#conquer the night 'verse

[luna-thecreator]

Paring: Smoke (Elijah Moore) x Eboni (Black OC) Plot: A quiet singer and a dangerous man cross paths again under the haze of whiskey, heat, and music. What begins in silence soon burns into something neither of them can control. Word Count: 4k Tags: 18+, Minors DNI, language, possessive behavior, power dynamics, emotional tension, SMUT!, dangerous love interest

Eboni stood on the small, dimly lit stage, her back straight, feet planted firmly on the wooden floor of the juke joint. The heat of the evening clung to the air, thick and heavy, the kind of warmth that made you feel like you were breathing in someone else’s secrets. The crowd swayed, some lost in their drinks, others in the smooth pull of Eboni’s voice.

She’d been singing in this place for over a year now, the rhythm of the night sinking into her bones. Each song was an escape, but she never let herself get too lost. Not in front of the crowd.

But tonight, as the last notes of the song floated away, she felt something shift. A presence. Her eyes caught the corner of the room, and there he was. Elijah. Or rather, Smoke. His name didn’t matter. It was the way he stood, quiet and still, as if the noise of the world didn’t reach him. And the way his eyes—dark and heavy—found hers, like he’d been waiting for this moment for years.

Two years ago, they had never spoken a word, but they didn’t need to. They’d shared looks, stolen moments in the same dark corners, their silent understanding hanging between them like smoke. He’d get lost in her voice, until he disappeared, and she hadn’t expected to see him again. But now he was back.

The crowd cheered, but it sounded far away, muffled. Eboni couldn’t look away from him. She took a slow breath and nodded to the band to start another song, her fingers still tight around the microphone. The music kicked in, but it felt different now. Heavy. Personal.

She sang through the next verse, her eyes flickering back to him, the tension building like a slow storm. Smoke didn’t move, not an inch, his gaze locked onto her like it was the only thing that mattered.

When the song ended, the applause was distant, echoing in her chest. She didn’t bother with a smile or a thank-you. She stepped off the stage, her heels clicking on the worn wood, moving like she was walking toward something she couldn’t quite reach.

She made her way to the bar, the noise of the crowd fading into the background as she kept her focus on the two men across the room. Her pulse quickened, but she didn’t let it show. She leaned against the worn oak of the bar, her fingers curling around a glass of whiskey that had already been poured for her—one of the perks of being a regular. Her eyes never left them, even as she took a slow sip.

Stack was there, as always, the easy smile on his face. He was doing what he always did, moving through the crowd with a charm that could melt the coldest heart. He was talking to a few women, laughing, his broad shoulders almost swallowing up the small talk that surrounded him. He liked to be the center of attention, and everyone loved him for it. But Eboni knew better. She’d seen this act before. Stack wore his charisma like a badge, a way to distract from the emptiness underneath.

But it wasn’t Stack who held her gaze. It was Elijah—Smoke.

Even from across the room, she could feel his presence. He was standing by the wall, arms crossed, his face set in that same unreadable expression she remembered from two years ago. The way his eyes followed her, dark and calculating, made her stomach tighten. He wasn’t looking at her like Stack did—like she was something to possess or conquer. No. Elijah watched her like she was a puzzle he’d been trying to figure out for years, and every second he spent looking at her only brought him closer to the answer.

She tore her eyes away, but only for a moment, enough to see Stack stack a cigarette, the tobacco wrapped neatly in a paper that had seen too many hands. He moved with a practiced ease, the kind of movement that said he’d done this a hundred times before—maybe more. His fingers worked quickly, rolling the tobacco into a perfect cylinder before he offered it to his twin.

“Smoke,” Stack said, his voice loud enough for Eboni to hear from where she stood. “You want this?”

Elijah didn’t respond right away. He just lifted his eyes, slow and deliberate, meeting Stack’s gaze. When he finally nodded, Stack’s grin grew, the kind of grin that always made Eboni want to look away.

Stack handed the cigarette to Elijah, his fingers brushing against the man’s hand as they exchanged it. It wasn’t a gesture that meant anything on the surface, but Eboni knew better. That was the kind of touch that meant everything to them, a bond forged in blood and silence.

She swallowed another mouthful of whiskey, her thoughts a muddled haze, and turned her attention back to the stage. But her mind was elsewhere, still following Smoke and Stack’s every movement, every small action. 

Eboni had downed about four shots of pure whiskey, the burn spreading down her throat and settling heavy in her chest. It was enough to push the fog in her mind to the back of her thoughts, enough to shake the tension that had wound too tightly in her body. She needed something to fill the hollow feeling, to drown out the noise in her head. And there was only one way she knew how to do that.

She stood, shaking off the weight of the barstool as the music played its sultry tune. The brass band had kicked into a slower, heavier rhythm, the kind that made you want to move, to let everything slip away. The bassline thrummed in her bones, and before she could think twice, she was on the dance floor.

Her hips swayed with the beat, body moving like liquid, each step flowing in perfect sync with the music. She didn’t care who watched. She didn’t care who noticed. The men around her—just a blur of faces—seemed to melt into the background, their eyes fixed on her every move, their hands reaching out in desperate need of a connection they could never quite understand. But none of them mattered. Not tonight.

Tonight, Eboni danced with her demons. She swirled around a sea of bodies, lost in the music and the heat, in the chaos of everything falling apart outside these walls. Bills were piling up, her rent overdue, the landlord knocking on her door at all hours of the night, and here she was—dancing like everything was fine. But she knew it wasn’t. Her personal life was spiraling, and all she had left was this—the music, the sweat, the whiskey, and the rhythm that refused to let her think.

God forbid a woman wanted to let go. To forget the weight of her world for a moment and just move, lose herself in something that felt alive. That’s what the dance floor was—freedom, if only for a song.

The air in the joint was thick with the smell of sweat, cigarettes, and something more, something that Eboni could never quite name. The crowd, hungry for an escape, moved around her like sharks, drawn to the pulse of the beat, the rawness of the night. But none of them understood her like she understood herself—this was her release, her moment to disappear into the shadows of the music.

But what she didn’t know, what she couldn’t have known, was that Smoke was still watching her. From the corner of the room, leaning against the wall as if he had nowhere else to be, his eyes never left her. He’d been watching her since she stepped off that stage, his gaze unwavering, the weight of his attention a constant pull at her spine.

Every sway of her hips, every flicker of her eyes, every step she took was like a thread that drew him in closer, whether he wanted to admit it or not. There was something about the way she danced—free, wild, untamed—that got under his skin. She was a force, a hurricane in the middle of a quiet night, and he couldn’t help but be drawn to her storm.

The smoke from his cigarette curled in the air as he took a long drag, his jaw tight, eyes locked on her every movement. He could feel the heat of the room, but it wasn’t the heat of the bodies around him that made his skin burn. It was her.

Elijah knew he shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be watching her like this. He had enough trouble of his own—trouble he couldn’t afford to share with anyone, least of all her. She was trouble enough. She didn’t belong in the world he lived in, didn’t belong in the shadows that clung to him like a second skin. But there she was, moving in a way that made him question every decision he’d ever made.

Stack, ever the talker, was nowhere near as focused on her as Elijah was. He’d caught a glimpse of Eboni, then immediately turned his attention to another woman, pulling her into his orbit with that easy grin of his. But Elijah didn’t look away, didn’t break his stare. Not even when a few people bumped into him, pulling him out of his trance.

Now, as she moved on the dance floor, he felt that same pull in his chest—the same tug that made him want to reach out, grab her, pull her close and make her forget the world around her. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

Eboni spun, her eyes catching his for a brief second before she turned away again, lost in the rhythm. For just a moment, she felt something shift in the air, something that wasn’t just the heat or the crowd—it was him. She didn’t need to turn around to know he was still watching. She could feel it, deep in her bones.

The crowd had thinned to a whisper. Chairs scraped the floor as bodies filtered out into the sticky New Orleans night, laughter echoing down the crooked streets. The music was gone now—only the ghost of it lingered in the air, like perfume after the woman’s long gone. Eboni stood near the stage, her heels finally killing her, fingers curling around the worn leather strap of her bag.

She was tired. Soul-tired. The kind of tired that couldn’t be fixed with rest. She grabbed her coat from the back of a chair, stuffing her tips into her pocket without counting. Her feet ached, her head buzzed with leftover whiskey and regret.

She didn’t even notice him at first—not until his hand wrapped gently, but firmly, around her arm.

She turned fast, caught off guard. Smoke stood there, close. Closer than he’d ever dared to be.

"I missed it," he said.

His voice was low, thick with something she couldn’t quite name. Not gravel. Not smoke. Something in between. The way he looked at her—it wasn’t like how the men looked at her from the crowd. It wasn’t hunger. It wasn’t lust. It was something deeper. Something like memory.

She blinked. “Missed what?”

“Your voice,” he said. “I missed your voice.”

Eboni stared at him, lips parted. She hadn’t expected that. Not from him. Not tonight.

“You always used to stay in the back,” she said, her voice soft. “Never spoke. Just watched.”

“I was listening,” he said. “Always was.”

Eboni felt her stomach twist. His hand was still on her arm, not rough, but like he couldn’t bring himself to let go. She glanced down at it, then back up at him. She should’ve pulled away. But she didn’t.

“You came back,” she said. It wasn’t a question. More like a statement she didn’t know what to do with.

“Didn’t plan to,” Elijah murmured. “But I heard your voice again and—shit—I couldn’t stay away.”

There was a pause, long and heavy. The rest of the room faded. It was just them, the lights humming low, the floor sticky with spilled gin and too many late nights.

Eboni’s throat tightened. “I ain't looking for trouble, Elijah.”

“I know,” he said, stepping closer. “I’m not here to bring it.”

“Then what are you here for?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t answer with words. Just looked at her with those dark eyes—still, unreadable, but deep. “Come with me,” he finally said. “Just for a while. No music. No crowd. Just quiet.”

She should’ve said no.

She should’ve turned around, walked out, kept herself from falling into the pull she’d tried so hard to ignore. But instead, she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and nodded.

The ride to his place had been quiet.

Not the awkward kind. Not full of nerves or forced words. Just silence that spoke louder than anything either of them could’ve said. She watched the streetlights flash across his face in the dark car, gold slicing over his cheekbones and jaw, softening nothing. Elijah didn’t look at her much. But his hand rested near hers on the seat—close enough she could feel the heat of it, like a live wire she was trying not to touch.

When they reached his building, he opened the door like a man who never brought anyone through it. The hallway creaked under their steps, and Eboni had to remind herself to breathe.

Upstairs, the room was dim. No music. No radio. Just the hum of old pipes and the weight of night pressing against the windows.

Eboni stood just inside the doorway, her arms still crossed, as if she hadn’t fully decided to be there. Elijah shrugged off his jacket, draped it over the back of a chair, then turned to her.

“You can sit,” he said gently.

She nodded but didn’t move right away. Her eyes trailed across the room. There wasn’t much to see. One lamp in the corner, books stacked by the bed, a half-full ashtray on the table. It was clean. Lived-in, but quiet, like the man who owned it.

“You live like a ghost,” she said softly.

Elijah turned, brow raised.

“This place…” she said, stepping further in. “It don’t got fingerprints. It don’t got... you in it.”

He paused at that. “I never liked leaving too much of myself anywhere.”

“Why not?”

He hesitated. “’Cause people break the things they know belong to you.”

Eboni sat then, slow and careful, like the couch might bite. She pulled her coat tighter around herself, though the room wasn’t cold.

He moved to the table, poured a drink without asking. Whiskey. He handed it to her, his fingers brushing hers as he passed it over. She held it but didn’t drink.

“I ain’t used to you talking so much,” she said after a moment.

He leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “You never gave me a reason to talk.”

“And now?”

He looked at her like she already knew.

Eboni finally took a sip. The burn was sharp and welcome. “You watched me for two years. Never said a word. What made you speak now?”

Elijah stared for a long beat before answering.

“’Cause I realized I’d regret it if I didn’t.”

She held his gaze, and something thick hung in the air—want, memory, something more dangerous than both. She set the glass down, slow and deliberate.

“You still dangerous?” she asked.

Elijah stepped forward, his voice lower now, softer. “Always.”

“And I’m still the girl who’s got no business with danger.”

“I know.”

“But you brought me here anyway.”

“I couldn’t help it.”

She tilted her head. “That supposed to make me feel better?”

“No,” he said. “It’s not.”

Another silence. Another moment where one of them could’ve pulled away—but didn’t.

“You want me to go?” she asked, standing up.

He looked at her like it hurt to answer. “No.”

“Then why you standing all the way over there like you don’t know what this is?”

He didn’t respond. Just crossed the room, slow, until he was right in front of her. He didn’t reach for her—not yet—but his presence was close enough to drown in.

“This ain’t a love story, Eboni,” he said. “You know that, right?”

She looked up at him, steady. “I didn’t come here for love.”

Elijah’s eyes dropped to her mouth, then back to her eyes. “Then why’d you come?”

Eboni’s voice didn’t shake. “Because I couldn’t stay away either.”

That was all it took. One breath between them, then his hand slid up her arm, slow and warm. His other touched her jaw, thumb brushing the curve of her cheek.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. Her body buzzed like a live wire under his touch.

And when he kissed her—it wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was slow, but deep. The kind of kiss that made the whole room disappear. His hands stayed at her jaw, holding her like she might vanish. Her fingers twisted into the front of his shirt, pulling him closer.

There were no promises in it.

Just the quiet understanding that both of them were already too far gone.

The door barely clicked shut before Elijah was on her—hands, mouth, breath—all of him. Eboni barely had time to breathe before her back was pressed against the wall, the cool plaster grounding her for one sharp second. Then his mouth was on her neck, dragging slow heat up her throat.

“Couldn’t keep seein’ you dance wit’ them niggas like that,” he muttered against her skin, voice low, ragged. “Had me out my mind.”

She gasped as his hand slid up her thigh, hitching her dress higher. “That why you pulled me like that?” she whispered, breath catching. “’Cause you jealous?”

Elijah pulled back just enough to look at her. His eyes were dark, jaw clenched. “I ain’t jealous, Eboni. I’m possessive. There’s a difference.”

She let out a shaky laugh, but it faded when his fingers slid beneath the hem of her dress, tracing the inside of her thigh.

“I ain’t yours, Elijah.”

He smirked, sharp and knowing. “You keep tellin’ yourself that.”

With one hand, he gripped the back of her neck, tilting her head up. The other dragged the straps of her dress down, slow, like he was unwrapping something sacred. Inch by inch, fabric fell, pooling at her waist before slipping past her hips. She didn’t stop him. Didn’t say a word. Her body burned under his touch, and she didn’t care if it showed.

“You been singin’ all sweet up on that stage,” he whispered, mouth brushing hers, “but I know you got heat in you. I see it every time you look at me.”

“Then take it.” she whispered back.

That was all he needed.

He peeled her underwear off one by one—no rush, no apologies. His hands moved like he was memorizing her skin, every curve, every breath. Eboni stood bare under the weight of his gaze, chest rising fast, lips parted.

“Turn around,” he said.

She hesitated—but only for a second. Then she did. Her back faced him, hands braced against the wall. She heard the sound of his belt, the rustle of his shirt hitting the floor.

Elijah stepped close behind her, one hand sliding around her stomach, the other teasing down her hip. His breath was hot against her ear as he pressed his hard dick onto her back.

“You feel that?” he murmured, voice gravel and hunger. “That’s what you do to me.”

She said, “I Ain’t stoppin’ you.”

His growl was low, more animal than man. He slid his dick into her gummy pussy in one slow, deliberate motion that made her cry out, her fingers clenching against the wall.

“O-oh my god..,” she whispered, body arching.

He held her there, buried deep, not moving yet. Just breathing. Letting it build. Letting her feel all of him.

“You feel so fuckin’ good,” he said through gritted teeth, pressing his lips to her shoulder. “I been thinkin’ about this for years, Eboni.”

She pushed back against him, hips moving slow. “M-me too.”

Hard. Deep. Slow at first—like he wanted to savor every second. His hand gripped her hip, the other sliding up to palm her breast. Their rhythm was rough, needy, matched breath for breath. Eboni moaned, loud and unfiltered, her voice breaking into the night like a song meant only for him.

Elijah bent her forward slightly, his chest against her back now, lips pressed behind her ear. “Say my name.”

She tried to hold it, tried not to give him the satisfaction—but his thrusts made it impossible.

“Elijah—” she gasped.

He groaned, mouth dragging along her neck. “Say it again.”

“Elijah,” she whimpered, nails scraping down the wall. “Fuck…”

Her knees started to buckle, the pleasure climbing too fast, too high.

“I got you,” he whispered, hand sliding between her thighs to find her clit. “I got you.”

It sent her over. Her body trembled, falling apart in his arms. She cried out, shaking as he kept fucking her, chasing his own release. He wet juices pooled on the floor beneath her as he he fucked her sloppy. It didn’t take long—his breath turned ragged, his rhythm breaking. With a final thrust, he spilled into her, holding her so tight it almost hurt.

Silence fell, thick and breathless.

They stayed like that for a moment, foreheads pressed to the wall, hearts thundering in sync.

“You still think you ain’t mine?” he asked, voice rough in her ear.

Eboni didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Not yet. 

Because something in her had just changed. And they both knew it.

Elijah didn’t let her go right away. He held her against him, both of them catching their breath in the quiet shadows of the hallway. His lips brushed her shoulder again—this time softer, slower. Less heat, more feeling.

“You alright?” he murmured, voice low.

Eboni nodded, still breathless. “Yeah,” she whispered.

He turned her around, his hands gentle now, fingertips skimming the sweat-slick curve of her waist. He looked at her like he was trying to memorize her face, like this was the first time he’d ever really seen her.

“Come with me,” he said.

She didn’t ask where. She just let him take her hand.

He led her through the dim apartment, past old vinyls stacked on the side table, past the open window blowing in the warm New Orleans night. His bedroom was simple—dark walls, linen sheets tangled from nights like this, heavy silence hanging in the air like smoke.

The door shut behind them with a soft click.

Eboni stood still, suddenly aware of how bare she was—inside and out.

“You always bring girls back here?” she asked, voice trying for sharp but falling soft.

Elijah stepped closer, so close her back hit the edge of the bed.

“I don’t bring anyone back here,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Ain’t nobody ever felt like you.”

She wanted to roll her eyes, call it a lie, but something in his tone cut through her doubt. It wasn’t charm. It wasn’t a line.

It was truth.

“You used to sit in the back of the juke,” she said, eyes on his chest now. “Never said nothin’. Just watched.”

“I was scared if I opened my mouth, I’d say too much.”

She smirked. “You talkin’ plenty now.”

