Violet or Vi
Isn't the self-destruction coded into us?
- Joined
- Aug 6, 2021
- Location
- On a bed of roses
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Hi there!
I'm Vi and welcome to my second request thread. With this one I'll keep things short and (hopefully) to the point.
Here I list some of my prompts that I wrote over the last few months. Mostly cyberpunk related but that's not the only thing I enjoy. All of my prompts/ideas can also be read on my carrd page.
If you prefer to read my (hopefully) more thought out main request thread it is this way. And importantly my F-list is this way (NSFW?).
The idea is to display one or two current cravings I have before they are either added to my main thread or the craving fades.
With that out of the way, here we go.
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[Prompt I]
High Pressure Days [Cyberpunk]
This city was a harsh place. The world was. Worst place to live in America. But still, everyone wants to be here. And some are just here because they don't know any better.
Sophie Gray was one of those. Born and raised.
She wasn't a merc. She wasn't a runner. Not anymore, she used to be. But she couldn't take the heat. So a change in carees was in order. Or something like that. A low-life like herself can't be picky with jobs. Money has to come from somewhere. It all started with small gigs. Simple errands. Now she is the girl for everything for people that make more in an hour than she does in a whole year.
In some way Sophie got lucky, she had something of a job that didn't involve getting shot at on a daily basis. Only any other day. Everything girl wasn't the official title. There was no official title. She just did what was asked of her by her bosses or whoever got her number and that the cash to pay. Who was her boss? A rich corpo bitch that prefers not being named. Not being known. It wasn't the only person she worked for but probably her most loyal one. Loyal being a relative term here. Whatever pays the bills.
At least that's how Sophie saw it. She couldn't affort to be picky. Not in this city. Not with her background. Nobody cares about a street rat, a former runner that didn't make it, no matter how good looking. And Sophie looked damn fine. Tall-ish, fit, curves in all the right places. A nice face to look at. A even nicer ass to stare at. Ample breasts. The list goes on and on. She was a looker. Women of all ages used their looks to their advantage in the city. Sophie did too, sometimes. Everything with in reason.
Today was one of those days were nothing seemed to happen, for better or worse. The streets were buzzing with excitement like every day while the sun mercilessly beats down. Same shit, different day.
Sophie sat leaned back on one of the stools of a street food vendor while sipping on a drink. Dark brunette mane brushed to one side. A cheap pair of sunglasses resting on the tip of her nose. Her left ear pieced from lobe up to the top. The nails of her free hand drumming staccato against the counter where just minutes before her plate was.
The flimsy sheets of plastic of the vendors stall offering much needed shade. She wasn't here for the street food. No, Sophie needed something better. Something to distract her from the boredom and numb the mind. Neither was hard to come by. Clubs, bars, cheap alcohol, and slutty women. Sophie wanted the former while trying not to be one of the later herself.
Club 'Cherry PoP!' was only a few blocks away. One of those clubs where one could relax and forget the time. Warm and cozy with decent drinks and music that was bearable. Her mind mulled over the possibility of waking over, spending some time there.
Her thick rear clad in low rise skinny jeans. One foot on the ground while the other rested on the metal ring of the stool. A pair of high-tops sneakers on her feet. A lot of walking meant comfortable footwear. A kitschy T-shirt loosely hanging of her shoulders under synth-leather jacket she wore. Everything in this city was fake.
She was about to get up and do something as the call came.
[Prompt II]
Unknown Enemies and New Hires [Cyberpunk]
Twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight. The numbers on the display of the elevator quickly changed as it shoot up the floors of Yamamoto tower. Sooner or later it would come to a stop with a pleasant ping. Fifty-seven it read on the display. The elevator wasn't one of the main one's one would find in the lobby of the building. No, it was one of the many more discrete elevators one would find in the more hidden corners of the building. This was more practically made to lead to Anastasia Webb's office.
It was a spacious office. High ceiling, nearly two floors high. Dark marble flooring. Was it real? Probably not. Neither was the leather that covered the two, square chairs in front of the similarly square desk. Behind said desk was a big window. Well, the whole back wall was one big window with a view over the city of Neo Eden. Rain ran down the glass. The neon lights of the city blurring behind the water droplets.
