#Size does not determine strength | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

juniferyw · 18 days ago

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𝕸𝐲 𝕶𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐝𝐨𝐦, 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝕳𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐞.

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐬: nothing was ever meant to be yours, so why does this strange man insist he is?

masterlist | ao3 | mdni | take heed: könig x f!reader, afab reader, medieval au, ambiguous religion, size difference, extremely dubious consent, possessive behaviour, forced marriage, horrible courting, power imbalance, angst, stockholm syndrome, dark romance, stalking.

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢. | prev

Twelve newly anointed knights calls for a festivity of revelry in the peak of harvest season. The royalty highly favours this traditional induction. It was a chance for the new men to show off their swordsmanship and honour towards the public, all the while displaying the great, militant strength of his majesty.

The common folks are relieved to have strong men to protect them, and the crown is satisfied with the agenda of the social stratum.

You’ve stolen simple glances at the new cavalry as they’re gathered along the courtyard. One in particular, Ser Eaton, you have taken a shine to. A nobleman, guided by great swordmasters before him, has been raised proper and pure to the life of men at arms.

It didn’t help that he had a boyish curl in his smile that reached his eyes, faint dimples appear everytime they do too. His light brown eyes twinkle at a challenge and his hair—the colour of golden barley—fitting him right just for the season. It is as if mother nature had accommodated solely for his arrival.

The ladies-in-waiting share snide comments and snicker upon eavesdropping the mindless daydreams of maids winning the favour of men at their calibre. However, you kept yourself grounded. You did not let your affection stray into something you could not have. They were what they always were to you, just fantasies.

But you are also well into the age where you were expected to marry. These days, love fills your endless thoughts; hope fuels your days and nights. You remember turning your nose up at the very subject as a child. Now as countless summers pass, your heart has now softened and grown weary from age. No longer having the strength to see through life on your own, you begin to think that there are no worldly materials that could fill the longingness that you yearn for other than what must be love.

Therefore, you will yourself that by the end of summer you are determined to be matched.

When the sun hovers just above the horizon after every shift, you make your way to the great altar, praying in earnest on sore knees and raw hands with three repeated mantra:

Let him be good.

Let him be kind.

Let him be loyal.

This faceless man of yours possesses no riches beyond belief, no title to bequeath, and no land to his name. He is made pure of your image. He is love and service reincarnate; he exists only for you and you to him.

The mountain of candles flicker in the darkness as you silently profess your truest desires in front of holy presence. Wax rolls slowly from the flame as dusk passes by. Indistinguishable figures enter and leave during your hour here, none ever lingers for too long, so it was a surprise when you finally took notice of a much larger company taking residence across from you.

You flutter your eyelids open, adjusting to the dimness of the room. As you do, you almost expect him to dissipate with the bleariness from your eyes—but alas, he remains.

König.

It was an oddly endearing thought. The knight who is made a spectacle before the public, to be known as a cruel god amongst the average men, on his knees praying.

You wonder if he believes in the same god as you do—or if this is what he was forced to assimilate to. You wonder what he desires, what burdens he’d like alleviated. Then somewhere in the back of your mind, you wonder if he was ever praying at all.

His eyes hold a sea of storm beneath them, never breaking your gaze once you had set your sights upon him. Instinctually, as if you were conditioned, you place a soft smile on your features as a silent acknowledgement before placing your hands to the cold, stone platform to stand.

König mirrors your move as you rise from the altar. His steps were like a shadow to yours, exiting the chapel in the same stride and pace. Your cold hands brace the heavy, timber doors, ready to exert some effort this entrance always requires. However, your attempt was intercepted. Instead, a single large hand had extended from behind, grazing the back of your hand so softly you wanted to pull away from the innocuous intimacy.

The warmth from the candles sets a jarring contrast to the cool autumn breeze, prickling uncomfortably at your skin as you breathe in the fresh air. At least that’s what you tell yourself as König still lingers close from behind, making no move to surpass you.

Turning with a courteous demeanour prepared, you bow your head in respect as you offer your meek appreciation.

“Thank you, Ser König.” You say, too afraid to meet his face up this close for fear of encroaching social boundaries. Even so, he has breached your senses instead, involuntarily filling you with smells of smoke and iron.

You do not allow for him a chance to speak as you say your regards for the night before turning away promptly, following the direction to your home.

Perhaps that was the most you had ever interacted with the mysterious knight. You think about him for a while as you sort your sleeping quarters for the evening. Your hands suddenly went still from your woollen quilt as your mind takes you to the earlier recurrence.

How people have misjudged this poor man. If they have just a slight empathy within their hearts, they would see he was no threat. Rather his action today resembled that highly of a gentleman.

How funny, you think. A breath of a laugh escapes you at the thought of sharing news that the local monster had more couth than most of the village men could ever possess.

There never was enough time in the day. Usually after your shift had ceased, maids of all work would gather in groups and head to the stream to scrub all the dust and grime off their skin. It was much safer in numbers as well, for fear of any indecent men taking advantage and preying on vulnerable women.

Fortunately there hasn’t been a case of any voyeurs. The path down the stream was kept well hidden and guarded by others, taking turns and rotating on which group was to wash up first and who were to keep watch. It was enough to deter any unfortunate predicaments from occurring.

However, your newly added time dedicated to your prayers took up most of your respite with the sun, and so you often missed the chance to string along to bathe with the others.

It was perhaps the comfort of habit that you dare to venture out into the stream all alone. You speculate most of the people had already arrived and settled well into their homes at this hour. Reasonably, there should not be one soul wandering this area by chance. To further add to your precaution, you also choose a stream further down where river rocks and boulders amassed. It made for a suitable cover should anything happen, but it also wasn’t the most comfortable to wade around in.

You lay your day’s clothes out in the highest part of the rock where sunlight could reach and unfastened the pins from your hair. Leaving your possessions easily behind, you eagerly step into the body of water. The water was cold upon the first touch but grew tepid as you ease your way in further down.

Sighing in relief, you dip your head below the waters before resurfacing with a soft gasp. Your hands automatically begin to work at your arms with a cloth that was dampened with sweet smelling oils you concocted yourself. Scrubbing your skin to your fingertips meticulously, the smell of wild lavenders now follows you around sweetly.

You lather your hair with the same product. Letting your fingers run past your strands, you made sure to rid of all the built up grease that accumulated from the day’s work. There was still around half an hour to spare before the sun had completely set. Looking up at the sky to see the third quarter moon hanging high, you decide to soak yourself a little while longer to admire the tranquility of having the river belonging to you just for a short while.

Basking in the fresh air and the lulling sound of the babbling brooks, you begin to notice something was amiss when you identify another sound—the sound of soft labored breaths that did not belong to you. Your body freezes all at once; your heart missing a beat.

This is not real. This cannot be real—Please don’t let it be real.

With a flicker of bravery, you cautiously turn your head to look from behind your shoulder—and to your horror, you confirm your worst fear.

König stands formidably, naked in all his glory—apart from his grim hood that religiously cloaks his face. His hips above the waters, hands furiously gripping at the girth of his cock, stroking it back and forth offhandedly.

He doesn’t stop when he’s caught, instead his breath hitches when your eyes lay on his thick cock and fists himself harder. The desperate jerking motion forces a pearlescent seed to drip from his slit and into the running stream.

You’ve never seen anything of this nature before. Always prudishly looking away even when the men worked in the fields clad with only their slacks and their caps to shield them from the sun’s rays. Though you had an idea of what they appeared to be, it was only ever described through hearsay from the girls who enjoyed recounting their latest rendezvous.

So when you gaze upon the sex that could supposedly anchor heavens down to earth, you are sick to your core.

It was abominably everything like him.

Big. Ugly. Disgusting. Monstrous.

There is a film of lust over his eyes, uncaring just how unseemingly he looks. The thick coarse hair at the base did very little to cover what strains under his vigorous grip. His balls swing obscenely at the thrust of his motions as his manhood curves—pulsing furiously as pleasure buzzes through his veins, menacingly growing bigger at each passing second.

The deep, scarlet tip of his swollen mushroom-like head sprays pre-cum in your direction and it takes everything in you to breathe and grasp your conscience back to your control.

Dashing beneath the surface, you scramble through the maze of boulders and snatch the clothes you had left behind to haphazardly dress yourself quickly from his sight. You hear him bellow as you leave; staggering sounds of waters being pushed through his heavy, powerful strides alarm you as if he is hailing hell bound for your soul.

Cotton sticks to you like a second skin as you weave through the woods, desperately leaving behind an angry praetor calling out your name, beseeching you to stay. You cannot hear him—you would not hear him. Squeezing through the tightest crevices from a particularly narrow path you have chosen, you run as if you were escaping your own shadow.

By the time you reach the safety of your own home, you do not dare to look back until you have shut and locked the door behind you. Your lungs were burning fire by the time you catch your breath, your body trembles from the cold and the adrenaline all the while sweat trickles down your face. You do not even spare the time to change into something dry, instead you reinforce your door with the heaviest desk you could find and anxiously wait by the windowsill, anticipating for the worst.

You imagine seeing him over the horizon; hear the terrible ringing of his chain links, and when he finally arrives at the threshold of your home, you imagine König tearing down your walls pursuing you like a man possessed—a vindictive spirit who won’t rest until he has your head.

You wait and wait until the moon is at its peak, until your hair is dry—until you can not tell the difference between the shadow of a tree and the silhouette of a man.

In the late hours of the night, you fall asleep on your kitchen tiles; in the depths of your psyche, you dream of him.

A shadow pursues you relentlessly from behind. In your dreams, you did not gaze upon the creature’s form but you knew just exactly what face this monster wears. He has steel nails for teeth, his open jaw fixed with a permanent smile, his eyes burn hellfire white while he howls his awful laugh.

You feel taunting sliver of touches at your heel. It is as if the monster knows you cannot outrun him, that he’s just biding his time until he finally swallows you whole—like a predator playing with his food.

You will your legs to run faster but they are sluggish at your behest. Your heart rate picks up from your arduous labour as you hear the laughter beginning to grow to a deafening screech. The familiar ringing of the chain links was the last thing you hear before a sudden force jolts you awake.

Once you are brought back to the land of the living, your heart continues to pound against your chest. Twisting to sit up from your sleeping position, your back strains painfully from the cold, hard floor.

Looking up to the sky from your window, you catch the dawn beginning to break.

Even the most terrible nightmare could not even cease your circadian rhythm. Even worse that it could not even make you shirk your own duties.

The events replayed through your mind incessantly as you prepare yourself some new set of cloths with the current one smelling nauseatingly of mildew. The looming purple sky beginning to turn ochre yellow heralding a new day did little to calm your mental plague.

You find yourself bending over the toilet from your worries. With no food sitting in your stomach to spill out, your body unnaturally rejects bile. The powerful contractions quakes your entire being. The bitter taste lingers even after you rinse your mouth with water and mint. Your mind becomes light, however your feet feel as if they’ve been dragging the world with them.

Fear consumes you.