He leaned down, mouth just above hers. “And I mean all of it.”

Then he kissed her again—deeper this time. Slower. His hands found her waist, pulled her in like he couldn’t get close enough. She sank into it, arms winding around his neck, her body aching all over again.

He guided her down onto the bed, lips never leaving hers. The sheets were cool against her skin, but he was warm everywhere. He kissed down her collarbone, across her chest, pausing just long enough to make her breath catch.

“Elijah…” she whispered, fingers curling in his hair.

“You trust me?” he asked.

She hesitated—then nodded. “I do now.”

His fingers ran over every inch—her thighs, her hips, her ribs, her mouth. When he entered her swollen pussy again, it wasn’t urgent like before. It was deep, slow, like he wanted to stay inside her forever.

Eboni gasped, her nails dragging along his back. “God… I don’t know what you’re doin’ to me.”

He groaned softly, forehead pressed to hers. “Just givin’ you what you deserve.”

They moved together, breath for breath, his name falling from her lips like a prayer. Her body trembled again, and he held her through every wave, never looking away. He followed right after, his release crashing through him like thunder.

After, they lay tangled in each other, skin warm, limbs heavy.

Eboni rested her head on his chest, her voice barely a whisper. “I wasn’t supposed to feel like this.”

Elijah’s hand stroked her back, slow and gentle. “Me neither,” he murmured. “But I ain’t lettin’ you go now. Not again.”

“You don’t even know me.”

He looked down at her, eyes dark and honest. “I know enough. I know your voice makes the world stop. I know you drink whiskey straight but kiss like honey. I know I been missin’ you for two years and it ain’t never stopped.”

She looked up at him, lips parted. Her heart beat too fast.

“Elijah…”

“I don’t want no one else touchin’ you,” he said. “No one else hearin’ those songs like I do.”

Eboni bit her lip, her voice shaking. “Then make me yours.”He leaned in and kissed her again, slow and deep. “I already did.”

[buckets-and-trees]

Rank and Promotion

Characters/Pairings: soft!dark Alpha!Ari x curvy Female!Omega!Reader Word Count: 7.5k Summary: Ari Levinson receives a visit and a gift from Governor Barnes. (part of the Fine Line collection but can be read fully on its own)

Content/Warnings: omegaverse (alpha-omega dynamics, scenting, etc); power dynamics; loss of virginity; explicit smut: thigh riding, oral (female receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected vaginal intercourse and insemination, cum appreciation; omega trafficking

Author Notes: I said there would be more alphas in this verse, and HERE'S THE FIRST OF THEM! It is not necessary to read anything else in this story. Relevant information is relayed directly and/or insinuated in the narrative for this piece. But for anyone who has followed the Bucky parts of the story, this takes place immediately after the council scene in No Way Out.

Additional Note: I need to give credit where it's due to @stargazingfangirl18 for helping me figure out how to best approach sharing this storyline for new characters/a new reader into an existing verse!

Fine Line Collection

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

Five years ago, Ari would have been pacing impatiently across the floor of this opulent living room in the penthouse of Skyline Tower, but now he’s learned how to control the impatience, to cage it, let it undulate deep inside of himself to be used to launch into action at the right moment. 

And so he sits in a comfortable armchair with a view of the mountains in the distance out to the west of the city, studying the view, reading on his phone, and looking out into the distance again.

Twenty-seven hours ago he’d received a summons from the Governor’s executive aide, told he was expected in the capital by sundown and to pack for an indefinite stay. The order had not been entirely unusual - he’d been instructed to move to different locations many times given the nature of his work, and many of those reassignments had been with unknown expectations for how long he would need to be there. 

Ari arrived in the capital the night before and had been escorted to this penthouse in the city’s tallest building, and thathad been unusual. Typically his assignments were fulfilled in ordinary, unremarkable areas, not the a place like this. 

The space balances luxury with functionality – sleek lines and modern fixtures softened by plush seating and warm lighting. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcase the sprawling city below, but automated privacy screens can be adjusted for comfort. The leather couch looked genuinely used, not merely decorative. Books lined built-in shelves, their spines showing wear. The kitchen gleams with high-end appliances, yet remains approachable with its open layout. Even the temperature is perfectly calibrated – cool enough to remain comfortable, but not so cold as to require additional layers.

This attention to livability rather than mere display speaks volumes about its owner. Bucky Barnes may be Hydra's conquering fist, but he clearly values practical comfort over ostentatious wealth. It's an unexpected insight into the man who seized control of the territory mere weeks ago in a swift, brutal campaign that left the previous government broken, but not obliterated left with just enough strength and infrastructure to remain viable and powerful on the continent.

His phone buzzes, and there’s a message indicating that Governor Barnes has just arrived at Skyline Tower and will be with him presently. 

Ari frowns.

Having been summoned, he expected to be called to the Governor’s office or his mansion. 

A personal visit was yet another anomaly. 

Only a few minutes later, there’s a brief knock and a man enters the penthouse, making way for a tall, imposing alpha, and his omega. 

Ari man rises from the leather armchair. "Governor Barnes," he greets Bucky with a slight inclination of his head. 

"Levinson," Bucky responds, stepping forward to clasp his hand firmly. "I trust the accommodations are satisfactory."

"More than," Ari replies, gesturing around. His gaze shifts to the female at Bucky’s side, curiosity evident in his expression. "And this must be your new omega. The former governor's daughter."

Bucky's hand moves to the small of her back, a possessive gesture that doesn't go unnoticed by anyone in the room. "Yes. She's mine now."

Bucky steers his omega and gestures for her to sit on the plush leather couch with him. She settles beside him, and he drapes his metal arm possessively across her shoulders. Ari can see it’s not a demonstration for his benefit, but for hers. 

Ari takes his seat again in armchair opposite the couch and waits, deferring to the governor to speak first. 

"Your work in the eastern territories has been exceptional," Bucky begins, his tone matter-of-fact. "The intelligence you've gathered over the past three years has been invaluable to our acquisition of the territory."

"Just doing my job," Ari responds with a modest shrug, though there's a hint of pride he can’t hold back in his tone. 

"Which is precisely why I've called you here to the capital," Bucky continues. "Every weakness, every vulnerability you identified in the territory's defenses proved accurate. The takeover was executed with minimal resistance, just as you predicted."

"Minimal resistance is generous," Ari remarks with a slight smile. He heard every report, saw footage online and on television. "Your tactics were... thorough." 

And in line with many of the intel and suggestions Ari himself had supplied to Barnes and the others in the Hydra network for this very purpose. 

Bucky leans forward, his posture shifting subtly from casual to intent. "Which brings me to my proposition. I need someone to lead my military forces—someone with your strategic mind and field experience." 

Ari keeps his expression carefully neutral, though he is more than intrigued if Barnes means what he think he means. 

Still, he doesn’t want to misstep by assuming or betraying any eagerness. 

So he waits half a moment before saying evenly, "You have STRIKE teams already in place. Rumlow seems capable enough."

"Rumlow is a blunt instrument," Bucky replies dismissively. "Useful for specific tasks, but lacking the vision required for what I have planned." He pauses, studying Ari with calculating eyes. "I'm offering you the position of General of my armed forces.”

Ari raises his eyebrows slightly. "General?" 

"Yes," Bucky confirms without hesitation. "The current military leadership lacks vision. They're competent at maintaining order, but we need more than that to secure our borders and expand our influence. You understand the larger picture." 

He assumed there would be a special assignment, but he hadn’t anticipated this. Though his pulse has accelerated, he keeps his voice even. "What exactly would this entail?" 

Like himself, Bucky is a man who respects cool heads.

"Authority over all military operations, reporting directly to me," Bucky explains. "A seat on the territory council, but also a member of my personal cabinet.”

Ari considers the Governor’s words, drumming his fingers lightly against the armrest. His gaze flicks between the alpha and his omega - a woman who has remained stoic, silent, and still through all of the exchange, though certainly studying every word and action, thoroughly paying attention. 

"Think about it,” Bucky continues, “this territory has resources, manpower, and strategic positioning. What we lack is someone with vision to utilize them properly."

Ari weighs his options, calculating the benefits against potential risks.

Bucky shifts, squeezing the back of his omega’s neck before standing. "I don't expect an immediate answer. Consider the offer." He gestures toward the door where the man who entered with them has remained, clearly waiting for this signal. "In the meantime, I've brought something to mark your acceptance."

To mark your acceptance… So this is an edict, no room for negotiation, refusal an impossibility. 

The man - a beta, Ari can tell - nods and opens the door. A moment later, an older looking beta female enters, leading five omega women in behind her. 

"Alphas like us have... certain needs," Bucky says, his tone casual but his eyes sharp, watching for Ari’s reaction.

Ari stands, and something in his chest rumbles unbidden. He’s enjoyed an omega here and there, though they’re difficult to find. To have five in a room together is rare. Five unmated? Unheard of. 

Bucky steps forward, his hand gesturing toward the line of omegas with practiced smoothness. "These fine specimen come from Whitecrest," he explains, voice carrying an unmistakable note of pride. "Perhaps the most prestigious omega training facility in the northern hemisphere."

All five are dressed modestly in cream-colored, simple yet exquisite dresses - each cut and tailored to show off the omegas in the best way possible. They appear to range in age from twenties to thirties. Their hair is neatly styled, their postures submissive but dignified, eyes downcast.

The beta male - Marcus, according to his silver name badge - steps forward with a slight bow. His suit is impeccably pressed, his manner formal yet approachable.

"Whitecrest is an institution with over a century of tradition. Interested families who are interested contact us when they have a child who identifies as an omega within days of their presentation, usually between thirteen and fifteen years of age," Marcus elaborates. "Only those with exceptional potential are selected. From that moment, their education becomes comprehensive. We identify their natural aptitudes and enhance them through rigorous education."

One of the omegas lifts their gaze momentarily before lowering it again. The brief glimpse reveals intelligent eyes that seem to assess the room.

"Our curriculum for all our omegas is comprehensive—multiple languages, of course, with each omega mastering a minimum of four. They study diplomatic companion relations, learning to navigate even the most complex international negotiations at their alpha's side. Our political training ensures they understand governance structures worldwide, while our history program contextualizes modern power dynamics."

Marcus's voice takes on a reverent quality as he continues, "And naturally, we provide thorough instruction on what an omega's role should be—how to anticipate an alpha's needs before they're expressed, how to manage a household of any size, how to present themselves in society. They learn to navigate hierarchies with grace and dignity."

Ari's eyes travel down the line of omegas, each one a testament to careful cultivation. "And their families simply... give them up?"

"They entrust them to us," Marcus corrects smoothly. "Most come from prominent families who understand the value of proper training. Others are discovered through our scholarship program, which identifies exceptional potential regardless of background. In either case, the families are generously compensated."

Bucky watches Ari's reaction carefully. "Each of these omegas represents years of investment. Their training costs more than most people earn in a lifetime.”

Ari feels a primal hunger growing within him as he studies the five women. His alpha instincts, normally kept under tight control, rise to the surface. He hasn't had the luxury of an omega companion during a rut in years, though he had been able to find sufficient satisfaction with betas to get him through. 

"And now, one of them will be yours," Bucky says.

The implication hangs in the air, heavy with expectation. Ari feels his pulse quicken despite his practiced control.

"You're offering me one of these omegas?" he asks, careful to keep his tone measured despite the sudden rush of alpha interest surging through him.

"Consider it a signing bonus," Bucky replies with a slight smile. "A general requires a proper companion. Someone who can manage your household, accompany you to diplomatic functions, and of course," his voice drops slightly, "satisfy your more... primal needs."

The older beta female steps forward. "If I may, Governor Barnes?”

Barnes nods, “Certainly. Levinson, I’ll leave you to your selection. Marcus and Elsie, send the final contract to my assistant.” Then he turns to his own omega, and reaches a hand out. 

The Governor’s wife rises from the couch with her own grace, and follows her husband out of the penthouse. 

The older woman speaks again. "Each omega has been specifically selected based on compatibility with your profile, sir," she explains, her voice crisp and professional. "We've studied your background, preferences, and needs extensively to ensure an optimal match."

Ari's brow furrows slightly. "You've been researching me?"

"Of course," she replies without hesitation. "Whitecrest prides itself on creating perfect matches, not merely providing bodies. These five were hand-selected from our entire cohort as potential matches for your specific temperament, career demands, and genetic compatibility. Governor Barnes provided us with your dossier months ago. We've analyzed your service record, psychological assessments, even your dietary preferences to identify the most compatible candidates."

Ari shoots a glance toward the door where Bucky has just exited. Months ago. Before the territory was even conquered. The realization that Barnes had been planning this role for him all along settles like a weight in his stomach – both flattering and unsettling.

"And what exactly did your analysis determine about me?" Ari asks, unable to resist his curiosity.

Elsie - Ari notes her own silver nametag - smiles politely. "That you're disciplined, methodical, and intensely private. You value competence above all else. You require an omega who can anticipate needs without constant direction, who can function independently when your duties demand your attention, yet submit completely when you require it."

Her assessment is uncomfortably accurate, even identifying elements he may not have thought to consider for himself but sound satisfying to him. 

Ari walks slowly along the line of omegas, studying each one with careful consideration. They remain perfectly still under his scrutiny, spaced out evenly approximately a meter apart from each other, enough room for him to circle them physically and assess their smells somewhat individually. 

As Ari approaches the fourth omega, he catches a subtle shift in demeanor – not defiance, exactly, but a certain alertness that distinguishes you from the others. While the rest remain perfectly still, your head tilts almost imperceptibly, but he does catch it. He recalls that you’re the he noticed looking up before, during Marcus’s thorough explanation about the education omegas of your kind receive. 

He steps directly in front of you, drawn by that subtle difference. "You," he addresses you directly, his voice low. 

Your eyes remain downcast respectfully, but your posture straightens a fraction more. Unlike the others who remained unmoved around him, you appear to become more present.

"May I?" He extends his hand, palm up, an invitation rather than a demand. The gesture reveals more about him than perhaps he intends – a preference for consent, even in a situation where he holds all the power.

You lift your gaze to meet his, just for a moment, before lowering your eyes again in practiced deference. With fluid grace, you extend your wrist, turning it upward to expose the delicate skin where your scent is strongest.

Ari's fingers close gently around your offered wrist, bringing it to his nose. The first inhale is cautious, analytical – but the moment your scent fills his lungs, something shifts fundamentally in his gut. 

Your scent hits him with unexpected force. It's not merely pleasant; it’s complex and resonates with him on a primal level, setting off a cascade of reactions he hasn't experienced before. His pupils dilate slightly, and he finds himself drawing a second, deeper breath.

"What's your name?" he asks, still holding your wrist, his thumb unconsciously tracing small circles against your pulse point. 

You respond, answering in a calm, controlled tone, but he can feel the way your pulse races beneath his thumb. 

Elsie steps forward. "A fine choice, General Levinson. This omega has excelled particularly in languages – fluent in seven, including Mandarin and Russian – and has specialized training in military history and strategic analysis. We believed these skills would complement your new position admirably."

Ari barely notices her words, as he's entirely absorbed in the scent that envelops him. However, his keen sense of movement and awareness of those around him ensures he catches Marcus signaling the other omegas to leave the penthouse. 

Marcus approaches with a sleek digital tablet in hand, clearing his throat discreetly. "If you're satisfied with your selection, sir, we have just a few formalities to complete." 

Ari reluctantly releases your wrist, though his eyes linger on you for a moment longer before turning to Marcus. "Of course." 

"Standard transfer of guardianship documentation," he explains, gesturing toward the tablet. "It confirms your acceptance of this omega and outlines your rights and responsibilities."

Ari scans the document quickly but thoroughly, his years of intelligence work having trained him never to sign anything without reading it first. The legal language is precise, transferring all rights to him while acknowledging Whitecrest's continued interest in your wellbeing – a formality more than an actual limitation on his authority. 

"Everything appears to be in order," he murmurs, pressing his thumb to the digital pad in the appropriate spot. 

Elsie, who has guided you to stand slightly apart while the men handle the paperwork. "The omega comes with a complete wardrobe and personal effects," she explains, her tone businesslike. "All items have been selected to complement your lifestyle and preferences."

Ari nods. 

“They will delivered to the concierge downstairs within the hour. Whitecrest provides a six-month adjustment period," Elsie explains, “should you wish to make any changes or find any incompatibility or unwanted behavior from or with the omega.”

"And we'll need your signature here as well, confirming receipt of the omega's medical records and maintenance instructions," Marcus says, swiping to another screen on the tablet.

Ari raises an eyebrow. "Maintenance instructions?"

"Just a formality," Elsie interjects smoothly. "Dietary preferences, exercise regimens, heat suppressant schedules as long as you wish to suppress them. Nothing you wouldn't expect." 

Marcus taps several more fields on the tablet before sliding it toward Ari once more. "Just your signature on the final acceptance form, General. This confirms receipt of the omega and acknowledges Whitecrest's fulfillment of our contract with Governor Barnes."

Ari signs with a practiced motion, his eyes flicking toward you. Marcus taps a few more buttons before the tablet emits a soft chime.

"Congratulations, General Levinson. She is officially yours," Marcus says with a practiced smile. 

Elsie straightens her jacket. "The omega has been thoroughly briefed on her duties and expectations. She'll serve you well." She gives you a final appraising look, a nearly imperceptible nod that seems to convey some private message, before turning back to Ari. "Should you require any assistance during the adjustment period, our support staff is available at any hour."

"That won't be necessary," Ari replies, his tone making it clear the conversation is concluded.

With a final nod, Marcus and Elsie depart, leaving Ari alone with you for the first time. The door closes with a soft click, and the sudden silence feels weighted with possibility.

Ari studies you, still standing precisely as you had undoubtedly been trained to do, hands folded neatly before you, eyes downcast. The perfect picture of omega submission—yet he hasn't forgotten that brief moment of alertness that drew him to you initially.

"You can look at me," he says, his voice neither harsh nor particularly gentle. "I prefer direct communication."

You raise your eyes to meet his, and he's struck again by what he sees there—intelligence, assessment, and something else he can't quite define. Not fear, which is interesting. Perhaps caution. Certainly awareness.

"I imagine this is... unexpected for you as well," he says.

“On the contrary, General Levinson, I’ve known for two decades I was being held in reserve, training and preparing for the alpha who would claim me.”

Ari notes that your tone doesn’t seem to harbor any resentment towards that statement or the reality of it either. 

"Two decades is a long time to prepare for something without knowing when it will happen," Ari observes, moving to the kitchen area. He pours himself a glass of water, then, after a moment's consideration, pours a second. "Would you like one?"