In front of the window, inside of the office of course, was a figure. A feminine one. Dressed in a dark grey pants suit. Blazer and slacks. Red shirt underneath. Firm synth cotton or something similar. Expensive, typical corpo stuff. Imposing. That was the idea. One of my many suits in rotation with her dresses and skirts.
Her raven hair pulled up into a neat bun. Silver jewelry adorning her ears and fingers. Not so much that it would seem tacky. But enough to be noticeable.
The woman had her back towards the entrance of the office, her head ever so slightly tilted to one side. The faint echo of voices could be heard. She was taking a call.*
*It had been years. Six? Seven? Anastasia couldn't remember. Her life had changed a lot ever since she fought for her life on the streets. Not that so much has changed in that regard. Corpo life could be just as ruthless if not more so. Said ruthlessness was the reason for to this meeting.
Anastasia had called for someone special. Well, for people to find and pick that someone up and deliver. Keep everything hush-hush. Everything in her life was hush-hush, even the recent attempt on her life. The details were murky, even to Anastasia herself.
An attack on her way home. Motorcyclists. A gun fight ensued. She killed two of the attackers herself. But it wasn't enough. One of them landed a hit with a poisoned needle. The poison was of an unknown origin. Nobody could tell her who made it or where it came from. The purpose, on the other hand, was clear. To kill her. Well, it failed. Not that she just walked away from the incident without a scratch. Anastasia spend weeks in the hospital. Until last week she was bound to the wheelchair. Walking was still rough. Fatigue. Weakness. Muscles atrophy. Not all muscles. Not the important ones. As any person in her position, she had high-tech implants. The latest stuff. Technology that saved her live. Protected vital organs.
She had spend weeks being bound to the hospital bed after the attack. Some of the strength returned but it wasn't like before. It maybe never would be. The medical report came from her doctor she trusted. A women she knew.
Who attacked her and how they knew the route of her vehicle was a mystery. What wasn't a mystery was that changes had to be made. Most of her protection detail either died in the incident or was let go. Irregularities showed up here and there but nothing that lead to anything conclusive. People wanting her dead wasn't anything new. Cost of the doing business.
But that wasn't as important now. Someone was waiting for her attention.
"Bye." The call ended, she hung up. Yet, didn't turn around. Her eyes lingering on the reflecting in the window.
Slowly she swiveled around in her chair to face the woman with her golden eyes.
[Prompt III]
Bad Cop [Cyberpunk]
The sun stood high above the city, mercilessly beating done on its inhabitants. Neon lights of the night replaced by relentless brightness of the California sun. Not that the neon lights ever went dark in this city.
The city was awake and buzzing on this morning just minutes before 10AM. But back in the alley behind the Dynamo bar the sounds of the city were muffled. The bar was common hangout spot for the criminals of the area, at this time of day it was mostly empty except of some regulars that started drinking early or never stopped in the first place.
The alley had some advantages. It was quiet, more or less private, and the nearby buildings offed some shade. Parked in the shadows was a black sports coupe. Only someone close to the car would one be able hear a particular sound bouncing of the walls. A wet, lewd '*plap plap plap*' mixed in with soft moaning coming from the passengers side.
Cassandra 'Cassy' Shaw had been a police officer since nearly half a decade at this point, making it to detective after only a few years. She turned thirty-two just a few weeks ago but not like anyone cared. Telling someone's age could be hard in this future. Much was fake or had transcended flesh.
At the moment she was engaged in an activity that hardly fit the job description of a detective. Upper body bend over with her elbows resting on the lifted passenger seat of her car, knees resting on the frame. The open door offering little to no privacy (because apparently nobody makes doors that open normally in the future), not that it mattered too much.
The alley was deserted and close off from the public by metal fencing.
There she was spending her morning with her panties and jeans pulled down around her soft thighs. The neon pink color of her thong offering a stark contrast to her otherwise dark gray trousers. A loose sleeveless tank-top with the logo of some long forgotten band hang off her shoulders while offering a hefty amount of side boob. Like so many things in her possessive it had seen better days. Fortunately, or unfortunately, she was wearing a matching pink bra underneath. The garment tightly hugging her ample breasts under the piece of cotton. A shoulder holster stretching over her upper back, hugging her toned frame with. A heavy pistol swinging along with every thrust.
