#ashe thrilling intent

[pokemoodboards]

"Sometimes I don't know if what's left here is me, but there's comfort in knowing I'm free."

You are challenged by Guardian Ashe!

Noctowl 🌲 Politoed 🌲 Volcarona 🌲 Garganacl 🌲 Sirfetch'd 🌲 Trevenant 🌲

(Requested by @lesbian-ashe!)

[jetsetclassic]

thought of putting them in modern clothes and having them travel like i am right now… that’s kind of already what they do, right??

[lesbian-ashe]

so I asked Jackson if there's a canon ref for all of Ashe's bindings because I'm considering getting a tattoo of some and I wanted to see them all, and he made one for me!!! and SHE'S SO CUTE AAAAAAA THE BINDINGS ARE SO PRETTY I LOVE HER SO MUCH I'M GAY 😭💕

art by Jackson!

[muesby]

Cash Money

[hollow-bee-demon]

All I have to say is…chaos

[the-thing-of-worms]

In thrilling intent Ash had the ability to heal people, but the show distinctly says what ash does is no healing. So is ash casting mending on her friends? The implications of that would mean that she (or atleast the being inside of her) sees humans as objects to be repaired

[mellea-art-home]

[pandemonium825]

@the-thing-of-worms

ha HA! Ive done it, Ive drawn art!

fun fact, i was caught up on thrilling intent probably between 5 and 7 years ago now! Now I am restarting the show, and realizing I have now seen less than half of it before, and remember EVEN LESS THAN THAT!

currently I have just finished The Gods Are Gone, so no please no spoilers of what happens past that point. Like I said, I remember so little! Wizard Highschool was about the limit of where I could remember what was going to happen next, and even those memories were fuzzy.

[savkirschtein]

ᴀ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴀ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ

modern college au

Jean Kirstein x f!reader

warnings: literally just Jean being infatuated with you…that’s it. College party. Mentions of alcohol, making out, drunkenness, slight stalking.

You were someone who kept to yourself often, not in the sense that you were particularly shy, but it was more so you liked to keep your circle of friends small. It kept your friendships easy to manage, and easy to keep up with. But for your childhood best friend Sasha, that was not the case, what so ever.

Queenie had friends, acquaintances, and plugs, EVERYWHERE.

You and Sasha only got to see each other every once in a while when she was able to come home, due to the fact that she moved away and was enrolled at SSU (Shiganshina University). Meanwhile you, because of some money issues, along with a sprinkle of poorly made decisions in Highschool went straight into Community College after graduating.

The distance was never a problem though, you guys would call each other all the time. And she would keep you up to date on all the crazy things she would be doing, along with all the friends she had made.

Always talking about the same three dudes Connie, Marco, and Jean. Whom she quickly befriended in one of her communications classes.

When you had told her you were going to be able to transfer early, and be enrolled into SSU, she absolutely flipped. So thrilled that her best friend would be able to join and experience all the craziness with her. Talking up and down about how you're going to fit in great with her newfound friends.

You enjoyed hearing all the insane things that she did with them. And more than anything, loved how clearly happy they seemed to make her. As well as how well they treated Sasha (having been skeptical of three guys and their intentions with your best friend). Those feelings quickly being put to rest after Sasha's dozens of stories of them and their many escapades in which they've had to take care of Sasha after one too many drinks.

Learning all of their names and all of their quirks came easy with how much she was around them, and how much she talked of them with you.

Watching from a distance you were able to see some of those moments she would gush about, play out due to Sasha posting on her social medias. Whether it be pictures on Instagram, or videos she would share on her private story on Snapchat.

From those small snip bits that she would share though, someone always seemed to catch your eye. The tall, lean, hot headed one, with the ash brown mullet, always yelling at Sasha and Connie in her snaps.

Jean. Your best friend said his name was.

Sasha talked about the three guys all of the time, and from what she would tell you about Jean, he seemed like a cool guy.

An art major, on the Uni Lacrosse team, who was hot-headed, hilarious, and spontaneous. Stoic exterior but has a heart of gold on the inside…well at least from what you heard from Sasha. Though you didn't know him personally, you had a slight interest to him already.

But what you didn’t know was that slight interest went both ways.

Sasha talked about you ALL. THE. TIME. Not that the boys minded, it was cool to them that she had a loyal best friend, who has stuck around through all of her phases, through all of the years, like you. And as her best friends it clearly meant a lot to Sasha for them to know about you.

And when she did talk of you, she spoke of you, holding you in such high regards. Talking about how hilarious you were, or about how you were one of the most down to earth and genuine people she knew. Hearing how great of a person you were through Sasha, along with the memories she shared, made Jean’s interest in you pique.

Jean felt like he knew you personally with how much he had heard about you. When he and Sasha became friends, he had only ever seen a few old picture of you two, which was from when you guys graduated highschool and some from Sasha’s 18th birthday on her instagram. But other than that not much else, and even if he did want to just check your profile, for science of course, you were private.

And he felt it would be odd and cause a stir of him to ask Sasha to look at her profile, especially since Connie and Marco didn't have such an interest in you to go out of their ways to do the same. Jean felt it would arise questions, which he would much rather dodge rather than succumbing to his own curiosity.

Until Sasha had come back after break from home, and showed him, Connie, and Marco a video of you cussing out, and roasting the shit out of a man. Who was unsolicitedly hitting on another one of your good friends, and making her uncomfortable. Taken when you guys were out, celebrating your birthday at a bar in your guys' hometown.

And for some reason that video had him hooked. From your witty and cunning remarks to the pervert hitting on your friend. To how beautiful you looked in the short, black, satin dress that adorned your body perfectly. Along with how attractive it was that you were so protective of your friends.

And from the pictures Sasha posted from that night of you guys afterwards??? Good lord, Jean went on a little bit of an adventure looking through your instagram account and your pictures after seeing you changed your account to a public one afterwards.

To have a more clear face to put to the person he had heard of so often made him all the more curious to meet you in person. Especially after Sash had finally told him and the other guys that you would be transferring soon.

When you had managed to move into your own small studio apartment just a walk away from the university, Sasha was there already to help you unpack and decorate.

"Give me one reason right now, as to why I SHOULDN’T gauge your eyes out." Sasha holds up an old picture in a plain white frame, from you both on your eighth grade promotion, holding up your diplomas, arms around each other's shoulders. Sasha unfortunately in the picture caught mid sneeze, with you smiling big and bright under her arm.

"It's the only picture I have from that day." You laugh, rolling your eyes at her. Wiping excess dust on the back of your jeans, from the boxes you carried, watching her fake gagging at the precious momento.

"So its your first night as an SSU student..." Sasha tiptoes timidly in her voice, eager to talk about anything else. Then hanging the framed picture on the naked wall. But from the tone in her voice you could tell she was going to try and convince you to do something you probably didn't want to.

"Sash-"

"NOW BEFORE YOU SHUT ME DOWN, THIS COMES WITH A SASHA MADE BREAKFAST AND DINNER INCLUDED." She is quick to cut you off before you can shut her down. You only nod at her with your arms crossed, waiting for her to continue. Slightly influenced at the offer already.

"Well...plead your case then."

"There is a party tonight that I was invited to, and..."

"And you want me to go?" You raise your eyebrow.

"IT WILL BE A DOPE PARTY I-"

"Let’s go then." You say nonchalantly, making Sasha go wide eyed and start screaming in excitement as she shook your shoulders.

From there Sasha had gone to her own apartment to get ready after helping you pick out an outfit, leaving you on your own to go through your own getting ready routine. Picking out jewelry and putting on makeup.

As you were finishing up you get a last minute text from her.

Sash👩‍❤️‍👩: IM SO SORRY BB, I HAVE TO HEAD TO THE PARTY NOW I HAVE TO CHECK ON CONNIE, MARCO SAID HE PREGAMED A LIL TOO HARD

Sash👩‍❤️‍👩: will you be okay showing up on your own? i have absolutely no problem coming back to pick you up!

After reassuring her multiple times over text, and even more over Facetime that you would be fine, you then leave your apartment on your own.

Following the gps’ directions, you eventually pull up to the packed house with blaring music coming from the inside, people scattered on the outside lawn and packed on the inside.

As you enter you smile at what was laid out before you. The craziness of college life in university was everything Sasha described it to be.

Drunken students letting loose and dancing everywhere. Cheering to more drinks as they hold up their red solo cups. People making out left and right, living every second up before the sun rises that would return them back to their stressful lives as broke college students who had unknown futures.

