#content Layout Guide

[kpopfeeds]

BTOB GUIDE

06.16.2025

[wavetapper]

derangement aside I do recommend getting into bms, even if you don't end up playing any of the charts. the amount of insanely creative songs and music videos that get released every year For Free just for this community game is amazing and the fact that some get picked up and licensed for commercial games and artists who started out making work for bms get commissioned for them as well is just. idk

[panaromicinoftechs]

Mastering Mobile App Localization: The Ultimate Guide

[wandaslovey]

ᴀ ᴡʜᴏʟᴇ ɴᴇᴡ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ; ᴀ ᴋɪɴᴋʏ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴋɴᴇᴡ

➺ dom!wandanat x sub!fem!reader

word count ~ 5.3k

authors note: part two is here!! let me just say, thank you all SO so much for all the love you gave me for part one 🫶🏻. there’s a little treat for y’all at the end 🤭 comment to be added to the tag list! this is not proofread.

authors note: for part three, i’m probably going to do a time skip where the contract has been signed and their relationship has begun. don’t worry though, it will still be in the beginning stages!

content warning(s): legal age gap, dom/sub dynamics, in-depth discussions about bdsm and bdsm contracts, kissing, brief mentions of masturbation

venturing is inevitable: masterlist

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you pop in your wireless earbuds, scrolling on your phone to one of your comfort playlists. it was saturday and you were currently in a taxi on your way to the maximoff-romanoff household. it felt so surreal being in this situation. the more you thought about it, the more nervous you felt, so you opted for listening to some music to calm your nerves.

they’d texted you their address the day before, and you were surprised to find out they lived outside the city in the suburbs. not just any suburbs though—the rich suburbs. scarsdale to be more specific. it was just over 20 miles out of manhattan, so the drive usually took between 30-40 minutes, depending on traffic.

you found yourself feeling grateful that mrs. romanoff texted you early in the morning, telling you she insisted they cover the cost of the taxi as when you glance up at the meter halfway through the drive, it was already almost $100.

you’d thought a lot about your coffee “date” with the two married lawyers. you’d taken it upon yourself to do some of your own research on google the afternoon after returning home, but you quickly regretted it as all the images of people tied in uncomfortable positions frightened you. it didn’t help that the majority of the websites listed first were amateurs who didn’t truly understand bdsm dynamics or relationships—but you didn’t know that yet.

there was something else that made you uncomfortable. well, rather something that made you feel shamefully hot in a way you weren’t familiar with. you think back to a few days ago at the coffee shop, noticing all the little ways both mrs. romanoff and mrs. maximoff gently asserted dominance: they both waited outside, the door was held open for you, they ordered and paid for you, mrs. maximoff guided you gently through the shop, mrs. romanoff hailed you a cab and they both saw you off.. it was all in the little things. all those little things which were carefully calculated and amounted to you feeling safe—cared for. you never imagined you would notice, let alone care for someone to take charge in that way, but you did. you couldn’t begin to imagine all the others things that were typically encapsulated within a dominant. things you were sure both mrs.romanoff and her wife possessed. how far did their dominating desire go? was there anything they didn’t like to have control of?

the cab driver turns down their street, slowing down after passing the first 3 well-spaced out houses and you look out the window to see what you assume to be their home. their house had a clean, modern vibe with some bold design elements. the exterior was wrapped in crisp white paneling, which contrasted against the deep black roof and window frames. the windows were framed with sleek black trim, giving the house a more modern/contemporary feel. the front porch had a few steps leading up to the door, and above it, there’s a simple black square awning that extends out, adding a cool architectural touch. it gave the entrance a little extra character while still keeping things minimal. to the side, there’s a driveway that leads to the garage, and the front featured a circular driveway that made for an easy and elegant arrival or departure. the layout felt both functional and stylish, and modern yet still welcoming.

it’s mrs. maximoff that comes out of the house to greet you. she was dressed in a simple black long-sleeved button up with some white wide leg jeans. her hair was up, twisted in a messy knot that still managed to look elegant. she looked beautiful.

she quickly makes her way over to the taxi driver, handing him a wad of cash without batting an eye. you couldn’t see for sure, but it looked like more than the actual fee that was meant to be paid.

“hey, you,” her greeting paired with what seemed to be her signature smile made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. she seemed genuinely happy to see you again, and for that you felt delighted. you were equally as excited to see her again, even if the circumstances were a bit nerve wracking.

you return her greeting with a small hello, feeling a little flustered when she looks you over in a not-so secretive way.

“look at you…

you know, you really didn’t have to get all dressed up for us,” she grins blithely before leading the way back through the circular drive to the front door.

“this? oh i sort of just threw it on… should i have chosen something else?” you ask shyly as you keep pace with her, walking right by her side.

you’d chosen to wear a rose taupe ruched mini dress with white high tops, and you did not in fact ‘just throw it on.’ it was the 5th outfit you’d tried on before deciding that was what you’d wear.

“i’m messing with you, dragotsennaya veshch. you look very beautiful,” she appraises you and you feel yourself blush at the attention. you remember the nickname from the last time she called you that, but you still had no idea what it meant.

she steps in front, reaching to open the door for you before you both step inside. you marvel at the interior, which was just as beautiful as the outside, however it was less bright. there were more dark tones in here mimicking that of the office at their law firm.

“wow…you guys have a beautiful home,” you muse, admiring the high ceiling in the entry way and the minimal decor.

“well, thank you. follow me.” she speaks warmly, stepping ahead of you to lead you through the house. you find yourself looking around as she walks in front of you, noticing that there weren’t very many personal touches, but they were there if you looked hard enough. in a way, their house almost look like a museum—free of dust and exceptionally organized.

she leads you into a huge open room which appeared to be a cozy living space and just a little past that, the kitchen. there were black pendant lights dangling from the ceiling above the island, which had a black and white marble countertop. you see mrs. romanoff with her back to you, pouring herself a glass of filtered water.

“natasha, our guest is here,” she announces, placing a hand on your back and gently nudging you forward closer to the counter top. natasha turns, an easy smile gracing her features.

even with just a brief glimpse, you couldn’t help but observe how she seemed to be much more at ease in her home. her usual more stiff posture relaxed and the air around her felt a little lighter than normal.

“hi there, pretty girl,” she looks you over, just as her wife did, only she does it even more obviously. “wearing another cute outfit i see,” she murmurs, but it seems like the observation was mostly meant for herself as her eyes continue skimming your figure.

“i thought the same thing! i told her she didn’t have to dress up for us,” mrs. maximoff chuckles, her wife joining in. for that moment, it was as if they were talking about you like weren’t even there, which brought back a now familiar feeling of being small in their presence.

you shrug, ducking your head forward so your hair falls into your face, covering your blush. you hear mrs. romanoff set her glass on the countertop before she rounds the kitchen island, walking until she was standing right next to you. you watch her through your peripheral vision until she’s close enough that you half turn to face her. her hand comes up to gently lift your chin, her finger curling underneath it.

“hey, we’re just teasing you. don’t hide your face from me.” her voice was gentle yet you could sense that she was being serious about you trying to hide your bashfulness from her. you nod your head very slowly, now captivated with her closeness and the air of dominance she carried over with her.

“good. i’d hate to miss seeing these cheeks blush. it’s very cute,” she adds, making your cheeks flame even hotter. she smiles at that, immediately noticing the difference in shade.

“wanda, look at her,” she muses and your eyes dart from hers to mrs. maximoff who steps over to her wife’s side, appraising your pink cheeks with a smile of her own.

“da—dragotsennaya veshch. i told you the name suits her perfectly,” mrs. romanoff hums at her wife’s comment. they both gaze at you, desire and sinful admiration gleaming behind their impossibly green eyes. you fight the urge to suck on your bottom lip, figuring it would only give them more fuel to embarrass you.

you were about to ruin their little moment and ask what name it was that wanda kept referring to you as, but mrs. romanoff suddenly drops her hand, the both of them stepping back away from you.

“do you want some water, (y/n)? are you thirsty?” mrs. romanoff asks, already rounding the counter to the cupboard to retrieve a glass.

“yeah sure,” you nod politely, reaching to grab the glass from her once she’s filled it with water. you take a swig, regardless of not actually being thirsty.

“here, come sit,” mrs. maximoff puts a hand on your elbow, guiding you into the living room area which was just a step down from the kitchen. there was a large sofa towards the center, facing a whole glass wall which stretched across the large open room and overlooked their beautiful backyard. it was so green; many trees, bushes and grass to marvel at.

mrs. maximoff sits on the couch, patting the spot next to her. you sit down, your glass in hand, which she gently takes from you and sets in a cup holder to your right. as she reaches over you, even for the brief moment, you smell a trace of her perfume which smelled something like pears, fig leaves and sandalwood. it was heavenly and somehow seemed to fit her perfectly.

“so, how was the rest of your week? how were your classes?” she asks, propping her elbow on the back couch cushion and resting her cheek on the palm of her hand. something about having her full attention on you in such close proximity made your heart stutter.

“it was good! i only go in person 3 days a week and the rest is online. the homework load was about a medium for this week, so i wasn’t too overwhelmed or anything.” as you speak, mrs. romanoff enters the living room, sitting next to her wife on the couch. she crosses her legs, leaning close to her wife so she can see you just as well.

“what does a ‘medium’ homework load look like to you?” mrs. romanoff asks with a smirk. she must’ve remembered what you’d said at the interview about loving homework.

you sigh amusedly, giving wanda a quick glance to see a touch of a knowing smile on her face. you two were fellow academic lovers it seemed like.