"Thank you, Alpha," you respond, joining him in the kitchen and accepting the glass with graceful movements. Your fingers brush against his, and he notes the controlled steadiness of your hand.

"You can call me Ari when we're alone," he says, watching your reaction carefully.

You take a small sip of water before responding. "As you wish... Ari." The name sounds intimate on your lips, a privilege you understand the significance of.

"I should inform you," you continue, your voice measured and practical, "that I'm currently on a regimen of heat suppressants, as is standard protocol before a Whitecrest omega is transferred to the care of an alpha." Your voice is measured, professional. "However, I can discontinue them immediately if you prefer. The medication will clear my system within seventy-two hours."

Ari's expression remains neutral, though his scent shifts subtly with interest. 

"That won't be necessary just yet," he replies, studying your face. "We have time." 

You nod once, acknowledging his decision. "Regardless of my suppressed state, I am fully capable of satisfying any and all intimate requirements you may have." Your tone remains matter-of-fact, neither coy nor embarrassed. "While I am a certified virgin omega, Whitecrest's curriculum includes comprehensive training in all aspects of physical intimacy." 

Ari's lips twitch beneath his mustache. He told you he appreciates direct communication, and he likes that you seem to fall into it naturally with him. “How does that work? A virgin but with comprehensive training?”

At this, you do drop your eyes for a moment shift slightly from one foot to the other. 

"Whitecrest, as explained, always adopts a thorough and methodical approach to educating their omegas," you explain, your voice remaining professional despite the intimate subject matter. "My physical training included extensive work with beta partners—men and women both—to master techniques of oral gratification. I can pleasure with my mouth, hands, and body in a myriad of distinct ways."

You take another small sip of water before continuing, "We were also thoroughly schooled in self-pleasure, to understand our own bodies' responses. This knowledge helps us better anticipate and accommodate an alpha's needs." 

Ari watches your face as you speak, the blood in his veins pumping more heatedly as you speak. 

"There were practical vaginal applications too," you add. "Specialized stretching exercises to gradually stretch and prepare our bodies to accommodate an alpha's... dimensions."

You meet his eyes directly now. "However, nothing has ever penetrated my vaginal canal deeply enough to break my hymen. That honor is reserved exclusively for my alpha. For you."

“Fuck,” he says.

The word escapes his mouth before he can stop it, his careful control slipping for just a moment. Your eyes widen slightly at his reaction, and he sees a flash of something—satisfaction, perhaps—cross your features before you compose yourself again.

"I apologize if I was too forward," you say, though your tone suggests you don't believe you've overstepped.

"No," Ari says, setting his glass down on the counter with measured precision. "I said I wanted direct communication. You're giving me exactly that."

He moves closer to you, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from his body. Your scent shifts subtly in response to his proximity, and he catches it immediately—a sweetening, an unconscious response that makes his alpha instincts stir with primal satisfaction.

"I want to be clear about something," he says, his voice dropping to a lower register. "You were trained to be what Whitecrest believed an alpha would want. But I'm interested in what lies beneath that training."

Your eyes meet his, and for a moment, your carefully constructed demeanor wavers. "Whitecrest doesn't encourage individuality," you admit, tone laced with wariness. 

You’re incredibly intelligent, strategic. He likes that. 

"I consider it essential," Ari counters. “I want to know who you are beneath the training."

You tilt your head slightly, a gesture that seems less practiced and more natural. "What would you like to know, Ari?"

He steps back, creating space between you again, regaining his composure. "Let's sit," he suggests, gesturing toward the living area. You follow him, moving with elegant efficiency, and take a seat on the couch while he chooses the armchair opposite you.

He studies you for a long moment, taking in the details of your face, your posture, the way you hold yourself. There's a precision to your movements that speaks of years of training, but underneath it, he senses something more—a natural grace that couldn't have been taught.

"Tell me something that isn't in your file," he says. "Something Whitecrest doesn't know about you."

Your eyes widen slightly at this unexpected request. For a moment, you seem to wrestle with it, your training having conditioned you to present only what would please an alpha. But he sees the moment you let go and relax from that expectation.

"I steal moments," you admit finally, voice softer than before. "When I'm supposed to be meditating during quiet hours, I sometimes watch the stars instead." Your hands rest in your lap, perfectly still, but he notices the slight tension in your fingers. "There's a constellation that as visible from my dormitory window that wasn't in any of our astronomy texts. I named it myself." 

Ari leans forward slightly, genuinely intrigued. "What did you name it?" 

The question seems to surprise you, you’re clearly not expecting his curiosity to extend beyond a surface level. "Libera," you answer after a moment. "It means—"

"Freedom," Ari finishes for you, his expression thoughtful. "I speak Latin too." 

Something shifts in your eyes—a flicker of deeper interest in him, the man, not the alpha.

A current seems to pass between you both at that moment. Ari's eyes darken slightly, and the air in the penthouse grows heavier with unspoken tension. 

"Come here," Ari says, his voice low as he extends his hand toward you. His command is gentle but unmistakable.

You hesitate for just a fraction of a second—another glimpse of the real person beneath the training—before rising gracefully from the couch. You cross the short distance between you and place your hand in his.

With a smooth, deliberate motion, he guides you onto his lap, your body naturally finding position across his thighs. Without a word, Ari's hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing the outline of your lower lip. His eyes search yours, seeking something beyond the polished veneer of your training.

His eyes never leaving yours, Ari leans forward, closing the distance between you. His lips brush against yours—tentative at first, almost questioning. But when you respond, parting your lips slightly, his restraint crumbles. 

Ari deepens the kiss, hungry for more of you, exploring your mouth, the way you taste. His hand slides from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair to hold you in place as he tastes you thoroughly. You taste of mint and something else—something uniquely you that makes his alpha instincts surge with possessive pleasure.

You respond with the technical precision of your training, but there's something more authentic beneath it—a genuine response to him that makes his blood heat. He can sense it in the air as your scent shifts to something more heady. His tongue sweeps into your mouth, claiming, exploring, and you match him movement for movement.

When he finally pulls back, both of you are breathing harder. Your eyes have darkened, pupils blown with a desire he believes matches his own. 

His hand travels from your neck down your spine, pressing you closer as he leans in again. This time his lips find the sensitive spot just below your ear, and you shiver involuntarily at the contact. He grins against your heated skin, and continues his exploration, trailing kisses along your jawline, down your neck, lingering at the junction where your neck meets your shoulder. 

"Your scent is..." he murmurs against your skin, inhaling deeply. "Intoxicating." 

Ari shifts beneath you, adjusting his position in the armchair. He slides his hands to grip your waist, then guides you to straddle his muscular thigh, positioning you so his quad presses directly against your core, the fabric of your dress forced up around your hips. 

His eyes, dark with desire but still observant, study your face. His hand slides to your hip, fingers applying gentle pressure.

"Ride my thigh," Ari commands softly, his thumb stroking your hip. "Show me what brings you pleasure."

You hesitate, confusion flickering across your features. "I don't understand. My purpose is to—"

"Your purpose right now," he interrupts, his voice firm, "is to give me what I want, and what I want is to see you please yourself." 

The concept seems foreign to you, and Ari can see the conflict in your eyes—your training has conditioned you to focus exclusively on an alpha's pleasure, not your own. This slight deviation from your programming fascinates him. 

"I..." you begin, uncertainty coloring your voice.

"This isn't a test," Ari says, and he moves from your hip to cup your face, his touch gentle but commanding. "I want to see what feels good to you. I always study my subject, that’s my expertise. I want to watch you come apart, know what your body craves so I can meet out pleasure to you like you’ve never experienced before."

Something in his words seems to unlock something in you. Your body responds to his reasoning, beginning to move slowly against his thigh. The friction sends visible shivers through you, and your eyes widen slightly at the sensation.

"That's it," Ari encourages, his gaze intense as he watches your face. "Don't hold back." 

Your movements grow more confident, planting your hands on his shoulders and finding a rhythm. Your breathing quickens as you grind against his muscular thigh, the rhythmic movement causes your dress to ride up further, exposing more of your thighs. Ari's hands move to grip your hips, not to guide but to feel your movements, to learn your rhythm.

"Look at me," he commands, and your eyes lock with his. The vulnerability in your gaze is intoxicating—this isn't the practiced performance of a Whitecrest omega, but something raw and genuine.

A small moan escapes your lips before you can stop it, and you immediately tense, as if surprised by your own loss of inhibition so quickly.

"Don't," Ari says, his voice husky with desire. "Don't hide those sounds from me. I want to hear every one of them." 

Your movements become more urgent, more desperate as pleasure builds within you. Your body trembles against him, and Ari can feel the dampness growing between your legs, seeping through the thin fabric of your underwear and onto his pants. He finds the evidence of your arousal deeply satisfying.

"That's it," he murmurs, one hand leaving your hip to slide up your back, pressing you closer. "Show me what you need." 

Your movements become less controlled, more instinctual as pleasure builds. Your head falls back slightly, exposing the elegant line of your throat. Ari can't resist—he leans forward to press his lips against your pulse point, feeling it race beneath his mouth. His teeth graze the sensitive skin there. Not a claiming bite—not yet—but the promise of one.

"A-Alpha," you gasp, forgetting his instruction to use his name in the haze of your building climax. 

Ari doesn't correct you. There's something primal and satisfying about hearing his designation on your lips in this moment of abandon. His own arousal is painful against the confines of his pants, but he ignores it, focused entirely on your pleasure.

His hand tightens on your hip, urging you on, his other hand sliding from your back to slip beneath the neckline of your dress, exploring the soft skin he finds there.

Your movements become frantic, chasing the release that hovers just out of reach. Ari slides one hand between your bodies, pressing his thumb against the exact spot where you need it most, even through the fabric of your underwear.

"Let go," he commands, his voice a low growl. "Show me."

Your rhythm falters as pleasure overtakes you. Your thighs tighten around his, your fingers digging into his shoulders as your body shudders with release. A broken cry escapes your lips, raw and unfiltered.

Ari watches, transfixed, as you come apart for him. The sight of your genuine pleasure, the sounds you make, the scent of your arousal—it all combines to stoke his own desire to nearly unbearable levels. His hardness presses insistently against his pants, but he makes no move to seek his own release. Not yet.

As the aftershocks subside, you slump slightly against him, your breathing ragged, your forehead resting against his shoulder as your body continues to tremble with aftershocks.

"Beautiful," he murmurs against your hair, his hands still gripping your hips.

In one fluid motion, Ari lifts you from his lap. His movements are controlled yet urgent as he lowers you to the plush carpet. Your dress has ridden up around your waist, and he takes a moment to appreciate the sight of you—flushed, disheveled, still trembling slightly from your release. 

"That was just the beginning," he murmurs, his voice deep with promise as he positions himself between your thighs. 

His fingers hook into the waistband of your underwear, sliding them down your legs with deliberate slowness. The garment is damp with evidence of your arousal, and Ari inhales deeply, his pupils dilating at your scent. 

"Perfect," he whispers, mostly to himself. 

He spreads your thighs wider, exposing you completely to his gaze. He can see the mixture of anticipation and interest as Ari lowers himself, planting his shoulders between your legs. He senses his intentions are in no way unwelcome, but not what you were told to expect. His breath ghosts over your sensitive flesh, already swollen and slick from your previous climax. The first touch of his tongue against you sends a jolt through your entire body, your back arching involuntarily off the carpet.

"Ari," you gasp, forgetting formality as sensations overwhelm you. 

He hums against you, the vibration adding another layer to the pleasure coursing through your body. His technique is methodical yet intuitive – exploring, learning, cataloging every response. When his tongue circles your clit and your thighs tremble, he takes note. When he flattens his tongue against you in a broad stroke and you whimper, he files that information away too. 

"You taste even better than you smell," he murmurs against you, his voice rough with desire.

Your hands flutter uncertainly before settling on the carpet beside you, fingers curling against the plush rug. 

Ari shifts his approach, abandoning the methodical exploration in favor of something more primal. His movements become unhurried, indulgent—almost worshipful as he parts your folds with his fingers and drags his tongue through your wetness with deliberate slowness. The meticulous pace makes every sensation more acute, more overwhelming. 

You gasp as he laps at you with broad, leisurely strokes, and he knows his beard is creating a delicious friction against your sensitive skin - he’s looking forward to seeing the evidence later. His technique is less precise now, messier. He's savoring a feast rather than executing a strategy. Slickness gathers at the corners of his mouth, but he’s unconcerned, focused entirely on drawing out your pleasure. 

"Please," you whisper, the word escaping before you can contain it.

He glances up, meeting your eyes over the landscape of your body. His mustache is slick with your arousal, his eyes dark with desire. "Please what?" he murmurs against your inner thigh, his hot breath teasing you.

You struggle to articulate what you need, your training suddenly inadequate for this unexpected experience. "More," is all you manage.

A low chuckle rumbles through him, vibrating against your core. "Like this?" He seals his lips around your clit and sucks gently, his tongue flicking against the sensitive bundle of nerves with precision.

Your back arches off the carpet, a strangled cry escaping your throat. Your hands move instinctively to his head, fingers threading through his dark hair. For a moment, you freeze, but Ari responds by pressing closer, encouraging your touch.

He slips one finger inside you, careful to maintain the barrier of your virginity while still providing the pressure and fullness he knows your body craves. 

"That's it," he murmurs against you, feeling your inner walls begin to flutter around his finger. "So responsive.”

He adds a second digit, and his fingers continue their teasing exploration, never quite breaching you but applying just enough pressure to make you ache for more. All the while, his tongue works against your sensitive bundle of nerves with deliberate, focused attention. 

Your hips begin to rock against his face, seeking more pressure, more friction, more of everything he's giving you. He responds by increasing the intensity, his tongue circling your clit with relentless precision while his fingers press deeper, stretching you without breaching that final barrier.

"Ari," you gasp, your voice breaking as the tension coils tighter. "I can't—"

"You can," he growls against your sensitive flesh. "Come apart for your alpha again."

His tongue flattens against your clit, applying firm, consistent pressure while his fingers curl inside you, finding that perfect spot. The dual sensation shatters you completely. Your release crashes down, your body convulsing beneath him as waves of pleasure radiate outward. Your cry echoes through the penthouse, uninhibited and raw.

As you tremble through the aftershocks, Ari's control finally shatters. With a fluid movement born of years of military training, he flips your limp body over, and he hoists your hips up with powerful hands, positioning you on your knees.

"Present for me," he growls, his voice barely recognizable even to himself, thick with primal need. 

Your body responds instinctively to his command, your back arching, hips raising to offer yourself to him. The position is vulnerable, submissive—exactly what your alpha demands.

Ari's hands caress your exposed flesh, appreciating the curve of your spine, the perfect roundness of your ass, the sight of you ready and waiting for him. He quickly unfastens his pants, freeing his straining erection. The cool air of the penthouse against his heated flesh makes him throb with anticipation. He positions himself at your entrance, the blunt head of his cock pressing against and then parting your slick, swollen folds.

"Mine," he growls, the single word laden with possession and promise. 

Without further warning, Ari drives forward in one powerful thrust, breaking through your virgin barrier and burying himself to the hilt inside you. The sensation is overwhelming—your tight heat enveloping him completely as your virginity yields to his claiming.

Your cry echoes through the penthouse, a mixture of pain and pleasure. Your body, still limp and sated from your previous releases, offers little resistance to his invasion. Your inner walls stretch to accommodate his considerable size, pulsing around him as your body adjusts to this new intrusion. 

Ari remains still for just a moment, his hands gripping your hips with bruising force as he fights for control. The primal part of him wants to rut into you with abandon, to claim and mark and own. But the more controlled part of him—the strategist, the soldier—knows to temper that instinct.

"Breathe," he commands, his voice strained with the effort of restraint. His hand slides up your back to grip the nape of your neck, applying gentle pressure—a steadying, grounding touch. 

You whimper beneath him, your body trembling as it adjusts to the unfamiliar fullness. Your inner walls flutter and contract around his length, instinctively trying to accommodate him. The sensation nearly makes Ari lose his hard-won control. 

"So tight," he groans, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hip. "So perfect for me." 

You whimper beneath him, your body trembling as it stretches to accommodate his invasion. Your inner walls flutter around him, adjusting to his girth, your body producing more slickness to ease his passage.

"Good omega," he murmurs, the praise falling from his lips unbidden. His hands return to your hips, gripping firmly as he begins to withdraw slowly, almost completely, before driving back. Each thrust is measured, calculated to stretch you perfectly while minimizing discomfort. The warrior in him wants to claim you roughly, but the strategist wins out, conquering your body with deliberate precision.

"Alpha," you moan, your fingers curling into the plush carpet beneath you. Your voice carries a note of surrender that satisfies something primal in Ari's core.

His pace increases gradually as your body yields to him completely, your initial discomfort giving way to unmistakable pleasure. Your scent changes, sweetening with arousal, and Ari inhales deeply, letting it fuel his desire.

"You were made for this," Ari growls, his rhythm increasing as he feels your body responding, accepting him deeper, your inner walls gripping him like a silken vice. "Made for me."

Your gasps and whimpers spur him on, each sound a testament to your pleasure. He shifts his angle slightly, searching for that spot inside you that will make you shatter again. When your back arches sharply and a broken cry escapes your lips, he knows he's found it.

"There," he murmurs, satisfaction evident in his voice. "Right there."

He maintains that angle, hitting that perfect spot with each powerful thrust. His hand slides around your body to find your sensitive bundle of nerves, circling it with his thumb in time with his movements. The dual stimulation has you trembling again, your breath coming in short, desperate pants.

"Let go for me again, omega," Ari commands, his voice rough with exertion and desire. "I want to feel you come apart around my cock."

The pressure of his skilled fingers combined with the relentless stimulation of that perfect spot inside you push you over the edge. Your entire body convulses as pleasure crashes through you, more intense than before. Your inner walls clamp down around him in rhythmic pulses, drawing a guttural groan from deep in his chest. Your cries are uninhibited now, echoing through the penthouse as your body surrenders to him entirely. 

With a final, powerful thrust, Ari buries himself completely inside you, his body going rigid as his climax overtakes him. His release floods your insides, hot and abundant, marking you from within. His fingers dig into your hips as he holds you firmly in place, ensuring every drop remains inside you. 

As the waves of pleasure gradually subside, Ari remains buried deep inside you, leaning forward. His breath comes in harsh pants against your neck, his chest pressed to your back as he covers you completely with his larger frame. The position is intensely intimate, possessive in a way that satisfies something primal in his bones.

For several long moments, neither of you moves, your bodies joined and slick with exertion. Ari's hand slides from your hip to your stomach, splaying his fingers across your abdomen where he can almost feel the evidence of his claiming deep inside you. The thought sends another pulse of satisfaction through him. 