You cannot go on like this. You refuse to set your sights on him after what you had seen, but you cannot afford such luxuries to abandon your post. And so you acquiesce like an ever faithful servant, only this time you decide to sequence your own schedule out of order.

Instead of entering through the gatehouse as you would countless times before, you inconspicuously slip through the back of the kitchens, hiking through an old hidden path that’s been reconquered by nature. In spite of the difficult trek, it was thankfully to your advantage, concealing you from any sentinel that may have been stationed on the bridges or towers anticipating for your arrival.

Ordering your tasks in reverse was easy. You work in the shadows; cleaning the mud, dirt, blood whatever the men could get themselves in from their capes. As the others heave the baskets onto their hips, you do not make any intention to join them out in the fields. Rather, you busy yourself by attending to another who called out for anyone who had the capacity to help her with husking ten baskets of maize.

Time passes you by easily like a stranger in a crowd. You even find yourself letting your guard down and enjoying the mundane routine of the day. Wiping the dishes dry in communion with the other maids of your stature, you exchange with small talk to relieve the weight that you carry over your shoulders.

It wasn’t until you felt a firm hand turning you around to replace your damp rags with a silver ewer of water and clean cloths did the familiar pit of mass resume to drag you down to the underworld.

“The physician needs assistance while his apprentice is away.” In lieu of a request or a demand, the head of the Housekeeper informs you, expecting your recognised, dutiful obedience. Rather than seeing you off to adhere to her words, she observes a momentary frozen mien. Neither speaking nor moving to your newly assigned task.

“I recall you being of help in his ward, yes?” Her tone is short, eager to get on with the endless work she has ahead.

You balance the heavy pitcher carefully with both hands; your teeth gnawing on your bottom lip in apprehension. “Yes, ma’am.” Your voice was meek but polite—though your reply did not appease her in the slightest.

“Well?”

There are no words you can construct in haste to explain why you would rather die than to come across that vulgar man again.

“You waste a second more of my time and I will write you up for insubordination, is that what you wish?” Her voice is now audible above the surrounding noise.

“No, ma’am.” Her punitive measures against your idleness is enough for you to venture away from the safety of the basement walls.

Her warning is like coals beneath your feet, and as you move along the halls and away from the formidable woman, the fire wavers into something weak and cold. With each step you take is like a step towards an impending doom, marching slowly towards your own demise.

You know the schedule of each station like the back of your hand. You know that if you take your post by the physician’s side, you are to be confronted by the man who undoubtedly will look at you as if he is ready to tear the flesh from your bones—for the apothecary pavilion was set up conveniently by the training grounds.

They would always keep a physician stationed at every session, the appointment being arranged partly due to damages exacerbated by the infamous knight who doesn’t know—nor care—for the sheer strength he unleashes against his comrades.

Piercing sounds of steel against steel bears the tiding that you have reached your journey’s end. Men at arms here exercise their instincts against nature to slay and bludgeon another. Though they employ their moves with restraint, the sight of blood smeared across their teeth and cuts from their blades was a usual sight.

You cast your eyes down towards the solid ground of dirt, making yourself small and scarce by endeavouring no sounds from your timid steps, all the while holding your breath as you reach the familiar ivory colour of the tent—as if depriving yourself of oxygen would make you invisible.

It could just be part of your own making but you feel eyes on you like sunlight on your skin. You choose to ignore it. Like you ignore the ghost haunting your hallway, creaking your floorboards in the dead of night. So you eye your feet, the way it scuffs the sand beneath you. You then busy yourself with the ivy that grows mighty on the stone walls instead of the glorious savagery in front of you; pretending to study its branches and twines as if it was the most fascinating foliage you’ve ever seen.

Finally, you reach the threshold of the medical bay, skipping your last steps with haste as you open the tarp.

König sits at the bed, his shirt strewn across the floor. He leans back with his hands spread behind him. Across his shoulder bleeds maroon from a slight superficial cut. A light cock of his head to the side and the strongest intuition that he is hiding a saccharine smile tells you that he doesn’t need any form of medical attention.

Turning your head behind your shoulder, you quickly learn that the physician is occupied with attending to a concussed knight on the other side of the yard.

“Mein entlaufenes, Frau."

He sighs endearingly, as if he was awaiting his woman in the privacy of his bedroom.

“Don’t you see your fighter is hurting?” He says when you remain unmoved. “Come; take care of your bleeding Romeo.”

You avert your eyes and begrudgingly do as you are paid to. Making yourself useful, you readjust your grip on the heavy pitcher, careful as to not slosh the water around too much around the rim. You conclude the sooner you finish your work, the sooner you would be rid of his presence once more.

You avoid facing directly from him—despite it providing you the easiest access to dress his wound; the way his wide thighs lecherously invites you in deter you from encouraging him. Instead you set down your burdens on a small desk nearby and begin to skilfully coat a clean white rag with alcohol from the side.

If he is displeased by your aversion, he would most definitely be pulling a face from behind his hood.

You oscillate your line of sight from his cold, cyan-like eyes to the cut; nervously approaching the wound slowly as if he was an animal ready to strike at any moment.

“This might sting,” you whisper, so lightly you could mistake it for a wind blowing in the breeze.

He doesn’t flinch when the alcohol meets the break of his skin. König watches attentively like a dog, eyeing your delicate fingers, cleaning and patching up his lesion with the utmost care. An act he deems akin to devotion.

In the midst of dressing his wound with a gentle adhesive, his indecent hand travels to your working one, gripping with purpose.

“Gute Arbeit, Schatzi," he praises. “But you are not finished yet.”

König leans closer towards you. His hood brushes your hot cheeks as you stare dead ahead—paralysed with fear.

“I am hurting..” His hand guides you down his chest. “Elsewhere.”

You pull your hand before he could direct it to his crotch but he keeps the grip around your wrist, preventing your untimely departure. You forget your station and resist him when he pulls you closer by the waist, making you stumble across your own feet and into the arms of a perverted, war-mongering mercenary. With a struggling yelp, your futile efforts to push him away only encouraged him to lock his hold on you even more.

“It’s so painful, Schatzi,” he rasps desperately against your ear.

König groans when you inadvertently brush against his swelling cock in the middle of your attempt to escape.

“You feel that?.. My mighty sword?” There is a smile in his question as he suspends you against him fiercely. “You saw it too—ahh.. Had you hiding in your burrow didn't it, mein kleines Häschen?”

“Ja, I know–hah–it’s massive. Don’t be scared, I mean to prepare you for our first time.” His breathing grows haggard; you feel the wild beating of his heart against your terrified ones.

“S-Ser König! This is–is highly inappropriate,” you beseech, but it falls on deaf ears. He already has a hold of your laces from behind and means to tear it apart.

You have to do something—

Cry out for help!

Incapacitate him—anything!

SLAP!!

As if merely possessed for a single moment, you gasp at the inconceivable notion that you had just struck the crown’s most favourable knight. The world has grown quiet and time seems to slow. Your hand, one not currently restrained by him, is raised high and throbbed at the sting of skin meeting his through thin fabric.

You have not yet considered the weight of your actions. For the only thing you know is how loud the sound of your heart beating inside your chest and how tight the air around you is to even breathe.

König stares at you with indecipherable eyes. Yours widen; mouth slightly agape at the ready to spill a litany of apologies.

However, the sound of the tarp fluttering was enough to break the spell that enchants you both.

Scurrying from his hold and to your feet was surprisingly easy, given how hard it was for you to pull him away with all the strength you could muster just a minute before.

A new figure steps into the closed canopy, but you don’t dare bare your face freely to meet their scathing gaze. Instead, you hurriedly take the pitcher you came in with and take your leave promptly.

König must have let you, for you did not hear any protest coming from his end.

Taking forceful steps away from the tent, the tears that you fight to hold back suddenly come breaching at your waterline and down your cheeks. Angrily swiping them with the back of your hand, you twist your face and tightly purse your lips, terrified a sudden sob would escape.

No—you do not want to make this real. Not yet. Only when you’re in the safety of your own self would you then collapse down to the floor, wailing pathetically like a banshee howling in the dead of the night—only then would it become real.

At that moment you renounce him vehemently. You renounce your sympathies for the seemingly pitiful man who hails beyond the mountains. You renounce his harmless disposition and any vestige of kindness you thought he might hold.

From now, König has now become the monster everyone says he is.

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ronearoundblindly · 13 days ago

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Codename: Agent Alpine

platonic Bucky Barnes x Alpine!Reader Steve Rogers x shapeshifter!Reader

part of Companion Animal (see previous or series)

Summary: You finally get an outfit that can transform with you between cat and human whenever you wish.

Warnings for mentions of nudity but nothing overtly sexual. Steve's got the hots for ya 😉 that's about the size of things... WC ~600

“It looks…like leather,” Steve marvels, seeing the collar turned over and over in Bucky’s hands, a blue strip with red stars.

“It looks a little obvious,” Bucky balks.

“What’d’ya want?” Tony snatches it back and starts attaching it gently—but securely—around your neck. “Plain Jane black? Nah. She deserves something special.”

“Something gaudy and on-brand,” Natasha offers helpfully.

“Exactly…” Tony steps away from you so you have space to shift.

“Pretty sure that wasn’t a compliment,” Steve mutters before turning to you. “Would you like us to turn around? Just in case it doesn’t work quite right?”

The idea is simple: like Tony Stark’s nano suit, a coverall dress of sorts will spring from the collar when activated by your transformation. When your neck expands, so does the collar and the garment. When your neck shrinks, the clothing retracts.

At least you had the forethought to request your ‘uniform’ not be skin-tight and shiny because that may flatter Nat but would be more embarrassing than nudity for you. It’s taken so long to get good at shifting that this group has seen you naked on what might be categorized as ‘many’ occasions: Bucky the most, because you live together; Steve the least, because he’s kind enough to shut or cover his eyes; Tony and Nat…equal, because they’ve been taking the measurements, readings, and scans to build the functioning collar.

You? You try not to think about that and focus on doing a Big-Girl-Task.

The gist is that if you feel that being a human benefits you, your body turns, and if you feel being a cat benefits you, your body turns. Fear is just easier to handle in a smaller body that can go unnoticed, hide, and run away more easily, and since you were never sure that being human around Bucky wouldn’t land you out on the street or worse, you weren’t convinced it would benefit you until you needed more weight, size, and strength to take down Duplicate. Controlling those base emotions has proved difficult. You’re ready now, though, totally ready.

Steve nods in acknowledgment when you shake you head, whiskers flat against your face in determination.

This is it, the moment of truth.

So you step up onto your back paws, think about how you could reach between these two workbenchs with your human armspan, and shift.

The nano tech doesn’t feel like microscopic metal robots—it’s like real gauzy panels that drape from your neck to your ankles, a flowing dress with breezy bell sleeves, all in snow white, sheer in some places, opaque in all the right ones. In all fairness, Tony Stark does know a thing or two about fashion. You should never have doubted him.

“Hot damn, pretty lady,” Bucky cheers. “Looking good!”

Tony cocks his head to the side. “Do we think it needs a belt?”

Nat slaps his hip.