Her ample breasts enough to easily fill out most hands. Perfect shape. Perky and gravity defying it seems. Were they real? No. Unlike her ass, she had paid to get those. But who hasn't paid for some 'upgrades' in this city? Not like anyone could tell the difference. Not like anyone cared.
Her heavy rump on display, bare naked and gripped tightly by a pair of hands. The perfect bubble butt. Juicy and jiggly. Spankable and fuckable. Behind her one of the barkeepers of the place. Rhythmically thrusting in and out of her wet pussy. Wanton folds tightly gripping the shaft. All while Cassandra's facial expression was a mixture of mild lust and utter boredom.
Using the time she checked her nail polish for a moment, matte black. Lips half-open. Moaning in rhythm with each thrust of the man's hips, keeping up the façade that she was into it as much as he was. Not that she disliked it per se. She craved sex to an unhealthy degree. The man had something she wanted. She had something he wanted. A list of names. It was a simple exchange. Not that she could've used other methods to get said list. She was a cop after all and knew how to put pressure on someone.
Soon the man tightened his grip around her hips, digging his fingers into her succulent flesh. A grunt followed only a moment later. She answer with a whorish if subdued moan. He came. She didn't. Vaguely feeling the warmth of his release inside of her as it filled out the empty space of the condom.
"Are you done?" she asked while he was still catching his breath.
His answer was a slap connecting with her lush cheeks before pulling out. Cassandra hissed while quickly turning around. The cool barrel of a gun, not the one from her holster, pressing against the underside of the man's chin. It was one of a few guns hidden around the car, this one came from between the cushions of the passenger's seat.
"Woah, woah!" he replied while lifting his hands in surrender. His half-erect cock on display, used condom still his member.
"The shard," she demanded. Slowly the man, who's name she forgot, reached for his neck slot to pull out the data-shard. Cassy accepted it with her free hand, a cocky smirk tugging on her plush lips. All with her panties around her thighs. "We're done here," she sighed after inspecting the contents of the shard, slowly lowing her gun.
"What the fuck, chica?! Fucking loco," he barked while taking a few steps back. His right hand busy pulling off the condom of his softening dick before throwing it over his shoulder towards the dumpster a few meters away. "See you next time," he added while pulling up his pants before disappearing into the bar through the back door.
Cassandra waited, leaned against the frame of her car, until he was out of sight. Once he was out of sight she threw the smaller gun onto the passenger seat. It would be hidden under the cushion of the seat again like it had been before she pulled it out.
Now that her hands were free, she finally reached for the strings of her thong. Stopping for a moment as she looked down. The gusset of her underwear showing the sights of being wore for a few days. Lightly discolored form arousal and droplets of urine. A long sigh escaped her lips as she pulled her thong and jeans up, wiggling her rear into them before closing her belt.
She looked around only to see that the alley was empty. While leaning against the frame of her car she reached towards the dashboard. Without looking she found the pack of flavored cigarettes. Popping one of those genetically engineered sticks between her lips and lighting it a second later. Cassy took a long drag while letting her eyes wander. There was nothing interesting to be seen. Not that one could except much from a back alley. Dumpsters and dirt. The typical trash of the city. And a freshly discarded, nicely filled condom. Her eyes lingering on the thing for a few moments while she enjoyed her cigarette.
Her hair was as much of a mess as her life. The sides and back shaved. The top of her hair pulled into a something akin to bun. Dark brown with faint red at the tips.
A dry, dismissive chuckle escaped her lips. Some absurd thought crossed her mind. Throwing her head back she looked up into the clear sky while exhaling the smoke. Sweet nothingness, peace of mind for a short moment.
The silence was soon interrupted by an incoming call. No caller ID. That could only mean something stupid.
Reluctantly she picked up with an unwelcoming "Yeah?" Skipping all the superficial greetings stuff.
The voice at the other end was one of some Corpo drone. It wasn't the usual cold and monotone type. Cassandra knew on who's behalf she called. A side gig she could hardly say no to, well she could but part of her was curious enough. While listening to the voice, she slipped out the data shard she just got, placing it into a small metal case before pocketing it. It had to wait.
