#cyberpunk reader
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Devotion in Steel
How They Worship You After The Hunt: Dottore, Childe, Zhongli.
So this is based off This idea I had about a cyberpunk reader in a cult!Sagau genshin, so this is just me testing the waters. I spent wayyy too much time on this one lol but this brainrot is still going strong.
CW: Suggestive themes, cult/yandere characters, reader is GN, mentioned gore for Zhongli part. First time writing Yandere's so tell me how it goes lol.
Dottore: Silent Curiosity
He does not worship you openly; he doesn't sing hymns about your mercy or your cruelty, nor does he press his face into the ground whenever you pass, like certain archons wishing for redemption.
His worship is quiet.
To the unworthy, the way he touches you — with clinically cold hands, examining every gear, and bolt, and piston with the same calculating gaze reserved for one of his machines — may as well be the highest form of sacrilege. Who is he to act as if you are just another of his toys? Who is he to not even say a single word to you? Who is he to touch and pull on your mechanical components like some urchin child toying with an object they do not realize is precious?
But they can't do anything, because You do not see it their way. You do not stop or punish him, you encourage him; it isn't rare to find you two alone, him on his knees with your arm held in his hands, silently watching the moving mechanisms beneath your plating as you explain the intricacies of your mechanical form to him in that synthetic voice of yours that makes his bones tremble.
His touch is clinical, precise, but it is by no means cold; His worship is conveyed through his actions.
With reverence he cleans the dirt and grime from the seams in your armor, happy to stay on his knees for hours, days even, so long as not a single speck of dirt is left to mar your perfect body. With piety he polishes every gear, with admiration he oils every piston, worshiping even the smallest piece in your body like it is a holy relic.
To Dottore, being able to see technology millennia ahead of his own and learn of knowledge yet undiscovered would have been bliss.
But to feel it beneath his fingers? To feel it in his bones as that artificial voice of yours reveals the world's secrets?
Heaven.
Tartaglia: Eager Veneration
Once, Tartaglia had only known of you from the stories his parents had told him; of a loving creator, a place of safety and solace in this harsh world.
Later, when he fell into the Abyss, Skirk told him new stories of you, passed down to her by the denizens of the Abyss — ones his parents wouldn't have dared to utter lest they tempt Celestia to punish them for heresy.
So when you descended, full of harsh edges and your body geared for battle, he embraced you as you were. He would have loved you regardless of your appearance, but something about the mechanical version of you made sense to him; Children resemble their parents after all, why should you have appeared like the demure little thing the tapestries depicted you as when Teyvat could be harsh, and cruel, and cold?
He remembered his parents teachings, tried to be respectful like the other acolytes, on their knees, with their heads pressed to the ground. He would have done so happily, would have kneeled before you until he was nothing but bones, would have slaughtered countries in your name... yet the abyss gnawed on his bones, needing your attention like a babe needed a parent.
So when you showed him favor? When you offered him to touch the divine metal of your cybernetic body?
He couldn't stop himself.
Anxiety tempered his eagerness, he did not seek more than what you offered him, yet his hands still glided over your skin and metal with the same energy as the little gears beneath your outer shell. Trembling fingers traced old dents and scratches that ripperdocs had neglected to fix, words of absolute devotion leaving his lips as he put his head to your chest, listening to the tik tik tik of mechanical organs beneath your chassis.
But your weapons enchanted him the most. It reminded him so much of the Foul Legacy hiding under his skin; the promise of danger and death lurking beneath the surface, ready to be used as soon as a threat appeared — a similarity between you two that no one else could claim.
He could spend days simply kissing and lavishing the seams in the armor, feeling where fake skin transitioned into metal which hid your weaponry from the world. Though you never allowed him more than a look, he yearned to touch them, to kiss the sharp blades, to feel his bones bend under your mechanical strength, to feel the monowire burn through his skin...
Please, won't you let him? He survived the Abyss, he promises that he's tough, he can handle the pain... just this once, let him worship you, all of you, please?
Zhongli: Desperate Absolution
Zhongli is afraid; to touch, to breathe, to even exist near you.
How can he not be, when he is the reason for your missing parts? Your aching joints? When he was the one who harmed you, who tainted your holy body with his hate and prejudice? When he was so prideful as to forsake his creator because they did not fit his own imagination?
When the truth was revealed, the real impostor laying dead and your mechanical frame speckled with drops of your golden blood, he understood he was in no place to anything but bow and pray your fury would be swift and merciful, though he did not deserve it.
Yet even as he knelt before you, head bowed so low it was flush with the ground and eyes shut tight, not daring to even glance at your metallic feet, a part of him still yearned for a chance at redemption; to earn back the chance to worship you, to earn your forgiveness through devotion.
He would do anything for it; Kiss and lick the dirt off your mechanical feet, be at your beck and call till the end of time...
If you wished to regain your lost parts — he would scour the far reaches of Teyvat until he found all the metal pieces you had lost, and those that were permanently damaged? He would carve his bones into shape, until they fit...
If you told him to forfeit his flesh like you had done — he would claw at his skin until not a single scrap of meat hangs off his bones. He would happily wander the earth as a skeleton, grafting pieces of old Khaenri'ahn technology to himself until he resembled you, just so you could inflict the same wounds he had done to you...
Yet you did no such thing. Even as his thoughts gained a voice, escaping his mouth through muffled whimpers, all you did was watch him, your mechanical gaze racking over his shivering form as he tried to stop his hiccupping cries.