Steve, however…oh poor Steve, he’s dumbstruck with a goofy smile. The affectionate awe makes you preen, giving a quick spin in your new ensemble, the skirts wafting like you’re Marilyn Monroe except you’re not hit by a gust of wind from below. Steve seems to be.

He huffs out all the air in his lungs and forgets to inhale again. He crosses his arms over his broad chest and covers his mouth briefly, collecting his thoughts before locking eyes with you through blond lashes. Those eyes, they are dark and adoring.

“How about it, Cap?” You ask with perfect innocence.

Steve chuckles, clearing his throat and licking his lips.

“That’ll do, babygirl. That will definitely do.”

[Next Part: Lineage]

[Main Masterlist; Steve Rogers Series List; Bucky Barnes Masterlist]

@hisredheadedgoddess28 @irishhappiness @fallenxjas @ilovetaquitosmmmm @venunsgirl @fries11 @lovinglimerence @creat0r-cat @navs-bhat

@bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @stellar-solar-flare @deandreamernp

@rogersbarber @blogbog710 @yenzys-lucky-charm @thiquefunlover63 @bitchy-bi-trash

@supraveng @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @late-to-the-party-81 @bigtreefest @mistressmkay @astheskycries @veryprairieberry

#steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers x female reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fanfiction #alpine the cat #companion animal series #shapeshifter #shapeshifter!reader #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fic #bucky barnes fic

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saikira999 · 3 months ago

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Amos is an underwater monster of the Thalassaphagos species, resembling a cecaelia (an octopus mermaid) but with several differences: larger size, tolerance for prolonged stay on land, a second toothy mouth instead of a beak, and the presence of seven tentacles, one of which serves as his "tail."

However, unlike his kind, Amos is covered in dozens of eyes, indicating that he has been infected by the "Knowledge" disease, which sets him apart from his underdeveloped tribe, where the average thalassaphagos only cares about eating delicious food, producing a mountain of offspring, and preferably not dying. For his awareness and predisposition to magic, Amos was cast out from the tribe and is now seeking wisdom on land.

Amos is a quiet and thoughtful young thalassaphagos. He is intelligent, but often, his animal nature takes over, and Amos becomes incredibly dangerous and uncontrollable, a perpetually hungry savage. Initially, he has rather weak moral principles and can easily trow them aside if he deems it necessary. But this will change in the future when he begins to better understand the concept of compassion and kindness (though this won’t stop him from biting someone's hand off if he gets hungry).

Story:

The thalassaphagos tribe has never been known for its desire for knowledge. On the contrary, intelligence and intellect were always frowned upon, and the legend of an ancient chief who once led their people to greatness was cited as an example. Thanks to this chief, the thalassaphagos cast aside their beastly habits and began to develop culture and science. Their empire flourished and prospered year after year.

But one day, the chief became prideful and desired forbidden knowledge, which angered the Gods of wisdom, and they destroyed the once-great empire, returning its people to the times of savagery, while the great chief vanished.

Now, the wrath of the gods still haunts the thalassaphagos in the form of a disease that spreads across the body as dozens of eyes, signifying forbidden knowledge. And Amos became that unlucky guy.

Being a creature that is wild yet quite curious (to the point of being uncomfortably TOO curious), he travels the land, wishing to prove to his people the importance of wisdom and to restore their once-lost greatness.

Perhaps one day he will succeed, and after many years of wandering, Amos will return to his homeland, determined to become a new leader and rebuild the empire from scratch. Year after year, wound after wound, along with prosperity and strength will come the thirst for power and greed characteristic of his kind. Beings like him live long, which means that soon the underwater ruins where they hid will turn into magnificent new structures, savagery and old rituals will fade away. And this will continue until at some point, Amos looks in the mirror...

...And in response, the ancient chief from the legends will look back at him.

The gods who cursed the thalassaphagos did not just erase their empire but also trapped the ancient chief in an eternal loop – a mad cycle that serves as punishment for his pride and greed. And now, each time, with each new fall of the empire and its chief, the people forget their history, sincerely believing that it happened to their long-ago ancestors, unaware that they themselves were pawns of the gods, and their fallen chief will soon be reborn to start the cycle again.

...Of course, only if he does not decide to break the vicious circle and kill the Gods of wisdom.

Old concept art :P

(I decided to make him a character for dnd)

Dead Knight: "Stay out of it, you moron."

Amos: GGGGRGGRGRGRG AAWRAGAG SBARRARRAT BARK BARK BARK GGRRRERRRARARREARARREARARAR!!!!!

#art #мой арт #artists on tumblr #dnd art #dnd #dnd character #oc #character #monster #monster boy #tentacles #my baby boy #he is so dork #i can't....😭😭😭#reblog me #please

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sircarrieart · 4 months ago

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A doodle and lore dumb for the lamb and goat!! (Btw this is all subject to change once I actually start my 2nd play through)

So in my little headcannon the goat and lamb are still mirror images of each other with the same build and height but are very very different personalities wise.

My lamb’s much milder then the goat and even though he’s good at fighting he only does so when he need to (as in he only goes into the dungeons when it’s necessary for quests and such). He leads his cult with a kind and gentle hand, and mainly focuses on maintaining his base and caring for his followers post game. His flock absolutely adore him and aren’t afraid to come up and talk to him or just hang out with him.

The goat on the other hand is a loud mouth and a bit meaner than the lamb. Sure he cares for his flock but he’s not quick to give them gifts or do anything special for them like the lamb is. His cult lowkey fears him but also admire his strength and determination. When it comes to fighting he’s all for it, even continuing to go through the dungeons and purgatory in the post game even when he doesn’t really need to. At this point it’s just a fun pass time.

Now on to their Narinders!

They’re also sort of mirror images with the goat’s narinder (who I’m gonna call Indy) being somewhat kinder than the lamb’s. He’s also fucking hugeeee since after the goat defeats the bishops and frees Indy instead of demanding his crown back he thanks the goat and acknowledges his hardwork, letting him keep the crown and the cult. The goat offers him a place at his side instead of as a follower which allows Indy to keep some of his power and his size.

The lamb’s Narinder is pretty close to the cannon Narinder personality wise and keeps up his grumpiness even after forgiving the lamb. He and the lamb do end up together but Narinder swears he’s only indulging the lamb in hopes of gaining his trust and eventually over throwing him (he’s lying. He’s just not used to someone being so sweet to him anymore) (also I really wanted to mention that the reason he’s in a pink picnic attire is bc the lamb he should wear something pretty bc he thinks he’s pretty. (The meta reason is bc I thought it was hilarious and he’s currently wearing it in my game lol)

#cotl goat #cotl lamb #cotl narinder #I guess it’s an au idk #cotl au #cotl oc #I lowkey forgot like 90% of the cannon lore so when I replay the game I'll probably change this up a bit #also I’m not 100% solid on the mirror nainder’s design but idk if I hate it enough to change it lol

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writingsoftarnishedsilver · 4 months ago

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More to Love | Sebastian Sallow x OC

listen we are all guilty of describing tall, model sebastian with a perfectly toned body and abs who is never insecure BUT NOBODY, AND I MEAN NOBODY, can rid of me of the headcannon that adult seb is a chunky man. nobody. you can tear it from my cold dead hands. have y'all seen solomon? beyond adolescence, sebastian does not have the genes for a fast metabolism, nor does sebastian possess self control against his vices (aka sweets). anyway this is a completely selfish indulgence. thick sebastian supremacy. that is all, tysm.

p.s. if anyone finds any fan art of this version of him i would literally go feral...

Words: ~5,400

Tags: Post Canon, Insecure Sebastian, Established Relationship, Romance, Fluff, Implied Smut, Size Kink(? I mean like I guess but I feel like we should just be appreciating all bodies ?)

Read more stories about Sebastian and Evangeline

The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains of their cozy cottage, casting a warm golden glow over the kitchen. The faint, sugary scent of last night’s baking still lingered in the air—Evangeline’s attempt at perfecting a new cookie recipe. Sebastian remembered how she had glared at a plate of the so-called failures, muttering something about them being “too dry." Sebastian had happily devoured them, brushing off her perfectionist grumbles with a wink and a mouthful of cookies.

Now, the house was quiet, save for the occasional chirping of birds outside. Evangeline had already left for the market, a wicker basket in hand and a determined spring in her step. She’d kissed him on the forehead before leaving, murmuring something about getting the perfect flour for a sourdough recipe she’d been researching all week. He could still hear the echo of her soft laughter as she disappeared out the door.

Sebastian stretched, his muscles aching faintly in that satisfying way that came from a week filled with physical work. Being an Auror meant he was constantly on the move—tracking leads, chasing dark wizards, and, more often than he liked, dealing with paperwork that made him question all his life choices. But spring Saturdays like this, when he didn’t have to be anywhere but home, were his favorite.

He yawned and shuffled out of bed, raking a hand through his disheveled hair as he made his way to the wardrobe. Spring had finally settled in, bringing mild, sunny weather that called for something lighter than his usual layers. His hand landed on a familiar flannel shirt, one of his favorites. It was soft from years of wear, its faded green pattern perfect for the season.

Smiling faintly, he shrugged it over his shoulders and reached for the buttons—only to stop short when the fabric pulled taut across his shoulders and chest.

Frowning, he tugged harder, but the shirt refused to cooperate.

“What the…?” he muttered, stepping back toward the mirror.

Sebastian frowned deeper as he studied himself, his hands resting on his hips. The reflection was still undeniably his, but as his eyes trailed over his freckled skin, mapping the same familiar constellations he’d had for years, he realized the framework beneath had shifted in ways he hadn’t realized.

He rolled his shoulders experimentally, watching the way the muscle there still moved, still held its strength. Yet the sharp edges of his collarbones and the cut of his shoulders weren’t as defined as they used to be.

Turning slightly, he ran a hand down his chest, his fingers brushing over the faint dusting of hair. His pecs were still firm, still solid beneath his touch, but there was give there now, a softness that made his jaw tighten. He pressed lightly, testing the subtle give in his chest, before his hand drifted lower, skimming over the newfound curve of his stomach. His fingers prodded experimentally at the softness, sinking slightly into the layer of flesh, and he let out a quiet, frustrated huff. The firmness of his abs was still there—he reassured himself of that much—but they were now buried beneath the gentle padding that had crept in without him noticing.

In response, he straightened his posture, tightening his core instinctively as though to pull it all back in. The mirror reflected the faint impression of his old shape, but as soon as he relaxed, the softer curve returned.

Sebastian sighed in frustration, raking a hand through his messy hair. His fingers lingered at his jawline, as though suddenly aware of it, and his thumb brushed along the edge. Even that felt different—less angular than he remembered, the sharpness subtly softened, apparently, by one too many of Evangeline's cookies.

He turned back to face the mirror head-on, his fingers curling into his sides as he tried to reconcile the man in the reflection with the one he thought he’d been. The man Evangeline married had been sharp and lean, all hard edges and restless energy. Now, he looked... well, not like that.

Sebastian shrugged off the flannel and sat heavily on the edge of the bed, staring down at the worn rug beneath his feet. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and the movement made him acutely aware of a sensation he hadn't noticed before: a fold of flesh creasing above his waistband.

