#quite the interesting stage and boss

[beevean]

Mega Man X2

Magna Centipede

#megaman #megaman music #mm music #megaman x2 #music of the day #quite the interesting stage and boss #and the theme fits the idea of having to rush to avoid all the traps #bass and drums on point #and 0:26 <3 #strangely similar to flame stag's theme though

[watchmegetobsessed]

THE FINAL SHOW

A/N: last night was a rollercoaster of emotions and i still can't believe love on tour is over, but it will always have a special place in my heart. one thing is for sure, im sill here and i will continue writing for this amazing human until he returns onto the stage where he belongs.

WORD COUNT: 2.6k

SUMMARY: You made a promise in the beginning of Love On Tour and now it's catching up with you and though your heart wants you to keep your word, you know it's not that easy, because it's about your boss, the person who matters the most to you.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

You should have learned by now that Harry Styles never forgets.

He remembers every birthday, anniversary, every story anyone tells him, he remembers fans he has interacted with and he is extremely good with names. It’s definitely one thing you admire about him.

But know this tiny detail about him did not teach you to watch what you say around him, because he will recite your words even years later.

It’s been an on and off tango between the two of you for a long time. As his assistant, you’ve been dancing on the line of being professional and jumping into his bed whenever he does as so much as looking at you with those stupid, gorgeous eyes. He is your job, you keep telling that to yourself, but deep down you know he is more than just that.

He is… everything.

It would be easier if he only saw you as his assistant, but that’s not the case. Just how you caught those certain feelings, Harry has shown interest towards you, on several occasions, flirting with you bluntly, asking you out every possible chance.

And each time, when you turned down, a voice in your head screamed at you, but your rationality has been stronger so far and it hasn’t let you take that leap that would change everything forever.

Now, back to his immaculate memory.

You’d been working for him for over a year when the first European leg of Love On Tour was about to start, the residency shows were set to be announced and along with the South American, Australian and Asian dates and another full European leg was in the planning phase. Tour was looking endless and everyone on the team was joking that there won’t be a final show of Love On Tour.

Following another meeting in Harry’s LA home you were hanging out by his pool, something that happened quite often, because he liked to share what he had with the people around him. The sun was setting and you both had several glasses of wine, so the business talk has been long forgotten when you ordered food for the two of you.

You were in the shallow, lounge area of the pool where you could sit in the water and you were enjoying a hamburger while he was swimming around, watching you. You caught him looking right in the middle of a huge bite.

“What?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at him as he swam closer with a grin on his face.

“You look amazing.”

You snorted out loud, mouth full and probably smelling like onions.

“I’m sure I do,” you sarcastically said. “Is this what turns you on? Chewing and onion smell?”

“No. It’s you.”

You stopped and gave him a suspicious look. He moved over and sat beside you.

“You turn me on, Y/N,” he added, when you didn’t say anything, just leisurely staring back at you, as if he hadn’t just overstepped a major boundary between boss and employee.

“Harry, stop,” you mumbled, putting the remainder of your burger to the plate at the edge of the pool.

“What? You started it with guessing what turns me on.”

“It was just a joke!”

“Okay, and I told you the truth.”

“You definitely shouldn’t be saying shit like that to me.”

“Too late, already did, so I think we could take it even further,” he shrugged and you couldn’t hold back a laugh.

“Oh, you are something else, Harry Styles, you know that?”

“That didn’t sound like a no to me,” he grinned, moving just a tad bit closer, but still respecting your private space. “I really want to kiss you, Y/N,” he bluntly added and you knew it was the wine talking from him, sober Harry wouldn’t have said those words out loud, but it didn’t fail to make you feel dizzy and weak.

“That’s not gonna happen now,” you shook your head.

“Okay, if not now, then when?”

“You are so annoying,” you laughed again. “You know what? You can kiss me when Love On Tour officially ends,” you joked.

It was a genuine joke. Anyone would have known you didn’t mean it, but it was Harry you said it to and the moment the words left your mouth they burned into his memories forever.

“Alright then,” he simply said, splashed you and then swam away.

That was the beginning of 2022. You slept off the wine and though you never forgot you said it, you didn’t keep track of the promise you initially made.

Harry did, however.

Not one day went by without him thinking about those words and it was the only reason he was looking forward for the very last show of Love On Tour.

He’s been acting weird, probably since about Vienna. With two weeks until the end of tour and his break, your workload hasn’t gotten less so you couldn’t really care about his weirdness, but when you’re out for dinner in Barcelona with the band and some other crew members and two rounds of drinks have been consumed already, you finally acknowledge the change.

“Hey, you alright?” You poke your elbow into his side, stealing a fry from his plate. Shrugging, he pushes the plate closer to you.

“Just thinking.”

“About what?” you ask, snacking on his leftover fries.

“The end of tour.”

Freezing you instantly remember to that one conversation in his pool. You peek at him and find him already looking at you with a gaze that burns right into your heart. Clearing your throat you turn back to the fries and pretend like you don’t remember the promise you made.

“Just two more weeks and you’re free.”

“That’s not how I see it.”

“Mmm,” you hum, but don’t dare to look at him. You can feel his eyes on the side of your face, but luckily, before he could bring up anything specific Mitch call out his name from across the table and you’re relieved. For now.

It’s almost midnight when you all head back to the hotel and you and Harry somehow end up at the back of the group. The elevator is too full for the two of you to get in as well, so you wait for another round. While you’re still ignoring to look at him, he is very much only looking at you, it feels like.

The elevator returns and you get inside, but Harry pushes the button for the top floor.

“Hey, that’s—“

“I want to show you something,” he hold up a hand.

The top of the hotel has a rooftop bar with an amazing view of the city, the perfect grid of the streets, it’s breathtaking.

“I knew you would like it,” he smiles, leaning against the railing next to you, with his back towards the view, as if he was way more interested in seeing you than the city.

“Because you know me so well,” you chuckle softly.

“I do,” he answers quietly. “We have only four more shows.”

“Mhm,” you nod, eyes glued to the view in front of you.

“The final show of Love On Tour is in ten days.”

“I’m glad you keep track of the shows so well, I feel like I’m not even needed anymore,” you joke with a chuckle, but when you finally look at him you know why he is bringing all of these up.

“Do you remember what you promised would happen when the last show finally comes?”

“Harry…”

“You do,” he simply says. “I know you as someone who keeps her word.”

“It’s… Harry, that was never a promise, I was just joking!”

“None of it is a joke to me, Y/N.”

You roll your eyes, but hate the effect his words have on you. Like your whole inside is on fire, begging to just give in finally, to end this years long game and act on the feelings you’ve been pushing down so hard all this time.

Sighing you cross your arms over your chest. You want to make fun out of it again and say that it was all just about a kiss, but you know, you both know that it would never stop at one kiss, that it’s bigger than that and it would consume you fully if you let your walls down.

“This seems like a big mistake,” you tell him honestly. “What if it goes wrong and… I lose my job… and you.”

Your voice breaks at the end and you can’t look him in the eyes. You’ve spent endless nights thinking about what would happen if you gave in and it all went downhill. Your job might be the last thing on the list of worries, what really scares you is to imagine a version of your life without him because.

It would break you.

“Being scared of the wrong outcome will keep you away from the best things in your life, Y/N.”

“Did you just call yourself the best thing in my life?” you try to joke, but he just gives you a look.

“Don’t think about the what ifs, if you get there, you’ll figure it out. You always do. We always do.”

“This is not that simple,” you shake your head. “You know it’s not that simple.”

“But it is,” he chuckles, but you keep shaking your head. “Figuring out my feelings has never been this simple.”

There’s a heartbeat of silence when not even you know whether you’re about to give in or not and for a split second it actually feels like you’re breaking, but something pulls you back last minute.

“No. And we should be heading back, you have a show tomorrow. You need to get some rest.”

You step away from the railing and start walking back, but when you notice that he’s not coming you turn around and see him staring at the city this time. Opening your mouth you’re about to call out for him, but then change your mind and let him be, walking back to your room.

When you see him again in the morning he doesn’t bring it up again and you’re convinced he won’t bring your promise up again.

The last show has everyone all over the place, you’ve been running around since about six in the morning, picking up people, making sure the hotel check-ins go smoothly and everything is exactly how it should be. The day feels like a whole week, but the excitement and bittersweet sadness that’s been wrapped around everyone is what keeps you up on your feet still.

But the real weight of the last show hits the moment it finally starts.

This is the time when you have nothing to do so you watch Harry perform every night, meaning that this is the 169th time you’re seeing him take the stage and perform just as perfectly as he did at the first, the fiftieth and one hundredth show. He always gives his absolute most. Not just at his shows, but in his life as well. That’s one of the million reasons you fell for him.

Medicine has everyone dying, all 100 thousand people out there and then Harry starts giving his speech that’s extra long this time, talking about how grateful he is for everything, for his fans, his friends and family and it’s one big emotional mess and you can’t help but cry a bit as well, watching from the side.

“The last two years of my life, the last two years of this tour has been the greatest experience I could ever ask for…”

“I see it, the love, in how it’s affected all the people around me, continue to affect people. It does not end with this tour.”

“I love you, thank you so much.”

Screaming rolls over the crowd as an answer and you expect him to go on with starting As It Was, but then he starts talking again.

“There is one more thing I want to say tonight. I have learned and experienced so much in the past years. I will be forever thankful for the memories we’ve made.”

There. He said we, he switched up his narrative. That’s how you know he is not talking to the crowd. He is talking to you.

“If this is it, if it never goes beyond this, I would live a happy life. With you forever in my heart. But if we ever take it further, if we ever take the risk and reach for the stars and we might fall… just know that I will always be here for you. You can never lose me. No matter what. I love you.”

You suck on your breath, covering your mouth with your hand as you stare at him stand in the middle of the stage, staring out ahead of him, the crowd screaming for him, oblivious to the one sided conversation that just happened between you and him.

As It Was starts and the show carries on towards the end, but you’re still frozen in that moment and when the show ends and you watch Harry drop to his knees on the stage, you know things will never be the same.

Backstage is like a tornado once the show is over, the band walks off the stage and Harry is following right behind with Lloyd by his side, but when he sees you standing still in the middle of the madness, he drops out of the conversation right away and stops a few feet away from you, letting you decide where to go now.

“You promise?” you breathe out, your throat closing up. “You promise I will never lose you?”

“I thought that was clear by now, Y/N,” he replies, his chest still rapidly rising and falling. “But if you need me to actually say it, I will. You will never lose me, no matter what. It will always be you and me and I know you’re scared, but I’m—“

He doesn’t get to finish, because you’re already throwing yourself into his arms and kissing him.

It doesn’t matter that the whole crew bursts out into screaming and whistling, that you’re giving a second show with the way you get lost in each other, because in your little bubble it’s just you and Harry and everything that’s been building between the two of you.

Every joke, every teasing comment, all the stolen looks and suppressed feeling that was never acted on is now free, they all burst out of your chest and into the electricity that’s snaking around you as you keep taking more and more of him, hungry to make up for the past years.

The clapping dies down when you finally pull back, forehead resting against his, his hands holding you so tight as if he was afraid you might run away any moment.

“You kept your promise. I knew you were trusty, Y/N Y/L/N,” he chuckles, pecking your lips softly again as you laugh at his words, finally opening your eyes to look at him.

“Actually I feel like I kissed you. I promised you could kiss me, so technically—“

“Shut up, you’re already getting on my nerves,” he laughs, kissing you over and over again, so your promise is actually fulfilled. “Can’t wait for you to do that every day for the rest of my life.”

“I thought that was part of my job too, have I not been doing that?” you tease, lips moving against his as you speak.

“You have, but you can take it to a whole new level now,” he laughs, pulling you against him before letting you go and popping the bubble, though his hand never lets go of yours, not while everyone congratulates him, not when the final show celebrations start and not when he pulls you into his hotel room to end this journey of Love On Tour with you by his side, but also start a new chapter.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

#harry #styles #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles blurb

[ishgard]

Presenting: An Absurdly, Stupidly Long and Wordy Warrior of Light-based Questionnaire, or as my bestie dubbed it:

30 WoL Think Thonkers

Less an ask prompt, more of a daily prompt, (though you can use it as an ask prompt if you prefer!) Answer the questions however you want: straight-forward, with stories or screens, or a mix of all.

Get any of your little brainworms out. Wax poetic, ramble off into several digressions, challenge yourself to answer in the least amount of words possible, whatever you're vibing with! (If you want to tag them #wolthinkthonkers feel free!)

This is very Warrior of Light and MSQ based. It's set from a Post-Endwalker mindframe, so there are some minor/vaguely worded spoilers.

----------------------- WARM-UP QUESTIONS

I. Where is your Warrior of Light from? What was their home like growing up and what set them out on their journey?

2. What city-state did your WoL start in? How did they feel about it then, and how do they feel about it now? (ie, did their experiences sour their perception, or make them appreciate it more?)

3. How do they feel about being Hydaelyn's chosen? (Feel free to break it down from ARR's "Champion of Eorzea" all the way to "The Savior of Etheirys" as much as you like. Have those feelings changed, or just grown more complex?)

4. What do they do in their down time? Do they have any hobbies outside of Primal-slaying and world-saving? Are these lifelong hobbies or recent interests?

5. How do they feel now that "it's all over" (the story of Hydaelyn and Zodiark)? What do they plan to do next? Or is their story finished - and if you're retiring them, what does retirement look like for them? Do you have someone else taking the stage going forward?

6. Who was their Azem? What were they like, and were they different from your WoL? Who were their family, friends? Or, if you don't care for the Azem angle or went in your own direction for their past self, how so? How does your WoL feel about their Ancient identity?

----------------------- CHANGES

7. Have they gone through any physical changes? What scars have they collected, and how do they feel about them? Did they sprout horns or other features as a result of spells or pacts gone wrong? How did light corruption impact them? Or have they walked away miraculously unscathed? Are they more peculiar for how eerily unmarred they are?

8. What is one of their biggest regrets? Has it had an effect on how they act moving forward, for better or worse?

9. The Warrior of Light has been through quite a lot, but what is a moment, big or small, that bolstered and renewed their spirit? Was it a cup of hot cocoa or a lovingly crafted sandwich? Did someone give them a few words or a gesture at just the right time that meant the world to them? (Of course, this can be a canon event or headcanon!)

10. What does home look like for them now? Do they still return to the home where they started, and if so has it changed at all? Or have they found or forged a new home? Who do they live with, if anyone? What sort of things do they keep in their personal space?

11. Despite everything, is it still you? Has the core of who they are as a person remained true through everything, or have they been changed by what they've experienced and learned, for better or worse?

13. Is there a canon moment you've drastically (or not-so-drastically) rewritten? A character death, or something that just really did not fit your WoL's character. Or just some alterations and personal touches you've added? Has that had any long-term changes on the wider story?

----------------------- STORY

12. Which canon moments shaped your Warrior of Light and impacted them the most?

14. Do you have any headcanons for what happened post-Ultima Thule? What kind of injuries did they suffer, or did they walk it off like a boss? Did they take a lengthy vacation, did you shove a time skip in there before 6.1 hit? Or was it quickly off to the next adventure?

15. What were their thoughts and feelings on the events of Myths of the Realm? How did they regard the Twelve prior, and how did the revelations impact them? Was meeting their patron particularly special to them, or not really?

16. What were their thoughts and feelings delving into Pandaemonium? How did they feel working alongside Themis and Lahabrea, after all their history? What did they think about how things ended?

17. Taking a step away from "canon", do you have any wholly unique side quests and adventures your Warrior of Light has gotten caught up in? Did they chase down ghosts of their own past, get married, open a bakery, or fix an ancient blood curse on their family line? Have they reunited with loved ones or buried old hatchets? If there's some unique story behind your character, how does it show up and how did it play out?

----------------------- COMBAT & ABILITIES

18. How do they feel about the work they do? As the Warrior of Light they're tasked with quite a lot of violence, is it something that comes naturally to them or do they resist it? Are they merciless, do they try to spare as many lives as they can, or do they fall somewhere in between?

19. While many fights are dramatic or have high stakes, are there any especially memorable or difficult fights they encountered? Outside scripted battles, were there conflicts that you thought felt better if they were tweaked for narrative or lore-based reasons, ie their first time fighting a primal? Or perhaps a more meta "You the player had a hard time so it translated into headcanon for them".

20. Are there any unique abilities that they possess outside of what's in-game? Are they actually a dragon, or do they see visions of the future? Or, is there a special way that their Echo manifests?

21. Jobs! What job is your character and why is that the route they chose? Is your WoL a Jack-of-all-Trades, or just have one (or a few) specialties? Did they start with one job and change to another? Have you 'homebrewed' their job at all, adding any unique twists or details to it?

----------------------- RELATIONSHIPS & THE WORLD

22. What are their feelings on the Scions? Who are some of their closest allies and dearest friends? Are they more of a loner, or closer to people outside the Scions? Have they kindled any romances or partnerships?

23. How do they feel about getting pulled into politics? Are they adept at navigating political intricacies, or does it go over their head? Do they appreciate getting asked to do more than punch their enemies, or would they really rather just punch their enemies? Are there any areas they like to be particularly involved in?

24. How do they feel about Hydaelyn? What was their perception of the Mothercrystal in the beginning, and how did that change by the end, if at all?

25. Do they have any particular enemies that stand out to them? Someone who inspired a lasting grudge? Our beloved and beloathed antagonists give us plenty of reasons to despise them, but are there any that particularly rubbed your WoL the wrong way? On the other hand, are there villains they can't help but sympathize with, even if it's at odds with the narrative or their allies?

26. What are their thoughts on the Ancients, their way of life, and the world they lived in? Did they sympathize at all with the Ascians, or did learning the truth not influence them in that way?

27. How well known are they? Does everyone know their name as the Warrior of Light, or have they managed to maintain some level of anonymity? Do they prefer it that way, and do they have any struggles resulting from it? (Getting stopped on street corners VS awkwardly avoiding questions.)

----------------------- WHAT'S NEXT

28. What's something they look forward to? Exploring the stars, more of a place we've already been, or somewhere we haven't? Or do they look forward to retirement, starting a business with their craft of choice, or any other little old thing?

29. How do they feel heading into Dawntrail? Excited? Exhausted? What do they think of the promises of adventure to come, and their role to play? If you're using a new character, do you have any idea how they'll end up on this path, and where is their headspace starting out?

30. What are they going to be doing while waiting for the ship to Tural?

#xiv prompts #ff14 prompts #again i have no idea what to tag it #wolthinkthonks #lol #a variety of questions i think about + more that were (sorta) endwalker-based #no idea if anyone would be interested in this (it's soooo wordy) #but i'm curious!!!! #i wanna know!! #anyway if i don't post it it'll sit in my drafts collecting the dust of indecision for who knows how long #if there are any major errors let me know! #i ripped it apart and reconfigured it a few times x“D

[copper-16]

You Didn't Let Me Finish

Ingrid had a rule that she had held onto ever since she started working as a stripper: she doesn't sleep with clients.

Usually.

Ingrid doesn't usually sleep with clients. Exceptions must be made for most rules anyways though, right?

(a/n: Yes it's a stripper fic. I mean absolutely no disrespect to anyone, this is just a silly little idea I had in my head and decided to write on a whim. Feel free to skip if it's not your thing! Also I didn't proofread it, so ignore any mistake lmao)

Sometimes, Ingrid wasn’t exactly sure how she had ended up here. 

The Norwegian had done a semester abroad in Spain when she was in university, and found that she absolutely loved the city. So when the opportunity to move to Barcelona presented itself after graduation, she jumped at the chance to go. Her study abroad had been in Madrid, but it was still Spain, right? 

And the Norwegian actually preferred Barcelona to Madrid, the longer she lived here. She enjoyed the energy of the city, how posh and lively it was, how wonderfully kind the people were. The job she was offered was modest, and despite the fact that she got by, Ingrid wasn’t all that comfortable with living from paycheck to paycheck if she didn’t have to. 

Which was exactly how she had found herself at Dollhouse. It was the most exclusive strip club in Barcelona, catering only to those clients who could pay for the supreme services, and they only accepted the best when it came to their girls. 

The owner had taken one look at Ingrid, roving his eyes up and down the dark haired woman with interest before he was nodding, clearly pleased with what he was seeing. Her ability to speak both English and some Spanish came in handy, and she became a regular for many of the international clients. 

Ingrid was paid well, only worked three nights a week, and it helped her to nearly double her salary with the tips she was given. She gave lap dances, some pole work, did a few shows on the main stage, served customers when asked. It was an easy gig, and she couldn’t help but feel appreciated given the reaction that she could stir up in most men. It was addicting, really. She felt powerful and in control, her confidence only rising the longer she worked there. 

It wasn’t sex. People often got that mixed up, that being a stripper meant sex. It could mean sex, if that was what the girls wanted, but Ingrid had little interest in the older men who came into her rooms. She was as gay as they came, and it was very rare for them to receive a female client, and Ingrid had never had the pleasure of having one, not personally. 

But she wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea, if the right person came along. 

It’s just, nobody had. 

But perhaps that would change. 

—

It was a Sunday night, which meant that the Dollhouse was relatively calm. Ingrid was in the back room with a few of the other girls, getting ready for her show in around thirty minutes when Miguel came back. 

“Ingrid, Misa!” He called, and both women turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised. They stood, setting their makeup down to walk over to their boss, who was in charge of the scheduling. 

Miguel was gruff but kind, and he always made sure the girls were comfortable and not exploited. He could be a bit rough around the edges but he never failed to make the girls feel cared for as people and not just objects, and in return they did their best to make his life as painless as possible. It was a good gig, they all knew that, compared to the nasty bastards at some of the other places around town. 

“We have two clients in separate private rooms. Footballers, booked after winning something big I think, I want the two of you to take them,” Miguel explained, and he looked between Misa and Ingrid with a critical eye, clearly trying to decide who to send where. 