"Mine," he murmurs against the shell of your ear, the single word carrying weight beyond its simplicity.

You shiver beneath him, your body responding to his declaration with another small aftershock that ripples around his still-hard length. 

With utmost care, he eases out of you, his cock still semi-hard and slick with the evidence of your joining. Satisfaction courses through him as he watches his release begin to seep from your entrance, marking you in the most ancient way.

He will clean you soon, but for now he wants your thighs sticky with his seed, your slickness, and traces of your claimed virginity.

He helps you collapse gently onto the plush carpet. You fold your arms together and rest your head on them, turning your face to your alpha, your body still trembling with aftershocks.

Ari stretches out beside you, propping himself up on one elbow to study your face. His other hand traces lazy patterns on your back, unwilling to break physical contact. Your eyes are half-lidded, your breathing still uneven. 

"Are you alright?" he asks, his voice softer now. 

You nod, meeting his gaze with a new openness. "Yes, Alpha... Ari," you correct yourself, reconditioning yourself from the instruction you’d surely been given to only call him Alpha. He imagines he will always find satisfaction from both falling from your sweet lips. 

He reaches out to brush some hair from your face. 

"You're remarkable," he murmurs, his eyes studying your features with newfound appreciation. "I didn't expect..." 

You wait for him to finish, but he merely shakes his head slightly, surprised by his own thoughts.

"What didn't you expect?" you press, your voice still slightly breathless.

Ari's thumb traces the outline of your lower lip, his expression thoughtful. "To feel this... connection. This quickly." 

The admission is wholly unexpected. He didn’t expect the feeling or to be ready and willing to share it with you, but you seem to be an element weaving itself into his inner alpha.

Your eyes soften at his words, a warmth spreading through them as he continues to hold your gaze. Your hand lifts hesitantly to touch his face, fingers tracing the edge of his beard with unexpected tenderness.

"I feel it too," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "They taught us to expect... many things. But not this." 

Ari turns his face slightly to press his lips against your palm, a gesture that feels more intimate than the joining of your bodies moments before. His alpha instincts purr with satisfaction at your admission, at the vulnerability you're willing to show him in return. 

The silence between you stretches, comfortable rather than awkward. In this quiet moment, Ari feels something settling into place inside him—a certainty he hasn't experienced before. Outside these walls, he will still become General Levinson, the calculating strategist who helped Barnes conquer a territory, the ruthlessly efficient military leader who will shape and command armies. The world will see the same disciplined, controlled alpha who has built his reputation on precision and detachment.

But here, with you, something different exists. Something private and separate from that external identity. 

I know I was just writing a very different Alpha!Ari last week, but IT'S ALPHA APRIL! And I've had this idea swirling in my head or about six weeks. I hope he was satisfying... 😏 There's at least one other alpha I'm going to introduce to this verse very soon.

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

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[on-a-lucky-tide]

Simon is left to herd a drunk Nik back to the hotel room.

cw: alcohol mention, horniness.

"Do-o-on't go was-ting your emo-o-tion, lay a-all your lo-o-ve on me-e-e! Hrk, heh heh." Nik tightened his arm around Simon's shoulders as they clambered out of the taxi and Simon had to readjust quickly to avoid getting pulled back into the backseat. When he went out drinking with Johnny and Garrick, it was usually a case of scruffing them by the back of the coat and hauling them ‘round like boisterous puppies, but Nik was the same height, a few pounds heavier due to his bulk, and a damn sight more fuckin’ handsy than the two sergeants. If they got to the hotel without Nik copping a feel and Simon getting a responding boner, then the operation should be considered a success.

"Cheers, mate," Simon grunted at the cabbie, tapping his card against the outstretched machine. He paused long enough to watch the little tick flash up on the screen before shoving his wallet away. "Nik, fockin'... Put yer arm... easy, easy." Nik staggered and Simon placed a hand on his chest to keep him upright, trying not to focus on how nice his damn tits felt beneath his buttoned shirt.

They had been drinking with Mac following a long conference in Westminster. It turned out that the old man, ten years senior even to Nik, was a bad fuckin' influence because they had knocked back enough liquor between the two of them to sedate an amatuer county rugby team.

Simon and Price had sat there, watching the whole thing go down in stunned silence, clutching their pints with the same look on their faces as tourists watching a pride of lions tear apart a gazelle on the Serengeti; one part awe, one part intrigue, two parts horror. Shot after shot, pint after pint; Mac's accent becoming unintelligible and Nik slipping in and out of multiple languages like he'd completely lost track of where he was. When Nik had stood on the table to sing an off-key rendition of KISS’ ‘Made for Lovin’ You’ while pointing directly at Price, the landlord had turfed ‘em out onto the street.

The old man was taking the old-old man back to his hotel, because trying to manage Mac and Nik together was beyond the capabilities of even the greatest minds in MI6, let alone two drunk SAS officers. Divide and conquer was the order of the night.

"I still don't know what you've done-with-me... hrk, brp. A grown-up woman should never fall-so-eas-i-ly," Nik brayed, finding a hip flask from somewhere inside his bloody jacket as they ambled an uneven path to the front door. Simon promptly confiscated it, shoving it into his backpocket. Nik pouted, but soon got distracted by the star-studded sky above their heads, his expression turning wistful as he put one unsteady foot in front of the other. "'Cause everything is new, and everything is you..."

Simon managed to get them through the hotel foyer after scanning the key card, and manhandled Nik towards the lift. "You skipped a verse."

"Shtoh?" Nik hiccuped again, suddenly leaning in close and watching the side of Simon's masked face through his eyebrows. The cold tip of his nose brushed against Simon’s exposed earlobe and it sent a shiver across his shoulders, Nik’s lips and teeth so close to his hammering pulse.

Simon didn't know why he fockin' said it. Maybe he was drunker than he thought. "It's ‘I feel a kinda fear, when I don't 'ave ya near, un-sat-isfied, I skip my pride, I beg you, dear.’"

"You do not have - hrk - to beg me, lieutenant. I would drop to my knees for you at - hic - a word."

Simon shoved Nik into the lift and slapped the buttons, propping the massive arsehole against the mirror with both hands. Nik took his opportunity and placed both hands on the swell of Simon's chest with a longing little groan, palms brushing over peaked nipples as his fingertips caressed the sides. "Ty takaya goryachaya, chto u menya stoyak na stoyake."

"Nik, ya bloody pervert, ya gavaryu paruskee," Simon huffed. He didn’t push Nik’s hands away. It was too late. His jeans had pulled tight at the crotch, his hands braced on the cold glass as he leaned in so that Nik would be firmer.

Nik wriggled his eyebrows as he squeezed, ignoring the intensity of Simon's deadpan stare in favour of enjoying the feel of his body through his cotton shirt. Simon's skin exploded with goosebumps as those big hands swept over his collarbones and shoulders, before swooping down to the dips of his waist. He was thicker where Price was athletic, but damn if Nik's hands didn't made him feel... handled. When those strong fingers slid through the loops of his jeans and pulled him forward so their hips slotted together, Simon had to swallow the needy little sound building in his throat. God, fuck, Nik was hard too. It would feel so good to rut against him like a humpin’ dog—

The lift pinged and the doors slid open behind him. With great effort, he dragged Nik into the hallway towards his room. Unfortunately, Nik had decided to become even more unhelpful, one hand swooping beneath Simon's shirt to the blond scruff of his happy trail with a horny rumble that shot straight to Simon's groin, and he had to readjust so his damn chubby could find a bit of extra space down his right trouser leg.

"The things I would do to you," Nik growled into Simon's neck as Simon fumbled the key card out of his jacket.

"'Mount you just sunk I'd be surprised if you could keep it up, old man," Simon replied, shoving the door handle down with his elbow and falling across the threshold into Nik's room. In three strides, he was dumping over two hundred pounds worth of lecherous Russian onto the mattress, only for said Russian to latch on and drag him down too.

"You are so prickly, lieutenant," Nik murmured, big arms clutching Simon's face to his chest. "But such a - hrk - handsome boy."

"Nik let me ge' m' face out ya tits so I c'n get ya boots off,” Simon said, muffled by said tits and not really wanting to leave them, because Nik smelled bloody edible.

Nik let out a dramatic sigh and flopped his arms out either side, and Simon slipped away to remove his boots and jacket. His hands hesitated as they rose to Nik's belt, noting that alcohol had clearly done little to dampen his spirits. Simon swallowed thickly and pulled back. “Need a slash,” he murmured as he fled into the en suite for a bit of a breather. When he released his cock from the confines of his jeans, it bobbed up eagerly towards his stomach. So much for a fuckin’ piss. Simon braced his hands against the sink and closed his eyes, willing himself to think of anything but Nik’s big hands sliding down its length as he sat across that warm stomach, feeling all that core strength and fur between his thighs, maybe that clever bloody mouth swallowing him down after he fucked Nik’s tits, and.. “Fuck sake.”

Think of Mac. Wrinkly ballsacks, false teeth, old man smell… anything.

Simon looked up quickly when he heard the sound of the minibar opening and the first notes of music from the television. “Nikolai,” he grunted in exasperation, tucking his now semi-erect dick back into his boxers as he headed back into the main room to corral the captain’s bloody boyfriend into a glass of water and a kip.

“The night is young,” Nik said as Simon approached him, thrusting a bottle of beer into his hands. “And, perhaps, I can convince you into a few more poor choices before it is over.”

Simon stared at the bottle and then Nik’s broad grin. He drew in a deep sigh and unhooked the mask from his ear. “Fine. But when Price gets ‘ere, you’re dealin’ with the bollockin’.”

“Deal.”

—

Mac had fallen asleep on the cab journey back to his hotel and Price had half carried him to his bed, staying long enough to top up a glass of water and make sure the old man didn’t suffocate face down in his sleep, before heading back to his own for what he thought would be some shut eye, maybe some sloppy head from a horny Russian if he was lucky. As he stepped out of the lift, he heard the low thump-thump of music from down the hall, and it only grew louder the closer he got to his room.

The sight that met him when he tapped the key card and opened the door would live with him as a fond memory until the end of his days. Nik and Simon were half undressed, jeans and socks on the floor, Nik’s shirt unbuttoned, as they bounced enthusiastically on the bed, sheets and pillows dishevelled. The music playing from the television was some corny pop track from 2014 — "Oh, don't you dare look back, just keep your eyes on me." I said, "You're holding back." She said, "Shut up and dance with me!” — and they were both crowing along to the lyrics, the remains of the mini bar toasted at the ceiling.

“Bloody muppets,” Price said through a fond chuckle as he closed the door. If they ended up in a pile of semi-naked bodies, occasionally waking to press lazy kisses to whatever patch of skin was closest, and Simon’s room next door remained empty for the night… well, brass didn’t need to know, did they?

[hyvyinjie]

hi! Can I ask for a headcannon about Minamoto teru x childhood friend reader? Where teru is really over protective and gentle towards the reader. Reader is a lazy person, and often sleepy, the things he likes are reading comics and playing game in their phone. They also refuses teru's invitation to join the student council. Thank you! :)

why of course! it’d be an honor to grant such an ask. apologies for taking quite a while to do so—though i hope my work meets your expectations, wonderful nonie!<3

—LOST IN THE HAZE OF YOUR DREAMSCAPE.

featuring ; minamoto teru & you as our star.

+ small akane & aoi mentions.

ah, minamoto teru; the very embodiment of perfection—as he was hailed and as he carried himself with utter conviction.

a master of powers, a paragon of academic prowess, and a maestro in all things extraordinary. could there be anything he did not conquer?

yet, his persona, a labyrinth of complexities, as if harboring a multitude of souls within his very being.

now, here you arrive in his peculiar life—meeting with the intricacies of his existence.

when your paths converged, it ignited a tempestuous collision, a clash of peculiar forces.

initially, your mere presence held no sway over him. in truth, he perceived you as an encumbrance, burdened by your languid nature. for he, a relentless pursuer of flawlessness, demanded nothing less.

but lo and behold. fate—that cunning trickster—wove its intricate threads, meticulously mending the frayed tapestry of your connection.

through the passage of time, a tapestry of happenstance encounters and the subsequent flourishing of interactions—a nascent camaraderie took root. he slowly, but surely grew attuned to your idiosyncrasies, harmonizing with your rhythm. while the power to surmount every obstacle at your side eludes him still, he persists, striving to offer his utmost.

oh please have mercy on this young man—forever enmeshed in the whirlwind of his exorcist duties. and yet, even amidst the chaos, his devotion knows no bounds when it comes to those he holds dear.

one might assume that quality time would be sacrificed for the trivial, but fear not, for you found yourself on the fortunate side—the one he’d willingly carved out moments to be with.

initially, your encounters were fleeting, brief snippets of time. however, as the sands of time trickled down, these fragments transformed into meticulously planned sleepovers. he meticulously orchestrated these occasions, ensuring they did not encroach upon his demanding schedule.

your bond thrived during these cozy gatherings, or tranquil rendezvous, where he wholeheartedly immersed himself in your passions—comics and video games.

though not extensively versed in these realms, one might imagine that you—with your infectious enthusiasm to the field—was the catalyst for his exploration and understanding of the realm of entertainment. this was evidenced by the gradual increase in invitations to game nights and his newfound willingness to engage in discussions about captivating narratives. perhaps, you both even exchanged recommendations for comics, as kindred spirits often do.

as the both of you and the world grew older—it became evident that he honed his social skills; presenting himself as a complete package. every aspect of his being held an irresistible allure, captivating the hearts of women, and even some fellow men. many yearned and openly expressed their desire to be the chosen one by his side.

however, even amidst the clamoring crowd, his gaze remained steadfastly fixed upon you.

of course, as the old adage goes; with great power comes great responsibility—the price of his popularity gradually revealed itself.

certain students, teetering on the edge of obsession, noticed the distinct tenderness he displayed towards you, surpassing his general kindness towards all. seizing upon this perceived vulnerability, they occasionally resorted to devious methods, seeking to eliminate you from the equation, taking advantage of moments when slumber claimed you.

naturally, he swiftly uncovered their plot, intervening before they could execute their nefarious intentions.

needless to say, the number of such audacious attempts dwindled significantly. what exactly he did to deter them remains a mystery known only to him and his would-be victims.

still, worried that the possibility of a recurrence and his absence to intervene, he took it upon himself to practically implore—some might even say beg—you to join the student council. this would ensure that he, or even akane if needed, could keep a watchful eye over you with greater ease.

however, true to your nature, you steadfastly rebuffed each futile attempt to persuade you. despite his persistent efforts, you remained resolute in your refusal.

eventually, your golden boy relented, recognizing that his endeavors were in vain…but that was just because he found an alternative solution.

he encouraged—forced—akane to be the one to look after you discreetly whenever he couldn’t. only choosing to partially reveal his intentions to avoid alarming you at the time, as you were unfamiliar with akane’s existence.

or so it had been until he observed that you and the school’s vice president shared a rather unique bond.

although akane would occasionally scold you for being so excessively somnolent, mistaking it for you being irresponsible, hence, occasionally comparing you to the greatness of his lady aoi—teru—ever vigilant and mindful of akane’s every interaction with you, ensured that his usual brutal tendencies were significantly tempered. still—it remained a part of the deputy’s essence, defining his very being, just albeit subdued in your presence.

it could be surmised that akane once attempted to tease—or rather, foolishly inquire, about teru’s subtle yet perceptible shifts in behavior whenever you were involved.

“it’s almost as if you like them.”

in an almost immediate reaction—the president paused, slowly turning his head to gaze at akane, a shadow casting a smile that concealed the upper portion of his closed eyes.

the ginger-haired vice executive, feeling an ominous presence despite the absence of visible eyes, found himself sweating profusely as he cautiously added,

“—to the point where anyone could mistake you for family!"

sensing the gravity of his words, akane mentally vowed to never broach the subject again. he restrained himself from ever mentioning it whenever he witnessed the two of you together.

curiosity gnawed at you as you noticed his all-knowing gaze transform into one of horror whenever you turned your head, as if peering behind you; at none other than the pretty blonde himself, who seemed to be doing nothing wrong, merely proven to have been innocently smiling the whole time, or so he put up whenever you looked back at him.

oblivious to the truth, you always dismissed it as ‘akane’s peculiar moments of ptsd flashbacks’ whenever he saw teru.

however, let me share a little secret with you.

did you know the true reason behind teru’s death stare? no? well, do you wanna know?

then do allow me to spill it for you.

it was simply because akane, using the keyword; "like," insinuated that teru had a ‘liking-only level’ romantic feeling for you. the misconception provoked such a reaction from teru, for he wanted to correct that statement because he loved you, not just liked you.

seriously, can’t people let him finish what he’s saying?

[blaxcunicorn]

𝓑𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓭 𝓑𝔂 𝓕𝓲𝓻𝓮

Length: 6k

Content: fem!reader, smut, war, arranged marriage, coercion (kinda), few graphic descriptions of violence, let me know if I missed something.

Authors note: Hii guys! This is my newest addition to my Eren-verse...I present to you the usurper King of Eldia x Warrior Princess Reader. Those whom know me, know that I'm weak for a Royal AU so King Eren will always be my favorite to write. The fic is built on the smut I wrote a while back called Happy Wedding Night. Please let me know what you guys think!❤️🫶🏿

Credit: Gifs by @unicornlandsposts and divider by @strangergraphics ❤️❤️

The banners of Marley snapped in the wind, their deep crimson stark against the storm-darkened sky. The air was thick with the strong smell of smoke and blood and the ground was covered with mud and the fallen soldiers….Today was supposed to be a victory.

You gripped the hilt of your sword, lifting it high as your warhorse stomped at the edge of the battlefield. Your voice shouted clear over the cries of your soldiers.

"For the Reiss bloodline! For our ancestors' honor! We will reclaim the throne!"

A resounding roar echoed back, weapons raised, the fire of war burning in their eyes. They had followed you for nearly two years, through endless battles, across fields drenched in blood, cutting down anyone who stood between you and Eldia’s throne. You had never lost a campaign. You were not just a commander, you were their symbol, a warrior princess forged in war, the heir to a kingdom that would never bow.

And yet, today, you had made a grave miscalculation.

Eren Jeager was no mere warlord. He had not simply overthrown the Reiss family, he had reshaped Eldia itself. Your father had declared war to restore the rightful rulers, believing the kingdom would collapse beneath the weight of its own rebellion. But Eren had done the impossible. He had not just seized the throne, he had made them believe in him.

You expected resistance, but you did not expect the loyalty the Eldian population had for the usurper. You had counted on Eldian nobles turning against their new king, the people resisting his rule. Instead, they bled for him and you had underestimated his army.