His hand hovered over it for a moment before he pressed his palm flat against his stomach, as if to confirm what he already knew.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath, his brow furrowing deeper.

His mind began to spiral, his thoughts moving too fast for him to catch hold of any one of them. How long had this been happening? Why hadn’t he noticed sooner? And worse—what did she think?

Evangeline saw him every day. She touched him, kissed him, curled up against him at night. She must have noticed. How could she not?

He thought about the way she looked at him—the warmth in her hazel eyes, the teasing curve of her lips. She’d always been affectionate, always quick to rest her head on his shoulder or slide her hand around his waist. But now that he really thought about it, was that affection the same as it had always been?

Or had it changed?

Sebastian’s mind raced through their recent interactions, searching for signs that Evangeline might have been... humoring him. Was she still as playful as she used to be? Did her hands linger on him the way they used to, or had she started pulling away without him noticing?

And what about the times when they weren’t just sitting on the couch or cooking together? What about the moments when they were truly alone, when her touch was softer and her voice was breathless?

The soft creak of the front door opening startled him out of his reverie. He heard the familiar rustle of her skirts and the gentle thud of her basket being placed on the kitchen table.

“Sebastian?” Evangeline’s voice called out, light and cheerful as ever. “I’m back! They had the flour I needed—oh, and I found those dried cherries you like!”

Sebastian ran a hand through his hair, exhaling heavily. He stood, throwing on a plain linen shirt that still fit well enough, though he couldn’t help but feel hyperaware of how it clung just slightly more than he remembered. He made his way to the kitchen, forcing a casual smile as he leaned in the doorway to watch her unpack.

Evangeline was a vision, as always. Her long, dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, slightly windswept from the walk back. She wore one of her simple spring dresses, the fabric hugging her curves in a way that always made his stomach flip. Her cheeks were pink from the breeze, and her eyes lit up when she spotted him.

“There you are,” she said warmly, walking over to press a kiss to his cheek. “You’re up late. I thought you’d already be in the garden or reading by now.”

He shrugged, his smile faltering slightly. “Just... taking my time this morning.”

Evangeline tilted her head, studying him the way only she could. She had a knack for sensing when something was wrong, even when he tried to hide it. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “What’s on your mind?”

“It’s nothing,” he said quickly, stepping past her to lean against the counter. He busied himself inspecting the contents of her basket—flour, herbs, fresh berries—anything to avoid her gaze. But Evangeline wasn’t one to let things go so easily.

“Sebastian,” she said softly, moving to stand beside him. “What’s wrong? And don’t say it’s nothing—I know you too well.”

Sebastian hesitated, the weight of her gaze pressing on him as she waited for an answer. His jaw tensed, the words tangled in his throat. He didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to seem ridiculous, but Evangeline’s gaze was so steady, so full of gentle concern, that it made it nearly impossible to brush her off entirely.

So he did the next best thing—he distracted her.

With a soft hum, he stepped forward, closing the small gap between them. Before she could press him further, his arms slipped around her waist, pulling her snug against him. His head dipped to the crook of her shoulder, his nose brushing against her neck in a way that made her breath hitch.

“Sebastian,” she said, her voice soft but curious. “What are you—?”

He nuzzled closer, his lips grazing her skin, and she immediately burst into laughter, her hands coming up to push lightly at his chest. “Stop that!” she giggled, squirming against him. “You know that tickles!”

“Do I?” he murmured innocently, his voice muffled against her skin. He pressed a light, teasing kiss just below her ear, which made her laugh harder.

“Yes, you do!” she managed through her laughter, twisting in his hold. She turned her head, her face still alight with amusement, and gently flicked his shoulder. "Release me!"

Sebastian grinned and nuzzled into her neck again, his voice low and teasing. “Not a chance."

Evangeline squirmed more, her laughter bubbling out in a way that always made his chest feel lighter. “Sebastian!” she giggled, half-protesting, half-delighted. “I mean it! Let me go before I—”

“Before you what?” he interrupted. “I don’t scare easily, love. You know that.”

Evangeline huffed and flicked his ear this time. “Before I refuse to share the bread with you, that’s what!”

Sebastian gasped, feigning shock as he finally released her. “Now, now, let’s not say things we can’t take back.”

Evangeline turned to face him, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she adjusted her skirts. “Then behave yourself,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him in a way that wasn’t remotely threatening.

Sebastian chuckled, running a hand through his hair as he leaned back against the counter, watching her return to unpacking her basket.

“Goodness me,” she said, rolling up her sleeves with purpose. “I’ve been waiting all week to try this recipe and the minute I try, you attack me. Are you going to help to make up for it, or are you just going to stand there being smug?”

Sebastian chuckled. “I suppose I can be convinced,” he said, moving to her side as she began gathering the rest of the tools she’d need.

For the next hour, the kitchen was filled with the quiet hum of their voices, the occasional clatter of mixing bowls, and Evangeline’s soft laughter.

Sebastian found himself relaxing, the familiar rhythm of their routine soothing the restless energy that had been gnawing at him earlier. He teased her gently when she smudged flour on her cheek, earning a playful swat in return, and when she handed him the dough to knead, she watched with an amused grin as he muttered about how much effort it took.

"Thought you were supposed to be a big, strong Auror, Sallow," she quipped, her lips twitching with amusement as she leaned against the counter, watching him wrestle with the dough.

“I am a big, strong Auror,” Sebastian shot back, narrowing his eyes at her. “This stuff is just... deceptively difficult. And sticky. Are you sure this is how it’s supposed to feel?”

Evangeline laughed, the sound light and musical as she stepped closer, her hands lightly dusted with flour. “You’re doing fine,” she reassured him, slipping in beside him. “But here—let me show you.”

She reached out, her smaller hands folding over his to guide his movements. The closeness made Sebastian pause, his earlier insecurities threatening to resurface as her warmth seeped into him. He glanced down at her, the way her long lashes cast soft shadows on her cheeks, her eyes focused intently on the dough. She looked so at ease, so utterly content, and it twisted something in his chest.

“See?” she said softly, her voice breaking through his thoughts. “Gentle pressure. You don’t have to fight it, Sebastian. It’s not a dark wizard.”

Sebastian let out a quiet huff of laughter, shaking his head as Evangeline’s hands guided his own, working the dough until it was smooth and elastic.

When they were finally done, Evangeline patted it into a neat ball and placed it into a bowl to proof, covering it with a clean cloth. “There,” she said, brushing her hands off on her apron.

Sebastian stepped back, wiping his flour-dusted hands on a towel. “So, what now, boss?” he asked, his tone playful.

Evangeline grinned, tilting her head toward the door. “You, my dear husband, are going to go sit on the porch and enjoy the sun while I tidy up. I’ll bring lunch out in a bit.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “You sure? I can help clean—”

“Nope,” she interrupted, shooing him toward the door with a wave of her hand. “Go. Relax. You’ve earned it after that battle with the dough.”

He rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at his lips. “Alright, if you say so,"

With a glass of lemonade in hand, Sebastian made his way to the porch. The gentle warmth of the spring sun greeted him as he stepped outside, the wooden boards creaking softly beneath his feet. He sank into one of the chairs, letting out a contented sigh as he leaned back.

The village stretched out before him, quiet and serene, with the distant hum of life carrying on beyond their little corner of the world. The sun’s rays warmed his skin, the light breeze ruffling his hair. He took a sip of the lemonade, the tart sweetness refreshing as he let himself sink into the moment, his earlier insecurities and worries far away now, dulled by the laughter and warmth Evangeline always brought with her.

He was so lost in the peace that he didn’t hear her approach until she appeared in the doorway, balancing a tray with two plates and the pitcher of lemonade.

“Lunch is served,” she announced cheerfully, stepping out onto the porch.

Sebastian sat up as she set the tray down on the small table between them, his eyes flicking to his plate: a neatly arranged sandwich, a small side of crisps, and, of course, three cookies nestled together like a tempting afterthought. He masked a frown, the sight of them stirring the same pang of self-consciousness he’d been trying to forget all morning. So much for putting his extra fluff out of his mind—it was staring back at him in the form of three perfectly golden, innocent-looking biscuits.

Still, he didn’t say anything, brushing the thought aside as he focused on enjoying lunch with Evangeline. The sandwich was delicious, the crisp, fresh lettuce and savory meats hitting the spot as they chatted easily about her market trip and his plans to tend to the garden later.

When Evangeline finished her plate, she leaned back in her chair with a contented sigh, the light breeze catching her hair and carrying the faint scent of flour and sugar. Sebastian moved to gather their plates, standing to take them inside, but paused when Evangeline frowned, her gaze dropping to his untouched cookies.

“Are they that bad?” she asked, her brow furrowed as she leaned forward to inspect them. “I thought they turned out alright this time.”

Sebastian froze, feeling her question land with a weight he wasn’t ready to address. He hesitated for a fraction too long before shaking his head, mustering a smile. “No, not at all. They’re great. I’m just... not in the mood for something sweet right now.”

Evangeline’s frown deepened, hazel eyes narrowing as she tilted her head. “Not in the mood?” she repeated, her tone skeptical. “Sebastian, you’ve never turned down cookies. Not once. Not even when you had the flu.”

“I just... figured I’d save them for later,” he said quickly, avoiding her gaze as he balanced their plates on one arm. “Don’t want to ruin my appetite for dinner.”

That earned a soft laugh from her. “Dinner’s hours away, and we both know you could eat a Hippogriff and still have room for dessert.

Sebastian forced one of his trademark grins, the kind he knew could distract her from just about anything. “I promise I’ll eat them later,” he said, his tone light as he grabbed the empty plates and moved to the door. “No need to worry, love.”

But he should have known better. Evangeline was many things—kind, brilliant, a phenomenal baker—but above all else, she was stubborn.

“Sebastian,” she called after him, her voice sharp enough to stop him mid-step as he crossed the threshold back into the kitchen.

He sighed, shoulders sinking slightly as he turned to face her. She stood in the doorway, hands on her hips, her eyes narrowing as she studied him.

“What?” he asked, forcing a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Evangeline huffed and stepped forward, plucked the plates from his hands with a deftness that left him blinking, and set them firmly on the counter.

“Alright,” she said, turning back to him and crossing her arms. Her gaze pinned him in place, sharp and unyielding. “Spill. What’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on,” he replied quickly, too quickly. He reached up, scratching the back of his neck, a nervous habit she knew all too well. “I just told you—I’m not in the mood for something sweet right now. That’s all.”

“Sebastian.” Her voice softened, but the determination in her expression didn’t waver. She stepped closer, her hands uncrossing to rest lightly on her hips. “You can’t lie to me, you know that."

He hesitated, his jaw tightening as his gaze flicked away. He wanted to brush her off, to dodge her questions and let the moment pass. But the way she looked at him—so patient, so steady—made it impossible.

He let out a slow breath, forcing himself to meet her gaze. “It’s just… earlier, I tried on that green flannel shirt—the one you like—and it didn’t fit. It was too small."

