#code grey(s)

[hinamie]

spiraling

[slapthebass]

pics from miyu4107 on twitter

[blackvahana]

Man. We looked to catalogue the big bang, no, to be it. The Sky Library is just our body as a clay stone upon which language is inscribed. Looked to the big bang to understand Polarity, but in the end... He: The Atomic Bomb

[spookysanta]

Upcoming ideas for Michael (mostly smut, since I’m a heathen)

All of these probably will be written at some point but lmk which y’all are most interested in reading and I’ll work on that idea first!!

Lessons in Chivalry: Michael has to train you to let him spoil you. No doors, no checks, no 50/50.

Filmed: You want one last hurrah before he flies out to film for a new project for a month… but you want to make sure you both go out with a bang.

Old Man: (Younger!Reader) You love to clown Michael about his age. But you quickly learn — again and again — that he might have a couple greys in his beard, but there’s nothing old about him.

Dodging Bullets (Sinners Edition): A secret visit to set for lunch with the girls means hiding from Michael — nay, Stack. And he’s not happy.

Payback (with Interest): Buying a toy while Michael’s away leads to a secret that has you walking on eggshells. When you come clean, you’ve got a debt to pay.

The Bouncer: Tequila + girl’s night + a shoulder check = a code red, sore thighs, and a lecture for the ages.

Adding my tag list babes for y’all to get your dibssss!!

@blackisy2k @hamzahsf4vg1rl @siasoup @heyyimmisunderstood @mirathebookworm @iluvv.angel @blondfortheweekend @Plan3tCh1ld @remcycles @browngirldominion @smokestackenrgy @marvel-dork98 @chaneajoyyy @jackierose902109 @Secretisme4 @marley1773 @wrldfantasy @remcycles @bxrbie1 @pinkprincessluminary @honestlyurslol @bxrbie1 @uhhh-nunyabidniz-heaux @nybearsworld @eclecticblkgirl @corvusmorte @yallsuck-00 @glambyk @Siqeth @omg-mymelaninisbeautiful @xoxo-lai @perfectlyimperfectme @Mea-bby @kianaleani @prettiest1ittleliar @Mejustme06 @kpop-servant @kneelarhmstrung @rossie-things @thatssonani @esachicaa @ajenae @adornn4jadaa @Kindofaintrovert @bigpumpum18 @famousphilosopherwombat @Transparentphantomface @omg-mymelaninisbeautiful @theesmartblonde @-harmonytbh @jiminsjams123 @li-da-savage @Fckwritersblock @christinabae @Tianna-blanche @queenofklonnie22 @marley1773 @Secret89sblog @secretisme4 @nybearsworld @jackierose902109 @spideyxakmighty2 @rossie-things @Sharpaysbestfriend @chrome-edition @Mulanii9 @blackgurlkillinit @soniaangels @pinkprincessluminary @bxunyx @venusesworld  @flipsidefever @dangerouslylunarwind @writingsbytee @sheabutterbabes @c-grace56 @turbulentvoids @Stankface @mimellowdi @vintigepimpzinio @bedstarz @thesmutconnoisseur

[burguesinha24]

KITTY KAT

a/n: I need her… P IS FOR PUSSY P-U-S-S-Y, THAT PUSSY

Pairings: personaltrainer!Vi x f!reader

Warnings: she does indeed take you to pound town, very self indulgent (i hate working out), fingering, oral (you receiving), spitting (tehe), kinda fluffy idk, semi-public sex GRRRAH

Song: Kitty Kat, Megan Thee Stallion (our queen)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The gym.

One of the worst fucking places in existence. 

Who the fuck could ever take pleasure in being sweaty and tired and sore?

You, apparently. 

You didn’t necessarily like working out. (It was the bane of your existence) But your doctor had said it was healthy, and it was New Year’s, so now was as good a time to start as any. Plus, it gave you an excuse to wear the adorable sports bra and skirt combo your sister had gotten you.

As expected, the gym was absolutely packed. You could see white dudes flexing from every corner, along with a few (glorious) muscle mommies. Unfortunately, the universe did not seem to support your dream (that was whole-heartedly pushed on you by your friends and doctor) of getting fit for the year.

“Apologies, ma’am, but we just don’t have enough space at the moment.” You stared down at the poor, overworked receptionist and frowned, credit card already in hand.

“Really? But I can spot a few extra spaces-”

“It’s a fire hazard, ma’am. You’ll have to wait outside or come back at an earlier time.” 

“There’s really no space? At all?” The teenager looked down at the computer in front of him. 

“Well, we do have available spots with our private trainers, but you’d have to pay for the session. As well as an extra fee for being so last-minute.” You cursed under your breath, moving to put your credit card back in your bag when someone cut you off.

“I’ll take her.” You looked up at the sound of the voice, only to find piercing blue eyes already staring at you. It was scary, honestly, how fit she was. Her messy pink hair flopped carelessly to the side, over one of her eyes, and her body was littered with tattoos. She was already glowing, probably from an earlier exercise. She hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her grey sweats as she walked over to the teenager behind the desk.

“You sure, Vi? You don’t usually ta-”

“I said I’ll take her, Ekko.” She glanced up at you again, an easy smile playing on her ridiculously attractive features. “She looks like she’s never stepped foot inside a gym before.” Your face flushed at her absolutely correct observation. Her gaze darted down to take in your appearance, shamelessly dragging up and down your frame. You suddenly felt a little self-aware about the light pink set you had decided to wear, even if your sweater was drowning your figure. 

Fuck, I do look like I have no idea what I’m doing.

“I’ve been inside a gym before.” You finally responded, frowning at the way her grin only grew.

“Sure you have, cupcake.” Your heart pounded erratically at the nickname, and you silently cursed the universe for putting you in the position to make a fool of yourself in front of such an attractive woman. The teenager behind the desk, Ekko, glanced between the two of you, sighing and turning back to his computer with a look that said, ‘I-don't-get-paid-enough-for-this’.

“Alright, that’ll be-”

“Free of charge, Ekko.” You tore your gaze from her hypnotic blue eyes to look down at the young man. He raised an eyebrow. “Fine, whatever. I gotta give a reason, though. What should I code in? That you were too horny to-” She coughed loudly, drowning out the rest of his sentence. He smirked at her as she sent him a harsh glare. 

“I’ll deal with that later, just give her a damn card.” 

One sibling-like argument later and a shiny new membership card in your hand, you found yourself in one of the training rooms with the attractive stranger. 

Vi.

Her name echoed in your mind. You wondered what it was short for. Victoria? Vivian? Vienna? She watched as you set your stuff down in the corner of the room, nervously fiddling with your water bottle until it finally decided to stand upright without falling over. She eyed you expectantly as you turned around.

“What?” You finally said, picking at the fabric of your sweatshirt. 

“You gonna take that off?” Your cheeks flamed. “I don’t go easy.” She tilted her head. “I would hate for you to get uncomfortable and sweaty before we even start.” Holy shit the way she was talking had you second guessing what you were really here for. You obeyed her request, (because, duh) slowly sliding off your sweatshirt to reveal the set you had chosen out for today. Something flickered in her eyes as she drank in the sight of you.

Shit, she had thought you were hot in the lobby, but this? This was just fucking unfair. You looked like a goddess. Your skirt just barely hung half-way down your thighs, and your bra pushed up your breasts in a way that had her mouth watering. She quickly tore her gaze off of your body as you cleared your throat.

Get it the fuck together, Vi.

“So, what are your goals, hm? Any particular things you want to hit?” She made her way over to the closet in the room, sifting through the selections of weights and trying to ignore the heat thrumming through her body that had nothing to do with her previous workout. 

“I don’t really know. I guess just… being healthy?” You sounded so shy, so tentative. She fought the shudder that was threatening to roll down her spine. 

“Well, I guess I’ll start you off easy. Work on your core,” Now it was your turn to shudder. “Maybe hit some squats too.” She turned back around, closing the closet and tilting her head to better look at you. “Just to get a lay of the land, hm, cupcake?” Your face felt like it was in a perpetual state of fire. You nodded eagerly.

She made her way over to you after turning on some music that felt way too sensual for a workout. (of this type, anyway.) 

“We’re gonna start with some stretching, ok?” You fiddled with your fingers, nodding like a child being instructed by a teacher. Vi circled your form before settling on standing behind you, her hands gently resting on your hips. “Gonna need you to spread your legs for me, pretty.” The words, whispered so softly and so dangerously in your ear, almost made you gasp. You tilted your head to look back at her, eyes blown (adorably, if she might add) wide. She grinned, a seductive, dangerous thing that made your panties drop. (Figuratively). She raised an eyebrow. “What? I don’t want you to pull a hamstring, cupcake.” You swallowed thickly, trying to will away the increasingly inappropriate thoughts that were crowding your mind.

Slowly, slowly, you spread your legs, biting back a whimper as her hand snaked up your back, gently pushing your upper body down into a sort of downward dog position. The burn you felt in your legs was almost embarrassing. The moment you were down, fingertips brushing the floor, Vi’s gaze went straight to your ass.

“Fuck.” The words slipped past her lips before she could even realize what she was doing. She tucked her bottom lip under her teeth, dragging the hand that was on your back higher, just tracing the curve of your ass. 

You were wet.

She could see the faintest of outlines through the thin layer of your undershorts. 

You whimpered, legs shaking ever so slightly from the strain of the stretch. (You really needed to workout more)

Now she was wet.

Without even thinking, she grabbed you by your ponytail, yanking you up into a standing position. The force of her movement made you stumble, your legs still awkwardly stretched wide. Thankfully, she had stuck out her knee for you to sit on. 

“I think,” She breathed in your ear, a hot, heavy thing that sent an embarrassing amount of slick oozing out of your cunt. “That we should focus on a different type of workout, hmm, cupcake?” You nodded slowly, dazed. And fuck, was she a woman starved. 

In a second you found yourself on the floor, looking up at her with wide, desperate eyes. You clenched your thighs together, your hips rocking up into the air for some form of friction. She took her time, just staring at you. At the way your hair fanned out around you like a halo, the way your breasts moved with each shuddering breath you took, the way you looked so, so wrecked. A dangerous grin spread across her face.