“2 short essays, 3 discussion boards and 1 little worksheet thing.. no big deal,” you giggle softly when mrs. romanoff rolls her eyes at your response.

“right - okay,” she mutters though there’s an affectionate smile curling at her lips.

there was a small bout of silence which was comfortable given the light-hearted tone of the conversation, but that didn’t last very long.

“so, have you thought any more about our conversation at the coffee shop?” mrs. romanoff asks. your tummy does a flip flop at the change in subject, but you knew this was ultimately what you were here for.

“a-a little yeah,” you say, not offering anything else just yet. you look down at your lap, your hands playing with the hem of your dress ending several inches above your knee.

“anything you’d like to share?” mrs. romanoff presses, her features etched with amused interest. she loved the way you instantly became more shy with the new topic of conversation.

“uhm.. well i found some stuff on the internet.. more pictures and some examples of the..um..contracts you mentioned,” you pause, your eyes flickering up from your lap to mrs. maximoff’s face and then her wife’s. mrs. maximoff nods encouragingly, wanting you to continue.

“the contracts largely consisted of rules? is that accurate—like something you guys want from me?” you ask slowly, fighting the urge to bury yourself in a hole and hide. you could feel your skin crawling from how out of your element you felt.

“yes, our contract would have rules. we only have a few set rules for each submissive, but the others we come up with will be personalized just for you once we begin our..relationship,” mrs. maximoff tucks some hair behind your ear, her hand resting just above your knee, trying to be reassuring.

you swallow, gathering up the courage to ask your new follow-up question. “what sort of rules?” your mind thinks back to the many drafted up contracts on the internet, wondering if any of the rules you saw there were ones they’d want for you.

“before we answer that—how do you feel about rules? just thinking about it right now, how would you feel if there were rules we asked you to follow?” mrs. romanoff asks, leaning forward as she rests her elbows on her blue-jean clad thighs. you ponder her question, playing out a scenario in your mind. you remember one “sample” rule you saw online: ‘always greet your dominant kneeling by the door upon their arrival.’ that one was more extreme. you thought of two others: no touching yourself without permission and always address your dominant by their honorific. those ones made your cheeks flush red again, a deep blush gracing your features that couldn’t be ignored.

“look at that blush.. now you have to tell us what you’re thinking,” mrs. maximoff gently nudges you with her shoulder, giving your thigh a little squeeze.

you clear your throat, your fingers drawing imaginary patters on the thigh mrs. maximoff wasn’t holding. “i was just remembering some of the rules..” you reply vaguely. mrs. maximoff hums, sounding unsatisfied with your concise answer. she gently lifts your chin as her wife did earlier, her pointer finger curled under your jaw and her thumb holding your chin in place.

“hey, listen to me. if talking about this truly makes you uncomfortable, we can stop right now. we don’t have to do this if it’s not something you want,” you look into her green eyes, reading the gentleness and sincerity there. your eyes flicker over to mrs. romanoff who had a similar expression, and she nodded at her wife, drawing your attention back to mrs. maximoff.

you hold eye contact with her for a few seconds, finding great comfort in the tenderness held in her green orbs. “that’s not what i want,” you manage to speak, pausing for a second to gather your thoughts. “i’m just not used to talking so openly about this kind of stuff…or having this much attention,” you admit softly, wanting to look down but wanda’s fingers hold you firmly in place.

“you don’t have to be so embarrassed, honey, though it is really cute. still.. this is a safe space. you can ask or tell us anything,” mrs. romanoff reaches her hand across her wife and affectionately traces down your nose, smiling as she does so.

“you think it’s cute?” you blurt the question aloud without really thinking to stop yourself. mrs. romanoff grins wider, a gleam twinkling in her eye.

“it is. i don’t know if i’ve ever met somebody so innocent. it’s equally as cute as it is sexy.” you smile shyly at her words, looking back from her to her wife. mrs. maximoff smiles, her eyes flicking down to your lip which you coyly sucked into your mouth. she uses her thumb to pull your lip free from your teeth, tsking gently as she does so. your breath hitches at the action which both mrs. maximoff and mrs. romanoff notice but don’t comment on.

“how about this, why don’t we start somewhere else? how about you tell us why you didn’t say no right away when we posed the question the other day?” mrs. maximoff asks. you don’t have to think about her question long before you have an answer.

“i guess i was just intrigued.. i mean i guess the thought of being able to submit in some ways is..appealing to me?” you say it as a question, unsure you’re using the correct words to communicate your feelings.

“that’s a good start, detka. tell us more along those lines. what about it appeals to you?” mrs. romanoff encourages you.

you inhale slowly, looking off to the side as you think of how to expand upon your answer. “i think similar to other people, i would like a space or time where i don’t have to have control over all aspects of my life. kinda like…like i want to be able to shut my mind off sometimes - if that makes sense?” you half shrug your shoulder, looking between the two women to see if it looks like they understood your explanation.

“that makes perfect sense, sweetheart. that’s exactly what submission does. when you turn yourself over to your dominant, there’s a sense of freedom that comes with it. knowing that there’s someone you trust that is going to take control and steer you in a certain direction—and you don’t have to think or worry about anything.” mrs. maximoff’s explanation was very appealing to you. you think back on moments when life was really stressful and realize how much more doable those moments would have been had you been able to silence your mind for a little bit.

“that does sound really nice,” you mumble, mostly to yourself, but both of the lawyers noticed. the two of them chuckle softly at your admission, thoroughly entertained by your cuteness.

mrs. romanoff and mrs. maximoff continue educating you on the many beauties of being a submissive. they’d told you it wasn’t just about the sex, in fact, the sex was never really as good if the dynamic wasn’t always held firmly in place in other aspects of life as well. you listen intently to their words, becoming more and more intrigued by the idea of signing a contract with them by the minute.

“(y/n)?” mrs. romanoff asks after a little bit of her and her wife talking at you.

“hmm?” you look at her curiously, her tone making you slightly nervous to hear her question.

“what was it earlier that had you so embarrassed? something about some rules you found online?” you swallow thickly, remembering the two rules that made you blush so deeply. up until this point, the three of you had all managed not to make this conversation so much about the sexual aspects of bdsm, but rather more the dynamics. your answering the question would change that.

“well…there was one about always addressing your dominant using their honorific and then, um.. well the other said..” you trail off, pressing your lips together as you bounce your leg a bit anxiously.

“it said what, dragotsennaya veshch? come on, i can see it on the tip of your tongue,” mrs. romanoff encourages, a devious smile curling at the corner of her mouth.

“nottotouchyourselfwithoutpermission,” you mumble quickly, the beginning of a blush coloring the apples of your cheeks.

“ah, what was that?” mrs. romanoff makes a show of cupping her ear and tilting her head to show you she was listening, that same wicked smile still plastered on her face. she’d heard exactly what you said.

“natalia, bud' s ney milym,” mrs. maximoff says in what sounds like a gentle scolding tone.

mrs. romanoff just laughs, reaching over and cupping your jaw with one hand. “i can’t help it, look at her!” you pout at what you now knew was her teasing.

“it really is hard not to tease you when you look like that..” mrs. maximoff murmurs in her wife’s defense, tapping your nose as she has her own more subtle version of a wicked smile.

“i can’t help it! when you guys talk to me like that, i have to blush!” you explain, a little exasperated.

“like what?? like you’re the most adorable thing ever? i could eat you up (y/n), i swear to the gods,” mrs. romanoff grins at her own words, seemingly high on the current air in the room which was very light and fuzzy. mrs. maximoff chuckles, purposely squeezing what she guessed would be a sensitive part of your thigh to get you to join in their light laughter. you shake off the ticklish sensation, stubbornly pressing your lips in a firm line as to not smile as they were openly teasing you without mercy.

“not funny..” you mutter, making a show of crossing your arms over your chest and pouting cutely.

“you’re right - we’re getting off topic. so, back to the rule about not touching yourself…” mrs. romanoff starts, her tone teasing.

“okay! we can go back to teasing me again,” you say a little too loudly, feeling less embarrassed about the topic now, but still a little nervous.

“sorry little girl, you’re not gonna wiggle your way out of this one for a third time,” mrs. maximoff pokes your side before reaching down and casually lifting your legs to drape across both her and her wife’s lap. the sudden change of sitting position and new physical contact made your tummy flutter, your attention suddenly fully locked in on the two of them.

“would you have a problem with that rule?” mrs. maximoff asks, the tone in the air quickly changing again.

“uhm..well i-“ you clear your throat, running your hand nervously through your hair. “is that one of your set rules?” you feel mrs. maximoff’s fingers begin to lightly trace a small line up and down your thigh. she and mrs. romanoff both looked so in their element and you were just here—a clueless little thing.

“yes, it is,” mrs. maximoff responds. you swallow thickly again, a dull ache beginning to settle in your lower tummy. just the thought alone was beginning to make your body heat up. what did they do if their submissive did touch themselves?

“oh…what would you do if your submissive broke that rule?” you ask curiously, unable to keep that question to yourself.

mrs. romanoff looks at her wife and you could see a brief silent conversation happening with their eyes. they both turn their attention back to you before mrs. romanoff speaks up.

“there are a few punishments we would most likely choose from: a spanking, edging or overstimulation. the punishment our submissive would receive would depend on who is delivering the punishment and also what the submissive is okay with and work within her limits.” she explains it so casually, but you find her words anything but casual. you were surprised that the thought of being spanked made you shamefully hot. it was starting to seem like they were awakening something in you you didn’t know existed.