Truly pathetic.
Then your fingers found his chin, gripping him in a bruising as you raised his head to look at you. Your mechanical eyes reflected in the tears running down his cheeks, the metal joints in your fingers nipping at his skin. His eyes met your cold gaze, and he wondered what you will ask of him — His eyes? His tongue? His arms? The impostor would have demanded all that and more...
He would give it in a heartbeat.
But please, find it in your cold heart to forgive him.
#sagau zhongli#sagau brainrot#sagau idea#bottom genshin#genshin impact#genshin x reader#tartaglia#dottore#genshin x gender neutral reader#cyberpunk sagau#sub dottore#sub tartaglia#sub zhongli#dom reader#genshin cult au#men crying#genshin fluff#centerpieces of the hoard#cyberpunk reader#zandik x reader#zhongli x reader#childe x reader
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Does anyone want to hear about android!Ghost's dick? No?
OK well I wanna talk about it so...
Starting off strong with the "he doesn't have one" argument because what use does he have for one when he's literally built for active duty? Well. First of all who build a robot you can't fuck? Second of all shhhhhhhh.
As it stands he doesn't have one. Not that he doesn't want one or wouldn't use one but the military can be so stingy... so obviously he's gotta enlist his favorite mechanic to make him one. Which is a fun in person request to make. Just showing up to your workshop and telling you he wants a dick while you studiously do not look at his crotch. You can feel him smirking when you ask what he plans to do with it. (He'd get by pretty well with his fingers and *redacted* but nothing beats dick)
So you gotta design a dick for this guy, take measurements, get input, spend hours agonizing over the neuropathways and how you're going to link this in to his synthetic nervous system. Plus like... are you gonna make this thing come? You probably should. If Ghost is going to be using it he should get something out of it.
So now you have to design an orgasm program. Which is easier said than done because how do you quantify that, and how do you code it, and most importantly how do you test it?
Well you test it by hooking Ghost up to the computer and setting the program to run, watching him stiffen and arch his hips into the feeling, swearing in that low mechanically filtered voice as he humps the air. Fuck he looks good. UNPROFESSIONAL THOUGHT. OK you stare at your screen and run a few more variations, asking him to describe each one and rank them. Great orgasm locked and loaded, now you have to set up trigger scenarios.
Which also means when you actually get the android dick to a solid prototype you have to call Ghost in and install it. You reserve the day, clear it with Price (new parts testing, custom made, you tell him. Giving no other details. He doesn't ask) and keep a fire extinguisher and a kill switch nearby while you tell Ghost to... jerk off.
And then you watch him stroke the gorgeous, big, cock you custom designed for him with thick, deft, fingers. And you wait for the orgasm program to trigger. And hope that nothing glitches and he doesn't rip your beautiful masterpiece of a dick off, and also that the come you designed actually comes out at the right time. So you sit there and watch him, press your thighs together and try not to shift in your seat even though you can hear the click of Ghost's cameras as he watches you watching him.
You don't wonder what he's thinking about. You don't focus on the grunt of pleasure he lets out. You do tap at your screen to check the sensitivity levels on the synthskin you used. You do reach to make sure he isn't squeezing too tight or stroking too rough and end up with lube based come spurting onto your face.
Which you suppose means it works.
Which means moving on to partner trials, and your hand tentatively wrapped around Ghost's fat cock. You don't remember why you made it so thick, but it doesn't help the ache between your legs. You try to keep a professional look on your face as you reset the program and start to stroke him with much gentler fingers. You ignore the come staining your face until Ghost swipes his fingers through it and pushes those same fingers into your mouth.
You end up on the workbench with him, grinding your clothed cunt against his firm thigh as you stroke his cock and he pumps his fingers into your drooling mouth. Mutter all manner of filth to you. Greedy whore, desperate piece of meat for him to fuck now that you've made equipment for him. Aren't you a smart little toy to make him exactly what he asked for, and so big too. "That what you want love," he asks, "you want a fat cock to split you open? Look'it you drool, probably tried it out before you stuck it on me."
Even if you didn't you can't say you didn't think about it, didn't drag your fingers over the dick appreciatively. All the scaling in the world, trying to make sure it would look right, fit right, on Ghost's body and you still made it with your preferences in mind. He knows it too. That's why he reminds you what a cock hungry toy you are. "All cooped up in here with no one to show you your place," you drag your tongue along his fingers, work your cunt against him, hope you leave a wet spot on his synth skin, hope he can feel you through the coveralls, "bet you dream about one of your bots holding you down and giving you what you deserve."
You can try and shake your head but he just holds your cheeks, twisting the fingers in your mouth to accommodate. Ghost makes a noise, a sort of clicking sound you can't parse, and tips his head. "Can't lie to me, deserve better than I could give ya, but now?" He pulls his fingers from your mouth and fists your coveralls, pulling purposefully at the material, "Now I've got all day."
#cod x reader#x reader#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost mw2#ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon riley#mw2 ghost#ghost cod#android!ghost#cyberpunk au#you know this got away from me#this is also like... a few chapter into their relationship#he cant knock us up but he can try
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𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐒𝐖𝐀𝐏
✽ — PAIRING: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader
✽ — SYNOPSIS: When a job goes south, Bakugou and Kirishima are left dealing with the consequences of saving a life that maybe they shouldn't have.