Despite the fact that Ingrid was Norwegian and Misa was Spanish, the two actually looked quite similar. Ingrid was paler, taller, and less tattooed than Misa was, but in terms of build and physical appearance, they were rather alike. 

“Misa, I want you in Room One and Ingrid in Room Two, Misa your Spanish is better than Ingrid’s. The girls will cover your sets for the night so don’t worry about that. They’ve booked for the rest of the night so make sure to give them their money's worth but you’re free to leave when you are done, alright?” Miguel decided, and Ingrid and Misa both nodded. 

“Oh and–”

“If they do anything creepy we will come find you,” Ingrid and Misa rattled off in perfect unison, and Miguel scowled at his predictability before he shooed them away to go get changed, the two women smiling at the action. 

Ingrid and Misa walked back to the changing room, each of them looking through the different lingerie sets they could wear. 

“What are you thinking?” Misa asked as she pulled out a purple lace set before shaking her head, shoving it back in her closet. 

“Well if they paid for the whole night then clearly they have money, probably want something expensive and distinguished. Footballers can be assholes and handsy, and they think too much with their dicks and not enough with their heads,” Ingrid scoffs lightly, and Misa snorts as she looks over at the dark haired woman’s closet. 

“Hmm…you’re going to wear this,” Misa decides, pulling out a hunter green piece of lace, and Ingrid raises her brow before nodding her agreement, looking over at the Spaniard’s closet. 

“And you’re going to do this, I’ve seen you in it before and your chest looks amazing in it,” Ingrid says with an air of finality, and Misa smirks at the outfit before they both went into their changing rooms to slip their clothes off and put the lace on. They don’t bother with robes, the hallway to the private rooms is secluded from the rest of the club anyways, so the two women make their way back together, chatting lightly about their day jobs, what their weeks look like. 

By the time they make it to Room One and Room Two, the women are both relaxed and ready to do their job. Neither of them really has any idea what lies beyond the door besides a footballer, so with one final goodbye they both enter the passcodes to the room before stepping in. 

Ingrid closes the door behind her before turning around, and she can’t help the way that her eyebrows jump in surprise when she sees who it is sitting at the table. 

The room is set up with a bed, a couch and two loveseats, as well as a table with four dining room chairs. Lap dances are usually given in the chairs at the table or the loveseats, but the rest of the room can be utilized however the girls may choose to. 

The thing that surprises Ingrid though, is the fact that the person sitting at the table is a woman, and not a man. 

The woman stands, the chair rustling against the floor as she pushes it back before she steps forward to examine Ingrid. Her gaze is curious but not sharp, her entire body language relaxed. She’s clearly a footballer, her body muscled and well built.  

She can’t be more than a few years older than Ingrid, and she’s just an inch or two shorter than her with light, sandy blonde hair that is straightened just past her shoulder. Her hazel eyes take Ingrid in, the light lace that covers her body, and she nods appreciatively for a moment before cocking her head. 

“Hello,” she offers, and Ingrid is quick to respond, the woman’s gaze making her feel a little bit hot. 

“Hi,” Ingrid responds, not entirely sure what to say. The woman was speaking to her in English, so clearly she recognized that the Norwegian was a foreigner, though she wasn’t exactly sure how she noticed that before she had even spoken. 

“Why did they send you in here to me?” The woman asked curiously, her hazel eyes still boring into Ingrid. The question is surprising, considering the fact that they were at a strip club. They sent her in here to do her job, but the Norwegian gets the sense that isn’t what this woman means, so she answers with more candor.  

“My coworkers' Spanish is better than mine. Presumably your friend only speaks Spanish, but you clearly can speak English well, so here I am,” Ingrid supposes, and the woman nods slowly before her lips quirk up in a smirk. 

“My friend can speak enough English for tonight, I promise. I think you should switch rooms…I insist actually. I think she’ll be quite charmed by…” the woman looks down at Ingrid once more before her gaze returns to the dark haired woman’s eyes, “...you.”   

Ingrid’s eyebrows raise in surprise before she nods in agreement, never one to say no to a client request unless it really was something she couldn’t do. 

“If that’s what you wish…” Ingrid trails off, still unsure of the woman’s name. 

“Alexia. And my friend's name in the other room is María,” she supplies, and Ingrid regards her for another minute before slipping out of the room, Alexia turning back to sit down in the chair she had been in originally. 

The Norwegian walks over to Room One briskly, rapping on the door three times before she steps back, waiting for Misa to come out. It only takes a few seconds for the Spaniard to slide out of the room, her eyebrows furrowed in clear confusion. 

“We need to switch, the other woman requested it,” Ingrid explains, and Misa nods for a second before she looks back at the room. 

“Can you believe it’s women? And god, if the second one is as hot as this one…” Misa trails off, practically drooling, and Ingrid can’t help but laugh lightly, because really she quite agrees. Misa is the only other gay woman at Dollhouse, and Ingrid finds solace in the fact that she isn’t alone, calmed by the Spaniards presence. 

“I don’t think you’ll be disappointed. Her name is Alexia,” Ingrid adds before the younger woman can leave, and Misa nods before she gestures back at the room next to them. 

“Names Mapi,” Misa supplies, and Ingrid’s eyebrows furrow at the fact she’s now been told two separate names for this woman. But honestly, if she was even half as attractive as the first woman, Ingrid was seriously going to be in trouble. 

The first woman, Alexia, hadn’t exactly been her type per say, but objectively she was very attractive. 

As Misa disappears down the hallway Ingrid takes a deep breath, trying to center herself and remain calm at what is about to occur. She knew what the deal was with men, how to dance and act. 

But women were different, Ingrid knew that even if she had never had a female client. They were more watchful, more appreciative, more in tune. 

And well, if this woman was as attractive as Misa was making her out to be, she might be in a bit of trouble. 

The green eyed woman punched in the code before she stepped into the room, once again shutting the door behind her. 

Ingrid turned around, taking in the room and the woman who was settled on one of the room's two armchairs. 

And god was Misa wrong. 

This woman wasn’t attractive. 

She was mind numbingly, astronomically stunning, and it takes everything in Ingrid not to let her jaw physically drop. 

The woman had her hair down in beach waves, lighter highlights against the brunette of her hair accenting the dark strands, framing dark eyes and supple, light pink lips that are set in a smirk. 

She’s wearing a button down that has far too many buttons undone, but it only serves to show off her cleavage, biceps straining against the tight black fabric. She has on gray dress pants, and she shifts her shirt sleeve up to glance at her watch before she stands, making her way over to Ingrid. 

“Hola princesa,” the woman greets softly, her voice raspy and deliciously low, and if Ingrid wasn’t wet at just the sight of her, she was now. 

If there was anyone who was going to break her rule of not sleeping with someone, it would be this woman. That was assuming she wanted to as well, but if the glint in her eyes was anywhere near as serious as it looked, Ingrid thought her chances might be relatively high. 

She scrambled to gather as much Spanish as she possibly could. It was a little pathetic that she wasn’t more fluent, but between this being her third language and the fact that her work was in English and most of her friends spoke the language, her Spanish could definitely use some work. 

“Hola,” Ingrid rushed to reply, internally cringing at how bad her accent was while understanding washed over the woman’s face, and she switched to a heavily Spanish accented English. 

“Ah, English, no?” The woman suggested, no malice in her tone, and Ingrid let out a small sigh before she nodded. 

“Si,” she acquiesced in a bit of a defeated tone, but the woman simply tipped her head back in a delicious laugh, something light and breathy, her neck on full display. She had a tattoo on it, and Ingrid could see more ink peaking back at her on the woman’s available skin. 

It did absolutely nothing to help the green eyed woman’s aching core, but she ignored it in favor of returning to the problem at hand, to the fact that she needed to get on with the performance for this woman. 

“Sit?” Ingrid asked gently, gesturing to the table and chairs that surrounded it, walking over to pull one of them out. 

The woman made no move to walk over, seemingly not done with the conversation. 

“I’m Mapi,” she said instead, and Ingrid raised her brow at the woman, clearly a little curious. 

“I’ve been told by a confident source that your name is María,” Ingrid sidesteps the introduction to ask the question, watching the way that the woman’s eyes darkened with lust when she says her name. 

“Have you now?” Mapi drawls, the surprise clear in her face. The smirk is back, and she finally begins to walk toward the table, but before she sits she stands in front of Ingrid, still only looking her in the eyes. 

The Norwegian keeps waiting for her to drop her eyes down, to look over the lace that could hardly be described as modest, but the smaller woman seems hell bent on keeping her eyes trained on Ingrid’s. 

“And you are?” She asks lightly, the dark haired woman answering her question quickly and easily. 

“My name is Ingrid,” she murmurs, once again gesturing at the chair, and this time Mapi takes her up on her offer. The Spaniard sits down before she looks up at the Norwegian, who strolls over to turn the music on. 

“Any requests?” Ingrid questioned, looking back at Mapi to find the woman staring at her with hooded eyes and a hungry gaze. She shakes her head, finding no offers. 

“Whatever you prefer,” Mapi decides, and Ingrid observes the woman for a moment before nodding, turning back to the speaker system. She sets up her playlist, playing the song TiO by Zayn, which had been a recent favorite of hers. 

The song is a bit of a quicker pace, which she liked to start out with. It was easy to flash the quick movements before she let things get sensual, and her approach for this woman is absolutely no different. 

She turns back toward the table, walking over in long strides before she comes to rest in front of Mapi, her ass pressed back into the table behind her. 

“Can I touch you?” Ingrid asks in a low voice, tossing her thick, dark hair over one shoulder. Mapi looks up at her with an unreadable expression, holding eye contact before she nodded carefully. 

The Norwegian stood from the table, stepping forward. She turned, rounding the chair that Mapi was currently settled in, just watching. The brunette didn’t look back at her, but did meet her eyes when Ingrid finally circled all the way back to the front of the chair. 

It’s at this point that Ingrid brings her hand up, resting it over the Spaniard’s collarbone carefully. She slides her hand up, coming into contact with bare skin as she pushes her middle finger inside the cuff of the woman’s popped shirt. 

The dark haired woman plays with the collar for a moment before she begins moving once again. She drags her fingers around to Mapi’s back, stopping when she is standing in front of the Spaniard’s back, pressing both of her palms to the brunette’s back, fingers down. She slowly runs her hands down, into the small of the footballers back, before she shifts, moving them to caress her sides gently. 

She’s gone as soon as she arrived, however, continuing around the chair. Her hands travel over the Spaniard’s arm, down her side and around the underside of her chest before she splays it over the top of the brunette's abdomen. 

The muscle beneath her palm is rock hard, and she cannot help but let out a harsh breath at the feeling. She hopes that the footballer doesn’t notice, but when she looks up to see that Mapi is smirking back at her, she considers the effort fruitless. 

Ingrid’s hands retract from the Spaniard’s skin, and she shifts so that she can move her hips down and into the brunette’s lap, her back to Mapi’s front. It’s a bold first move, but she’s quick, in time with the song for just a tease before she’s gone, several steps away. 

Mapi is watching her with eagle eyes as Ingrid runs her hands up her own sides, squeezing at her own chest, letting her eyes flutter shut at the feeling for emphasis. It’s a little pornographic, and perhaps a little bit of a sell out, but she doesn’t care. 

The Norwegian makes sure to spend several moments just watching, teasing herself in whatever way possible, reveling in the way that the Spaniards eyes darken at the sight. Her nipples strain against the lace, hard and begging to be freed, but the dark haired woman ignores them in favor of returning to the footballer. 

The song changes to Lose Control by Teddy Swims, something more slow and sensual. Ingrid stalks back to the brunette, her intent clear when she places her hands on the woman’s knees, sliding them up her thighs before squeezing, lightly. 

The Norwegian moves her hands up the Spaniard’s side as she settles in her lap, her knees spread wide as she presses forward into the brunette’s personal space. She moves her hips slowly in an infinity pattern, sensual and enough to drive any man crazy. 

And yet still, Mapi has yet to touch her. Her arms remain listless at her sides, rather awkwardly. It’s a staunch change from the male clients she has often, who feel that they are allowed to touch, to take as much as they want. They consider the fact that Ingrid has been paid for, that they are allowed to do whatever they want to her, within reason. 

This doesn’t seem to be the case for this woman, however, and it only turns Ingrid on more. She leans forward even further, placing one hand on the woman’s shoulder while the other remains firmly planted on her side. Her lips are on the shell of the woman’s ear as she speaks, her voice low. 

“You can touch…you know,” the Norwegian drawls, her words breathy and filled with lust. She leaned back to look the footballer in the eyes, noting that her gaze was dark, the way her tongue flicked out to wet her lips. 

They held the others' gaze for a moment, neither moving until finally, finally Ingrid felt two hands carefully, respectfully placing themselves on her side, down toward her lower back. 

It was the Norwegian who moved them, removing her hands from the Spaniard to place hers over the brunette’s, sliding them lower, lower, lower, until they were resting firmly on her ass. Only then did Ingrid remove her own hands, planting them on the back of the chair as she rolled her hips down into the brunette. 

Mapi was staring at her intently, and she gently palmed at the Norwegian’s ass to test, rewarded greatly for her efforts when Ingrid arched into her, letting out a breathy noise. 

The dark haired woman’s body could only be described as fluid as she moved above the Spaniard, finally moving her leg to hook over the back of the chair, wrapping around the brunette’s back. 

Mapi slid her hands up, pulling Ingrid’s body more flush with hers. The Norwegian smiled, their faces just centimeters from one another. The Spaniard’s breath on hers was hot and insistent, her eyes roving over Ingrid’s face, finally eyeing the lace that covered the dark haired woman’s body. 

“You like it?” Ingrid purred, a smile evident in her voice as she gripped Mapi’s shoulders. The Spaniard scoffed lightly, looking back up at Ingrid. 

“You could say that,” the brunette hummed, her voice thick and low. It sent a shot of heat straight to the Norwegian’s core, and she arched even further into the smaller woman. 

Ingrid turned her head, brushing her nose against the Spanaird’s temple, her breathing shallow. 

“I don’t sleep with clients,” the Norwegian explained, and felt the shift immediately from the woman beneath her, the instant reaction to move away.

Ingrid had to give the footballer that, she was nothing if not respectful. It only made the Norwegian want her more, only made her flush further at the thought. 

It was her choice. 

Ingrid intercepts her hands, shoving them back down onto her ass before she brought her own to the brunette’s neck, pulling her in. 

“You didn’t let me finish,” the dark haired woman pouted, her lower lip jutting out slightly. Mapi reached forward, running her thumb over Ingrid’s lip slowly, softly. 

“Lo siento, princesa,” Mapi soothed, her expression willing Ingrid to continue. The Norwegian smiled gently, leaning down so that her lips hovered over the Spaniard’s throat. 

“I don’t sleep with clients, not unless I want to,” Ingrid continued, her hot breath leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. Her fingertips trail up Mapi’s side, running over ridges of muscles and soft skin, dipping under her shirt before they retracted. Never direct, always teasing. 

“And trust me, I want to,” the Norwegian promised as she brought her face back to level with Mapi’s, her eyebrow quirked, almost daring the Spaniard to disagree. 

But the brunette would never do that, especially not when she has the most gorgeous woman she had ever laid eyes on sitting in her lap. 

They are left staring at one another for a few moments, their eyes flickering back and forth between the others eyes and lips, waiting to see who breaks first. A game of wills, a question of who is going to hold the power. 

It’s the Spaniard who snaps first, lunging forward to capture Ingrid’s lips in her own. She’s impatient, unable to resist having Ingrid in front of her looking so delectable, without doing anything about it. 

Mapi’s mouth is hot and insistent on her own, the brunette’s hands coming up to cradle Ingrid’s face as she kisses her senseless. 

It’s only a few moments later that the Spaniard presses her tongue into the Norwegian’s mouth, silently asking for entrance. The dark haired woman allows her access instantly, completely floored at the feeling of Mapi’s mouth on her own. 

The footballer swipes her tongue over the roof of Ingrid’s mouth, smiling into the kiss at the whine that slips past Ingrid’s lips at the feeling. 

The Norwegian’s head is dizzy, completely and utterly overwhelmed with the feeling of the Spaniard, of her hands being everywhere, of the press of her lips to Ingrid’s. It feels as though life is being breathed back into her, transformed into a fire that is sent straight to her core. 

She knows that she’s soaked the lace beneath her completely, but she can’t bring herself to care. Especially not when Mapi leans back, gesturing for her to stand. Ingrid is quick to comply, not bothering to try to make herself seem as cocky as she was pretending earlier. 

It’s been a long time since she’s been fucked properly, and something in this woman’s eyes tells her that the Spaniard is exactly what she needs. 

“Get on the bed,” Mapi instructs, and Ingrid is quick to comply, walking with purpose before laying back on the bed, sitting with her head up near the pillows, still clad only in her lace. 

The Spaniard stands from her spot on the chair, flipping the lock on her watch open as she sets it on the table in front of her. She pulled her shirt up from its spot having been tucked into her pants, looking over at the Norwegian as she undid the last few buttons. 

She laid the shirt down on the table, the picture of control and composure. The loss of the garment leaves her in only a black bra, which contrasts against the tan of her skin. She loses the belt she had on but elects to keep her pants on, instead moving toward the bed. 

Throughout this, the footballer had never let her eyes leave contact with Ingrid, not wanting to let the Norwegian out of her sight, even for a second. 

Ingrid lays back as Mapi joins her on the bed, crawling up the Norwegian’s body until she was positioned over the taller woman’s body, where she had wanted to be from the beginning. 

“You tell me to stop the minute you do not like something, si?” Mapi asked, her voice clear and leaving no room for argument. The Spaniard had no interest in making Ingrid do anything she did not want to. 

“Si,” the Norwegian parroted, squirming just slightly under the Spaniard, desperate for her to do something. 

Once she has confirmed Ingrid’s answer, the Spaniard is quick to begin her descent down the woman’s body. She captures the dark haired woman’s lips in a bruising kiss, applying just the right amount of pressure and tongue to have Ingrid gasping for more. 

She releases the Norwegian’s perfect, plump lips only in favor of working her mouth across Ingrid’s jaw, sucking and nipping lightly at the skin there. When she reaches the dark haired woman’s ear, she works her lips down and over the column of Ingrid’s throat. She pays close attention to the areas that make the taller woman let out a heavier breath, or the ghost of a whine, doubling down on her attention to those spots. 

She kisses over soft, pale skin, and down toward the soft flesh of her chest. Ingrid is arching into her before she even reaches her destination, desperate for more. 

“Can I–” Mapi removes her lips only to start a sentence that is never finished. 

“Yes, please, do anything to me,” Ingrid gasped, her entire body on fire at the thought of Mapi’s mouth over her chest, at the apex of her thighs. A flush is blooming on her chest as the Spaniard pulls the lace down, revealing Ingrid’s chest. 

Her nipples are peaked, aching to be touched and played with. The footballer doesn’t even bother with using her fingers first, simply leaning down to wrap her mouth around one of Ingrid’s nipples, her hand coming to cover the other. 

“Aye, María,” Ingrid hisses at the feeling, her whole back leaving the bed as she arches into Mapi’s mouth. Her hand has flown to the Spaniard’s head, her fingers tangling in the brunette’s hair and tugging lightly. 

Mapi doubles her attention at the feeling, swirling the tip of her nipple around her tongue, teasing her teeth over the sensitive area. Ingrid ate every lap of attention up, basking in it. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had made her feel so much, and it was turning her on in a way that was borderline painful. 

“Please, more,” the Norwegian begged once attention had been laved to both sides of her chest, and Mapi released her other nipple with a lewd pop sound. The footballer raised a brow at her, but Ingrid shook her head, her breaths shallow and desperate. 

The stripper is well aware of the irony, given her profession. She’s the one who is supposed to be pleasuring, not the other way around. But there was something about the way this woman composed herself, something about the reverence with which she touched the Norwegian that made her comfortable.

Mapi considers the request for a moment before she relents, pulling further at the lace, signaling that she wanted it off. The dark haired woman is quick to comply with her request, removing the hunter green fabric before she threw it to the ground, already forgotten. 

Ingrid lay back down on the bed, her hair splaying out against the pillow. The Spaniard watched her with hungry eyes, her lips turning up into a smirk. 

“So beautiful,” she murmured softly, her words filled with clear appreciation. “Espléndida, princesa,” Mapi whispered as she returned to Ingrid, softly holding the Norwegian’s face in her hands. Her lips were gentle against the taller woman this time, leaving the Norwegian with the feeling that she was delicate, and deserved to be treated as such. 

Oh, and what a different feeling it was to be touched by the Spaniard, as opposed to the heavy handed men she usually interacted with. 

To be touched and praised as though she was the most important thing in the world. No drug could compare, not to her anyways. 

Even as she trails down the Norwegian’s body, Mapi stops to press kisses into her skin, imbuing the fire of their interaction with a level of sweetness and ingenuity Ingrid had not been expecting. 

But nothing, absolutely nothing, could have prepared the Norwegian for what the first run of the Spaniard’s tongue through her would feel like. 

She is unsure of where her voice ends and Mapi’s begins, but all she knows is that two moans are filling the room, both equally desperate. Ingrid clutched at the sheets desperately, her hands fisting the pristine white fabric beneath them as Mapi ran her tongue through her again. 

The Spaniard eats her out as though it will save her, with an intent and passion that Ingrid cannot remember ever having in the bedroom. She brings her tongue up to circle the Norwegian’s clit several times, and every time a new wave of pleasure washes over her. 

“You taste perfect,” Mapi mumbles against her heat, and Ingrid flushes completely at the praise, struggling to compose her own pleasure. She attempts to bring her hand up to cover her own mouth, something that Mapi notices instantly. 

“Aye, I want to hear you,” the Spaniard chides softly when she sees what Ingrid is doing, and the dark haired woman lets out a filthy moan as she removes her hand, at the feeling of Mapi’s finger teasing at her entrance. 

“Is this okay?” The footballer confirms, waiting for the fervent head nod that she receives from Ingrid before she finally dips her finger in at a painfully slow rate, before curling gently. 