“edging..? is that like an orgasm denial thing?” you ask the clarifying question, both of their ease and openness on the topic beginning to rub off on you a bit. it really did feel like a safe space.

“mhmm, that’s exactly right,” mrs. romanoff nods her head, giving you an encouraging smile.

“so…why that rule?” as you ask your question, the short lines mrs. maximoff was drawing on your leg turn to intricate circles. she seemed to be doing it absentmindedly.

mrs. romanoff purses her lips, her eyes gleaming with desire. “because, detka. if you agree to be our submissive, your pleasure will belong to us. every sound you make, every twitch, every thought we want to be apart of—to possess and control.” her facial expression turns a little harder as she speaks, an air of dominance surrounding the three of you like a little bubble. you feel your mouth go dry, your legs unconsciously pressing together at her words.

“are you alright, sweetheart?” mrs. maximoff asks, noticing your cheeks flush and your legs press together as they still lay across her and her wife’s lap. she knows exactly why you’re suddenly more restless, but she can’t help but tease you a bit with it.

“mhmm, i’m fine,” you squeak, your voice cracking which you try to cover up by clearing your throat. your mind scrambles to think of another question—anything to get the intense attention off of you, even for a moment.

“what do your submissives call you?” you ask, hoping their answer wouldn’t make your panties any wetter than they were already becoming.

mrs. maximoff raises a hand to the side of your face, curling some hair behind your ear as she simply replies, “mommy—they address me as mommy.” she then reaches blindly to the side, cupping under mrs. romanoff’s chin. “and they call natasha, daddy.”

you hear your own breathing hitch, their honorifics taking you back a bit. somehow, they encapsulated those names perfectly but hearing mrs. maximoff say them out loud was a different thing. you picture yourself addressing them as such, and you feel your panties becoming wetter. you mentally slap yourself. you needed to get a grip otherwise you were going to start dripping onto your thigh.

“you like that, don’t you, krasivaya devushka?” mrs. romanoff asks in a low voice, her eyes drinking in your thighs which were now noticeably pressed firmly together.

where your mouth once felt dry, it was now watering. your lips part as you exhale breathily. you look from mrs. romanoff to mrs. maximoff who was now leaning closer to you, glancing at your lips. you lick them subconsciously, leaning closer to her. you feel her hand come to cradle the back of your head, her other hand cupping under your jaw, gripping it more firmly than you’d expect. your breath is shaky as your heart begins to pound in your ears, the smell from mrs. maximoff filling your nose as she leans even closer to you until your faces are merely inches apart.

“do you want this, dragotsennaya veshch?” her voice is seductive and slow as she enunciates her words. her green eyes were hooded, her lips looking so very tempting.

you nod your head, not taking your eyes off of her lips. you see a hint of a smile there as she closes the small gap, her lips parting slightly before she presses them against yours. her lips tasted faintly of grapefruit and you instantly want more of it.

your arms reach up to wrap around her neck as she kisses you slowly but deeply. she hums into your mouth, one of her hands sliding down your arm to your hip and gripping there firmly. so caught up in the sensations of her lips on yours and her hands touching you so expertly, you let out a small whimper. mrs. maximoff gives your hip a squeeze after hearing that, her tongue tracing your bottom lip. just as you part your lips to give her access to your mouth, she pulls away, a pleased smirk on her face.

“a little eager, are we?” she chuckles and it’s only after her comment that you realize in the midst of your kiss, you’ve curled your legs up in her lap, your arms wrapping tightly around her as you cling to her body.

you loosen your hold, feeling a little shy at having so easily gotten carried away. “m’sorry,” you mumble, your legs stretching back out so they’re sprawled across mrs. romanoff’s legs again.

“oh sweetheart, you don’t have to apologize. it’s very cute,” she coos at the end of her sentence, her finger coming up to delicately trace your bottom lip. you look at her, your soft eyes full of wonder and adoration.

“i want to do this,” you announce, looking between mrs. maximoff and mrs. romanoff who had begun stroking your legs as they rest on her thighs.

they both chuckle softly at your pronouncement, finding your sudden enthusiasm amusing.

“patience, pretty girl. there’s still some things we need to discuss before we have you sign the contract,” mrs. romanoff says before continuing, “i think we’ve explored enough for today. why don’t we send you a copy of our contract, you can review it,,and then when we get together next—if you still want to—you can sign it.” she suggests and you readily agree, knowing how badly you already want to see them again and how anxiously eager you are to continue exploring this new world.

you decide to see each other again tomorrow, which was at mrs. maximoff’s suggestion, but they both seemed equally eager to spend more time with you.

they order you an uber, insisting on paying the fee. mrs. romanoff got all stern when you’d said you really didn’t expect them to pay and she told you that was nonsense and that she didn’t want to hear you say another word about them covering costs of things for you.

as they walk you to the door, you say your goodbye’s, excited at the prospect of seeing them tomorrow. you make your way over to the uber parked in the circular driveway, mrs. maximoff lingering the doorway as mrs. romanoff walks you to the car. just before you reach for the door handle, you turn to say something to her and gasp softly when you realize she’s standing very close to you. you could sense a switch had flipped in her—the one that causes her to exude so much more dominant energy.

your posture becomes less dignified, your bottom lip sucked into your mouth as you glance up at her. she leans down close to you, her finger tilting your chin up.

“don’t touch yourself tonight,” she says firmly, her eyes locking in on yours.

“wh-what?” you breath out, feeling a little disoriented with her closeness and the energy she was exuding.

“you heard me—i know you’ll want to. regardless of the contract not being signed, i don’t want you to pleasure yourself. do you understand?” her voice is sinfully sexy as she commands you in a way no one ever has before.

your cheeks blush as you glance from the front door where mrs. maximoff was still standing and then back to her wife. you slowly nod your head, swallowing harshly as your neck was still extended from your chin being lifted up.

“good girl,” she praises, closing the gap and placing a peck on your unsuspecting lips. she releases your face, stepping back and opening the door for you as if nothing had happened. you climb inside in a daze, your eyes fogged over as your mind feels a little fuzzy.

“see you tomorrow, (y/n),” she drags your name out in a slight teasing tone before shutting the door, the car driving off as you’re left sitting there stunned.

there was no way you weren’t going to sign that contract.

——————————

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[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

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[heademptysimirror]

Star to Star Bonus Content #1:

Originally just a guide of the Lor's layout I was making for myself, ended up jumping into an investigation rabbit hole. This is basically just a dumping place for my Lor Starcutter hcs 💔💔

I am no expert in any of the topics here, and this is just a silly thing I did for fun. If anyone spots any mistakes, please consider pointing them out to me! (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

[deathofacupid]

BUTTERFLY EFFECT ୨ৎ ryomen sukuna - satoru gojo.

YOU WOULD SLEEP WITH ME, IF YOU COULD DO IT COMFORTABLY — red bull's pit lane? total mayhem, especially with sukuna's temper constantly flaring. so, yeah, things got stressful. and, okay, hooking up with gojo, ferrari's golden boy, wasn't exactly the smartest way to unwind. but, honestly, one tiny slip-up at one tiny party? little did you know, the butterfly effect was inconceivable.

ᡣ𐭩 ferrari-racer!gojo x redbull-racer!sukuna x redbull-manager!reader.

warnings — inaccuracies. (so. many. inaccuracies. i apologize in advance for all of them, especially to the people who watch formula one.) polyamorous relationships. slow burn. angst. eventual smut. use of alcohol/drugs. specific content warnings will be added at the beginning of each chapter. again, the ending will be polyamorous.

(呪術廻戦) : note — layout ib: @nanamiskentos. whoops, spilled some ink, and started a new series. i was planning on making this a full-length piece, but that just would've been far too long. enjoy!

TRACKS (CHAPTERS)!✦ track one. | damage control. ✦ track two. | soon! ✦ track three. | soon!

LANE CHANGES (EXTRAS)! ✦ lane change, first stop. | butterfly!reader's style guide.

series taglist (36/50): @jeonwiixard, @paradisestarfishh, @seizecherry, @shinycrybaby, @n1vi, @gojosoups, @poopooindamouf, @susususukanana, @sukubusss, @beereadzzz, @mia-can-yap-too, @indiewritesxoxo, @yenayaps, @swoozleee, @monacipher, @chosos-prettyprincess, @hyori2, @aldebrana, @your-mum3000, @unabletonotlovesatoru, @kazuuhali, @river-vixenn, @daisy-01-blog, @linny-bloggs, @cosmotoic, @pousivuitton, @carnalcrows, @usbrous, @cuntyji, @baepsays, @luvvcho, @deluluvibes, @bluemotifofsleep, @mochipls, @not-aya, @katsukiseyebrows. ask to be added!

[dragongirlsnout]

Dashboard Unfucker v3.3.0!

As I first discovered today from the massive surge of people reblogging my previous update posts, the shitty new layout is now universal despite widespread protest, since us existing users are now apparently backseat to a Tumblr's hypothetical endless stream of high-revenue new users who are allergic to using social media sites that don't look like every other site. Well, thankfully at least for the time being, reverting the update via userscript is still as easy as ever!

Version 3.3.0 even fixes the new server-side bug where avatars next to posts disappear, because apparently I spend more time reviewing my commits than a multimillion dollar social media platform.

Installation Guide:

A userscript extension is required to run the script. Currently, the only tested extensions are Tampermonkey and Violentmonkey, but you might have still have luck with a different extension if you already use it.

