost that privilege a long time ago,” she finished, her voice cracking as the weight of it hit her.

You were quiet for a long time, the silence between you two oppressive. But it didn’t stay silent for long. The air was thick with the unspoken truths, both of you standing there, unwilling to be the first to break.

“And trying?” Abby’s voice shook with the force of her emotions. “You’re trying now? What, all this time later? Too little, too late.” The words wrenched from her chest like a physical blow. She couldn’t even look at you. “Where were you, huh? When I needed you the most? When I couldn’t breathe without it feeling like sandpaper in my lungs?” She clenched her fists, biting down on the tears that threatened to spill. “Where. Were. You?”

The words hung in the air like a shroud, and it was your turn to feel the weight of them. Your stomach twisted with guilt and regret, but you couldn’t let her destroy you with them. You couldn’t. Not when it felt like she was shutting you out for good.

You couldn’t keep the frustration out of your voice. “Abby, you gave me no choice! You barely looked at me that night.” Your heart was pounding. “And you’re the one who turned your back on me. I deserved more than that. I understand you’re hurting, but that doesn’t mean push me to the fucking side.”A bitter laugh escaped your lips. “So, you don’t want to talk to me after all this time? Fine. Be like that, Abbigail.” You shook your head, staring at her with a mixture of anger and hurt. “You know what, you’re right. This, you, and your constant pushing me away isn’t my problem anymore. This was stupid to think that maybe, just maybe, you’d open your mouth and talk to me.”

You looked her up and down, trying to make sense of what you were seeing. The girl you loved, the one you thought you knew… it wasn’t her anymore. “The girl I dated surely would have. But this, whoever this is?” You gestured to her. The next words ringing out into the space like a gunshot, a wake up call.

“This is definitely not her.”

The words hit Abby like a slap. She flinched, but her gaze never wavered. She wanted to respond. To tell you how much it hurt to hear you say that, to make you understand the kind of fight she was in. But the words caught in her throat. For a long moment, the tension between you could have shattered the walls around you. Abby’s breath came in shallow gasps, her chest tight, her mind racing for the right thing to say. But before she could, she heard it.

A loud crack. The unmistakable sound of something, someone, slamming into the cage nearby, the crowd roaring in excitement. Her heart hammered in her chest. The fight was starting. And for the first time in long time, Abby wasn’t sure if she wanted to fight. or run.

. ݁₊ .To stay for you, or go for herself?

Taglist babies: @grey-jedi12

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distant--shadow · 2 months ago

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The stairs at the end of the path are steep, and though Imogen assumes they were laid a lot more recently than the ruins she is making her way to, they are still exposed to the harsher weathers of the coast; edges eroded and some steps fully missing, carried out of place by localised miniature landslides.

She makes her best effort to avoid a broken ankle - whilst her mind is admittedly distracted by thoughts of Ms Laudna lifting her skirts to traverse the incline. Maybe she had come here with the Lord? Maybe he was able to carry her on his back with ease and she would strike him like a horse and they would laugh and the people of the village would think of how queer they were as wealthy people to even care of ruins –

maybe they’d worry that they were making plans for a new mansion.

She can hear the waves hitting the side of the cliff, the stone exposed to the waters not covered in grass and gorse like the land’s approach, and she hopes that the stairs do not wrap around to greet the elements - though she does not believe this would be the method Ms Laudna would chose to dispose of her -

she receives too much enjoyment from working with her own hands.

Saddles and reins.

Familiarity in feedback.

She is only slightly winded when she crests the top of the cliff; the breeze noticeably closer to a wind at such a height, the heavy seeded heads of the tall grasses bowing away from the blue horizon in regimented movements as though a marching ceremonial guard or dancers at a grand ballet.

The ruins are a bit more intact than she had anticipated. Ruined, for sure, between the collapsed walls and missing roofs, window panes long gone if there were ever to have been any glass to begin with, there is no evidence left of lead lining to suggest it.

But there is enough there to imagine what was; blueprints of sandstone bordering off rooms and buttressing supporting structure for most of which’s weight it has long been relieved.

Its floorplan lies in line with the coast; Imogen can just about picture the approach from inland, the grand driveway where carriages and small armies approached, the high turrets marking either end overlooking the village and much further into the horizons,

the view from the sleeping quarters, unobstructed and blue and infinite,

looking up from the gardens to the Lady at her bedroom window.

The scale is massive, each stone far larger on approach than she had expected. She can imagine the impressive and imposing silhouette it would have once lorded over the outlook of the cliff, literally elevated above all who approach and live in its shadow.

drew a self indulgent imogen caus i felt like it

#imogen temult #imodna #laudna #critical role #bells hells #cr3 #browz writes #sapphics by the sea #regency-ish au

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extremely-judgemental · 5 months ago

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Forget the title. I still can't get over Archeron sisters, who were mortals only months ago and didn't know shit about faerie lands, as High Lady to rule centuries old immortals.

Nesta shows some promise since she was trained in politics so that she could marry a prince one day, and learns about Prythian history from Amren. Still, let's face it. She hasn't accepted the fae life completely.

Feyre can't even find the borders of her city if she couldn't winnow. She knows nothing about Prythian or politics. Every court she visits becomes her enemy. She's a soldier at best and she is exactly that only with a fancy title.

And Elain? She can't even be a gardener in Prythian. She doesn't even know what kind of plants grow in the magic lands and you want her to rule Spring? She went comatose when her fiance rejected her and didn't even check on her sisters who were in a fucking battle. You expect the welfare of the people to depend on her? Come on.

#sjm has successfully brainwashed everyone to thinking ruling is equivalent to dressing pretty and seducing men #what happened to critical thinking #acotar critical #sjm critical #feyre critical #elain critical

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lynxfrost13 · 1 year ago

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SKYWINGS

PHYSICAL TRAITS

Skywings are the biggest dragon breed due to their great height and additional wingspan. Tall and lanky, these dragons are accustomed to life at high altitudes, with many living in mountainsides and other rock faces. Their wings and claws are built for gripping the rough stone of their homeland. Skywings have an incredibly strong grip that is also very effective when hunting prey.

At the base of the skywing skull is where the main horns grow, with a base growth plate being protected by an upturned part of the skull. From this original plate horn segments will grow off of the base or each other with age. Skywing horns never stop growing until death. Additional facial horns grow in a similar fashion as the skywing matures, with hatchlings displaying bumps where the most prominent horns will come in. With age these dragons tend to grow more elaborate scale patterns and horns, with chin spikes/ridges, eyebrow, and cheek ridges being the most common.

As hatchlings, skywings have no underbelly scales, and the scales they do possess on their backs are incredibly soft and flexible. Hatchlings break out of their well protected shells with an egg tooth that falls off a few days after they break free, and it’s typical for heavier facial ridges to develop where the egg tooth was. Skywing hatchlings cannot produce fire of any sort until they reach a few years of age, around when their scales harden and fill in the underbelly area (roughly 3-4 years).