✽ — WORD COUNT: est. 30.2k
✽ — WARNINGS: Female reader (she/her used), Cyberpunk AU, gun violence, gunshot wounds, descriptions of dead bodies, blood, body modifications, amnesia, death threats, POV changes between Bakugou & Reader, enemies to lovers (?), eventual smut, angst, no beta reader, no second part, there are no happy endings in night city.
✽ — NOTES: It only took me two years but hey, it's here. You don't necessarily need to know anything about cyberpunk to read this, I've tried to explain things as best as I can in the fic itself. But if you have any questions, please feel free to send me an ask!
✽ — EXTRAS: Playlist // AO3
“Shit!”
“The fuck did you do now?!” The blonde rounds the back of the car, a hand clasping the handgun tight in one hand whilst the other runs frantically through his sweat-slicked hair. It was not meant to go like this, this was meant to be an easy job.
That’s what Aizawa said! Easy! The warehouse they were supposed to hit tonight was rumoured to be empty, no one had been seen moving in and out of it for days. There wasn’t meant to be a gunfight and now Bakugou worries about how it’ll come back around to bite him in the ass.
His eyes snap away from the pools of blood and a mixture of chemical fluids. Kirishima is hunched over something in the open trunk of the car, his shoulders are bunched and Bakugou can practically feel the tension rolling off of his best friend in waves. “Oi, what the fuck is—”
Kirishima steps back, and Bakugou’s words die on the tip of his tongue when he stares down at the loot Aizawa had sent them to get. He had said it was just a simple shipment, a bunch of cyberware shit that needed to be shifted from one side of Night City to the other. But this was not just any old sort of cyberware.
Arasaka cyberware.
That meant the crate would most likely be tracked, and inside of it would be goods worth more money than either of the two Mercs had touched in their entire life.
“Oh fuck me–” Bakugou speaks first, eyes locked onto the metallic case. “Ei, we need to drop this shit. We can’t be caught with it, they’ll have our fucking balls.”
“No shit we can’t be caught with it! But what do we do with it now?! We can’t just leave it, what if the Maelstrom comes back and takes whatever’s inside of it?” Kirishima’s the one glaring at Bakugou now, the look making the man of 6’8” seem more of a terrifying monster than anything. “Why did you have to say yes to this job, man? We were fine for a few more weeks–”
“Because it would’ve gotten us both out of the fucking city Eijirou!” Bakugou yells finally, he is shorter than Kirishima but still at his own height of 6’3”, he makes up for his lack of height in comparison with his explosive anger. “I took it so that we could go back fucking home! Don’t you want that?!”
“Of course, I wan–”
Bang!
Instinctively Bakugou and Kirishima drop to the ground, Bakugou pulls his handgun up and is ready to fire whilst Kirishima's skin shifts with the metal plating. The two of them were a two-man team that was inseparable, Kirishima the shield and Bakugou the firepower. Both of their eyes are locked together as they wait to see if there’s another gunshot, Bakugou’s heart feels like it might beat its way out of his chest any minute now. He was certain he had gotten everyone, his optical enhancements had confirmed as much.
The red of his eyes flash to life as he takes a deep breath before peeking over the back of the car, it’s silent for a moment before he hears a dragging noise and sure enough—there’s a body heat signature east of the car, hidden behind some boxes and crates. His arms adjust on the car, holding his gun steady, ready to shoot the second their head peeks over the crate.
…But then the heat signature flickers out, and Bakugou drops his position in confusion before there’s another bang and this time the bullet does collide with the car.
“Fuck, they’ve got some sort of tech that lets them hide from my optics,” Bakugou whispers harshly to Kirishima who has his back plastered to the car, his face stoic despite the possibility of being taken out by someone who was possessing cyberware that’d allow them to appear out of thin air practically.
Kirishima nods once, the body plating along his forearms clicking into place as he readies to use himself as a human shield. Bakugou steels his nerves, eyes flashing back to life before finally saying “Move with me.”
The two of them are up in an instant, Kirishima crossing his arms over his upper half and tensing his muscles to ensure his body mass covers Bakugou entirely whilst the blonde slips his arm just beneath Kirishima’s with the gun poised and ready to shoot. The crimson of his eye gleams in the darkness when he catches the heat signature once again dashing from one crate to another and this time Bakugou doesn’t hesitate. The gun fires in rapid succession, neither of the men flinching. The reaction is immediate when there’s what sounds like something falling to the floor.
“Lost visual again,” Bakugou confirms when the warm red spot vanishes from his vision, leaving just droplets of what must be blood on the floor in their wake. Both mercs wait in silent anticipation, Kirishima moving with each step Bakugou takes as if it were second nature to him—perhaps at this point in life, it was second nature.
Kirishima had come with Bakugou from Tokyo to Night City nearly 15 years ago with the plan that the two of them were simply there for one job. It was going to give them life-changing money, something the two of them desperately needed for themselves and their families back home.
“Ei!” Bakugou yells, Kirishima plants both of his boots against the ground and brings up his arms to defend his face. The bullet buries itself into the metal plating of his arm, pulling a deep grunt from the man.
“Motherfucker–!”
Bakugou again fires the gun, a snarl resting on his face and this time he hears the sound of flesh being hit by the bullet, and then the sound of a body slumping onto the ground. Kirishima finally steps down from being the human shield, pulling his arm up to view the bullet that’s embedded deep into his forearm. No doubt the Doc will be pissed about this when he gets back.