Ingrid is writhing under her, letting a string of mewls and moans that tumble from her lips of their own accord. She doesn’t care that she had no idea if anyone can hear them, only focused on her own pleasure and the feeling of the brunette’s body near her own. 

“Si, si, si,” Ingrid begs, moaning unabashedly when Mapi adds a second finger, curling with more purpose this time. 

The footballer could admit, her plan had been to tease more than this. She was a playful woman, and enjoyed picking her partners apart before allowing them to come, usually. 

Something about this Norwegian, the flush in her chest and the noises slipping past her lips, has Mapi throwing her entire playbook out the window.

She’s more than happy to continue this, so long as Ingrid continues making those noises. 

“You like that, princesa?” Mapi asks, her voice hoarse with arousal. Ingrid nods tightly, her chest arching up as the Spaniard curls her fingers deep within her. 

The set of her jaw, the way it opened with pleasure left Mapi flooded with the need to please, so the Spaniard lowered her mouth down to Ingrid’s clit, sucking lightly. The dark haired woman cries out, her hips rutting down into Mapi as the footballer continued her brutal pace. 

“Fuck!” Ingrid wailed, her voice dripping with need as she hurtled toward orgasm. Her hips grew erratic, jumping into Mapi’s hand as her whole body squirmed. The brunette could tell that the dark haired woman was close, doubling down on her pace and intensity, intent on getting her there. 

It only took a few more curls of Mapi’s fingers from deep within the Norwegian for the taller woman to let out a sharp cry, her whole body tightening. The Spaniard couldn’t help but smirk against the dark haired woman’s core as her whole body began to shudder, her orgasm working through her like a forest fire. 

Her whole body was arched off the bed, the sheets gripped in her fists as Mapi worked her through her orgasm, her entire body shaking. She collapses against the sheets, her breath coming in quick gasps as waves of pleasure flooded her system, her eyes still screwed shut. 

It took her a few moments, but she forced her eyes open when Mapi removed her fingers from Ingrid. The green eyed woman looked up at the Spaniard, who had sat back on her heels, her own breath short and lustful. 

The brunette reached her finger up to her own face, brushing some of the arousal away from her lips with the pad of her thumb as Ingrid looked up at her. The Norwegian’s dark hair was a sharp contrast to the pillow, the flush of her chest and stomach the complete antithesis to her pale skin. 

Mapi would never see a sight prettier than this under her again, she knew that for certain. Ingrid turned her head, glancing over at the clock and realizing with a rush that they still had several hours before either of them had to go anywhere. 

When the Norwegian looks back up at the Spaniard, it’s with a smirk on her lips, one eyebrow raised, almost as though she was challenging the brunette. 

“Fuck, princesa,” Mapi swore before surging forward to claim Ingrid’s lips once more, pressing her back into the bed. 

Ingrid let herself moan out, half at the feeling of Mapi’s body above her own, and half of the self satisfied feeling of knowing that it was going to be hard to walk tomorrow. 

So yeah…maybe some rules are worth being broken every once in a while. 

#ingrid engen #mapi leon #woso #barcelona femeni #alexia putellas #misa rodriguez

[wally-darling-hyperfixation]

CUT!!!!!!! Actor Wally x Stage Hand GN reader Part 2 (part 1 here )

🍎Wally sips his drink and throws it to the ground. It was not what he asked and he was about to go off at the person about his drink when you showed up and he just went quiet. You fuss at the employee yourself noticing his drink on the floor a mess. Telling the employee they need to get him another drink and a towel. You wait for the towel and clean up . Apologizing to him about the mix up and that you will definitely make sure everyone listens. He hummed nodding ,just nervous so he couldn’t really talk.

🎬 You have a meeting with your other employees about what is going on. You point to the pros and cons of making sure the puppets are happy. Good show and positive review. Increase of pay check. Getting to know them as they are wonderful. There were no cons. You told them if they can not help being racist (puppet is a race I believe). Then they can go on and quit and the production will just move on smoother without them. You dismiss the meeting telling everyone to get back to work and clean up the room. Not knowing Wally was listening and just more happy about what’s going on.

🍎Wally was working on set with the others going over their script when he overheard some stage hands. They were talking about forming a union to try and get, he couldn’t hear the rest because they notice him and started whispering. This irritated him and he was about to say something when you showed up. You tell those employees that there is no time to be gossiping. We got a show to record. He just watches you. Can’t keep his eyes off. Julie smirks and comes up with a plan with the others to get Wally to admit his feelings

🎬You were called to the directors area and office with the producers. You asked is everything alright and your bosses look at each other. They sigh and say “Due to a high complaint and forms of signature about getting you off the set. We decided for everyone’s best interest to let you go. After todays recording, we ask you to get your things and leave. We will send you a good severance pay and wish you luck. Do not let the puppets know. It could ruin the recording today thank you (y/n)” Then you were dismissed to finish your work. You were sad but you had to keep a cheery look for the puppets and helped finished up today. Saying goodbye to everyone as they left . They didn’t know it may be the last time. As the actors all left, you grabbed your things and left the studio . Hoping one day everyone would treat them well as you did

Ok. I wrote this before I have to work for y’all enjoy . Remember art is by tiktok frillsand

#wally darling x reader #welcome home x reader #wally x y/n #wally x reader #i love wally #wally darling x y/n #wally darling x you #wally darling x self insert #wally darling #welcome home #welcome home wally #welcome home x you #welcome home x y/n #welcome home fandom

[the-writer-arrived]

(Arranged) Married Life with Jing Yuan

Synopsis: you became jing yuan's spouse! but it was through an arranged marriage... how do you and him navigate through your married life?

Character: jing yuan.

Warnings: gender neutral!reader, long post, mix of headcanons and drabble, a sprinkle of angst here and there, there will be a nsfw part but it will have a warning, no mention of reader's genitals.

A/N: finally caught up with hsr main story and this man suddely got me into a chokehold... and now i'm sad i don't have him ):

also, i know there are tons of fics with this prompt with him, but i wanted to make my own version hehe.

SFW

Early Stages

Due to many reasons, you got into an arranged marriage with Jing Yuan, the Arbiter-General of the Xianzhou Luofu's Cloud Knights.

You weren't exactly experienced in the field of dating, preferring to focus your attention and interest in the field of your liking.

So, to say you were thrilled to be kind of forced to become someone's spouse is quite far from the truth.

Not that you dislike the general or anything! On the contrary, you have high regard not only for his incredible achievements in the battlefield throughout the many centuries, but also for the fact that he hasn't succumbed to the mara to this day.

What you don't understand is why were you chosen to be the spouse of a man so incredible? In your opinion, you don't have any outstanding qualities or stand out in your workplace and you consider your appearance to be nothing extraordinary for a human of the long-life species...

Well, your opinion is wrong, you beautiful, handsome, pretty, outstanding and amazing person!!!

TLDR: you believe that you are unworthy of being by general Jing Yuan's side, so you decide to keep your distance and naively think that he wouldn't notice nor be bothered by that.

Again, wrong!!!

After the wedding cerimony, which was barely a cerimony at all due to the true nature of the union, Jing Yuan noticed how you always found an excuse to be busy with something and spent the least amount of time with him.

And when you do... You don't act rude or anything, you engage in conversation when he attempts to start one, but he can feel a wall between you two.

Despite the circumstances of your relationship, Jing Yuan truly wishes to get to know you, to become closer to you... However, if you don't share his sentiment, then he shall respect your decision.

You are strolling around the streets of the Exalting Sanctum after basically being kicked out of your workplace for the day, the reason being that "you spend way too much time here, go live your life a little!" (words said by your boss earlier).

What should you do with this unexpected free time...?

You remember it's been some time since you have last seen Jing Yuan (one thing he had asked you to do is to call him by his name, instead of 'general' and you complied, even if you feel a bit awkward), so you decide to head to the Seat of Divine Foresight.

When it comes to the seasoned general, one would rarely find him in his office and, if you do, it'd just be his hologram... So, imagine your surprise when you not only find him there, but also it's Jing Yuan in the flesh!

He dismisses Qingzu, who gives a polite bow to the general and you, and offers you his full attention.

"What a pleasant surprise. What brings you to the Seat of Divine Foresight?" He asks you with a smile.

"I, um..." You're momentarily distracted by his face, but you recover soon, clear your throat and try again. "I was wondering if you were free for a little bit and if you would like to... spend some time with me?"

You mentally curse yourself for making it sound like a question, rather than an invitation. Why is it so hard for you to act normally with him?!

Jing Yuan, either unaware or not bothered by your nervous behavior, answers you.

"Ah, what a great timing you have. I do happen to have the afternoon free today and I'd love to spend it with you..." He lets his words trail off for a second, before adding one more thing. "...But only if that is something you also truly want."

"I got a day off, so I thought I should spend it with you in case you had the time. After all, it's expected for spouses to do that, right?"

The general closes his eyes, humming in thought and your stomach flips in an unpleasant way. You suddenly regret your words.

"I see... The last part is exactly why I had to ask you. I don't want to force you to do anything you don't want to, just because it is 'what's expected' of us."

"N-NO!" You cringe at the high volume of your voice, mumbling a small sorry. "I-I mean, it's not that I don't want to! It's just... I..."

Seeing that their conversation is taking a more serious turn, Jing Yuan gently guides you to a more secluded room, where you don't have to be self-conscious about other people hearing what you have to say.

In there, you fumble a bit more with your words, but you decide to be honest about your feelings for the first time. You tell Jing Yuan about the true reason you kept your distance from him, how inadequate you feel to deserve to be called his spouse, your lack of romantic relationship experience, your fear of doing or saying something that might affect his reputation and many other things you've been holding in.

Jing Yuan listens with a heavy heart. On the one hand, he's glad that you don't dislike him, but on the other hand, he feels sad that the true reason for your distance is that you believe you are 'unworthy' of being with him...

The general knows that isn't something that can be changed with just a couple of reassuring words, however he wants you to know that you can confide in him. With that in mind, he also shares the worries he's had this whole time regarding your relationship and how he has been a coward for not reaching out to you earlier to clear up this misunderstanding.

After this much needed heart to heart, you feel tired but oh so lighter now. And when Jing Yuan asks you again if you want to spend the rest of the afternoon with him, you gladly accept it.

Warming Up to Each Other

After that talk, the relationship between you two improved by leaps and bounds.

You were worried that you wouldn't have much to talk about with Jing Yuan, but, once again, you were wrong!

You two spend a lot of time chatting, getting to know each other's likes and dislikes.

Jing Yuan often invites you to his starchess matches with Yanqing. Whether you play with them or just observe, it is very fun to watch the general and his retainer interact.

Both you and the young lieutenant were a bit awkward in the beggining, but you bonded soon enough.

The biggest proof of that is that one time you and Yanqing challanged Jing Yuan to a match of chess, confident that two minds will be enough to defeat him!

Spoiler alert: you both lost :D but there were moments when the general almost made some terrible moves because he was too distracted observing his retainer and his spouse working together with a fond look in his eyes.

At some point, being referred to or having to introduce yourself as Jing Yuan's spouse stopped being a cause of discomfort and became somewhat natural.

(Something he always reminds you is that you are your own person, first and foremost, so when he introduces you to someone, he never defines you as just his spouse).

And Jing Yuan, like a good general that he is, saw that as an opportunity to capture your heart.

This guy I swear... He uses any and every chance to charm you.

I'm sorry but I refuse to use the word 'rizz'.

You may not have much first-hand experience in relationships, but you're not that oblivious to his advances.

Genuine compliments, surprise gifts because 'he thought you'd like them', hands 'accidentaly' bumping frequently during your walks...

Really, he's almost acting like those videos of a male bird trying to impress the female one.

And it's not that you want to reject him! You just feel a bit embarrassed... Until you remember you two are literally MARRIED.

Aeons save this pair of dorks.

The first time you hold Jing Yuan's hand after he kept brushing it against yours, the general doesn't even try to hide the happy smile blooming on his face.

You'd seen him smile many times before, but that particular one will forever be integrated in your mind forever.

As for your first kiss... It happens as an accident.

You are in the Seat of Divine Foresight, sitting next to Jing Yuan while he goes through his endless pile of scrolls, reports and other types of paperwork he has to deal with. He really couldn't put them off anymore, but he also didn't want to completely cancel his plans of seeing you, so here you are...

It isn't what you had expected for the day, but you don't mind all that much. After all, it is a bit amusing to watch the general frowning like a child being forced to sit down and do his homework.

After some time mindlessly scrolling through your phone, you receive a message from your coworker, saying that something urgent came up and asking if you could come early to help.

"Sorry, I have to leave now. Something came up in my workplace and they need my help." You speak quietly to not interrupt too much of Jing Yuan's concentration.

You feel a bit bad for cutting your quality time together like this, so you lean closer to the general's face to give him a peck on his cheek as a farewell kiss.

What you don't expect, however, is for him to turn his face at the last second, probably with the intention to complain about you 'abandoning' him, which is quickly forgotten the moment your lips meet.

It... honestly isn't a nice kiss or a kiss at all. Mostly two pairs of lips mashed together and eyes blown wide in shock (you) and surprise (him). To make this whole thing even more mortifying (to you), you both are brought back to reality at the sound of an embarrassed Yanqing exclaming how 'the Seat of Divine Foresight isn't the place for PDA!!!!'

Daily Life

After you managed to recover from that marvelous and incredibly romantic, not at all cringy, accidental first kiss and gave Jing Yuan the green light... Well, your life has never been the same.

In the good sense of the phrase.

Congratulations, you now have a clingy husband!

Not that Jing Yuan wasn't clingy before, but he's been holding back quite a lot to not cross your boundaries with his touches.

Now that he can, though, good luck living without your personal space!

Whenever you two are out together, your husband always has to have some sort of contact with you: hand on your lower back, holding your hand or your pinky, arm wrapped around your waist if he wants to send a clear message that you're taken.

When you're in private, however, smooth Jing Yuan loses his place to clingy koala or lion? Jing Yuan.

The rare chances when the stars align and you both have a day off, don't expect to get out of bed in the morning and it's not even for nsfw reasons.

That man will trap you in a bear hug and will refuse to let you go... Unless you need to use the bathroom, but expect to be dragged back to bed the second you step out of there.

Jing Yuan will also use any and every opportunity to get a kiss from you: waking up? Kiss. Cooking? Kiss. Going to work? Kiss. Returning home? Kiss. You simply went to another room and came back to him? Kiss.

As much as he loves kisses on the lips, the general melts into a puddle whenever you brush his bangs away from his face, uncovering his other golden eye, to leave a gentle kiss on his forehead.

Another thing that makes Jing Yuan weak is hearing you call him your husband. It may be a bit weird to others, but considering how far you two have come since the awkward start of your relationship, it shows that your marriage feels genuine now.

Much like in any relationship, you two also have your ups and downs.

On the days you are in low spirits, please don't be afraid of saying what you want. Do you want him near? He'll hold you and lend a shoulder to cry on while you pour your heart out. You'd rather be alone? No problem at all, he'll give you space for as long as you wish, but he'll also buy your favorite snacks, a book you mentioned you were interested in, send Mimi your way in case you want to cuddle with the lion.

When Jing Yuan is the one feeling sad, that's when things get a bit tricky, because he'll try to keep it to himself and pretend that everything is fine to not worry you.

You know when Jing Yuan does that little thing of closing his eyes as if he's in pain before smiling? THAT SHIT BREAKS ME MAN.

You have to remind this silly man of yours that he doesn't have to hide his uncertainties and fears from you, since you are his spouse and not a soldier that will lose morale at the sight of the Arbiter-General showing 'weakness'.

Jing Yuan, general of the Cloud Knights for many centuries, had received training to withstand pain on the off-chance of being captured by the enemy forces and possibly tortured in an attempt to extract information about the Xianzhou Alliance. Due to that, any and every secret and relevant information shall never escape from his tightly sealed lips.

...But then, how do you manage to do it?

With a single pull of his shoulder, you have him laid down on your lap, your defty fingers freeing his hair from the red ribbon and untangling the stubborn knots of his white locks...

When Jing Yuan realizes it, it's already too late. Feelings from deep inside his heart are pouring out of his lips before he can stop it. His worries, his fears, the nightmares that plague him, the sadness of reuniting with old friends just to find out they aren't the same as he remembers...

He doesn't understand how you do it.

"I will be by your side in sickness and in health, for the good and the bad. So, please, my love... Don't carry it all by yourself. Don't shield me from your pain, let's face it together. I shall do the same."

That is what you had said to him one time.

Jing Yuan has a high pain tolerance, but all it takes is a single touch, a single word, a single glance from you for his defences to crumble down.

He now understands that your secret technique to make him talk is to show your love.

The content ahead is about sexual themes and is not suitable for minors. If you continue reading, I am not responsable for any discomfort you may feel with this. You have been warned.

NSFW

Your Sexual Lives

First of all, I am a firm believer that our Jing Yuan here is a big switch.

There are days when he's the dom and will make you lose the hability to think of anything else aside from him. And there are days when he's the sub, completely at your mercy to have him roll his eyes back in pleasure.

For your first time together, it is more of an exploration and getting to know each other's bodies. Even if you've had sex before in your life, it is always a new experience with a new person.

There isn't much that Jing Yuan isn't down to give it a try in the bedroom. However, he draws the line with things that can cause you serious pain like knifeplay or hardcore BDSM practices, and the more unsanitary kinks.

He isn't against degradation per se, but he can't bring himself to not mix it with a few praises.

Phrases such as "My slut is doing so well, taking my cock all the way in." or "What a pretty little thing you are, darling... Don't even look like your mouth is my favorite cumdump." make you moan so loud it's embarrassing.

When your husband is in a dom mood, he muffles his sounds the best he can by biting down on his lips or burying his handsome face in the crook of your neck, not because he's ashamed of them, no no no. He does that so he can listen to your cries and moans and babbles, while the bullies your hole.

It's just so hot for him to know he can turn you into a mess, speaking nothing but his name and how good it feels and how full you are.

Speaking of full, my man here causes quite the stretch, so thorough preparation and lube are needed for you to have the least amount of pain when being on the receiving end of the penetration.

He may end up making you cum on his fingers alone during prep tho, but you don't consider that a bad thing anyway.

When Jing Yuan is in a sub mood, by the Aeons, one may think he wants all the Xianzhou ships to know how good you're fucking him.

I'm kidding he's not THAT loud, but he doesn't make any effort to be quiet either. You wouldn't want him to anyway.

Gosh his groans are just hhMMMMMM SO DAMN HOT.

Do you see that white mane of hair he has? Give it a good pull, especially when you're taking him from behind, and marvel at the delicious sounds he makes.

Regarding his stamina, it's one or one hundred, there's no in between.

There are days when he can fuck you the whole night long (rip you in the next morning) and there are days when he can only take two rounds at most, before he's snork mimimimi next to you (he's not known as the 'Dozing General' for nothing).

But don't worry, he would never forget about aftercare! Water, a clean towel, snacks and anything else that you mind need or want after sex will be prepared before you guys start.

One of Jing Yuan's favorite ways of waking up is with you slurping on his slowly-hardening cock (all consensual of course, we don't work with non-con in this household!).

You don't know which one has the best POV during this moment: you, with the sight of him a bit dazed from sleep, brows furrowed with cheeks colored pink and hair all messy; or him, seeing you between his legs, licking and stroking his shaft, lips glistening with your own saliva and his pre-cum and pupils blown wide with lust that makes his hips buckle forward as a way to beg you to swallow him whole.

On days he doesn't feel as tired after making love with you, he enjoys taking a bath with you to relax, massaging any parts of your body that may be sore and giving sweet kisses on the hickeys and marks he left on you.

You feel so relexed, so safe, so loved that you can't help resting your eyes while he cleans you up...

The sound of a deep, gentle voice calling for name, along with a caress on your cheek stirs you awake. You blink a few times, your head turning to the source of the voice that is now chuckling. You see a pair of golden eyes staring at you lovingly, but with a hint of amusement too.

"Sorry for interruping your beauty sleep, my love, but you might catch a cold if you fall asleep in the bath."

"I wasn't sleeping. I was just resting my eyes for a bit..." Jing Yuan chuckles again, noticing the way your eyelids struggle to stay open.

Despite his previous words, he doesn't make any effort to keep you awake. Instead, he begins to hum a tune while he continues to wash your body.

You let out a sigh of bliss, leaning your back further on his strong chest. Your senses are engulfed by him: his touches, his warmth, his voice...

You love being surrounded by him, be it like when he was pounding you mercilessly earlier or taking care of you softly like right now.

"Dear?" Your husband shifts his attention to you, stopping his singing to hear what you have to say. You cup his cheek and give him a peck on the corner of his mouth. "I love you."

Jing Yuan's eyes widen in surprise for a second, before they soften with a smile gracing his lips.

"I love you too, my beloved." He gently holds your chin to give a proper kiss on the lips.

You thank the Aeons for allowing you to cross paths with the man before you. All the difficulties and challanges in the beggining were all worth facing, now that they have brought you to this moment.

To love and feel loved like this... You hope to hold onto these feelings for the rest of your life as you walk towards the future with Jing Yuan.

thanks for reading! likes, reblogs and comments are very appreciated <3

heart divider made by @/cafekitsune

pink jing yuan banner (fluff) made by @/the-writer-arrived aka yours truly ;)

#blue.writes: honkai star rail #blue.writes: jing yuan #blue.writes: fluff #blue.writes: smut #honkai star rail x reader #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan smut #honkai star rail smut #minors dni #not suitable for minors

[biteofcherry]

Sweet Thrill

mafia!Ari Levinson x female reader; mob boss Ari Levinson x female reader

summary: Many would consider your job as a dancer at Lloyd Hansen’s exclusive night club to be exciting or scary, but honestly you see it as predictable and stable. It’s mostly a routine. That’s until Ari Levinson enters the club. You draw his attention and he installs himself in your space, bringing fear and thrill along with him. 

warnings: mostly consensual, but with a peppering of faint dub-con; soft dark Ari Levinson; possessive behavior; light pet play; fear kink; light Master/pet play; bdsm undertones; power imbalance; fingering; pet names; collaring; very very subtle degradation and humiliation (nothing hardcore)

You were used to the glow of the lightened platforms and curious eyes tracing your body as you wriggled against silk scarves. You entertained patrons of Hansen’s exclusive club three nights a week - a form of aerial dance with heavy drapes of silk, just with less acrobatics.  