Your spies had told you their numbers. You had planned for them, accounted for them. But when your forces stormed Shiganshina’s outer walls, the streets swarmed with warriors three times what you had anticipated. Then the ground trembled beneath you, and suddenly, the battlefield was not what you thought it was. Eldian forces erupted from beneath the city itself, striking from the shadows, cutting your soldiers down before they could even react.

Shiganshina was no mere battleground. It was a fortress, set up as a trap.

Your men fought hard, but for every Eldian that fell, two more took their place. The walls, the streets, the very earth fought against you. Even as the sun began to set, stretching your shadow across the bloodied stone, you already knew, this city would not fall. Eldia would not fall and for the first time in your life…you’ve lost. 

Even as the weight of defeat pressed down upon you, you refused to let it crush you. Gritting your teeth, you pulled at the reins of your warhorse, raising your sword once more. You would not let this battle turn into a massacre. You would not let your people die here.

"We return to Marley!" you commanded.  "Fall back! Do not stop until we are beyond Eldian lands!"

There was no hesitation. Even in the face of failure, your soldiers trusted you. They followed as you led the retreat, cutting through enemy lines, pushing forward with sheer force and desperation.

By the time you reached the final ridge overlooking Shiganshina, your forces were scattered and wounded, but alive.

Turning back, you took one last look at the city you had failed to conquer. The banners of Eldia fluttered triumphantly over the walls, the fires of battle still glowing in the distance. And standing somewhere beyond them was the king you had underestimated..the usurper had won this battle.

The throne room was suffocating, the air was filled with the smell of blood and steel. The heavy doors open, and Eldian soldiers marched in. You barely heard them as your gaze was fixed on the balcony, where Marley’s flag was being ripped down, replaced by Eldia’s blue and green banner. Your hands were trembling as you realised that this wasn’t just defeat, it was an erasure.

Armin Arlert’s voice rang through the chamber, as he declared, "I present to you Eren Jeager, King of Eldia and Marley." The words sent a sharp jolt through you, but before you could react, your world shifted again. Your father, the King of Marley, the man who had raised you to fight, to stand proud, was kneeling. Beside him, your mother bowed her head, while your warriors laid their weapons at their feet. The weight of their surrender pressed on your chest like a boulder. Your own people, the ones who had fought beside you, had given in to the usurper without a fight.

A slow, burning rage clawed its way up your throat…Cowards. How could they kneel? How could your father, the man who had sent you to war, accept this humiliation? Your hands curled into fists as you felt the dagger at your side. . If no one else would fight, then you would. Without hesitation, you lunged for Eren, blade drawn, ready to carve through the lie that had been forced upon your people, but Connie Springer intercepted you. He had a strong grip, as he tried to stop you, but he had underestimated you. In a single motion, you flipped him to the ground, the sound of his armor clattering against the stone breaking the tense silence.

Then came Mikasa Ackerman. She moved swiftly, her hands reaching to restrain you, but she had not expected you to match her. You shoved back, the sheer force making her stumble, if only for a second. She murmured, "Don’t make this harder on yourself." But there was nothing harder than watching your father kneel. Your refusal to surrender burned through you, and even as Jean laughed  at Connie’s failure, the moment didn’t last. A sudden, sharp sting at your neck sent your vision blurring. The world tilted as your limbs went heavy, and before you could fight it, darkness closed in. The last thing you heard was Eren’s voice. "Take her to the cells."

Your father pleaded, but Eren silenced him with a single look. "This is how it has to be," he said. You could no longer move, no longer resist, but deep in the haze of unconsciousness, one thing remained, you would never kneel.

The cold stone beneath made your body arch slightly as you woke up. A heavy weight pressed against your neck and wrists and clinking of chains following your every small movement. The bastard had ordered restrains on you. You tried to piece together how much time had passed. Hours? A day? More? 

Before you could think further, the iron door open and Mikasa and Armin. The sight of them filled you with anger, but Armin’s soft voice, caught you off guard. "Are you alright?" he asked. For a moment, the words felt strange, almost misplaced. Why would he care? You wanted to spit out, but your body betrayed you. "I’m hungry," you admitted instead. Armin gave a small nod, before turning on his heel and leaving without another word, presumably to fetch you food.

That left you alone with Mikasa.

She didn’t move right away, simply watching you with something that wasn’t quite pity. When she finally spoke, her voice was gentle. "You fought well," she said. You didn’t answer. The silence stretched between you, but she didn’t look away. If she expected you to break first, she would be disappointed. You had already lost too much. You would not give them this.

Mikasa’s voice was soft, as she asked, “Do you remember us? Me, Armin… Eren?”

You furrowed your brows, as you were confused by the question. Your mind searched for a memory, but there was nothing. The names held no meaning. You had never met them before. Had you?

Mikasa must have noticed the blankness in your expression because, instead of pressing you for an answer, she smiled gently. “I thought so,” she murmured, tilting her head slightly. “Then let me tell you how we first met.”

Her voice carried you back to a time long before war and betrayal. You had been ten years old, spending the day in Eldia with Historia Reiss, the youngest daughter of the royal family. Historia, even back then, had been a brat, reminded you of a cat demanding constant attention. But you had been thrilled to explore Eldia. 

Accompanied by an Eldian soldier named Mr. Kruger, you had wandered too far from the city, chasing after a deer that had darted past the road. Historia, had run after you. What started as excitement quickly turned into panic as Kruger had lost you both. The trees became endless, the towering trunks swallowing the sun as the hours stretched on. It grew late and cold.

That was when you saw her.

A girl with long black hair and tired, worn clothes, gathering firewood in the dim light. She was alone or so you thought. You hadn’t noticed the two boys hiding in the underbrush, watching. 

They hadn’t dared to approach. One look at your fine clothes, the rich embroidery on Historia’s cloak, and they knew you were nobility. Armin, whispering to Eren that it was better to stay hidden, but Eren had already tensed, fists clenched, ready to attack if you dared to harm Mikasa.

Mikasa had seen you first, her dark eyes flicking between you and Historia, searching for others. Before she could speak, Historia, utterly oblivious, taunted her for her ragged clothes, but you hadn’t laughed.

You had told Historia to leave Mikasa alone. Then, looking at Mikasa not at her dirt-streaked face or her torn sleeves, but at her, you had smiled. “I think you look beautiful.”

Mikasa was taken aback, as her cheeks were burning.

That was when you had asked her, politely, if she knew the way back to Stohess. She had barely managed to nod, pointing in the right direction. You thanked her, ready to leave, but as you turned, something made you stop.

The cold bit at your skin, and when you exhaled, a small cloud of fog escaped your lips. You had seen Mikasa rubbing her hands together, blowing on them for warmth, her fingers were red from the freezing air.

Without thinking, you had reached for your red scarf.

It had been one of your favorites, it was warm and soft, something your mother had given you. But right then, you didn’t care about that. You had carefully wrapped it around Mikasa’s neck, adjusting it so it covered her properly. “I’m sorry I don’t have more to give you,” you had said, sincerely, as if the scarf alone wasn’t already more than she had ever been given.

And then, you and Historia had left, finding a frantic Mr. Kruger along the way.

Behind you, Mikasa had stood frozen, clutching the scarf like it was the most precious thing in the world. Her vision blurred with tears she hadn’t expected, because for the first time, someone had given her something just because they wanted to.

Armin had emerged from the bushes first, smiling softly. “That was kind of her,” he had said.

But Eren hadn’t spoken.

His eyes had stayed on you, lingering longer than they should have.

You had been different. Different from the nobles he had known, the ones who turned their noses up at the poor. You had seen Mikasa and had called her beautiful. You had given without asking for anything in return.

And Eren never forgot that.

When the three of them returned to the farm that night. The farm owner’s eldest son noticed it immediately. His  gaze locked onto the deep red fabric. 

“Where’d you get that?” he asked. . He knew its worth. He knew someone like her, a slave, shouldn’t have anything so fine.

Armin, always the quick thinker, stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. “She was given it,” he said. “By a noble’s daughter. We didn’t steal…”

The slap came fast. A sharp crack as the son’s hand struck Armin across the face, sending him stumbling.

Eren moved before he even thought about it. He stepped between them, his fists clenched so tightly his nails dug into his palms.

 “Touch him again, and I’ll kill you.” Eren said furious. 

That was the last warning he ever gave.

A fist crashed into his face, sending him sprawling to the dirt. The farm owner and his wife rushed outside, drawn by the commotion, their expressions darkening the moment they saw Eren on the ground and the red scarf clenched in Mikasa’s hands.

The son, still panting from the brief scuffle, barely hesitated before spitting out a lie. “She stole it,” he said. “From a noblewoman. If they find out, we’re all dead.”

The farm owner’s fury was instant. A stolen gift from a noble? That was trouble. They couldn’t afford trouble.

“We’ll punish the girl,” the farm owner said, grabbing Mikasa by the arm. “Then we’ll go to the Reiss and beg for a pardon.”

Mikasa didn’t struggle as they dragged her toward the shed.

The son forced her down, pressing her arm against the rough wooden floor, while his father grabbed the axe.

Eren had seen many things in his short life. Starvation, beatings, death. But this,  watching as they readied to sever Mikasa’s hand…this was the moment something inside him snapped.

The first stab was pure rage.

The second was vengeance.

The third, fourth, and fifth were because he couldn’t stop.

By the time Eren was done, the farm owner was dead.

The son barely had time to react before Eren turned on him next. A scared Armin, lunged at Mikasa, shielding her with his body as if that would stop what was happening, as if Mikasa needed protection.

Eren didn't hesitate, he had to cut the son down next.

And then, a scream.

The wife, her face twisted in horror, grabbed Eren, wrenching the bloodied knife from his grip. Before he could react, she slammed him against the wooden wall, her hand tight around his throat.

Eren struggled, choking, his vision darkening. But still, even as his lungs burned, even as the edges of the world blurred, he turned his head and locked eyes with Mikasa.

His voice was hoarse, but steady. “If we lose, we die… If we win, we live… If we don’t fight, we can’t win… Fight.”

Mikasa felt something ignite in her chest. The fear, the quiet obedience beaten into her over the years, all of it vanished.

She moved before she could think.

The dagger slid into the woman’s back.

The wife gasped, her grip loosening, her body staggering forward. Mikasa pushed the blade deeper, twisting it with finality, until the woman’s breath shuddered and stopped.

The three of them stood there, staring at what they had done. The bodies, the blood and the undeniable truth that there was no going back now.

Eren was the first to move. He wiped his face, stepping past the corpses without hesitation. “Let’s go.”

Neither Armin nor Mikasa asked where. They didn’t need to.

As they fled into the night, Eren made a promise, not just to himself, but to them.

One day, he would tear this system down. He would burn it to the ground. And when it was over, when there were no more chains, no more masters…They would finally be free.

For the next ten years, Eren built his rebellion from the ground up. What started as a desperate bid for survival became something far greater…a movement. The forgotten, the broken, the ones beaten down by the nobility, they all flocked to his cause. Slaves, peasants, soldiers who had lost faith in their lords. By the time he struck, he didn’t just have an army, he had the people.

The coup was swift and brutal but it led to the fall of the  Reiss dynasty. 

Now, in the heart of the conquered palace, Eren sat at the head of the war council. Mikasa and Armin flanked him. Across from them, his newly appointed commanders; Pixis, Nile, and Erwin listened intently. A large map of the continent stretched across the table, red ink marking Marley’s forces along the border.

They called it “The Marleyan Aggression.”

Mr. Kruger, one of Eren’s most trusted men, stood at the edge of the room. The Owl as they called him. He had been instrumental in the rebellion, whispering Eren’s ideals into the right ears, turning loyalists against their masters. Now, he was delivered his latest warning.

“Marley won’t let you rule, Your Majesty,” Kruger said, his voice steady but firm. “Not while the Reiss throne remains vacant.”

Eren’s fingers drummed against the table. “Why?” he asked. “The people are with me. Eldia belongs to them now. What does Marley have to gain?”

Kruger exhaled, as if the answer was obvious. “Loyalty.”

“The Marleyan king is a religious fool. No battle experience. He wears the crown, but his daughter is the one who wages war,” Kruger said, leaning forward. “Some would say she’s Marley’s true ruler. She just does it from the shadows.”

Eren’s eyes sharpened.

“Princess Y/N L/N…The Crowned Reaper,” Kruger said. 

Mikasa stiffened. Armin glanced at Eren, already gauging his reaction.

“They say she’s cut down hundreds. That on the battlefield, her presence alone is enough to turn the tide. If Marley marches, it won’t be him leading the charge. It will be her.”

Kruger exhaled, glancing briefly at Mikasa’s scarf before adding, almost as an afterthought, “She used to visit Eldia often and was close with the Reiss girl…Historia.”

Mikasa’s grip on her scarf tightened. “Did you once lose them in the woods?”

Kruger chuckled, his eyes flicking to the red fabric wrapped around her neck. “So that’s where that scarf ended up.”

Mikasa’s fingers curled into the fabric.

Eren, Armin, and Mikasa exchanged looks, because they remembered the two of you.

The bratty little noble girl Historia running through the trees, chasing after a dark-skinned girl with almost-white hair, laughter ringing through the forest.

Mikasa stared at her scarf. The gift from you, a girl who had once been kind. Now a woman known as the Crowned Reaper.

Armin’s mind raced. He thought back to that day in the forest to the way Eren had watched you leave. The way his expression had shifted, just slightly, in a way only Armin would have noticed.

He had noticed.

And he wondered if Eren had, too.

Would that cloud his judgment now?

Eren’s jaw clenched, but his voice was calm. “We need to plan how to take her down.”

Mikasa’s grip on the scarf remained tight.

Armin said nothing.

Because for the first time, Armin couldn’t tell if Eren wanted to defeat you or claim you.

Your eyes widen as Mikasa finishes her story, and your gaze falls on the scarf you had gifted her all those years ago. It was well-kept, as if she had cherished it. Mikasa thanks you softly, telling you that it has kept her warm for the past ten years. Before you can respond, the door creaks open, breaking the moment. Armin and Jean step inside, carrying a tray of food and a jug of water. You quietly thank Armin as he sets the tray before you, and he offers you a small, reassuring smile.

Jean, leans against the wall with a smirk. “Can’t have our future queen starving, now can we?”

You nearly choke on the water you had just sipped. Coughing, you manage to rasp out, “Queen?” 

Armin shifts uncomfortably, a faint blush dusting his cheeks as he confirms what you had feared…your father had struck a deal with Eren. Your family’s survival had come at a cost. You were to be his wife and you were leaving for Eldia at dawn.

Your grip tightens around the cup in your hands as a bitter realization sinks in. Your father had given you away like a bargaining chip, selling you off to the very man you had sworn to kill. Yet, deep down, you understood. This wasn’t just about you, it was about your people, your family. The war was lost and now, so were you.

The next morning, you were taken to Eldia in chains, your family following behind in silence. Your new reality settled in with every mile crossed. The once-proud Crowned Reaper, bound and delivered to the heart of her enemy’s kingdom, not as a prisoner of war, but as a bride.

Upon arrival, you were separated from your family and taken to a grand chamber.

The chamber was quiet except for chime of your chains as they shifted with your slightest movement. Avery and Catherine, your most trusted maids, worked carefully around you, their faces were painted with quiet sorrow as they prepared you for a fate none of you could accept.

Your hair, once tightly bound for battle, had loosened and tangled from days without care. Avery stood behind you, her fingers weaving through the near-white blonde strands, gently parting them to detangle each section. Despite her careful touch, you could still feel the occasional tug, a reminder of how much had changed since you last sat before them like this. She worked swiftly, smoothing each part before applying a light oil that carried the faint scent of lavender.

Catherine, took over next. With deft hands, she began redoing your knotless braids, working through each section with precision. The rhythm of her movements was almost soothing, a stark contrast to the turmoil in your chest. Once finished, Avery adorned a few of them with thin golden cuffs, securing them in place. 

Next came the dress. A gown fit for a queen…or a captive. You couldn’t tell. Catherine helped you step into the rich crimson fabric, her hands steady as she fastened the bodice. The embroidery was breathtaking, golden filigree stitched into elaborate patterns, catching the candlelight with every movement. The sleeves draped elegantly over your arms, flowing down like liquid silk. Around your waist, a golden belt cinched the dress in place, emphasizing your figure in a way that felt suffocating.

Avery stepped back, pressing her lips together as she observed their work. “You look beautiful, Your Highness,” she said softly, but there was pain in  her voice.

You didn’t respond. What was there to say?

Avery walked to the door and knocked twice, Mikasa opened the door and said. “It’s time.”

You squared your shoulders, swallowing down every emotion threatening to poor out. It was time to face the man who stole everything from you.

The walk to the Holy Eldian Temple was silent. Mikasa’s grip on your arm was a reminder that you were not walking toward a celebration, but toward a fate that had been decided for you. The streets were lined with Eldians. Some whispered among themselves, others bowed their heads as if in prayer. You ignored them, your gaze fixed on the towering temple ahead its grand marble pillars bathed in the golden glow of the midday sun.

As you stepped inside, the air grew heavier, thick with the scent of burning incense and sacred oils. The grand hall was decorated  with red and gold banners, the Eldian crest displayed proudly on every wall. The stained-glass windows depicted the history of the Eldian Empire, their vibrant colors casting fragmented light across the pristine floors. At the end of the aisle, upon the elevated altar, sat Eren with a straight face, dressed in ceremonial white and gold. Beside him stood Pastor Nick, adorned in holy robes, hands folded before him as he waited.

Your lips trembled when you saw your father. He stood to the side, his once-proud posture now hunched with grief. His gaze fell to the chains still wrapped around your wrists, his lips parting slightly as if to protest. When you reached him, he hesitated for only a moment before stepping forward, gently linking his arm with yours. His grip was firm yet trembling.

“My child,” he whispered. “I am so sorry.”

You didn’t respond. What was there to say? He had made his choice, just as you were forced to make yours.

Together, you walked down the aisle, past foreign nobility and Eldian officials. Some pitied you, while others did not. However, you held your head high, refusing to let them see you falter.

When you reached the altar, your father released you. You turned to face Eren, your future husband, the man who had orchestrated this all. His green eyes met yours.

Pastor Nick began the ceremony.

He spoke of unity between two great nations. Of peace, of duty, of sacrifice. His voice echoed through the vast temple, but his words blurred together in your mind. Your attention flickered between the sacred texts he recited and the weight of the chains still wrapped around your wrists. It was not a wedding…it was a surrender.

Then came the vows.

Eren spoke first. He promised to protect you, to honor you, to rule beside you. The words sounded almost sincere, but you knew better. This was not about love or devotion, this was about power. When it was your turn to speak, you repeated the vows with precision, but there was no warmth behind them.