The fire produced by skywings is the hottest of any dragon breed, which could cause serious damage to any dragon’s body due to the heat. To combat this, skywings evolved to have cooling vents on their necks. Several flexible scale plates can open up along each side as the dragon breathes fire, allowing for excess heat and pressure to escape without harming the dragon. To help cool their mouths, skywings also have two additional sets of “nostrils” that serve the same purpose. Despite the common misconception, skywings cannot smell from these sets of nostrils, and their overall sense of smell is average.

CUSTOMS

Skywings have a huge culture around the upkeep of their horns, since they never stop growing they do need maintenance. What began as simple horn trimming ages ago grew into much more. Skywings style their horns in various different ways, and trends in style pop up here and there. Horn painting and carving is common, but there are a wide variety of modifications that skywings apply to them as well. Jewelry is popular, but draping horn jewelry tends to be avoided since it can be a hassle in the air. Overall jewelry and body decoration is incredibly popular, with skywings using light metals, beads, and fabrics in everyday wear.

Skywing cities are situated in cliff faces or mountainsides. These cities hold huge terraced gardens, ensuring that their citizens have a local spot to gather food. It’s also common for most skywing homes to have their own personal gardens, whether decorative or for additional food. These cities tend to have few walls, they’re not needed due to natural protections such as the altitude and surrounding mountains. The Sky Palace was the only city to be heavily fortified under Queen Scarlet, while the rest remained as they were. The openness of skywing cities has also made the ones along the borders into large trading hubs with lots of intermingling.

Skywings refuse to eat birds of prey out of a deep respect for them, as well as a belief that when a skywing dies, the part of them that remains on earth becomes one of those birds. To honor their memory, skywings hold an annual weeklong celebration in the spring, celebrating the births of new hatchlings (both dragon and avian) where they compete in racing games and the like. Their love of festivities has led to them adopting from mudwing culture, and in recent years they have even begun to adopt their own version of the bard, which is more focused on the storytelling aspect rather than the history.

#my art #wof #wings of fire #skywing #wof art #artists on tumblr #digital art #dragon #dragon art #art #my writing

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sorceresssundries · 1 year ago

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Heatwave

Pairing: Gale x Fem Tav

Summary: It is the final social event of the summer season, and Tav has dressed poorly for a festival in the midst of a heatwave. One-shot.

Warnings: Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Sweat-licking, Smut.

Word Count: 3.9k

A/N: Another smutty Austen inspired work with a bit of fluff! This time in a universe outside of BG3. There definitely seems to be a weather theme in these one-shots. Maybe they'll fuck in the snow next, who knows?

The Festival of Shieldmeet had dominated conversations throughout the city all summer long. With the event occurring only once every four years, the anticipation had reached a fever pitch, rendering even the sweltering heatwave a minor inconvenience. The idea of postponing or, heaven forbid, cancelling such a revered social event due to something as minor as the weather was simply inconceivable.

The festival was being held in the sprawling grounds belonging to some Lord or Lady who had earned the privilege of hosting. In the heart of a large, manicured, bloom-laden garden stood a bandstand where bards were tuning their instruments, ready to serenade the guests with summer melodies. Alongside it stretched a long table adorned with dishes piled high with the richest Waterdhavian delicacies. Attendants in crisp uniforms weaved through the crowds, bearing trays laden with sparkling drinks in tall glasses, as well as refreshing juices and icy water. There also seemed to be tables scattered around with trays stacked with rolled up flannels sitting in ice, patiently waiting to be scooped up and dabbed at the forehead of the sweltering guests - These seemed to be a welcome addition, as there was scarcely any shade to be found anywhere.

Tav found herself in a state of utter misery. Seeking solace from the stifling crowds, she had retreated to the embrace of the shade beneath an oak tree bordering the garden, where she fervently fanned herself out of sight. She had naively and desperately assumed that the shade would cool her, but despite the protection from the sun’s direct attention the air was still just as cloying, and squeezed her with suffocating stillness. What she wouldn’t give for even the whisper of a breeze. The sad little paper fan she had acquired was doing very little work for her, just pushing the warmth forwards and heating her even further in her efforts to keep it moving.

For some inexplicable reason she couldn't recall, she had chosen to don her finest silk gown over a whalebone corset. It hugged her curves with an unforgiving grip, accentuating her form and lifting her breasts. With a smile as wide as her hips, she had admired herself in the mirror before departing. However, that smile faded the moment she stepped out of her cooled carriage and into the searing heat of the midday sun. She had immediately noticed the guests dressed in garments far more suited to the occasion than her own.

What a foolish notion this had been, she mused, wiping a bead of sweat from her brow. She had no idea what had driven this madness. Well.. she thought as she peeked out from behind the tree and across at the crowd gathered in the garden, maybe she had a slight idea.

Gale Dekarios was an exceptionally handsome man who exuded infuriating arrogance, boundless pride, and endless charm. From their first encounter at the spring ball, he had claimed her attention at every subsequent event. She had ‘accidentally’ stepped on his foot during one of their early dances, after he had explained to her his proficiency with magic and his gallant willingness to at least try and teach her some of his simpler spells. He had laughed at her annoyance, apologised profusely, and kissed her hand at the end of the evening. She had been aflame ever since.

Throughout the season, they had fallen into a familiar routine. Their ritual involved stealing glances at one another, offering subtle gestures of acknowledgment, and then both making a concerted effort not to meet eyes again. Yet, inevitably, one of them would find themselves drawn towards the other. It was a dance of restraint, leaving Tav exhilarated each time, despite the exhausting choreography. She was never really sure who was leading the dance, but at this moment, sweating and flustered and hiding behind a tree, Tav decided it probably wasn’t her.

As each evening would draw to a close, he would always bid her goodnight with a kiss upon her hand, each time lingering longer than the last, and tell her how much he was looking forward to their next meeting. Upon returning home, Tav would often find herself lost in fantasies, imagining his hand tangled in her hair, his lips tracing the curves of her body. More often than not, these night-time reveries ended with her own desperate touch and his name cried out from her lips.

In the privacy of sweet slumber, she would dream of their next encounter, eagerly anticipating another opportunity to engage in their dance and hoping to step on his feet once more.

Maybe she had more magic in her than she realised, as her very thoughts appeared to have summoned him to her hiding place.

“Ah, Miss Taventon. I thought I spotted you retreating all the way out here.” He greeted her with his customary charm. As always, he was a vision to behold, with his dark, mischievously glinting eyes and sweeping brown locks pulled back from his face. Clad in simple yet impeccably tailored attire—a snug waistcoat over a pristine white shirt, adorned with a luxurious silken cravat, and well-fitted breeches. Frustratingly, he looked completely unaffected by the blistering warmth, and Tav thought she must look like a sweating, breathless fool in comparison. She only had time to be embarrassed momentarily, before she realised the precarious nature of their situation. For the first time, they were properly alone together and Tav blushed at the thought of being found with him behind a tree so far away from the party. There would be a scandal.

“Mr. Dekarios, a pleasure.” She looked around to try and see if anyone would catch them in their compromising seclusion, but it appeared they were safe for now. “I’m afraid you’ve caught me a little affected by the heat. I was just after a moment of respite.” She began to fan herself more fervently.