Lloyd knew his clientele. He knew some of them are bored and looking for typical visual entertainment, with a side of members-only high class to boost their moods. Some of his guests were more sophisticated, had less boring tastes. 

Hence Lloyd’s idea to add unique performances to spice up the classic pole dancing routines, like belly dancers, or your sensual play with silk. 

Since the performances were only that - a show no touch - you felt quite comfortable and confident. And Lloyd, for all his sociopathic ticks, paid really fucking good money. Enough for you to keep studying for your degree, without having to balance three different jobs. 

Out there on the little round stage you focused on your dance and poses, sometimes a repetitive movement, and let your thoughts swim to what you needed to do the next day, or how to crack the problem in your studies; because the club’s patrons were only staring at you and no harm would come your way. No need to be wary.

Especially, since Lloyd made it very clear that his employees weren’t to be disturbed.

If it didn’t come with extra payment, anyway.

Yes, extra payment softened Lloyd’s harsh looks. Made him smirk triumphantly and have a talk with a dancer that caught someone’s attention, convincing her of the benefits.

You never considered such an offer to come your way. Your performance with silk scarves was perhaps an interesting change of pace for some, but never a desirable show they wanted to have right between their spread legs. 

That is until Ari Levinson strolled into Lloyd’s club one night. 

You weren’t even aware of his presence, your thoughts scrambling and rewriting the thesis you were currently working on in your studies as your body twisted against silk curtains, fabric slithering between your thighs and across your torso. 

You had no idea how important, or how powerful that man was. You knew, mostly from gossip and the few observations you did yourself, that Lloyd played bigger games outside of the club. You never thought he dipped as deep to the dark side to have ties to a crime lord of Levinson’s caliber. 

As you had no idea that a dark overlord of a whole fucking coast had unique tastes. 

It was as you twisted between the silk, fingers clenched on the hanging scarves as you bent back, that your gaze landed on a tall, broad man in a dark suit who stepped so close to your podium.

Most intense blue eyes caught your gaze, making you freeze in your position. It was a look of wonder and pure hunger. A dark glint to it that made your heart race, as if you were a prey that sensed a deadly predator approaching, but it also sent a jolt straight to your core. 

Patrons usually watched you with some mild admiration or interest, or disgusting type of lust. This man looked at you with desire for more than just wetting his cock in your cunt. He took in every inch of you, seemed as if he wanted to take all your thoughts as well. 

It was more scary than leering glances, or lewd comments you heard on rare occasions.

At the end of the night, just when you were ready to slip away and drive home, Lloyd called you into his office. 

For a second you feared he was about to complain about your shows not being interesting anymore, but the grin he flashed when you entered spoke of something entirely different. 

“Cupcake!” He greeted you and with a flourish invited you over to a blue, kitsch sofa. 

You sat there stunned when he told you that you’ve caught Ari Levinson’s attention - something (judging by Lloyd’s tone) that was very hard to do - and that he demanded you be exclusively booked for him.

Your shock deepened when Lloyd explained that Ari wasn’t asking for an occasional lap dance, but that you be taken off the main stage and perform in a private room. Only for him. 

He paid Lloyd in advance, to have one of the rooms adjusted to fit your silk curtains over the little platform in the center of the room. Also offered to pay a triple wage of what a standard private dance cost. An offer Lloyd had no desire to refuse, since you unexpectedly appeared to be a golden goose. 

And since Lloyd sweetened the request with a ready annex to your contract, stating that you’d be earning more for this exclusivity, you didn’t hesitate for long.

Perhaps you should have. 

Perhaps, if you knew how out of your comfort zone you find yourself in, you’d decline and argue with Lloyd over it (though you had a feeling this one time he wouldn’t be a charming psychopath, but a manipulative and threatening bastard if you affronted his powerful client with your refusal). 

That’s how you found yourself out of the familiarity of the main stage and bland stares you would have ignored, and on a round podium in a lush, dark interior of a private VIP room. 

With Ari Levinson spread comfortably on the seats, a glass of whisky in his hand, watching you intently. 

Your first evening performing only for him went quietly, somehow calming you down. He only watched you, made no comments, nor attempts to grab you. Merely asked you, between your dances, if you wanted something to drink or eat. 

On your second evening he asked how you’ve been and nodded, pleased, when you replied with a shy smile. He extended his hand to you to help you climb up onto the platform. Then enjoyed your dancing. 

Each time, however, you were unable to simply fall back into the mindless rhythm of your performance. Your thoughts wouldn’t just switch to think of other matters, because they were focused on the predator sitting in front of you. 

Every part of you seemed to be acutely aware of his presence and attention. 

He seemed fascinated. And hungry for every inch of you, inside and outside. 

It terrified you. 

How intense his scrutiny was, how dangerous it was to have a man like Ari Levinson interested in you in any matter; and how, when you went home afterwards, you bit onto your pillow to muffle your sounds as you got yourself off. 

You read about it - how adrenaline and tension from stress can be lowered with a few orgasms.

You just weren’t quite sure if you only relieved nervousness, or if you were actually turned on.

Considering Levinson’s looks, arousal couldn’t be dismissed.

He was the hottest man you’ve ever seen. Big, easily towering over you. With muscles that strained the fabric of his clothes. His hair looked invitingly soft, his beard neatly trimmed and his lips plush and kissable. 

And he kept looking at you - undressing you with his eyes, promising dark sinful things, but also seeing right through you and able to find (and use) your weaknesses. 

When you finished your dance that evening, in a pose with the silk scarves wrapped around your arms and pulling them back as you bent forward, head bow low and ass up high, Ari slowly stood up. 

He stepped close to the little stage and with the pads of his fingers tilted your chin up so you were looking up at him. 

“Almost perfect,” he purred, leaning down a little, “all you need is for your brain to turn off completely.” 

He smirked when you blinked confused.

“All these thoughts go through your head, does your brain ever stop? Do you ever go dumb, kitten?” He chuckled as your eyes got bigger. “I noticed you became more present in the scene when you started dancing for me, but there’s still so much overthinking.”  

“Come.” He patted your cheek and motioned for you to get off the stage.

After a bit of less graceful struggling with the silk scarves - mostly due to nervousness Mr Levinson suddenly caused - you were ready to get down. 

He helped you, his hand waiting for your fingers to slip into his hold. This time, once you found yourself on the floor level, he didn’t let you go. Instead, he sat down on the velvet seat and pulled you onto his lap.

You fell forward with a gasp, which turned into a squeak when he used both hands to grab your hips and make you straddle him. 

With club patrons being fully dressed, usually in suits, and you wearing a set of lingerie, you were always exposed. However, now, being seated in Mr Levinson’s lap, you felt even more naked and vulnerable. 

“S-sir!” You exclaimed, hands resting on his broad shoulders and trying to push yourself off of him. 

“Shh, settle down, kitten.” He cooed. “Nothing bad is going to happen.” 

You were about to point out that it already was, since you never had any guest touch you like he did at the moment. Much less have you straddling them. 

“We can take things as slow as you need.” He rubbed his thumbs along the band of your white, lacy panties. “I will woo you as romantically, as you wish. But this-” Ari gripped your hips tighter and pulled you even closer, your core rubbing right over his bulge- “Is the endgame, kitten.” 

“Mr Levinson.” Your fingers clenched on his shoulders as you tried to keep your breath from hitching at the delicious sensation. “I only dance for you.”

“No, kitten. You dance only for me.” Ari corrected. 

“Dance being the key word here.” You frowned, but somehow you didn’t struggle to escape his hold.

Ari Levinson wasn’t a man whom one could escape easily. Over the weeks you learned bits and pieces, through others and your own curious research. It was all shrouded in a veil of mystery and disappearances, but you understood enough to realize he was a mobster with strict rules and lethal means. 

Trying to fight him could end badly for you. At least that’s what logic suggested. 

There was another part of you, which simply found the whole interaction thrilling. 

I’m either really stupid, or I’ve gone mad, you thought to yourself as a shiver of arousal spread through your body at the dark glint in Ari’s eyes.

“Oh, kitten, you’ll be dancing for me in every sense of the word and more.” He tilted his head to the side, his gaze trained on your face then shifting down your body and back up. 

“You’re a smart girl. I know you’re going for a degree, you have ambitious plans, extracurricular activities.” 

You gulped, realizing Levinson did a background check on you. Maybe even pried into more private and supposedly secure aspects of your life. 

“I’m sure you’ve done as much research on me as you could.” Ari continued in a calm tone. “You have a vague idea of who I am, what I deal with. And, like any smart girl, you’re probably scared. Am I right?” 

You didn’t possess enough bravado (or stupidity) to deny it, so you nodded wordlessly. 

“But it also turns you on, doesn’t it?” a corner of his mouth curled in a smirk.

“No!” You denied hastily, though you felt your face heat up. 

Ari shook his head as he tsk-ed in reprimand. He squeezed your chin between his thumb and forefinger, a little forcefully, but not hard enough to cause you pain. 

Your nipples hardened instantly.   

It felt as if your body was completely beyond your control. It slipped under Ari’s control. 

“Don’t lie to me, kitten.” He warned you. 

Before you managed to utter another objection, your lips parted on a gasp as you felt Ari’s other hand settle over your mound. 

He slipped a thumb beneath the fabric of your panties; glided it over your clit and a smear of wetness that slowly sipped from between your folds. 

“Not aroused, huh?” Ari snorted as he brought his hand up and sucked your glistening slick off his finger. 

Your pupils dilated as you watched him wrap his pink lips over his thumb, your mind instantly creating an image of those lips sucking on your clit. Or your nipples. Tormenting each peak until it’s swollen and pulsing unbearably and you scream for mercy. 

“Told you,” Ari sighed in mock-disappointment, “You’re thinking too much, kitten.” 

Holding your chin in his grip, Ari slid his other hand down your body - over one of your breasts, your belly, your hip, and back down between your spread thighs. 

“Thinking about what needs to be done. Thinking of what you should or shouldn’t be doing. Thinking how wrong it is to be turned on by being scared of what a dangerous bastard like me might do to a sweet, little kitten like you.”

His whole palm slid under the waistband of your panties; big fingers cupped your mound. 

“You know what I’ll do to you?” Ari whispered, leaning close enough his lips nearly brushed yours. 

“E v e r y t h i n g.” He chuckled darkly and your whole body shook. 

“I’m going to do every filthy thing that gets this pussy wet.” Slowly, he dragged his fingers up and down over your folds. “I’m going to do everything that makes you smile. Everything that makes you happy.”

“Most of all… I’m going to do everything that turns your brain off.” 

With those words, Ari slid a single digit into your hot, tingling cunt. 

Your mouth opened, a wrecked whimper falling out. Your hands fisted the fabric of Ari’s shirt as his thumb started drawing fast, tight circles over your clit. 

It quickly became a torment, having only one finger stretching your walls, but not moving, while your clit was being rubbed mercilessly, pushing you toward a climax with astonishing speed. 

You tried to push your hips down, rock yourself on Ari’s finger and tempt him to do more with his hand. He squeezed your chin harder.

“Don’t.” He growled. “Don’t think of what you want, or need. Or what you assume I want. Your job isn’t to think. You just take what I give. I decide about everything.” 

Maybe it was the way he tormented your clit, or his words that sank you into dark cushions of mindless pleasure, but you came with a force unknown to you until now. 

None of your toys, or previous partners, made your vision go white and your body clench so painfully.

And it was only on one finger and some clit rubbing, for God’ sake! 

How braindead he’d turn you, if he fucked you with his cock?! 

Your breath was ragged, colors and light slowly registering in your blurry vision as you re-opened your eyes. You were trembling, walls of your cunt fluttering around a single finger still locked inside. Your arms felt heavy and you loosened your grip on Ari’s shirt to lazily drape them around his shoulders.

Ari let go of your chin. His hand slipped into your hair, grabbing a fistful quite gently and holding your head in place as he kissed you. 

Softly at first, treating your lips with tenderness matching the afterglow consuming your lax body. Then he amped the urgency, demanding you to give in to whatever he wanted. 

As he licked over your bottom lip and slipped his tongue in your mouth, a second finger stretched your still pulsing cunt, making you keen into the kiss. 

Ari moved his fingers this time. Increased his pace, despite your futile attempts to slow him down with the motion of your hips. 

When his thumb pressed against your over-sensitive, engorged clit, you nearly wailed.

“Can’t-” you panted against Ari’s mouth. “Too much- Too-”

“Shush.” He bit your lower lip and began tracing rapid eights with his thumb. “Don’t. Fucking. Think. Just feel.” 

Well, you felt like it hurt, but at the same time wasn’t enough. You felt like screaming, but at the same time breathless. You felt overwhelmed, but at the same time light. 

You felt like you had no grip on reality. No coherent thoughts formed in your head, only scraps of your own sounds resonating in your ears. And the sound of Ari’s voice.

“That’s it, kitten.” He praised. “No overthinking, no stress. Just a good pet for her Master to use.”

The hand in your hair eased its grip on your locks and moved down your back. Ari wrapped an arm around you and tightened his hold, trapping you to his body as he pushed a third finger in and curled them in your pussy, scraping them against a sensitive spot inside. 

He knew what he was doing, choosing to hold you in place, because the moment your cunt felt the burning stretch and his fingers pounded on that spot, your body tensed like a string. 

You screamed this time, burying your face (and your sounds) in the crook of Ari’s neck as a crushing orgasm seemed to break and melt each bone in your body. 

You bucked against him, though his hold was so strong you were unable to move much. Wave after wave of bliss rocked your body and Ari’s continuous thrusting seemed to prolong it even more. 

Tiny tremors shook your body as you melted into Ari’s huge frame. When you were conscious and facing him, his size intimidated you. Now you found comfort in it.  

Your face was still hidden in his shoulder, your head filled with nothing but buzzing and echo of your increased heart rate, as Ari’s quiet voice resounded through the haze in your empty head.

Something about bringing a box in. 

He had to be talking to someone, but you didn’t register anyone entering the room. Then you felt his hand resting on your back again, which meant he took it away for a moment, but you were so out of it you didn’t even notice. It meant he probably used his phone.

A few minutes later you heard the polite, but loud knocking on the door. Ari allowed the person to enter and you tensed.

You were straddling his lap, your thighs spread and your body all sorts of wrecked. And Ari’s fingers were still deep in your dripping pussy. Quite possibly visible to whoever entered the room. 

“Shh,” Ari murmured and patted the back of your head. “Don’t worry. You’re safe.”

You seriously doubted it, considering what kind of power you basically gave Mr Levinson on a silver plate just a few minutes ago.

But at least, it seemed he wouldn’t stretch it to someone else, or cause you any truly degrading humiliation. Well, not any more than he already has. 

Besides, even if you wanted to shoot up in an outburst of outrage, your muscles were turned into jelly and the inner fire too dimmed from an intense orgasm-fest you were just given. 

With an embarrassed squeak you buried your face deeper into the crook of Ari’s neck, to hide yourself from the stranger inside the room. Whoever it was didn’t say a word and less than a few heartbeats later you heard the door closing again. 

Everything, beside the sensual music still spilling from the speakers, was quiet. Your breath slowly evened out. 

Ari caressed your hair and back in lazy strokes, humming in pleasure as if he was petting a real kitty. You were a little offended at this sort of degradation, but it also felt so nice and comforting you didn’t exactly want it to end. 

With a squelching sound, which made you shut your eyes in shame, Ari withdrew his fingers from your cunt. He left a wet print on your ass as he palmed it. 

“Come on up, kitten.” He nudged you to sit upright.

The angle of your hips repositioning made your pulsing core press against his hardened dick. He managed not to groan, but you saw the spark in his eyes and the twitch in his jaw that spoke of the pleasurable tension he felt. 

“Now, tell me-” he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear and traced the shell of it with his finger- “Did you like it?” 

Your gaze shifted from his face, from his incredibly piercing blue eyes. It dropped to his shoulder again, where you wanted to hide your face and pretend your body didn’t dance to the tune he played. 

“Eyes on me.” Ari tapped your cheek with his fingers. “Did you like what I did to your sweet, hot pussy? Did you like being scared of what I may do?” 

When you huffed and nodded, he tapped your cheek again. A little harder.

“Use your words, kitten. I want to hear it.” 

“I liked it.” You gritted through your teeth, annoyed that he made you say it as much as getting hot all over by admitting it. 

“Are you going to deny that you want me to do it again?” Ari smirked smugly. 

“Are you going to deny that you want to be my good pet and get spoiled and have your brain fucked out?” His dark chuckle tickled your skin as Ari nosed along your jaw and neck. 

“Mr Levinson…” Your voice wavered, as you tried to return to a more professional stance. 

It was ridiculous, really. Trying to be professional and put some distance between the two of you while dripping all over his pants like a needy slut.

“Ari.” He kissed the corner of your mouth. 

“It was hot to hear you call me Mr Levinson in your sweet voice.” He pulled away slightly and smiled. Not exactly a comforting smile, either. Rather one that meant trouble. “But I prefer you call my name. Especially when you scream it.”

“Or Master, since you’re my pretty pet.” 

You didn’t think he was joking about the last part.

Ari leaned back in his seat, but kept you sat up straight in his lap, his hands tracing the lines of your body. He wasn’t groping, simply exploring and connecting. 

“I’m serious, though.” His tone turned nearly business-like, but was less cold than you expected it to be when Ari laid down his law. 

“I consider you mine. In every sense of the word. I knew you were going to be mine the moment I saw you writhe against the silks. So sensual. So unique. So fucking beautiful.”

“And then your eyes.” Ari’s own eyes glinted with awe as he held your gaze. “Unfocused. You were so far away with your thoughts. Not even thinking about a lover as you were dancing, were you? I desired nothing more, but to have your attention on me. I wanted you to focus on me so much that you stop thinking about anything else.” 

His words stirred something hot and intriguing in you. A sort of thrill. No one has ever craved your attention. Hell, no one ever paid enough attention to you to notice when you were drifting away with your thoughts. 

Then there was the word mine.

So possessive. Scary in itself. 

The fact it was a claim of a mafia king should be terrifying. Should make you pack your things and run far, far away. It shouldn’t turn you on. 

And you probably shouldn’t be craving more of it. 

With men like him, they liked the challenge and the chase. Once that was sated they moved onto the new fascinating thing.  

You licked your lips, sliding your hands from Ari’s shoulders and placing them on your own thighs.

“Are you done now?” You asked, tilting your head in a manner mimicking Ari’s. “You got all my focus, turned off my brain. Mission accomplished.” 

“If I were done, I wouldn’t be demanding that you admit that you want me.” Now his tone did turn deeper, lower, a hint of a threat if you tried to escape him. 

“I’m not done with you.” 

You swallowed hard, suddenly fearing what more he could rip from you. 

Ari reached his arm to the side, snatching up a box that laid next to him. You forgot about the mystery box completely. 

It was rectangular and flat, with a velvet finish. When Ari opened it, your breath hitched in your lungs and a mixture of dread and excitement shot through you.

On a silky lining laid a choker made of a dozen delicate chains of white gold. It had a small, diamond encrusted golden ring in the middle, from which dropped two long, fine chains. 

Not a choker. A collar, you realized.

A collar for a pretty pet. Expensive, subtle, easily camouflaged as jewelry - but a collar nonetheless.

“Um, shouldn’t this type of commitment happen much later?” Your heart pounded in your chest, your eyes glued to the shiny fate displayed in a jewelry box. “I never played like that, but don’t, uh, Masters give collars to their slaves- or pets later in the relationship?” 

“Why should I wait when I already know that I’m keeping you forever?” Ari lifted the collar from the box and put it around your neck.

Your hand shot up, fingers wrapping around one of his wrists. He paused, but didn’t move away. Didn’t slap your hand away either. But he held your gaze. His blue eyes darkening, determination shining in his eyes unrelenting. 

“What if I say no?” Your voice was barely above a whisper. 

Ari didn’t move an inch. His face remained as stoic as seconds before. Something in his eyes seemed to soften for you. And here you were expecting a flash of anger at meeting any resistance. 

“Then you say no.” He replied simply and his mouth quirked into a cheeky half-grin. 

“And then I take other ways to convince you to say yes. I can do sweet romance. I can lavish you with surprises and gifts. I can buy out this whole club and have Hansen dance on a pole for you. If that’s what it takes for you to give in.”

“But-” he slowly licked his lips and looked at you from beneath his long eyelashes- “I think you want to say yes, so I can keep you on the edge of that thrill. You like to be scared and used. And that’s why you’re going to let me stake that claim right now.”

Your chest rose and fell with quickened breaths, but after a long moment you dropped your hand in defeat.

It was partially surrender, knowing Ari Levinson could trap you in even without your consent. However, he was mostly right. There was a part of you that was intrigued to follow into that darkness he lured you into; to see and experience the thrilling surprises and wicked pleasures he would design for you. 

“Good girl.” Ari hummed in approval. 

He locked the collar around your neck and gently ran a finger beneath it. Then he traced his hand down along the two long chains hanging from the diamond circle.

“These-” he took each chain in each of his hands- “can simply be locked around you, serving as a sort of necklace.”

And he showed you, doing exactly that - letting them fall between your breasts and then tying them around your waist, snapping two ends together. 

“Or-” Ari’s fingers trailed along your forearms, until he reached your wrists and wrapped a hand around each. “They can be attached to cuffs.” 

As hot as the idea was, you didn’t find it practical. The golden chains were so delicate that if you trashed in orgasm, or just generally writhed as Ari tormented you, they’d snap instantly. 