She still had time before the meeting. Standing there leaned against her car she slowly started to shift around ever so slightly. She had to pee. Her eyes wandering over to the back entrance of the bar. She could go inside and use the bathrooms but she'd avoided seeing the idiot behind the bar again. Instead she yanked her jeans and thong down before sliding into a squat. Fingers tightly wrapping around the bunched up fabrics between her knees while using her free hand for support against the car. A warm stream of yellowish liquid hitting the pavement just a second later as she relaxed her bladder with a faint hiss. Too much beer. It wasn't the first time she squatted besides her car and it wouldn't be the last time either. Cassandra looked down at the puddle forming between her feet with a long sigh and a 'what the fuck am I doing with my life'-expression on her face
Too lazy to look for a tissue she just wiggling her butt for the last few droplets. She had to shower and get a fresh set of clothes anyway. Pulling her pants up for the second time today, something told her it wouldn't be the last time either.
A soft sigh left her lips while she rubbed her hands on the sides of her jeans. Stepping over the puddle she made before rounding the front of the car sliding into the driver's seat. All the doors closed and a few moments later she was back on the street.
Traffic was annoying as always but not a major issue as she drove towards mid-town. Towards the business distract where all the skyscrapers of the big corporations are located.
Fuck this city. Fuck this job.
[Prompt IV]
Slides [Cyberpunk]
Artificially colored eyes were glued to the main screen of her terminal. The numbers didn't look good. The reports coming in didn't either. A new notification popped up. Another missions report. Failure. No casualties. Not that she cared. A long, frustrated sigh breaking the silence as she leaned back.
Jane Thornton was a one of the many corpo-drones grinding away in counterintelligence.
This job would be the end of her. Trying to climb the corporate ladder had been the end of many before.
Jane leaned back in her chair.
Ample, gravity defying breasts. Perky and gravity defying it seems. The red fabric of her undershirt stretched tautly. A black blazer jacket matching the black office slacks hugging her long lets and plump rear. Heart-shaped bubble butt, waist, toned thighs, and abs on top of it all. Tall even without the black leather heels with red sole she was currently wearing. Some could, and would, say she was the 'whole package', at least from the outside. But so were many in this city. Beauty was deceiving and often fake.
Her naked neck leaning up to her raven black hair. Pulled and tied into a tight bun on top. Neatly pulled together. Fulling whatever expectations were once set by the corpo dress code.
"Fuck," she muttered under her breath while relaxing in her office chair in her small dimly lit office. It was barely more than a desk and a chair, the multiple monitors and terminals on her desk and above the main attraction.
And the numbers didn't look good. Corporate warfare was hell even for an agent like her. Probably even more so. All those fuckers on the streets were just hired guns. Had no stake in any of this. No, she had to report to her boss. Another failure. At least the stock prices couldn't be pinned on her.
Jane gritted her teeth, longing for a smoke.
Her hand reached for the first drawer on her right, fingernails perfectly polish with a fresh coat of matte black. Quickly finding the pack of synth flavored cigarettes.
Fuck, she needed more than just a smoke to get through this day. The first meeting with her new boss was in fifteen minutes and all she had was bad news. Don't shoot the messenger is not something everyone around here followed.
Nobody really know what happened to her old boss. Rumors has it he was transferred to South America. Other's say parts of his body were pulled out of the river a week again. Both were equally possible in this world.
The unexpected notification of an incoming call shook her enough to elicited another "Fuck" over her lips. A sigh following before she answered. It was one of her colleges from another floor.
"What?!" She hissed.
"Well, aren't you in a good mood. Read the news?"
"Yes. Not looking good. How is your floor doing?"
"What do you think? It is chaos. Heads are about to roll. Already delivered the news to your new boss?"
"Not yet." A long, heavy sigh followed. "The meeting is in..." A short pause. "Twelve minutes."
Awkward chuckle came from the other end of the line. "Fuck. Nervous?"
"Nervous? I'm about to pee my pants. Rather not be pulled out of the river tomorrow morning." She ended with a nervous chuckle of her own.
"Gotta go. Talk to you later. And stay dry."
"Fuck off."
She looked down at the pack of cigarettes on her desk, there was no time left for a smoke. Hopefully they let her have one before putting a bullet through her brain. Gallows humor.
Maybe Corpo wasn't the right job for her after all. Maybe she would get to do some field work. Or maybe the new boss wasn't that bad after all. Only time would tell.
Any questions and details can be discussed in DMs!
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