“Understandable, I'm sure. For one not versed in magic.” His smugness had returned, and Tav always treated it as a welcome challenge.

“Well, not all of us are as exceptional as you” She batted her eyelashes at him sweetly and took in his cool, handsome appearance. “Let me guess, enchanted clothing?” He bowed his head in confirmation of her appraisal, still looking smug and annoyingly unflustered by the heat. “A shame it could not chill your ego, but alas, I suppose your talent has to end somewhere.”

His smile in return was genuine. He very much enjoyed her banter. Almost as much as he enjoyed seeing her sweating under the shade of the giant oak tree.

He raised a hand in mock defeat. “Peace, my lady. I came bearing a gift. In an effort to cool your skin, and perhaps even your temper.” She really was ravishing in this state, he thought, overheated and fiery. He wondered whether she was aware of his true intentions in seeking her out. It was the final event of the summer season, and as such, their elaborate game would have to come to an end.

As she reached out to accept the cool towel he offered, a surge of boldness seized him. With a swift motion, he closed the distance between them until he was almost pressed against her, and with a tender touch, he placed the cold flannel against the side of her neck. He had hoped it would elicit a reaction from her, at the very least a small gasp of surprise, but she remained silent. She just watched him as the droplets from the towel trailed slow down her neck, caressing her collarbone in the way his fingers ached to, and gathering to rest glistening on the shelf of her breasts which had been pushed up by her corset.

He had thoughts of ripping it off her. The silk of her dress would tear like tissue in his practised hands, and he would cast the tatters of it into the wind and spend an entire afternoon finding where the pools of her sweat gathered. He ached to know what undergarments she was wearing, what colour, how the material would taste if he pressed his tongue against. It. He hoped it was white cotton, something the scent and taste of her would cling to - so damp with sweat and desire that he would be able to see her dark curls through the material.

He could feel the cooling enchantment wrapped round him waning as his concentration and resolve were tested. Damn heat. Damn woman. She knew exactly what she was doing. Who wears a silk-wrapped corset in a heatwave? Each bead of sweat and whisper of her heated musk was a siren’s call, and he was determined to drown himself in the ocean of her.

“I am no expert in fashion, Miss Taventon, but I must question the decision to wear a silk gown in such conditions. Surely linen, or cotton would have been preferable? Or maybe one enjoys the sensations brought on by basking in such stifling heat?” His tone was more frustrated than he meant it to be.

“I thought it would be light and cooling, Saer. Not all of us are gifted with the ability to enchant our clothing.” She narrowed her eyes at him, and wondered if every item he was wearing was enchanted.. She quickly snapped out of her musings “An unfortunate error on my part, I hadn’t taken into account the lack of breeze, or the…”

“Stickiness?” He said, focusing intently on dabbing her neck and chest with the flannel and not meeting her eyes.

“The humidity. Yes.”

He took a break from his attentions and discarded the flannel, to take a leisurely sip of his drink. The droplets of condensation cascaded down the glass like tiny beads of sweat. Tav couldn't help but watch, a pang of envy stirring within her as she observed the icy water slip downwards and through his fingers. There was too much electric heat here, strung out in the very air, no amount of cool water would save her. She needed to be swathed by him, to smother the flames until they burnt out into ash. Even then, she was certain there would be embers enough to fan back to roaring flame at just one breathy word from him. She was doomed kindling.

The soft clink of ice against glass filled the air as he drank, his gaze never wavering from hers. With intent, he parted his lips slightly, allowing a single ice cube to slide into his mouth. She couldn't tear her eyes away as he savoured it, rolling it around his mouth with his tongue.

“Most refreshing.” He breathed, after a long, heavy swallow, “Could I tempt you with a sip?”

“I..Maybe.. This heat has caused quite a desperate thirst. Although I notice you have only brought one glass. How impolite of you” She dropped her fan to the ground in vexation, stupid thing was not doing anything to help. There was no saving her now.

He smirked and bowed his head slightly. “Not to worry, dear lady.” His eyes darkened and his voice became a heated command. “Open your mouth for me”

At first there was shock, but then without question she did as she was told, like a girl entranced. With a deft movement of his fingers, he plucked another ice cube from his glass and placed it delicately on her waiting tongue.

Tav saw a chance and took it.

Before he could withdraw his hand, she wrapped her fingers around his wrist, and the surprise in his eyes lit her like a firework. She burned for these moments, for any slip in his resolve, any evidence behind the refinery and politeness that there were things she could do that would shock him. If there was a crack in his armour, she would slip in like water and drown him in sin.

Locking eyes with him, she held his gaze steady as she took control. With a boldness she hadn't known she possessed, she leaned forward and enveloped his fingers in her mouth, sucking gently and letting the ice cube melt against her tongue in a sweet rush of cold. It was a calculated move, a daring play, and as she released his hand, a flicker of satisfaction fluttered in her eyes. The game was afoot, and she was changing the rules.

She let go of his fingers, and smiled innocently. “How right you are as always, Mr.Dekarios. Most refreshing.” She lilted, still sucking on the remnants of the ice in her mouth.

He had suddenly lost his footing. The blood that was keeping him focused and leading their little game had suddenly re-routed elsewhere, and he was struggling to compose thoughts. He had no words, so actions would have to do.

He drew closer to her, the space between them shrinking, and he reached out his hand to trace a delicate path from the warmth of her flushed cheek, along the elegant curve of her jaw, down to the hollow of her throat. There, just above the gentle rise and fall of her bosom, he noticed a glistening bead of sweat, which he captured with his fingertip. Bringing it to his lips, he savoured it, and made a noise of growling satisfaction. Her breath hitched beautifully in response.

"It appears you're still uncomfortably warm. I'd hardly be a gentleman if I allowed you to suffer like this." With a languid sip of his drink, he popped another ice cube into his mouth.

“You are no…”

He aimed to catch off guard before she could finish. He closed what little gap was left between them and all playfulness burned away in the heat, leaving nothing but desperation. Fuck games, fuck dancing around each other, and fuck that ridiculous silk dress she was wearing. She had won their game, and her prize would be for him to take her the way he had been wanting to for the entire summer.

His glass fell to the ground with no thought at all, and he grabbed at her waist. Pushing her back against the tree and pinning her there with a leg between her thighs. He finally earned a gasp of surprise from her, as he pushed his lips against her throat, and pressed the ice cube against her pulsing skin with his tongue.

The noise she made was tantalisingly balanced between relief and desire, and he kept the ice firmly against her as he moved it further down her neck, mimicking the trail of sweat his finger had traced earlier. He delighted in the way her skin prickled as the ice caressed her. She was divine. He wanted to tease her until she lost all of her brazen stares and cutting banter, and all that was left was a puddle of a woman. He wanted to undo her the way he would her clothes, and watch her fall apart under his hands, his tongue, the push of his hips…

"Someone... Will..." Her voice came out in gasping pleas as he continued caressing her with the ice. "Find us..." He needed to remove that damn corset soon; restricted breathing wasn't conducive to the way he wanted to hear her cry out for him— completely unbound. A fleeting desire crossed his mind to restrain her in other ways, at other times. But for now, he simply needed to see how the heat had flushed her body, with as little material between them as possible.