Unless they were used only for presentation. As a mark of Ari’s ownership over you. 

The idea of walking somewhere public, like just strolling into your classes, or a restaurant, wearing this collar and maybe even the cuffs which would look like bracelets to a clueless eye… it mortified you. 

And accelerated your pulse in arousal.

“Wear it next time you dance for me.” Ari ran his fingers along the thin chains of the collar, then along your collarbones until he reached lacy straps of your top. 

He pulled one of the straps down your shoulder. Then the other one. Then moved his fingers over the swell of your breasts and upward, along the line of two thin chains leading to a diamond encrusted ring in your collar.

“You’ll wear nothing but this when I split your tight pussy on my cock.” His tone was a molten, dark delight.

His face glowed with triumph when you whimpered at the image of being completely naked sans the ownership jewelry, sweaty and helpless as Ari fucked you into the mattress.

“With time, we’ll get you used to wearing it all the time.”

He clamped his fingers around the front of your neck. He didn’t actually put any pressure. Just the presence of his hand wrapped around your throat the same way a collar did. It made you realize instantly, that’s how it would feel to wear the collar. 

It would be a constant reminder that you belonged to Ari.  

“For now, just wear it for me when we meet.” You were actually grateful for the small steps, but remembering Ari’s earlier words you knew he’d have it his way in the end - even if he had to take things slowly with you.

“Okay.” You nodded, fidgeting with one of the chains around your waist. You felt hot all over. And kind of suffocated. “I can do that.” 

The smile Ari flashed you in return almost made you instantly want to ask how else can you please him. It made all the hardness disappear from his face, crinkles appeared around his eyes and it felt like warmth filled your belly. 

“I knew you’d be good for me, kitten.” Ari kissed you softly. 

You started to really eagerly lean into the kiss when he broke it. He stood up, easily holding you up as he moved, then eased you down on your feet. 

Fuck, but he really towered over you. Like a beast. 

“I’ll drive you home.” Ari announced as he led you toward the door, hand on the small of your back. “When you come to the club on Friday, bring a bag with some overnight necessities. I have a meeting here, but then I’m taking you home for the weekend.” 

“A whole weekend?” You nearly froze on the spot. 

For some reason, a silly thought really, you imagined your interactions to be limited to your performances in the club only. Sure, you’d maybe wear his collar outside sometime, as a reminder to yourself that three nights a week you were bending to Ari Levinson’s whims. 

He really scrambled some of your brain cells since you didn’t consider he was putting himself in your life fully. And pulling you into his life. Possibly, into a very intense life…

“Wha-” You cleared your throat, trying to sound less shaken. “Whatever for?”

“Hmm.” Ari leaned down, his hot breath fanning your ear as he purred: “To do scary things to you, the thought of which will keep you tense and wet for me.”

#ari levinson x reader #ari levinson x female reader #mafia!ari levinson #mob boss Ari levinson #Ari levinson x you #Ari levinson smut #chris evans smut #ari levinson fic #ari levinson imagine #my writing #sweet thrill

[tokyo-daaaamn-ji-gang]

Hello! Whenever you get the chance, Haitani brothers and hairstylist s/o interactions :3

I kinda based these on the crushing stage, before dating but this is what I've got!

Ran

100% always requests you as his stylist, will complain to the salon if they give him someone else 

Wants you to compliment his hair a lot (he actually just wants any kind of compliments from you)

Closes his eyes and relaxes as you work on his hair, humming in approval at your touch.

He occasionally makes innuendos and flirtatious remarks while grinning at you.

Always gives you a big tip as well as his number before leaving

He was already going to the salon a lot but turns up even more often now that you're there.

He doesn't even hide why he's there, he'll just be like "just wanted to see my favourite stylist ♡"

Talks to you a lot during the appointments, talking about past things like gang fights and his work now (he hopes you're impressed)

Invites you to his club constantly

You wasn't expecting to fall for him but he is rather charming. You're not sure if it's ok for you to date a client though which makes you hesitate. 

One evening he calls the salon in a panic, saying it's a "hair emergency!" And requesting that you do a home visit, normally you wouldn't but he offers so much money that your boss basically makes you go. You turn up and instead of an emergency you find a candlelight dinner and Ran grinning at you. He says he had no other choice to get you to go to dinner with him.

You quit your job the next day and Ran helps you start your own salon

Rindou

He wasn't sure he liked you at first, he liked his old stylist fine and wished they hadn't of retired. But he soon changes his mind after spending some time with you.

"No one else can get it right" that's all he says when he walks into the salon before sitting at your station. 

He likes to watch you while you work, keen purple eyes watching you work and observing your expressions. He thinks you look cute when you're concentrating.

Refuses to ever tell Ran about you, you're his and he won't let his brother steal you.

Sometimes he'll show up randomly, bringing you a drink and some lunch. He always says it's just to keep his favourite stylist looked after. 

Asks you a lot of questions and likes to listen to the sound of your voice when you work. He's very good at remembering details too.

Has flowers sent to the salon for you sometimes

He holds his breath and almost forgets to breath the first time he heard you laugh. After this he tries to figure out what you find funny so he can make you laugh and hear it more.

Gives you a lot of freedom with his hair, he trusts you.

Also invites you to the club but more casually then his brother, he's interested in you hearing the music he plays.

You really didn't want to like him as much as you do. You know your boss won't be happy with the this but you can't stop thinking about him. But you also need this job.

Until one day something unexpected happens, someone tries to rob the salon. You stand there, holding your breath as the guy waves a knife in your direction. Then he's suddenly on the floor and Rindou is on top of him, knocking him out. You have no idea how he did that so fast but you're thankful. You quit on the spot and head out with Rindou's arm protectively round your shoulders.

#tokyo revengers #tokrev #tokyo rev #ran haitani #rindou haitani #tokyo revengers spoilers

[pearl-tarotist]

PAC: Your current position in your love journey and what you should do next

Choose a red eyeshadow to know about your love journey (P1-P2-P3) and a white eyeshadow to know what you should do next to make it advance (PA-PB-PC).

M.List// Support me

PILE 1: WILDHEART

Pile 1, you are focused on building yourself in other aspects of your life. It seems you are a "queen", a boss, an expert....really good at your job or studies...You are so good that you even are able to give advice to others or help them with their doubts. You are a woman whose friends and coworkers look up to.

Apart from that, when you focus on yourself, it seems you just want to feel at peace being sensual and beautiful...independently you. Which position are you in? In the one where you can enjoy yourself shamelessly, you feel really sensual and nowadays you just want to enjoy the feeling of your own skin and sensations. You don't want to share your wellness with others.

I feel that this pile is composed of grown-up, 22 years old and up, you have reached a mental position where you are not scared nor obvious to your own emotions and you can analyse them freely. It's a beautiful position, but sometimes, you could feel tired and want the company of others in your more sensitive moments.

I feel you are taking care of yourself for the first time as an adult, and it has been being quite a success. Once you feel more comfortable and healthy on your new stage of life, you will be more open to search and find for love.

Queen of Pentacles, The Hermit, Queen of Swords, 9 of Wands, 9 of Roses, 10 of Shells.

M.List // Support me

PILE 2: LOVE LETTER

Pile 2, you are my romantics in the making. It seems that a few of you are interested in a specific person or you all have a really strong crush/platonic love. You are all longing for that person or love, it seems that even some of you are in the talking stage.

But, you are still scared of love and compromise, no? (me too hehe 🤗). Your position in your love life is one of perseverance. It will take time to find yourself in a comfortable and enough brave position to confess your love to others but you will, and it will be worthy of waiting.

The message that I want to send to this pile is to not lose your hope, optimism or smile. Some things in your life right now need to be solved (I think you are someone real and that's not interested in games or half-truths) before fully immersing yourself in the adventure that love is. But when you do, when you find someone that's for you, destinated soulmate or however you want to call it, it will be wonderful.

I think you want someone perfect, (as you deserve), and have really clear feeling of what your relationships to be like; natural, emotional, deeply connected and romantic; you may like to communicate a lot with your future partner.

7 of Cups - 2 of Pentacles - Justice- Knight of Cups - The Star - The Lovers

M.List // Support me

PILE 3: VENETIAN RED

Pile 3, I think you all come from a moment of victory followed from a moment of disaster. it's possible that you have gone trough a breakup recently or a moment where all of your romantic expectations have changed drastically, and nowadays you all trying to find the new concept that you want to give to love.

For some, love could be a caress on your check, for others holding hands or taking care of the other, for others kissing under the moonlight...Your deal breaker? Still unknown. You have all the freedom of the world cause after your past relationship all of your locks have been broken.

You are open to a lot of things right now, to all of the opportunities (The fool + 3 of roses: opportunities). I think you are becoming aware of all the opportunities to improve your social life that could have been hidden under your past relationship or stage of life.

I think this is a good moment for you, even if sometimes, you are still mentally getting dragged into the mess that you have just leave.

Your position? Discoverment. Enjoy all the opportunities that you are offered and discover what you like, that will describe love for you and what you want in your future romantic relationships.

6 of Wands, The tower, The fool, 5 of Wands, 3 of Roses, The Sun

M.List // Support me

PILE A: HEART OF GLASS

In this spread there's a focus on building new sides of your personality and person. There's a need to close unhealthy unemotional cycles and to focus on positivism and in your thoughts; as they manifest.

Change your emotional focus and start to be gentle and motherly toward your own self, we are always the most picky and strict towards us, but there's always the opportunity to not judge us so much.

For some, there's a push to start to get into divination/tarot because it will help you to understand the unconscious ideas and concepts inscrusted in your mind that are at blame for all your negative and victimist thoughts.

In conclusion, what could help you to advance in your love journey is to stop focusing in those feelings. Close the door to the cycle of logic, coldness and robotism. You are not a productive robot but a person with feelings, a sensitive soul. Once you start practising gentleness toward yourself, things could improve in your life as you will be more open to interact with others with the expectation to be perfect all the time.

The Angels say:

Chemistry: Passion, sparks, and romance can be revived through playfulness, thoughtfulness, time together, and caring gestures, even to one self.

New love: In these cases, the Romance Angels are asking you to keep the faith that love is in your cards. You deserve love, and you’re lovable! The angels guide you to be aware, as you never know when your partner will arrive.

Ace of pentacles, queen of cups, ace of swords, 10 of swords.

M.List // Support me

PILE B: COSMIC GIRL

There are a lot of 3s. You are on the right path, the universe is with you, advising you at each step that you walk. So, keep doing what you are doing.

Keep going out with your friends, keep being friendly, and keep dreaming about travelling and moving on the globe. It's also possible that there's a push in these cards to advice you to keep learning about everything.

You will find peace and knowledge if you involve yourself with other cultures. It seems that you just need to pour your passions and interests in a project, do something with your likes, work on them.

I don't know...write a book, learn a new language!, start a small business, start a youtube channel, start a blog, draw, paint, sing...do something with all your emotions and share it with the world! You will be happy after having it done.

You need to express all of your emotions because it's clear in the cards that you have talent. Sharing your talent will make you happy and being happy will make you more comfortable in yourself what will make you more open to share that happiness with others.

The angels:

Deception: The Romance Angels are trying to protect your heart. Please say this invocation either silently or aloud: “Romance Angels, I ask that you give me very clear guidance that I can easily notice and understand, to reveal the truth about this situation to my conscious awareness.” Then, notice and trust the signs that follow.

Stay optimistic about your love life: The Romance Angels send you this card to remind you that you have a strong influence upon your love-life satisfaction. If you’ve been complaining or worrying lately, the angels guide you to shift to a more optimistic perspective. Even if you’ve had your romantic hopes repeatedly dashed, there’s still reason to hold the faith that real love can be yours . . . if you believe it! Your positive outlook will make you a more physically and energetically attractive person, which will definitely help your relationship with yourself . . . and everyone else, too.

3 of Cups and Pentacles, wands, The world, 6oP

M.List // Support me

PILE C: MOONSHINE

A whole change, a full change. With the death card there will be a super transformation! You need to be strong and start fighting for yourself and for what you want. Aren't you tired of always having to be last choice or waiting for others to do their part?

You need to initiate the spark of action. I think you have been stuck in a rut for a long time, where you have not been appreciated and respected as you deserve to be. Therefore, you need to dare to separate yourself from those who does not benefit you and try to find a creative spark that gives you the opportunity to be successful on your own. To be your own boss, in a way.

I believe that there may be people around you who are taking advantage of your abilities and that, at the moment of truth, you are too tired to use your knowledge to your own wellness. So, you need to try to change that, be more careful of who you help and use your energy with, so you will have the energy to focus on your own projects and advance.

The Angels:

Retreat: The Romance Angels see that your love life blossoms as you spend time alone with your partner (or by yourself). It appears that you’ve become confused or conflicted by other people’s advice. It’s time for you to disconnect so that you can better hear your own feelings and opinions.

Love without fear: This card indicates that you’re protecting your heart from hurt because of painful relationship experiences. However, the angels can only bring as much romance as you’ll allow inside. If you have a shield around your heart, how is love to get in? A closed heart repels the sensitive partner you’re trying to attract. Following your inner guidance will protect you and simultaneously allow you to feel loved and loving.

Death, Strength, 2oW, The high priest

M.List// Support me

This reading belongs to @pearl-tarotist.

#pearl #pac #pap #pick a pike #pick a photo #pick a card #tarot reading #reading love #love tarot #free tarot reading #love journey #pick a pile #tarot #free tarot readings #free tarot reading love #free readings #tarot community #free tarot #astrology #feedback

[milkgemini]

Adultery

Pairing: Jake Kiszka X f!reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: CHEATING (if you don’t like it, don’t read 😛), smut, minors DNI, fingering (f receiving), unprotected sex, language

.

.

.

.

It’s wrong. 

Those thoughts you’ve been thinking? The made up scenarios you’ve formed in your head? It’s not right. 

There are many layers as to why this case is out of reach. Unfathomable. 

For one, it would be in your best interest to not get fired here. You work for this man. Sleeping with the one you answer to, the person who has the power to terminate you with the snap of his fingers, wouldn’t look good to your boss, huh? 

But let’s cut the shit, and get to the real problem at hand. 

Jake Kiszka is not a single man. 

He has a partner. She is a lovely woman. Whom he’s been involved with for several years. You knew this from the way he spoke of her. Many times you’ve been witness to the rushed FaceTime calls he’s shared with her before stage. 

Oh, and there was that one time you caught yourself with your ear pressed to his dressing room door, listening to the way he spoke to her on the phone. His voice soft and sultry. 

“I miss you” her voice echoed from the other side of the phone. 

“Can you do something for me tonight, babe?” He asked. 

“Anything.” Her voice was desperate. You could hear the way she yearned for him through the phone. 

“Think of me tonight when you slip your fingers below that lace and pleasure yourself. Think of me the entire time. Say my name when you cum.” 

He was taken. Unavailable. Off the market. 

But you didn’t even feel bad. That was the worst part. 

You especially didn’t feel bad that night after eavesdropping on their phone call. You did exactly what he asked of her and thought of him the entire time. Just like most nights. 

But you weren’t crazy. 

There was a reason behind the pining for Jake. Every other time, the subtle flirtatious manner was reciprocated. 

You remember the times where his touch lingered longer than it should have against your skin. 

The times he brought you things like water or a snack, when that was quite literally your job for him. 

And what about that time he specifically instructed you to “remain side stage for the entire show”? 

You weren’t crazy. 

Right?

“30 minutes ‘til stage people. Let’s get a move on.” An annoying voice rang through your radio. 

Do they really have to update us every 10 minutes?

You added some pep to your step, despite the agitation of the constant reminder. 

These places all looked the same behind the scenes. Long boring hallways with a bunch of doors to random places lining the walls. 

The echo of your footsteps reverberated from the concrete floors to the cinder block walls. 

“What’s the rush?” 

Fuck.

The door to his dressing room was cracked. He sat lazily against the couch. His left arm draped over the top of the cushion, his legs crossed. 

That curled smile. Jake had this signature smirk. It was like the Cheshire Cat. Like he knew he would forever get away with the shit he pulled. 

“It- its 25 minutes to show. Shouldn’t you be…” You’ve lost your train of thought at the sight of him rising from the couch, dusting off the imaginary lint from the thigh of his pants. 

“I’m always ready for whatever the night has in store.” He answers your unfinished question, the shit eating grin still plastered across his face. He punctuates his sentence with a pucker of his lips. 

Before you even have time to process, the bathroom door inside the room swings open. 

“Hey babe, what do you think about this dress? Too much?” 

Layla. 

Jake’s long term girlfriend was at the show tonight. Sitting with him in his dressing room before he headed to the stage. Dressing up for him. Doing everything you wished for. 

You stood awkwardly as you watched Jake pull her body into his by the grip of his fingertips on her hips. 

“You look positively radiant tonight.” He reassured her. 

He planted the softest kiss imaginable to her lips - almost as if he intended not to let them meet. 

His eyes quickly shifted to your presence before fixing back on her’s. 

“Will you…. See if you can find Sam for me, love? Got something I want to do before the show.” He tucks her hair behind her ear as if to convince her of the task. 

She nods back at him with those annoying doe eyes. You wonder if she truly is as dull as you assumed. 

“Quickly.” He smacks her ass as she walks away from him. 

You can’t help but roll your eyes as you begin to walk off. 

“Oh do that again for me will you?” Jake calls from the dressing room. 

You peek your head in once more. 

“Excuse me?” Fake annoyance lacing the tone of your voice. 

“What would Layla think if she heard that?” You bring yourself further into the room. 

“And by the way, thats fucked up sending her on a wild goose chase looking for Sam. He’s never in the same spot for more than-“ 

He cuts you off by slamming the door shut, reaching his arm dangerously close next to your head. 

The lock switches beside you. 

“You’re catching on.” 

That fucking smirk. You can hear it when he talks, even if he’s turned his back to you. 

You study the waves of his hair that fall against the back of his suit. 

“You don’t want me like that.” His back remains to you as he fixes two drinks. 

“What?” You’re nervous. Your voice a high pitched whisper. 

“I see the way you glare at her. You’re jealous. But you don’t want me like that.” He turns back to you offering a glass of amber liquid. Your stomach turns, never being much of a drinker. 

Trying your best not to make a face, you sip at the drink. 

“And how do you know what I want?” A flirtatious edge to your tone. 

He takes a step too close to you. Angling his neck down to meet your face. 

“I know what you want, because you’re just like her. A good girl that wants a good man to treat her right. Shower her with love and reassurance.” 

He brushes the hair behind your ear, just as he did to Layla earlier. 

“But I think there’s something different with you.” He toys with the end of your hair, wrapping it around his pointer finger. 

You don’t even need to ask, he can read the question mark on your face. 

He huffs a laugh to himself with a tight lipped grin. 

Jake trails his fingertips, snaking them through to the hair at the nape of your neck. 

“I think you’re a slut.” He tugs your hair with force, causing you to expose your throat. 

He brings his mouth closer to the sensitive skin there, not letting his lips meet. 

“See, my Layla, she doesn’t have that darkness behind her eyes that I see with you sometimes.” 

The heat of his breath against you raises goosebumps to your skin. 

“She’s sheltered and shy.” He flattens his tongue before dragging it up your neck, stopping just below your earlobe. 

“But with you…” his voice is at a whisper now. 

“With you, I think I could tell you ‘Open up’ and you’d spread so well for me.” 

He kicks your feet apart, opening the space between your legs. 

With his pointer and middle finger, he rubs the inseam of your leggings that follows your slit. 

He watches your face as he starts at the front towards your clit, following the line back towards your entrance. When he reaches, he adds pressure to the circles he creates, pushing into you against the fabric. 

You try your hardest to seem unphased by his lustful actions. 

This isn’t right. Layla will be back any minute now. You think to yourself. 

As if to read your mind he answers, “Better be quick then.” 

Before you can process a response, his mouth meets yours with force. 

His kiss is a parallel opposite of what you witnessed with Layla earlier. 

His kiss with you is intense. Sloppy. Desperate with need. 

Jake licks into your mouth, his tongue sliding over yours. He’s winning the battle of dominance, and you’re surrendering with ease. 

He walks you backwards until he has you pressed against the closest wall. 

In between gasps of air, he groans softly into your mouth. 

You feel the calloused pads of his fingertips against the soft skin below your bellybutton as he tries to slip his hand beneath your leggings. 

Just as fast as he snaked them in, he pulls his hand away. 

You whimper from the loss of contact. 

He breaks the heated kiss from you, panting to catch his breath. 

“Take them off, now” he orders you. 

Immediately you bend at the waist, taking one leg out at a time. 

He studies the bare half of your body before gripping your face by your cheeks. 

With his free hand he holds your neck to angle you just the way he wants you. 

With clenched teeth he growls to you, “Do you always walk around your job with no underwear on like a fucking whore?” 

His words alone cause you to rub your thighs together, craving any sense of friction from remaining untouched to this point. 

He catches you red handed, and slaps the side of your thigh. His forceful touch leaving a sting that makes you want him even more. 

Jake adds pressure to his thumb against your throat. 

“Open.” He orders you once more. 

You obey, spreading your feet apart, inviting him in. 

He laughs softly to himself, “My girl. Such a good listener”

At last, the tip of his middle finger slides with ease through the center of your wetness. 

From the look in his eyes, you can tell he loves to watch your reaction. Loves to see the approval of his work. 

He teases the fingertip at your entrance. You buck your hips in his direction, silently pleading for more. 

“You want it?” He looks down at you. 

Your face is desperate as you nod to him. 

His jaw clenches once more, “Fucking speak up.” 

“Y-yes yes, Jake. I wan-“ 

Before you can finish your words, he shoves both his pointer and middle finger up inside of you, pumping them in and out at a steady rhythm. 

His lips meet yours again. The two of you moaning into each other's mouths in harmony. 

With each pump his fingers, he rocks his hips into you. 

“…there’s something different with you” You think back on his words. 