She was going to ruin you.

There was not a single coherent thought in your mind as she hastily dragged your skirt and panties off of your legs in one, harsh tug. She was manhandling your legs open, and you swore she whined at the sight of your glistening arousal. 

“Fuck, baby.” She whispered out hoarsely. You squirmed under her gaze, cheeks burning in embarrassment as you tried to close your legs. “No no no no no, don’t you fucking dare.” She dragged her middle finger down your slit, gathering up your juices before bringing her finger to her mouth and sucking. “Been dreaming of this sweet pussy for so long.” She moaned out. 

“B-but, we just met like, h-half an hour ago.” You sputtered out, your cheeks rosy and your eyes hazy with lust and confusion. She grinned again, lowering her head so she was a hair's breadth away from where you needed her most.

“Thirty minutes is a long fucking time, cupcake.” You didn’t even have time to process her words before she was wrapping her lips around your clit, giving it a harsh suck that left you keening. 

“Oh, f-fuck!” You gasped out, back arching at how her tongue skillfully lapped at your pussy. She hummed against your burning flesh, the vibrations against your puffy clit making your toes curl. The obscene sounds of slurping and squelching filled the room, and you might have had half a mind to care about it if you weren’t so fucking far gone by the feel of her mouth. 

“Taste so good, princess.” She mumbled against your skin. You dared to look down and, fuck, she looked even more wrecked then you were. Her eyes hazy and half-lidded, cheeks flushed and shiny from your juices, and her hair sticking to her face with each deliberate suck. You could vaguely make out how she was grinding against the ground, but she pulled away before you could actually think of helping her as well. You whined at the loss, reaching down to try and tug her closer to you. 

“P-please-oh-” You gasped as she spit on your already slobbering cunt, once, twice, three times, before she was satisfied. Your clit twitched as the globs of her saliva attacked it. 

“Shh, baby, trying to make sure your nice and messy f’me.” She rubbed a few quick circles on your clit with her thumb before prodding at your entrance with her pointer finger. Her eyes were glued to the way your face contorted as she pressed into your cunt. “Fuck, you’re so tight.” She whispered in awe.

“OhmygodViplease.” Your begging was nothing more than a long string of incoherent words. She chuckled, pressing yet another long, thick finger into your opening.

“Fucked dumb already?” She cooed, thrusting into you shallowly. You almost sobbed. It was only when she added a third finger that she was finally satisfied. Her slow, shallow thrusts turned fucking manic. Her eyes never left your face as she curled her fingers up with each thrust searching for-

“Fuck!” You squealed, your walls clamping down on her like a vice. She crawled up your frame, leaning down to nip at your neck before thrusting in that same spot again.

“Found it.” Her gazed dropped from your face to look down at her fingers as she fucked you, her mouth parting open in awe at how you were swallowing her up, you arousal dripping onto the floor beneath you. It didn’t take long before you were on the very precipice, just dangling off the edge of oblivion. She pressed down harder on your clit, and then you came. 

Your back arched into an almost painful position, your fingernails digging into the floor for something to anchor yourself to. She whispered in your ear as you saw white, her fingers still fucking you through your orgasm. 

“Shh, I’ve got you, I’ve got you. There we go, perfect fucking pussy.” She finally stopped as you collapsed, boneless on the floor. You turned your head to look up at her, smiling tiredly.

“What’s your name short for?” She grinned.

“Violet.” 

“Mm, pretty.” You winced as she closed your legs, then blushed as she sucked her fingers clean. “What about you?” Your brows furrowed as you pushed yourself up by your elbows. 

“You can do me later. After our date.” You blinked in surprise, your mind still a little hazy.

“Date?” She stood up, then helped you stand on shaky legs. 

“Well, our session has ended, so I figured we could pick things up at your place, maybe. I know a bomb-ass asian restaurant just off Main.” You smiled softly, and it made her beat just a little faster.

“Yeah, alright. I’ll see you then.” You walked out of the private room looking a hell of a lot more disheveled then when you first walked in. Ekko rolled his eyes, praying to whoever was up there that he wouldn’t have to clean any suspicious stains from the floor. 

You looked down at your phone as it pinged, smiling to yourself as you read the message.

Hope you enjoyed our workout, cupcake ;)

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a/n: my first ever like actual fic pls don't kill me guys ik its kind of shit, was honestly just trying to get this out of the way so i could work on oil rig worker Vi. ANYWAYS I LUV U ALL MWAH!

[mythalism]

blah blah thinking about the popular rebuttal to complaints about veilguard's politics being "bioware was never leftist so you shouldnt have expected veilguard to be" which is... interesting.

true, of course. the expectation part i disagree with but thats not what ive been thinking about. im thinking about what made it feel so different to the very similar centrism of da:i. and maybe someone who didnt black out the entirety of veilguard as a cognitive protective mechanism can speak to the specifics but i think ive settled on it being that da:i is undoubtedly neoliberal and centrist just like da:o and da2 before it but despite their clear framing and limitations there was always the encouragement to think and the freedom to do things that the game might condemn narratively as "too radical" but you could at least do them. or say them.

this erodes by the time you get to da:i but in veilguard its absent completely. like making leliana divine or putting briala on the throne, for example. the game presents these options in a very neoliberal and centrist way. the un-softened leliana divine epilogue slide features much of the "radical violence bad!!!!! bad choice!!!!" connotation that all of veilguard has. but you can still do it. briala has incredibly limited power as gaspard's puppetmaster and her epilogue slide similarly slaps the player on the wrist for behaving so radically by putting *gasp* an elf in power resulting in Bad Disruptive Uprisings throughout orlais. but you can do it. hawke can spare anders and let him go. again, the game slaps you on the wrist via character disapproval and the fact he becomes a wandering hermit or whatever the fuck but. you can still let him go. in origins you can make shianni bann and the consequences are disgusting and horrible and writing it that way is literally sickening, but the game lets you do it. origins lets you do a lot of buck wild shit, some decisions less real-world politically coded than others, but you get to DO IT. even if the game and its writers scold you afterwords for getting too disruptive. YOU CAN STILL DO IT.

and this goes the other way too. there is a reason people like greg ellis had a home with dragon age for so many years and his beliefs were able to go under the radar for so long. there is a reason transphobic gamerbros love origins. there is a reason there was backlash to da2's rampant bisexuality. because dragon age let you be leftist about as much as it let you be a racist misogynistic asshole. you can do horrible things in these games. you can quite literally sell people into slavery. templar aligned hawke lets the kirkwall circle get annulled and becomes viscount as a reward for their loyalty. the inquisitor can just execute literally everyone they judge. now, i'll be the first to say that a lot of those options are not nearly narratively condemned enough. bioware has fumbled many a topic in their misunderstood pursuit of "grey morality" that leads them to feel the need to morally equalize situations of clear, unambiguous injustice (cough mage templar war cough). in fact, decisions like sparing anders are often far more clearly narratively punished than things like giving fenris back to danarius, (which kind of just blows over after some approval loss???) and in my opinion that is a writing flaw. i do think RPG games should have choice, and allow players to be evil, but i also think that writers have a responsibility for the message their writing sends to the world. some decisions in dragon age are well-handled. many others recreate and reflect real life racism or misogyny or islamophobia, and reveal the writer's bias against real-life groups of people or political movements. this is the risk of writing stories like these.

but veilguard does not let you do anything. in either direction. ive been calling it a "thought-terminating fantasy cliche" because... it really is thought-terminating. you are not supposed to think about alternatives that may be too radical in the writer's eyes (what if i let anders go instead of face the justice [haha] the game clearly thinks he deserves? what if i install an elvhen puppetmaster on the orlesian throne despite all of my advisors recommendations? what if i support the murder-pope in reforming the chantry through violence and bloodshed?). veilguard has..... what if i save this city over that one? the only one i can think of is saving isseya. are there any others? genuine question. theres nothing to decide and therefore there is nothing to think about. you dont get to think of possibilities past the narrow centrist path presented to you. you dont get to think about an end for solas that doesnt end in jail. you dont get to think about who becomes tevinter's archon and what policies you might like to see them have. you dont make choices between major factions based on ideological and/or practical differences like recruiting mages vs templars. you barely even get to decide anything for the characters, half of the choices are purely cosmetic.

like i feel like theres something to be said for having the choice even if the overall narrative still condemns it. the writer's bias leaks in to the world's reactions to your decisions but you are still allowed to make them. i always intentionally leave leliana hardened because i think radical insane murder-pope who diversifies the church through ASSASSINATION is based. i dont give a fuck if david g/aider thinks its too crazy and tells me so in a thinly veiled epilogue slide reprimand about "the consequences of my actions". idgaf! 1. its a video game and 2. idc what he thinks.

and yes, nothing ever actually changes. dragon age has never allowed you to make radical change within its world even with the decisions that brush up on the possibility. but you can still be someone who believes in the possibility. you can play a mahariel who hates humans and poisons the ashes of their prophet because why should they care when they stole everything from the elves first? you can play a blood-mage circle-abolitionist anders-apologist hawke doing their best to survive in a city where survival and self-preservation sometimes forces them to act against their values. you can play a lavellan inquisitor who refuses to believe in andraste or the maker, advocates for elvhen liberation, and installs an elf on the orlesian thrown despite being forced into the role of figurehead for a religious empire. sure, you cant really actually do anything for the elves, but you can be someone who believes that change should happen. its not perfect. its certainly not some radical revolutionary fantasy nor does literally anyone expect it to be and when people say that its always in bad faith.

bioware has always been canadian liberal centrists and so have their games. but they used to let you get a little fun and crazy and then just reprimand you via epilogue slides or retcons in later games that we all just got to complain about online. but veilguard forces you to roleplay someone else's ideology; a boring centrist status quo loving fantasy with no opportunity to do something different. elven rooks cannot question dorian on tevinter slavery like elven inquisitors could. rook cannot ask lucanis about the child recruitment practices of the crows the way the warden could to zevran. rook cannot ask davrin about the warden's pressure into conscription, joinging and eventual calling the way the warden could alistair or hawke can to anders in legacy. you cannot ask about alternatives or question a single authority or character of any kind. you cannot voice dissent. the dialogue option does not exist. what was once a slap on the wrist in previous titles has become reactionary and preemptive. you wont get slapped on the wrist in the first place because you're stuck in a boring, empty room for after-school detention, railroaded into "good" behavior and confined to one path so you cant get into any trouble on your own. thought-terminating fantasy cliche. it didnt need to be some insane groundbreaking revolutionary work of marxism or whatever the fuck hyperbolic nonsense people are trying to straw-man the criticism into to disprove it as unreasonable. it needed to not advertise itself as an RPG and then force me to roleplay white canadian millenial neoliberal afraid of getting canceled on twitter simulator 4.0 because if i knew thats what i was signing up for i would have respectfully declined and saved my $70 on something that doesnt condescend to me for enjoying bald war criminals and stories about revolution

[circeyoru]

The Only Reason _ Part 3

[Yandere!Sung Jinwoo x Worker!Reader - Mana Chaos AU]

Part 1 — Part 2 — Part 3 (here) — Part 4

“Sung Jinwoo is an S-Rank Hunter…”

“Another one…”

“It’s been 2 years since Cha Hae-In too.”