Evangeline frowned, her brows knitting together. “So? Clothes shrink, Sebastian. Especially when someone—” she gestured pointedly at him “—refuses to follow proper washing instructions.”

He huffed a short laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “It didn’t shrink,” he muttered, gesturing vaguely at himself. “It's me, Evie. I looked in the mirror, and I realized I’ve… gone all soft. I mean, look at me.” He motioned to his chest and stomach, his voice tinged with frustration.

Evangeline blinked at him, her expression shifting into something softer—warmer, with a teasing glint in her eyes that Sebastian immediately recognized. She stepped closer, her hand sliding from his arm to rest lightly against his chest, her lips curving into a small, amused smile.

“I do look at you,” she said softly. “I look at you all the time, Sebastian. And quite often, without clothes in the way.”

His ears burned instantly, a deep flush spreading across his face and down his neck. “Evie, please,” he groaned.

“What?” she asked innocently. “You act like I don’t see you—really see you—all the time. You’re my husband, silly.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair as he avoided her gaze.

Evangeline tilted her head, her lips twitching with barely contained amusement. “What exactly do you want me to say, Sebastian? Do you want me to say ‘Oh, darling, I’ve noticed you’ve gotten a bit squishier lately, but don’t worry—I still love you?’ Because that’s ridiculous.”

“So you have noticed then,” he said, his tone sharper than he intended. He crossed his arms, his jaw tightening as he met her gaze. “And you just didn’t tell me?”

Evangeline blinked at him again before laughing outright—a soft, melodic sound that filled the kitchen. “You’re unbelievable,” she said, shaking her head. “Sebastian, I didn’t say anything because there’s nothing to say! You’re acting like this is some monumental change when it’s not!

“It feels like it, is” he muttered, his arms dropping to his sides. “I’ve let myself go, Evangeline. And you’re just—what? Too nice to admit it?”

Her laughter faded, her brow furrowing slightly. “Too nice to admit it?” she repeated, her voice soft but incredulous. “Sebastian, do you really think I’d lie to you about something like this?”

He hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Not lie,” he admitted quietly. “But maybe… spare my feelings.”

Evangeline sighed, her expression softening as she reached up to cradle his face in her hands, her thumbs brushing lightly over his cheekbones. "Listen to me. I’m not sparing your feelings. I love you. I have always loved you, and I always will."

He sighed, his hands coming up to loosely grip her wrists as her fingers remained warm against his skin. “But you’re not blind, Evie. This is... this is not the version of me you married."

Evangeline scoffed. “Do you really think the reason I married you had anything to do with how sharp your jawline was?”

“I mean... maybe not completely,” he muttered, his voice trailing off as his ears turned pink. “But it didn’t hurt.”

She sighed, a sound heavy with both exasperation and affection. She tilted her head back slightly, studying his stubborn expression. Clearly, her reassurances weren’t enough to break through that thick skull of his. If soft words and patience weren’t going to work, it was time to switch tactics.

Her gaze darkened slightly, a mischievous glint sparking to life as her lips curled into a sly grin. She slid her hands from his face to rest on his shoulders, her fingers trailing down to the broad expanse of his chest.

“Alright,” she murmured, her tone dropping into something low and silky. “You want me to be honest? I’ll be honest.”

Sebastian blinked, momentarily startled by the shift in her demeanor. “What are you—”

She cut him off, pressing a finger to his lips. “Hush. You’ve been doing a lot of talking. It’s my turn now.”

He swallowed hard, his ears burning as she stepped even closer, her body brushing against his, and tipped her head to look up at him through her lashes.

“Of course I’ve noticed the changes. How could I not? But Merlin help me, I love you like this,” she said, her voice smooth and steady, each word punctuated with intent. “Do you know why?”

He shook his head, utterly at a loss for words, his hands falling to rest uncertainly on her waist.

“Because,” she continued, “It tells me that you’re happy and comfortable and loved and well-fed—all the things you should be when you’re with someone who loves you. And I wouldn’t trade that for anything.”

His throat tightened and for a moment, he couldn’t speak. “Evie...” he murmured, his voice hoarse.

“I love you with all my heart, and yes, I love the way you look,” her voice was soft but steady, her hazel eyes locked onto his. Her hands trailed down to rest against his chest, her fingertips brushing over the slight softness he’d been agonizing over. “You're the most incredible man I’ve ever met. You’ve got these strong arms I adore, shoulders that make me weak in the knees, and those deliciously thick thighs I can't get enough of. And now there's just more of you for me to love."

Sebastian’s face burned a deeper shade of crimson, his ears hot with embarrassment. “Evie,” he mumbled, his voice caught between a groan and a laugh.

"Sebastian," she said firmly, gripping at his shirt now. "You have always been handsome, but now? Now you’re downright dangerous.” Her hand moved to his stomach, giving it a light pat.

Sebastian stared at her, completely floored. Her words hung in the air between them, weaving through his spiraling thoughts and silencing them one by one. The heat from his ears had spread down to his chest now, but the lingering twinges of doubt started to fade, smothered by the mischievous glint in her eyes and the way her hands lingered on him like he was the only man in the world.

“Dangerous, am I?” he murmured, his voice low, his lips twitching into something dangerously close to a smirk.

Evangeline’s grin widened, a spark of triumph lighting her expression. “Oh, absolutely,” she said, her fingers curling into his shirt as she tugged him closer. “You’re entirely too good-looking for your own good—and mine.”

Sebastian’s lips twitched, but as her words settled over him, something stirred in the back of his mind. Hang on a minute...

He replayed moment after moment from the past few months. The way her hands lingered just a bit longer when they curled up on the couch together. How she’d started sneaking up behind him in the mornings just to wrap her arms around his waist. How she’d tug him back into bed, her lips pressed against his neck as she muttered some excuse about not wanting to let him go yet.

She had been insatiable—more so than usual.

He’d chalked it up to the honeymoon phase lingering well past its expiration date, or maybe the warmer weather putting her in an unusually good mood. But now? Now, standing here with her hands sliding over him like she wanted to memorize every inch of his body, it all clicked.

His lips curled into a slow, wolfish grin, the confidence that had been knocked loose earlier returning in full force. “You have been extra fond of me lately, huh?” he teased, his voice dropping into that low, dangerous register that always made her cheeks flush.

Evangeline arched an eyebrow, unbothered by his sudden shift in demeanor. “Maybe,” she replied coyly.

Sebastian chuckled, the sound deep and rich as his hands moved to her waist, pulling her flush against him. “I suppose I should’ve known,” he murmured, his eyes roaming her face before locking onto hers. “All those extra little touches, the way you’ve been looking at me... You’re absolutely relentless, you know that?”

“And you’re just figuring this out now?” she teased, her smirk widening.

He shook his head, his grin growing wider as he tilted her chin up with one hand, his thumb brushing over her jawline. “I don’t think I’m the dangerous one here, Evie. You’ve been plotting this, haven’t you?”

She laughed softly, the sound warm and unrepentant. “I have no idea what you're talking about."

Sebastian narrowed his eyes, his grin never faltering. “Oh, you definitely know what I’m talking about,” he murmured, his voice dipping even lower, sending a shiver down her spine. “You’ve been playing the long game, haven’t you? Buttering me up—literally and figuratively—until I couldn’t resist you.”

Evangeline’s cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink, but her smirk didn’t waver. “If by ‘buttering you up’ you mean showing my husband how much I love him, then yes, guilty as charged,” she replied, tilting her head smugly. “And judging by the way you’ve been letting me drag you back to bed at all hours, I’d say you haven’t exactly been resisting.”

Sebastian laughed, the sound low and full of warmth as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into his chest. “I don’t think anyone could resist you, Evie."

Evangeline laughed, her hands tangling in his hair as she gazed up at him. “Good,” she said, her tone light and playful. “I’d hate to think I was losing my touch.”

Sebastian smirked, his hands settling on her hips as he tilted his head down, their foreheads almost touching. “Losing your touch? Not possible,” he murmured, his voice soft but steady. “If anything, you’ve only gotten better at wrapping me around your finger.”

She grinned, leaning in to press a quick, teasing kiss to his lips before pulling back. “Exactly as planned,” she quipped, her hands sliding down to rest on his chest again. Her expression softened as her thumbs brushed over the fabric of his shirt. “But seriously, Sebastian, as much as I love you like this—and I do—if it really does bother you, if you really want to change something, just tell me.” Her lips curled into a small, teasing smile as she added, “I can always go a little easier on you, you know.”

He raised an eyebrow, his grin turning wry. “Go easier on me? What does that even mean?”

Evangeline laughed again, her fingers toying with the edge of his shirt. “It means I won’t bake as many pastries,” she said, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Or at least I’ll stop making so many batches of your favorites.

Sebastian scoffed, though his lips twitched with amusement. “You make it sound like I have no self-control,” he said, his tone laced with indignation.

Evangeline arched an eyebrow, giving him a pointed look. “Do you want me to list the number of times I’ve caught you sneaking into the kitchen at midnight? Because I’ve been keeping track, and let’s just say the numbers don’t lie.”

His ears flushed pink, but he shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Midnight snacks are perfectly reasonable. I’m a growing man, after all.”

“Growing where, exactly?” she teased, her grin widening as she tapped a finger lightly against his stomach.

He groaned, though a laugh escaped him despite himself. “You’re merciless,” he muttered.

“Only because I love you,” she replied, her tone softening as she slid her hands back up to his chest. “But seriously, Sebastian, we’ll figure it out. After all, we can’t have you ruining all your shirts, can we?"

Sebastian chuckled, the sound low and warm as he shook his head. “Merlin forbid I ruin all my shirts,” he said, his tone dripping with mock seriousness. “What would I even wear then?”

“Oh, I’m sure we could come up with something,” Evangeline replied, her grin widening as she tugged playfully at the hem of his shirt. “Or nothing at all. That’s always an option.”

Sebastian's grin turned positively wolfish. “Nothing at all, huh?” he murmured, his voice dropping into that low, dangerous register that made Evangeline’s cheeks flush. He took a small step closer, effectively pinning her between him and the counter. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Evangeline tilted her head, pretending to consider it. "We would have to give it a try first... for science."

"No time like the present," he murmured, leaning in until his lips brushed against the shell of her ear, his warm breath sending a shiver down her spine. “I’m fully committed to advancing scientific discovery, after all.”

Evangeline laughed softly, curling her fingers into the fabric of his shirt. “Well, I’d hate to stand in the way of progress,” she teased, looking up at him through her lashes. “Who am I to deny such noble pursuits?”

Sebastian’s grin widened. “That’s the spirit,” he murmured. “Let’s not waste a single moment, then.”

Before she could respond, his arms slipped under her, lifting her effortlessly off the ground. Evangeline let out a surprised laugh, her arms instinctively wrapping around his neck, her laughter vibrating against him. The sound alone was enough to make his chest swell with affection, and the way she leaned into him, utterly unguarded, set his pulse pounding.