With your fingers wrapped around his wrist, you tug his hand from you - forcing his digits from inside of you. 

“I want you to fuck me, Jake.” Your eyes lock with his as you watch them turn a darker shade of brown. 

Without a word, he spins you around, your chest pressed against the cold white wall. He arches your hips for you to grant him better access. 

“Fucking dirty.” He pants into your ear. 

One hand is pressed to the side of your face, pushing you further against the wall, while the other fidgets with his belt. 

You hear the sound of it as it hits the floor, his pants  around his ankles. 

“Lift up.” He taps your side, motioning for you to lift your arms above your head. 

With a swift motion he pulls your shirt over your head and tosses it to the floor. 

Your back arches in hopes to close the space between you both. 

Jake swipes your hair to one side, over your shoulder, unclasping your bra with one hand. 

He leans in to press a delicate kiss upon your spine, simultaneously wrapping his arm around your hips to meet your clit with his finger. 

You whine at the sensation of the slow but steady circles he presses into you. 

He grips his length, slapping it against your ass. 

“I’m not going to be nice.” His voice a low groan as he teases you with the tip of his cock, sliding through your slick. 

“Please, Jake” your reply is muffled with your cheek pressed against the wall. 

No warning. No mercy. 

He slams his entire length inside of you to the hilt. The moans spilling out of you are closer to a scream. 

He makes his own ponytail in your hair with his fist, tugging with force. 

He grunts in unison with each pump inside of you. The tip of his cock brushing against your sweet spot with each push. 

The faster he pumps into you, the faster the circles against your clit become. With each swipe, he adds more force, pressing his finger harder against your bud. 

“And when you leave this room…” he pants. 

“Not a word. Not a suspicious look. Nothing.” He punctuates his sentence with a harsh smack to your ass. 

Unable to respond from the overstimulation to your clit, and the pressure inside of you, Jake becomes frustrated. He pulls harder on your hair than he has yet. 

“Do you hear me? Answer me.” Not once does he stop fucking into you. 

“YES, Jake. Yes. Just…” your response is nothing but a whine. 

He reaches around to pinch your nipple between his pointer finger and thumb. He twists and pulls as you feel the warmth pool between your hips. That familiar feeling of your climax approach. 

You grab his wrist again, forcing it back between your legs to your clit. 

“So close” you mumble to him, begging him to finish you off. 

Without hesitation he picks up exactly where he left off. Quick swipes against your throbbing clit. 

He pulls himself all the way out of you, slamming himself back deep inside. 

Your eyes roll to the back of your head. Unsure of how much more you can take. 

Your muscles tighten to an uncomfortable extent as you hear three knocks at his dressing room door. 

“Jake?” The door handle wiggles. 

Immediately he wraps his hand around your mouth as he continues to fuck into you. 

“Not a sound.” He whispers into your ear, his pace slows but his thrusts are deep. 

“Are you in there? Why is the door locked?” Layla whines from outside. 

Jake quickens his pace, both his cock inside of you and his fingers toying with your clit. 

“Let go for me.” His whisper is even more quiet than before. 

He feels your walls begin to tremble and constrict around him. The muscles of your abdomen tense as you prepare your release. 

“That’s it. Keep going. Your pussy feels so much better than hers.” He mumbles into your ear, chasing his own high as well. 

“Jake!!” Layla pounds on the door again, “5 minutes ‘til show. What the fuck are you doing?” 

As the sensation of pleasure washes over you, your senses slip. Your eyes clenched shut, and ears ringing… there is no Layla. There is no show. There is no job. 

Just you. And Jake. And the feeling of him inside of you. 

He pulls out from you abruptly, his release following, sliding down the inside of your thigh. 

He picks his pants up from around his ankles, and quickly fastens his belt. 

You’re left remaining pressed to the wall, unable to move or process anything and everything that just transpired in the small dressing room. 

What am I going to do? How am I going to get out of here without facing Layla? 

Your thoughts paralyze you. 

You feel his tight grip on both of your shoulders as he spins you around to plant a quick kiss to your lips. 

And just like that, he slips through a crack in the door, open just enough so she can’t see inside. 

Frozen in silence, you stand naked in the room alone as you listen to their muffled voices through the closed door. 

“I couldn’t find Sam.” Her voice, defeated. 

Jake clears his throat before responding. 

“Don’t worry about it. I took care of it.” 

Taglist: @gretasimp @writingcold @wowkakashi  @spark-my-nature @gretavanbear

#gretavanfleet #gvf #jake kiszka #gvf smut #jake kiszka gvf #gvf fanfiction #jake kiszka smut #jake kiszka x reader #greta van fleet fanfic #gvf fic

[harunayuuka2060]

MC: ...

MC: Isn't it supposed to be just a school concert?

Cater: Headmage invited the press and some important figures. That's why as you can see, there are a lot of people out there.

MC: Huh. Are you all aware of this? Or am I the only one who didn't get informed?

Lilia: The latter. We don't want you to back out so we have kept it a secret until now. *chuckles*

Kalim: Don't worry, MC! I'm sure everything will be fine! Our concert is going to be a blast!

MC: Sure, sure. Grim.

Grim: Yes?

MC: Don't forget to wear earmuffs.

Grim: Mryah?! But I want to hear you sing!

MC: Cover your ears when it's Lilia's turn.

Lilia: *chuckles* Are you afraid of my beautiful singing voice?

MC: There's nothing beautiful with your singing voice, you dipshit.

Cater: *laughs*

Ruggie: Boss! You have five minutes to get ready!

Cheka: MC! *runs to hug them* *looks up* Why can't I watch the concert?

MC: It'll be boring.

Cheka: *pouts* But I saw you practicing and it didn't look boring.

MC: You had seen it quite a few times so there'd be nothing to expect.

Cheka: I still want to watch though!

Grim: Hey! If Hench-human says you cannot watch, you cannot watch!

Cheka: Noo! I want to watch! I want to watch the concert!

MC: ...

Kalim: Cheka can watch the first half of the concert!

Cater: I agree. It'll be an experience for Cheka to see the future spouse of Leona performing on stage.

MC: Who said I'd be that lion head's spouse? The hell.

Ruggie: *cackles*

Lilia: If you're not interested with Leona, maybe you'll be interested to date Malleus.

MC: I'll be six feet deep before your Malleus gets fully matured. No.

Lilia: Ooh~. So you like mature ones?

Cater: Lils, can't you directly tell them that you're the one interested?

Kalim: MC is not into short people.

Ruggie: *cackles louder*

Professor Trein: Headmage...

Crowley: *carrying light sticks* I'm certain this is going to be the concert in the history of Night Raven College.

Azul: *smiling* I couldn't agree with you more, headmage. And thank you for allowing me to take in charge in selling the tickets.

Vil: I noticed a few days ago that the tickets were overpriced.

Azul: I was trying to control the number of concert attendees, however, it didn't work out as expected.

Vil: ...

Riddle: By the way, besides MC, I've heard that Leona and Malleus will be performing as well.

Vil: What? Those two agreed?

Idia: Yeah. And the song prep was crazy. MC had wrung me out of all the anime songs that I knew. It was terrifying.

Riddle: Is that why you're here, Idia?

Idia: Of course! You think I will just miss this?! No! I'm going to hear those anime songs live!

Riddle: ...

Malleus and MC: *sing "Savage" by Bahari*

Sebek: WHY ARE YOU COVERING MY EYES, SILVER?!

Silver: You're too young for this.

Jade: Implicitly passionate. Are you recording this, Floyd?

Floyd: No~. I'm too busy enjoying the show~.

Jade: *chuckles* Our father will sure to scold us.

Jade: Hm. Is it just me or MC has more chemistry with Leona?

Trey: I think so too. What was the song they performed again? "Shinunoga E-Wa"?

Rook: Oui! That was truly splendid! Especially Roi des Lion's gaze.

Leona: Are you talking shit about me?

Trey: Hey, Leona. Great job.

Leona: *yawns* That was tiring.

Floyd: Are you heading back to your dorm~?

Leona: Yes. *looks annoyed* This is the last time I would let anyone bother me.

Rook: Why don't you stay for a while? I'm sure there will be no one at Savanaclaw right now.

Leona: Much better. I would be able to sleep in peace.

MC:

When you touch me you take me to heaven

When you hold me my body's a weapon

If you think that you can save me, break me down, and tame me

Here's your chance to do some damage, savage

Leona: ...

Leona: Tch.

Trey, Rook, Jade, and Floyd: ...

Them: *smirks*

Leona: I know what you're thinking. I'm not jealous and they're not my type.

*the day after the concert*

MC: *wearing a face mask* *their throat is sore from all that singing*

MC: So, did you get a lot of students to join your club?

Kalim: Yes! All thanks to you!

Cater: By the way, MC? Shouldn't you be resting right now?

MC: Later. I still need to buy medicine for myself.

Lilia: You can ask Malleus to heal you. Or you can drink the potion I've made. *smiles*

MC: What? So you can send me to after-life?

Cater: *laughs*

Kalim: I hope you get well soon. I believe that you still need to coach the Basketball Club.

MC: They don't need a damn coach.

Ace and Deuce: *yelling from a distance* YES, WE DO!!! *while running towards their direction*

MC: ...

MC: *sigh*

Cater: Yup. You're in-demand.

#twisted wonderland #twst mc #twst leona #twst malleus #twst grim #twst cheka #twst kalim #twst cater #twst lilia #twst housewardens #twst sebek #twst silver #twst floyd #twst jade #twst crowley #twst trein #twst trey #twst ruggie #the affable delinquent

[cloudshuffle]

an arrow, a spark. yan!childe

index / next / beta reader @malewifeharem

When they assign you to a new division in the Fatui, you think nothing much of it. People were always being moved around in the organisation, people disappeared under mysterious circumstances, new recruits were popping up out of nowhere.

What was strange, however, was whose division you were assigned to. Fatui Harbinger Tartaglia, all the way in Liyue, no less - or Ajax, as you knew him better.

“I'll be sorry to see you go,” Signora says from behind you.

You jump, nearly dropping the stack of papers in your hands. She stands in the doorway, imposing as always, yet the air she gives off implies she's left off a “darling” at the end of her sentence.

Madame Signora's always been fond of you for reasons you've never known, though that often meant being stuck in dull, dull meetings and organising her paperwork for her.

You salute her, then laugh nervously. In the midst of your packing, your office looks like a hurricane hit it, stacks of books and papers scattered everywhere. Not the best look to put forward to your boss.

“So, Liyue.” She takes a step, placing her right inside the threshold of your office. Behind her, her new bodyguard slash secretary shifts his weight from foot to foot. “Quite a ways from home, yes?”

“It is.” The land of the Geo Archon, Morax, but most importantly his creation of mora. A warm place by far, considering Snezhnaya's standards, but its trade sector was coldly competitive.

“How do you feel about it?”

How did you feel? The question catches you by surprise, much like her appearance in your office. Never before had you been asked your personal opinion on anything before, least of all by a harbinger.

It’s just work.

“It’s a great opportunity to expand my horizons and learn about another culture, ma’am.”

She chuckles elegantly. “A textbook answer. Good. It’d be useful if you kept those same wits around Tartaglia.”

You blink, a cloud of dust distracting you briefly from what she’d just said. “...Tartaglia, ma’am?”

“Oh, yes.” Her red lips curve into a wry smile. “He requested for you specifically. He’s been pestering me, in fact, to let him have you.”

You remain silent, unsure of how to respond.

“But look at me, holding you up. I do hope you have fun while in Liyue - it can be quite the interesting place, after all.”

────────────

You don’t quite know what all the fuss about Tartaglia is about till lunch, when you venture into the mess hall with Nadia.

She doesn't even wait for the two of you to sit down before broaching the topic. “Did you know the eleventh is back is Snezhnaya?”

“He is?” You stab at your potatoes with your fork, eyeing her cheekily. “And I don't suppose you're in the market for a partner at the same time, are you?”

“Oh, not a harbinger.” She laughs. “That’s way too high profile for me.”

You eye the raised platform at the front of the hall where a long table’s been set. It’s more for show than anything else, seeing as how the harbingers have never once found themselves privy to dining with you common soldiers. There are twelve high-backed, intricately carved mahogany chairs, and one in the middle, larger than the rest, gilded with gold and complete with red velvet cushions. The Tsaritsa’s. Yet another reminder of who you all served.

Nadia's chatter washes over you like a soothing wave. You're grateful to have a friend when you go abroad, if only for distractions like this if nothing else.

She wants to marry and settle down already - a noble sentiment for a young Snezhnayan lady. You think any man would be lucky to have her.

For yourself, you're not so sure.

“Ooh!” She nudges you. “Don't look, but Vlad's over there. Isn't he cute?”

Against her wishes, you turn your head. He looks like any regular Snezhnayan man to you, blonde and with an angular face that could’ve been carved from the frozen earth itself. “Well, I guess. He looks kind.”

“And he's coming to Liyue too!” Nadia stage whispers.

“Exciting.” You raise an eyebrow.

You excuse yourself from your meal after a while, leaving the mess hall alone. Nadia's conversation was entertaining but exhausting, provided one could keep up with her endless stream of news and gossip from various sources.

But it's from this river of information that you sift out a tiny gold nugget: that Harbinger Tartaglia would be in the archery fields if he weren't busy preparing for his return to Liyue with his new crew.

Perhaps it's curiosity, or pure boredom that drives you outside into the cold.

The walk is familiar, ice crunching under your boots. It was admittedly difficult to walk on snow and ice - if you were anything but Snezhnayan, born and raised.

Your fingertips tingle with the phantom itch to hold a bow. It'd been a while…

You follow the path, rounding the building to a frozen field. A number of wooden targets and straw dummies are lined up, some in varying states of disrepair. A small hangover, an incline, really, provides minimal coverage against the wind like a very tiny rock against a great river.

As expected, there’s no one there. You feel a small sense of relief at having missed that chance encounter.

The new recruits train elsewhere. It’s a place only for those who want to exercise the muscles you rarely get to use, being cooped up in front of a desk all day.

You take up position at the edge of the field, summoning your bow and fixing three arrows to it.

They arc in a graceful, shining line, each landing perfectly in the middle of its respective target board.

You affix another arrow to the shelf, taking a deep breath. The world narrows to the point of your arrow and the fletching on the arrow you landed.

Dimly, you’re aware of the shuffling of feet behind you, quickly hushed. Probably just another of your fellow soldiers who wanted to get out of the noise of the mess hall. You pay them no mind.

You release the arrow, reload, release, reload. Three arrows land in rapid succession, splitting each of the previous arrows neatly down the shaft.

You exhale, and your senses return to you. The cold embraces you again, and you shake the tension out of your shoulders, putting your bow away. You can almost feel its sigh, already impatient for the next occasion it could perform.

Slow clapping. “An impressive show, soldier.”

You spin on your heel.

Tartaglia stands at the top of the incline, flanked by two bodyguards. As if he needed them within the walls of the Fatui stronghold, the youngest of all the harbingers, who single-handedly dug his fingers into the fabric of Liyue to get the Tsaritsa a foothold.

It’s been quite a while since you last saw him, you realise. He looks a little sharper, a little leaner, his gaze perhaps a little more complex, as if he were thinking of the future while simultaneously discerning all your secrets. The hydro vision on his belt winks at you in the cold light.

Standing on the incline, he looks like a conqueror, surveying his land. It's a good look for a harbinger to have.

“My lord.” You salute him smartly, tamping down your embarrassment at noticing them late. “My apologies for taking up your time.”

“Oh, no need for all that, padruga.” He comes down the slope, the bodyguards following a respectful distance behind. “It's always a delight to watch you in action.”

What had Madame Signora said? “He requested for you specifically”?

Ajax- no, Tartaglia, is a good head taller than you, maybe more. As he approaches, you have to incline your head to meet the unfamiliar gleam in his blue eyes. Whatever could he want from you?

“You've been well, I trust?” He summons his bow, and you take the cue to move a step backward, leaving him room to shoot.

“Well enough, may the Tsaritsa continue to watch over me.”

To your surprise, he snorts a laugh, loosing his arrow. It strikes deep into the wood, igniting a spark as it scrapes against yours. “A devotary? Some things certainly have changed around here.”

One of the bodyguards shifts his feet. You glance back at him, then at Tartaglia. “Is a harbinger not also subservient to her majesty?”

He chuckles. “Of course he is. I’m just… surprised.” Another arrow, another target. “You never struck me as the type to believe.”

You remain silent as the last arrow hits its mark. All just to the right of your own arrows, pressed so close they seem on the verge of falling off.

“Excellent marksmanship, my lord.” The impersonal compliment comes easily to your lips. You clasp your hands behind your back.

A gentle breeze begins to blow (the kind that might have killed a man in lesser clothing), unsettling his already unruly ginger hair. The bodyguards adjust their stances, as if roused by the cold wind.

“Certainly.” He grins, a self-assured smile, unhidden by a mask. You’re grateful for yours in that regard - no need to hide your emotions or expressions too well when all Fatui are shrouded in uniform secrecy. “Nothing but the best to serve her majesty.”

Somewhere deep within the halls, a bell begins to toll.

You snap to a salute. “Thank you for your time, my lord,” you say, as if he hadn’t been the one to seek you out for conversation first. “I must be taking my leave now.”

padruga: friend (female) according to google

— word count: 1598. thank you for reading!

#cloud writes #yandere genshin #genshin #childe #yandere childe #genshin childe #yan!childe #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere #tartaglia #genshin tartagalia

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

Hey love, I got a question; are you down for goblins? Specifically a yandere horde of goblins? 😳

I'm not not down for it...

(I'm sorry, I'm sure I know what kind of goblin horde you meant, buuuut I started writing and couldn't stop 🥲)

CW: Entrapment, obsessive behavior, ecological polyandry/polygyny with a GN!reader, both male and female goblins, forced parental responsibilities, platonic yandere, not proofread

Madame Gilly burst into the backroom, nearly startling (Reader) into swallowing the pins they were holding in their lips. "(Reader)! Awful, amazing, terrible, fantastic news!"

(Reader) smiled nervously, sticking the pins in their cushion. "What is it, Madame?" Their boss was fabulously dramatic as always, fanning herself with a decorated envelope.

"Oh, nothing.. just a summons for one Mx. (Reader) from the Count's daughter."

"What for?"

"How should I know? I didn't read your letter!" She handed over the letter while sighing loudly. "Yet, it's so beautifully decorated.. such a shame! Another marriage proposal, ignored!" She pretended to become faint, placing her knuckles on her forehead.

(Reader) chuckled, opening the bright purple envelope with lavender tied in a ribbon. Their eyes widened, an excited gasp escaped as their legs failed them and they fell back onto their stool.

"What is it?!"

"It's.." a shocked blush dusted their cheeks, "it's a request for my services! She wants a dress for an upcoming party!"

Madame Gilly squealed, bouncing up and grabbing her protege. "Oh, that's even better than a proposal! I'm so proud of you!"

It would be roughly three days ride by carriage, packed with smaller fabrics for color swatches and texture explanation, multiple dresses (Reader) had already made with mannequins to display them, and (Reader's) portfolio of designs.

Marcus, a local man who often rode Madame Gilly around for a small fee, offered up his services, just as excited for (Reader) as the Madame. "So, this is your lucky break, huh?" He offered a hand to the young employee. "Finally gonna start considering opening your own shop."

(Reader) smiled, stepping into the carriage without Marcus' assistance. "I've never been interested in business, Marcus, you know this. I just want to make clothes."

"You should also seriously begin considering marriage.."

"My work is my legacy, Marcus." (Reader) spoke sharply with a tight smile, shutting down the conversation. They had received many marriage proposals from eligible bachelors and bachelorettes since they became of age, but didn't take an interest in any of them. Of course, (Reader) found people attractive in the past, but never felt emotionally invested in anyone to marry them, and they certainly didn't need to marry for money or connections. The thought of having children one day was also something (Reader) had seriously debated, because although the fantasy of having a child was wonderful, the process of having a baby was intimidating. Whether through being impregnated or impregnating someone else, the baby stage was much more terrifying than the raising of a child, for reasons they couldn't quite explain. The anxiety was just too much to handle.

But (Reader) didn't feel like life was passing them by, nor did they have regrets, if they ever got married then their future spouse would wait for them, no matter how many years it took to meet them.

Marcus closed the door, and (Reader) deflated, thankful that he took the hint and ended the conversation.

The change between the road and the dirt path could be felt and it made (Reader) almost wish that they had worn a dress instead of pants, just for the added cushion on their rear end.

The first day went smoothly, and boringly, (Reader) had nothing to do but think, and the night was uncomfortable, even cocooned in their blanket. But it was the next day that everything went wrong. (Reader) never saw what happened, but suddenly the carriage careened off the path and tumbled down a cliff, crashing through the woods of the mountain side.

(Reader's) entire body became airborne in the carriage, slamming their head into the ceiling, barely giving them enough time to protect their neck with their arms before being thrown like a ragdoll, not feeling any immediate pain due to the rush of adrenaline. It happened so quickly, their balled up body bouncing five times against the walls and roof before landing bottom up on the escarpment.

Out of the shattered window, (Reader) saw Marcus lying motionlessly in a tree a good distance from the carriage. They pulled their body right side up, slowly becoming aware of the stinging pain across their body. Especially their leg. Blood soaked through their right pant leg, and (Reader) couldn't bend it. It was only the second day of their journey, so it would take two days until the Duke realized something was wrong, that the journey was taking too long, and sent out a search party, which would take a day to get to the road they fell off of. Would they even notice the tire marks? And if they did, would they risk the people to search for them?

(Reader) sighed, closing their eyes. There was no point in dwelling on what ifs. (Reader) was resigned to their fate.

"I wonder what will happen first.. Starving to death, or being eaten by a wild animal." They chuckled humorlessly. With nothing to do but wait for the inevitable (Reader) fell asleep, but that was possibly a concussion.

"There's something in there."

"A dead something."