This aspect of college is what you weren't able to experience fresh out of highschool due to going to a CC. Seeing Sasha get to experience it all and have fun doing it made you so happy for her. But you couldn’t help but feel as if you were missing out on a crucial part of what life is supposed to be as a young adult. And to just stand in the middle of it made it all so real and raw, this was definitely an experience that has been missing all along.

You were so caught up in everything happening around you, that you couldn't feel someone’s eyes burning into your presence from afar.

As soon as you entered the front door, you caught Jean's eye immediately.

The chaos of the party and the people around him subsided. The alcohol clouding his judgement having him buzzed had disappeared, and the sight of you sobered him up immediately. You were really here in the flesh. And looked as beautiful as ever, starry eyed wonder and excitement filling your aura and the space you took up as you were people watching. It only made him hope to be able to catch your attention.

When you had began to weave your way through people, Jean's feet that had him stuck just watching you, immediately uprooted from his place to follow you.

As you were making your way through the house, which was seemingly so much bigger than it looked on the outside, trying to the best of your ability to look for Sasha, you see that you had only reached another dead end.

When you turn around to retrace your steps, your face is immediately met with a warm and hard surface. Your senses begin to be flooded with scents of vanilla, spicy sandalwood, and a note of beer. With hot hands meeting you at your elbows, to steady you from tripping.

"Oh shit, I'm so sorry." You say quickly, without taking into account the stranger who you had just ran into. Just as your about to continue your search for Sasha, you feel that the stranger doesn't let you go right away.

Craning your head upwards, you’re met with the eyes of you had just ran into. Taking in light brown orbs with gold inflects of a tall stranger that you immediately recognize to unmistakably be, Jean.

"No that was my bad, are you okay?" He begins searching your eyes genuinely. When his hands drop from your elbows, you relish in whatever warmth was left.

"Oh no I'm alright, are you good?" You ask in return, looking right into his bright eyes, taking note of his beautifully long dark brown lashes. Not at all noticing the tint of pink painting his nose, or how red his ears were turning.

For a moment he doesn't even answer, he just shamelessly looks at you. The buzz giving him more confidence than he would like to admit. Taking in your features, noting in his head how the videos Sasha had shown of you doesn't do nearly as much justice to how breathtaking you are in person. Every picture he had seen of you didn’t capture the amount of beauty you held right in front of him, in this moment.

His eyes travel down your body, looking at how your outfit and your style complimented your figure perfectly. Or how your hair falls and frames your face perfectly, tempting him for a second to reach out and tuck the stray piece behind your ear.

And for a split second you do the same as well, taking note of his perfectly messy mullet, to the silver chain that adorned his neck, and the variety of silver rings, and earrings on his hands and ears. Bringing his outfit of a tight white shirt, and clean cut, black collared Carthartt jacket together. Although the jacket is slightly bigger, you can tell right away how well built he was. From his broad shoulders, or his chest puffing out from his white shirt.

Damn those videos and pictures of him really don't do him justice to him in person.

As you both stand in the middle of the uncrowded hallway, you completely forget where you are and what you were here for. With the lights going into a blur, the loud music fading out, and the only thing you can focus on was him. Almost as if your attention to him was keeping a grip on you to the floor beneath you instead of gravity. And for a split second looking into his fiery eyes, you swear he felt the same?

"I-I'm-" You stutter, trying to rid yourself of the warmth, and the butterflies flooding your stomach. But before you could even collect your words—

"You're Y/N." He finishes your shy introduction for you, revealing his perfectly aligned teeth in a smirk. Noticing your cheeks begin to blush hues of red. In return making him nervous, he then reaches his hand clumsily out to you to shake.

“I’m—” Taking his much larger hand into yours, with his slender fingers wrapping around your hand. Feeling a variety of rings graze the inside of your palm.

“Jean…” You finish his introduction, as he did you. Which now it was his turn to be shy..so you knew about him too? Just as he was about to speak again, you’re both knocked out of your daze. Literally.

“AGHHH YOU’RE HEREEE!!” Sasha tugs you into a tight embrace, as if she didn’t just see you over two hours ago. The force of her hug making you and Jean let go of each other’s hands. With two tall figures at her side watching her excitement with fond smiles on their faces. One of them then stepping forward after Sash had finally let you go.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, I’m Marco.” The tall freckled cutie in the cream t-shirt and brown flannel speaks up. Then stepping forward bashfully, reaching out to shake your hand gently.

As you finish shaking his hand, you avert your attention to the slightly shorter male. Orange fisherman beaning on his head, with a slightly outgrown fade peaking from underneath, wearing an army green crew neck, and silver chain and studs. Whom you immediately recognize to be Sasha’s accomplice.

“You didn’t tell me she was THIS fine in person Sash.” Connie shamelessly checks you out, which earns him a flick to his forehead from Sasha. And a smack upside the back of his head from Jean. Making Marco laugh behind you. While you giggle as well watching the group dynamic.

“WELL seems like you and Jean met already.” Your best friend grins, glad to see that both and Jean seemed to have gotten off on the right foot already. Making you and the semi-stranger look back at each other. Zoning in on him again, as he does you. Exchanging small smiles and nods.

“Well I hope he didn’t annoy you, or leave a bad impression.” Sasha cuts the tension once more unknowingly. Making Jean feel slightly more embarrassed with her choice of words.

“Yeah he can be a bit of an ass sometimes Y/N, so you just gotta be prepared for that.” Connie adds on, just to get a rise out of Jean. Then receiving a glare from him, and a snort out of Marco.

“I swear you two—” Jean despite his flustered state, was still ready to chew out his two knuckle head friends by instinct, before getting cut off.

“I mean he did kind of save me from tripping and eating shit at my first college party so, I’d say he’s alright.” You speak out with a small nod, making Jean’s eyes soften and his voice go quiet, as his full attention reverts to you. His once furrowed brows now relaxed with an airy chuckle coming out. He scratches the back of his neck before hitting you back with a response.

“Well you are pretty “alright” yourself.” Jean retorts, quoting you with his finger quotation marks. Careless and relaxed expression on his face as he only focuses on you. Not breaking eye contact even for a second or letting his smile fall from his face.

His three best friends are quick to take note at how Jean’s demeanor changed at your voice and within your little exchange.

Sasha though being a woman for one, and both of your best friends for two, was able to read you both immediately. Your small shy nods, the way your voice hitched up a small pitch signaling that you were nervous. Jean, trying his best to not look like he had a stick up his ass, the way he scratched his neck.

Of course it could just be coincidence, but Sasha and her bestie intuition never fails.

“Let’s go back I heard they’re about to do beer pong.” Sasha exclaims as she loops her arm with your own, walking before the boys down the hall. Trying to snatch you away in hopes of a bit of debriefing.

Jean is about to catch up, before Marco and Connie pull him back, both giving him knowing looks. He only answers with furrowed brows, waiting for his friends to answer as to why they’re holding him up.

“…you think she’s cute huh.” Connie teases, poking his tongue on the inside of his cheek, with his arms crossed to his chest. Marco knowing his best friend well enough, doesn’t even need to say anything to know that Connie wasn’t far off the mark.

“W-What? The hell are you two talking about? We barely just met her.” Jean very quickly responds. Defensive in his tone, a little TOO defensive if you ask. Marco only lets out a small chuckle through his nose because his best friend’s response only proved the theory correct.

“She’s just a friend of a friend. You both are on one. seriously.” Jean pushes past his best friends, quick to brush them off and leave this interrogation behind. All to prevent getting pressed any further with any other RIDICULOUS accusations.

Marco and Connie stand in the hall watching their friend stock off and rush downstairs. Looking back at each other, they both laugh as they haven’t seen Jean act this way in a while.

But really Jean was also trying to do anything to avoid his red ears being seen. As well as get his loudly thumping heart out of earshot from anyone. Swearing that the pounding in his ears from his heart would be able to be heard outwardly by anyone with ears.

You were just a friend of a friend. He had barely just met you in person for the first time. And yet here he was running off at the first signs of being caught in the act of crushing like a school kid.

[littlest-w01f]

Cushions

Rhysand x Evelyn (See Evie here)

For @acotar-omegaverse-week

Omegaverse week 2024 Masterlist

Day 1: Nesting

Summary: After a talk with Rhysand about future children, Evelyn can't help but make sure everything is perfect

Cw: Fluff, slightly smutty ending, Alpha!Rhysand, Omega!Evelyn (my first time writing a/b/o fics so that's a warning too ig)

The sun was setting over the horizon as Evelyn sat in her bay window, watching the snow fall from her room in the Estate set on the mountaintop, the atmosphere was peaceful as she looked over Rhysand training in the fields, her mind going to the conversation they had last night, of having children together.