Eren reached for you, his fingers brushing against the cool metal of your chains. With deliberate slowness, he unlocked them, one by one, until they fell away, clattering against the temple floor. He leaned in, with his lips dangerously close to your ear.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “You know what’s at stake.”

You inhaled sharply but said nothing.

Eren straightened, his hand lingering on your wrist for just a second longer before he turned away.

“Jean,  Connie, take her to her chamber.”

Jean smirked, while Connie gave a small, almost sympathetic glance before nodding. They stepped forward, ready to escort you away.

The ceremony was over and you were now the Queen of Eldia.

The flickering candlelight painted a warm glow across the opulent chamber as you nervously fidgeted with the lace of your white sleeping gown. Avery and Catherine, two of your most trusted maids, were freshening you up for the wedding night. "Darling, take a deep breath. You're a vision," Catherine said, trying to ease up the tension in the room.

 Avery, on the other hand, addressed the elephant in the room. “I can’t believe that we are giving away Marley’s only heir to an usurper.” She said behind her teeth. 

“I know it’s not ideal, but this marriage was his idea. He is the one in power, my father accepted it in order to keep us alive so that we don’t end up like the Reiss.” You whispered the last part as your eyes started to sting. 

 “I understand, but the fact that that usurper now rules Eldia and Marley makes my blood boil.” Catherine hushed her “He might show up any time soon. Please don’t give the devil any reason to behead us.” She whispered, packing her stuff to leave. 

She whispered a small good luck before exiting the room. You grabbed Avery’s hand as comfort as you knew that she was about to leave next. Avery brings a small dagger out of her pocket. “Use this if it becomes necessary.” She said before leaving. 

You hurried up to the bed and hid the dagger under the pillow as you heard steps getting louder outside the door. “Ugh, I hate weddings” your husband, said as he walked into your chamber. He went straight to the table and poured himself some wine. “Who would have thought that standing around in these uncomfortable clothes for six hours, would be disgusting for a groom.” 

You let out a small giggle as you never thought that the Eren Jeager would be complaining like a little boy. Eren raises his eyebrow while trying to hide his smile. “The look on Johan’s face as he offered me his sincere congratulations, that on the other hand was entertaining.” Your smile vanished the split second he mentioned your knight. “I mean, it's funny since I was the one taking his arm during the battle of Shiganshina.” Your heart dropped.

 “It doesn’t matter what we think. To you, we are just foreigners or, well, now, your subjects. I’m just one of your war trophies alongside Johan’s… arm.” You whispered the last part. “Wine? You haven’t had a sip all night.” He said, pouring you a glass while ignoring what you just said. 

He hands you the glass “Oh, by the way, princess, can you please hand me the dagger underneath your pillow.” You were stunned. How did he know? You slowly hand him the dagger. “What’s wrong, princess? Why are you giving your husband that look?” He said, almost taunting. “What look?” You asked nervously. “The look as I’m still your enemy, which I’m not becoming as I’m your husband now.” He said, dowing the wine. “Which is something I don’t understand. Why make yourself part of the peace bargain? Why marry into a defeated royal family?” You asked, sipping the wine. “You can’t be that out of touch with reality. In order to control Marley after the war, I need to unite the kingdoms. What’s a better way to unite two kingdoms than marriage?” He said, leaning on the counter.

 “Don’t look so sour. You are now king of both Eldia and Marley, and I…will forever be your queen. How pathetic is that? I was the heir to an entire kingdom and a war leader. That was my birthright. Now I’m reduced to an accessory of yours, oh, and your breeding cow too, let’s not forget about that. ” You said, rolling your eyes. “Is that so?” Eren smirked as he now stood next to the bed. “Drop the attitude right now, I’m the most powerful person in either kingdoms. I can make your life very difficult with every word of mine. I can take mistresses to our bed, I can start rumours, I can stir up revolts against Marley. I can potentially use suppers to sleep in your bed and mothering your children…That’s one option.” 

He grabbed your hand gently to help you out of the bed. You were now facing him, you felt so small compared to him. You can tell that he has been on the battlefield with his physique. He leaned in your ears and whispered, “Because I can also be your greatest ally, your most faithful partner, your protector, your confidant, your advocate, your right hand, I can kill for you, I can lie for you, I can go to war for you, I can give you children that are strong, kind and cleaver and love their mother more than life itself, together we can start a dynasty that can last a thousand years…All I ask in return is that you submit to me…love me…even if you have to fake it.” 

He cupped your cheeks and stared into your eyes. “I want to be the king, of this bedroom, of your body and of your mind. I don’t want to share my power with anyone else, am I understood? Your family are alive because I allowed it, so in return, I want to have you whenever I want and however I want. ”

 You nodded as you were too stunned to speak. “Out there, you’ll be my equal, but in here, you’ll be my whore, my concubine, my goddess. Whichever I feel like…So do we have an arrangement?” He asked, kissing your right hand.

 “Yes” you whispered, defeated, as he brought you in for a warm hug.

 “Now, let’s get you out of this dress.” He whispered, using the dagger to rip the back of the dress. You let out a tiny yelp as you felt the cold tip of the dagger run down softly on your back. The dress slid off easily, and you were now standing naked in front of your husband.

 “Oh, your subjects were right, you are beautiful,” he said, walking around you to observe your body. “Now come here, give me a kiss.” He said, making the notion with his index finger. As the obedient wife you were trying to be, you walked up and gave him a kiss.

 “Good girl, now get on your knees. Kneel princess, you are the only Marlian that hasn’t kneeled for me yet.” You sat down on your knees.

 “Oh, so you can follow orders. Looking at you down there makes me hard. Now, take it out.” His comment made your cheeks burn in embarrassment. You have never in your life felt so humiliated…so small. 

He grabbed your cheeks between his hand “Don’t play innocent. What was your young knight’s name again…sir Johan?” Your eyes widen, how did he know about your affair with him?

 “That’s good. I expect you to suck your king’s cock better than some pretty knight. Oh, and also, I meant it when I said I want to be the king of your body and mind.” He said, groaning the last sentence. “Yes,” you said quietly as you unbuckled his pants. “That’s it, between those full lips.” He whispered as you took his veiny cock in your mouth. 

“Ah, what a good royal whore you are. Take it deeper.” He commanded while smirking. You bopped your head up and down, taking in as much of him as possible “Just like that…If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re enjoying yourself.” He groaned, grabbing your hair and making you gag. “Just like that, I love seeing you gag like that.” He groaned. 

You were drooling as he was assaulting your throat. “Look at me with those pretty eyes.” He demanded. Your teary eyes met his “God, you look so beautiful. Just like that…This is where you belong. On your knees, taking my cock like the good whore you are.” He said, groaning and you started to rub your clit, and that didn’t go unnoticed by Eren. 

“Fuck, get on the bed now.” He demanded, pulling his cock out of your mouth. You hurried up to the bed on your hands and knees. “Oh, look at you. Is this how you want our first night to be? Me fucking you like a whore? I bet your pretty knight wouldn’t dare to do something like that.” He smirked.  You arched your back, and Eren took the invitation. You hissed as he slowly entered you and yelped as he pounded aggressively into you. “Look at that little cunt, dripping on me. Fuck take it, princess.” He moaned. You were a moaning mess, he was fucking you dumb. Eren could feel you stretch around him, which riled him up.

 “Turn around, look at your husband.” He commanded, and you turned your head to face him. “To stunned to speak now, you probably needed someone to tame you like the bratty bitch you are.” He groaned, spanking your ass twice, making you scream. “Rub your clit, I want you to cum on your enemy’s cock, on your husband’s cock. So that you know that you belong to me.” You drew circles on your clit, Eren groaned as you clenched around his cock as you came. He flipped you on your back.

 He wanted you to kiss him, you could read it all over his face. You leaned over and kissed him carefully, he grabbed your throat and kissed you passionately using his tongue. “Remember this, you are mine. I’m your king. You want that, don’t you?” He whispered. You could only nod. “That’s right, my darling, I’ll fuck you again. This time I’ll breed you”, he said, hovering over you and sliding his cock inside of you. He lifts your legs and positions each of them around him. He pounds into you but is way more gentler than the first time. Eren could get used to this,  loved seeing your boobs bounce to the rhythm of him. He grabbed your throat again and kissed you, you moaned in his mouth as you could feel his cum filling you up. He rolled over, catching his breath. He turned to his sides and kissed your forehead. 

[holyspiritgirl]

Studying biblical verses to read when struggling with spiritual warfare p.2 : Psalm 91

(NLT) Psa 91 - “Those who live in the shelter of the Most High will find rest in the shadow of the Almighty. This I declare about the LORD: He alone is my refuge, my place of safety; he is my God, and I trust him. For he will rescue you from every trap and protect you from deadly disease. He will cover you with his feathers. He will shelter you with his wings. His faithful promises are your armor and protection. Do not be afraid of the terrors of the night, nor the arrow that flies in the day. Do not dread the disease that stalks in darkness, nor the disaster that strikes at midday. Though a thousand fall at your side, though ten thousand are dying around you, these evils will not touch you. Just open your eyes, and see how the wicked are punished. If you make the LORD your refuge, if you make the Most High your shelter, no evil will conquer you; no plague will come near your home. For he will order his angels to protect you wherever you go. They will hold you up with their hands so you won’t even hurt your foot on a stone. You will trample upon lions and cobras; you will crush fierce lions and serpents under your feet! The LORD says, “I will rescue those who love me. I will protect those who trust in my name. When they call on me, I will answer; I will be with them in trouble. I will rescue and honor them. I will reward them with a long life and give them my salvation.”

Psalm 91 is a powerful and comforting passage that speaks of God's protection and deliverance . Here’s a summary and explanation of its key themes:

• Promise of safety (verses 1-2) :

It is said that those who maintain a close, trusting relationship with God will find safety and rest under His protection. Our Lord is portrayed as a refuge and a shelter, providing security and comfort to those who are close to Him.

• Protection from dangers (verses 3-8) :

It is true that God promises to rescue from hidden dangers and deadly diseases. His protection is depicted as covering with feathers and sheltering under wings, symbolizing tender care and safety. In other words, it is said that the faithful are shielded from harm and deceit.

• Freedom from fear (verses 9-13) :

In fact, those who trust in God will not be overcome by evil or disease. Angels are assigned to guard and protect, reinforcing the idea of divine oversight. Therefore it is assured that harm will not reach those who make God their refuge.

• God’s response to faithfulness (verses 14-16) :

Certainly, God will deliver and honor those who love and trust Him. God will answer prayers, be present in trouble, and grant long life and salvation ; a divine reward for steadfast faith and trust.

• In summary, Psalm 91 promises that those who trust in the Lord will find safety and protection from dangers and fears. God will deliver them from harm, shield them with care, and honor their faithfulness with long life and salvation.

Have a Blessed day 🙏

[herrenxenoberg]

Fandorm Showcase #27 - Fantasia

The rest of the Season 3 showcase will be a bit slow since I have to redesign the previously made fandorms before I get to post them. But trust me, I will get them done with the amount of free time I can get from my working weeks.

Introducing the melodious and dramatic dorm inspired by Fantasia...

Umbralis (Umbra = Latin for Shadow; Choralis = Latin for choral or orchestral)

This dorm is considered one of the most sacred and forbidden dorms according to the school's system, due to the fact it is formed under the inspiration of the mighty abyssal tyrant who has conquered Bald Mountain and has struck fear into those who have heard the story. The dorm members who were sorted into this dorm are rumored to have souls as black as the night sky, morals as corrupted as a blackened heart similar to the abyssal tyrant in legend, or so the rumor goes...

In actuality, this dorm focuses on mostly musical prowess and grace, using magic to create melodious symphonies and rhythms that captivate the world, diving into the history of classical music. Although students in this dorm are magically powerful, they choose to experience life at its fullest without their intense aura ruining the sensation.

"A dorm founded on the Abyssal Tyrant's spirit of finesse. Students in this dorm are skilled in all matters of magic, but they are kind-hearted souls who only wanted the simpler things in life."

Requirements and Traits:

Knowledgeable in all matters of magic (even the forbidden ones)

Well-versed in classical music and symphonic melodies

Have a sense for theatrics as well as a sophisticated front

What I did with the housewarden fit is that the coat tails would be magically link to the neural system, making them a second pair of wings depending on the preference, since the housewarden is a devil/fae. The wings can also fold into itself to form a cloak of sorts for the aesthetics. They also are required to wear a mask over their eyes as a symbol of respecting other's "well-beings".

Character Roster:

Do not be afraid, grace the powerful and graceful housewarden of Umbralis...

Samael Morbidus (Twisted off Chernabog)

A looming figure of eerie elegance, Samael Morbidus commands an undeniable presence wherever he goes. His piercing gaze, shadowy aura, and ethereal wings make even the bravest shudder in his wake. Whispers of superstition follow him—some say he is a bringer of nightmares, others believe he can summon spirits with a mere thought. However, despite his unsettling appearance, Samael is not the embodiment of malice many assume him to be.

In truth, he is deeply insightful and possesses an endless curiosity about the world around him. He observes everything with an almost detached fascination, intrigued by emotions, human nature, and the mysteries of magic. Samael enjoys philosophical discussions and often contemplates the balance between light and darkness, life and death. Though he mostly speaks through telepathy, his words carry weight, revealing a sharp mind and a poetic soul.

While he does not intentionally try to frighten others, he has long accepted that his mere existence unsettles people. He sometimes uses this to his advantage, making dramatic entrances or staring in silence just to see how others react. However, those who take the time to understand him will find a surprisingly gentle yet enigmatic individual, one who values knowledge and seeks meaning beyond surface-level interactions.

Notable Members:

Yisreal Mystium (Sophomore) - A relic of an age long past, a spell given form, forever seeking purpose in a world that may no longer require him. Though his demeanor is usually calm and refined, Yisreal has moments of playful mischief, a remnant of the enchantments that once made him a mere accessory to magical performances. (Twisted off Yen Sid's The Sorcerer's Hat from The Sorcerer's Apprentice segment)

Heaos Clamor (Junior) - A being of passion and poise, a living storm wrapped in an elegant facade, forever striding between chaos and control. He despises being underestimated and takes any challenge to his pride seriously, his sharp wit capable of cutting just as deep as his actions. (Twisted off Zeus and the Centaurs from the Pastoral Symphony segment)

Cragg Impact (???) - A cosmic anomaly, an ancient force given form, forever existing between the past, present, and an unknowable future. Despite his bizarre nature, Cragg is not malicious. He does not seek to harm, but his sheer power makes him unpredictable. (Twisted off The Rite of Spring segment, the concept of extinction and a meteor)

Next Up: Winnie The Pooh

[gerec]

Hi! First of all, thank you for all your amazing cherik fic recommendations. You're literally doing a god's work 💜 Could you please recommend some good fics with Top!Charles? I'd also be okay with them switching. Thank you so much in advance 😊

Hi Anon - thank you for your lovely message and for your patience! Here are some great Top!Charles fics; there's a mix of canon and au along with some dom/sub and a/o ones that I hope you enjoy!

Beneath Me by Magnetism_bind

Charles is a young lord staying at his family's estate for the summer. Erik is his family's stable-hand.

Coup - Alpha!Charles dethrones Shaw and conquers his omega guard.

Treasure by professor

Knight Erik thinks he’s going to slay the dragon and take the beast’s treasure. He’s very, very wrong about that.

Masterpiece by professor

An artist sculpts his finest creation.

Coax me out my love low by tahariel (Frontseat 'verse series)

It’s hard enough waiting a year to meet the man you’re engaged to, but harder still when that man doesn’t even want to stay bonded to you. Charles is determined, however, not to let Erik get away.

deeper than swords (the sun and stars remix) by specficslut (homosociality)

Erik has been traded to a foreign king for a chest of gold and a hundred bushels of grain. In Westchester, he must learn to start a new life... and navigate the roles that have been thrust upon him, whether concubine or courtesan, consort or slave.

Heated Discussion by annejumps

Professor Lehnsherr is an omega and Professor Xavier is an alpha, but somehow in the weeks they've known each other, the issue has never come up....

The Watch by hllfire

Erik decides to take a break one Friday night, going to a club to try and meet someone for a one-night stand. In a dimly lit hallway, with a stranger behind him, he gets what he wants.

twilight by ikeracity, specficslut (homosociality)

"Volatility was a chemical property. Erik remembered Mrs. Berkowitz saying, with the rhythm of a chant, volatility was how likely a substance was to mist into air, and that was how he felt now, like he could dissolve into nothing at any moment, unless he fucked Charles so hard his eyes spun back in his head."

For someone who kills monsters for a living, Erik is irrationally conflicted about the monster in his bed.

Build you up, Break you apart by orphan_account

Charles makes quick work of rolling them over again so that he is once more on top of Erik. This time when Erik reels back to throw a punch, he finds himself immobile. With outstretched fingers, he reaches for the familiar sensation of metal particles but nothing comes to him and Erik’s pupils dilate, a frightening thought waking in its place. No one’s coming to rescue me.

In which Erik is an omega who takes heat suppressants despite the fact that they don't really work well. And on that one day he decides to stay over at Charles' place, his heat cycle starts.

Sharing by ikeracity

One night during the mutant road trip, Erik knocks on Charles's door and brusquely demands to be taken to bed. Charles, who has been very careful about staying out of Erik’s head, is disoriented by the haunted look in Erik’s eyes but is ultimately swayed by the fact that they’ve had this burgeoning tension between them since forever.

They then proceed to have The Saddest And Worst Sex Ever. Erik stalks off all humiliated and unhappy and Charles is confused until he works out that Erik was a virgin--at which point Charles feels equal parts guilty and furious that Erik's basically used him as an instrument of self-harm.

The next time it happens, Charles teaches Erik what it means to really make love.

awoke with a scar by mixture

It isn't so much about the alpha fighting for his honor, but what the alpha does afterwards that sets Erik's teeth on edge.

in the empty moments by soetry

Charles was the only alpha who had ever treated Erik with respect.

That, Erik thought wryly, was probably why his knot was the only one that Erik had ever wanted. 

twenty four hours from tulsa by intentation

After having self-emancipated (aka run away), Erik's been holing up in a shitty motel while he figures out his next step. When Charles Xavier moves into the room just down the hall, Erik discovers his new favorite pastime: sex.

To Have and To Hold by ikeracity

The wedding hasn't even started and Charles is already bored. When he excuses himself to go to the bathroom, he doesn't expect to find a gorgeous, stern-faced man having a quiet freak out at his reflection. He doesn't expect said gorgeous, stern-faced man to turn around and start climbing him like a tree. And he certainly doesn't expect to discover only after they've got their clothes back on that the man he just had glorious sex with is the groom.