Little voices whispered outside the wreckage, rousing (Reader) from their brain injured slumber. Eyes watched them from the broken window of the door, hiding themselves from view.

"I won't bite." (Reader) offered a smile, hoping whoever was watching them wouldn't be frightened off.

A childish gasp escaped, as one of the spies scampered off. "I thought you said it was dead!" It hollered into the woods.

The child left shuffled their feet in the leaves, debating. "You promise you won't?"

"I promise."

A tiny little thing dressed in rags popped her chubby cheeked head into view, large pointy ears almost drooping under their own weight stuck out from black hair pulled back into a ponytail, her hair framed a green skinned face, making it obvious that the little girl was a goblin. She rung the front of her oversized shirt with her hands nervously.

"Hello." (Reader) cocked their head to the side in a mock bow, back and head in too much pain to attempt an actual greeting. The smile on their lips didn't leave.

"Hello.." The child mumbled in a timid way, copying (Reader's) head tilt.

"My name is (Reader). May I ask for your name?" (Reader) spoke in a low voice to appear as kind and non threatening as possible.

She took a small step forward, entering the little window without needing to duck. "My name is Vix Ix, but my brother calls me Beetle Hands."

"Why does he call you that?"

"Because I'm the best beetle catcher. At least, in my tribe." Vix Ix sat down cross legged just out of (Reader's) reach. Her large eyes wandered over (Reader's) form, mesmerized by their clothing. "What are you doing down here?"

"I had an accident. I was traveling to go meet with a potential client. I make clothes." (Reader) added that last part, seeing how the little girl's eyes sparkled while staring at the intricate needlework on their vest.

"Did you make that?" Vix Ix pointed a finger curiously at the top.

"Yes, I did. Would you like to see more of my work?" The tiny child nodded excitedly. The reaction was very human, and very adorable. "Everything may have.. scattered in the fall. But there should be a chest with a black lock, and a worn painting of a dove above it's latch. If you can find that", (Reader) fished through their pocket for a key and held it out to Vix Ix, "you can see a few of the dresses I brought for my client to look at."

Vix Ix grabbed the key, forgetting to be frightened. She ran back out of the wreckage, and (Reader) laughed, enjoying being able to bring wonder to a child in what (Reader) thought was their final moments.

They had heard so many rumors about goblins, so many stories, ranging from awful tales of mindless gnome sized trolls that murdered anything that breathed, to intelligent little creatures unfairly exterminated because of their annoying love of tricks and pranks. Sunlight glinted off of the broken shards of glass, reflecting into (Reader's) eye. How long had I been asleep? From their spot in the trees, they couldn't tell if it was midday or sunset.

Twigs snapped as the goblinette ran at full speed back to (Reader), out of breath and clutching a sparkly purple dress with butterflies embroidered at the hem line. "You made this?!"

"Hahaha! Yes I did. Do you like it?"

She was practically on the verge of tears. "It's beautiful! Is your client a princess?" Her voice was full of awe.

"The daughter of a Duke." The child waddled over, tripping on the bundle of dress in her arms, and sat much closer to (Reader) than she had earlier.

"It's so pretty!" Green fingers rubbed the fabric lovingly.

An idea came to (Reader) as they saw the joy in Vix Ix's face as she gripped the dress tightly. "You know.. I also had my sewing kit with me. If you can find that, I can trim up this dress for you."

Eyes wide with shock, her ears bounced like she had just been slapped, and asked in horror "You would cut up this dress?!"

Surprised, (Reader) felt their heart melt a little. "My leg is broken." Vix Ix looked down, and seemed startled by the blood. "I don't think there's any way the Duke's men are going to find me. So, I would have to cut off a lot of this dress to fit you, but I'd rather it be worn, then rot away in a trunk."

Tears began to drip down the little kid's cheeks, puffed up in an attempt to stop herself from crying. "I'll go find your sewing kit." She ran back out, sniffling loudly.

The moon rose high into the sky, and Hog Nose, a scrawny little boy who had an upturned button nose unlike any of the goblins in his tribe, held his ears as he was reprimanded by one of the tribe's strongest. Their tribe was small, and unusual. Decades ago their family began from a group of defectors, mostly women escaping their own tribes, wanting to create a community where they could flourish. Despite never attacking humans or causing mischief they suffered many casualties at the hands of adventurers, slaughtering them before they had the chance to explain themselves, forcing them to defend themselves. This left their family broken and impoverished. But they never gave in to "their nature" by stealing from travelers, an attempt to prove that goblins are not born evil.

"And you left Beetle Hands alone, possibly with a human?" Keegraul loudly asked incredulously.

Hog Nose whimpered, afraid of being punished and fearful for his sister. Keegraul grabbed a large dagger, almost a short sword in the young child's hands.

"She still isn't back yet, so lead the way."

The woods were dangerous at night, not only because of wild animals like mountain lions, but because of monsters that had slowly been migrating closer towards the goblins' home. Hog Nose shook as he led Keegraul through the trees, worried to find his sister hurt, or worse.

But what they found instead was that sound of laughter, emanating from a broken carriage connected to a dead horse with another corpse stuck in a tree nearby. Confused, Hog Nose ran to pile of broken wood, rushing past Keegraul who tried to stop him, knife ready for a fight.

"Beetle Hands!" He called out, not knowing what to expect, but surprised by what he found. His sister, wearing human clothing, with an injured human still fixing the bottom of the skirt.

"Hog Nose? What are you doing here?" She seemed genuinely confused, having had so much fun with her new human friend that she hadn't realized the time, standing in the dim light of (Reader's) lamp.

"I'm here to save you?"

Keegraul poked his head in after Hog Nose, curious as to the commotion. That's when the scarred man who had fought many battles with many adventurers, who never once met a human who treated him or his kin as equals, made eye contact with an exhausted person, pale from blood loss, fighting through their pain and fatigue, to make a dress for a little goblin girl. At least, that's what it looked like.

"What's going on here?" Keegraul meant to ask, but it came out as more of a demand.

Worried that they had offended him, (Reader) held up their hands. But Vix Ix beamed up at him, her large toothy grin radiating childish wonder. "(Reader's) making me a princess!"

"Oh, are they?" Keegraul released the tension he had been holding. The air smelled like blood, and at first he thought it was from the human's dead companions outside, but their broken leg was hard to miss. "It looks like they're dying."

Vix Ix ceased her bouncing, turning a terrified eye to (Reader). "Are you dying?"

(Reader) sent a quick glare to the adult goblin before shifting back to their comforting smile. "My leg just hurts, sweetheart. I'm sure I'll be fine."

"Not if you don't get that taken care of." The goblin retorted, stepping closer and bending down to get a better look. He let out a noise of frustration. "I can't see anything but blood with these pants on."

Rough hands with broken nails peeled (Reader's) pants off, pausing whenever they sucked on their teeth in pain. The bone right beneath their knee was protruding from from it's flesh.

"That's a nasty break all right."

"Can you fix it?" The little boy goblin asked, still shaking from earlier, but now cradling his blade like a doll.

Delirious from exhaustion, (Reader) turned their smile to him. "What's your name?"

"Craak, or Hog Nose."

They could feel themselves about to pass out. "Hognose? That's my favorite snake. Cutest little snake I've ever seen.." Keegraul tightened their torn pants around their thigh, waking them up with the shooting pain.

(Reader) hissed, incapable of audibly screaming. "We should take you back to the hole, so that we can get that leg fixed up."

Vix Ix stood tall, arms straight in the air, with a determined look on her face. "You can lean on me!"

Keegraul sighed, rubbing his eyes. "I'll find you a large stick for a crutch, and you can lean on my head for support." Vix Ix followed him, arguing about who got to support (Reader) on their journey, while Hog Nose stood shyly, still watching (Reader) with a small grin. "Did you mean that?"

(Reader) felt feverish, and couldn't focus their eyes. "Of course. You mean.. the snakes right? Never seen a cuter snake." Their breathing was labored, pausing between words awkwardly.

There was an odd blue tint forming on his baby cheeks, but it dissipated with the arrival of his little sister. "WE FOUND A STICK!"

The goblins all stared at the human receiving medical attention, gobsmacked. Everyone was incredibly interested in seeing who was special enough to be brought home by Keegraul. Especially the children, who were entranced by the dress (Reader) fixed up for Beetle Hands.

"Are you a princess?" A young girl asked, practically glowing.

"Haha no."

"Oh. Are you a prince?"

"Alright! Everyone go to bed!" Keegraul shooed the goblins back to the sleeping room. They all went back except a woman and Vix Ix. The lady seemed embarrassed, hiding herself by crossing her arms.

"You made this?"

"Yes. I have more dresses and fabric in the woods."

Her eyebrows were knit in what looked to be anger. "Why did you make a dress for Beetle Hands?"

"I just tailored it for her. Because she thought it was pretty."

"Yeah, but why?"

(Reader) smiled, understanding that the goblins must be suspicious of them. "Doesn't she look pretty?"

Vix Ix spun around, bumping into the other goblin. "I do!"

Her face softened. "You really think she's pretty?"

"Of course?" The goblin turned blue, like Hog Nose had earlier, and shuffled away.

(Reader) would later learn that her name was Reassa, and she warmed up to (Reader) quickly as they recuperated. In fact, all of the goblin tribe were incredibly welcoming to (Reader) to the family. They helped (Reader) between rooms, and generally fawned over them. As thanks for saving their life, (Reader) worked on reworking the dresses and fabrics the goblins found near the crash site into outfits for everyone. But as (Reader) got better, the goblins became more nervous.

"Are you thinking of leaving?" Keegraul wrung his hat in his hands, big sad eyes staring at (Reader) pleadingly.

"I'm sure my boss thinks I'm dead. It would be good to return home, and contact Marcus' family about his fate. But worry not, I won't tell anyone about you or the tribe." (Reader) smiled, practicing standing on their healing leg.

"That's not why I ask." (Reader) cocked their head, confused. "We trust you- I trust you. I know you wouldn't betray us. We- we'll just miss you."

Vix Ix popped out from behind a stack of boxes, knocking (Reader) to the ground, sobbing. "You're not leaving!"

Keegraul's heart broke. "Beetle -"

"No! Ti aim kahl, pen! (Reader's) not leaving!"

Reassa listened from outside the hole, along with three other women. They didn't understand. Didn't they make their love for (Reader) obvious enough? The flowers they would weave into crowns for them, the poems they world write for them..

One of the younger women started crying, head in her hands, choking on her sobs. Something dark grew in Reassa's chest, a feeling she often tried to force away, to prove to the world that they were wrong about goblins. A darkness, a possessiveness. "Maybe we should keep (Reader) here."

"We can't keep them against their will. They aren't a prisoner."

Reassa punched the entrance to their hollow, clenching her jaw tightly. "I love them."

"So do we.. but, what can we do?"

Hog Nose dropped a basket of vegetables. He had returned earlier than the other children. "Did you just say (Reader) is leaving?"

"Hog Nose! I'm so sorry, when did you get here?"

"I don't want them to leave!"

"I know, baby, but there's nothing-"

Hog Nose pulled out his dagger from it's sheath, rubbing his thumb across the beautiful golden vest (Reader) had made him as he did so. "(Reader) never learned our language."

"What?"

"What if the woods are too dangerous for them to go home? Because of the kahn piers?" The women all stopped, internally debating whether or not they could betray their fore mothers like this, lie to keep a human for themselves. But the decision was made for them, as Hog Nose slashed open his arm with the blade.

Inside the hole, (Reader) heard the women scream, and quickly wrestled Vix Ix to her feet so (Reader) could hobble to the opening. Reassa carried Hog Nose in her arms, a bloody mess, with a guilty expression on her face.

"What happened?" Keegraul demanded, watching as (Reader) pulled the little boy out of Reassa's arms to inspect the damage.

"He was attacked!" She collapsed, tearing at Keegraul's shirt.

"By what?!"

She swallowed hard, eyes flickering to (Reader), the motion only noticed by Keegraul and Vix Ix.

"Kahn piers."

Keegraul's eyes widened, realizing immediately what they had planned without discussing with him or the other men. "What kind of idiot-"

"What's a kahn pier?"

Vix Ix looked at her brother, witnessing him quickly shut the eye he was peaking out of. "Kahn piers are the most vile, evil creatures in these woods!" She cried out, grabbing onto her brother dramatically. "Hog Nose is lucky to be alive!"

Shame ripped through Keegraul's spirit, but seeing (Reader) shake with fear, imagining them doting on the children, caring for an the adults, watching them leave.

Wouldn't it be wonderful? Having (Reader) there to brighten their little home, loving the young ones as their own pen? Almost like a real spouse?

Even the way they clung onto Hog Nose's bloodied body, too broken up to notice that all his wounds were only surface deep.

Keegraul knew that everyone would play along, no one would tell (Reader) the truth. Everyone loved them so much, it was almost disturbing.

"Call everyone back home. The woods aren't safe."

#not proofread #so tired #I'm a little sick #so please forgive me #bad writing #platonic yandere #yandere family #yandere goblins #yandere monster #may come back later to proofread #i just wanted to get it out there lol

[runa-falls]

step on me

pairing: mean!miguel o'hara x naive!reader

summary: you have a peculiar 'relationship' with miguel -- basically, you'll take what you can get.

warning: explicit 18+, smut, unprotected sex, man-handling, no after-care, power imbalance, toxic relationship, very one-sided, fwb, little bit of angst, kinda sad rly.

w/c: 2.4k

a/n: ik i have two series i should be writing for but-- actually i have no excuse. i've been listening to step on me for hours now so that's why this is this...maybe one more part after this ? idk yet --

masterlist

---

You have an interesting relationship with Miguel, if you can call it that. You’ve been fucking for weeks now, shoving each other against closet walls, over desks, or atop bathroom counters with no regard for anyone else around. 

But you’re not friends. You’re barely even friendly colleagues. 

It happened so fast the first time.

There wasn’t any growing tension that led to the snap of a rubber band. He just kissed you out of the blue. Grabbed you, quite eagerly by the neck, completely cutting off what you were saying, then pulled you in, lips pressing hot against yours. 

You had trouble wrapping your mind around what was happening so you went still, arms hanging timidly at your sides, eyes wide with surprise.

His hand grasped your jaw, holding you exactly where he wanted you. 

The shock in your body dissipated slowly as he started to lick into your mouth. Your eyes closed at the feel of his soft tongue against yours. You leaned into him, body melting at his touch.

It was the last thing you were expecting from him at the end of your debriefing.

It happened after the rest of the crew left. They were dismissed by Miguel and anxious to get home or to pick up a bite to eat, but you stayed behind, wanting to pitch another one of your ideas to him. 

Like always. 

It started off with the usual routine: 

He barely looks at you when he flatly asks why you were still there. He’s a very impatient man, always in a hurry to go from point A to point B.

You don’t mind his question because he already knows the answer.  

You jumped right into blabbing about the newest technological upgrades that you think could be beneficial for the group while he full-heartedly ignored you, gloved fingers swiping around on his holographic monitor. 

The occasional Uh-huh. Yeah, sure. Ok. Was all you were getting from him. But you continue, hoping to spark his interest, if only for a second. 

You’re so lost in your own explanations that you don’t notice he’s actually looking at you now. And walking closer. Much closer than he has ever been before. 

Now that you’re thinking back on it, he was pretty tense that day. Makes sense why the bruises on your waist are still in the late stage of healing, despite your spider-woman-enhanced abilities. 

—

You have always looked up to Miguel as a mentor as much as your boss. He has a lot of experience as a Spider, far more than your mere year-and-a-half as Spider-Girl (you prefer Spider-Woman, but your New York refused to budge on the name). 

You’ve been trying for months to get his attention if only for him to look over your work as an engineer because, as much power as he has in Spider-Society, he’s also quite brilliant in his own right. 

So when he kissed you, you finally felt seen by him. Because now, you’re not just another Spider on the wall. He wants you. Now you have a chance to be a bigger part of Spider-Society. 

Well, you soon found out that him wanting you, involved very little conversation. 

None — if it were his choice. 

“So what do you think?” You wait eagerly for his feedback, but he doesn’t respond, his lips just continue to brush against your throat, away from the bruise he just sucked into your skin. “...Miguel?”

“Hm?” The sharp edge of his fang runs over your collarbone. You shiver at the feeling. 

“The stabilizers.”  He bites down, gently enough not to break skin.

“What about them…?”

“I–” A hand makes its way under your shorts, cupping your center as he continues to litter your skin with more bites. “N-nevermind. We can talk about it later.”

He barely nods, head resting on your shoulder, “Lift your hips for me, sweetheart.” 

The thing is, there never was a later with him. If you weren’t behind closed doors, it’s like nothing’s changed. 

These days, he is always busy after debriefs. Except when he wants you.

But by then, your mouth is already webbed closed with his fiery red silk, so you can’t even bring it up if you wanted to. 

—

“Alright, good work everyone.” The Spiders around you start to shuffle out of their chairs as Miguel closes up, “Team 470B will be on call for the next one, so go home and get some rest.” Casual chatter starts to bloom around you and all professionalism goes out the door as the meeting is adjourned. 

You push back on your rolling chair and stand up, satisfied by the day of work. You stretch, body stiff from sitting for so long, and nearly lose your footing from how far you were reaching. You are planning to go straight home and take a long bath before bed, knowing by now that Miguel wouldn’t have time to see you before he’s off to his next thing. 

Just as you’re about to walk out with the rest, you hear him call out, “Not you, Spider-Girl.” You’re the only one that looks back (as you’re the only one with that terribly degrading name), but you point at yourself anyway. He looks at you with an unamused look, as if to say “Who the fuck else?” 

You get the memo and follow him. 

You silently walk a few paces behind him as you travel through the ravine that’s Spider-HQ. You hear a few, “What’s up, Spider-Girl?” and “Good Evening, O’Hara”s, as you pass the halls full of familiar (and unfamiliar) Spiders. You wave politely, sending smiles to your co-workers and friends, but Miguel barely acknowledges them. 

Once you get to his office, you’re pushed against the wall. Claws dig into your wrists as they’re held above you. It’s a bit higher than you can reach so you’re forced to stand on your tip-toes to stay comfortable. The positioning forces your back to arch slightly and your chest brushes against his.   

Your face heats in embarrassment as you lose your footing for a second, almost falling against him. Looking up, you watch as his gaze darkens rapidly with syrupy desire. He’s clearly enjoying the stumbling doe under him.

As he leans down to capture your lips, his hands lower with yours, giving you a bit of reprieve to stand back on your heels. You sigh against his lips as your strained muscles have a chance to relax.

He pulls away, resting his forehead against yours. “Gotta make this quick, I’m needed in 2997 in an hour.”

It’s always quick. Over before you’re ready. Before you can really sink into the feeling of his touch, of his lips against yours, of the hand-shaped bruises getting pressed into your outer thighs. 

“Ok.”

His hands drift from yours and trace over your suited figure before wrapping around your waist. You’re hoisted up easily by his strong arms and you instinctively wrap your legs around his hips. 

He brings you over to a couch at the corner of the room, one that’s there for decoration rather than comfort. 

You’re gently laid on your back, hair spread out under you, watching as Miguel’s eyes pour over your rapidly rising chest and puffy lips. He’s straddling your legs, body hunched over you.

His fingers lightly brush over your chest before pinching at the stretchy fabric of your suit, “Let’s get this off.” 

You press the subtle release button that sits under the spider logo of your suit and it instantly pools around you. His hands quickly make work to take it off, pulling it down and off of you with one swift tug. You sigh at the sensation of your skin meeting the cool air. 

You hear him discard the suit to the side, then he’s back on you.

He palms over your tits, flicking your sensitive nipples with his thumb leisurely, taking time to pull gasps and moans from your lips. You throw your head back when he pinches you, moaning loudly at the pleasurable pain. He takes one bud into his mouth, sucking and laving at your skin until your body starts to physically tremble from the stimulation. Then his touch is gone. 

You watch as he sits up and starts to remove his own suit from the neck to his waist, revealing his heavily muscled torso, warm skin speckled with the occasional mole. He lets you feel him under your small palm, muscles rippling as you drag your fingers downward. You’re tunnel vision as you watch them brush over the dark hair of his happy trail and pull the bottom half of his suit down. 

He’s already hard for you, precum dribbling slowly from the blush pink tip. Your hand wraps around his silken cock and he pulses at your touch, eagerly anticipating your next move. You meet his half-lidded gaze, watching his soft lips part as you squeeze around him experimentally. 

“I need to be inside of you.” He guides your hand off of him and lets it rest on his chest as he bends over you once again. Calloused fingers trail down the sensitive skin of your inner thighs and over your dripping heat. Your breath stutters when he slides his middle finger against your slippery folds and pushes in easily, making sure you’re ready enough to take him.

You always are.

His breathing labors as he works another finger into you, slick sounds growing louder as he increases the speed. You clench around his fingers unintentionally at the thought of your body affecting him like that, and it makes him groan. 

Your legs abruptly start to close around his arm as he pushes in deeper, angling his fingers at just the right positioning to nudge against your g-spot. He pushes them apart with his other hand, holding you down against the couch as you quickly reach the edge. You cry out as electricity fizzes through your nerves and leaves you completely boneless. White is all you see as heat travels through your body and out. 

Your heart beats harshly when you finally come down and your legs still twitch from the residual stimulation that’s slowly evaporating off your body. When you open your eyes, you see Miguel staring back at you.

“You good?” 

“Mhm…”

He draws his hands away from you, “Okay,” He’s practically cooing at you. “Open up for me, sweetheart.” You lazily spread your legs for him, allowing him to slot himself in between them. 

He slides himself against your heat, coating himself in your sweet slick, and grinds against you for a minute, letting his cock nudge ever so slightly against your sensitive clit just to see you squirm. 

“Miguel, please.” Your voice is hoarse as you beg.

“I got you, honey.” Your hands hold onto his biceps when he starts to push into you and you squeeze at his arms as you get used to the feeling of your body slowly stretching around him, inch by inch. You both moan when he bottoms out and have to stop to get used to the feeling. 