Once you have the userscript extension installed, simply click this link to open the install page. This also works for updating, but make sure the version listed near the top is up to date, since it only fetches the script from GitHub every so often.

And of course, it's all open-source! Contributions, bug reports, and general insights are all appreciated.

Common troubleshooting info under cut:

Script not working

I can't offer specific help without knowing exact details, but two common issues are caching (try clearing your browser cache) and conflicts with New XKit (the script works fine with XKit Rewritten, which I would recommend anyways). If neither of those solve it, you can open an issue on the repository with more details.

Content takes up the full width of the page

This is an XKit feature, Panorama.

[reveryfics]

Saliva

Mark Grayson "Invincible" x Male Reader

Summary: Mark stumbles into your room, the aftermath of a brutal fight etched onto his skin in bruises and blood. Without hesitation, your instinctively drawn to mend his injuries.

A/N: I was going through different healing powers, and saw healing saliva......I could've picked something different, but I chose this.

TW: Blood - Broken bones - Injury - Licking - Comfort - Pre-established relationship

The corner of the room radiated a soft, internal warmth, the light emanating not from a harsh bulb but seeming to bloom from the very air. A solitary antique lamp, perched precariously on the edge of a small, scarred wooden desk, cast a butter-yellow circle that barely kissed the faded floral wallpaper. Within this gentle illumination, you were a study in muted tones, a dark silhouette against the brighter backdrop. Over-ear headphones, well-worn and comfortable, cradled your ears, a private concert of hushed melodies filling the otherwise silent sanctuary of your bedroom. The rhythmic tap-tap-tap of your fingers danced across the worn keys of your laptop, the only other audible sound, occasionally punctuated by a soft sigh that seemed to carry the weight of unspoken thoughts.

The laptop screen, its brightness turned low, bathed your face in an ethereal, cool glow, starkly highlighting the delicate lines of fatigue etched around your tired eyes. They felt like they were filled with sand, heavy and resistant to blinking, and every few minutes, your fingers would instinctively find the bridge of your nose, pressing firmly in a futile attempt to release the mounting tension. A long, drawn-out breath escaped your lips, a silent acknowledgment of the exhaustion clinging to you like a second skin. You leaned back in your creaky wooden chair, its once-velvet upholstery now flattened and worn smooth by countless hours of use. Your gaze drifted aimlessly, finally settling on the tall, standing mirror tucked awkwardly beside the overflowing closet door. A fleeting, almost ghost-like image of yourself stared back – hair slightly askew, the once-gray t-shirt now a canvas of abstract art created by spilled coffee and errant streaks of ink, a testament to the countless hours hunched over forgotten documents and late-night research. Beneath it, the waistband of plaid boxers was twisted and bunched, a physical manifestation of the constant shifting and fidgeting that accompanied intense concentration.

With a soft, almost reluctant click, the music paused, the sudden silence amplifying the low, persistent hum of the ancient refrigerator emanating from the next room. You closed your laptop with a decisive thud, the dim screen fading to a final, absolute black. Gently placing the headphones on the cluttered desk, you pushed your chair back, the worn wheels whispering a soft protest as they rolled across the faded floral carpet.

The faint, diffused light filtering through the heavy, closed curtains of the living room window served as your only guide as you padded silently through the familiar confines of your small apartment. The layout was etched into your muscle memory, each step automatic, a well-rehearsed dance in the near-darkness. You reached the kitchen, pausing momentarily in front of the refrigerator, its white surface marred by a collection of magnets holding up grocery lists and faded mementos. Your eyes lingered on one photograph in particular, held precariously by a cartoonish cat magnet – a picture of you and Mark, impossibly young, their smiles wide and gap-toothed, radiating a carefree joy that felt a lifetime away. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched your lips, a momentary softening of the tired lines around your mouth. You reached for the cool metal handle of the refrigerator door, the sudden chill a small shock against the warmth of your hand. The door creaked open, revealing the familiar, slightly chaotic contents. After a brief scan, your fingers closed around the smooth, condensation-slick surface of a cold water bottle. With it clutched in your hand, you turned and retraced your silent steps, the soft carpet muffling your return to the quiet sanctuary of your bedroom.

The faintest rustle of your bedroom curtains, a sound barely perceptible against the ambient quiet, snagged your attention the instant you stepped past the doorframe. An instinct, primal and immediate, surged through you, and your hand shot out, fumbling for the familiar cool plastic of the light switch. The sudden burst of artificial light that flooded the room felt almost blinding after the hours spent in the dim glow of the lamp and screen.

Your breath hitched in your throat, a strangled gasp that caught somewhere between your lungs and your lips. Your eyes widened in stark, disbelieving panic as the familiar yet horrifying contours of Mark’s face swam into focus. Bruises, a sickening tapestry of purple, blue, and yellow, bloomed across his skin, stark against the pallor of his complexion. Dried blood, a dark, viscous crimson, matted his hair and streaked his jawline. He was crawling through the narrow gap of your slightly ajar window, his movements clumsy and labored. A strangled cry escaped your lips as you nearly tripped over your own feet, rushing towards him, your hands instinctively reaching out, grasping at his arms, his torso, desperate to support him before he could collapse onto the floor. His body was dead weight against yours, heavy and unresponsive, as you gently, painstakingly, laid him against the soft cotton sheets of your bed. His breathing was shallow and ragged, a wet wheeze accompanying every strained inhale and exhale.

His body was a canvas of brutal violence. Deep lacerations, jagged and raw, crisscrossed his arms and legs, some still oozing a slow trickle of blood. His once-sharp suit was ripped and torn, the expensive fabric soaked in blood and grime, clinging to him like a second, gruesome skin. One arm lay at an unnatural angle, the bone visibly protruding through a tear in his suit. while his leg was twisted beneath him, a clear indication of a severe break.

You took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to quell the rising tide of nausea. With trembling hands, you cautiously worked at the remnants of his ruined suit, the stiff, blood-soaked fabric resisting your efforts. You finally managed to peel it away, discarding the shredded mess somewhere on the floor, your gaze never leaving his ravaged form. Your fingers, hesitant at first, then grew bolder as they ran lightly across his abdomen. His ribs felt wrong under your touch, a sickening crunchiness betraying the extent of the internal damage, mangled as if they had borne the brunt of a savage beating. Your eyes swept over his body, cataloging each injury with a growing sense of dread and a desperate surge of protectiveness, as you moved to cautiously hover above him. Mark sucked in a ragged breath, a low moan escaping his lips. His uninjured hand shot up, grabbing your wrist with surprising strength, raw panic blazing in his eyes.

“Shhh,” you whispered, your voice trembling, trying to soothe his fear. “It’s okay, I’m here. I’m so sorry for what I’m about to do.” You leaned down, your breath fanning over a particularly deep, gaping gash that bisected his abdomen. The metallic, coppery scent of blood filled your nostrils, thick and cloying, and then, moments later, it filled your mouth as you dragged your tongue deliberately against the raw wound. Mark’s back arched violently off the bed, his grip on your wrist tightening, his other hand moving from your wrist to clutch at your hair, a strangled cry of pain and shock escaping his lips at the sudden, intense stinging sensation. The torn flesh of the wound began to writhe and pull itself together, almost imperceptibly at first, then with increasing speed, thread by thread of muscle, nerves, and skin knitting back together as your saliva soaked into the damaged tissue.

Your powers, you knew, were far more potent when channeled directly from you, undiluted by the processes required for the General Defense Agency. They could mend bone and muscle with astonishing speed, even regrowing tissue that had been completely severed. You had never directly used them on another person in this way before, never truly witnessed their immediate, visceral effect firsthand, despite having possessed them since childhood. The clinical detachment of your work at the GDA was a stark contrast to the raw intimacy of this desperate act.

You nearly gagged as Mark’s blood, thick and metallic, coated your tongue and throat, your Adam’s apple bobbing visibly as you fought down the waves of nausea threatening to overwhelm you. You looked up at Mark, his breath catching in his throat, his eyes wide with a mixture of pain, shock, and a dawning comprehension as he slowly relaxed back against the pillows, the frantic tension draining from his body. Without a second thought, driven by a desperate need to share the healing, you leaned into Mark, pressing your lips against his in a fierce, almost frantic kiss. You forced your tongue past his parted lips, your saliva mixing with his own, a silent offering. His throat bobbed convulsively as he instinctively drank in every bit of moisture he could.

Beneath you, his mangled bones snapped and cracked with sickening pops and grinds as they began to realign and repair themselves, the fractured ends knitting back together with unnatural speed. The grotesque tapestry of bruises that had blossomed across his skin began to fade just as quickly as they had formed, the angry purples and blues dissolving into a healthier, albeit still pale, complexion. Mark’s hands, which had been gripping your hair, now clutched at the back of your t-shirt, bunching the fabric between his fingers as he finally pulled away from your desperate kiss, his chest heaving with each deep, shuddering breath he drew in. His eyes, still wide and slightly unfocused, locked onto yours above him as you wiped the blood from your mouth on the back of your hand, leaving a crimson smear against your skin.