Evelyn watched intently as Rhysand gracefully maneuvered through his training routine, his muscles rippling beneath his skin. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest at the sight of him, his strength and power were intoxicating.

Her fingers traced over the glass of the bay window, her gaze still locked onto Rhysand's form. He was her Alpha, High Lord of Night, powerful beyond measure, yet dedicated to her and their love. But above everything, he was the male she loved with her whole heart. She felt a warmth spreading through her at the thought of carrying his child, creating life with someone who held such importance in her life.

Evelyn absent-mindedly began to move around the pillows and blankets on the bay window. Evelyn continued to watch Rhysand with a far-off look in her eyes, her hands gently moving the pillows and blankets around the bay window. Her mind was filled with thoughts of carrying his children, of feeling them grow within her, of seeing their faces for the first time.

A smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she imagined herself pregnant with Rhysand's child, her belly swollen with their love. The idea sent a thrill of excitement coursing through her veins, making her heart pound in anticipation.

Suddenly, she realized that she wanted this more than anything else in the world, not just because she loved Rhysand but also because she wanted to bring more new life into their world, to create something beautiful out of their love. A perfect mix of both of them. The wars had ended decades ago, and there was finally peace in Prythain, and she wished to add to her lovely family.

Evelyn became engrossed in reorganizing the decorative cushions and throws on the bay window, her mind drifting towards the prospect of raising a family with Rhysand. Dreamy images of teaching their children to read, exploring the grounds of the world together, and sharing stories by the fireplace danced through her head.

Evelyn found herself lost in these daydreams, her mind painting vivid pictures of a future filled with laughter and love. She imagined holding their newborn child close to her chest, feeling its tiny heartbeat against her own. The thought brought nothing but joy to her.

As she moved the final cushion into place, she felt a sense of completion wash over her. This was what she wanted. This was what she needed. To create something beautiful out of the ashes of war, to raise a family with the male who had captured her heart so completely.

She looked at her handiwork, the bay window set up with blankets and cushions, "This doesn't look right..." She grabbed a red heart-shaped plush pillow, one of the things she had got from her home in Spring Court since everything in Night was too dark for her taste, wanting to add more colour and set it in the middle. "Hmm..."

The sound of the door latch clicking broke her reverie, and she glanced up to find Rhysand entering the room. His gaze swept over her, lingering for a moment on the mound of plush fabrics, then meeting her expectant stare. The corners of his mouth quirked upward, hinting at some secret understanding between them.

Rhysand strode across the room, his movements fluid and confident, his violet eyes fixed intently on Evelyn. As he drew closer, she caught a whiff of his scent - a heady blend of musk, leather, and something uniquely him. It made her pulse quicken and her breath catch in her throat.

He came to stand beside her at the bay window, looking down at the arrangement of pillows and blankets. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, vibrations resonating deep within Evelyn's core. "Trying to prepare for our little ones, are you, darling?" he murmured, his voice tinged with amusement and affection.

His large hand reached out to brush a stray lock of hair behind her ear, his touch sending shivers down her spine. "I must say, I approve of your decorating skills,"

Evelyn blushed softly, "So... Do you like...?" She motioned to the bay window, but when she looked at it herself, besides the pillows and the blankets, there were beautiful Night Blooms growing from vines that started from nowhere and ended nowhere

Rhysand leaned closer to Evelyn, his violet eyes sparkling with mischief and desire. "Oh, I absolutely adore it," he whispered huskily, "It looks incredibly cozy."

His hand moved from her hair to cup her cheek, tilting her face up to meet his gaze. There was no mistaking the raw desire burning within those emerald depths. "But you know," he continued, his voice dropping even lower, "Now I have another suggestion for how we might spend our evening."

With that, he guided her towards the bay window. It was draped in rich velvets and silks, starkly contrasting the simplicity of the pillows and blankets.

"We should celebrate tonight," Rhysand declared, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Celebrate what?" Evelyn asked softly, letting him move her to the window.

"Us, of course," Rhys smiled affectionately, stroking her cheeks.

"This I think can be in a better place," Rhysand picked up the heart plush, and Evelyn frowned, thinking she'd put it perfectly.

She tripped and sat on the bay window as Rhysand cornered her in, "Where... Where do you think it should go...?"

Rhysand leaned in, whispering near her lips, "Right here..." He placed the plush pillow behind her, placing it under her lower back.

Evelyn let out a surprised gasp as she pressed back onto the plush pillow, her body pressing against the soft fabric. The sudden movement caused her skirt to ride up, exposing a tantalizing glimpse of her soft thighs. Rhysand's heated gaze followed the ascent, his eyes darkening with primal hunger.

"Like this," he breathed, his hands coming to rest on her waist, fingers splaying possessively across her hips. "I want you comfortable, relaxed, and open to me."

His thumbs brushed over the delicate skin of her inner thighs, sending jolts of electricity straight to her core. Evelyn's breath hitched, her body arching subtly into his touch. She could feel the heat radiating off him, the hard planes of his body pressing against hers. "I intend to worship every inch of you tonight, I will make you a mother to my babes."

"Please…" The plea died on Evelyn's tongue. Her body shuddered as he touched her, the flowers around them reaching full bloom from her magic.

Rhysand's hands slid higher, tracing the curve of Evelyn's waist before delving beneath her blouse, seeking the warmth of her skin. His fingers traced the swell of her breasts, teasing the sensitive peaks through the thin fabric of her clothes. Evelyn moaned softly, her back arching instinctively into his touch.

"Please what, my sweet?" Rhysand murmured, his voice thick with desire. "Tell me what you need from me."

His thumb circled around her nipple, coaxing it to hardness. Evelyn squirmed beneath him, her body alight with aching need. "I need you," she whimpered, her hands reaching up to clutch at his shoulders, pulling him closer.

"Relax," he cooed, nuzzling into her neck and planting hot kisses along the column of her throat, "Let me pleasure you… Let me pleasure you all night long, my sweet precious mate." He assured her, his voice lowering an octave as his hand slipped lower still, past the dip of her waist and along the curve of her hip until it rested on the gentle softness of her belly.

"I love you, Rhys." Evelyn sighed, her hands resting over his on her belly. Reaching over his upper arms to his abdomen, simply feeling him.

"I love you too, my precious," Rhysand leaned in, softly kissing her, their lips moulding together as if that were made to be there.

"Let me take care of you first," he said softly, moving to kiss her neck, tasting the saltiness of her skin while sliding a hand under her skirt to explore her bare legs. His fingertips trailed up her thigh slowly, teasing her with anticipation as his other hand began to unfasten her blouse.

"Rhys..." Evelyn bit her lip, a soft sigh escaping her as Rhysand's fingers ghosted over her bare leg. The anticipation building within her was almost unbearable, yet she couldn't help but crave more of his touch.

His hand slipped further up her thigh, dangerously close to the heat of her cunt. Evelyn shifted restlessly, her hips rolling ever so slightly, urging him closer. His touch was feather-light, teasing, driving her wild with need.

Then, finally, his fingers found their way to the damp folds of her cunt, causing Evelyn to gasp aloud. Her body arched into his touch, craving more of his delicious exploration. His fingers traced lazy circles around her clit, making Evelyn writhe with pleasure beneath him.

"You're so wet for me, my sweet," he murmured against her skin, his breath warm against her neck.

"More… Please." She gasped breathlessly, her hand gripping his wrist to pull his hand closer.

At her silent plea, Rhysand obliged, slipping a finger inside her dripping cunt, feeling her clench around him. His thumb continued its expert torment of her clit, bringing her to the edge of climax with each deft flick of his wrist.

"Feel good?" he asked, leaning back just enough to look into her eyes, to see if his actions were pleasuring her as much as he intended them to.

His free hand found the hem of her blouse, tugging it upward to reveal the soft skin of her stomach and breasts. His fingers traced patterns there, sending sparks of pleasure coursing throughout her body. Evelyn bucked against him, her cunt tightening around his probing fingers.

"Oh yes, Rhys," she breathed out, her own hands grasping desperately at anything she could find to anchor herself. "It feels amazing…"

And it did. It felt amazing throughout the night, both of them had moved to the bed, not wanting to ruin the fort of pillows and blankets Evelyn had made on the bay window.