“All good?” Bakugou asks, changing out the mag in his gun before glancing towards the foot he can now see peeking out from behind the boxes. Kirishima grunts a yes whilst pulling the bullet free from his arm, the sound of it hitting the floor loud in the now silent warehouse. “Doc’s gonna kill ya for that.”
“Ya think? She only just upgraded it for me.” Kirishima almost whines, quite the opposite of the man he just was as he watches the black liquid of the synthetic fluids leak from his arm in place of blood. “If I ask her nicely, do you think– Hey, where are you going?” Kirishima watches Bakugou slam shut the trunk of the car before stomping his way over to the body he’d just shot, he had to know if it was enough scumbag from some gang or if Arasaka were already onto them.
Bakugou rounds the crate, readying his gun to fire once more and freezes in place; gun raised just slightly, eyes widened and mouth ajar. “You’ve got to be fuckin’ kidding me—Ei, get here. Now.”
Kirishima walks over when the ash blonde hisses at him to hurry the fuck up, wiping the black liquid free from his arms before looking down at what Bakugou was staring at.
“Ohh.. fuck, dude.” He gapes at the girl lying on the floor, covered head-to-toe in blacked-out clothing. But it wasn’t the fact it was a girl that Bakugou had taken down, but rather it was the fact she had the Militech symbol stitched into the sleeve of her t-shirt. “What the fuck did Militech want with this?”
“I don’t know—maybe to reignite that old corporate war they had years ago with Arasaka? Everyone knows both of them are fucked up.” Bakugou is still frozen, the handgun still aimed to shoot. If he takes out this Militech assassin, it’s most likely going to be tracked back to them and by them; he means the new family he had found in Night City. It was a tightly knit group, all coming from similar backgrounds to his own but ending up in NC for different reasons. He couldn’t do that to them, he couldn’t get them killed because he took a job to run away.
Kirishima squats down next to the body, head tilting as he leans a little closer towards her head. His hand hovers just next to her face, “The fuck you doin’ now? Gettin’ your big ass fingerprints all over the body so they ca—”
“Shush,” Kirishima demands, and Bakugou goes to defy immediately before he’s shushed for a second time whilst Kirishima puts his index finger beneath her nose. It’s a tense moment, but he feels it. “Still breathing, we could still call trauma and—”
“And what? She relays to her boss that she ran into one very identifiable red-haired giant and his angry friend? No. We kill her.”
“Wait! Wait!” Kirishima moves to push the gun away when Bakugou raises it, meeting his scathing glare with his own determined one. “What if we use her for info? Clearly whatever is in that box is worth enough to get both Arasaka and Militech willing to fight.”
Bakugou’s jaw ticks as he clenches it, eyes flicking between his red-haired friend and the girl on the floor. He’s right, Aizawa might know something about this, and if they’re able to pull info from her about Militech then they could probably sell it to Arasaka for a pretty penny.
“Shit.” He huffs, finally pulling the gun back and holstering it. “Fine, but you’re the fucker that’s got to explain why we’re dragging a half-dead Militech asshole through the Docs door.”
“—not keeping—”
“This is your—”
“Guys.”
Everything felt…wrong. Nothing felt like it belonged, and yet it did at the same time. Mechanical parts clicking and groaning, blood pumping in and out, brain whirring to life. Lights that are far too bright for delicate eyes, and all noises submerged in synthetic water.
What was happening?
Where were you?
“Can you hear me?” a voice calls from a distant place to your left, you want to open your eyes or will your lips to move to form the words that are hanging at the end of your tongue. What happened to you? Nothing made sense, you didn’t recognise that voice and you didn’t recognise the coldness of the metal table you were laid on.
“Hey—wait, calm down.” A smooth, cold hand presses itself against your sternum and it was as if a light switch had been flipped in the dark recesses of your mind. You didn’t have to think when your own hand wraps around the offending limb, fingers curling dangerously tight.
“Shit, I knew this was a fucking mistake!” A new voice, distantly familiar. There’s a scrambling of feet, and finally, your eyes are opening. The light is blinding, but you can make out the blurry outlines of figures that are double your size and they’re frantically moving to reach something; guns, you belatedly realise and you don’t miss a beat in hauling yourself off of the metal table.
The two men—you can finally see them now and they’re nothing short of a pair of gigantic cyborgs—have turned to you with guns raised but they haven't made a move yet. Your arm tenses around something until you hear a squeak accompanied by a choking sound. Hesitantly you glance down to see you have a woman with brown hair pinned to your chest with one forearm crushing her throat and the other raised in their direction.
“Now, just hold on.” The one with the red hair speaks, his hands raised to show he’s no threat but you don’t miss the way his skin shifts with the metal plating. Armour. He must be the shield, and the other must be the firepower.
“Lower your weapon.” Weapon? You flick your eyes towards the blonde who most definitely isn’t lowering his weapon. The redhead shifts again, and he’s taken a step forward towards you but his hands are still up in surrender. “Please, lower your weapon.”
He must see the confusion on your face so he points towards your free arm currently not crushing the woman to your body. You hesitate to look where his finger is pointing, but it’s hard to miss when your eyes drift slightly away from the redhead. In place of your arm is what looks like an M-179 precision rifle.
Wait—how do you know what type of weapon that is? You’ve never held a gun in your life before, you–you…–you were just some street rat. The weapon retreats back into your arm, clicking your own metal plates back together until it’s smoothed over as if it had never existed in the first place.