“You think I would allow anyone else to see you like this? I am not a man who shares his treasure.” His cocky little grin made a slight reappearance as he pulled his lips away from her damp skin to meet her eyes and offer some cooling sincerity. “A spell has been cast, no one will see nor hear us. You are safe with me, my dream. Always.”

He lost himself to a moment of softness, and caressed her face with total adoration.

“I have craved the taste of you all summer. The sun itself could not burn me in the way you have. I am a scorch mark, I am the cindered ashes of all restraint. You are my sun. And no one else will gaze upon you the way I will.”

There was no response adequate to match the sudden delicacy of his words, leaving Tav momentarily speechless. In that fleeting moment of enraptured, adoring silence, Gale misunderstood her reaction, his beautiful face falling with concern, fearing he had unwittingly caused her distress.

“Tell me you do not desire me, that this soft heat inflaming you is not at least partly caused by your feelings for me. Tell me I have imagined your eyes searching for me, your playful need for my hands on you as we dance, and I will leave it at this. I will have spent a summer loving you, and it will have been the brightest and warmest of all my seasons.”

He loved her. The air suddenly felt lighter. He was the breeze she had been craving.

Her bright smile cracked through the initial shock of his confession, and relief swept over him like a tide. “I know you have a vivid imagination, Mr. Dekarios. But put it away, it is not needed here. I have attended each event only in the hope of being in your presence. It seems we both have had a summer well spent.” She kissed him then; sweetly, lovingly and he laughed enough for the crinkles between his eyes to appear.

It did not take long for the damned dress to be torn from the skin of her sweat-slicked body. For the corset to be ripped from its bindings. For the softness of her breasts to find their place against his tongue, nipples peaking as though the heat didn’t exist, his hot breath and cool tongue creating a heady mix of magic which made her skin sing.

Tomorrow, there would be rough marks on her back from the bark of the tree - but for now the slight pain only added to the overwhelming sensations which crawled their way over her body, her sweat mingling with his as he tore off his shirt and pressed himself against her. Caging her against the trunk. His skin was cool against hers, and steam danced between them as though melted steel was being forged by cool water. He was hard, she could feel it.

His tongue flattened at her skin of her neck and her breasts, and licked away the lust-induced sweat his affection had caused. The fresh, salty taste may as way have been laced with liquor for the effect it was having on him. She tasted of sweet wine with the faint hint of salt. It was subtle, but he needed something richer. His attention moved downwards, and It was not long till he reached that most sacred place, where he had been aching to lose himself in scent and taste. He took his time and inhaled her. Using his nose to caress her sweet spot as he relished in the full-bodied flavour of her.

As soon as his mouth began lavishing her, she realised he had somehow extended the cooling enchantment to his tongue. Her head was thrown back against the tree in ecstasy, the press of his mouth against her quickly becoming too much for her to handle. There was a brief moment of self-consciousness, where she worried about how the heat of the day would affect her taste. But the worry was soon lost, the thought drowned out by the sound of his appreciation and the realisation that he was stroking himself as he devoured her.

He was dedicated in his endeavour, although no amount of skin-tingling magic would be able to balm the fire coursing through her veins. She thought she would never cool, that she would be a woman on fire for the rest of her love-fuelled days. The sensation was mesmeric, and she could not remember a sweeter sensation than this man on his knees in front of her, face buried between her legs and using his tongue to caress her with such enthusiasm she felt as though she would fall apart. And fall apart she did. It was euphoric, and her hands gripped his hair fiercely as she crashed over rocks in reckless pleasure.

When he came back up to meet her he was breathless and lust-drunk, giddy as a school-boy and stoked as a bonfire. “There has never been a sweeter taste than you, my love.” He kissed her then, languidly, passionately - intent on sharing the riches of his exploration. Tav could taste herself in his kiss. They may as well have been sharing wine between their lips.

“If you don’t fuck me soon, Gale, I swear I will combust.”

He laughed at this. At the desperation, at the slight annoyance in her voice, at the fact this was the first time she had ever said his given name and she had thrown it at him as a demand to push her against the tree and bury himself inside her. What a woman.

He needed no further invitation; shedding the confines of his breeches, he pressed himself slowly into her warmth, and she made the most delicious groaning sound he had ever heard. This woman could drive him to madness, and thankfully he was aware that his earlier attentions ensured he need not be overly gentle. Knowing that his endurance would be short-lived, thanks to the fervour he had stoked within himself while bringing her to climax against his tongue, he abandoned all pretense of restraint. Together they were primal, the tension that had been building between them releasing in pure, carnal desire.

Though a gentleman might have exercised more self-control, such decorum was a luxury he couldn't afford in the presence of such irresistible temptation. Stripped of his clothes, he found himself as vulnerable to the unrelenting heat of the day as Tav, and soon, his focused, determined passion ignited a sheen of sweat upon his skin.

Tav’s payback could not have been any sweeter, as soon as she noticed the sweat trickling down his neck she took her chance and licked it from his bronzed, silken skin. His response was a delicious, low moan and his rhythm faltered into something more urgent, unbound. His grip tightening, one of his hands found its way to rest gently against her throat so he could feel the deep moans rumbling against his palm as he fucked her.

“I love you” She breathed. And that’s all it takes. He is suddenly hurtling over a precipice and into sweet, tight oblivion.

They both collapse onto the ground, sweaty, burnt-out, euphoric. And they fall into uninhibited laughter as they realise they can hear the band playing a jaunty tune in the distance, and the chatter of the ever-growing crowd is closer than they initially thought.

“You are still hidden from prying eyes, my dream.” Gale offered reassurance as he kissed her head. “And I will conjure up some suitable clothing for you, don’t worry.”

“That is most generous of you Saer, but please - by the Gods, no corset and no silk.”

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 smut #gale dekarios #gale fanfic #gale x tav #gale of waterdeep

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astro-stars · 3 months ago

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Azul with a Strong! Reader? Reader got extremely excited because of something, causing them to pick Azul up princess style and twirling him around.

AAAA MY FIRST REQUEST LETSSGOOO

anywho

The Mostro Lounge bustled with its usual activity: clinking glasses, the murmur of conversations, and the faint strains of background music. Azul Ashengrotto, ever the diligent businessman, was seated at his desk in the VIP room, surrounded by ledgers and contracts. Floyd lounged nearby, lazily flipping a coin, while Jade stood by the door, his ever-present composed smile in place.

Yuu burst into the room with Grim trailing behind her, her eyes sparkling with uncontained excitement.

“Azul! Azul! You won’t believe it!” she exclaimed, practically vibrating with energy.

Azul looked up from his work, startled by her sudden entrance. “Prefect, is there something urgent?”