Mark stuttered over his words, his voice hoarse and shaky, before finally managing to express how incredibly disgusting yet strangely, undeniably hot it had been to see you lick his wound. A shaky sigh escaped your lips, a mixture of relief and lingering nausea, as you shifted, moving to straddle his hips, your knees pressing gently against the mattress on either side of him. You shook your head, your gaze apologetic. “I panicked,” you whispered, your voice still thick with the taste of blood. “I would never… I won’t do that again.” Another wave of nausea washed over you, and you swallowed hard, a visible gag reflex rippling through your throat. Mark, his color returning slightly, pushed himself up on his elbows, his hands finding your hips, his touch surprisingly gentle. “Hey,” he murmured, his voice still rough. “It’s okay. I… I’m sorry. I could’ve gone to Cecil. I just… I panicked too. I didn’t want to worry you.”

You placed your hands on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips, a reassuring rhythm after the frantic chaos of the past few minutes. You leaned forward, brushing your nose against his before pressing a soft peck to his lips. “It was much faster this way,” you murmured, your breath warm against his skin. “But don’t make it a habit of needing me to shove my tongue down your throat, okay?” A weak chuckle rumbled in his chest, and he pressed another, more lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Duly noted,” he whispered, a faint smile finally gracing his lips. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

[arcanistsanctum]

‎‎​‌‏‏. Reverse:1999 Resource Guide

These are links to some of the archives, lorecrafters and guidemakers that I follow and regard highly for their expertise, dedication, and contributions to the community. Making this list is also for my convenience.

If you know other sources, please share them! I will edit the post and add them here. Maybe one day I will also contribute to transcripts on a separate blog. We don't have enough of such precious records for a heavily lore and story-based game! Feel free to share your lorecrafting website/blog/channel too!

Archives

Websites/Blogsites

Huiji (CN) - CN Fanwiki, written in CN, with consistent updates. Really goated. Gamekee (CN) - Another CN Fanwiki, also written in CN. Some pages may not be updated. Arcanist Sanctum (Global) - That's us! R1999 Logs (Global) - Has some main, event and anecdote story transcripts. Reverse: 1999 Wiki (Global) - EN Fanwiki. They may be behind on working through some profiles, records and transcripts. UTTU Merui (Global and CN) - The website is also WIP. But it is shaping to contain news (including EN translations for CN updates), character profiles, story transcripts, music list, timeline, and I believe recorded CGs too.

Repositories

Myssal's Assets Repository (CN) - In-game assets. It has everything. Myssal just that goated. reverse 1999 png (CN) - PNGs/cutouts telegram. Russian language but you can use character tags by clicking on pinned message. They accept requests, but you probably will have to ask them in Russian. Their cutouts can be accessed and downloaded by going through post comments. Posts with arrows. reverserenders (Global) - official art renders tumblr blog. They accept requests!

Documents

Abyss_Idiot's links (Global) - Transcripts, archives and general lore. Actually lots of records done by several Discord members. May not be updated. As of making this list, I haven't seen anything from 2.0 onwards.

Youtube

八咫烏_Merui (CN & Global) - Event and main story playthroughs without commentary Reverse: 1999 Timekeeper (Global) - They have everything recorded. And I mean everything. Reverse 1999 Archive (Global) - On hiatus (?), they pretty much covered event and main stories up to Notes on Shuori.

Lorecrafting & Story Analysis

Youtube

Apeironite - Pretty chill format. Interesting in-depth analyses. As of now, I don't know any other YT content creator who tackles on game lore as much as he has. FructoseTolerant - While there have yet many Reverse:1999 character analysis content in her channel, once she does post one, it's really good. I recommend watching and listening to her thoughts!

Guidemakers

Websites/Blogsites

Prydwen (CN & Global) - Tierlists, psychube recs and character guides Gnomon (Global) - I am in-love with this website tbh. Has all character information, including sprites! Effect descriptions, material sources and descriptions, resonance build (up to R15), psychube recs, team recs, and very easy to follow guide on how to play each character + rotations! Also has information on series of dusks artefacts and mechanics, reveries in the rain guides, and tips for mane's bulletin! GAAAAAHHH!

Documents

Discord Community Tierlist (CN) - Tierlists, calculators, builds. Likely where most of the global theorycrafting started. bluforest's Scuffed Page for Recommended Resonance Layouts (CN) - Also has resonance codes! Spiritzhl's Unit Build Guide (CN) - Psychubes, resonance, portrays, reveries and euphoria info, critter rehabilitation guide. Arcalive Reverse 1999 (outdated) - Written in KR. Resonance and psychube recommendations, calculators.

Youtube

Jakazin (CN & Global) - Comprehensive character guides Devibul (CN) - Puzzle guides, character showcases Destroth (Global) - Comprehensive character guides, showcases

Useful Tools

Kornblume (CN & Global) - Character planning and summoning history Closure++ (CN) - Planning and calculations, and written in CN. Here's MaTeIriA's guide to using it if you can't understand CN like me. It does have a built-in EN language option but it doesn't work for me. I don't know if it works for you. Depending on your device, you may also have to zoom out to see the entire page. Timekeeper (Global) - Summon tracking

[rae-writes]

⊹ Candles [reversed] ⊹

since it's my birthday, I wanted to do a little special self-indulgence, so here's this! || 2.k || written with poly!Mc in mind + our son Luke

4 am 

Early in the morning, before the faux light has even spread across the Devildom, Mammon is in your bed. He’s pushed his way through your door, half asleep himself, stumbled over and climbed underneath your covers (that he swears are softer than his), and has pulled you into his arms. 

Every year, he insists on being the first person to wish you a Happy Birthday, and if not that, then the first who gets to tell you in person— so he's found that coming to your room before the day even begins gets him his title of ‘first’ and gives him alone time with you.

It’s much too early to be awake right now, so he’s content with falling back to sleep with you. His body is in complete contact with yours and he sleepily swears not to let go because he loves you too much. 

5 am 

An hour later, or maybe even less than, Asmo comes to sneak you from his brother’s grasp, gently hauling your barely conscious frame to his room. He wants you to keep getting as much beauty sleep as you can, but he still wants to start getting you ready for your big day! 

Of course, Azzy’s been planning this for weeks, so he has everything prepared and laid out. His alone time with you consists of him lowering you into the steaming bath and massaging you well, scrubbing your hair and body until you’re squeaky clean and practically shining, before toweling you off and dressing you in the clothes he’d set aside. 

Your skin care is done and your hair is fixed flawlessly, nails cut, filed, and painted; everything is all done up by the man himself and he tops it all off with excited kisses and pictures now that you’re [mostly] awake. 

6 am 

After you’re ready for the day, Lucifer takes over and hides you away in his study, selfishly holding you on his lap as you both drink coffee to get properly started. The drink is as bitter as ever, lips glossy with the remnants of it as you both chat quietly. 

He’s your soft start to the day, the calm before the lovable chaos, and the first born makes sure to whisper sweet words alongside the comforting crackle of the fireplace. His hour of alone time is lazy and physical, because he can’t go more than a few seconds without running his gloved hands over you. 

If anything, he’s unwilling to let you go, but Lucifer knows it would throw a wrench into the day’s layout and cause more fuss than necessary— plus, he has some things to do before tonight, so he’ll let you go with a slow kiss.

7 am

You’re handed over into Beelzebub’s capable hands, ensured to be served with a filling breakfast. He’s more than excited to show you what he, personally, cooked for you (even if there are just a few bites out of some of it). His cheeks are stuffed and a cute little smile is spread across his cheeks as he points to all the things on your plate. 

When  your plate is spotless, and your tummy is full but not too full, Beel guides you on a small little walk around the house corridors to make sure you digest properly. He’s still eating, of course, but his pleased hums are filling the air comfortably, making for a nice atmosphere. 

Your little walk ends at the entrance hall, where he bids you goodbye with a cozy little hug, and a promise that you’ll love every second of your special day.

8 am

With a hand at the small of your back, Satan leads you out of the house and straight to a bookstore, wanting to keep a slow start to the long day. With it having just opened, only the two of you and a few others are inside, giving plenty of room to stroll and browse (and goof around). 

He points out things you’ve had your eye on, new editions that weren’t there the previous visit, or special copies that were for limited time. The fourth born wants at least two books in your hand and a little collectible maybe- or a bookmark. Can’t have too many.

Once he’s spoiled you a little, and after you’ve both pet the local cats outside, he’s reluctantly handing you over with a lingering kiss to your hand, and a promise to read one of your books together soon.

9 am

Levi took his place, fingers lacing with yours, as he raved about a nearby anime store, gushing over the items he saw online that reminded him of you. By the time you get there, you know every section that’s going to be inside, yet it’s still exciting as you get pulled in. 

You both get lost in the cool merch, having to wave your hands over the stands or jump in place to find each other occasionally, but end up staying side by side for the most part, whisper-shouting with big smiles. 

Leaving the store, there is a pretty good sized bag on your and his arm, but he couldn’t be more thrilled about the lightness of his wallet since he got to spend money on you. He takes your bag, and your previous bag, in a promise to tuck them safely in your room, before giving you a location.

10 am 

Waiting for you outside of a small little amusement park is Diavolo, who is positively beaming in anticipation. He’s already got two colorful wristbands in hand, which he latches around your wrist, and lets you do the same to him, before heading inside. 

There are rides of all kinds and he lets you choose each one of them, pointing out ones he thinks you’ll like as you pass. You play a few booth games, getting a pretty flame salamander plushie as a prize, or totally failing and having a good laugh. 

His only request is the photo booth, which you both do two different times, to get a silly border and a normal border. He pouts a little as he walks you out, assuring you’d see him later, before leading you a few blocks back into the townsquare. 

11 am

For lunch, Simeon takes you off the paths and to a somewhat secluded gazebo, where a sweet little picnic was spread out; celestial realm dishes were rationed onto baby blue plates, two shiny cups on either side, with polished silverware. 