Evangeline’s lips brushed against the shell of his ear as he carried her toward the bedroom, her voice a teasing murmur that made his blood hum. She didn’t hold back—her words playful, wicked, and laced with affection. Every syllable sent heat pooling low in his stomach, her tone the perfect mix of mischief and adoration.

The bread, meanwhile, sat forgotten on the counter, the plans for the afternoon abandoned, and the lingering doubts that had gnawed at him all morning slipped away, irrelevant in the face of the one truth that mattered most: Evangeline adored him, every inch of him.

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taylor-titmouse · 6 months ago

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now that cadogan and his little guys are their own things i can explore freely, i want to talk a little about how they're made. lore subject to change of course, but the general idea i'm working from atm...

the in-universe term for what they are is "chimeric homunucli", but for ease i usually refer to them as cadogan's servants. they are not familiars. familiars are different. the three most basic components a chimeric homunculi must have are bones, blood, and semen. other elements can be added to better determine the form of the guy, but you won't get anywhere without those three things. bones are the scaffolding on which the body is built, blood forms the flesh, and semen provides the spirit. all three of these will have some effect on the personality and behavioral traits, but that mostly comes from the blood and semen. the blood imbues instincts, semen imbues intelligence and creative thought.

cadogan prefers to use gnome bones as his base because they're easy to get and because they make his creations conveniently pocket-sized. it's easier and safer for him to only make them big when necessary, with magic. for one thing it would require Significantly more material to make a full-scale creature, which is difficult to acquire and properly prepare. for another, they're much harder to control when big. obviously. if they were big all the time he'd never get anything done.

madog's basic components are gnome bones, manticore blood, and goblin jism. the manticore blood is where he gets his aggression and territoriality, and much of his strength when big. the goblin jism gives him the ability to think rationally and understand commands, and also the ability to work as part of a group. you'd never think it, but he's very good at teamwork. altogether he's a dedicated, completely loyal servant who'll take to tasks with vigor and gusto. good for a brute fighter to send out in times of trouble. he'd defend cadogan to the death. he also has manticore hair and imp wing membrane. these don't have any real effect on his personality or behavior, and are purely functional. the hair is to give him his fluffy appearance, the wing membrane is so he can fly.

myrddin's components are again, gnome bones, but also sea serpent's blood and troll jism. the sea serpent's blood attunes him to the water, giving him his hydrodynamic shape and skill at swimming. it's also given him patience and the instincts of a hunter that rarely feeds. he's not overly quick to action. the troll jism provides a greater intelligence than the goblin jism, closer to the level of a human. he is a much more rational thinker than madog, able to slow down and think fully through a problem rather than rush in to meet it. his secondary components are serpent fin and mermaid hair. these are almost entirely aesthetic, but the mermaid hair Does make him silky smooth to the touch and keeps wild animals from attempting to eat him.

and that's most of what i've thought out! before anyone asks, human bones + human blood + human jism would create an undead abomination and We Don't Do That. human blood and jism are alright to use but human bones are a taboo that crosses into necromancy. human wizards care less about the personhood of tailed species, so that's more okay (though it isn't really)

#tt art #cadogan

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dreamofjoys · 1 year ago

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Cyborg Boothill sex headcannons

CW: fem reader, possessive boothill(hinted to be), unprotected sex, rough fucking, manhandling

A/N: Typed all of these without my glasses and I’m already snuggling in my blankets lol pardon the typos!! I nearly wrote him off as a yandere psycho who is obsessed with reader’s body omg 😭

Cyborg!Boothill who just loves you, his pretty little human doll. Although it’s suppose to be an impossible feat for a robot like him to develop emotional attachments towards someone, he had somehow managed to “love” you. How does he come to know of this emotion called love? It’s easy! If you want something / someone only to yourself….. that’s definitely love, right?

Sex with him is so so good. Since he is a cyborg, you thought that his manhood would be made of metal. But nope, it’s fully made of a soft material that looks and feel just like the real one! Boothill is determined to make you get drunk on his dick only. As a cyborg, he has unlimited strength and stamina. He loves to fold you into half and watch your pretty pussy display itself infront of him. He fucks his 7 inch manhood into you relentlessly, wanting to see how deep he can exactly go. How does he know his dick is 7 inch? He’s a cyborg that needs to attend regular maintenance, Of course he knows the exact measurement of his own body.

And did you realise? Each time you guys have sex, he just seems to feel bigger and thicker than before. It’s almost as if he changed the size of his manhood whenever he goes for his scheduled maintenance…… His arms also seems more muscular than before, and the 6 pack of abs that is displaying before you makes you wanna volunteer lick him all up.

“Do ya feel good here?” Boothill thrust up his hips, his newly replaced dick hits your g-spot with dead accuracy, making you see white in an instant. “I guess that’s a yes,” the man smirks when he sees your fucked-out mind, too sluggish and incoherent to say anything proper. All you could do is moan like a slut and beg your lover for more as he abuses your insides to his liking.

“Hm…… you take me in so well……. You can definitely take in a bigger size…….” It’s too bad that you weren’t coherent enough to process what he was saying. Otherwise, you would have seen his devilish face coming up with all sorts of ideas to make you go crazy during sex again.

#honkai star rail smut #boothill #Honkai star rail Boothill #boothill smut #honkai star rail x reader #smut #tw smut #Honkai star rail #fem reader

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strawberryblondebutch · 5 months ago

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hi! Random question maybe, but you seem very knowledgeable about hockey: there's a post on the PWHL subreddit right now asking about the differences between PWHL and NHL hockey. A lot of people in the comments are saying the skill level in the PWHL is much lower, which to me a weird statement for multiple reasons, but I don't know enough to disagree or agree with certainty. Do you have any thoughts? In general, what do you think are the differences between the style of play in the two leagues right now (other than ofc level of physicality l)?

That is a weird statement, which I'll get into in a second. To me, the biggest differences are such.

Fundamentals. This is not a PWHL-specific statement. It also applies to the WNBA vs. the NBA, and baseball players drafted out of college vs. high school. With truly all the respect and love to my prep school coaches, college is where you learn how to play your sport. You get by on raw talent until you hit the college level (or, for Canadian men's hockey players, the junior level) and then you learn how to actually play. Men are spending 1-2 years in college before leaving for the show. Women do a full 4-5. It's hard to imagine someone like Jason Robertson (who I love) succeeding in the women's game, because he's not a very good pure skater. He got by on his raw offensive ability. If he were coming up through the NCAA, someone like Mark Johnson or Matt Desrosiers would have grabbed him and said, "You're doing extra shifts in the barn until you stop looking like you're drowning out there."

"Then the skill in nhl level is just insane. Passes are perfect, players can handle bouncing pucks easily, and most importantly positioning is excellent - players are almost always where they are supposed to be (because they are big and fast) so zone entry/exit is super smooth.

60 minutes of Flyers hockey would kill this Redditor. I can assure you passes are not perfect and positioning is abysmal in the NHL, because again... these are the fundamentals that players would learn if they weren't plucked out of college/juniors on the basis of their raw, unhoned talent.

Roster construction. This is largely a function of limited roster space. The PWHL has less than 1/4 the positions than the NHL does. In the men's game, each line has a defined role. The first two forward lines are your top scorers, the third line does most of the checking and defensive play, and your fourth O-line is meant to tucker out the opponents' best scorers. The PWHL doesn't really have checking lines, because there aren't really checking specialists. Instead, lines are determined by the whims of the coaches by a combination of seniority and "riding the hot hand" - players who score more get more ice time.

Goaltending. PWHL goalies are smaller than NHL goalies and working with the same size net. Someone like Ivan Fedotov (6'8") can take up more space just by standing there than someone like Emerance Maschmeyer (5'6"). As a result, PWHL goalies tend to be far more mobile, and they start their post-to-post movement early, trying to anticipate where the shot will come from so that they can physically get there and block it.

Speed vs. acceleration. I think the comments about size that people in that thread were mentioning are largely overblown because they forget that everything is relative. It only really counts in two dimensions. The first is in goaltending. The second is in movement. Taller players can cover more ground with each push, which helps with their speed. Smaller players, because they aren't dragging as much weight around the ice with them, can push off from a stop faster, which helps their acceleration. It's why KCS is such a pain in the ass to play against: if she and I are both standing at the starting line, she (5'2", 125 lbs) can take off much faster than I (5'10", 170 lbs) can. I can hope to close the distance by using my strength and stride, but she's got the edge on that first 200 ft. Hey, you know what else is 200 feet? A hockey rink. She beat me to the other end.

#answered #kiera watches hockey #pwhl

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starhvney · 7 months ago

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𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐇𝐕𝐍𝐄𝐘'𝐒 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: mys zane x fem!reader

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: praise, edging, cockwarming, reverse bondage

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ☆ 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝑻𝑯𝑰𝑺 𝑷𝑶𝑺𝑻 𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑻𝑨𝑰𝑵𝑺 𝑵𝑺𝑭𝑾 𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑻, 𝑰𝑭 𝒀𝑶𝑼 𝑨𝑹𝑬 𝑼𝑵𝑫𝑬𝑹𝑨𝑮𝑬 𝑶𝑹 𝑼𝑵𝑪𝑶𝑴𝑭𝑶𝑹𝑻𝑨𝑩𝑳𝑬 𝑾𝑰𝑻𝑯 𝑺𝑬𝑿𝑼𝑨𝑳 𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑻 𝑷𝑳𝑬𝑨𝑺𝑬 𝑫𝑵𝑰.

hot breaths shakily huff from pink lips, freckled cheeks burning red and thick lashes hiding those cold blue eyes.

“you’re so pretty,” you murmur, finger dragging his bottom lip down and trailing down his neck. “my pretty boy.”

zane’s eyelids flutter as his eyes roll back into his head, shaking and bucking beneath you when you slowly circle your hips down into his, making his sensitive cock jump from where it was tightly nestled in your cunt. watching in satisfaction, you feel a sense of pride when his jaw clenches and a low needy moan leaves his throat. seeing the oh-so-independent and grumpy man dwindle to nothing but a whimpering and shaking mess beneath you was nothing short of gratifying.