“The new magical creatures exhibit at the botanical gardens is finally open! They’ve got a whole section on sea creatures, including bioluminescent ones! Isn’t that amazing?”

Azul blinked, clearly not sharing her level of enthusiasm. “That’s… interesting, I suppose. But I don’t see how—”

Before he could finish his sentence, Yuu’s excitement boiled over. Without thinking, she darted over to him, bent down, and swept him off his feet in a flawless princess carry. Azul let out an uncharacteristically high-pitched yelp as Yuu effortlessly twirled him around the room.

“Isn’t it amazing, Azul?” she gushed, spinning him in circles. “I mean, sea creatures that glow! It’s like something out of a dream!”

Floyd dropped his coin, his mouth hanging open in shock. Then, after a beat, he burst into uncontrollable laughter, clutching his sides. “Shrimpy! What are you doing? This is priceless!”

Jade’s composed facade cracked as he raised an eyebrow, his amusement evident. “My, my. Prefect, I didn’t realize you were so strong.”

Azul, meanwhile, was too stunned to respond immediately. His arms instinctively wrapped around Yuu’s shoulders as she continued to spin him. “P-Put me down this instant!” he finally managed to stammer, his face a deep shade of red.

“Oh, sorry!” Yuu said, halting her spinning. She carefully set him back on his feet, her grin sheepish. “I just got so excited, I didn’t think.”

Azul adjusted his glasses, attempting to regain his composure. “That much was obvious,” he muttered, his tone flustered but not unkind. He glanced at Floyd, who was still laughing. “And you… stop encouraging this nonsense.”

Floyd waved a hand, tears streaming down his face. “I’m sorry, Boss! But you should’ve seen your face! It was amazing!”

Jade inclined his head toward Yuu. “It seems our Prefect has hidden talents. That level of strength is… impressive.”

Grim puffed out his chest proudly. “Of course! My hench-human is the best!”

Azul sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Just… warn me next time you decide to showcase these talents.”

Yuu chuckled, rubbing the back of her neck. “Sorry, Azul. I’ll try to contain myself. But seriously, you should come see the exhibit! It’ll blow your mind.”

Azul glanced at her, his expression softening slightly. “Perhaps. If you promise not to carry me there.”

Yuu laughed, her eyes sparkling. “Deal.”

As the room settled back into its usual rhythm, Floyd’s occasional giggles and Jade’s amused glances served as a reminder of the unexpected moment. Azul, however, made a mental note: never underestimate the Prefect again.

BORDERS: MEEEEEE

#twisted wonderland #x reader #disney twst #twst #astro writes #fem yuu #oneshot #azul ashengrotto x reader #azul ashengrotto #twst azul #strong reader #strong yuu #request #twst request #floyd leech #jade leech #funny #minor crack #twisted wonderlan

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nikalaeva · 19 days ago

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I just read a post where the author claims to be pro-Nesta, but at the same time justifies explains why the Inner Circle did everything right.

Here are some quotes for an aperitif.

"None of the IC are just disgusting that she’s drinking a lot or having sex or partying"

Really? Why then did infinitely rich Rhysand read out the list of her expenses? Nesta didn't buy unnecessary jewelry, a brothel or a piece of land. Was it necessary to bring your beloved wife to tears, to humiliate your brother by saying that his mate was a shameless spendthrift? This scene shows not the depth of Nesta's problems, but rather that Rhysand is a pathetic douchebag who is used to not paying his warriors (homeless Illyrians send their regards).

"Nesta was also given the choice of if she got help or not. Once again, something Feyre was not"

Mmm, our little star Feyre, my sweet fly in the ointment. I don't know in what parallel universe is it considered a "choice" between prison and a hunting ground where a fairy would be like game. Oh, sorry, the HoW is not a prison? But what do you call a place from which you physically cannot leave and are completely dependent on the guards? Prison is probably better, because the guard does not dream of fucking you every second.

Now to the point.

Feyre doesn't act like a sister. She clearly says that she's ashamed that Nesta is shaming them by not helping the Court after war. She decides that the best way to "help" Nesta is to shame her in front of everyone, and then complain that she's overreacting. Feyre could have gotten Nesta a job in a bar, a dance teacher, a library job with salary, and spend time with sisters on weekends - without Rhysand and his gang of cocksuckers. Feyre and Nesta could have tea in the garden or learn baking with Elain. Feyre could have invited Nesta and Elain to an art class with the kids. Of course, it's so useless compared to being able to swing a sword, and - oh my! - not cool compared to the scene in the swamp.

Well, this illustrates well how powerless Feyre as High Lady is when it comes to improving the citizens' living conditions, and how much Elain doesn't give a shit.

Cassian's "help" would only do a dead man no harm. He wanted to help Nesta so much that he brought her to train with the Illyrians. You know, the warriors who don't accept women or magic, and are cruel even to their own children.

And how thoughtful of the IC to entrust Nesta with the mission of finding the Dread Trove. Yeah, a minute ago she was just a traumatized girl in need of help, but now Feyre is pregnant, Elain has no one to trust to water her garden, and the IC has some other things to do (Rhysand, wake up, you're short-staffed), so Nesta is definitely the one who can be trusted with safety of all of Prythian. What about her bestie Amren? Nah, she's lost all her power and can only spew shit out of her dirty old-hag mouth.

Maybe we should enlist the help of the High Lords like Tarquin, Kallias, Helion? After all, the threat concerns not only the Night Court, and they supposedly forgave that mess at the meeting and are now friends... Haha, don't go crazy. Can "the most powerful High Lord" take such a risk? What if these spineless idiots tell Nesta that she will be better off in their Courts? What if they say that Rhysand has no right to wield the Troves only because Nesta is a citizen of the NC? (which, by the way, she didn't choose either) Sounds like the worst nightmare of his egocentrism and SJM Amren's wet dream of a High King.

I ask a lot of questions and drip with sarcasm bordering on passive aggression because it's as fun as arguing that ACOSF is a great book about healing, family love, power of friendship and redemption. Even if you poured colorful paint on a pile of shit, it would still stink and attract flies. And ignoring the message that in order to heal from psychological trauma you just have to do whatever people who only care about their own emotional comfort say is the same as secretly wrinkling your nose.

But I'm glad there are plenty of people who point their fingers and are not ashamed to say: "This is a pile of shit. Don't pretend it's okay in a public place." You are the best 🫂

#anti acotar #anti acosf #sjm critical #anti feysand #anti feyre #anti rhysand #anti inner circle #anti cassian #nesta archeron #nesta acosf #pro nesta #never getting tired of being a mean bitch #and unlike Nesta I don't give a shit who doesn't like me #bad critic

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n0tamused · 1 month ago

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Omg congrats on 1500 followers!!!! Can I request a romantic Jing Yuan (if it's okay, it would be the one where he's a bit younger like he's still a lieutenant in that one wardance quest, but it depends on you! No pressure ^^) with action prompt 18 with the fluff 21

˖ ࣪⊹Jing Yuan x Reader

18.Walking barefoot on the dew covered grass, hand in hand, under the stars + 21."Can I kiss you?" "You have no idea how long I've waited to hear you ask that."