The breeze is just right as the two of you eat, chatting and sitting closer than usual. Butterflies go by, and your eyes follow, as you both take turns pointing out different kinds you see and what flowers they seem to like better. 

You take your time neatly packing everything up, fingers brushing and shoulders bumping, before he parts with a, dare you say it, angelic kiss to your forehead.

12 pm

Luke, naturally, is in charge of dessert, promising a light, yet satisfying, treat as he leads you down the sidewalk and into a cute looking bakery. He wants you to save room for the many things that were cooked and baked for your party, so he gets a little pile of oreo balls and other small things like that. 

He holds nothing back as he tells you how happy he is to be spending your birthday with you, how he’s so very glad he met you, and anything else along those lines. He has to get them all out now, just in case he doesn’t get the chance to later! 

The sweet angel is nearly bouncing on the balls of his feet as he leads you to your next location, waving excitedly as he promises to help make your party one of a kind.

1 pm

You’re actually given to Raphael next, who’s standing outside of a library with that barely perceptible smile on his face. He explains that he wanted somewhere quiet and cozy to wind down with you, suggesting that you shouldn’t do too much before the big celebration. 

The very back corner of the library becomes yours for now, complete with a pretty view of swaying trees. The archangel almost shyly asks if you’d sit closer, loosely holding your hand as he begins reading to you. 

He stalls a bit at the end, toying with your fingers, before telling you that he’ll see you later…but he’d like to do this again, sometime, okay?

2 pm

Hocus Pocus becomes your next destination, Solomon wasting no time in wrapping an arm around you as you browse the store. It’s slow and unhurried and drawn out as he talks about certain items, explaining a few origins, and listens to how your day’s been so far. 

He dabbles a bit in glittery, washable, body paint, joyously painting random shapes onto your skin (even rolling his sleeves up so you could return the  favor). The sorcerer makes it a point to paint his name along your wrist, taking a picture of it, before helping you wash it all off. 

With a quick spell, he takes away any aching your feet might have, or any sort of headache, teasingly kissing at your jaw, before wagging his fingers as he teleports you somewhere new. 

3 pm

A familiar shade of gold greets you as you're sent sprawling out onto the Castle’s floors. Barbatos chuckles and chides Solomon’s delivery as he helps you up, dusting you off gently. He makes sure you’re alright, boldly carrying you anyway, regardless of your answer.

A soothing, palate cleansing, tea spread is set out on the table as he settles you into the chair, pouring it as delicately as ever, before joining you. Instead of adjacent, he sits beside you, eagerly listening to anything you have to say. 

He may or may not cheat time, prolonging his alone time with you just a little, unwilling to let you go now that you both finally have a minute together. He does have much to get done still, however, and with a [deep] kiss, he politely escorts you through one of his portals. 

4 pm

In the heart of the forest, amongst a wave of flowers, lies Belphie. He’s not asleep, but it’s clear he’s just woken up, as he gestures for you to come lay down, offering a peaceful break. 

Instead of star gazing like usual, he settles for cloud gazing, lazily pointing up and whispering descriptions here and there. It’s serene and quiet and, in his opinion, the perfect way to kill time. 

While he doesn’t want to get up, he does at least hug you and nuzzle close in a send off, watching you go, before flopping back down.

5 pm

Mephisto is more than ready, and honored, to be the one escorting you to your big birthday bash. He takes you on the long path through the forest, deciding that if the others got time alone, surely he could have his own slot, too. 

He keeps close, talking about daily matters, continuing to take small detours as you both make your way through the Devildom. His eyes don’t leave your face much at all as he basks in the moment. 

With a grand, flourishing gesture, he officially announces your arrival, and presents you to your birthday party!

6 pm

Confetti, balloons, changing led lights, and glitter are everywhere. There’s a long table with many presents littering the surface, and another one next to it with small party snacks and desserts. Music plays faint in the background, not really needed over the fun and chaos that comes from the party games picked out, or from the karaoke. 

When the time comes, a cake as astonishing as the previous ones is brought out and magically lit up prettily. Voices harmonize as they all sing you happy birthday , none being able to fight the smile on their faces, but…you couldn’t either. 

And as you circled around the cake, blowing out each of your candles, you wished for what you did every year since coming here: to always be able to stay with your boys. 

With cake and presents over, it delves into more chaos as they all argue over a) who you’re going home with tonight (and that it would be no fair if Mephisto took you, since he’d have you alone), and b) if you went home with a group, who’s room you would be staying in (Solomon taunted Mammon so much, you swore he’d blow a gasket). 

Oh, yeah. You loved them to death.

[kalinazlatkova]

“The Art and Making of Arcane: League of Legends” 🎨🎨🎨🎨 Book Review Under the Cut 

⋆｡°✩*ੈ✶⋆.˚✩‧₊˚⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚⋆˙⟡⋆✴︎˚｡⋆⊹.˚⟡ ݁₊˚⊹⋆☆˖°

If you enjoy my work, please consider supporting me on Ko-fi 👛🫙✨🖤 Thank you! 🥰

Hi All! 😊 As I have amassed loads of Art Books throughout my degree and in my work as an illustrator, I thought I could do some reviews so those of you who are just now embarking on your art journeys and wondering whether something is worth spending money on, can make an informed decision about what part of your creative development you want to put your money towards.     I’m thinking of structuring the reviews in five key areas, with books earning a palette for each area they score against, with a total of five palettes being the max, and a brush being awarded in areas where a book can only score half a point. As someone from a working-class background who is also neurodivergent, I’m especially mindful how these things can impact the way in which we access information and new knowledge. Of course, if you have any suggestions on what else should be included, please let me know and I’ll be happy to consider this in future too. 😊  

Now! Off to the main bit... 

Is the book Useful? 🎨 

I think this would of interest not only to fans of the game and series alike, but also less experienced artists who want to learn about the motivation, inspirations, ideas, and thought processes behind the storytelling, characters and plotlines. Alex and Chris (the Creators) talk about the history and background of how it came to be, how the right group and studio of people were found to bring it together, and how the story and visuals were built from the smallest details to the major production hurdles. There are the back scenes of the storyboarding and character designs, with frameworks and the timeline between the layouts of the game vs the show. The book also goes down into details on the music, lyrics, color schemes, speeds of animation, backgrounds and the in-depth world building of Arcane. It pays attention to the visual and personal development of the central characters, their set bases and their props. Given all of this, I would say – Yes. It is a very useful source and guide on master adaptation, for those already interested in the game as well as those who have just come into its world now, brought in by the art of the show before they got caught in the story.  

Is the book Engaging? 🎨

The book design has been planned thoroughly, and the content is very well paced. There is good overlay between photographs, illustrations, game graphics and show scenes alongside the text and other visuals. The design of the book is beautifully done, with phenomenal coloring, and good spacing between the texts and images. As someone who struggles with big chunks of text, and a very temperamental attention span, the way that the chapters and sub-sections of the book are broken up, helped me quite a lot in managing to keep my focus and my mind engaged at one page at a time, without feeling the need to put it down indefinitely or jump ahead and move on to the next bit before I was done. Therefore, I would say – Yes. It is manageable, digestible, and entertaining, which makes it a joy to engage with, and even more so because it can be done so easily.  

Is the book Accessible? 🖌️ 

There might be some pages where people who are easily visually overstimulated might struggle to keep with the text, as the graphics fill the sheet and overlay each other quite strongly. However, if you are someone who prefers the strong visuals of a comic book or a graphic novel, then this might not be an issue for you at all. Overall, the blocks of text come in small chunks and are set in narrow columns with a max of 15 words to a line at its longest (on average up to 10), which makes the text easier to follow. Though the typesetting of the book is primarily in serif fonts, and on some pages the text blocks are slanted to fit the visuals’ layout better. I have an advantage that I have a digital copy and can easily zoom into the text, though if you had the physical copy of the book (judging by the format size of 23.5 x 3 x 32.4cm) there might be some pages where you struggle with the smaller lines. From what I have been able to find out, the standard hardcover edition weighs approx. 800gr, which isn’t very light to carry or hold up with one hand, especially considering a thick rectangle is less manageable than a single bag of sugar or bottle of water for example. In terms of language, it is written in plain English (in EN speaking countries) and even though I am not a native English speaker, there were no overcomplicated structures or words I was unfamiliar with at any time. So overall, I would say Yes and No. It is up to you to decide whether any of the above is a deal breaker regarding accessibility, but if it is in the physical aspects, I would advise in looking for a digital copy alike myself as well.  

Is the book Affordable? 🖌️ 

Well. When I was looking for a copy, unfortunately there were no paperbacks available, and the only hardbacks were second hand varying in price point from £40 - £80 GBP. Which is about $50 – 110 USD, or €45 - 95 EUR. I also could not find any free digital copies, so my only option was to buy the book on Kindle for £14, or approx. $18 / €16. Given that when I was a student, I used to live on £1 a day (my family is poor), I think that up to £80 for a single art book is a high price to pay, especially for a young person who isn’t in full time employment. But even though I am a working adult now, I still wouldn’t pay this for the book given that the actual cost was £40 before it went out of stock, and the price has been inflated solely because the book isn’t physically available anymore. Due to this, and because it is the right thing to do, before making a purchase, I would adamantly encourage you to check with the library(ies) near you first. If they have it, you can borrow it for free and make copies, scans or take pics of it if you’d like to make your own digital copy. If this is not an option, look for it online and check if there are any torrents on the sites you have access to where you live. Only if you exhaust all other options, or if you are dead set in buying a physical copy for a memento / getting it signed by the artist type of keepsake, should you consider purchasing it at the inflated price. So even though the book might be affordable to those who have the money, that simply isn’t applicable to most people, meaning that – No. It isn’t affordable as it would not fall into most people’s budgets easily or without being looked at as a luxury.    