{General Taglist - @nox-ceur @lilah-asteria @paleidiot @dee-writes-smut @adalia-jaycee @anarchiii}

{Rhysand Taglist - @yeonalie}

{Blooming Flowers Taglist - @theskyisbrighthere @mybestfriendmademe @yeonalie}

[lokisgoodgirl]

Hail, Commander [Asgard!Loki x Fem.Reader]

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: Loki returns from war, and certain traditions must be upheld. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Language. Salirophilia (dirty Loki) Exhibitionism. Descriptions of violence/blood. (w/c 1.6k)

The clang of armoured spears vibrated the stone beneath your feet. Once. Twice. Three times.

You drew your gaze away from the twinkling lights of Asgard stretched below the balustrade, turning in a hurried curtsey as the returning commander approached. Nerves twisted in your stomach, though you had no idea why.

It was always thus when Loki returned from war.

He strode majestically through the towering columns, removing his horned helmet as he went. The clanking sound of the guards standing to attention in sequence as he moved past them broke the evening stillness, metal on metal clanging. It made your thighs squeeze together beneath the long skirts covering them.

His leather cape billowed theatrically behind his towering form, the fine silk lining catching the transient flicker of a hundred torches lighting his path. He shook his hair, heavy with the weight of battle fought. And won. It had been weeks since the younger prince had stalked the halls, and tonight he was on the hunt.

Reverently, you lowered your gaze, each purposeful stride of his muscled legs moving in your direction with predatory singularity. His usual flawless fairness was marred with ash and dark stains, visible on the gold of his armour even in the moonlight.

He hasn’t even bathed, you thought, a thrill racing in waves through your blood. The slap of his boots against the ground echoed in the silent night, becoming louder before stopping abruptly. You could smell the heat emanating from him; lustful intentions oozing from beneath war-ravaged leathers. The lingering smell of stale copper and sweat crawled up your nostrils.

Loki's cape swirled around his ankles in your line of vision, settling in shredded folds.

“Look at me.” he growled, lifting your chin with one curled finger. His thumb danced across your bottom lip, dragging the plump down.

For the first time in weeks, you saw his face; menacingly beautiful under starlight. His eyes were bright, the whites contrasting ethereally against layers of blood and soot smeared across his brow, his cheekbones, his throat.

“My Prince.” you greeted huskily. Loki gave a small nod in response. “You have been victorious, then?” you coyed, feeling your heart beat faster as a smile curled at his dry lips. “Could you ever doubt me, precious one?” he murmured, cupping your cheekbone. “I will always arrive victorious to you. Victorious for you.”

He flipped the edges of the cape backwards, before pressing you against the stone balustrade in a crushing kiss. His lips tasted like smoke and metal; the sharp tang of old copper springing to life on your searching tongue.

Loki groaned as your fingers caught on the lengths of his hair, dragging through the residue of crusted blood and sweat. His head fell back as you pressed closer to his chest, a mischievous palm rubbing over his stirring manhood.

"My filthy soldier..." you muttered darkly, observing the telling bob of his Adam’s apple cast in murky shadow.

The veins in his neck pulsed, thick ropes of muscle standing proud against the cake of grime which coated them. "Filthy Prince, if you please..." he goaded through shallow breaths. “You may be my betrothed, but I am still your superior.”

You stifled a giggle, feeling his cock inflate rapidly beneath layers of heavy leather as you grasped shamelessly at his hips, tugging at buckles and straps that hung sluttishly from every angle. Gods, how you had missed him. You gyrated firmly against his centre. Just once.

Loki's shoulders flexed beneath the heavy armour, head tilting with a hard glint to his features. With a stomach dropping pulse, you realised that look would have been the last thing his enemies ever saw.

"Tread carefully love..." he whispered menacingly, a tingle of anticipation rolling up your spine as a knowing smirk cracked the dried dirt by his dimples. His eyebrow cocked, a hand you knew would leave a soiled trail down the fine silk of your dress sliding to rest on your lower back. "I am not in a merciful mood."

You bit your lip, watching Loki break into a mischievous smile. His teeth were blindingly bright against the stains streaked on his skin, layered effects of deadly strikes and blows and carnage mapped in each square inch of his face. “Do you see them?” he purred, tilting his head. You shivered, casting a glance to the dozens of Asgardian palace guards lined up along the promenade to the great hall; their stares fixed ahead. “They have orders to stay at their post all night.” he murmured.

“Your father has organised a feast for your glorious return…” you hummed, as Loki hoisted you to sit atop the balustrade with a soft thump. Loki pursed his lips knowingly, a playful twang in his voice. “And I have still yet to bathe...as you may have noticed.”

He placed a lingering kiss in the curve of your neck, the resulting groan of desperation from your parted lips making him chuckle against the skin.

“Do you wish me to stop?” he murmured, kissing messily up your heated neck as he spread your legs. You squirmed on the wide stone balcony, tightening your knees against his hips. His mud-roughed cheek grazed yours, warm breath making you shiver against the evening chill. “Do you have the strength to wait, love?”

“No…” you whispered shakily, letting your fingers unclasp the buckle slung over his chest. It loosened the front panel of his leather armour, falling open. Your hands dove inside, kissing him like he had returned from the dead. Perhaps he had.

“Good.” he growled, whipping the sides of his leather battle garb around your widened thighs. Concealed fingers skimmed ribbons of silk up your legs, the fabric falling beneath his touch like enemies beneath his sword. Pushing it around your hips, he inhaled the musk of hot, feminine arousal rising between your bodies; sweet against the copper tang of his filth.

“You know not what I have done for this moment, love.” he muttered, combing a dirt laden hand through your hair. “The chaos I have wrought.”

Your back arched, feeling his wetted cock press against your slit; desperate and fierce. The stone of the balustrade grated against your ass as you shifted towards him, urging him to fill you with the closeness you missed. To complete you again.

“Loki…” you mewled pleadingly as a smirk tugged his cracked lips. It was tradition, that he would tell you his tales. Loki’s return wouldn’t be the same without them.

“I slaughtered legions, each demon falling to my feet with a final wail of hopeless anguish…” he whispered, nudging the leaking tip against your entrance. Your hips bucked upwards, urging him on.

“Their blood ran in rivers, darling. You should have seen it, the pathetic fear in their eyes before they felt the quick of my blade slice across their throat. F-fuck...” he groaned, breaching you with a low, guttural sigh.

Loki’s fingers grasped around your thighs, tugging you down his cock. The scrape of the balustrade stone stung the curves of your flesh, any discomfort obliterated by the exquisite sensation of his manhood setting every nerve of pleasure alight. His metal wrist-guards pressed against the flat of your thighs as he rocked your hips, lost in the theatrics of his arousal.

“We tore t-through their defences…” he gasped, delivering small thrusts with aching precision. “It was brutal. Messy. We...g-gods...o-obliter-rated...their...uhhh...h-hope-”

“-More, Loki…” you keened in his ear, fingernails scraping down his shoulders beneath the overcoat as your head fell back. The god chuckled as he enveloped you, the cape like wings covering your modesty as he fucked you like a common whore, perched upon the balustrade.

The angle of his hips was perfect, each roll of them edging you closer to inevitable orgasm as a steady beat of drums began to pepper the air. The Procession, you realised; each beat of percussion seeming to tremble the very breath from your body.

“Their army p-parted like leaves...scattered, sand in the wind before our mighty f-force.” he panted, edging deeper into your wet heat. Every drag of his heavy cock was tortuously slow, melting you from the inside out as he tried to maintain some element of subtlety. Your knees rose against his ribs, letting him lean you back over the balustrade.

“So much destruction, love.” he murmured, as firelight from the wall torches flickered tepid warmth behind his head. “So much power your god held in his hands. All for you.” The streets were full tonight, candles held by citizens setting the winding path to the palace alight in grateful homage. A booming, solitary voice heralded from below, soaring to the heavens. "Hail, the victorious dead." The familiar mantra vibrated around Asgard's high towers, washing over the muted hiss of the slow moving crowd walking the cobbled streets. Hail, the ghostly refrain of a thousand souls echoed in response. "Hail, our glorious commander." the voice sang solemnly; the ceremonial vindication making Loki delve further into your cunt with a shuddering sigh. Hail, Commander. Hail. Your voice joined the reverent murmurs of gratitude crashing against the walls of the palace like a wave, hundreds of feet below. Each syllable from your lips was a lullaby, whispered wetly against your commander's skin.