A/n: Thank you so much! And I really hope you enjoy this ! <3

Contents: Jing Yuan x GN!Reader, fluff, Lieutenant JY, Jing Yuan is the one asking the question, I've proofread through this but I still feel like there's something I missed </3 If I did, pretend it's not there pls, I'll check again tomorrow

Words: 1050

Ko-Fi | 1.5K followers event

The soft twinkling of stars lit up the blackened skies, little milk drops scattered across black tiles with a passing crescent moon hanging overhead in the western corner. There was another moon, barely noticeable just below that one, following along. Jing Yuan had proposed mythical stories of the two moons, how those were giant carriages of the Lan’s assistants, chasing away the plagues that troubled the world and aiding the entire of Xianzhou. Both of you knew this was all a tale, Lan worked alone, but that lie didn’t make the sight any less beautiful, if anything it added onto the growing mystique of the universe around you. And now as night enveloped the Luofu in a quiet embrace, promising sweet dreams wafting in the air and lulling the world to sleep, the two of you walked hand in hand down the lush grass gardens, bare feet feeling the damp ground. Little droplets licked cold dots across your ankles, the heat of your skin melting through just as easy, but the feeling was bordering on being ticklish.

You giggled as Jing Yuan pulled you along, his attire devoid of his armor, yet he still wore the pale blue uniform of a Lieutenant, the red sash hanging loose and trailing behind him in twin tails.

“Jing Yuan, why in the world must we go so far out?” you whispered as if there was anyone else but you and the undergrowth and the trees. “We could’ve seen the stars from the grassy steps just fine” you added as you pushed forward to catch up to his side, poking him beneath the ribs at which he jumped back with a hearty chuckle.

“Because there is a better spot, and there is something much more beautiful to be seen, that which I do not want you to miss! Come-” he gave you no pause as he continued on his march towards a hill that stood out in the garden, a sapling that had been planted there was now barely tall enough above your heads, slender and full of thin branches with tiny little white blooms. When you almost slipped back down the hill, Jing Yuan promptly dug his heels into the ground and pulled you closer to him, keeping you upright and smiling that smile of his that was half warm and tender and half teasing.

By the time you were in the spot Jing Yuan marked as the destination, the smaller moon seemingly caught up to the big one and there were faint traces of color across the skies. Jing Yuan let go of your hand to unroll a blanket, a thick thing that looked heavy and weighed even more than that. You were both slightly damp from the grass and the shrubs he dragged you through, swearing high and low how this was the best way, a short cut, he said.

You both huddled onto the blanket and for a long while there was nothing but the sky and the two of you. Silently watching the stars blink right back at you. At one point a thought crossed your mind, one you didn’t hesitate to blurt out. “Are we waiting for something?”

Jing Yuan hushed you instead, pointing up towards the sky, and you quickly went quiet once more, eyes glued upwards, while your hand unconsciously brushed against his, seeking out his touch, his warmth.

This time, it wasn’t long before the midnight blues exploded with swirls of colorful hues, purples and greens and pinks, dancing along like silk scarves, making the stars fade in and out of existence, playing hide and seek. Your mouth fell open in shock, a sound of pleasant surprise falling from your lips.

A joy like that of a child lit inside of you, wishing to make your chest expand and glow, it yearned to be shared. And without a second thought you lunged sideways to embrace the Lieutenant that brought you here, arms wrapping about his neck in a vice as laughter bubbled up your throat. His own laughter followed and after a few heartbeats you felt his arms around you.

“This is beautiful! Jing Yuan, look!” You pointed upwards as a star dashed across, looking like an arrowpoint of Lan themselves with its colorful streaked tail. It left behind a burning sash across the heavens even after it flew by and goosebumps rose across your skin.

“I told you it would all be worth it, you should put a little more trust in me, y’know” you heard him tell you, strands of his abundant hair tickling at your cheek.

The sight could be no more beautiful than this, a wonder beheld by the heavens just for you. The world is asleep and cold, the only warmth being that of the two of you. But once you looked at Jing Yuan you came to realize he was paying no attention to the sky - but you.

His eyes held depth, reflecting the colors fading in the sky, showing an emotion the two of you have struggled and feared to name for too long. Your eyes, captivated by his own, found it hard to look away, your gaze softening in face of his gentle smile.

Jing Yuan was still holding you, and were it any lighter you would have been able to see his cheeks as they began to grow more red.

“May..May I kiss you?” He whispered the words as if speaking them outloud would break apart this perfect moment, waking him up from this dream so fate could laugh in his face. Courage he plucked up earlier was surging through his ears like a torrent, drumming and beating loud and keeping him where he sat, unmoving, waiting for you to..

“..You have no idea how long I've waited to hear you ask that."

His brows sprang up in surprise, smile dropping into an ‘o’ shape before springing up into a smile, and without wasting another moment of precious time, he leaned forward and captured your lips in a tender kiss.

His lips lingered, encouraged by your own arms holding him. He could swear he could hear your heart, but you could also hear his.

The world was as perfect as it would ever get. The night belonged to the two of you, and no one else.

#★@n0tamused 1.5k follower event #jing yuan #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x you #jing yuan fluff #jing yuan imagine #jing yuan x gn reader #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr x reader #hsr jing yuan #hsr fluff #wardance #xianzhou luofu #hsr #x reader #imagine #fluff

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sanarsi · 7 months ago

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Gardens of Eden

Din Djarin x goddess!f!Reader

Summary: Another bounty hunt goes wrong when he comes across a creature whose influence changes his view of everything. Warnings: +18, MDNI, mention of using weapon, goddess!immortal!reader, reader has long hair which can change colour (you will understand), sub!Din (by reader’s power), unprotected PIV, loving sex, soft!dom!Din, creampie Wordcount: 3,4k An: First shot with my fav Pedro boy. For a long time I resisted writing something with him because I thought it had to be perfect. Din is my first love, that's why he and my fav band together create a mind-blowing mix for me. Sooo hold my beer bc I’m just getting started ;) Music I worked with: Take Me Back To Eden - Sleep Token

Masterlist

He had never been in a place like this, a planet full of greenery and colorful flowers like something out of a story about what paradise could look like.

As a bounty hunter, he had been in places that were more look like hell. It was rare for his bounties to be in places like this. The energy that reigned around made it easy to fall into a sense of security, but he knew better than to allow himself to have false feelings.

The transmitter in his hand flashed more frequently, assuring him that he was well on the way to target. His finger rested on the blaster trigger, ready to disarm his opponent if necessary.

His careful steps prevented the slightest sound, giving him the opportunity to create a surprise effect. The quiet chirping of birds echoed in the background, and wild animals fled in panic, sensing danger.

Everything here seemed peaceful, unlike what was happening elsewhere in the galaxy. The dense forest barely let in the rays of the three suns shining high in the sky, yet everything was bright.

The tracker blinked harder, catching his attention, the red light letting him know that his target was within reach.

He looked ahead, putting the device in his pocket and took a few cautious steps before he spotted a clearing ending the forest border.