Did these people put these parts into you? Had they found you passed out in some dark alleyway and dragged you here to experiment on you? That’s the only explanation, it’s the only reason you’re in this dingy ripper doctor's office.
“S–Stop. Can’t—breathe.” the woman croaks against your arm, and you realise you’re actually starting to crush her windpipe with your forearm. She stumbles forward with a hard choke, whilst you launch yourself back into the surrounding deskspace. Metal clangs and surgical instruments fall to the floor in a loud clatter, the roaring in your ears is too loud to hear what the people are saying to you.
Another set of hands place themselves against you, your upper arms this time but they’re no longer cold, they’re warm. A shroud of red covers the edges of your vision and all you can focus on is the face directly in front of yours, his lips are moving and it’s impossible to decipher what he’s trying to say.
Why does his face seem so familiar? You had seen this hair somewhere before, and those teeth. You had never run into someone with such sharp teeth and yet your mind couldn’t stop trying to find just where you had seen them before. The red-haired man looks over his shoulder, letting you see the blonde who was frowning in your direction still brandishing the gun that was pointed directly at your head if anything were to go wrong.
“—know man!”
“Move so I can—”
“You.” Both voices silence immediately. Two different sets of red eyes on you and yet they both carry a different feeling; one filled with curious sympathy and the other hardened disgust. “Who are you? I–I think I know you.”
“Uh, well, I’m Kirishima.” There’s a groan of annoyance from what you assume to be the blonde whilst the one named Kirishima keeps his eyes on yours. “What about you, what’s your name?”
Your lips part, tongue moving to accommodate the syllables of your name and yet nothing comes forward. You try again with furrowed eyebrows but it feels like your tongue is too big for your mouth and your throat is restricting around your name. In your oncoming panic, you latch a hand to your throat, widening your eyes when you try again and again to spit your name out.
“Hey! Alright!” A hand comes around your wrist and peels your fingers away from the skin of your throat, and Kirishima takes a deep breath when he looks down at you. “You don’t remember a thing, do you?” your only response is a shake of your head, and you swear the man's shoulders slump as he deflates a little at your admission. Had they known you?
“Fuckin’ brilliant, Ei. Now Aizawa’s gonna have our ass for bringing back a death machine with memory loss and the tendency to lash out!” Death machine? Did he mean you? However you don’t get to answer the question because the blonde stomps out of the room, the slam of the door stunning the room into silence.
Another sigh before Kirishima drops his hands from your upper arms and straightens out to his full height. He is huge, bigger than anyone you have ever seen before. “You should rest before tonight.” He supplies, turning towards the door and you realise the brown-haired woman had also vacated the room at some point.
“Wait. Tonight?” you take a careful step after him and you don’t miss the way his shoulders stiffen, nor the way his forearm plating clicks to ready himself. Was he scared of you? No. That can’t be right, this gigantic man could not be scared of you. You’re certain he could crush you if he wanted with just a single hand.
“Tonight you’re meeting our fixer.” and just like that he was gone, the door closing behind him with an audible click.
They had locked you in.
Looking back around the room, eyes caught on the glint of various medical tools that had been scattered across the white tile floor. There are no windows besides the one at the far back of the room, but even from where you stand you can see it’s barred. You were well and truly trapped.
And so, with nothing else to do, you sat in the desk chair by the bed you had woken up on—and waited.
...
The next time you see Kirishima is when he had come to collect you from your makeshift prison, at some point someone—you assumed it was the Ripper—had shoved clothes in through the small gap of the door, you hadn’t realised you were in a state of undress when you had initially woken up.
Kirishima smiles at you, but you can see it doesn’t meet his eyes as he towers over you. He’s dressed differently too, in a black leather jacket over a red distressed vest and black jeans with some very expensive-looking sneakers. He looked much more like his age like this, you didn’t realise he was more around your age.
“Ready?” Kirishima offers, burying both of his hands into his front pockets and leaning against the frame of the door—While he seemed relaxed, you knew he was blocking off your only escape route.
You look down at yourself, you’re not quite sure how they had managed to get your size somewhat right but the black cargo pants and graphic tee were comfortable. The only thing they hadn’t measured correctly was the heavy orange bomber jacket that dwarfed you immensely.
“Yeah, readier than I’ll ever be anyway.” Kirishima just nods, finally pushing the door open and letting you walk out first before he shuts the door behind you both.
The door immediately opens out onto a street, the floor is wet from the rain and the neon street lights give the dingy alleyway some light. You can’t tell where you are, when you look up there is nothing but a concrete overpass blocking you from seeing the sky. “C’mon, he doesn’t like tardiness.”
“Who?” You jog to keep up with Kirishima’s wide – normal – steps, you barely come up to his shoulder and you have to crane your head up to look at him.
“Aizawa, our fixer. He doesn’t normally meet with new faces, but you’ve piqued his interest.”
“But how? I’ve not done anything, I don’t even know who I am.” You try to explain, the emptiness that sits in your brain is unnerving, to say the least.
Kirishima finally looks down at you, nothing but pity in his eyes. “That’s exactly why he wants to see you.”
The rest of the walk is in silence, not that Kirishima seems to mind much whilst he flicks through his phone. You’re not quite sure who Aizawa was, but you knew what Fixers were. They were smugglers, fencers and they loved to handle information. Is that why he wanted to see you? To get information from you? But you had none to give, and when Fixers often don’t get what they want… they dispose of the useless item.