You clenched, hearing him hiss beneath the veil of tangled, filthy hair. He muttered ancient curses, pelvis grinding against your clit as he rocked you towards the precipice.

“How many, Loki…?” you groaned, feeling his balls tighten against your slick sex. He let out a growl, scraping his teeth down your cheek with a feral moan. “Thousands, my love." he purred darkly. "Dead at my feet.”

With a strangled gasp, you came around him; leaning into his war-soaked leathers to stifle the scream clawing in your throat. You had no idea how clandestine your fucking truly was, but whatever the guards thought they were seeing out the corner of their eye - you did not intend to confirm it.

“They cried for m-mercy at the end.” Loki gasped, tacky curls falling against his brow as he watched himself sink inside your leaking pussy, still quivering with aftershock. “Their cries...uhh..that’s it, f-fuck, d-darling...their cries went unanswered.”

Loki’s breath hitched at his own words, a wavering moan snaking past his lips as a low hiss. The god's carved jaw pointed to the stars, clenching as he approached climax with a dirty growl rolling in his chest.

“No mercy.” you whispered against his cheek, concealing another moan in his shoulder as he fucked you to the slow beat of drums in the distance.

“No mercy.” he echoed quietly, before fastening his mouth to yours.

Continued in The Feast

A/N: @mischief2sarawr I hope this somewhat satisfied your mighty balustrade related need. Tags @gigglingtigger @meowmeow-motherfucker @muddyorbsblr @imalovernotahater @avengersalways @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @loopsisloops @loveroflokiforpoeticjustice @123forgottherest @joyful-enchantress @sititran @jaidenhawke @silverfire475 @michelleleewise @vbecker10 @imalovernotahater @thomase1 @morriggannlostinfandoms @marygoddessofmischief @xorpsbane @filthyhiddles @peacefulpianist @maple-seed @yelkmelk @wheredafandomat @mistress-ofmagic @five-miles-over @goblingirlsarah @ozymdias @peaches1958 @your-taste-on-my-lips @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden @smolvenger @liminalpebble @psychospore @littlespaceyelf @lokischambermaid @praq123 @lokisgoodboy

[elryuse]

Hey can I ask for yandere xiaoting ?

Devil In Disguise

YANDERE XIAOTING X MALE READER

Xiaoting, a vision of flawless beauty sculpted by stylists and fueled by caffeine, pushed open the familiar door of her favorite cafe. The air, thick with the aroma of roasted coffee beans, was a welcome escape from the sterility of her practice studio. But today, the enticing scent was overshadowed by a different kind of allure.

Behind the counter stood a boy with hair the color of dark chocolate that seemed to absorb the warm light filtering through the window. His eyes, a deep brown that held a warmth that sent a shiver down her spine, were focused intently on the espresso machine. He was handsome, yes, undeniably so, but it was his smile – genuine, unburdened by the pressures of fame that she carried like a second skin – that truly captivated her.

"Can I get you something?" he asked, his voice a pleasant baritone that rumbled in a way that made her knees weak.

"Hmm," Xiaoting purred, leaning against the counter. Her stage persona, a mix of icy cool and smoldering sensuality, came naturally. It was a shield, a carefully crafted armor that protected her from the emotional onslaught of constant scrutiny. Here, though, in this tiny cafe with its worn wooden tables and mismatched mugs, it felt heavy. "Idk.. Surprise me."

He chuckled, a low rumble that sent shivers down her spine once more. "Coming right up," he said, his smile widening. As he worked, she stole glances, memorizing the way his brow furrowed in concentration as he steamed the milk, the way his fingers danced across the espresso machine with a practiced ease. Finally, he slid a steaming cup towards her, a playful glint in his eyes.

"Here you go," he said, his voice warm and inviting. "Hope it surprises you pleasantly."

"I'm sure it will," Xiaoting said, her voice a husky murmur. "By the way, I'm Xiaoting."

He smiled, his name tag reading "Y/n. Nice to meet you, Xiaoting. So, what brings a beautiful girl like you to my humble cafe?"

The question was simple, but it sent a jolt through her. Rarely did people see beyond the mask she wore for the cameras. An idea, delicious and dangerous, sparked in her mind.

"Just looking for a little escape," she said, her voice tinged with a calculated vulnerability. They talked for what felt like hours, but in reality, it was only a stolen half-hour between customers. She learned about his dreams of becoming a musician, his love for classic novels that she'd only ever seen adapted into movies, the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed at a particularly bad joke she told. It was intoxicating, this taste of normalcy, of genuine connection.

But as she went to leave, her heart plummeted.

"Hey," Y/n called. "I don't usually ask this, but…" He fumbled in his pocket, pulling out a napkin. "Would you like to keep in touch?"

A thrill shot through her. This was better than she could have hoped for. But then, a girl, blonde and bubbly, linked arms with Y/n, planting a kiss on his cheek.

"Hey babe, sorry I'm late!"

Xiaoting's smile froze, the warmth in her replaced by a chilling emptiness that spread through her like ice. "Girlfriend?" she croaked, her voice devoid of its usual playful lilt.

Y/n's face fell. "Oh, right. This is…" His eyes darted between them, confusion etched on his face. "This is Xiaoting, and…"

"No need to introduce me," Xiaoting cut in, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness that tasted like ash in her mouth. It was a performance, a carefully crafted mask once more, but this time, it was fueled by something far more potent than practiced charm. "It's lovely to meet you. Y/n tells me wonderful things about you."

The lie flowed effortlessly, a seed planted in the fertile ground of the girl's insecurities. Later, alone in her luxurious apartment, the mask shattered. Rage contorted her face, a terrifying transformation that would send shivers down the spine of anyone who witnessed it. A mere pop star, a nobody, dared to have someone she desired? The thought was an insult, a challenge to her carefully constructed world.

The following days were a blur of activity. Xiaoting, the master manipulator with a team of loyal and discreet individuals at her beck and call, orchestrated a flawless plan. A carefully placed photo, an anonymous tip to the tabloids that fueled the ever-hungry gossip machine, and a manufactured public meltdown on Y/n's girlfriend's part did the trick. Days later, Y/n, heartbroken and confused, found himself sitting across from Xiaoting in her opulent apartment, a stark contrast to the cozy cafe.

Y/n stared at Xiaoting, his eyes red-rimmed and puffy. Tears had carved glistening tracks through the caked-on makeup his ex had insisted on before their "emotional" break-up video.

"It's all a lie, isn't it?" he rasped, his voice raw with betrayal. "The cheating, the whole thing."

Xiaoting, perched on a plush velvet sofa, her designer dress impeccably styled, reached out and squeezed his hand. Her touch, usually electric, felt cold and calculating. "Oh, Y/n," she cooed, her voice dripping with manufactured sympathy. "Don't listen to the media vultures. They just want to create drama."

Her practiced smile didn't reach her eyes. Y/n, however, blinded by grief and the subtle shift in her demeanor, clung to her words like a lifeline.

"She seemed so genuine in the video," he mumbled, his voice thick with despair. "She even had… proof."

A flicker of triumph passed through Xiaoting's eyes, masked by a concerned frown. "Proof that can be easily fabricated, darling," she purred. "You know how these things work."

Y/n nodded numbly, his mind reeling. Xiaoting leaned in, her voice a seductive whisper. "You deserve better, Y/n. Someone who will cherish you, who understands you. Someone like me."

He looked up, his gaze searching hers. In that moment, a flicker of something dark, something possessive, glinted in her eyes. But Y/n, lost in his emotional turmoil, missed it.

"I don't know what to believe anymore," he whispered, defeated.

Xiaoting's smile bloomed, genuine this time. "Then believe in me," she said, her voice laced with a dangerous possessiveness. "Believe that I can make you happy."

And in that vulnerable state, Y/n did. Blinded by the illusion of comfort and the toxic sweetness of her words, he allowed himself to fall into her carefully constructed web.

Days turned into weeks, then months. Xiaoting, the idol with a seemingly perfect life, became his haven. But the haven was a gilded cage, its bars disguised as luxury and affection.

His phone calls with friends became "intrusions into their healing." His attempts to pursue music, his long-held dream, were dismissed as "unrealistic distractions." The outside world became a blur, filtered through Xiaoting's carefully curated narrative.

One evening, amidst a candlelit dinner, Xiaoting casually mentioned a camera crew arriving the next day to film a "day in the life" segment.

Y/n froze, a flicker of unease crossing his face. "A camera crew? Here?"