Is the book Worth it? 🎨

Even though due to points 3 & 4 above, I cannot give the book a full 5 palettes, and must settle only on 4, I would say – Yes. It has been great to learn more about the backstory and history of Arcane and the people who made it possible. The work they’ve put in for years, each single step in their journey and the care and dedication that has been poured into the creation of this new world. It has been lovely to gain an insight into the visual development of the series, as well as the character building, and the considerations awarded to all the small things that make them the characters that they are and the characters that we love. I may have never played LoL but I absolutely loved the show. Though even if I hadn’t seen it, from the perspective of a graphic designer, I can certainly appreciate the beauty of Arcane and this book still. And if like me, you are new to this world, then I suspect the book will make you love it even more. It’s worth it.  

[httpsserene]

cabin getaway — 𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐟𝐟. toto wolff x fem!bipoc!reader (reader's appearance is not described < 3) 2k words. requested! by @omgsuperstarg not beta read. fluff. suggestive. established relationship. slice of life. domestic bliss. surface-level research was done for the setting. 

synopsis: snapshots of your post-season getaway with toto

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. surprisingly, i had so much fun writing this toto req 💀 it made me forgive him for fumbling lewis lol (do not confuse this is me hating kimi; i🤍 kimi antonelli, and i hope he continues to thrive at merc). to get back to the point, i am not writing for toto anymore :( bc -usually- writing for him is like pulling teeth.

⌕ join taglist | requests & feedback | upcoming chapters | table of contents ↻

The mountainous peaks of Gräfenberg are bathed in moonlight and shadows. The cabin is blanketed in a dense layer of snow, the exterior illuminated in a soft glow from the dangling string lights. Toto called ahead to have the quaint cottage ready for your arrival, evidenced by the warm air that greets your cold-bitten cheeks as you step through the front doorway. He helps you out of your layered outerwear, and you do the same for him, stuffing the garments into the entryway coat closet. Toto huffs in displeasure when you bend down to pull off your boots, interrupting your motion to pull you into a hug, his arms cradling you tightly. With a deep sigh, you nuzzle into his sweater-covered chest, murmuring tiredly, “We forgot the bags in the car.”

“Tomorrow,” he grunts, the exhaustion from a strenuous season bleeding through in his tone, “I will grab them in the morning. Let’s head to bed.”

You have no complaints regarding that, letting him lead you toward the bedroom after your shoes have been stored away. After undressing, you two climb underneath layers of heavy quilts, hums of relief spilling into the air at the feeling of the cloud-soft mattress. The sound of falling flurries and a crackling fire lulls you to sleep within minutes.

The music from the random record you picked resonates throughout the cabin, accompanying the sound of running water as you wash grapes and the click of Toto’s knife against the wooden cutting board as he cubes a variety of cheeses. You delicately arrange the cured meats on the wooden slab, staying focused even as Toto pulls you into a heated debate over what the best cheese is.

He’s adamant about the top cheese being mozzarella, and you stutter around your vehement disagreement, claiming that you could name ten better cheeses. Your mind blanks after the third cheese you list, and the laughter that erupts comes easier after almost two glasses of white wine. Toto has to set his knife down, the force of his amusement blurring his vision with tears. It’s probably not that funny, but there’s no one around to tell you differently.

The Austrian claims that mozzarella is superior purely because of its importance in pizza, and at that point, you concede. The lighthearted conversation continues as you both progress to a third glass of wine, the layout becoming less neat as Toto adds the cheese and crackers, and you with grapes and meats. Thankfully, the charcuterie aesthetic mattered little as the two of you began eating the small bites at a quicker pace than you were placing them down.

In the middle of the tiny kitchen, you lead Toto through a drunken slow dance, giggling as he lets you twirl him around, your wine glasses ditched in favor of sipping straight from the chilled bottle. His grasp on your waist is delicate as he dips you, and as he guides you back upward, you complete the movement with the press of your lips to his.

Toto’s lying on his back between your legs, his head pillowed on your thighs as you gently massage your facial cleanser into his skin. You rub circles into his temples, careful to maintain the right amount of pressure to relax him, pleased at the quiet hum that rumbles through his chest. You ring out the cloth you had set aside in a bowl of hot water, draping it on his face,  letting the heat open his pores before wiping off the cleansing foam.

Silicon brush in hand, you paint a healthy layer of a grey-colored, skin-firming clay mask onto his face. You carefully keep the product from nearing his eyes and brows, quietly humming the tune of a track you loved from the random record. Toto grumbles about the tingling sensation after you’ve finished the application.

You roll your eyes, telling him, “Hush—and stop frowning…unless you want the face mask to solidify more wrinkles into your skin.”

He parts his lips, certainly ready to argue back, but pauses when your fingers rake through his hair, your nails deliciously scratching along his scalp. Toto forgets to respond, no longer minding the tingling effects of the mask on his skin when it’s paired with the tingling from a relaxing scalp massage.

The snow is starting to pile high, and the air is frigid, but you’ve never been warmer from your front-row seat to The Show.

The sight of Toto chopping wood stokes the kindling fire in your core, your thighs pressing together tightly as you begin to burn. The heat of your longing steams the air around you—though that’s realistically caused by the space heater next to you on the outdoor couch. 

Your mouth parts with an audible gasp as you watch Toto set the axe down, interrupting his rhythmic chopping to pull off his coat. The forest green sweater you gifted him wasn’t this tight when he wore it for the first time, meaning it either shrunk in the wash or that he’s grown bigger, more muscular, and possibly stronger. 

It seems to be the latter option, you determine, watching the corded muscles of his shoulders and back shift as he stretches to release tension before moving to place another log atop the stump. A moan you weren’t able to stifle slips from your open lips, the sweet sound remaining just loud enough for Toto to catch as you try to muffle it into your mug of hot cocoa.

He—carefully—drops the axe this time around, turning to grant you an amused, knowing look. Your eyes dart around the landscape to avoid awarding him the satisfaction of confirming his suspicions. The hulk of a man closes the space between you with ease, the sound of his boots shuffling through layers of snow grows in volume as he nears you. 

“What’s up?” You ask, your tone innocent as he steps onto the deck, his boots thumping heavily on the wooden flooring.

Toto doesn’t respond, coming to a stop at your feet and stealing the mug straight from your hands to set it on the end table.

“Hey!” A startled laugh bubbles out around your disbelief, “I was drinking that—“

You shriek as you're lifted into the air and thrown over his shoulder like a burlap sack, shouting gleefully as you kick your legs in a frivolously fruitless attempt to persuade him to put you back down.

He lightly smacks your ass and your laughter splits around a thrilled gasp.

Currently upside down and wearing a self-satisfied grin the Austrian can’t see, you exclaim, “Put me down!”

Toto grabs the space heater with the hand that isn’t keeping you put over his shoulder and walks to enter the cottage. 

“I will put you down…on the bed, to have my way with you. Don’t—do not whine like you were not the one moaning loud enough to be heard by every animal in these woods.”

“I did not!”

 “Did watching me cut wood make you this hot, schatz? Are you sure you are not in heat?”

“Toto. Put. Me. Down.”

The fire casts a bronze finish over Toto’s complexion. The warm lighting increases the sharpness of his muscle definition, the shadows deeper, and the highlights brighter.

You lay alongside him, head pillowed on his arm, your lidded gaze tracking your finger as it follows the toned lines of his chest down to his happy trail. His stomach jumps at the lightest brush of your touch below his belly button.

Toto’s hand rubs over your spine, the soothing motion helping your eyes grow heavy under the weight of sleep. Your lower back is starting to ache satisfyingly, the absence of anything between your thighs feels odd, your throat aches with overuse; all the sensations reminding you of Toto bedding you on the thick, downy, and plush rug in front of the hearth. 

He said the bed was too far. You don’t feel the need to point out that he was wrong.

Your blinks start slowing, your lids remaining shut longer by a handful of seconds. Snuggling deeper within his hold, you croakily mumble into his chest, “My hot cocoa is frozen...and you left the wood outside, too.”

Toto's body shakes with his chuckles, “Sleep, schatz. I will bring all of it inside after we nap. I will heat up a warm mug for you as well.”

Your walk is filled with the sounds of coats rubbing together, sniffling noses, snow crunching beneath boots, icicles falling from branches, and Toto’s voice. 

“Did you know that Andrea doesn’t have a driver’s license?” Toto asks.

He knows you know this. You think he’s just terrified of Kimi’s youth because while he may be a rising Formula One driver, he’s still very much a kid. 

“At dinner the other night, didn’t he say he made an appointment to get it during the break?” You question, even though both of you already know the answer.

“He did,” Toto nods to himself, “—Then, George also did say that he’d steal your G-Wagon to help Kimi get more learner’s hours.”

You snort, recalling the cheeky look plastered to the British driver’s face, “They just needed to ask to drive it—I would have handed the keys over. If the two of them scratched or crashed my car…the outlook of the Mercedes team standings this year is frightening.”