Sparing a glance towards Kirishima, he was far too engrossed in his phone to realise the thoughts you were currently harbouring. You could make a run for it, he’s much bigger than you, sure, but you’re smaller. Maybe you’re faster. He could lose you easily in a crowd of people, you don’t want to be killed for something that’s not your fault.
“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Kirishima says without missing a beat, his eyes not drifting away from his phone and you have to focus on not tripping over your own feet at being caught out. He hadn’t even looked at you, you weren’t that obvious– “If you run then that means I have to admit Bakugou was right and then I have to chase you down.” Finally, he looks at you, raising an eyebrow to see if you’re still going to do it.
“I won’t run.” You say with less conviction than you would’ve liked but Kirishima seems happy enough with it, finally pocketing his phone into his back pocket before nodding his head forward.
“Here we are.” You turn to look at the building you’re both standing in front of. It fronts what looks to be a bar, not quite as modern as some of the others you had passed by. It looked more oriental and authentic. It’s not imposing, it blends in perfectly wedged between two other buildings that look like stores—it’s the perfect place for a Fixer you realise, it stands out enough to those seeking the man known as Aizawa but in an area shoddy enough that it won’t draw in too many people.
Kirishima doesn’t give you more time to inspect the building, guiding you inwards with a hand between your shoulder blades until you’re past the old wooden doors and inside a very well-kept bar. It’s relatively empty, with a few people hanging around by the bar but it’s quiet.
Your eyes rove over the multitude of artwork hanging from the walls, swirling paint strokes and sculptured mythical creatures. Kirishima drops his hand from your back once he’s sure you’re secured in the building, leaving you standing alone whilst he meanders towards the bar to talk to a pretty girl with bouncy curly pink hair.
“Oi,” a gruff voice calls from behind you, your shoulders jump at the closeness of the gruff voice and you spin to see the blonde from earlier. He has a frown on his face the second he meets your eyes before they drag down and latch onto the bomber jacket you’re wearing. He seems to glare somewhat harder, sucking at the back of his teeth. “No fucking around. I won’t hesitate to blow your head off this time.”
“This her?” a deep, almost sleepy voice drawls and you turn to meet the man to whom the voice belongs. He’s got shoulder-length black hair, and tired eyes yet the look he’s giving you is enough to tell you he’s very alert. You can’t help but straighten your spine a little, attention drawn away from the blonde who just huffs and wanders elsewhere. “Doesn’t look like much of a threat to me.”
You’re left blinking at the man, the silence suffocating until you look hesitantly across the room to meet a set of red eyes—but they aren’t Kirishima’s. Bakugou was clearly growing agitated the longer this was drawn out. “I’ve never been a threat.”
“Bakugou and Kirishima seem to think otherwise, even our Ripper Doc had said you have some interesting chrome.” Aizawa continues, settling into one of the seats close by before he regards you again. “But they also said you don���t remember who you are, is that true?”
“I–... Yes, it is.” Interesting chrome? “I don’t know how I got my upgrades, I woke up surrounded and I just acted on instinct.”
There’s a beat of silence, the palms of your hands growing sweaty and you suddenly feel like you’re standing in a pit with lions.
Then Aizawa breathes in deeply, sighing a little on his exhale. “I don’t know why, but I believe you.” There’s a noise of disagreement from Bakugou somewhere to the side but Aizawa continues anyway, “You could be useful to us. I’m sure your memories will come back over time and you’ll be even more valuable to us then. It’d be stupid of me to let you go.”
“Let me go? You want to keep me prisoner?”
“Not a prisoner. We just can’t have you wandering the streets in the state that you are, it’s safer for everyone involved if you stay here.”
It made sense, you supposed. You would be safer staying in one place instead of wandering the streets, especially if you had no idea who you were. Swallowing the lump of anxiety, you nod your head in agreement and Aizawa visibly relaxes in his seat before he casts a glance towards Kirishima and Bakugou.
“On second thoughts… I think it’ll be better for you to stay with those two.”
“What?!” Bakugou all but yells, the beer bottle in his hand smashing onto the floor in haste to get to his feet in disbelief. “I am not a fucking babysitter, and I’m not looking after some corpo—”
“You found her, you look after her. Didn’t I teach you that when I found you?”
Bakugou’s upper lip curls into a snarl, his eyes darting from Aizawa and towards you–it’s like you’ve been pinned to the spot underneath his hateful gaze. His tongue drags along his lips, rolling his bottom lip into his mouth before he leaves without another word. Kirishima is quick to take his place, stepping up close to you to take you back to wherever you had to stay.
“I promise he’s not always this bad—well, most of the time he is but he’s a good guy,” Kirishima says, a hand back on the spot between your shoulder blades to guide you out of the bar and back onto the open street where you finally see Bakugou once again. He’s sitting on a motorbike, an expensive-looking one. “Yo, Bakugou. Are we–”
“You have one fucking chance left. If you pull that shit again that you did at the Docs, I’ll personally rip your head from your shoulders. Got it?” Bakugou points a finger in your direction, which only makes Kirishima huff a sigh of annoyance and drag a hand over his face. “One. Then you’re done.”
He must not expect an answer as he slips the helmet over his head, the sleek black of it reflecting only the neon street lights but you can still feel his glare on you before he revs his engine once, twice—then he’s gone.
You look up at Kirishima finally when Bakugou is gone, and the redhead just smiles awkwardly at you whilst rubbing the nape of his neck. “I did warn ya.”
To say the next few days were painful is an understatement.