Xiaoting, all innocence, feigned surprise. "Oh honey, didn't I mention? It's a surprise! They want to showcase our beautiful love story."

His unease morphed into terror. The manufactured reality she'd created suffocated him. But before he could protest, she reached for his hand, her grip a vice.

"Don't worry, darling," she purred, her voice laced with a chilling sweetness. "It'll be perfect. After all, the whole world deserves to see how happy we are, right?"

Y/n's pleas were drowned out by the manufactured sweetness of her voice. Trapped in her gilded cage, his future stretched before him, not a haven of love, but a prison built on lies and a terrifying obsession.

The camera crew bustled around the apartment, their presence a suffocating weight on Y/n's chest. Every stolen glance at Xiaoting confirmed his growing suspicion. Her smile, practiced for countless interviews, seemed strained around the edges. Her eyes, usually sparkling with manufactured cheer, held a glint of something manic.

As they filmed their "candid" interactions, Y/n fumbled for words. Xiaoting, ever the professional, filled the silence with fabricated anecdotes about their whirlwind romance, peppered with possessiveness disguised as affection.

Later, after the crew departed, the air grew thick with a suffocating tension. Y/n, his hands clammy with unease, finally found his voice.

"Xiaoting," he started, his voice barely a whisper. "It felt… staged. Everything."

Xiaoting's smile faltered for a brief moment, then reappeared, wider and somehow colder. "Staged? How silly, darling. It was just a little awkwardness, that's all."

He wasn't convinced. The way she'd hovered over him, her touch lingering a beat too long, the way her gaze flickered to the phone whenever it buzzed – it all screamed control.

"Can I… can I call my friends sometime?" Y/n asked, his voice small.

A flicker of annoyance crossed Xiaoting's face, quickly masked. "Oh, honey, you know how the media is. They'd twist anything into a story. We wouldn't want them to paint a wrong picture of our perfect relationship, would we?"

Y/n swallowed the retort that rose in his throat. He felt a growing sense of isolation, a gnawing loneliness that her constant presence couldn't fill.

Days blurred into weeks. Phone calls became a distant memory, replaced by Xiaoting's curated schedule of "romantic outings" and "couple interviews." He was a prop in her meticulously crafted narrative, his own dreams and desires pushed further and further out of reach.

One night, while Xiaoting slept, Y/n stumbled upon her phone. A morbid curiosity gnawed at him. He knew it was wrong, but the need to understand his situation overpowered his conscience.

His breath hitched as he saw text messages exchanged with a private number. The messages were cold, calculating, filled with instructions about manipulating interviews and maintaining their "perfect" facade.

But what truly sent chills down his spine was the final message: "Target successfully isolated. Phase two: public declaration."

Y/n's blood ran cold. He wasn't Xiaoting's lover; he was a pawn in a twisted game orchestrated by a woman consumed by a possessive obsession. Fear, sharp and primal, clawed at his throat.

He knew then that he had to escape. But how? Xiaoting controlled everything – his access to the outside world, his finances, even his reputation.

He spent the next few days formulating a plan, a desperate gamble fuelled by a newfound strength. He started subtly leaving messages for his old bandmate on social media, hidden in plain sight within innocuous comments. He pretended to be enthusiastic about Xiaoting's upcoming album release, subtly planting seeds of doubt about their relationship in interviews.

The night before the album release party, Y/n finally made his move. He waited until Xiaoting fell asleep, then packed a small bag with essentials. He knew she'd wake up soon, so he had to be quick.

He tiptoed towards the door, his heart hammering in his chest. Just as he grasped the knob, a cold voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Going somewhere, darling?" Xiaoting stood there, her eyes blazing with a terrifying fury.

Y/n's mouth went dry. "Xiaoting, I… I just need some air."

"No," she said, her voice a steely whisper. "You're not going anywhere. You belong to me now."

Y/n knew then that reasoning was futile. He had to fight his way out. He lunged for the door, but Xiaoting was faster. She grabbed his arm, her grip surprisingly strong.

A struggle ensued, desperate and brutal. Y/n, fueled by a surge of adrenaline, managed to break free and sprint towards the window. He threw it open, the cool night air a welcome shock.

"Y/n don't!!" Xiaoting screamed, her voice laced with a chilling desperation.

He didn't look back. He scrambled onto the fire escape, adrenaline masking the fear threatening to consume him. He descended quickly, ignoring the burn in his legs, until he reached the ground and melted into the night.

He knew this was just the beginning. Xiaoting wouldn't give up easily. But for the first time in months, he felt a flicker of hope. He was free, and he would do He sprinted through the deserted streets, the rhythmic pounding of his feet the only sound in the night. Glancing back every few seconds, his heart hammered a frantic tattoo against his ribs. He didn't see Xiaoting, but the chilling memory of her desperate plea sent shivers down his spine.

Reaching his old friend's apartment, he pounded on the door with shaking hands. Relief flooded him when the familiar face of his bandmate, Mark, appeared. But before Y/n could explain, a car screeched to a halt outside, its headlights momentarily blinding him.

"Y/n!" Mark gasped, pulling him back inside just as the apartment door splintered. Xiaoting, her face contorted with rage, stormed in, a gaggle of security guards flanking her.

"There you are!" she hissed, her voice laced with venom.

Y/n's frantic pleas for help fell on deaf ears. The security guards, well-versed in the art of celebrity wrangling, subdued him with practiced ease. Mark, powerless against the tide, could only watch in horror.

Back in the gilded cage, Xiaoting's rage had morphed into a chilling calm. Gone was the facade of the loving girlfriend. Y/n sat across from her, his wrists bound with silk scarves, the very picture of a dethroned king.

"You shouldn't have tried to leave," Xiaoting said, her voice devoid of emotion. "Now, things will have to change."

A cold dread filled Y/n. He knew then that escape was no longer an option. Xiaoting wouldn't simply lock him away; she would control him. His career, his reputation, his very identity – all would become pawns in her twisted game.

The following days were a blur of media manipulation. Xiaoting, the heartbroken victim, spun a tale of a troubled boyfriend on the verge of a breakdown. Public sympathy flowed freely, further isolating Y/n.

He was allowed to keep his phone, but under constant surveillance. His band, ostracized and pressured by Xiaoting's powerful team, reluctantly distanced themselves. The world he once knew crumbled around him.

Weeks turned into months. Y/n became a ghost of his former self, a talented musician reduced to a silent shadow beside the ever-smiling Xiaoting. He was forced to participate in interviews, his every word carefully scripted.

One day, during a live performance, a flicker of defiance sparked in his eyes. As Xiaoting launched into a love song, he reached for the microphone, his voice hoarse but resolute.

"This isn't real," he rasped, the words catching in his throat. "She's keeping me prisoner."

The music screeched to a halt. Shock rippled through the audience. Security guards rushed the stage before Y/n could utter another word.

But the damage was done. The carefully crafted facade had a gaping hole. Whispers turned into accusations. Public opinion shifted, a seed of doubt planted.

Xiaoting, however, remained unfazed. Public scrutiny was a game she knew how to play. She painted Y/n as delusional, a victim of his own mental breakdown. Her carefully calculated tears and veiled threats of self-harm swayed the narrative back in her favor.

Y/n, isolated and silenced once more, sank deeper into despair. He knew he might never truly escape Xiaoting's grasp. She had woven a web of control so intricate, so pervasive, that it had become his reality.

The story ended not with a dramatic escape or a heroic rescue, but with a slow, suffocating descent. Y/n remained a prisoner, not behind bars, but within the gilded cage of a twisted obsession, his music and his dreams forever silenced by the chilling melody of Xiaoting's love song.

[musamora]

𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖒𝖞 𝖍𝖔𝖒𝖊 「𝔣𝔶𝔬𝔡𝔬𝔯 𝔡𝔬𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔢𝔳𝔰𝔨𝔶」 ༉‧₊˚

content. gn!reader. anxiety, hurt/comfort, injuries to canon character, insomnia, intrusive thoughts, panic attacks. not proofread. 1.8k+ words.

author's note. i love writing hurt/comfort way too much.

would you like to see more? fill out the taglist or comment under this post.

synopsis. when an injured fyodor returns home from a mission, he will have to face the consequences of his self-sacrificial nature and pick up the broken pieces of the person that cares for him the most.

He had returned home.