Nowadays, the emergence of an S-Rank Hunter and some A-Rank Hunters was like a demon had crawled out of hell and into the human world to cause destruction. Strong Hunters were seen and painted as a double-edged sword. On one hand, they could bring about peace to normal—non-awakened—individuals by closing gates and raiding dungeons. On the other hand, they could bring about destruction in their wake due to <Outrage> and the innocence would be harmed. 

Protocols like an awakened Hunter must report to the EMI instead of the Hunter Association because they have to keep track of stronger Hunters. Hunters must continuously measure their mana levels in case of a reawakening into a higher rank. It was unavoidable, no matter which country, because they prioritized ordinary people more. 

Perhaps the only place where EMI regulations can’t touch is America. After what Thomas Andre had done, he singlehandedly protected his fellow Hunters and announced to the EMI that they couldn’t have their way with people who worked to protect them from the dangers known as gates and dungeons. There were some Hunters that escaped to America to join Thomas and his stance, there were also some that were unluckily caught by the EMI, and some that didn’t do anything. Such is the sway of a National Level Hunter. 

Unlike Thomas, who had no weaknesses to use against, Jinwoo was different. His family, his mother and younger sister, were dependent on the society and their system. So, against his better judgement, Jinwoo bowed to the whims of the EMI and was taken in as SM-10. 

In the facility, he underwent several tests to draw a profile for him since he was fundamentally different from his E-Rank file. Anyone could see at a glance. Jinwoo kept his cards hidden because the more capable he was, the greater the danger his loved ones would be in. He was doing everything for his family. Upon capture, he was promised that his family would receive financial support so long as he behaved himself. 

A cowardly but effective threat and compromise that he agreed. 

Still, he hated the people who worked in this accursed building. All those labourers who hid behind a mask and voice changer donned uniforms that displayed their station. Throughout his days, he observed a few groups of workers. 

First was the type that he frequently came into contact with: Guard. As their station name, they guarded things, from equipment to rooms and even Hunter cells. They were the ones that handled conflict and violence, even the heavy lifting, if any. Those who were higher ranked were called Warden; however, he only saw them during his testing sessions when they were making his profile. They all wear black masks—Warden’s mask is black with a white scratch mark over the right eyehole—and black soldier uniforms.

Second was the type that constantly changes to the point he doesn’t even keep track of: Supervisor. Contrary to their high-standing title, they do the smallest and most insignificant tasks, like delivering supplies, checking Hunter cells, and being an owl so passing messages. They were low-ranking workers that most wouldn’t bat an eye to if gone. Perhaps that’s why they have a grey uniform and a grey mask. Their code went as high as the hundreds, going to the thousands. 

Third was the type that he hated most: Investigator or Researcher. They were the ones who administered the tests and punishments to the Hunters, and they monitored them inside their cell. Under their glances, a Hunter is reduced to a mere lab rat. They were individuals connected to the EMI but needed to be more important to make a—any—difference in the building. However, they were respected in some sense because some did aim for the betterment of the Hunters staying in the building. They wear a white mask with a mocking grin and a white uniform, complete with a lab coat.

Last was the type that intrigued him the most: Personnel. Though their code suggests they have people in the hundreds, there was actually only a handful of them in the building. The highest number he saw was 12. They were the ones with the most authority and well-respected individuals among the other groups, their work and station varied from individual to individual. They were the ones that stayed in the building the longest, and a new Personnel would only join their ranks if they carried confidential information about the EMI. 

One would notice there doesn’t seem to be a highest position or individual, but the Personnel were the ones who acted as the say of the facility. None had absolute power to keep each other in check, and in case a threat was targeted, if one fell, the other would continue in the other’s place. The smaller the number, the bigger their authority, it seems. 

Personnel 001 was once his observer during the tests, when he could let loose. After all the observation and boredom, Jinwoo accidentally killed them and was quickly restrained. He paid close attention to what happened. Would another observe him? Would there be a new Personnel in their ranks? What would happen?

Turns out, you happened.

Personnel’s clothing is ever-changing. They have free reign over what they want to wear; needless to say, they have no uniform. They only have to wear a lab coat over their usual outfits, and that’s it. One could mistake them for Investigators, but the distinct code would be shown on their coat at the area over their heart. They have a white mask with reflective black glasses covering their eyeholes. 

Yet when you came in, you were void of that mask that hides one’s expression and face. Still, your poker face was impressive. You appeared expressionless and reminded him of a doll. You neither introduced yourself nor showcased your station, different from Personnel 001, who was practically shouting at him that they were the ones in power in this facility. At first glance, he knew you were different from all the rest. 

“You’re hiding your cards. SM-10.” Your words held knowledge and confidence, stating a fact rather than questioning him. Your arm hugged a black clipboard with a small stack of papers clipped while your other hand held a pen. If you weren’t wearing a lab coat, you’d appear like a strict teacher or lab researcher.

He couldn’t help but let a smile spread over his lips, “What makes you think that?”

“You’re holding back.” You turned to the Guards stationed within the cell to leave you alone. Yes, a Personnel has the authority to be alone with a Hunter, but if it were a Supervisor, they must be with at least two to three Guards. “You killed Personnel 001, why? Be honest.”

There was a shine in your eyes that he noticed. He couldn’t tell what it was, though he wanted to be coy. “You’re not the only ones observing. Why not make it mutual?”

That was his first meeting with you. 

With his Shadows, he watched you and your daily activities. You were practically glued to your work; you came to work early but left late. You have a good relationship with the other coworkers, and most respect you, evident by the nodding heads you receive in the hallways. You also seem to care for Hunters in their cells, inspecting the cell quality and making things more bearable for Hunters like him. 

Thanks to him, more and better changes happened after Personnel 001 was removed. By then, he figured out that whether it was a company setting or a guild setting, 001 was the guild master, and you were the vice master. Once 001 was gone, you had more authority and implemented changes, of course, with the agreement of your other Personnel co-workers. 

In that case, that makes you a lot more interesting. You realized his strength and power, you wanted an improved and more sophisticated place for Hunter, different from how the facility was supposed to be, and you have been treating everyone human. 

Jinwoo concluded that he wanted to stay and get closer to you. With you in charge, his family was practically safe as well. He’ll stay and protect your spot at the top. Yet why were you pushing him away? It infuriated him. Still, he was thankful for the other Personnels’ fear over setting an S-Rank loose in public that he could prove to you how wrong you were to fight for his release.

While showing his point, he reduced the Personnel to perhaps 6 remaining—that already includes you. From 12 to 6, he cut off 4, and then there was 001 as well, so one Personnel died through other means. Either way, he made his point.

You were the only Personnel he liked and could resolve his <Outrage>.

That already bound you to him, and none would harm you unless they wanted the country to fall to ruins. 

The two of you share secrets, and slowly, he got you to open up, showing only him a side of you that you hide behind an invisible mask. You’re the only one for him, he’ll make it so that he’s the only one for you. 

He realized that his emotions and feelings for you turned a bit twisted over time. That Guard 149 that stared at you a little too long? Their leg was somehow caught between the double doors, so they can’t work here anymore, right? That Investigator 083 that was standing so close to you that your arms were touching? An experiment backfired and their arms were amputated. Another Guard that is coded 761 was asking you out? They got into a car accident and died. 

Jinwoo was careful. You never pointed fingers at him nor suspected it was him at all. You were very naive and innocent; he loves that about you. You care for your workers, yet at the same time, you also don’t. He got his answer when he finally communicated with the other S-Rank Hunters during the end of the Jeju Raid.

“Personnel 002? Oh, I’d say that person cares about Hunters more.”

“Haha, Personnel 002 has been very accommodating, unlike the other ones.”

“You can’t compare Personnel 002 with the others, it’s not a fair comparison.”

“I always enjoy my time with Personnel 002.”

“You’re lucky SM-10, I wish I could have Personnel 002 come to my place often.”

The other S-Rank Hunters only had good things to say about you. As expected, you were biased against Hunters and silently helped them more. Though, he was more enraptured to hear you giving him special care and attention. In private, his smile grew wide as he chuckled to himself. “Ah… You’ll be the death of me… Personnel 002.”

Note: Ta da! Part 3's out and this is Jinwoo's side of the story, if it wasn't obvious to you!! A bit of boring history, but it's what it is~ Hope you guys liked this one!

Circe Y.

My Works: MASTERLIST

Taglist:

@stupendouspizzacomputer @xiannars @skylar896 @forbidden-sunlight @waka-babe @soft-dots @iamapotatoe @hvnweeps @amayakurusu13

[ozzgin]

Hii I was wondering if u could do a yandere Kazuya x yn x yandere Daitou I’m not sure if u do character x yn x character tho

Yandere! Yakuza x Reader Spinoff

Two yakuza men who have fallen in love with their new foreign tenant. A what-if spinoff to the original story for that love triangle spice. Happy Valentine's Day!