Then he starts moving. Hard. 

His arms hold him up next to your head as he fucks you into the couch, hips ramming against yours without care. Any semblance of softness he has shown you before is gone. 

The feeling of being filled up so harshly is overwhelming and all you can do is hold on to him, nails digging into his skin, grasping in desperation.

Miguel takes one of his arms and uses it to prop his leg higher to give him more space. Your eyes roll to the back of your head when he starts to push in deeper. As deep as he can. There it is again, that euphoric spot inside of you. Pressure pools in your stomach, igniting a feeling of limitless pleasure. Your eyebrows furrow as your body begins to tense again, already building up to another orgasm.

He can feel your walls start to flutter around him, clenching and sucking him in closer. He has to hold himself back from cumming right there as you grow impossibly tighter. “Cum for me again, baby.” His strained words pull you closer to the edge and your legs begin to shake. 

You’re practically writhing under him as white-hot pleasure finally shoots through your system for the second time. Warmth radiates from your center and your entire body is assaulted with intense bliss, all your senses numbed. 

“Fuck –” He can’t help but swear as you cum around him, pushing him infinitely closer to his climax. He’s still rutting into you, pushing your body into the couch cushions with every thrust, but his pace is becoming inconsistent as he holds himself back from finishing inside of you. 

He pulls out at the last moment, letting out a choked groan as he spurts over your stomach, hand fisting his cock as he completely empties himself.

He takes a few deep breaths above you to calm down before leaning back on his knees and reaching behind him. You didn’t notice that there was already a towel hanging on one of the couch’s arms until he grabs it and gently wipes himself off.

You’re still recovering, breathlessly laying on your back in exhaustion, barely able to move from all the energy you exerted. Your body aches wonderfully when you shift to the side, and you’re sure you’ll feel it more tomorrow. 

“Clean yourself up, sweetheart.” He passes you the towel, already getting up off the couch. The small hand-towel plops on your stomach covering the white ropes he left on your skin. “I’m gonna need the office back as soon as I finish my mission, so you’ll have a few hours.” Your body curls into itself, a bit cold as his body heat leaves you. You look up and he’s already back in his suit, brushing his hair back into place. “I’ll, uh, see you later, sometime?” 

You nod, sending him a small smile. “Ok.” 

With that, he leaves the room. 

He’s always in a hurry, but you suppose that’s just how things are when you’re trying to single-handedly hold the multiverse together.

You appreciate the little time you get with him, knowing how busy he is and all, but sometimes you wish you could have him for a little bit longer, if just to talk to him. 

For now, though, you’ll take what you can get.

#mean!miguel #spider man 2099 #atsv fic #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x reader

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Tech workers and gig workers need each other

Catch me in Miami! I'll be at Books and Books in Coral Gables on Jan 22 at 8PM.

We're living in the enshittocene, in which the forces of enshittification are turning everything from our cars to our streaming services to our dishwashers into thoroughly enshittifified piles of shit. Call it the Great Enshittening:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/09/lead-me-not-into-temptation/#chamberlain

How did we arrive at this juncture? Is it the end of the zero rate interest policy? Was it that the companies that formerly made useful things that we valued underwent a change in leadership that drove them to make things worse? Is Mercury in retrograde?

None of the above. There have been many junctures in which investors demanded higher returns from firms but were not able to force them to dramatically worsen their products. Moreover, the leaders now presiding over the rapid unscheduled disassembly of once-useful products are the same people who oversaw their golden age. As to Mercury? Well, I'm a Cancer, and as everyone knows, Cancers don't believe in astrology.

The Great Enshittening isn't precipitated by a change in how greedy and callous corporate leaders are. Rather, the change is in what those greedy, callous corporate leaders can get away with.

Capitalists hate capitalism. For a corporate executive, the fact that you have to make good things, please your customers, pay your workers, and beat the competition are all bugs, not features. The best business is one in which people simply pay you money without your having to do anything or worry that someday they'll stop. UBI for the investor class, in other words.

Douglas Rushkoff calls this "going meta." Don't sell things, provide a platform where people sell things. Don't provide a platform, invest in the platform. Don't invest in the platform, buy options on the platform. Don't buy options, buy derivatives of options.

A more precise analysis comes from economist Yanis Varoufakis, who calls this technofeudalism. Varoufakis draws our attention to the distinction between profits and rents. Profit is the income a capitalist receives from mobilizing workers to do something productive and then skimming off the surplus created by their labor.

By contrast, rent is income a feudalist derives from simply owning something that a capitalist or a worker needs in order to be productive. The entrepreneur who opens a coffee shop earns profits by creaming off the surplus value created by the baristas. The rentier who owns the building the coffee shop rents gets money simply for owning the building.

The coffee shop owner can never rest. At any moment, another coffee shop can open down the street and lure away their customers and their baristas. When that happens, the coffee shop goes bust and the owner is ruined. But not the landlord! After the coffee shop goes bust, the landlord's asset is more valuable – an empty storefront just down the street from the hottest coffee shop in town.

Capitalists hate capitalism. Faced with a choice of retaining their workers by paying them a fair wage and treating them well, or by saddling them with noncompetes that make it impossible to work for anyone else in the same field, and obligations to repay tens of thousands of dollars for "training" if they quit, bosses will take the latter every time. Go meta, baby.

Same for competition. Faced with the choice of competing to win the most customers with the best products, or merging so that customers have nowhere else to go, even the bitterest of rivals find it remarkably easy to intermarry until our corporations landscape is so interbred the dominant firms all have Habsburg jaws. Think: Facebook-Instagram. Disney-Fox. Microsoft-Activision:

https://locusmag.com/2021/07/cory-doctorow-tech-monopolies-and-the-insufficient-necessity-of-interoperability/

Enshittification has complex underlying dynamics and a reliable procession of stages, but the effect is quite straightforward: things are enshittified when they become worse for the people who use them and the suppliers who makes them, but nevertheless, the users keep using and the suppliers keep supplying.

There are four forces that stand in the way of enshittification, and as each of these forces grows weaker, enshittification proliferates.

The first and most important of these constraints is competition. Capitalists claim to love competition because it keeps firms sharp: they must constantly find ways to improve products and cut costs or be swept away by a superior alternative. There's a degree of truth here, but that's not the whole story.

For one thing, competition can "improve" things that we would rather see abolished. Critics of the GDPR, the EU's landmark privacy law, often point to the devastation that enforcing privacy law had on the European ad-tech industry, driving small firms out of business. But these firms were the most egregious privacy offenders, because they had the least to lose, lacking the dominant position of US-based Big Tech surveillance companies.

Having the least to lose, they were the most reckless with their privacy invasions – but they were also the least equipped to pay expensive enablers from giant corporate law firms to hold off European enforcers, and so they were obliterated. The resulting lack of competition is fine, as far as privacy goes: we don't want competition in the field of "who is most efficient at violating our human rights":

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2021/04/fighting-floc-and-fighting-monopoly-are-fully-compatible

But there's another benefit to competition: disorganization. A sector with hundreds of medium-sized, competing companies is a squabbling mob, incapable of agreeing on the site for an annual meeting. An industry dominated by a handful of firms is a cartel, handily capable of presenting a unified front to policy makers, and their commercial coziness provides them with vast war-chests they can use to suborn governments and capture their regulators:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/05/regulatory-capture/

Competition is the first constraint. When there's competition, corporate managers fear that you will respond to enshittification by defecting to a rival, costing them money. They don't care about your satisfaction, but they do care about your money, and competition hitches their ability to satisfy you to their ability to get paid by you.

Competition has been circling the drain for 40 years, as the "consumer welfare" theory of antitrust, hatched by Reagan's court sorcerers at the University of Chicago School of Economics, took hold. This theory insists that monopolies are evidence of "efficiency" – if everyone shops at one store, that's evidence that it's the best store, not evidence that they're cheating.

For 40 years, we've allowed companies to violate antitrust law by merging with major competitors, acquiring fledgling rivals, and using investor cash to sell below cost so that no one else can enter the market. This has produced the inbred industrial hulks of today, with five or fewer firms dominating everything from eyeglasses to banking, sea freight to professional wrestling:

https://www.openmarketsinstitute.org/learn/monopoly-by-the-numbers

The endless and continuous weakening of competition has emboldened corporate enshittifiers, who operate on the logic of Lily Tomlin in her role as an AT&T spokeswoman: "We don't care. We don't have to. We're the phone company":

https://vimeo.com/355556831

But the drawdown of competition has also enabled regulatory capture, by converting cutthroat adversaries to kissing cousins. These companies have convinced their regulators not to enforce privacy, consumer protection or labor laws, provided that the gross violations of these laws are accomplished via apps.

This is where tech exceptionalism is warranted: while the bosses that run these companies aren't any nobler – or more wicked – than the Robber Barons of yore, they are equipped with a digital back-end for their businesses that let them change the rules of the game from moment to moment.

Think of labor law: as Veena Dubal writes, gig-work companies practice algorithmic wage discrimination, turning your paycheck into a slot machine that pays out more when you are more selective about which jobs you take, and which then docks your pay by tiny increments as you become less discriminating about answering the app's call:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/12/algorithmic-wage-discrimination/#fishers-of-men

This is a plain violation of labor law, but the fiction that gig workers are contractors, combined with the opacity and speed of the wage discrimination back-end, lets the companies get away with it.

But the monsters who hatched this scam are no worse than their forebears, nor are they any smarter. Any black-hearted coal-boss memorialized in a Tennessee Ernie Ford song would have gladly practiced algorithmic wage discrimination – but there just weren't enough green-eyeshade accountants in the back office to change the payout from second to second.

I call this "twiddling" – turning the knobs on the back end to continuously adjust the business logic that the firm operates on:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/19/twiddler/

Twiddling is everywhere, and it is only possible because "it's not a crime if we use an app" has been accepted by (captured) regulators. Think of Amazon's "pricing paradox," where deceptive search results – which Amazon makes $38b/year on – allow the company to offer lower prices, but charge higher ones:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/06/attention-rents/#consumer-welfare-queens

The first constraint on enshittification is competition – the fear that you'll lose money when a disgusted customer take their business elsewhere. The second constraint is regulation – the fear that a regulator's punishment will eat up all the expected gains from an enshittificatory move, or even exceed those gains, leading to a net loss.

But the less competition there is in a sector, the easier it is for the remaining companies to capture their regulators. Say goodbye to that second constraint.

But there's another constraint – another one that's unique to technology, and genuinely exceptional. That's self-help. Digital technology is infinitely flexible, which is why managers can twiddle the business logic and change the rules on a dime.

But it's a double-edged sword. Users can twiddle back. The universal nature of digital products means it's always technically possible to disenshittify the enshittified products in your world. Mercedes wants to charge you rent on your accelerator pedal via a monthly subscription? Just mod the car by toggling the "subscription paid" bit and get the accelerator for free:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/24/rent-to-pwn/#kitt-is-a-demon

HP tricks you into installing a "security update" that sneakily disables your printer's ability to recognize and use third-party ink? Just roll back the operating system and you won't be forced to spend $10,000/gallon to print out your boarding passes and shopping lists:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2020/11/ink-stained-wretches-battle-soul-digital-freedom-taking-place-inside-your-printer

Self-help – AKA "adversarial interoperability" – isn't just a way to override the greedy choices of corporate sadists. It's a way to hold those sadists in check. It's a constraint.

Imagine a boardroom where someone says, "I calculate that if we make our ads 25% more invasive and obnoxious, we can eke out 2% more in ad-revenue." If you think of a business as a transhuman colony organism that exists to maximize shareholder value, this is a no-brainer.

But now consider the rejoinder: "If we make our ads 25% more obnoxious, then 50% of our users will be motivated to type, 'how do I block ads?' into a search engine. When that happens, we don't merely lose out on the expected 2% of additional revenue – our income from those users falls to zero, forever."

Self-help is the third constraint on enshittification. But when competition fails, and regulatory capture ensues, companies don't just gain the ability to flout the law – they get to wield the law, too.

Tech firms have cultivated a thicket of laws, rules and regulations that make self-help measures very illegal. This thicket is better known as "IP," a term that is best understood as meaning "any policy that lets me control the conduct of my competitors, my customers and my critics":

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

To put an ad-blocker in an app, you have to reverse-engineer it. To do that, you'll have to decrypt and decompile it. That step is a felony under Section 1201 of the DMCA, carrying a five-year prison sentence and a $500,000 fine. Beyond that, ad-blocking an app would give rise to liability under the Computer Fraud and Abuse Act (a law inspired by the movie Wargames!), under "tortious interference" claims, under trademark, copyright and patent.

More than 50% of web users have installed an ad-blocker:

https://doc.searls.com/2023/11/11/how-is-the-worlds-biggest-boycott-doing/

But zero percent of app users have installed an ad-blocker, because they don't exist, because you'd go to prison if you made one. An app is just a web-page wrapped in enough IP to make it a felony to add an ad-blocker to it.

This is why self-help, the third constraint, no longer applies. When a corporate sadist says, "let's make ads 25% more obnoxious to get 2% more revenue," no one says, "if we do that, our users will all install blockers." Instead, the response is, "let's make ads 100% more obnoxious and get an 8% revenue boost!"

https://www.theverge.com/2023/6/16/23763227/uber-video-advertising-ads-taxi-food-delivery-apps

Which brings me to the final constraint: workers.

Tech workers have historically enjoyed enormous bargaining power, thanks to a dire shortage of qualified personnel. While this allowed tech workers to command high salaries and cushy benefits, it also led many workers to conceive of themselves as entrepreneurs-in-waiting and not workers at all.

This made tech workers very exploitable: their bosses could sell them on the idea that they were doing something heroic, which warranted "extremely hardcore" expectations – working 16 hour days, sleeping under your desk, sacrificing your health, your family and your personal life to meet deadlines and ship products ("Real artists ship" – S. Jobs).

But the flip side of this appeal to heroism is that it only worked to the extent that it convinced workers to genuinely care about the things they made. When you miss you mother's funeral and pass on having kids in order to meet deadline and ship a product, the prospect of making that product worse is unthinkable.

Confronted by the moral injury of enshittifying a product you care about, and harming the users you see yourself as representing, many tech workers balked at the prospect. Because tech workers were scarce – and because there were plenty of employment prospects for workers who quit – they could actually prevent their bosses from making their products worse:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/25/moral-injury/#enshittification

But those days are behind us, too. Mass tech worker layoffs have gutted tech workers' confidence. When Google lays off 12,000 tech workers just months after a stock buyback that would have paid their wages for the next 27 years, they deliver two benefits to their shareholders. It's not just the short-term gains from the financial engineering – there's the long-term gain of gutting worker power and stripping away the final impediment to enshittification:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/10/the-proletarianization-of-tech-workers/

No matter how strong an individual tech worker's bargaining power was, it was always brittle. Long before googlers were being laid off in five-digit cohorts, they were working in an environment where harassment and predation were just part of the job. The 20,000+ googlers who walked off the job in 2018 were an important step towards replacing the system where each tech worker's power was limited to their moment-to-moment importance to their bosses' plans with a new system based on a collective identity.

Only through collective action and solidarity – unions – could tech workers hope to truly resist all the moral injuries of their bosses enshittification imperatives. No surprise then, that tech unions are on the rise:

https://abookapart.com/products/you-deserve-a-tech-union

But what is a little surprising – and very heartening! – is what happens when techies start to self-identify as workers: they come to understand that they share common cause with the other workers at the bottom of the tech stack. Think of Amazon's tech workers walking out in solidarity with Amazon's warehouse workers:

https://gizmodo.com/tech-workers-speak-out-in-support-of-amazon-warehouse-s-1842839301

Superficially, the bottom rank of the tech industry is as different from the tech workers at the top as you can imagine. Tech workers are formally employed, with stock options, health care and theme-park "campuses" with gyms and gourmet cafeterias.

The gig workers who pack, drive, deliver and support tech products aren't even employees – they're misclassified as contractors. They don't get free massages – they get AI bosses that monitor their eyeballs and dock their paychecks for peeing:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/11/robots-stole-my-jerb/#computer-says-no

Gig workers desperately need unions, but they also derive extraordinary benefits from self-help measures. When an app is your boss, another app can make all the difference to your working conditions. Take Para, an app that fights algorithmic wage discrimination by allowing gig workers to collectively and automatically refuse any job where the pay is below a certain threshold, forcing the algorithm to pay everyone more:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2021/08/tech-rights-are-workers-rights-doordash-edition

Para is fighting a grim legal and technical battle against companies like Doordash, whose margins depend on atomized workers with atomized apps, prohibited from countertwiddling. This is a surprisingly effective tactic: in Indonesia, gig workers co-ops create suites of "tuyul" apps that modify the behavior of their bosses' apps', unilaterally securing concessions that they lack the bargaining power to secure by other means:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/07/08/tuyul-apps/#gojek

Tuyul apps and other forms of countertwiddling aren't a substitute for unionization, they're an adjunct to it. The union negotiator whose rank-and-file are able to modify the apps that monitor and control their working conditions operates from a position of strength. "Please give my members more bathroom breaks" is a lot weaker than, "If you want my members to stop hacking their apps so they can piss when they need to, you're going to have to give them official bathroom breaks."

This is where solidarity between the high-paid tech workers at the keyboard and low-paid tech workers on the delivery bikes comes in. Together, they can wring more concessions from their bosses, sure. But unionized coders can give their unionized delivery riders the apps they need to countertwiddle and increase the bargaining leverage of all the workers in the union. And when unionized coders' bosses force them to put enshittifying anti-features in the apps they care about, unionized front-line workers can run counter-apps that disenshittify them.

Other sectors are already working through versions of this. The ouster of the old corrupt leadership of the Teamsters ushered in a new, radical era that produced historic wage and working condition gains for drivers and the abolition of the two-tier contract system that eventually destroys any union that tries it.

That change in leadership was possible because the Teamsters organized the Harvard Grad Students, and those Harvard kids memorized the union rulebook. At the historic conference where the old guard was abolished, it was teamwork between the union rank-and-file and the rules-lawyers from Harvard that turned the proceedings around:

https://theintercept.com/2023/04/07/deconstructed-union-dhl-teamsters-uaw/

We are deep into the enshittocene and it is terribly demoralizing. But by understanding the constraints that kept enshittification at bay, we can rebuild them, and shore them up. Labor organizing among all kinds of tech workers isn't just a way to get a better deal for those workers – it's key to the disenshittification of all our lives.

I'm Kickstarting the audiobook for The Bezzle, the sequel to Red Team Blues, narrated by @wilwheaton! You can pre-order the audiobook and ebook, DRM free, as well as the hardcover, signed or unsigned. There's also bundles with Red Team Blues in ebook, audio or paperback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/13/solidarity-forever/#tech-unions

#pluralistic #jennifer abruzzo #labor #tech unions #tech layoffs #enshittification #para #tuyul apps #solidarity #union density

[thestalkerbunny]

Please tell us about 1920-30s mob culture. Spare not a single modicum of information. Infodump every little thing. I want to hear about your niche interests.

FINALLY a question WORTHY.

I'll take about what I think is most interesting, the PYRAMID OF MOBS.

-In the 1920s, Gangs went from local criminals being obnoxious to an actual organized structured business format. Albeit illegal in 90% of what they did; there was actually rhyme and reason to everything they did and a strict policy and code of conduct ranging from dress, to attendance to even treatment of women.

Mafia Families are traditionally structured like this.

An associate is someone that is well, associated with the mob. They may do a random off hand job, they're like the very fringe of a friend group in high school. You're not exactly IN with the group, but they may source you for a useful task or two. However-you don't GET the protection that being with the In Group Provides. Think about a Male Hyena entering a new pack. He is beaten, hazed, neglected and down right abused until someone higher up decides he's earned the RIGHT to gain entrance.

Soldiers are the meat of the organization, the worker bees. They do all the little jobs that you think of a mobster doing. Intimidating people, collecting debt money, managing casinos and brothels. They can't be killed off as easily as a Associate as often times-permission had to be granted by the victim's BOSS. (which may be granted if that person is troublesome.) just to avoid gang war.

Caporeigeme is what the title sounds like. Reigning Captain. If the Soldiers are worker bees-the Capos are the ones who manage them. They do much more delicate tasks that require a bit more of a gentle touch. They manage most of the money that channels from the bottom to the top and back down-but they also get in trouble if someone under them fucks up.

The Underboss is the guy essentially being groomed to be the next leader. They're like the vice president, the Deputy. They delegate instructions to the Capos direct from the Boss. They're usually immediate family, like a Son or a Nephew or a Cousin-but that's to assure unquestioning loyalty. If the Boss were to suddenly find himself in jail for some reason or incapacitated or even DEAD-the Underboss will assume power-temporarily or permanetly. This can be contested by a Capo-but they better have the support to back up a claim. Underbosses will often act as figureheads or the faces-Remember. Mob culture is a game of chess and you never put the King in danger if you can help it.

The Boss is the...well boss. Actually, they don't DO a lot. Like I just said-it's a game of chess and you don't jeopardize the King. They're usually very well dressed, classy, and keep out of trouble-but are capable of high violence when the demand comes to it. At all costs, the Boss has to be kept safe-and more importantly out of jail. Compromise of the boss can lead to in fighting, dissolving of the mob family or worse-absorption into a rival mob. All orders will come directly from the Boss and are gradually channeled down through the powers of command mentioned before.

Up there with the Boss-right next to him actually is the Consliegere. It's constantly unsure how much power the Conslierge actually weilds-but it is quite a bit to be equal to the boss. They are Human Reasources, Advisors, Lawyer and Politians all wrapped up in one. They're really the only one to tell the Boss that their ideas are stupid and bad and get away with it. They'll also take the stage if the GOVERMENT starts getting involved or an investigation happens. If the Boss is King-the Consliegere is the Royal Advisor and that is possibly the most powerful position you could have.

#TSB ask #Mobsters #Mob #1920s Mobs