Those words would have thrilled you with relief, having prayed for his safety and company for days, if not for the terrible condition he arrived in. He was wholly battered, covered head to toe in cuts and bruises. His eyes were sunken, darkened from multiple days without rest, but his irises continued to burn with that everlasting determination that drew you to him in the first place.

You helped him inside with unmistakable concern, a deep frown evident on your face as you attempted to balance being comforting but not patronizing with your worries. It always seemed to bother him when you fussed like that, so instead, you quietly wrapped his wounds; a gentle hum buzzed across your lips as you worked diligently to distract him and yourself from the thoughts bouncing against the walls of your mind. 

Much to your dismay, this had started to become routine, with the raven-haired man consistently returning with injuries from his prolonged missions. Most would've been concerned that his foes were far too strong for him to take on the way he had been, but you knew it was precisely the opposite. It wasn't that he couldn't defend himself; it was that sometimes he just wouldn't. Each injury would be a part of some ploy to distract his opponent, allowing him to have the upper hand at the cost of his health.

His intentions did nothing to make you less concerned, but you wouldn't tell him that. 

Instead, you sent him to sleep for the remainder of the afternoon as had become routine, a gentle reminder that he would need to wake up for dinner leaving your lips as his figure disappeared down the hall. But it was only when the door closed that you allowed yourself to fully let your guise drop, shoulders slumped as you ran a heavy hand through the tangled tresses of your hair.

You passed the kitchen without sparing it a single glance, not bothering to cook until later, as had become routine—a routine you had purposely created after the third time he returned home injured. You were unable to cook for hours after he returned, unable to focus. Your body dragged your absent mind into the hall opposite of your bedroom on complete autopilot as your instincts carried you with lead-like footsteps to a familiar small room. At some point, you had shut the door to the bathroom behind you, settling your body down inside the tub as you curled into yourself, allowing the cold touch of the porcelain to seep into your skin.

And the tears started to flow. It was slow at first, as had become routine. But then your mind started reeling with those same questions that left the last of your resolve to crumble like ashes in fading fire.

What if he had fainted due to blood loss?

What if his opponents tried to take advantage of him?

What if he had been hospitalized?

What if he never returned?

Each scenario increased the tension in your muscles, your face leaning forward to bury itself into your knees as you muffled your pained sobs. You didn't want Fyodor to know that you had these thoughts, that you were always so terrified for him. That was the reason you only allowed yourself to deteriorate in the farthest room from him, as had become routine—a routine you purposely created after the fifth time he returned home injured. You were unable to stay composed for long after he returned, always managing to break back down into this state.

He was such a brilliant man—his mind was something you could observe for days and never understand, but he was self-sacrificial and unable to understand how it affected you. He was a man who would do anything to achieve his goal, even if it meant crucifying himself as a martyr in the process.

So you had to remind yourself, as had become routine.

He is safe.

He is safe.

He is safe.

He is safe.

.

.

.

But what if...?

Despite his intelligence, there was always the chance that an aspect of his plan would turn awry—or perhaps the chance that everything would work out and he would still be hurt in the process. It haunted you at all hours, plaguing your nightmares and swarming your waking mind. You had to mentally prepare each time he left for a mission, knowing your mind would not be kind to you until far after he returned. 

Or if he returned.

Your worries had increased more and more as these occurrences increased, but you concurrently did the most to hide those thoughts from him. You had seen with your own two eyes how he would peer into the thoughts of others without regard to their relationship with him, and you knew he could read your actions well. So in the first few hours after he arrived home, you would do everything in your willpower to push away those intrusive thoughts, distracting yourself as you cared for him.

But sometimes, it became too much.

Your sobs left your throat sore and raw, lungs sputtered as you tried to reclaim your false composure—but it seemed that every tried-and-true method you had relied on in the past fell through. Your limbs were left paralyzed, sinking deeper into the tub walls as the porcelain no longer froze your skin. It left you scared, too far gone in your panic to contemplate any thought or sound besides your increasingly loud cries and the macabre scenarios rushing through your head.

A touch to your shoulder forced your breath to skip.

"I'm here, милая."

There wasn't a need for him to say anything else or ask any questions. He knew; he always knew. He slipped into the space between your body and the tub, settling your trembling figure to lay against his chest. It was in these rare moments, no words exchanged between either of you, that a feeling of understanding and trust flowed. As the house slowly creaked, settling onto its foundation in the wind, he exposed an imperceptible aspect of himself—one that held a capacity of empathy for one person and one person alone.

For typically, Fyodor was a fire, upkept by the ever-changing wind of the world. Sometimes he burned bright, and other times he glowed dim—always filled with resistance against the wind. Fire does not care about who or what it burns, only that it continues to do so to survive. But in these moments, in your presence alone, he was no longer a fire. He was simply a man because he refused to burn you.

You laid your head against his chest, hiccuping as you attempted to hide your face away from his watchful gaze. But that desperate attempt to return to your broken shell ceased as you focused on the gentle thump of his heart beating against your ear. You listened to the repetitive sound with a longing, filled with a warmth that contrasted the cold air that raised goosebumps on your skin. His heartbeat was your favorite sound, somehow better than the cello that he loved to play so much because it was a constant reminder that he was there—that he was not a fire but a man who kept you warm and would continue to do so for as long as his heart continued to beat.

Tears escaped from your eyes once more, softer cries leaving your lips as you clung to his body like a lifeline. He pulled you impossibly close to him—a rare gesture—settling his cool lips against your hairline as his eyes stared blankly at the bathroom wall.

He had wandered out to the kitchen to make himself a glass of water, which was not normal for him. You would always hand him one before he went to sleep, having never forgotten in the multiple times he had returned home in this state. He felt wrong as he entered the kitchen, breaking away from the regular routine, but he felt even more wrong once he noticed that you weren't even there. It was strange, not because you couldn't do other things before making dinner, but because you didn't seem to have anything else you needed or wanted to do. You became one-track-minded whenever he returned home like this, always making sure he had been adequately taken care of, so it was odd. He doubted that you had become so unfazed by his condition that you started to do leisurely activities while he slept, though he found the idea almost comedic.

So he searched around the house, not enjoying the way he heard nothing but silence. And then he stumbled across the bathroom on the opposite side of the house, which was often left unused, but currently had the door closed. It would have made sense—you probably needed to use the restroom but didn't want to disturb him while he slept—but then he heard the familiar sounds of your panicked breath. His joints locked with each small whimper and sob, frozen. He had far too much pride to say it, but his heart tremored whenever he heard those pained sounds come from you as if the organ itself knew that something was wrong and that it had to be remedied before it could beat at its normal pace.

He knew you had worried about him while he was away; he would have been a fool if he didn't at least realize that. If your demeanor didn't tip him off, it was evident in your personality alone. You were not the type of person to be unconcerned with his health and condition, nor were you the type of person to brush it off so quickly. 

He knew this, and yet he had severely underestimated the extent of it.

He glanced down, watching with careful eyes as your sobs subsided into hiccups, your eyes drooping closed as an evident lack of sleep started to catch up to your tired and hazy mind. And it was as he rubbed slow circles into your back, watching the way you curled further into him as your body accepted rest, that he understood—he had been such an idiot for not seeing it. You were the only person in the world who both understood and cared for him, the only one who worried whenever he was out of sight. He had known many people in his life, but there was never someone who cared like you did—he never thought he'd find someone like that. Stories of love were fiction to him throughout the years, but you always loved to prove him wrong even when you didn't try to. And it was in the unrelenting love that you held for him, a care that you so effortlessly enveloped him with, that you had accidentally created a home for him to settle down in—a fire warming the house at its hearth.

He left a soft kiss against your forehead. "Закро́й глаза, моя любовь. Я тут." 

милая = dear/darling закро́й глаза, моя любовь. я тут. = close your eyes, my love. i'm here.

© MUSAMORA 2023 — do not repost or modify my works for any reason. do not steal graphics w/o explicit permission. reblogs are appreciated.

[lesbian-ashe]

I'm gonna cryyyyy I love this image so much I love all of these characters (Xin DNI) and I love this show so much I can't believe it's been 500 episodes and ten years and I've been watching and loving for five!!! I'm so emotional this means everything to me 😭💕 EVERYONE is here we have ASHE AND FIRI AND CHAROTH and ASHEN KNIGHT'S SWORD and NARN and ASTRA and THOG and adn AND, 💕💗😭💖💕 Jackson hi-res version of this image and each character portrait when

[popatochisssp]

Could we get some romance headcanons for your gaster boys? And maybe also the undergloom boys if you feel like it? I'm rereading sweat treats and it's making me feel very soft<3

Somehow I’m always surprised when someone asks about my weirdos, but hey!