Content: female reader, NSFW, organized crime, obsessive behavior, violence, BDSM themes (choking), threats

Credits: My boyfriend for giving me the Daitou smut idea

[Main Story] | [General Headcanons]

Kazuya is sitting on the sidewalk, checking his watch occasionally and tapping his foot. The cigarette seems to have been forgotten, hanging lowly from his lips.

"Sorry I'm late." Daitou speedily makes his way towards his friend, smiling awkwardly.

"Where the fuck were you, man? We don't know how much time we have before the cops arrive."

"Uh uh, leave it to me." The cheeky grin doesn't leave his face as he pulls out his gun and carefully but swiftly inspects the barrel and safety one final time. "(Y/N) needed some help with the mailbox. I couldn't just say no, ya know?"

The blonde man's eyebrows raise for a second, but he quickly recollects himself.

"I see. That's good."

"She asked me to show her the area tomorrow, so I'll be working extra hard tonight. Hehe."

"That's good."

Daitou glances at Kazuya, somewhat wary.

"You okay?"

Stupid question. What's he supposed to answer? Yeah, he loves waiting like a dumbass while his friend flirts with the new tenant, who conveniently happens to be a cute foreigner, who's been unexpectedly nice and relaxed around them despite them explicitly stating they're part of the Japanese mafia. Fucking hell. It doesn't help that this idiot is as obvious as a blaring, blinding cluster of ads smack in the middle of Kabukicho. He can tell from miles away that Daitou's completely fallen for her. Just like that, in an instant.

They've been partners and best friends for years now, so the natural reaction would be happiness, right? Daitou has always been one scary motherfucker. Even the seniors scramble when he's in the room, let alone women. For him to find someone that isn't bothered the slightest by his appearance or background should be a celebratory occasion. Kazuya should be rooting for him. Except, well, he fell for you just as hard. Tough luck.

The Bushido moral code, often used as guidance within their own lifestyle, covers matters such as loyalty and honesty quite extensively. A true warrior remains fiercely faithful to his master or companions. And yet, love interests are more of a grey area, especially if they happen to overlap. Who dictates the proper etiquette for this dilemma? To whom is loyalty directed towards? Truth be told, Kazuya couldn’t care less. He’s always been a man of vice, impulsive and greedy. If he wants something, he takes it.

The trouble starts when the other person is of the same mindset. Two ferocious predators eyeing the same victim.

***

You fiddle next to the tall, dark-haired man. Similarly, Daitou is avoiding eye contact, looking around in hopes of finding something to focus on. It’s the first time he’s come over since the incident. After his little mission with Kazuya, he was tasked to “interrogate” some of the remaining members to get even more names for the hitlist. He’d completely forgotten about his promise to show you the neighborhood. Hands sticky with blood, he was in the middle of his signature act of benevolence, putting the lad out of his misery.

It was around that time you decided to be the one picking him up instead, for your grand tour. Your knocks on the door remained unheard, however, so you decided to politely make your way in.

“Sorry, I hope I’m not-”

You froze in place. A man (you assumed at least based on the few visible traits left), tied up on the chair, canvas bag roped around his head. Daitou’s hands were secured around his throat. In the few seconds of silence, you could hear a muffled wheezing, as the stranger’s chest heaved in short convulsions.

“-intruding.” You mumbled, regaining your speech.

He messed up, didn’t he? Daitou sighs and slicks his hair back. He can’t blame you if you’re now terrified of him. He had to come over for some tenant checkups and you’ve been maintaining a safe distance from him during his entire visit. What can he possibly tell you? “Hey, I know I threatened to chop you up and you’ve now witnessed firsthand I’m a legit murderer, but, uh…I have a crush on you? Dinner at seven?”

You’re terrified alright, but not of his deeds. Rather, your newly discovered perversion as a consequence of the gory scene. It’s not that you relished in the torment of another. It’s the other details that left you reminiscing. Daitou’s imposing frame, the unbuttoned shirt revealing his traditional tattoos glistening in beads of sweat, his flexed, brawny arms, and large hands. You’re scared of your shamelessness. It can’t be normal. Yet you can’t stop thinking about it. Just a glimpse into this memory and your cheeks become burning red.

“I’ll be on my way then”, the yakuza announces politely.

Though he immediately stops in his tracks, and you realize you’ve unconsciously grabbed onto his sleeve. Uh oh. What now? You mumble an apology without releasing your hold. Being this close to him makes your heart drum inside your chest.

To hell with it.

“I might say something terribly inappropriate right now, but…”

“Sorry?” He stares at you, dumbfounded.

“Do you have anything planned after this?” You ask quietly.

“N-no?”

“Would you mind staying over?”

“Huh? Sure…w-what for?” His mouth is dry, and he searches your eyes in confusion.

“You know…” Choke me until I pass out and such, you think to yourself sarcastically.

He turns to face you, lips pursed awkwardly.

“You’ll have to be clear with me, Miss (Y/N). I’m not good with all this tiptoeing around and I might get the wrong idea.”

Your ears perk up hearing his final words, a deep blush now spreading over your flustered features.

“What wrong idea?”

Daitou fidgets with his glass prosthetic nervously.

“Well, uh, a man can only dream, ya know? Especially around a cute girl like you.” He reveals with a stutter.

“Suppose I’d be willing to go along with anything on your mind. What then?” You twirl your hair, gazing shyly at the floor. Not even you can believe the audacity leaving your lips.

The tall man steps before you, towering above with a certain gleam in his eye. It’s yearning. Your knees weaken.

“Don’t tease me, please. I can hardly control myself around you as it is.”

You release his sleeve and instead cling onto his shirt with both hands, looking up through your lashes.

“I’m dead serious.”

He ponders his next move with a click of the tongue, then cups your cheeks between his hands and lowers himself until his hot breath tickles your nose.

“Are you? There’s no going back after this. Can you handle it?” His voice is suddenly deeper, raspier.

Before you can respond, you feel yourself lifted and you yelp, surprised, instinctively wrapping your limbs around the yakuza. In between the greedy kisses that leave your lips bruised and swollen, you don’t notice the movement back towards the seating area.

As you pull away to gasp for air, he throws you onto the couch, flipping you over in the process so that you’re kneeling away from him. Your nails dig into the soft fabric of the sofa. You hear Daitou unbuckle his belt and you squeeze your legs together, heavily aroused. He presses his palm gently into your back, arching it. You sense his fingers grazing over your core and you whimper.

“G-go on, please.” You beg, swaying your hips tentatively. “I really can’t wait anymore.”

“As you wish, Miss.” He reassures you with a grin.

He adjusts himself and carefully makes his way in. You don’t have time to enjoy the feeling; following almost instantly is his belt looped around your neck, tightening under his grip as he pulls the ends towards him. Your head is forced back, and you groan. You can hear the leather stretch and creak over your assaulted skin, the constriction briefly cutting your oxygen intake. Hot drool trickles down your chin and your eyes almost roll back in pleasure.

“Look at my little Miss (Y/N), taking it like a champion.” He bends over and bites your earlobe playfully. “Does that mean I can be as rough as I want?”

You nod erratically.

The grip around your throat intensifies and your vision becomes blurry.

“Hey, don’t pass out now.” He inserts two fingers in your mouth, pulling you by the cheek and tilting your head to look him in the eye. “Not before you show me that you understand your situation. You’re mine. Is that clear?”

He drags his fingers downwards, aiding your response as you struggle to contract your muscles.

“Attagirl.” He concludes, satisfied.

In the morning you wake up with a dreadful soreness, and you can quickly see why. Your body is peppered in bruises. Daitou is smoking by the window and promptly flicks his cigarette out once he realizes you’re no longer asleep.

“Are you okay? I’m so sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into me.” He begins, remorseful, and squats in front of the bed. “I hope I didn’t hurt you.”

“I will need a day or two to recover before the next time, but otherwise I’m fine.”

He beams with delight upon registering your words: next time. You can’t help but snicker at his childish enthusiasm. It’s a mystery how Daitou can switch between ruthless killer and cute partner with such ease.

Although it’s no secret, really. It’s you.

***

“Thanks for driving me home, Kazuya.”

You smile and unbuckle your seatbelt, reaching for the door handle. Daitou has been busy with work for the past days, so Kazuya took his place in looking after your needs.

“Huh?” You rattle the grab handle one more time to make sure. “It’s still locked.”

The blonde raps the wheel impatiently with his fingers. Is he to silently accept his loss? Does it even count as a loss when he hasn’t even had the chance to present his piece? Daitou has been quiet about it, but he can read that bastard like an open book. Something definitely happened between the two of you and the mere thought drives him insane.

Ah, this is so unlike him. There are few things he cares about. His pride, his Family’s honor, his freedom. Women aren’t exactly on that list, yet somehow, you’ve snuck your way to the very top of priorities and he’s realizing it just now. It’s becoming harder to ignore his maddening urge to have you. Out of all the things…He’d give Daitou the world. But not you. He can’t. He can’t.

“Kazuya? Are you listening? You forgot to unlock the door.”

“Say, (Y/N) …ever fucked in a car before?”

“What?” You ask, baffled.

“Come here for a moment.” He swiftly slides his seat all the way back and pats his thigh.

“Are you out of your mind?”

He answers your inquiry by pulling out his handgun and lazily pointing it towards you.

“I’m only going to ask once.”

You clumsily climb over the center console, straddling the yakuza with a slight pout.

“Someone’s in a sour mood, that’s for sure”, you complain. “It’s not even loaded.”

“Even I’m not crazy enough to risk shooting my Princess.” He smiles apologetically, throwing the gun on the backseat. “I thought it’d be more threatening that way.”

He removes a strand of hair from your face, gazing at you intently. His hand lingers for a second, before sliding its way down, tracing the side of your body. You shiver.

“Can you truly blame me when there’s such a pretty girl right before my eyes?” The blonde exhales and focuses on your shirt instead. “Won’t you let me prove myself?”