“oh?” you tilt your head, forcing his legs down and stilling yourself once again. “you really like this, huh? who would’ve known…”

“when i agreed to this i didn’t know,” he cuts himself off with a sharp gasp. “…you’d drag it out this far.”

despite the icy glare he sends you through narrowed eyes and the protesting tug as his wrists pull on their silky restraints, you know he does like it. if he didn’t, you know he could easily break from the loose knot you tied. hell, he could probably fuck you stupid without even using his hands. considering he was clearly giving in to your “forceful” tugs and pushes—you’re sure if he was actually using his strength he could overpower you in a second.

instead, he’s letting you turn him into a melted heap of himself, like your fluttering walls enclosing on him and squeezing him till he was sensitive was a drug that he couldn’t get enough of. despite how he desperately wanted to just give in and fuck you to his release, he also couldn’t even think to move. you were addicting, which is why he let you tie his hands up without even a peep of protest.

sweet little you, so adorable. your chest was resting perfectly in your cute bra–with little bows decorating the lace. his arms jerk as he gets the urge to break free and squeeze them between his hands—play with them til you’re just as sensitive as he is. watching your breasts swell and fall with each deep breath you took was nothing short of tantalizing to him.

you’d be too tired to go through with this for much longer, he’s sure. hell, he can tell you’re already tired now without doing anything. just sitting on his cock alone was enough to make you a hot mess, so the fact you’d drawn it out for this long without giving in was purely based on your determined and stubborn goal to dominate him.

his lips quirk as he stares at you through his lashes, the look on his face turning mischievous. the little freak was enjoying this despite how it was practically torture for him, your wet cunt sucking him up and quivering from the size even all this time later as you tried to take the lead was so undeniably a turn-on for him.

despite his attempt at subtle smugness, you can catch on pretty quickly, pulling irritation to the forefront of your mind. out of spite, you determinedly drag his length along your walls and sit back down in a quick motion, wiping off that uplift of his lips as he bites back another moan, eyes once again screwing shut.

and you continue this, over and over… and over and over… and over again. holding yourself over him like a prize just out of reach, rolling your hips in tantalizingly slow motions, giving him one pump of his painful erection into your cunt before stopping until he was impatient again. not only was it torture for him, but it was torture for you, too. each time you raised your hips your legs seemed to feel weaker and shake harder, his thick shaft reducing you to jello without any effort.

despite how you were driving yourself to a mindless mess, zane was in no better condition. you’ve never seen an expression quite like this on him. his eyes screwed shut and cheeks a deep red, lips parted and plump from biting them in protest as he pulled in ragged and hefty breaths. his snake bite piercings glinted in the dim lighting of your bedroom as you ran your fingers over them.

when you grind into him again, you pull a broken whimper, his face contorting as if he were almost in pain. you’d kept him teetered on the edge of bliss for far too long now, and his patience was pulled into a thin string that was ready to snap at any moment. his legs twitched and trembled beneath you, his tip leaking pre that has long since mixed with your arousal and soaked his cock, leaving a sticky dripping mess that connected the two of you.

“fuck.” he hisses when you dare to still again. “don’t you dare draw this out any longer. i’ve let you have your fun—fuck!”

a drawn-out, needy groan is pulled from deep within him when you tilt your hips, squeezing him impossibly tighter. your headboard thuds against the wall as he nearly breaks his ties loose, and wet tears well along his lashes. a sudden rush of warmth spills into your cunt as he finally reaches that peak of pleasure, your warmth milking him for all he was worth as he comes down from the other world you just sent him to.

he’d cum just from you barely moving.he’s right, you have had your fun, and you have a feeling it’s going to get a lot better when you lean forward, untying his restraints and letting his hands free. he barely seems to register it at first, but when he does his eyes snap open—narrowed and showing off the glazed-over icy blue irises inside—piercing into you as he gives you a look that makes your legs quiver and burn in anticipation.

#aphmau #aphmau mystreet #mystreet #mystreet x reader #zane ro'meave x reader #zane ro'meave #mystreet zane #zane x reader

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feirceangel · 2 years ago

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Imagine | Protect (Luffy)

Imagine guarding Luffy’s hat.

Warnings: hurt/comfort

Word Count: 1,224

(Not my gif)

There is something you are one hundred percent certain of. In a life plagued with precariousness and anxiety, there is one truth you can always cling to.

And that is the fact that your captain, Monkey D. Luffy, always has your back.

No matter what situation you find yourself in, he never fails to brighten your day with a smile and defeat whatever foe you're facing.

Whether you're homesick, bored, or literally having your life threatened, he's always right by your side.

He guards each of his crew with a vigour that only he can. His warm smile brighter than a thousand suns as he celebrates yet another victory.

There is another thing you're certain of.

That your captain has one treasure more precious than any of his other objects.

His straw hat.

Given to him by the infamous Red-Haired Shanks, Luffy values that hat above all else.

Even at the cost of his own safety.

There's been countless times where you've watched in horror as Luffy was struck but managed to keep one hand firmly atop his hat.

It never got easier seeing him battle men quadruple his size and strength. Your stomach would clench with worry and you'd do your best to help battle the other opponents, but you always felt so helpless.

Watching him take on such intense foes made you feel proud of him and also concerned for his well being.

Although now that you've been sailing as a Straw Hat Crew member for months, you've come to realize that your captain can take on anything.

His hat, less so.

So, here you sit, quietly mending his hat as Luffy gapes at your handiwork.

"Awesome!" He grins, face alight with joy, "You're good at this, Y/n!"

"I'm just glad you're okay," you confess, carefully stitching away.

It's no secret how you feel about Luffy: everyone on the crew knows about your crush. And you have confidence that Luffy feels the same way.

It's in the little things he does. Always finding an excuse to hug you, explore new islands with you, and even share his food with you. And he never shares his food with anyone else.

So, it's safe to say he at least likes you.

He laughs, "You need to stop worrying so much!"

"You need to stop getting beat up!" You fire back, finishing your stitch. "Seriously, I'm starting to think you like pain."

He laughs, "I don't! But I got him in the end, Y/n! That's all that matters."

You sigh and motion for him to bow his head. He does and you gently set his hat back in its rightful place.

He grins up at you, "Thanks, Y/n! Let's go see if Sanji's done making supper!"

Luffy snatches your hand in his as soon as you drop your needle into your sewing kit. He drags you into the kitchen, using his devil fruit power to snatch up an apple.

"Sanji," he mumbles around a mouthful of fruit, "When's food gonna be ready? I'm hungry."

"Not yet," the cook shakes his head. "I need thirty more minutes."

Luffy groans loudly, leaning his head on your shoulder, "That's too long!"

"You have to wait!"

Luffy scrunches his nose in annoyance before dragging you outside again. Once there, he shoves the apple near your mouth, "Have a bite!"

You're surprised he hasn't eaten it all already. Opening your mouth, you take a large bite of the tangy goodness, humming your approval.

"Thanks," you start to mumble but he stops you mid sentence by leaning in and pressing his lips to yours.

A furious heat flushes your face at his abrupt actions.

"W-what was that for?"

He grins and swipes his tongue over his mouth, "You had juice on your lips."

You're floored, unable to respond as the kiss replays in your head. Meanwhile, he's already walking away with a giddy giggle.

You watch with bated breath as Luffy's hat goes flying.

He's fighting a particularly strong foe, having to use all his focus on the battle.

Without a second thought, you race after his treasure, determined to keep it safe for him. He's always doing so much for you, so you want to return the favour.

The other Straw Hats are occupied, no one noticing as you slip away to chase after the stray hat. A strong wind has blown it quite the distance, and you find it stuck on a tree branch.

You grab it, turning on your heel to trudge back to the main fight. But there's a problem.

A large group of marines stand in front of you, each one wearing a menacing grin.

"Look who we have here," the supposed leader comments, stepping forwards.

You instinctively hide Luffy's hat behind your back, grinning back ferociously.

"Gentlemen, what are you doing so far from the real fight?"

"Could ask you the same," he sneers. "What's that behind your back? Is it the infamous Straw Hat Luffy's straw hat?"

Your grip on the straw tightens.

"You're in charge of safeguarding it huh? Is that all you're good for?"

They laugh amongst themselves.

"I wonder if they'd kick you out if you failed the one task they gave you," he steps forward again.

"Over my dead body," you hiss, taking out your weapon after securing the hat to your belt. "If this hat is destroyed, then I have no reason to go on."

Before they can make the first move, you've taken down two of them, angered at their words and fuelled with the desire to protect Luffy's treasure.

The fight goes on too long.

Outnumbered, you take hits that knock you down and leave you bloodied and bruised. Maybe even with a few broken bones.

By now, you're on the ground, clutching the hat in your bloodied hands as a torrent of kicks fall on your back.

You took down well over half the marines but the few remaining are mad as hell and taking it out on you.

You barely register the outraged cry of your captain as he shouts, "Gum-Gum Gatling!"

The kicks stop as your attackers go flying, landing with dull thuds. They don’t get back up again.

Luffy is quick to rush to your side, “Y/n! Are you alright?!”

“Luffy,” you manage a small smile, shakily handing him his hat. “I protected your treasure.”

He doesn’t smile, in fact he looks angry.

“Idiot! You’re my treasure,” he shouts, gripping onto your shoulders, “And now you’re hurt!”

Confused, you stare up into his eyes, “But you love this hat.”

“But I love you more,” he shakes you again before screaming for Chopper to come and assess the damage done to you.

After you’re back on the ship, nicely bandaged and safe in bed, Luffy approaches you again. He seems less energetic than normal, dragging his feet as he comes to the bed.

“Thank you for protecting my hat. I’m sorry I didn’t protect you.”

“Luffy,” you gently clasp his hand, “You’ve always protected me.”

His eyes are wet with tears, “But-“

“I couldn’t ask for a better captain,” you reiterate, pulling him closer. “You’re all I could hope for.”

“Really?”

“Honest,” you smile, “Now come here.”

You drag him into your arms, wincing slightly. He is cautious of your injuries, gently returning your hug.

“Thank you.”

#female reader #imagine #reader insert #one piece imagine #op x reader #one piece #one piece x reader #monkey d luffy #luffy x reader #monkey d luffy x reader #Luffy op #one shot #fanfic

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artytaeh · 25 days ago

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( ☆ ) : SLYTHERIN BOYS · BOOBSESSED HEADCANONS . 𖥔 ࣪˖

☆ before you read : obvious smut content ahead, hence why it's advised for minors to not read nor interact. the characters included are mattheo riddle, theodore nott and enzo berkshire. three more characters will be added on part two. 🎀

. 𖥔 ࣪˖ PT O1 | PT O2 [coming soon]

· MATTHEO THOMAS RIDDLE. ☆ a successfully converted man.

it's so funny how until now, mattheo riddle was absolutely sure that he was an ass type of guy. meaning, that in mattheo's eyes, he'd go into a full-on debate with theo for the sake of defending his truth: a woman's ass is her best feature. with his flings and other nightstands, mattheo delighted himself on slapping his calloused hands there, getting a few handprints here and there, watching as those slytherin girls strolled around the slytherin's common room with rolled up skirts.

then he met you. on that fatidical night. when his calloused, injured fingers brushed over your nipple—forcing a needy moan out of you, mattheo saw your back arch from such a simple action. suddenly, all of those heated debates with theo meant anything, and mattheo had to give the debate's victory to lorenzo, who always defended boobs supremacy.

THIS MAN WILL SHAMELESSLY STARE at your chest whenever he can. whenever he wants. wherever he is — mattheo riddle will snap his neck to the other side of the room, when he notices you've entered, so his dark eyes can have its orbs moving up and down briefly; his gaze following every bounce of your breasts, no matter the size, like a snake being hypnotized out of its basket.

you know that meme where someone puts sunglasses and says that they're wearing them so no one can realize what they're paying attention to? that's mattheo riddle. bent down. hands on his pockets, body lowered until his head levels up to your chest. staring shamelessly at your breasts. smiling and wetting his lips at the sight.