You had been confined to an apartment shared between both Kirishima and Bakugou, whilst the redhead was happy to have another roommate—Bakugou was not. He made it his mission to make it hellish for you.
It started with him refusing to cook you food whenever he did for Kirishima and himself (Kirishima had to convince him to at least give you something to eat or you’d die and then Aizawa would be pissed). Then it started with the loud music early in the morning, you had no real bed so you had to sleep on the expensive U-shaped couch and Bakugou took great joy in turning the radio on and making sure it was on full blast.
Kirishima did try to stop Bakugou’s attempts to drive you to a point of anger that would make you act out, which only had Bakugou sneering in your direction before he left to go do whatever the fuck he did all day.
And it was going somewhat well, that same routine every day. Until Bakugou got a call.
Currently, you’re sitting on the couch, your elbows digging into your thighs whilst you lean forward. The room was deathly silent, save for the sound of the passing Trauma Team AV that flew by the window.
Kirishima was staring out of the window, both of his hands pressing against the cool metal window ledge, the lights of the nightlife outside reflecting off of the various strips of chrome covering his jaw and down along his throat.
Opposite you was Bakugou, his knee bouncing in what appeared to be nervousness whilst both of his hands were buried deep in his blonde hair, head tilted back to stare at the ceiling above.
“This cannot be fuckin’ happening.” He groans for the nth time that evening since ending the call. “That old fucking man—the nerve, all of the shit I do for him… and this is how he rewards me?!”
“Dude, Aizawa has never steered us wrong. He obviously thinks we can trust her.” Kirishima says in an odd tone like his voice was devoid of any emotion. You supposed it made sense, he had never been able to trust you either for whatever reason.
“Well, I think we can’t.” Bakugou drops his head back forward, meeting your gaze and a sharp shiver rolls down your spine. “You remember what I told you before I let you come and squat in my apartment?”
“Our apartment.” Kirishima supplies quietly, though Bakugou is undeterred.
“You’ll kill me.”
“Right, I’ll fucking kill you.” Bakugou finally stands, swiping the pulse rifle off of the table between the two of you before fixing it over one of his shoulders. “Now get the fuck up, we’ve got a Tyger Claws cunt to go kill.”
The back of Kirishima’s car was very plush, you couldn’t help but wonder how good at being mercs the two of them were. They seemed to be living in the lap of luxury yet they decided to stay in Night City, but you didn’t dare ask why they were still here. Bakugou would probably take the opportunity to bite your head off.
You sunk into the leather and watched the city pass by, the rain bounced off of the roof of the car and rolled down the windows in thick streaks. It still made no sense as to why Aizawa put you on this mission with them too, they were capable on their own so just what did Aizawa expect from you? You can’t even remember a time when you had used a gun so surely you’d just be deadweight—another reason for Bakugou to be on your ass if you fuck up.
As if somehow sensing your inner anguish, Kirishima turns in his seat enough to meet your eyes.
“Ready for this?” You’re not quite sure why he’s asking, even Bakugou seems to furrow his brows in confusion at why the redhead even gives a fuck about if you’re ready or not. “It should be a pretty simple gig, the Tyger Claws are ruthless but this guy we’re going for? Big junkie, won’t see us coming.” Kirishima grins at the end of his sentence, and you can’t help the small smile that grows on your face.
“Right, yeah, I’m ready.” You say with a small nod.
“Say it with more confidence and I might actually believe you for once.” Bakugou gruffs from his own spot in the driver's seat, with only one hand on the wheel and the other propped up on the door beside the window. He’s chewing at the skin of his thumb; one might think he’s actually a bit anxious. Kirishima only gives you a look you now know is his attempt at apologising on behalf of the antagonising blonde before he sinks back into his seat with a huff.
“Don’t gotta be so rude all the time man, she probably doesn’t want to be here as much as you.” Kirishima all but grumbles to himself, looking away when Bakugou shoots him a scathing glare.
“Yeah? Then maybe she’ll fuck off at the first chance she gets, won’t have to deal with her anymore.” The car falls into an awkward silence at that, not even Kirishima can counter the fact that it would be simpler if you did disappear but you can see the sad frown that’s making him look much more like a kicked puppy than anything. The music on the radio does nothing to squash the tension, instead, it only adds to the palpable dark energy rolling from Bakugou in thick waves.
Soon enough the car is pulled into a darkened alleyway, only the rats and drunkards faintly aware of the presence of the two big mercs who get out of the car in a heartbeat. They seem to move in an organised way; a practised routine you realise. By the time you close the car door behind you, there’s a gun being thrust in your face. “Here, I know it’s not much but—it should do the job,” Kirishima leans a little as if sharing a secret “It’s all Bakugou would agree to give you, think you still scare him.”
You hum, eyeing the handgun in your hand and feeling its weight. It felt lighter than you expected, your fingers moulded perfectly around the hilt and you tilted your head to inspect the barrel. Something feels very familiar with the gun now in your hand, and as you look at both Bakugou and Kirishima to thank them you falter for a moment.
Your vision flickers, the city behind them flashes to an old warehouse before it returns to normal. Kirishima seems to be talking animatedly but Bakugou’s eyes are locked onto your own, an unreadable expression on his face—maybe it’s because there is no real emotion on his face. No scowl, no anything, he looks like a blank slate.
“Anyway, we ready for this? It’ll be over before we know it and then we can go to that ramen noodle bar I mentioned last week!” Kirishima grins, slapping a hand against his hardened stomach.