From this distance, despite the dim lights, you can discern his features in agonizing detail. His long lashes, his fleshy lips, currently parted, the luscious locks of hair casually thrown back. Kazuya has always been effortlessly handsome. It’s not just his good looks, but his overflowing charisma. He always knows exactly what to say and do. A devilish power to have over people, and you’re presently his victim.

His slender fingers play with your first button and cheekily undo it. You can only observe it, entranced. Your legs are weak, and your arms are stuck in place, resting limply over his broad shoulders.

“May I?” He glances up at you with a pleading expression. “I won’t be able to hold back afterwards.”

You bite your lower lip, distracted. Whether or not this is a wise choice, you can’t currently tell. You squirm in his lap and suddenly feel the pressure coming from below.

“Go ahead.” You finally confess.

He doesn’t hesitate and slithers his hand underneath your shirt, popping the rest of the buttons open. Like a hungry animal that has stumbled upon a feast, he sinks his teeth into your neck, leaving mean, wet kisses on his way down.

One hand is greedily kneading your curves, encouraged by your soft whimpers, while the other strokes your thigh in anticipation. With a bit of readjustment, he finds the right spot between your trembling legs. You jolt at the sensation of his cold fingers.

“My, you’re already dripping. How lewd.” He whispers between breaths. “Do you want it now?”

He nonchalantly slips out and undoes his own pants. You lift yourself expectantly and let a moan escape your lips upon feeling the erection throbbing right below.

“Well then, can’t forget our manners, can we?” He announces, visibly excited. “What should I do?”

You glare at him, feverish.

“Stop teasing me.”

“Come on, be a good girl. Tell me what to do and I will do it, Love.”

Why, this…You lower yourself to his ear and answer in a lulled whine.

“Isn’t it obvious? I want you to fuck me.”

Words enough to send the blonde man over the edge. He abruptly clutches your thighs for support, easing himself in before continuing with increasingly aggressive thrusts. Husky whimpers roll out of his mouth, desperate and starved.

“Oh, I’ve waited so long for this. My darling, perfect little (Y/N).” He presses his forehead into your chest, indulging in the moment. “Now say that you’re mine. Please. Please say it.”

“I’m…ah…I’m all yours, Kazuya.” You manage to blurt out, growing dizzy.

“That’s my girl. Such a good girl.”

Once the deed is finished, you flop your head over his chest, trying to catch your breath. Kazuya smoothens your clothes meticulously, holding you with one arm for support. Can’t leave a lady all disheveled, after all.

“Won’t Daitou be upset?” You point out, somewhat anxiously.

His muscles are tense for a second and he furrows his brows.

“That’s one strange way to thank me for making you come at least twice. Mentioning another man’s name.”

“I’m just…” your words trail off.

“What? Worried? You think I can’t handle it or something?”

Far from the truth. Both Kazuya and Daitou are violent, dangerous men. Given their stubbornness, you’re rather certain they’d end up killing each other. Not your favorite outcome.

“I don’t want either of you to get hurt.”

He sighs loudly.

“I’ll tell you what. Under normal circumstances, I’d probably dismember whoever had the guts to even entertain the idea of meddling with you. But…just because it’s Daitou, I might be willing to share. Nothing more than that.”

Kazuya ruffles your hair and chuckles.

“Aren’t you glad I’m such a diplomat, Love?”

“More like batshit crazy, both of you.” You retort, stretching.

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Man over Machine

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

Alien: You must understand our line of thinking.

Human: I understand it is stupid beyond measure.

Alien: *Sighs

Alien: It is only logical to use mechanical soldiers in modern warfare.

Alien: Anything less is purely barbaric.

Human: You reduce war to little more than 1’s and 0’s.

Alien: What we do is remove needless bloodshed.

Alien: No longer are brave soldiers dying on forgotten worlds, no longer will families grieve for loved ones who will never return; no longer would we need monuments to the fallen.

Alien: Disagreements could be settled without a drop of blood being shed.

Human: You turn it into a game.

Alien: Exactly.

Human: No; you’d be turning war into a game, and that’s never a good thing.

Human: You can’t reduce war to a simple equation.

Alien: It sounds more like you just wish to continue your carnal desire for violence.

Human: Do you think so little of us?

Alien: Yes.

Human: ……

Human: *Sighs

Human: We’ve tried using machines in war before.

Human: On the surface yes, it did appear better.

Human: Military causalities were but a fraction of what they would have normally been had we used real soldiers, but there were other problems that soon cropped up.

Alien: Such as?

Human: Lack of morality was a large factor in the programs discontinuation.

Alien: Morality?

Alien: What use does a machine have of that?

Human: Because not everything is always black and white; there are shades of grey that only a living breathing person can recognize and handle.

Alien: Absurdity

Human: We used the robot CS95 battle machines during our initial conflicts. When it was deployed it was programmed to treat anyone holding a weapon as an enemy combatant and terminate them immediately.

Human: They cleared out an entire city in a single day before issuing the all clear signal.

Human: When living soldiers arrived to provide relief efforts they were horrified to discover that the entire city’s population had been massacred.

Alien: While tragic it sounds like a faulty programming error.

Human: I would say a big fucking program error.

Human: The programmer had not thought it necessary to properly define the scope of the term “weapon”, and so the machines began their own search on what classified as a weapon.

Human: There isn’t an item in human creation that hasn’t been used to murder another human, and so the machines deemed everyone they encounter a valid target.

Human: Men, women, children, soldier, civilian; it didn’t matter.

Alien: A lapse in programming quality still does not outweigh the benefits of bloodless wars.

Human: That’s what we thought and so we added additional layers of programming to better define combatants. So the next time they were deployed they would not make the same mistake.

Human: Unbeknownst to anyone an additional line of code was slipped in deep within the programming that designated anyone with a specific skin pigment as an active combatant, regardless if they had a weapon or not.

Alien: Why would they do that?

Human: They were what we call a “Nazi”, and thought people of a select orientation only deserved to live.

Alien: That’s horrible.

Human: Yeah.

Human: They kept spouting that shit from their court-martial all the way to the hangman’s gallows.

Human: The point being still that because the machines lacked any sense of morality they followed orders without question, causing untold damage and destruction on innocents.

Alien: Refinements in programming and further oversight can still correct such problems.

Human: So can a living soldier with a conscious.

Alien: Come now; a soldier can just as easily follow orders as the machines did and have the same result.

Human: The difference being that not all of them would.

Human: Some of them would realize what they are doing is wrong and question it, and if needed refuse said orders.

Human: We have even been aware of our short comings and made it the law of the land that if they feel an order is unlawful they can refuse it entirely.

Alien: Yet another contradiction.

Alien: Soldiers are meant to follow orders.  

Human: Wrong.

Human: Machines are meant to follow orders blindly.

Human: Soldiers are meant to follow orders with integrity.

[shepscapades]

DBHC TIMELINE[S]

This post is an extension of the DBHC Masterpost, linked also in my blog’s header/bio.

The images below feature two separate timelines: one for Hermitcraft Season 8, and one for Season 9. These timelines feature prominent/notable events that have been posted about, drawn for, written for, etc. Basically, every major post from this au has ended up/will go on the season timeline it belongs! 

Each event is labelled by the title it was given wherever it's linked elsewhere on the Master Post: in most cases, these posts are linked on their respective Character Post Lists. For Example, the post named 'Etho Tries Syncing with Bdubs' on the Masterpost will be labelled as such on the timeline. Additionally, each event is color-coded by character!

✧NOTE: NOT EVERY DBHC POST OR DRAWING IS ON THESE TIMELINES✧

To avoid extreme clutter, I picked the most notable moments or events from each Character’s Post List that would serve as sufficient anchor points. So, if you want a more specific idea of where every single individual post lands, you can reference the timeline(s) alongside individual character post lists, where everything is chronologically organized! You should be able to get a good overview of events and characters involved from these timelines, but all of the details and in-between moments or silly things are all on the individual character posts (links to which, again, can be found at the bottom of the primary DBHC Masterpost)!

Lastly! Like everything else on the Masterpost, I will do my best to update this regularly as any major moments or comics come out :] 

Additional Notes: 

Any grey-colored events on the timeline refer to events that have been referenced/discussed in some capacity but have no unique drawing, writing, or otherwise post dedicated to it (for example, Etho shutting down at the end of Season 8 is placed on the S8 timeline despite nothing being drawn for it yet). 

The black ticks throughout the timeline were marked for my own reference as indications of the IRL timeline of months throughout which videos were released, but they aren’t labeled as such, because I don’t headcanon time passing at the same rate in minecraft as it does in real life (i.e, Season 8 lasted about six months IRL, but I imagine it lasting about a year or so in canon, so it’s not 1 to 1). Basically, the ticks were placed as a guide for me as I continue to figure out where to put everything, but they’re not strict “monthly” markers or anything. 

Similarly, each Life Series is expanded slightly on their locations on the timelines, since I also headcanon time moving differently on the Life Series servers compared to Hermitcraft. From a Hermitcraft-side perspective, players are gone for approximately… 3ish weeks (give or take), whereas players actively participating on the Life server will have been gone for what feels like 2-3 months to them. It’s also not 1 to 1 here, so I just expanded the Life Series sections and then ticked them off by Session Number (Last Life having 9 ticks/sections, Double Life having 6 sections, etc). This makes placing any Life Series events accurately (while stuff is still happening on Hermitcraft) a little easier!