MATTHEO LAUGHS IF YOU SLAP the back of his head. you'd think that mattheo riddle's anger issues would flare at that, but seriously, mattheo does it because 1) it's a bloody angelic sight; 2) he loves to tease you. seeing you squirm, embarrassed and even upset, mattheo has this little guilty pleasure of adoring it all, making you angry so he can kiss the annoyance away.

WOULD LITERALLY MOAN AND CREAM HIS PANTS if one day you appear with nipple piercings. piercings as a whole are very attractive in mattheo's eyes, but there? it's the prettiest sight for him. screw those '7 wonders of the world'; he has you, without any shirt or bra, right there in front of him.

and when mattheo riddle remembers that these specific piercings are for his eyes only... oh, boy. you're in for a ride. he gets ridiculously possessive, but in a giddy way! will torment your chest with the biggest smug grin in the whole world, almost looking like a cheshire cat, trapping your nipple inside his mouth and rolling his tongue over the iron; mumbling, these are all fucking mine, the sound of his voice vibrating on your already sensitive skin. for my eyes only.

SOMETIMES LIKES TO FULL-ON GRAB THEM. mattheo suddenly snaps out of nowhere, moving towards you with a piercing gaze, determination on his eyes, and soon his hands cup your breasts. you'd complain at him sometimes; because sometimes, mattheo is a little stupid and squeezes the soft skin beneath his fingers with more strength than he should. he always apologizes, of course— and depending on the mood, he might give you that cheshire grin of his, asking if you want him to kiss it better.

but there are other times that, in a way, are more tender. you're hanging out in your dorm room, maybe reading a book, until mattheo takes the book off of your hands so he sneaks his way inside your blouse. yes, mattheo stays there. nonchalantly, too! head hidden there, feeling the warmth of your breasts against his cheek. it's heaven on earth for him, really.

☆ EXTRA: this man LOOOOVES to fuck you when you're wearing nothing but his quidditch's shirt or slytherin jersey. he'll roll it up to your chest, just enough so he can see your breasts bounce with each thrust. mattheo doesn't know if he should look away, bewitched by the sight, or if seeing you like this, moaning his name while you're wearing his uniform is too much for him to take. mattheo swears that one day, you'll drive him absolutely insane.

and if he's feeling silly... yeah, mattheo will lightly hold one on each hand, and dangle them gently. like a goddamn child, a gremlin-like laughter will be heard from mattheo, comparing your chest to twin jellies, doing this type of shit after he just rearranged your guts. having free pass to touch your boobs is a promised field day for mattheo—he won't get bored, i promise.

· THEODORE FAUSTUS NOTT. ☆ very proud worshipper of his fixation.

theodore's entertainment is deeply rooted in the way he can be intimately closer to you, touching and worshipping skin that only a selected few should be chosen to see, throughout your life. in every touch, each single praise murmured in foreign words you don't know and sweet nicknames, theo makes sure that other men will have to crawl to be comparable to him.

in a slightly more selfish way, theo also sees a pleasant way to deal with his oral fixation. didn't you ask him for a substitute for cigarettes? well—he has very few options that can rival nicotine. and if he can pleasure you, then that's just meant to be, right?

THEODORE IS A CULTURED, EDUCATED and knowledgeable man! — or at least, that's what he tries to convince you, upon being suspiciously asked why of all things in the world, theo told you in detail about the wonders of female anatomy. no, not mansplaining; it's just that he read somewhere that the chest area can be really sensitive to some women. supposedly, it can help coaxing into an orgasm, or even be enough to get you all wet and ready for him. naturally, you call it bullshit. but oh. oh, there it is. the so-feared, rarely seen openly competitiveness that gets theodore stubbornly on fire, currently fueled by your doubts of his capabilities.

and let me tell you that this man is good with his mouth.

ten minutes. half an hour, almost forty minutes. more than that, if he needs to; that mouth of his refuses to stop until you're barely babbling coherent sentences, his lips dividing the attention between one breast and the other, equally branding his ownership there. theodore nudges his way between your legs, his knee pressing on your middle and tease — not giving you the friction you need. his hands and fingers roam your body, tracing each curve to memorize the feeling of your body, but his lips, mouth and tongue never leave your chest. how is his mouth not sore and tired already?

if you ask that to yourself and commit the mistake of opening your eyes, lowering your gaze to see theo, those sinful blue eyes of his were already staring at you, drinking every moan and savouring the outcome of his dedication, theodore nott moans as soon as eye contact stubbornly remain, and he keeps his mouth there like a starved man. not only is theodore nott competitive, but also ridiculously patient to get the things he wants. in this case, getting you dry humping on his thigh and knee, while he shows you that yes, he can coax some sensitivity out of you.

THEO ADORES TO HAVE YOU SITTING on his lap, one arm wrapped around your waist to keep you from fleeing from his eager mouth. his free hand traces a featherlight path upwards, until theodore's long fingers reach the nape of her neck, combing through the waves of your hair until he grasps those strands, guiding you to meet his gaze. blue eyes, usually stormy with bottled up feelings, stare at you with an intensity that is comparable to an artist staring at a spectacular statue, out of those amazing monuments back at italy.

this position is a favorite of theo's for many reasons: first of all, its practicality; he specially likes to sink on his seat, an armchair if possible, so that his body doesn't sit so upright. guiding you with him, your torso bends over to him, hand on your upper back to keep you in place, restricting even the thought of leaning away from his face. whether you grind, ride or simply enjoy the feeling of him filling you so deeply to the core, that's a choice he'll let you make—for now, he gets to savor the softness of your chest weighing against his face—and bite your nipple when he wants you to start a rhythm.

BECAUSE HE'S STILL A BIG ENJOYER OF THIGHS, theo would never lose the spot between your legs as a preferred place to reside, whenever privacy allows it. thighs spread wide, theodore wants a good view of everything, not allowing you to feel an ounce of shame as soon as his tongue distracts you. eating you out is more than a favor or pleasantry for theo, taking pride in pleasuring his partner for as long as it takes—keeping eye contact as he places the most obscene kisses between your folds, licking and sucking like it was the very product of passion. sometimes, theo asks you to play with your chest as he does that, this sight being enough to coax theo into rubbing his erection on the sheets, getting off on eating you out while you play with yourself, his own fingers too busy for that.

☆ EXTRA: a discreet and secret collector of your underwear. taking off your panties in a secluded corner of the library, stealing the bra you were using before having sex, having a stash that is changed every week—hey, he doesn't want you to stress over lost lingerie. be it the cutest set or the most basic comfortable wear, theodore still finds it in himself to steal it for a while. definitely sniffs your bra and uses your panties to jerk off instead of using his own hand.

ON A LESS SEXUAL NOTE, because theodore only is that kind of pervert without prying eyes to witness you and him, theodore enjoys using your chest as a form of stress balls whenever he's going through a load of homework. with you sitting all pretty on his lap, theodore writes his history of magic's essay while squeezing one of your breasts with his free hand. really gentle about it, doesn't even try to make you horny—he knows that it's unfair to make you wait until he's done with his academics. it also helps to keep his mind away from his family's pressure.

· LORENZO CHARLES BERKSHIRE. ☆ a loyal, faithful believer.

lorenzo berkshire always was, and always will, be a boob type of man. it's an unspeakable wonder to him, and unironically, enzo will worship every single chest that is presented to him—it doesn't matter if you're a friend, a nightstand whose name he won't remember tomorrow, a girl he despises but found himself making out with, or his own girlfriend; it does not matter, because boobs are boobs, and lorenzo never shies away from the opportunity.

"oh, so does the size mat—" no. be it big, medium, small; lorenzo gladly takes the chance with greedy hands and that cheeky smirk that gets so many witches at hogwarts on their knees (figuratively and literally speaking).

ENZO WILL LITERALLY USE ANY AND EVERY EXCUSE to touch your breasts. contrary to mattheo, who's already the happiest just to see them even with clothes above, lorenzo will beg, plead, convince, whine, cry, flirt, present facts and create ridiculous motives to have his hand on your tits.

pansy, as lovely as she is, would make the error of oversharing one day with him at the slytherin's table at breakfast; pansy stabs her food with an annoyed frown, complaining about patriarchy and how it directly obligates her to wear bras. uncomfortable bras. and seriously, lorenzo is such a great friend that he listens attentively to all of pansy's complaints and even engages an indignant dialogue with her (as if that was a problem of his, so you can see how lorenzo truly empathizes), but—

but. where pansy sees a reason to get angry for the rest of the morning, lorenzo berkshire sees an opportunity. it almost looked like pansy had presented him with the solution to world's hunger, when enzo stands up, kisses her cheek with a loud 'thank you, you intelligent sneaky woman!', and immediately marches his way to you.

with a smile that you know all too well, lorenzo proudly marches to where you are. you're right to have a feeling of distrust—because really, what are the chances of having your boyfriend asking you: 'hey, is your bra uncomfortable? pansy told me about it. not your bra, hers; in a platonic way, obviously! anyways, i've been thinking— i should be a better boyfriend to you. which means, you really shouldn't have to wear bras. i can just hold them for you, look!' (and you watch in horror, as lorenzo raises his hands to you. then, he rubs his palms together, almost looking like a cartoon villain.) 'i can warm them up for you! or keep them cold during summer!' (and girl, if you slap him... to be honest, lorenzo won't even complain. he probably deserved it; he should have said his 'good morning's first.)

THOSE FLIRTY PICK-UP LINES HE USES ARE... terrible. should be illegal, even. it reaches a point where lorenzo is lucky to be this handsome and charming, otherwise you'd never give him the time of day anymore.

oh, these look heavy. allow me to be a gentleman and carry it for you? — berkshire, lorenzo. one of his worst ones. yes, he is referring to your breasts. yes, he would be in a full-on 24 hour delight where nothing can bother this blessed man.

sincerely GIVES UP ON TOPPING SOMETIMES. we know that lorenzo is a switch; and the sight of you riding him? oh, he loves it. he adores it even more, when you're telling him what to do; where to touch, using him as if he was a sex toy of yours. enzo never knows whether to watch your beautiful face contort into the most sinful blissed expressions, or to watch where you two connect, where you bounce on his groin, riding him—ultimately, lorenzo steals shameless glances at your breasts; and unless you tell him to do otherwise, he gets his hands and mouth there. all. the. time.

even with his mouth busy, lorenzo doesn't shut up. you can feel him smirking on your skin, how those lips of his curve into a cheeky smile, lips brushing on your sensitive skin as he moves his lips to talk, to whisper sweet nothings to you: 'so good for me, angel. pretty girl, you drive me insane.'

☆ EXTRA: likes finishing on your breasts. enzo will edge himself this one time, leave your tight grip a moment earlier so he can circle your nipple with this tip, until he's coloring your skin with his cum. definitely has a nearby polaroid to register the moment—yes, those wizardy photos, so he can see his cum drip down your skin, over and over again—only to use it as his little black book's bookmark. you're a forever favorite, alright?

#slytherin boys #theodore nott #lorenzo berkshire #mattheo riddle #theodore nott x reader #mattheo riddle x reader #enzo berkshire x reader #headcanons #smut headcanons #hp fandom

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