Some romance hcs about Sunny (Gastertale Sans), Aster (Gastertale Papyrus), Ash (Undergloom Sans), and Yrus (Undergloom Papyrus)!

Starting with Sunny…much like his (nick)namesake, he brightens up every time he lays eye-sockets on you.

Sure, sure, most everyone will get a smile on their face and little thrill of happiness when they see their partner, but he takes it to the next level. It doesn’t matter if you’ve been out of his sight for five days, five hours, or five minutes, it’s the same reaction every time. He perks up and grins big, eye-lights aglow like he’s just so excited that it’s you!

And he is, that’s exactly what’s going through his head—there you are, that’s you, he’s so happy to see you and it doesn’t matter if he just saw you, the thrill is fresh for him every single time.

That might be at least part of the reason that he’s always dragging you around, introducing you to everyone he knows and then some.

Whether you’re shy or a social butterfly yourself, it seems to be one of his favorite activities to bring you around with him and as quickly as possible, jump to the part where he gets to say, “hey, have you met my partner?” and tell his friends your name and what you do and stuff you’re good at.

Is he bragging? Well, maybe a little, but mostly he’s just trying to showcase you, all the things about you that he thinks are cool and that all his friends and acquaintances should know so they’ll see how cool you are… and maybe they’ll be your friends and acquaintances too.

He wants you to be comfortable and appreciated in all the circles he runs in, because more places you fit in means more time he can have hanging out with you in those places, and obviously he wants that!

He shows a lot of his affection with closeness, and if that weren’t already obvious to people from all of the above, they’ll definitely get the message when he always seems to have a hand on you somewhere whenever you’re together.

He loves the hand-in-the-back-pocket thing, sliding up under a jacket to touch your back, fingers riding up a shirt hem to hook into your belt-loop… Believe it or not, there’s nothing possessive or even lusty in the way he does it. His intention is purely about making contact, mingling the two of you and making a package deal that can’t be pulled apart as easily as taking a step back.

It definitely adds a few seconds of disentangling every time you need to go to the bathroom or something, but it’s a hard habit to try and break him of since as soon as you’re in range he just wants nothing more than to reach out and touch you.

As for his twin, Aster…

Well, he’s not quite as touchy-feely with his partner, but he has plenty of ways of his own to make your relationship status abundantly clear.

For example, the pictures he’s always taking.

He loves taking photos—occasionally just of you, but preferably of the both of you—pretty much anytime you go anywhere together. It can be as special an occasion as an anniversary dinner or as casual as coffee by a nice fountain and either way, inevitably, he’ll try to draw you in and snap a quick pic.

If you’re camera-shy and need a bit of prep to be sure you’re ready, that’s fine, and he has no intention of posting anything for anybody else to see. He wants the photos more for himself than anything else, getting to pull them up whenever he wants and think fondly of the time you spent together; a visual record of times you enjoyed each other’s company.

He's a far more sentimental and emotionally-driven man than his demeanor might suggest, which is to say that it maybe shouldn’t be as surprising as it is that he’ll often sing to you.

Admittedly, he’s not…especially musically inclined. He rarely stays on key (and occasionally flubs lyrics to whatever he heard that makes more sense to him), but aside from that he has a pleasant-sounding voice and he likes to use it to woo you, when the mood is right.

It’s nothing like a full serenade, rarely more than a romantic lyric or two crooned in your ear or belted out to you across the kitchen, but it usually does the trick to make you smile or get warm in the face, so he counts it as a win.

That sentimental nature of his even bleeds through into his unconscious, so you may also find a whole slew of sweet nothings waiting for you if get him talking while he’s half-asleep.

Granted, you probably won’t understand it, since it’ll be in Wingdings—glottal, guttural, sounds that seem incompatible with any kind of language and probably nothing human vocal chords can replicate…but he’s a skeleton, and it’s the first language he ever spoke, and he hasn’t forgotten as much as he’s pushed it down.

But, he’s the sort of person who takes awhile to really wake up when he wakes up, and before conscious thought gets involved in the whole matter, a whole lot of romantic, poetic nonsense can slip through the gates: that you’re brilliant, wonderful, more radiant even than the sun and he’d gladly suffer years—no, decades—no, centuries more in darkness if he only had you by his side…

You may not find that out, though. If he hasn’t totally forgotten what he’s said by the time he’s alert enough to switch to a tongue you understand, he might be too embarrassed to repeat it. 😳

Moving onto Ash…

Well, it’s not a secret that he’s a tired guy, actually chronically so, and that keeps him seated or reclining pretty often.

So ‘pretty often’ is how much you’ll find him leaned up against you, or laying on top of you, or just otherwise smooshing his way into your space. Consider yourself his favorite personal pillow—because you are—and anytime you’re sitting or laying close enough to where he’s doing the same, he’s bound to remind you of that.

To him, you’re comfort and support and safety all in one, so it’s really just natural instinct for him to flop over into your lap, or rest his skull on your shoulder. He can fall asleep on you real quick too if you’re not careful, so be wary of getting trapped if you have anything urgent you might need to do!

Another things about him is that he’s very cozy, rarely without a couple layers of sweaters and/or hoodies. You’d think that’d make him a prime target for the time-honored tradition of boyfriend-hoodie theft—y’know, since he has so many.

You’re in for an Uno Reverse, though, because he’ll be stealing your hoodies if you ever make the mistake of leaving him unattended with them. He’s got a million and one excuses for it, if you protest—he was cold, he thought it was his, he just wanted to see if it’d fit—and a pair of entirely-too-effective puppy-dog eye-sockets when he asks if you want him to give it back, so you may not get some of them returned until laundry day at the earliest.

He’s not unreasonable, though, and can certainly be negotiated with. It might be worth proposing a partner-hoodie hostage exchange program to get some of his in return for the ones he nabs from you. He wouldn’t be opposed to making some kind of arrangement there!

And speaking of arrangements…

He loves music. He loves you. It makes perfect sense to him to combine his loves together somehow, and his favorite way to do that is by making mixtapes for you.

Anyone can make a Spotify playlist and send you a link, but he’s a traditionalist. If he’s going to cobble together a collection of songs that make him think all the best warm and fuzzy thoughts about you, he’s going to do it right—CDs burned on his own laptop with notes in sharpie scrawled atop the disk, set in jewel cases plastered with stickers and all the badly-doodled hearts and stars and clouds you could ever ask for.

It may be cheesy, but he puts a ton of thought into the song choices and what order they play in, to the point that each disk is pretty much a love-letter in polycarbonate plastic form, so be sure to listen close every time he adds another to your collection.

Last but certainly not least, Yrus!

He’s fantastic for your ego, for one thing.

No matter how long he’s been with you, he’s always affected by you—deeply, intensely, visibly. A simple touch to his hand is enough to make him start stumbling over his words, and even just a little peck on the cheek will turn him into a blushing, flustered mess.

You’re just so attractive, and so wonderful, and the thing you want to spend your time and attention and affection on…is him?! Oh, he can’t get over that, and he never will!

Your love is like a sunrise to him—just because it happens every day doesn’t make it any less miraculous, or him any less lucky to be able to see it.

He feels so lucky every moment he gets to be with you, and because of that, he wants so badly to be able to make you happy, to provide for you and make you feel as seen and cared for as you deserve.

Cooking is probably the biggest way in which he tries to do that. Probably one of the first things he ever tried to learn about you was your favorite meal, so that he could make it for you and not only that, but perfect it.

Whether it’s the most time-consuming, complex dish to make or a quick and easy snack, he’ll learn it and go through as much trial and error as needed to get it exactly how you like it the most.

He wants his version of whatever it is to be your favorite, and to be able to make it for you whenever you need it the most.

It’s just how he loves…

You might not realize it right away, but the truest measure of how much he loves you won’t be in anything he does for you, or how he reacts to you, or even in what he says.

It’ll be in silence.

He spends so much of his time trying to help everyone, trying to do everything and be cheerful and positive and entertaining, all the time.

But with you…maybe he doesn’t have to.

Maybe with you, he can just be, without having to fill every silence with conversation, without having to constantly try to impress you, without having to stay on his feet and play host to you, because you’re no longer a guest in his home—you are his home.

When he starts allowing those slow, quiet moments to happen, that’s when you’ll know this thing is forever.

[hollow-bee-demon]

A lil sneak peek at the next drawing