[slapthebass]

@amour-et-coeur on ameblo.jp

[blackvahana]

It has been interesting! I know on Grey's end he's glad someone gets to use all this again, and on mine I'm just Chewing on his knowledge and experience - if his experience is the Earth I'm like 10m into the surface with this borehole lmfao but I'm chewing. It's nice to see everything again from the eyes of a new person? It's nice to have a life interested in this in an active way. Yum yum chew chew delicious

[showtoonzfan]

I never understand how HH/HB fans get upset and defensive when people say that the shows target audience is for white people/white queers. What did these people expect. Last time I checked the most famous characters/characters upfront are all white coded, and any black character doesn’t even look black. The creator meanwhile talks like a white fake Starbucks mean girl and she is one, along with most of her friends/higher ups who work for her. Her work is geared towards kids and middle aged edge lords who are obsessed with swearing and sex and favor/fetishize yaoi, be so fr. Y’all are the same people who turn racist the minute a black person says they don’t like the show, or when someone says the POC characters are drawn with zero melanin because GOD forbid we ask for a few visible curls or puffs, or god forbid we ask that the color of a black/Hispanic woman not to be grey. Meanwhile this white ass fanbase will turn into Elvis fangirls at a con (with zero POC’s in sight mind you) when they see their favorite white coded rich twink rapist owl character on screen, yet have the nerve to preach to black people about what they THINK classism and slavery is, just to defend dogshit early 2000’s writing like get the fuck outta here.

[slvt4buffw0men1111]

Assistance

Lawyer!SevikaxFem!Reader

Modern AU

18+

made up last names.

Jan 28  

6:17am 

“Oh my god, fuck yess” you moan.  

“Yeah, you're taking me so good baby”, a low yet feminine voice growls. 

 “I'm gonna come, please don’t stop” 

Before you could reach your climax, a blaring sound interrupts you. You spring up from your bed. 

“fuck” your groan “another dream” you say as you rub your eyes. 

You look to your nightstand and see the time. 

“SHIT!” Your suddenly wide awake. Today is your first day as a receptionist at some law firm. It is currently 6:20 and you have to be there by 7. And it's a 25-minute drive! 

Jumping out of bed and practically running into your bathroom to brush your teeth and wash your face. No time for your skincare routine you just slap a bunch of moisturizer on your face. Hurrying to your closet to get dressed. You grab the first thing you see. A pinstripe long sleeve top with a plain black pencil skirt. Putting a quick coat of mascara and lipstick and you're out the door. Bag, shoes, and keys in your hands struggling to unlock your car. Once you get it you see your tank is nearly empty. You were going to fill it up last night but you decided to wait until this morning big mistake. “6:36” on the clock you have no time for gas.  

You arrive at the office 7:03 am, parking is a bitch. Walking up to the building, it’s older looking maybe 30 years. Big letters “S.V & S.D Law Firm” hang over the entrance.  

“Your late.” Is the first thing you here as you walk through the double glass doors. There stands a man looks about in his 50’s, kind of scrawny looking, his left eye seems to be prosthetic, but with glare that could kill.  

“ I know I'm so sorry Sir, parking was-” 

“I don't care for excuses.” He cuts you off. 

“Right I'm sorry Sir it wont happen again”, you say very intimidated. 

“ Yes it won’t, as you probably know you are replaceable so don’t let it happen again.” he sternly said. 

“Jesus Silco already belittling people before the day begins?”, a voice that is familar says. 

“i was just-” 

“ Just what...”, out walks from around the corner a beautifullly handsome woman. Her muscles look like they are begging for release from her biceps. Dark skin, with scars on her perfect face leading down to her neck. And oh my god her nose. 

She is all too familiar.

“Hello, did you hear me?” you barley hear her voice say. 

“Yes, sorry can you repeat that.” you say barley able to look into grey eyes. 

“See we hired an idiot” the old man mutters as he walks out he main entrance into what you guess is his office. 

“Your y/n right our new receptionist?” 

“Yes, I am” 

“Pleasure to meet you” she says reaching out her large hand.  

“You as well ma’am”, you shake her hand. They seem to be almost double your size and her fingers are so long and thick. 

*I know those come in handy* you think to yourself.  

“Please address me as Ms. Verma and this is Mr. Davies”

“Of course, Ms. Verma” 

She smirks at you looking you up and down. “Skirts a bit short, no?” she says quietly. 

Caught off guard you feel your face heat up in embarrassment, or is it arousal? 

“I’m sorry if I'm not in dress code I was in a hurry getting dressed this morning”, you quickly say.  

“I never said I didn’t approve, did I?” she smirked. “I’ll show you to your desk” 

You follow closely behind her as she leads to your desk. She looks even taller from behind, she probably about 6’2”. 

“Here is where you’ll be spending most your time if you're not running errands for Mr. Davies and I.” She quickly shows you how to work the phones and makes appointments.  

“I assume you know how to send emails so I’ll leave you to it” 

“Alright thank you” 

“Hey and don’t worry about Mr. Davies he's not exactly a morning person”, she says with a hand on your shoulder that slides down your arm before she walks off to your office. 

“What kind of job is this?” 

Pt. 2

[kechiwrites]

gentle touch

könig x massage therapist!reader kinktober countdown day 5 (body worship)

synopsis: oh, the military boys were your favourite.

wc: 2.8k

cw: massage therapist reader doing bad medical-ish practice, body worship, light sub!konig, mentions of edging, hand jobs, a little oral as a treat, biting, konig being petnamed as he should (honey), size kink, hints at touch starvation, groping, begging, uncut konig, afab!reader, no gendered pronouns or language.

author's note: i know his dick hex code and it's glorious. mdni.

He’s your last appointment of the day. And what a fucking day it had been, ten hours that should’ve been eight, cinnamon scented candles instead of eucalyptus, a rushed lunch because a client had shown up early, not taking “I’m on break” for an answer.

You knock on the faux bamboo door, waiting for your appointment to allow you entry. When he does, so quietly you almost miss it, you open the door, only for your eyes to land on a broad, strong back, still wrapped in a dark grey long sleeve. He turns slightly, just enough for you to see the thin stubble on his chin, cheek and jaw.

"Hello! I didn't catch you undressing did I?" This time he turns all the way around and you are sure your swallow is audible. Hell, you hope it's audible, you want this dude to know just how impressed you are with what you're seeing.

"No." He shakes his head, rubbing his aquiline nose against the inside of his wrist. It must’ve been broken once before, if the uneven bump on his bridge is anything to go by. Why is that hot? That shouldn’t be hot. You eat up the motion, eyes tracking every twitch or movement of his massive arms.

“Oh…" you're ogling him. You need to stop ogling him. "I actually need you to strip down.” The words burn on your tongue. You must say that a thousand times a work week, but this time, when you say it to him, it sounds…dirty. Like a shitty porn set up. Makes your clean white polo feel vacuum sealed to your skin. He takes a step towards you and you shudder a breath, tensing until you realize he’s getting closer to the lockers to your left.

He’s huge, you think, and when he still doesn’t look up at you, content to let the strands of dark brown hair, nearly black hair, hang in his face, you figure he’s shy too.

Cute.

“And you can use the towel to maintain modesty, Mr. König.” You get the inflection of his name wrong, you know because you’d googled it prior, held your phone to your ear in the staff washroom and listened to a soft spoken German man lilt it to you. There’s a hard ‘g’ on the end where it shouldn’t be, and you apologize, trying again to master it. “König.”

“Right.” He murmurs, “Just around my waist, yes?”

Or it could go on the floor and I could rub my clit on your abs.

“Yes, sir. Around your waist.”

You exit the room, closing it softly behind you. You figure you’ll use the few minutes you have to get a bottle of water, or a sedative. Something strong enough to bring you back down to your customary professional detachment.

When you return, he’s where you expect him to be. Face down on his stomach, his head in the cushioned hole. “S-sorry.” He speaks, voice muffled by his position. The apology comes immediately upon the sound of the door closing and you worry his large frame has cracked the massage table or something. You peer around him, looking for any chunks of polished wood or loose screws.

When you don’t find anything you realize he’s apologizing for his scars, the pit marks of bullets dug out in haste and healed with spite, lacerations haphazardly stitched, then redone a second time with the careful, practiced hands of a doctor in no rush.

“Oh, please don’t be. We get military boys all the time. Nothing I haven’t seen before.” You murmur, and it’s a lie of course. Not that you’ve seen scars, of course, you’ve seen some really storied skin in your time here, being near a base and all. No, it was the man who was an oddity. Mandy at the front desk told you that he’d had to duck through the front door.

His skin is also ultra pale in a way military men usually aren't. Near transparent, the sprawling blue lines of his veins thread underneath his skin, and you can see yourself getting distracted tracing some of the pathways with your fingers.

He hums, and you hope you’ve put him at ease a little bit. You haven’t even touched him yet and the tension in his back is glaring. Anxious people tended to hold a lot of stress, anxious soldiers? You’re just glad he’d booked a two hour instead of the customary hour and twenty.

The oil is cold straight from the bottle and you warm it between your palms before you make contact. He’s warm to the touch, bridging on hot, and he flinches when your hands meet his skin. “Was that too cold?” He groans, but doesn’t affirm or deny it, so you figure it must just be the contact. Slowly, you begin with his calves, tending to and pushing on knotted muscle and tense areas, working out kink after kink, soothing his compounded aches. The oil smoothes down his leg hair and you must be going insane because even that is hot to you. His thighs are even worse, strong and muscled and dimpled in the sweetest places. He shivers when your palms glide over his inner thighs, and he clenches them together when your fingers brush the hem of the towel shielding his ass from your greedy view. As quickly as it happens, he relaxes, murmuring another apology. You hum your own response, and push your thumb into an adorable cluster of moles you see just under the towel.

By the time you get to his lower back, König is almost purring, his gentle breathing often interrupted by drawn out, guttural moans. Whines and whimpers that make your blood hot. He’s holding the worst of his tension there, and you have to lean almost all your body weight into the motions of the massage. His hips jerk up and then down just as sharply when you crest your palm over her shoulder blades, and you don’t imagine the keening noise he makes as he grips the massage table. You’re used to military clients being a lot more stoic but it seems Mr. König is most assuredly not the sort. You reach his neck, framing his throat with your palms and using your thumbs to rub firm circles into his nape. His breath hitches and you find yourself cooing. “Breathe for me, I got you.” The soldier’s hips snap downward again, this time hard enough to shift the table beneath him. Which is more than enough to make you pause. 

No.

It couldn’t be.