“I know George is an adult,” Toto speaks, coming to a stop as you pull him to do so, “but sometimes I feel like I have hired two teenagers to drive at the highest speeds possible. Dear God. I pray that they do not stress me out too much, or I may go bald and look like Fred this year.”

Laughing, you lay down on the fluffy whiteness, spreading your arms and legs to leave a snow angel behind. Wearing a miserable amount of layers was the right choice, because while the cold is faintly felt, the moisture doesn’t bleed through. You’re panting lightly with exertion when you stop moving, the heat of your body gathering a lot quicker underneath the pounds of clothing.

“Well,” you breathe deeply, “We can make a trip after Budapest. Or, Jeddah or Sakhir, I suppose—depending on how quickly you lose your hair. Lift me, please!”

Toto, manhandling you like a burlap sack once again, firmly grabs hold of you with a fist in the middle of your coat. He lifts you upward single-handedly, and you wonder if that’s how it feels to get beamed up by a UFO. 

He places you on your feet, brushing the snow and water off your back with a gloved hand, and makes a confused sound, “A trip to where?”

“Turkey. For your hair transplant, of course,” you grin, “I don’t know if I can justify being with you if you go bald.”

Toto fakes as if he’s going to push you back into the snowy field, and you turn to run back toward the cabin. He yells for you to take back your words, but all you can do is laugh as he chases you. The threat of him throwing you into the deepest snow he can find when he catches you isn’t enough to make you stop.

© httpsserene — do not reupload. photos used in header are from pinterest. divider from @cafekitsune.

[rafesangelita]

♡ RAFEANGELITA’S 11k CELEBRATION

i’ll keep this very short and simple because if not i know i could go on forever lol. but wow!! i can’t believe we’ve made it this far. if someone told me that i’d have a blog that reached heights like this when i was only a reader, i would’ve never believed them. i’ve gone through so much on and off of this site but talking to my mooties @nemesyaaa and @rafesheaven along with seeing the endless amounts of support and love on my work has truly made me so happy. the good outweighs the bad on here, and for that i’m so thankful. please know that i don’t take any of you for granted, and i appreciate every single one of you immensely. i hope all of you can take this celebration and perceive it as a token of my appreciation <3 keep reading below for further details!

NOTE : this celebration officially starts on may 1st, and ends may 31st. you can send in your requests starting now up until the end date! i will most likely be posting multiple times a day so that i could try my best in getting out everyone’s requests. please keep in mind that my inbox will most likely be flooded, so while i will try my absolute best to answer every request, i might miss a few so all i ask is that you have patience with me as i do this. my celebration posts might extend past the end date period, but only to get out the last bit of requests!

RULES : while i am comfortable writing dark content, the only thing i will not write is incest. it’s a very controversial topic and i would much rather write my content peacefully than getting backlash and/or hate! i also do not write anything having to do with scat and vomit so please keep that in mind as well <3

GUIDELINES : you can send multiple requests! when you send in a request please be sure to follow the layout guide i provided in the ‘example’ section underneath each option you could choose from! and please send in the corresponding emoji so i know what kind of request you’re making! please know that rafe, john b, pope, and jj are all eligible for your requests!

⋆˙⟡♡ 🍡┊request any obx boy + kink

[ example : frat!rafe + daddy kink ]

⋆˙⟡♡ 🐇┊ request an au with an obx boy and !reader of your choice (the !reader you request could be a new !reader and not one that i have an introduction for already)

[ example : criminal!rafe x spoiledgf!reader au ]

⋆˙⟡♡ 🍥┊send in a prompt of your choice and which au or pairing of mine you want me to write the fic for (and please specify if you want it to be smutty, fluffy, or angsty)

[ example : “we aren’t supposed to be doing this.” + bbf!rafe + smut ]

⋆˙⟡♡ 🍵┊media! request a moodboard for any !reader, au, or any visualization you may be curious about! (this could be a week of outfits, ootd’s, what the !readers would be if they were ___ )

[ examples : bitchy!kook!reader moodboard, sheriff!rafe x farmer’s!daughter!reader moodboard, what is pogue!sweetheart!reader wearing today?, a week of outfits for bambi!reader, what would the !readers be if they were foods/desserts? ]

⋆˙⟡♡ 🥞┊send in a p!link and i’ll write a drabble for it (only x links please, i will not be opening any third party porn sites, thank you! also please specify which obx boy you want me to write the drabble for)

[ example: *link* + bsf!rafe ]

[glowettee]

digital notes guide part 1/5: setting up your aesthetic note-taking system 🎀

posted by: glowettee

hey study angels! ♡ mindyyy heree

omg so many of you have been asking about my digital notes setup, and i'm so excited to share all my secrets! this is going to be a 5-part series on creating the most aesthetic and effective digital notes ever. i'm going to start with the basics! this is super exciting because digital notes are literally unlimited, no wasting paper, and no perfect handwriting required.

♡ choosing your digital notebook

because the right foundation changes everything:

notion (my personal fave):

amazing for linking different pages

super customizable layouts

can embed literally everything

aesthetic cover images

databases for tracking progress

easy table of contents

goodnotes:

perfect for iPad users

feels like writing on paper

pretty digital stickers

custom paper templates

easy organization system

beautiful handwriting options

onenote:

works across all devices

infinite canvas (so dreamy!)

easy subject dividers

voice recording option

drawing capabilities

♡ essential digital tools

make sure you have these ready:

hardware needs:

reliable device (laptop/tablet)

stylus if using tablet (worth the investment!)

external keyboard (for faster typing)

good lighting for screen

comfortable study space

backup charging cables

software must-haves:

note-taking app of choice

cloud storage system

screenshot tool

pdf annotator

calendar app

backup system

♡ creating your aesthetic setup

because pretty notes = happy studying:

color scheme selection:

choose 3-4 main colors

pick 2-3 accent colors

create highlight palette

save hex codes

make color meaning system

maintain consistency

font selection:

main text font (i use garamond)

heading font (something cute!)

emphasis font

quote font

size hierarchy

spacing rules

♡ basic organization system

keep everything findable:

folder structure:

semester folders

subject folders

unit folders

topic folders

resource folders

revision folders

naming convention:

date_subject_topic

use consistent formatting

add emoji indicators

number sequence system

status markers

importance levels

♡ template creation

work smarter not harder:

essential templates:

lecture notes template

reading notes template

study guide template

revision notes template

project planner template

weekly overview template

template elements:

header section (date, subject, topic)

learning objectives area

main content space

summary section

question bank area

revision checklist

setting up your digital note system might take time, but it's so worth it! think of it like creating your perfect study sanctuary - every detail matters!

the next post will be getting into actually taking notes during class (and making them both pretty and effective!). for now, focus on setting up your perfect system.

pro tip: don't get too caught up in making everything perfect from the start. your system will evolve as you use it, just like how my notes looked completely different freshman year!

xoxo, mindy 🎀

[jungkoode]

IN THE PRESENCE OF YOU

┊↬ a story about two kingdoms, one marriage, and all the words swallowed in between ↫┊

"You were promised to a man carved of ice. But ice can burn, too—if you're patient.”

quick links

read on ao3

read on wattpad

read author intro and TWs (MUST)

synopsis

You weren't meant to be anyone's wife. Certainly not his. Not the stoic, too-proper heir of a kingdom that feels like a mausoleum compared to your vibrant homeland. But politics cares nothing for what princesses want, and now you're trapped in gilded halls with a husband who treats you with impeccable, unbearable courtesy. It's a special kind of torture—being looked at but never seen. Tolerated but never wanted. So you've made it your mission to make him lose his patience.

Even if it means losing yourself in the process.

details

main ship: prince seokjin x princess reader side ships: namjoon x dahlia (OC) hoseok x rosalind (OC) genre: enemies to lovers, political arranged marriage, slowest of burns, court intrigue with intimacy rating: explicit (18+ only) words: - chapters: - status: upcoming (longfic)

chapter guide

volume one: pride & prejudice & politics

➟ #01 | the wedding that wasn't ➟ #02 | ➟ #03 | ➟ #04 | ➟ #05 | ➟ #06 | ➟ #07 | ➟ #08 | ➟ #09 | ➟ #10 | ➟ #11 | ➟ #12 | ➟ #13 | ➟ #14 |

fragments & memories

BEFORE THE ARRANGEMENT ➟ vermillion: your childhood ➟ ivory: his silent youth ➟ the negotiation (how it happened) ➟ first impressions (the palace arrival)

ROYAL INDISCRETIONS ➟ the balcony incident ➟ whispers in the council chamber ➟ that night in the library ➟ the riding lesson ➟ what happens behind tapestries

Key:

Regular titles: safe to read if up-to-date with main story

[WIP]: chapters currently being written

Strikethrough: future content & concept ideas

Read order: chronological by volume, fragments optional

content includes

♡ explicit sexual content ♡ political manipulation ♡ court intrigue & scheming ♡ arranged marriage dynamics ♡ family pressure & expectations ♡ emotional repression ♡ royal duties vs. personal desire ♡ class differences & prejudice

extras

✧ playlists:

in the presence of you - soundtrack

✧ my IPY-related art: #IPYconcepts ✧ moodboard

✧ WORLD MAP ✧ palace layouts: daeryndor royal wing

seokjin's chambers

your royal apartments

✧ tidbits/headcanons: #ipytidbits ✧ lyrics/poems that feel like ITPOY: tag your contributions with #ipylyrics

disclaimer

please be reminded that characters are purely fictional and used for creative purposes only. this is a work of fiction written for entertainment.

© jungkoode 2025 no reposts, translations, or adaptations