The birdsong was drowned out by the increasingly distinct sounds of running water. He stopped behind one of the trees and slowly began to look around the exposed area. With the trigger of his blaster, he moved a few leaves blocking his view and then his gaze fell on you.

You were sitting on a large rock by the stream, giggling as you dipped your hand in the water. Your long white hair blindingly reflected the sun's rays and the translucent white material of your dress flowed down your body.

You looked like a living example of innocence.

Din couldn’t tear his eyes away from the way you gracefully moved your fingers across the surface of the water, sitting completely unaware of the threat that he was.

A gentle smile adorned your face, adding to your charm, and he had to admit that he hadn’t seen such a beautiful sight in a long time.

He had seen a lot in his life but he had never experienced such conflicting emotions as you had stirred in him. He knew very well that appearances were deceptive and you could have turned out to be the worst thing he had to fight so far but he simply couldn’t…

He couldn’t shake this strange feeling that he had stumbled upon something beautiful, innocent and flawlessly good. As if some greater power was letting him know that he even shouldn’t have aimed a gun at you.

He stepped forward to get a better view of you, but as it turned out, it was a bad decision.

A dry branch snapped under his weight, piercing the space like a shot. Everything around fell silent as you straightened like a string and looked in his direction. His heart stopped for a moment as he looked into your eyes and saw fear in them.

He cursed himself in mind and slowly walked out from behind the trees, spreading his arms to show that he meant no harm.

Unfortunately, your reaction was the opposite of what he wanted to achieve.

Your hair changed color from shiny white to blacker than the forgotten ends of space in a second. He watched this in shock, slowly approaching you and to his surprise, you didn’t move an inch.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, and to confirm his words, he slowly put the blaster behind his belt. You didnkt even notice, continuing to stare into his black visor, and even though he was wearing a helmet and thick armor, he felt naked under your gaze. “Please,” he added more gently.

His words didn’t work.

The blackness of your hair seemed to only deepen with each step he took. He didn’t know where the feeling of desperation had come from in his body, for you to trust, that he didn’t have bad intentions towards you; or at least not anymore. And it was this desperation that made him fall to his knees a few steps away from you.

Surprisingly, it did just that, your hair lightened a few shades, matching the greynes of his beskar. Your watchful gaze began to examine every inch of his body as if you were assessing the threat he posed to you.

“You’re a bounty hunter,” you noted.

Your voice didn’t match your appearance at all, sharp and commanding, as if you had lived much more than he had. As if you had lived centuries.

“I am,” he confirmed, feeling deep in his bones that trying to deceive you was purposeful. His honesty made your hair lighten a bit and your eyes filled with interest.

“And yet, you don’t want to hurt me.” You raised an eyebrow, wanting to let him know how absurd his words sounded.

“I don’t,” he replied without a moment’s hesitation.

He didnkt know if it surprised you or him more, after all, he had come here for one purpose and he had the impression that you knew it very well.

His answers were short and honest, giving a sense of sincerity but even that didn’t seem to convince you.

“So why are you in full armor and armed?” you asked even though you knew the answer. This wasn’t the first bounty hunter or even Mandalorian with whom you had the pleasure to dealt with.

“It’s part of my culture.”

Yes, you’ve heard that answer before.

“Indeed,” you nodded thoughtfully, your gaze dropping to the shiny beskar again. You had never seen a hunter who looked as majestic as he did, which made you interested in him even more.

Din watched as you finally flinched to look at him from a different perspective, your hair getting closer to its original color with every passing second.

“I can’t trust you.”

Your gaze met his again as if there was no helmet on his head at all.

Your words were completely justified and yet, there was a tightness in his chest that made him realize how much he wanted— no, needed you to change your mind.

Before he could say anything, you stood up from the stone and slowly walked over to him. The sheer material of your dress gave him a perfect view of your entire body, but his gaze was still fixed on your eyes.

“Stand,” you said and there was no room in your tone for his protest.

He obediently rose from his knees, forcing you to look up as he now towered over you.

“I don’t trust you,” you declared, plunging another dagger into his chest. Your sharp gaze made him understand that he was too weak to let you stab again.

“Then make me earn your trust,” he said it confidently and really meant it. He was willing to go as far as he had to.

His words hung between you, finally letting the birdsong and the rush of the stream reach your ears.

The grey slowly began to give way to white with each passing second as you thought about his words and what was behind them.

“I exist beyond any religion.”

These words should have caused a red light to go off in his head, but nothing like that happened. Instead of common sense and the Laws of the Way, a small flame appeared in his body, drawing him towards you. There was nothing in your look that could suggest that you wanted to force him to do something, on the contrary, you were giving him the opportunity to leave.

But the seconds passed and he still stood there, worse, he nodded, giving you a sign that he had made a decision. A decision that start the downfall of his beliefs.

“Your way does not lead here, Mandalorian,” you said as if he didn’t know.

But he did. Better than anyone before him.

But that worry died faster than it appeared the moment your hands found their way to his armor. Despite the beskar separating you, he could have sworn he felt your burning touch.

Your attention focused on the clasps of each protector that you slowly pulled off of him and Din couldn’t do anything but watch your face as if hypnotized.

You carefully placed each piece on the grass, showing his armor the respect he was grateful for.

A sharp intake of breath sounded through his modulator as you knelt before him to remove the protectors from his thighs. The sight was definitely too stimulating for him, and you could see his cock smacking the material of his pants. You didn’t comment on it, but to his surprise, you leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on his bulge. A shameful groan escaped his throat as his dick twitched, eager for your closeness.

You straightened up, leaving him in just his clothes and helmet. Your gaze didn’t meet his as you continued to work on each clasp, revealing his arms, chest, stomach, legs, every part of him that was decorated with scars.

“Will you tell me their story?” you asked, running your fingertips over the wound on his right chest.

Shivers ran through his body at your gentle touch.

“Each one of them,” he blurted out on a ragged breath.

His answer brought a gentle smile to your face, and he didn’t miss the way your hair flashed white again. You felt good again. Safe.

He wanted to ask about it, but as the words formed on his tongue, a dozen other questions suddenly appeared so he just kept quiet. He preferred to blame it on his own flood of thoughts rather than the fact that your gaze was rendering him speechless.

The sparkle in your eyes seemed even brighter than your snow-white hair. For a moment he lost his breath and then he twitched anxiously, feeling your hands on the edge of his helmet.

You waited.

One second, two, but there was no sign of resignation from him, so you continued.

The fresh air brushed his cheeks and then his hair, bringing a strange feeling of relief. He didn’t expect this after he willingly let his helmet be taken off. He expected negative emotions, anger at himself and his tormentor. But when he saw you without any barriers, he couldn’t feel anything but desire.

His dark eyes, dressed in small wrinkles, radiated with warmth but also emptiness.

He seemed lost, not in an endless galaxy but in his own mind.

A curved nose that hid a thin lips surrounded by the same dark stubble as his irises. To that, messy hair from constantly hiding his identity from the world.