The soft music and sound of the water feature on the wall nearly drown out the curse König whispers, but you catch it, and can’t stop your lips from curling into a pleased little smile. This was just too good. You start to finish up his neck, brushing some of his hair out of the way so you can rub your fingertips into the skin just below his earlobes. You guide him to turn over and when he doesn’t respond, you wonder if he’d fallen asleep.

“Mr. König?”

He makes a wordless groaning noise low in his throat, laying motionless.

“I need you to turn over, honey.” You don’t even realize you’ve pet-named a grown man you don’t know. Which is just as well, because it seems to be what the soldier needs, and he rises from the table, clutching the towel in a tight fist to maintain his scant modesty.

You turn towards the side table, pouring more oil into your palm. When you return to face him, you witness why exactly he was so reluctant to face the ceiling.

He’s at least half-hard, a very noticeable ridge lifting his towel. You can’t stop staring at it, even though you know König is trying his best to ignore it. You circle around him, and begin at the foot of the table, going through the massage cycle again; feet, calves, thighs, arms. You zone out, following through your motions, listening to the man beneath groan and sigh his contentment. You reach his chest, spreading your hands over his pecs. They’re big, just like the rest of him, you think and it’s hard not to fucking drool on him. He’s firm but soft, still pleasantly warm, despite being exposed to slightly below room temperature air. He shifts again when you hit a stubborn knot right below his collarbone, and you pause to check in.

“Still good?”

His breathing is uneven, shuddering and laboured. His hands clench and relax from white knuckled fists.

“Yes.” he hisses through gritted teeth, and you’re worried he’s undoing every bit of relaxation you’ve tried to bring him. It’s painfully clear where the stress is coming from, hidden underneath a paltry white towel, the enticing elephant in the room. You put your hands back on him.

Still got 45 minutes left, after all.

You try your best not to look smug, and you fail miserably.

Every stroke and rub you perform across his chest makes his cock jerk and twitch under the towel. You can practically see the cloudy drops of precum that’d be beading as his tip. Your thumb nail skates across his pectoral and catches his nipple and the whine he makes is so sweet you just have to do it again. Soon, you’re barely massaging him, groping the poor man under the guise of your job. A weak grunt snaps you out of your reverie, and when you glance down his abdomen at that godforsaken towel, you can’t stop the quiet gasp of shock you release at his erection. “Ah, I’m so sorry. Very sorry” His flush spreads from his cheeks all the way down to his chest, a gorgeous stewed cherry colour that overwhelms the pale skin you’d worked into submission. His eyes are screwed shut when you can bear to drag your eyes from his cock to his face. His soft, pink mouth is pulled down at the corners, and the heavy, dark slashes of his eyebrows are furrowed together, creating a wrinkle between them you want to smooth out with a kiss.

“It happens all the time. Are you alright to continue?” Your voice is deceptively calm, serene and soft, when all you really want to do is snatch the towel off the battering ram he’d smuggled in here. Your blood thrums, and you ache at the sight of it, at the mere thought of the ungodly stretch he’d put you through.

You will yourself to keep your hands where they are, force yourself to look literally anywhere else. The faux waterfall ahead of you, the wireless speaker droning pleasant, melodic mood music, fuck, you even try staring at the dimmed light fixtures hanging from the ceiling. But every cry and whine forces your eyes down, tempts you to catalogue every inch of flushed skin and threaded muscle. You gnaw on your own lip, and find your hands drifting down, back around his abdomen. You’ve worked through the area already, there is no excuse to be down there, to slip your finger tips under the towel, to push your digits into the skin around his pelvis. “Is this okay?” You have the gall to ask, when you push your fingers lower still, and basically sign your own severance package. Oh but it’d be worth it, to get what you want, to make this big strong man sob with pleasure, to have his mouth on your throat while you stroked him to completion. The memory of his cock in your hand will keep you warm in the unemployment line.

König nods, turns his head towards you but doesn’t open his eyes. His hips cant upwards again, and his towel shifts, parting to reveal his angry, desperate hard-on. He raises a hand from the massage table, letting his mammoth paw land on your hip. He squeezes you, and exhales sharply through his nose when his thumb touches your bare skin, skating over your flesh underneath your work shirt. “Say it.” You mutter and his eyes crack open, just wide enough for you to spot the crystalline blue of his irises between his inky black lashes.

“Please.”

And that’s all you need.

He’s uncut, and the veins blanketing the length of his cock are visible under his foreskin. Pretty in a way you aren’t used to, a denser blush than the rest of his body, but still quite pale. It feels like your hand is moving in slow motion towards it, your fingers twitching in anticipation. The heat of his dick warms your skin before you even make contact, and when you do, wrapping your fingers around the root of it, your fingertips can’t touch. You press your lips together and try not to squeal happily, glee crinkling your eyes.

God is real and he’s an uncircumcised cock on a shy giant.

König’s erection is searingly hot. Soft skin and hard core, jerking in your palm, leaking steadily, nudging at your hand, insistent. Your brain is working full steam and connections necessary to utilize common sense are still not being made. Slowly, you tighten your hold on him, the weight of it is so imposing, you wouldn’t be surprised if imprints of the veiny surface were branded onto your hand once you withdrew. If you ever withdrew. You should fucking withdraw.

You do not withdraw. Instead, you slide your hand up slowly, choking up on the head of his cock before dragging your grip back down. You chance a glance up at his face, watching his Adam’s apple bob with each laboured swallow. The poor man’s jaw clenches and relaxes while you slide your palm over his flesh again and again. Somehow, he hardens further and your eyes widen impossibly larger, the pit of your stomach doing somersaults at the idea of where you want that thing to go, what you want it to do. You get fevered flashes of König bending you over the massage table in your mind, hands on your hips, rutting without sense or logic into you, so hard the surface scrapes against the floor, all while he sobs, his overwhelmed, overstimulated tears splashing against your back while he rearranged your insides. The head of his cock is exposed every time you slide your hand down towards his pelvis. By the third peek, you’re dragging the pointed end of your tongue over the tip of his dick, licking against his head, and coating your mouth with the taste of him. He grips at your side harder, his fingers digging into your hip as he chases the warmth of your mouth. He keens loud, almost mewling when you pull off him, using your spit to ease your hand’s path. By this point, your handiwork is audible, noisy and wet, König’s voice filling the small room. You use your free hand to guide his head to your chest, letting him bend toward you, press his nose into your tits while he begs for you to finish him.

“Are you gonna come, Mr. König?” You thread your fingers in his hair, letting your nails scratch against his scalp, drift down to his nape and up to his crown again.

“Yes, please, please. Fuck.” His voice is reedy and thin, and he wraps his arm around your waist, burying his face deeper in your chest. And then his whole body trembles, and his hips roll towards you, and for a fleeting minute you consider edging the poor bastard, sliding your hand completely off his cock and watching it twitch violently, uselessly in the air.

But he begs so sweetly. And his next session was already pre-booked.

The hand you kept on his head leaves his hair, and you rub the head of his cock with your flat open palm, jerking him off with firm, fast strokes. He bites down on the curve of your breast, and you’re grateful he still managed to retain enough brain cells to not break skin.

“Do it then. Come, honey.” You trill, feeling his tears wet your skin through your shirt. It’s almost instantaneous, so fast it’s kind of impressive. His body goes bowstring-tight, and he squeezes you so hard it almost hurts. Ropes of sticky white seed shoot from his cock, covering your hand and his spasming abdomen. You slide your hand up, milking just the first two inches of him through his orgasm, until he stops your movements himself, covering your hand with his own.

When you finally break contact, you stare at your hand for what feels like ages, thick beads of his cum rolling down your palm, sliding to your wrist. You extricate yourself from his hold, using your clean hand to brush his sweat damp hair from his forehead. You press that kiss you wanted to the space between his brows. Why start restraining yourself now? His body shivers periodically, and you turn to the sink, to wash your hands clean, clenching your own thighs together, his moans and sighs echoing in your mind. You turn to face him, grinning wide and cheery,

“So...I’ll see you next week?”

hoe, you are getting fired! at least you got a man outta it though.

support city girls who love gummy worms, reblog what you like.

find the rest of the masterlist here.

[kabr0ztrousers]

Kabr0z Writes Episode 12 - Debt, part 3

Also entitled: Endings and Beginnings 

Find the Kabr0z Writes Anthology, including parts 1 and 2 here!

CWs: group sex; anonymous sex; noncon; dubcon; more coercion including coercion via financial means; Lots of fucking; pregnancy mention; creampies; free-use; s&m dynamics; role switching; marriage mentioned

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You kept thinking about that party. The first task was easy, suck off a handsome lupine under his desk? You might've done that for free if he bought you dinner (which he ended up doing anyway), but being the centrepiece for a masked orgy was a little more than you bargained for. It wasn't like you didn't enjoy yourself, and Professor Blaidd was very considerate, when he wasn't playing the taskmaster, all soft fur and tenderness. You still had the pyjamas he gave you, and you were still finding his greying hair on them.

Thank goodness for small mercies, you shrugged, if you're going to be led by the purse-strings into subbing for some guy and his friends, at least you nabbed a cute one. For all your doubts though, you were still wearing the anal toy he gave you last time as you walked through the lobby to the elevator. The lowest setting so it wasn't obvious, but was keeping you in the mood.

You knocked on the office door and entered. Blaidd was waiting for you, sat on his desk typing on his phone. He was dressed as he was when you first met him, a the tan blazer, matching trousers and white shirt, salt-and-pepper fur spilling out of the collar and cuffs. You stepped forward and gave him a hug. He started back, but then returned it, holding your head into his chest. His smell was amazing, the scent of old books and a hint of musk. 

"This is the last task" He pulled away from the hug and looked into your eyes "It's going to be... Intense"

"More than your party?" You met his gaze

"Yes, I still know all the participants and have personally vetted them, but it's going to be a lot" He got up, moving you to one side "It'll be easier to explain when we get there"

You followed him out of the office and into his car. It felt almost strange to be sat here wearing actual clothes, even if you did still have something in you, gently buzzing against the seat.

Blaidd's ears cocked "Do you hear that?"