A Force to Be Reckoned With by firstlightofeos

“No, no, no!” Erik exclaims, slamming his glass forcefully back down onto the bar. “Telepathy is impressive in theory, but realistically, no one’s powerful enough, or has enough control, to make you forget yourself or to get you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“You sound very sure about that,” his companion says, taking a sip of his scotch. He tilts his head and raises an eyebrow. “I wonder if you’ve ever really met a telepath before.”

Taking Bets and Making Wagers by windchijmes

Erik is difficult and stubborn. Charles has a saintly level of persistence (and cunning). And neither of them can come to an agreement about who should bottom for their first time. So they have a bet. If Charles can make Erik beg for it, he wins.

And he gets to top.

When the Kids Are Away by dedkake

Charles and Erik have a free moment to themselves, but they're both tired and sore. Erik isn't going to let that get in his way.

Burger Queen by widgenstain

After seeing James in his "stylish" baseball cap that makes him look like a pasty truck-driver, I've decided that there has to be a fic with Charles driving a semi through the country and Erik as a lot lizard (= a hooker working the truck stops).

Rotten Rules by ellenchain

On Erik's first day, he can already tell that prison is indeed not a pony farm. Still, he can't help sticking his nose into dark machinations going on in the depths of the prison. He quickly learns that there is only one rule: eat or be eaten. In addition to all the rumors about dangerous inmates and a corrupt director, a charismatic man from block C in particular does not let him get a good night's sleep. But he too seems to have more secrets than he makes Erik believe ...

a traditional courtship by Helenish

Maybe it’s even a game between them; he catches Charles often enough, watching him, curious, bemused. He lets it go further than he would, otherwise.

[starshideurfics]

Captive, Captivating

into the steddie-verse, omegaverse, intense dubcon, we’re all in the same imperial rome/war prize gutter together, mdni 🔞

As the emperor’s brother, Geta should not be on this northern campaign, but he is curious of these barbarians and how they live without the bounty of the mediterranean. His tent is rather well-appointed besides, his own personal guard and servants setting up his bed, the furs and chairs, each time they move. He even has a small brazier to heat the tent against the cold night.

That doesn’t make his presence anymore reasonable, but as the only member of the imperial family amongst the generals and their legions, it means the greatest of the war prizes belong to him. Thus far, he has accumulated a beautifully made brooch inlaid with garnets, several gold torcs, a pair of fine horses, and one prince to ransom back to his father—that netted him gold and silver coins from many kingdoms, as well as a herd of goats.

But there hasn’t been anything new for weeks, and Geta thinks they are perhaps between barbarian kingdoms. The sun has set on another day, and he is reading over the report he is about to send back to Rome, when Junius enters the tent and makes his presence known.

“We’ve captured an intruder, your grace. Flavianus sniffed him out, and it sounds like his father is a king. Ricardius Spear-hand, if he’s to be believed.”

“And just what was the little prince up to?” Geta puts down his report, grinning. This is intriguing.

“Spilling wine urns and turning loose horses. But mostly spying. We found him outside the general’s tent. The fool rubbed himself in wild mint, but it wasn’t enough to dampen an omega’s scent.”

Geta burns hot at that, his own smoky scent blooming. He has questions, but more than that, he wants to meet this bold omega prince. “Bring him to me.”

“At once, your grace.”

Junius is barely gone a minute, clearly anticipating this request, bringing in a growling young man, stripped down to a loincloth to ensure he carries no weapons, his hands bound in front of him. His flesh is raised in a thousand tiny bumps at the chill of the night air, and his thick, dark hair hangs limp around his head, stringy with his own drying sweat. And his scent is sweet and yeasty like the honey beer the northern barbarians drink in place of wine.

“He claims to be Prince Stephanos, your grace. I don’t believe we have record that he’s an omega… Other than this.”

“Why do you insist upon changing my name?” the omega asks, voice harsh with his whining little growl. Geta has heard of northerners learning Latin, but he did not expect this prince to speak it so well.

“You are Stephanos, son of Ricardius, are you not?”

The boy frowns, looks away, and waits. Junius raises a questioning brow, which Geta answers with a wave of his hand and a soft, “Leave us.”

Junius bows and backs out of the tent.

Stepping closer, Geta grips the omega by the chin, and turns his head to face him. “I asked you a question, little prince.”

His hazel eyes flash with defiance, and he bites his lip so hard it bleeds. Then he takes a breath. “I am Stepan, son of Rikhardt Spear-Handed. As my father’s eldest child, I did my duty. Please, take your soldiers and leave my people be.”

Swiping his thumb over Stepan’s lip, smearing the blood, Geta wants so badly to taste. To bite. He resists, leaning in closer and whispering, “I am not here to conquer; that is my brother’s doing. I wish only to learn and see and experience what this world has to offer. I will be your willing student, sweet Stepan, but I shall also be your master. You have bought freedom for your people.” He withdraws his thumb and sucks it into his mouth, the metallic taste of blood on his tongue, yet somehow sweeter than he expects.

The omega trembles, and Geta steps back to hive him space, eyes roving over his exposed body. His nipples are hard, pebbled along with his gooseflesh, and his small breasts are puffy, swollen like he’s near his heat.

“I will not take you tonight, so do not fear.” Geta circles him slowly, retrieving a length of soft, woven wool, and steps up behind him, arms wrapping the cloth around the omega’s shoulders. Stepan jolts at the touch, but doesn’t struggle as Geta holds him. “But you will be mine.” His right hand settles low on Stepan’s belly, presses firm. “Soon my pup will be here.” He sets his nose to the princeling’s neck, and Geta is sure he smells even sweeter as he inhales deeply. “Can tell your heat is coming, but maybe you’ll breed true before it can begin.”

He drops a single kiss over the warmth of Stepan’s mating gland, feels the flutter of his pulse. “But tonight we shall simply rest. Come, Stepan. Let’s to bed.”

🏛️🌙🌿

Stepan does not sleep that night, or if he does, it is a fitful sleep. But he has no hope of escape, his captor holding him tight from behind, trapping him in the bed beneath sheets softer than he has ever felt. And surely, the tent is well guarded.

He’s spent enough time awake, looking around the tent for anything he can use, either to incapacitate the roman, or if worst comes to worst…

He hopes it does not come to that.

Strong arms squeeze around his middle, a forehead presses into his shoulder, as the alpha wakes with a sighing hum. “Good morning, little prince.”

The mere thought of replying cordially locks his throat, but Stepan swallows and decides to get it over with; the words will only get easier with practice. “Did you sleep well, Dominus?”

“Best I’ve slept since coming north. How you can sleep in this cold I’ll never understand.”

“It is summer, Dominus?” How soft the romans must be to find a summer night cold. He wonders how his new master would handle traveling through the snow in winter.

“Yes, summer! The air should be hot and leave your skin sticky long after the sun sets!” His hold on Stepan changes, no longer a harsh grip, but one arm loose around his waist, the other snaking up so his hand cups one of Stepan’s breasts. “This is the first time I haven’t woken shivering.” He squeezes, kneading the soft flesh beneath his fingers, then pulls back just enough to grip the nipple between finger and thumb.

He pinches and pulls, and Stepan hates that it feels good. Stifling a moan, he brings his still loosely-bound hands up to grab the alpha’s wrist. “Dominus?”

“You are just so sweet and so warm,” he growls low in Stepan’s ear. Hand spread wide across his chest, moving with each shallow breath, he changes course. No orders to get on his hands and knees, no spreading of his legs, no hand pushing aside the cloth over his sex. Instead, he murmurs, “We shall meet with your father and his counsel today, to talk the terms of peace.”

“The terms being me. In your bed.”

“The terms being you. At my side. I am not looking for a mere bedwarmer, sweet Stepan.” He contradicts this entirely by kissing the side of his neck, sucking the salt from his skin. “You took a risk. It failed you, but now you have learned. And with my guidance you will learn more.”

Stepan’s mind races. He had been certain thot at best he would be a concubine; an omega to give this roman enough bastards to feel good about his virility when his high-born wife managed a sickly pup or two. He no longer thinks that is what his master has in mind. “Dominus?” he asks softly, wishing he could see his eyes now, even in the low light it would tell him more of what he means.

“Rome is a dangerous place. You and I shall need all our cunning when the army returns at the end of this campaign.” He relaxes his grip, finally, and rolls away just enough to make room for Stepan to roll onto his back.

His master smiles, wolf-like, and places a hand back over Stepan’s breastbone, holding him down with the lightest touch as he stares into his eyes. “Do not worry, my sweet omega, I’ll do everything in my power to protect you and our pups.”

“What pups, Dominus? We have done nothing to make any.” Stepan shivers under his dark gaze. “Besides, how can you be certain you won’t grow bored with me in a month’s time?”

“It will take far more than a month to do everything I want with you. Do not worry about my growing bored.” He leans down and takes a dusky nipple into his mouth, biting at the bud with gentled teeth.

Stepan pants, watches as the alpha removes his mouth, tongue lapping at tender skin. A hand reaches for his, working him free from the soft bonds at his wrists and casting the fabric aside. “But you are right; we’ve done nothing to make pups.” He reaches for the ties at Stepan’s waist, pulls them loose, and pushes the fabric aside. “We ought to get started now.”

He pushes off his own coverings, but Stepan does not look. If he doesn’t look, his body cannot lock up at the thought of the intrusion. He can relax enough to keep it from hurting. To keep from being torn apart.

His master has other plans for their coupling, catching up Stepan’s hand and wrapping it around the alpha’s half-hard cock. He guides Stepan in rubbing him to full hardness, tiny moans and soft praise falling from his lips, breath hot against his skin. “Good omega. Yes, touch just like that.”

Finally ready, he boxes Stepan in with his arms, and ruts first against his cunt, just enough wetness there to ease his way and coat his cock. “Even scared you smell so sweet,” he whispers, dipping to nose at his mating gland. “So sweet.” He shifts his hips, and the head of his cock nudges against Stepan’s entrance. He only waits a moment, long enough to whisper, “Deep breaths, my omega,” before thrusting forward.

Stepan gasps, is sure he is being split apart, and moans, “Dominus, please…”

“It will only hurt a little while. Your body will learn.” He stays buried inside, watching Stepan breathe, waiting for him to calm. Only then does he move his hips, picking up speed until he spills hot, his knot tying them fast.

Gathering Stepan to him, he rolls onto his side and holds him close, bringing one of Stepan’s legs over his hip, which opens his cunt enough to relieve a little bit of the pressure there. “Rest, my sweet. Once we untie, we shall bathe and eat. Then this afternoon we shall treat with your father.”

Stepan nods. He has done his duty. His people shall have peace.

part 2

[richelle-goodrich]

"I stand in the night and stare up at a lone star, wondering what love means. You whisper your desire—do I love you? I dare say yes. But my eyes drift back to that solitary star; my mind is plagued with intimate uncertainty. What art thou, Love? Tell me. I contemplate what I know—the qualities love doth not possess. Love lifts no cruel or unkind hand, for it seeketh no harm. It shirks from constraints and demands, for tyranny is not love. A boisterous voice never crosses love’s lips, for to speak with thunder chases its very presence from the heart. Love inflicts no pain, no fear, no misery, but conquers all such foes. It is said love is not selfish, yet it does not guilt those who are. On a heart unwillingly given, it stakes no claim. Love is nothing from Pandora’s box; it is no evil, sin, or sorrow unleashed on this world. My eyes glimmer as the star I gaze upon twinkles with brightness I do not possess. I recognize my smallness—my ignorance of the One whose hands placed that star in the heavens for me. He is love. By His own mouth He proclaimed it. Again the whispered question hits my ear—do I love you? I dare say yes. But my eyes squint tight, wishing on a lonely star, wondering what love means."

― Richelle E. Goodrich, Smile Anyway: Quotes, Verse, and Grumblings for Every Day of the Year

[4listr]

DREAM ???

tw suggestion of drug consumption

Azariah wandered around the vast darkness, leading with no light. Though he feels nothing but emptiness, there's still something inside him that urges him to find something that can fill him again.

As he continued to walk, a voice suddenly spoke.

"I must say what a brilliant speech you gave."

Azariah rapidly turned his head to the source. "Who goes there?"

The owner of the voice was a man with brown hair and a striking outfit, one that you'd wear if you're going to a party. Azariah was weirded out by the sight of this stranger but the man paid no attention to him and continued with his speech.

"Just a friend who could help you save your men." The man exclaims.

"A foe like Circe is not to be messed with, you want to beat her? You'll need the blessing of a certain god. Divine intervention. Someone who's not afraid to send a message."

Hold on, Azariah has heard of this before. This tune, this voice, this person...

"Hermes?"

Ah yes, nothing but the mischievous messenger god himself. But what is he doing here? Moreover, how is he here?!

Azariah wondered for a quite a while but ultimately decided to brush it off. He is in a musical, alright, might as well just savor it.

"Wouldn't you like a taste of the power? Wouldn't you like to use more than words? Deep in the night, the fight lasts for hours. You can be hurt or you can beat her~" Hermes sung.

"Wouldn't you like to have some of the magic? Wouldn't you like your outcome preferred? Deep in the night, the fight can be tragic. I'll help you conquer her!"

Hermes began to add action to his song, moving around displaying a play. Azariah stared at entertainment.

"She can turn you into an animal that'll end up on her plate. She can all but make you fall in love like you're on your hundredth date. She can conjure up a monster that'll grind you to the bones. She has all the ways to haunt you, when you take her on alone~"

Hermes sung the chorus once more before moving to the second verse. He quickly got something from his pocket and shoved it in Azariah's face.

"Oh-oh~ here in the root of this flower there lies such a power to take her on!"

Azariah stared at him dumbfounded. 'What the hell, sure?'

"You must consume and digest it then you'll manifest a being of your creation, all you need's imagination. Though it's only for a moment 'til you've beaten your opponent."

"And I call this root, 'Holy Moly'!"

Azariah let out a small 'ah...' as Hermes' laugh echoed through his ear.

Another chorus and another more. The voices syncing perfectly with Hermes; it was beautiful.

This reminded Azariah how much he misses singing, how he wishes to be able to sing freely once more, to have in control of his voice for one last time. But as reality sets in, he can't, not anymore.

As the song came to an end, Azariah clapped softly.

"Hermes, thank you."

Hermes chuckled. "Don't thank me, friend, you very well may die."

"Good luck~"

APRIL FOOLS EVERYONE 🤡

[generic-sonic-fan]

Guide to different characters in the Mirrorverse AU

The formatting is as follows:

Full canon name: Name referring to the "normal" version of the character. Name referring to the "mirror" version of the character.

---

E-123 Omega: Omega E-123

E-123 is a version of Omega that was created with his creator's full love, care, and attention. His loyalty to his "father" is unwavering, and though he retains his pride and his boisterous personality, his father's influence in his life is still apparent. He's a bit more astute and strategic than his normal counterpart, with the tradeoff of being more cowardly and dispassionate in battle.

This is compounded by the fact that his father has created a system whereby E-123 has uploaded himself to the cloud, allowing him to jump to another premanufactured body should the one he's inhabiting become damaged. There are other notable physical differences from his normal 'verse counterpart, namely in the form of upgrades, such as faster weapon swapping, more weapon variety, and the unique ability to drain chaos energy through his claws; all of this a consequence of having stayed under his creator's care.

Shadow the Hedgehog: Shadow The Ultimate Lifeform

The Ultimate Lifeform has no name. He does not need one. Humanity is evil, all of it, and it is his mission to wipe it from the universe. He would have succeeded with his grandfather's Eclipse cannon were it not for the intervention of his sniveling cousin. Now only half the world is shattered, while the other half rightfully cowers in fear from his inevitable retribution.

He has no connections. No other purpose in his life other than that which grandfather assigned and Maria made him promise. Destroy them all, she whispered with her dying breath. And he will fulfill this request, because he was never designed to be anything more than a weapon.

. . . the nightmares have never lessened. They never will.

Rouge the Bat Rouge Jewel

Jewel has everything she could ever possibly need, from fame to fortune. Sure, it involved selling every gem she's stolen and taking even shadier jobs from the kingpins of the criminal underworld to pay for protection, but that was a small cost to pay, right? Now no one can hurt her. No one can take away what she's built. She can party every night she likes with her followers on social media.

She has succeeded in every robbery she's tried. It's as simple as pointing a gun at them and then paying everyone else to look away if she needs to pull the trigger. It's old habit, at this point. Far from a game anymore, just a means to survive.

And if she feels empty inside, then, well, she can ignore it like she always has.

Eggman | Dr. Ivo Robotnik: Eggman Ivo Robotnik, or just "Ivo" or "Robotnik"

Robotnik, founder of Robotnik Industries and marvelous inventor of the Robotnik Defense Network. He wasn't so generous, once. Once upon a time he merely wanted an island. Just a small island, out of the way but rich in resources and fauna. He conquered it, easily, and it slipped away from the world map and into his hands. One success led to another and he founded Robotnik Industries, exporting his creations to all corners of the planet for use in various industries, but especially security. His works were renowned for their fuel-less, miraculously eco-friendly designs (which are still patented, excuse you!) Robotnik Industries enjoyed good public relations and good roots in government organizations such as GUN.

But after nearly destroying the world by unleashing his grandfather's Ultimate Lifeform, Ivo made it his life's work to protect the world regardless of the cost. His robots patrol the streets, his cameras surveil every inch of the planet, ready at a moment's notice to intercept the Ultimate Lifeform and drive off his attacks. All of this provided to the populous for free, funded by his previous defense contracts and generous resource donations from various government bodies.

Robotnik retains his intense paranoia, "do-whatever-it-takes" mindset, and his ego from his normal 'verse counterpart. However, it is tempered by a strong sense of obligation to stop what his grandfather started. The world looks up to him as a hero, forcing him to smooth off his rougher edges into someone more personable. There is also the matter of his "son", E-123, a creation he told himself he wouldn't get attached to but did anyway.

---

Sonic the Hedgehog: Sonic Maurice

A "mirror" version of Sonic isn't evil, just indifferent. He lives on the mainland, another face amongst all the other refugees that fled from his home island when Robotnik took it for himself. He runs, but not very fast; he's never needed to go much further than the edge of the forest surrounding his hometown. He likes comic books and long walks in the park. He helps when he's asked, but not a step more. And should the crowd find itself agreeing with something he disagrees with, he'll smile and nod along. It isn't worth the friction, you know?

Not evil, just indifferent. His dream was to become a professional athlete, once, but everyone knows that's not realistic, so he's willing to settle for an accounting position. Hopefully the Ultimate Lifeform doesn't end the rest of the world first. Wouldn't that be funny?