He was beautiful. Wounded by life but beautiful.

“You look tired,” you said sympathetically, lifting a hand to stroke his stubbled jaw.

He let out a shaky breath as he felt you.

Like— he really felt you.

His eyes closed on their own and his head tilted, clinging to your hand. His mind barely reached the memory of the last time someone had been this close with him. And he had to admit it felt good. The closeness of another person was so rare for him that he forgot how addictive it was.

You allowed him a moment of tenderness that he needed after so many years of loneliness and watched with affection as he snuggled into your touch.

“Feels nice, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he almost purred with pleasure.

“Will you let me to show you more?” you asked.

His hand covered yours before he began to place soft kisses on the palm of it. He didn’t even know how to describe what he was feeling; desire was too weak a word.

He felt hungry.

And that hunger seemed to keep growing.

The rough stubble irritated your skin and the soft lips brought relief. Every inch of his skin screamed for your attention. You saw how broken he was deep inside, how much he needed what you could give him.

“Please,” he moaned desperately.

“Then kiss me.”

That command made his gaze fall back to your face. He seemed in disbelief, searching for something that doesn’t exist. He found nothing in your eyes that could suggest the opposite of your words.

He didn’t need anything more.

His hands landed on your jaw, holding you hardly as his lips crushed yours even harder. You moaned, not expecting the force he used. He didn’t hold back, couldn’t hold back, allowing himself to drown in the moment as he hungrily began to kiss you. His tongue quickly found yours, forcing you to submit to his guidance. This time, you were the one who began to melt under his touch.

You kissed him back, wanting to give him as much as he needed and even more.

“Fuck,” he gasped. “Lay down,” he said, overcome with the need to claim you.

You shivered, looking at him like a defenseless animal. You backed away from him as much as he would let you, before he followed you like a shadow as you laid down on the grass.

His lips attacked yours again in a thirsty kiss. You tangled your fingers in his hair, trying to catch your breath with every chance he gave you because there weren’t many when his tongue didn’t want to stop caressing yours.

His large, warm hands slowly began to roam your body. Your dress was no barrier to feeling him as should.

He ran his fingertips over your breasts, teasing and bringing your nipples back to life. You moaned, thirsty for his attention in that place which he didn’t give you. Instead, he dug his fingers into the soft flesh of your hips. You wrapped your leg around his, pulling him closer to you.

His hard cock brushed against your core, making him hiss. He couldn’t hold back his instincts any longer, so with slightly too aggressive movements, he began to pull up the material of your dress, and only when it was all wrapped around your waist he was satisfied enough to pull away from you and look down between your bodies.

He was panting heavily from the kisses and allowed himself to stare at your temple for so long that you began to arch with desire. His cock quivered painfully at the thought of being inside you.

“Din,” you begged. His name on your lips sent a wave of shivers down his spine.

He looked at you, wondering how you knew his real name, but when he saw you, he was speechless again.

Your hair was lying around your head, and it wouldn’t have been strange if it wasn’t for the fact that it was now in a shade of light red.

“Please,” you moaned, digging your fingers deeper into his scalp. He couldn’t think straight seeing you like this, lying beneath him and craving his touch.

He wanted to give you what you needed, he wanted it so badly, but he was afraid that after so many years of celibacy he wouldn’t be able to satisfy you, and he really wanted to see you fall to pieces because of him.

“Cyar’ika…” he began hesitantly.

“Stop talking,” you cut him off, sliding your hands down his cheeks. “I want you inside me.” You pressed a kiss to his lips. “Just enter me,” you almost begged, feeling your core throb with desire.

So he did as you asked.

He positioned himself at your entrance and slowly pushed into you. He rested forehead against yours, overwhelmed, reveling in the warmth and wetness you greeted him with.

A feeling of bliss attacked all of his senses at once. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so good, like he was right where he was supposed to be, like he was home.

Your moans mingled as his cock sank fully inside you. He shuddered as you began to clench around him, wanting more.

“It feels so good,” he whispered, and with a groan, he began to gently move his hips. He didn’t want to leave your core for even a second, so he simply ground his hips against yours, constantly filling you all.

You shivered, digging your fingers into his shoulders at the constant feeling of stimulation. Your cunt throbbed around him like she never wanted to let him go.

“Yes, so good,” you moaned, overcome with pleasure that was building inside you. You hugged his arms tightly, surrendering yourself completely to his care.

The gentle movements he fed you with were more than perfect for you to feel what kind of man he really was. He needed someone to show him how to take care of each other and that’s what you wanted to give him today. His heavy breath was lost in your mouth which constantly showed him how good he made you feel; your kisses were everywhere.

He finally forced himself to watch the blissful expression on your face. You looked beautiful, overcome with pleasure, your eyes closed and your lips parted; but what fascinated him more, was the way your hair turned redder with each thrust of his hips. He focused on that and entered you harder noticing the color suddenly darken.

So he thrust again-harder.

You howled as you felt the traces of your orgasm begin to show in your core.

Din began to experiment, he entered you slowly and gently, and after a moment he plunged his cock into you with animal strength. Your hair gave him a show of different shades of red and he quickly understood how that magic had worked.

So he began to do everything to make your hair the reddest it could be, such as a color of blood.

He found the perfect pace and intensity with which he caressed your pussy until you cried out of pleasure under him. He felt as if he had unlocked a forbidden ability that allowed him to know what you felt.

Suddenly everything made sense; black when you were afraid, red when you felt pleasure.

And he had to admit that red suited you the best.

“Fuckin’ beautiful,” he gasped, clenching his jaw as the pleasure began to build in his core too.

Your hair began to flash like a transmitter that led him to you, letting him know that you were fighting against the last barriers that separated you from fulfillment.

“Come for me. I know you want to,” he whispered against your ear, sending the missing stimulus through your body. The orgasm overshadowed your senses and gave him a unique spectacle as your hair ignited like living fire. Your pussy began to throb on him and he couldn’t fight the pleasure you were pulling him into.

He growled, cumming inside you in several bursts until his balls were empty. The orgasm momentarily blurred his vision and left his body trembling. The experience of such an aegis after so many years was overwhelming for him.

He wasn’t experiencing his peak, almost panicking from the intensity of it but then your fingers had a grounding effect on him. The gentle touch of your hands brought him the desired feeling of stability.

He looked at you with a drunken gaze and the first thing he noticed was your warm smile, only later the delicate pink color of your hair.

Tenderness.

He found himself wanting to learn what each remaining color meant. He wanted to be present for everything so he could learn to read you like an open book.

His breathing slowly calmed down under your touch. You stroked his cheek, watching a million emotions that flew through his eyes. You were silent, allowing him to experience, understand, and accept his own emotions, something he didn’t experience often.

“What are you?” he finally asked the most important question. You smiled tenderly and pulled him into a gentle kiss.

This gesture ignited something inside him, making him realize that he would like to feel this every day when he woke up and fell asleep.

“I am everything.”

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x y/n #din djarin smut #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x y/n #the mandalorian smut #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal smut #sanarsi fic

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