"Hm?" You listened closer

"There's been this strange noise since you came into my office, like a hum..." His eyes widened "You're not..!"

"Maybe?" You failed to suppress a smirk, of course he could hear it "If you wanted a dress code, you should have told me"

He grinned "It's fine, but it's going to come out soon, we're here"

You'd pulled into a warehouse car park and got out, coming around the front to let you out again, taking his arm and allowing yourself to be led inside.

The building looked much less intimidating inside than out, soft pink mood lighting illuminated a reception desk, where Blaidd passed a scantily-clad woman in bunny ears a printout. She looked it over, nodded, and wordlessly led you both into another room.

This room was darker, with a divider across it, a wide hole cut into it roughly at waist height. Blaidd nodded to the concierge and pushed some banknotes into her hand "Give us twenty minutes to get settled, I'll let you know when to start letting them in" She nodded and left the room 

"Slipping her a bribe so she doesn't call the police?" You giggled. Despite being in the rough part of town, despite being in an unfamiliar building, despite the dubious 'them' Blaidd mentioned, you seemed unable to feel unsafe around him

"Oh, you know" Blaidd smiled "Just the tip"

You facepalmed, you knew he was corny but that's still a bit much 

Blaidd was laughing at his own joke as he brought you behind the divider and sat you on a bench. You could see a headrest and armrests, complete with restraints. Clearly this was intended to for someone to lie on it for a while without a break.

"This will be a free-use scene, have you heard of it?"

You nodded 

"Good, now get undressed and lie down"

You did so, slowly peeling off each item, making sure he was watching as you did. This time though, he was stripping for you too. You hadn't realised how broad his chest was, or how thick the fur really was under his clothes. The sight of his cock peeking out of his sheath made your pulse quicken. You lay on the bench, completely nude with your lower half on the other side of the divider and let him buckle down your hands. He pulled down a curtain and fastened it around your midriff, preventing you seeing anything on the other side of the thin wall, before padding around the other side. 

Soft hands grasped your ankle, before lifting it up and securing it with a rope. One leg suspended, and those hands on the other ankle you felt something, that bastard!

You couldn't help but laugh and squirm, he was licking the sole of your foot, the tickling making you call out before he tied that one up too. "Just a taste, the men waiting will have free reign of anything this side of the curtain." A pause "Speaking of free reign"

The plug in your ass pushed deeper in. He must be pressing on it, the vibrations pulsing deeper in you. You squeaked as his other hand started working your pussy, a thumb circling your clit while fingers explored your folds. Then the plug was pulled out of you. Another pause. You felt something wet enter your rear. It wasn't his cock, you could guess that much, maybe two fingers? Another joined them, gently massaging your asshole. Your whines filled your ears, drowning out the sloppy sound of his hands in your ass and pussy.

Then nothing, "Blaidd" you whimpered at the deprivation 

You heard him laugh and knock on the door "Ready" he called out, before appearing behind the divider again "I'll be here in a... Supervisory role, just for safety" 

The hand stroking his cock said otherwise.

You heard the door open. Then a clinking sound. Something rested on your exposed pussy. You lifted your pelvis, gently rubbing yourself on it before it slid inside. The thrusting was slow at first. You bucked against it, trying to fuck yourself on whatever it was that's been put inside you. The man grunted and sped up. 

"That's right" you growled "Fuck me properly"

You think he heard you. Hands grabbed your hips and he pulled himself into you. You could feel his balls slapping on you as he drove himself in and out. In and out. In and out. You started to moan. To look at Blaidd, stood there, absent mindedly rubbing his cock and staring at your rolling tits. "My mouth"

He looked at you, and raised an eyebrow 

"Fuck my mouth, Blaidd" 

The man behind the wall pushed in hard, you gasped as he squeezed your hips and twitched inside you. He hadn't lasted long enough 

"I can't interfere, pet," Blaidd grinned at you "I'm just here to watch" 

The man pulled out, something rubbed your leg, then the door again. You stared at Blaidd's grin as you felt someone push two fingers into you. Whoever this was, they knew what they were doing. The fingers pulled up against you, driving hard into your g-spot as a tongue started flicking at your clit. You could feel the previous man's cum leaking out of you as your pussy clenched harder and harder. You could see two wolves in front of you now, both holding that cock you wanted to taste so much. 

The fingering stopped. 

You cried out. Bucking madly hoping to find something, anything to rub against but only humping the air. 

A slap came across your ass. Then another. Another. Another. You could feel it coming. With every slap across your ass. Again. Again. 

A scream. You didn't register it as yours for a couple of seconds. Then you noticed you were panting 

"Please, Blaidd, please" you begged, but he just grinned wider as a cock pushed into your squirming pussy and started rutting into you. You squeezed and bucked against him as he thrust. You wanted to milk him. The man pushed in and started to cum. More thick fluids deposited in you as he shuddered against you, before whipping himself out. Another rub on your bare thigh and the sound of the door again.

"Blai-dd" you moaned at him. You could see him leaking as he slowly pawed himself off, grinning at you, but still not touching 

The door again, this time you could hear the man enter, hooves clopping on the ground. 

An equine. You wondered if it was the one from the party. Whoever it was, he was huge. You felt the thick, flat-ended cock as he rested it on top of you.

It felt even bigger as it entered. He pushed it in gently at first. Your breathing catching and whining as it inched inside, stretching you around it. He started fucking. Pushing a little deeper every thrust. Slowly, painfully, he worked you down his length, every inch making you yelp and tear up until you were at his hilt. He waited a moment. The ridiculous cock deep in you. You noticed something: Your hips were moving. Even as this monster was stretching you, bringing tears to your eyes, you were getting off on it. The equine pulled himself almost out of you. You gasped as the flare on the end of his cock dragged against your insides, pulling out a trickle of fluids behind it until it paused, just the head inside you. You knew what was coming. You rolled your hips, hearing him moan as you edged him a little.

He thrust in. The breath was driven from you as it filled you. He was done being gentle. Each thrust drove the huge cock to your cervix, battering against it and making you cry out. You could feel yourself getting closer despite the pain, maybe because of it. Again and again he rammed into you, driving you further and further. He pushed in one last time. Pressed deepe into you than you've ever felt. He pumped wave after wave of cum into you. You could feel it dripping out of you as he started going soft inside you, his cock rapidly retracting into his sheath. Another touch on your thigh and he was gone.

One after another, men came into the room and had their way with you, one way or the other. Most used your soaking pussy, some preferring your ass, some would just finger you or eat you out to another screaming orgasm then leave.

All the while, Blaidd just stood there, stroking his cock and watching you beg him to finally give it to you.

A woman's voice came from the other side of the wall. "That's everyone, Mr. Blaidd, you've got an hour to get ready then we need to get the cleaning staff in"

Blaidd took out his phone and tapped a few buttons, then pulled on some boxers and started work on the buckles restraining you. He said something, but you didn't hear. You were watching the damp patch on his underwear. It was growing, little by little as his bulge twitched underneath.

Your torso was free. You bided your time. 

He rounded the divider and pulled on the knots holding your ankles, releasing them. You gasped as your legs dropped, the sudden change of position feeling weird after spending hours suspended. You opened the divider and pulled your lower half in. Your thighs were covered in tally marks, you counted 28. Did 28 different men just finish in you? Or did everyone get a mark whether they did or not? You weren't paying enough attention to know for sure. There was only one cock you cared about now.

Just as expected. Blaidd came back to you, and sat next to you.

"Is that everything now" you asked, trying to seem innocent 

"Yes, the money's been sent to your account. It should already have landed. It's been nice working with you"

He seemed withdrawn suddenly, almost bashful, sat there in nothing but his underwear. 

"So what happens now?

"I'll stay here as long as you need, then I can give you a ride home" He looked down slightly, his tail hanging low and his ears drooping

"You'll give me a ride alright" You manhandled him down onto the bench and opened his flies. His still-throbbing cock sprung out, already lubed up with his precum.

His ears pricked up as you swung your leg over him and positioned his cock under you. "I'm not your whore any more, but I've seen how you look at me" he gasped as you lowered yourself onto his cock. Between the fluid on his cock and the cum oozing out of you there was no need for any foreplay. 

His moans only got more intense as you rode him. Your pussy was already stretched out so you didn't struggle taking him. You could feel his knot under you. You pushed down on it, watching his face scrunch up, then relax into a hazy smile once it popped in.

Now the fun begins. You clenched your pelvic muscles, flexing your kegels against the knotted cock inside you. You kept riding him hard, feeling him fill you. You were almost there. Just a little more and...

There.

Your orgasm rocked through you. Easily the best one of the day as you pushed the knotted cock inside your aching cunt. Again and again you came for him without any breaks in between.

He must have been closer than you thought. He cried out and pulled you down onto him, spurting his load directly into your womb, half whining, half howling. You kissed. You lay there. His knot gradually deflated, slipping out and spilling cum over his underwear. You still lay there.

You cuddled until the door opened again and a pair of people in gloves and masks shooed you from the room, wrapping towels around you and pointing you to showers down the hall.

Sat outside the warehouse. Dressed in the clothes you wore this morning, waiting in Blaidd's car as he deals with the people inside. 

You craned your neck to see the door, just as it opens and your wolf walked out. Back in his suit, as though nothing happened.

The car door opened and he sat next to you.

"I got a bit of a telling off for that, but we're hardly the first to overstay our booking, and we weren't actively fucking so it was more of a finger-wag than a warning"

"So... What happens now?"

"I told you" Blaidd sighed "The experiment's done. You've been paid, now you never need to see me again" his ears drooped again

"What if I want to see you?"

His gaze met yours "Well, the study was concerning purely transactional relationships, but that's done now so..."

You finished his thought "So we can still see each other?" 

"If you want to, there's no reason we can't see where this goes?"

You kissed.

That was almost two years ago. Since then, you have become Mrs. Blaidd, and settled into a cushy PA role working for him. Mostly you re-enact your first meeting, and enjoy lavish lunches. Although you've had to cut down on crawling under the desk, and cut out drinking altogether. 

After all, can't have alcohol with pups on the way