Miles "Tails" Prower: Tails Miles

Miles Prower disappeared under mysterious circumstances from the orphanage on his home island.

No one bothered to go looking for him.

Knuckles the Echidna Knuckles The Last Echidna

The Last Echidna has yet to meet a single other living person. He's sure he'd welcome them with open arms, as long as they didn't try to touch the Master Emerald.

The aching loneliness never goes away, and his world will always end at the edge of his island.

Amy Rose Amy Rosie

No one wanted the mirror version of Amy around. And no one ever told her why- so she never grew up. Rosie remains as obsessive and paranoid over other people as she did when she was younger, responding to any praise by falling in love and to any criticism by giving bruises. This further perpetuates the cycle. No one wants to anger her, so they're never honest about why they don't want her around, so she never improved.

And since nobody in real life would give her the time of day, she took to the internet, where she could obsess from a distance. She quickly found herself falling into the wrong crowd due to her interest in true crime- a "fandom" that admires horrible people who did horrible things. Her current favorite is the Ultimate Lifeform, who destroyed half the population, but he was totally justified and actually really just a tragic figure if you look at the evidence from his background- according to her.

Her dream is to see him in person. She thinks she can fix him.

(In a very ironic sense. . . her instinct isn't wrong? This is indeed what normal 'verse Amy did. However, in this version of reality, things will not end well for her.)

---

And now for a few joke characters to lighten the mood:

Silver doesn't exists, his ancestors got blown up by the Eclipse cannon. Sayonara from the timeline!

All of the Chaotix solved one (1) mystery and got discouraged when it didn't pay the bills, so now they work for GUN. They're currently hunting the Jewel Thief (to no avail.)

Cream already, at six years old, skips school and says swear words. She delights in driving her mother mad.

Blaze has ice powers, is an extrovert, and is an absolute heedless despot to her kingdom. Her 'verse name is Frost.

[madrone33]

THE WISDOM SAGA IS OUT AHHHH

It was SO much better than I anticipated. Like, I knew it'd be amazing to listen to - 'cause practically all of Jorge's stuff is - but I was less attached to Telemachus as a character than Ody, so while I was settled in for a fun time I wasn't as invested as I had been for the previous sagas.

Little. Did. I. Know.

HOW DO THE SAGAS JUST KEEP BEING SO GOOD LIKE WHAT JORGE DO YOU SLEEP

Anyway, now that it's officially out for everyone, here's 1000+ words worth of excited screeching/rambling/word vomit from my immediate reaction to the audio, when it released at midnight for me! (I'm australian, so I got it 15 hours ahead of the americans lol, but also means I hadn't seen the animatics from the Live at this point)

Also, heads up there's a lot of swearing and I wasn't very coherent, 'cause my brain-to-type filter was non-existent at midnight while in the middle of a HYPE adrenaline rush lol

I feel so awake rn, even though it's midnight lol.

Started smiling as soon as I heard him. He sounds so GOOD!! MICO you're knocking it out of the park!

"Come and give me a sign!" Ayyy the Athena motif!!

Ooh they merged MICO's audition way of saying "if you're dead... or just tooo far"!

"Can I do whatever I takes to keep my mum safe?" aww don't worry bebe Athena's coming!

"Where is the man who'll have to wife?" ooh they really did use the Man of the House lines!

And they dropped that it's been 20 years! That's good, a proper timeline needed to be established at this point or newcomers might get confused.

ohhh shit! That growled "Boy!"

(Also, edit from after I watched the Livestream: HE DID NOT JUST THROW A BOWL AT MY BOY OH HELL NO-)

"Why don't you open her room so we can" oh FUCK OFF ANTINOUS!

oh the LINE! The CHAMP line!

"If I fight this monster" THS MONSTER! It changed from those monsters to this monster, because while he might be having fun thinking of conquering distant monsters out in the world, the real monster is living in his home and he needs his father's strength more than ever and AHHH

(Another edit from post Live: he decided to fight for his mum's honour and thought he'd get a beatdown or DIE in the attempt and STILL put his fists up oh my goddd!! And also, HIM STEPPING INTO THE SPIRIT OF HIS FATHER AHHH)

Ok I hate Antinous already. Like, I really love his voice, it's perfect, Ayron did amazing, but Antinous? What the FUCK! FUCK HIM! And I decided I love Telemachus. He sounds so helpless in that last line 🥺 ATHENA STEP IN!

Listening to Little Wolf now! Oh god I'm scared for Tele

(Edit post Live: YOOO IT'S FULL ON STREET FIGHTER STYLE!)

"Wanna entertain me?" oh EW Antinous!

I just have a permanent stink face on rn lol

"Wanna entertain me?" Still ew, but also aww he didn't do the growl like in the demo

Clock sound effect! ATHENA!!!

she's giving TE/MO type vocal vibes, more than Act 1 Athena lol

"What's going on here??" lmao he's confused about Quick-Thought, like ody wasn't

"Uppercut him. Now." AYYYY FIGHT ADVICE

she's doing the verse melody but for him!

wait what'd she say? "I've no respect for bullies! Those who [something something] will!"

SHE CALLED HIM A DOG HA! What's a dog to a wolf hey antinous >:)

"One young wolf has a larger heart than all these men combined!" awww Athena <3

YES!! SHE'S SINGING THE CHORUS BUT IN HIS FAVOUR!!

the HARMONIES!!

"Oooh, maybe I pushed you a bit too hard..." lol she's too used to ody who is used to her

oh FUCK OFF antinous!

"Tell me, Athena, why you came to my aid..." wait WAIT HE SUNG THE "what keeps you up so late at night myyy friend?" MELODY??? HOLY SHIT!!

Ok that was awesome. We'll Be Fine time!

SHE CALLED ODY HER FRIEND!!

OMG SHE'S DOING THE "MIIIND" RIFF!!

awww she regrets <3

NO THE "SLEEP AT NIGHT" CALLING BACK TO ALL THOSE TIME ODY COULDN'T SLEEP FROM REGRET

omg but her HIGH notes

ooh? 👀 The line changed from "sailed to an island" to "and I didn't die?? What does this mean for HTD's "I heard he's on a diplomatic mission" line?

oh now HIS high notes!!

THEIR HARMONIES!!

awww their motifs mixing! <3 <3

(Edit post Live: lmao him trying to lean on her shoulder and accidentally falling through her instead XD)

Well that was nice! Time for LIP... What am I in for bro

AHA I was RIGHT! The music from the cover art reveal IS here at the start of this song!

OH HOLY HSIT NOT HIS "REMEMBER ME" OMG WAIT GO BACK

The "ohhhh" motif from Remember Them!

TIME DIVE! WITH LYRICS!

oh yo! THESE scenes! We called the Sirens, Scylla, and Thunder Bringer on the discord, but the lines that are being used are INTERESTING

(Edit post Live: the animatics are going CRAZY this saga!)

calypso time...

Ooh calypso's voice is much gentler than the snippets! (I'm determined to not let my bias against her character in the Odyssey colour how I feel about her performance, because Wangui is a lovely person, and her voice is beautiful.)

lmao the awkwardly long pause and then "... ANWAYS!" is always funny XD

the electronic elements when she reveals what she is!

"Time can take a heavy toll." uh oh what's that mean

Damn not the "all I hear are screams"-

...

... holy fuck. Um. My jaw literally dropped what. What. Ok first, her "ody" fuck that. Second, the LEDGE?? Um. UM. I need to rewind please

Oh shit

Oh my goddd JUST LET HIM GO

NOT THE OPEN ARMS NO WHAT THE FUCK NOT POLITES OMG EURYLOCHUS OH FUCK ANTICLEA TOO OH SHIT

no him calling for athena! 😭

the slow clock omgggg

YES GO HELP HIM HE NEEDS HELP

... wait I need to rewind wait shit I'm shaking

ok. Pause. That was.

I guess I called correctly, but it turned out to be a BIT of an understatement when I said there'd be an UNEXPRECTED EMOTIONAL MOMENT! What the FUCK. Oh god that was incredible and I teared up and ah fuck wtf fuck who gave him the RIGHT

TIme for God Games. Shit. Am I ready for Beast Mode Zeus??? No. But I'm doing it anyway! :D

ok that was beautiful. Also her calling him "father" was unexpected but welcome

"... Odysseus." commander motif!!

god I love his voice but I hate him

ok I love how he says "AphroDITE!" I'm smiling, I'm getting into this

also, wait why does he say "or" instead of "and" like the snippets did?

The voice teasers! Ah shit I can't believe I'm going to HEAR THEIR VERSES IN A FEW SECONDS WHAT. Also Hera's voice is VERY interesting!

Apollo? YO?? Wait wait I have to go back and actually listen to the words lmao his voice is cool!

oh the sirens??

Huh. I... don't really get that logic? Athena just said "yeah but they had it coming and now they'll know better" and he replied "understandable have a nice day"?

wow what is that accent? Lemme go back and understand lol

damn those went by quick. Also, not what I'd thought their issues would be. Tho I think someone called the sirens one!

ooh wait I've always loved aphrodite's, this is BEAUTIFUL. I need to go back to the start of the song so I can get her full impact after pausing so much.

ohhh she's the first one to reject athena!

Ares!!

"HOLD YOUR TONGUE NOW! HIS SON'S MY FRIEND!"oop you done fucked up ares

oh I LIKE hera's voice! It's kinda airy but still hella powerful!

damn my jaw hurts from smiling

I hear cheering 👀

ohhh THAT'S what he meant by "or"! Athena was supposed to face either the five gods or Zeus?

"You DARE to defy me!" DAMN Zeus! That growl!

THUNDER BRINGER CHORUS!

lightning bolt to the face lmao

oh? The Wotm motif?

wait. Is the. Is this the "anime character on brink of death thinks of their friends and powers up" moment???

(Edit post Live: shit, zeus. Someone call CPS)

"Let him go..." oh wait that's IT?? NO WHAT SHIT

... lemme hear that end bit again.

WAIT reading through the comments and JORGE'S DAD VOICES HEPHAESTUS?? HOLY SHIT THAT'S EPIC! Now we just need his sister lol.

Oh that's right, I can see the cast now! Brandon McInnis as Apollo, POSEY as Hera, and Mike Rivera as Hephaestus. Nice.

It's 1 am now. Holy shit that was a wild ride. Damn. Hats off to Jorge and all the cast and editors and EVERYONE, that was absolutely incredible!! 💙🙌🏼🎉

... but also JORGE! WHEN I CATCH YOU JORGE-

[nolita-fairytale]

wip: a sneak peek of a oneshot i'm working on

your past and mine are parallel lines

summary: a run-in with an old friend sparks a conversation between you and carmy of the people you loved before each other. or rather, the one in which you meet claire

a/n: this is just an excerpt!! more is coming and it's not your average jealousy fic bc i'm apparently in my ~emotionally healthy~ era. i know i said i was done writing in the make my heart surrender-verse, but... here we go again!

It begins with forgotten carrots, a necessary ingredient for the puree, instrumental to the dish that you and Carmy have working on all afternoon together. You’d hadn’t put them on the grocery list the day before, sure that you had a bunch or two at home, only to find mid-recipe development that you did not, in fact, have carrots at home. It doesn’t take long for Carmy to suggest a quick trip to the store, insisting that you come with him because this is a date, after all. 

It’s something you and Carmy have decided to do, now that neither of you are needed at the restaurant 24/7: a cooking date at home. It's only happened once before, and despite the fact that this date night was an idea born out of both of your desires to introduce more fun into your lives, you know it will inevitably become a dish that Carmy tries to put on the menu.

Divide and conquer is the strategy: while you hit up the produce aisle, Carmy will find a bottle of orange wine for dinner later tonight. 

But what’s supposed to be a simple Saturday afternoon grocery store run takes a turn for the intriguing as you hear a laugh – a woman’s laugh – and the familiar sound of your boyfriend’s voice muttering something about the name of his restaurant.

As you approach, you spot your boyfriend and the woman he’s found himself in a conversation with. Carmy leans against the refrigerator doors, his chest square to the brunette, bathed in neon blues from the refrigerator lights. 

“Because you’re the bear. And I remember you,” you hear her say. You observe carefully, the look of surprise and the blush that runs across his cheeks in response to her words are not lost on you. 

There’s a palpable energy between them as they converse, and it feels as if all the blood is rushing to your head as you cut the tension with a single word: 

“Hey.”

read the full version here

[keepingitsimple3]

Breaking Up With Sin!

By A.J. Briar

When you let go of sin, a lot of people think it’s easy since we are now in the salvation of God but… what they don’t know or don’t tell you is how hard it is to let go of sin.

For some of us we had fun doing that sin and partying and forgetting the horrible things of this world. For some of us it was something to keep us from being lonely at night. For some it would be something to numb us so we don’t feel pain.

Either way sin was a part of us and in the way we were a part of it. That connection is like a toxic relationship! You two thought you had something special and didn’t see the red flags at the time but, when you noticed things around it and noticed how you felt, you wanted out. The worst part you didn’t break up in a mature way, you went out fighting, clawing and even at times crying to get out of it.

Breaking up with sin is not easy! It still follows you and tries to get to you.

“Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour:”

‭‭1 Peter‬ ‭5‬:‭8‬ ‭KJV‬‬

It may catch up to you and cause you a lot of destruction in your life when you were doing everything right. Luckily when this happens, we don’t have to face our battles alone.

“Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.”

‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭41‬:‭10‬ ‭KJV‬‬

God will be with us when temptation of sin happens and when life happens! God gave us this reminder for a reason and this next verse to give us hope.

“These things I have spoken unto you, that in me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.”

‭‭John‬ ‭16‬:‭33‬ ‭KJV‬‬

Like John 16:33 said, Jesus has over came the world! We should have peace in this alone! Jesus overcame death and gave us a way of new life! And he gives it free to whoever wants it!

“For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God:”

‭‭Ephesians‬ ‭2‬:‭8‬ ‭KJV‬‬

This is a gift of God! This is his way of helping us move on from sin and death. Will there be temptation yes, but as he promised in Isaiah that he will be with us! So let us have hope today that God will help us conquer our sins today and that we can walk in a better life with the gift of Salvation!

[zaunite-leo]

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓦𝓮𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓞𝓯 𝓐 𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓽

━━━━━━━━━━. ₊☽◯☾₊ .━━━━━━━━━━

From scraps to lavish endeavors, Zaun was well versed in vices; delights which were best suited to be enjoyed far from the minds of the innocent.

Zaun, A city which slipped beneath the crust of Runeterra, shielded from the prudence of its sister city. Piltover. Where the city of invention prided itself on progress, its precursor creativity prospered here, in Zaun. Down to the depths of dark shadows, where the monsters lurked. No, not just lurked but thrived; Stuffed on feasts most extraordinary and vices rampant. Awake in their playground untouched and undisturbed.

Under the table.

Yet one need not be from here to understand there were things not even the strongest of runeterra’s warriors could win a war against. Things no man mortal or beyond were immune to.

One of which was desire.

The other hate, and its rival? sympathy.

All equally strong; able to topple kingdoms and conquer men. For, once one bears their heart to one, it is inevitable to do so to the other.

Only the horribly naive or foolish could believe themselves capable to wage such a violent internal war. It was why so many men slipped down to the undercity once night befell upon the gleaming city. Thinking themselves privy to the culture of those they stepped above. For only the undercity was capable of unmasking eyes from the veil piltover wove.

But such thoughts were too far reaching for the Preoccupied mind of a healer to ponder; at least actively. Though even she, who took the name Mauder under the city’s influence, was a work in progress of such a phenomenon.

Now subjected to the depravity, she managed to find her own ability to thrive. Now revealed, open… fresh like a wound to an unfiltered world.

No longer with the pressure of prudence or arrogance of ‘a better blood’.

Instead to be replaced by a state of unmarred exuberance, that drove forward the unapologetic nature of living in Zaun.

Each clack of cloven hooves on the cobblestone road, drove her ever forward to the beating heart of the Lanes. Like countless others before her, she too was drawn in towards The Last Drop.

Though weary, she found herself lingering at the door. A lamb willingly walking herself into the den of a monster most cruel. Even if here was where the worst of them lurked; she had managed to convince herself that he wasn’t going to step too far from his throne. Little did she know, neither The Eye of Zaun nor the philosophy of the ‘Zaunite’ mentality was the worst of her worries tonight. For tonight, something even more sinister lurked, right behind the doors she was currently lingering before.

Gathering her courage in a single breath, she stepped forward. Finally approaching the bouncers flanking either side of the entrance to the lively club.

Draped in a thick cloak of silks, the figure straightened herself as she neared. Her footing, although cautious, seemed to emit a sharp sound with each step; despite the obvious trepidation she approached with. Dark blacks and blues melted into white, as stitched stars fell from the hood; which bore at the crest of it, a crown of nine four pointed stars attached at both pointed sides.

Punctured by a large pin, the fabric fell over her left shoulder and cascaded over her lithe frame beneath. Swallowing whatever silhouette lay beneath its shroud of the blackened sky.

Stopping in front of them, Mauder took either side of the hood in hand to pull the hood away from her nose and over the hook of a single bowed horn. Glowing orbs of colorless eyes filtered behind black painted erupted light over the soft lines of her features and the bridge of a feminine nose. Whatever features were left untouched by the pulse of the neon symbol above them, was now set alight as she stole a glance between both imposing figures.

Without a word exchanged she was looked over,a few times from both men. The bouncers who did not offer their name shared a look and eventually turned to step aside. Granting her access. The right one, a pale man with a neck as wide as her thigh, and a dome as clean shaven as a newborn rat opened the door for her as he stepped aside with a gruff grunt. Opening the gate to a world she had yet to witness -at least from the view of the audience-.

As she stepped through the threshold, it felt as though she was stepping through some sort of portal. To a new world hidden beneath the shadows of the Promenade. The overwhelming force of so much stimuli swarmed her senses, disorienting, nauseating and… utterly glorious. It was almost toppling with its intensity. The weight of the bar’s atmosphere felt heavy enough to swim through, the air far worse than that outside. She could barely make out one of the countless drugs responsible for such density; As it all accumulated above the heads of the sea of people, whose shapes were lost in the glint of flashing light. The bass of the music drowned out the words of the song as it pulsed through her and rattled every bone. The sound echoing inside of her ribcage unapologetically in its intensity. like a bird trying to flutter free from its cage, rude and refusing to be ignored.

A little lamb walking, willingly into the den of the worst beast of all:

Man.

Welcome to the playground.

━━━━━━━━━━. ₊☽◯☾₊ .━━━━━━━━━━

@saviourofzaun