“Yeah.” Bakugou finally speaks, breaking his eyes away from your own and down to the weapon in his hands. “The plan is Kirishima will be the shield, I’m the firepower, and you just follow us and keep quiet.” He says whilst staring you down, gone is the blank expression and that familiar frown is again creasing his skin. You just nod, and he seems happy enough with that response to turn on his heel and lead the way into the back exit of the building.
The building is rundown, as are all the buildings in Night City outside of the high-end Corporate zones. You traverse over tipped-over vending machines, various boxes and crates that had been ripped apart and ransacked for all their worth. It’s dark and dingy, a low stream of smog flitting through the air from the old vents in the ceiling. The only way you can tell you’re going the correct way is with the help of the flickering dim fluorescent lights overhead, Kirishima and Bakugou are both deadly silent and somehow moving without even making a noise.
The journey up the stairs is quick, without the worry of someone hearing the three of you coming, both men take the steps three at a time—leaving you to hurry after them as quickly as you can.
Both of them freeze once they reach the door that leads to the 6th floor, Bakugou shifting a few steps back and Kirishima takes his spot wordlessly in front of the blonde. The clicking of Kirishima’s skin has you focusing on him, the way the metal plating shifts almost looks like his skin is hardening. Bakugou has his own gun raised, the heavy rifle looks like it weighs nothing in one hand when he taps the other on Kirishima’s shoulder indicating he’s ready to breach.
It all happens in three very quick steps.
First, Kirishima rips open the door to the point where it’s detached from the wall and tumbles down the stairwell—you have to plaster yourself to the wall to avoid being squashed.
Second, breaching. Bakugou has both his hands back on his rifle, his eyes illuminating the chrome strips on his face whilst Kirishima steps forward with purpose.
Third, gunfire. It happens in five quick taps of the rifle's trigger, Bakugou hardly shifting from the recoil as he swivels just his upper half whilst hunching his shoulders slightly to ensure each and every single one of his shots is a direct headshot. The sound of bodies slumping on the floor is your cue to finally enter the room, and a part of you wishes you hadn’t.
The room smells horrific, a stench you for some reason recognise as death. But it wasn’t coming from the fresh bodies, no, it was deeper in the large room. The translucent sheets of plastic that hang from the ceiling obscure most of the room, with multiple splatters of blood staining the material. Bakugou lowers his weapon slowly, Kirishima finally parting ways to do his own investigation of the place.
“Think we got him?” Kirishima asks, using his foot to roll over one of the men Bakugou took out before grimacing at the clean shot between the eyes. Bakugou was a beast with the gun, there’s a reason why he was so sought out by Fixers other than Aizawa.
“Dunno, I didn’t get a clear look at their faces.” Bakugou comments from the other side of the room, squatting down to roll a guy over to inspect his face.
Both men are too occupied with the gig to notice that you’re traversing through the middle of the room, pushing past the thin sheets of plastic to grow closer to the source of the blueish neon lights. With each step, the smell grows stronger, a rotting kind of stench mixed with what smells like fried electronics. A shiver rolls down your spine, a warning to stop yourself from pushing past the final sheet of plastic. Your fingers curl against the material, crinkling it and still, both men are blissfully unaware of what you’re about to unveil—
An empty ice bath.
Your eyebrows furrowed together, multiple thick wires and cords were all scattered around the bath yet there was no one connected to those wires. You take a hesitant step forward, the smell is still so strong—something isn’t right. The ice bath looked fresh, except for the blood staining on either side of the white porcelain, following the streaks upwards until you see a blinking screen displaying vitals.
Ayaka Ichida.
Age: 26
Occupation: Arasaka Executive
ECG: N/A
Blood Pressure: N/A
“Arasaka?” You murmur to yourself, fingers ghosting underneath the word. Why did that name send a painful twinge through your head? Perhaps it was just the notoriety of the corporation. Arasaka were rumoured to be funding the Tyger Claws way back in 2020 but it’s been nearly sixty years since then—
Your eyes lose focus the longer you stare at the screen, no longer looking at the words but rather the reflection of something moving behind you. It’s neither Bakugou nor Kirishima, you would’ve heard them approaching. This is a woman, her skin completely exposed, and dripping wet. Shit.
Her arm raises, the revolver sitting in her hand looks weighty and it’s definitely fully loaded when you catch the barrel of it. You spin on your heel, a hand stretched out ready to yell at Bakugou to move but it’s like you hit an invisible wall. Everything feels fuzzy in your brain, a wave of electricity passing through your body and shooting up and down your spine.
You must’ve shouted something because you can see Kirishima raise his head in worry, Bakugou clambering to his feet but it’s as if everything is moving in slow motion. The barrel spins, the trigger clicks and the flash of the gun is bright in your eyes.
You don’t quite realise you’ve moved until it’s too late, the fuzziness in each of your limbs is all-consuming. It’s as if you’ve been dunked in ice water and your limbs are slowly regaining their warmth—it’s painful. You blink, and suddenly your face is in Bakugou's; his eyes are wide and mouth agape as if he’s at a loss for words. Your entire right arm aches, but your spine hurts something fierce.
Not quite understanding how you had moved from one side of the room to the other, you glance over your shoulder to see the body—it’s more of just a pair of legs at this point, blood sprayed up along the walls and to the ceiling; bits and pieces dripping and dropping with a sickening wet thud. Did you do that?
The ache in your arm brings your eyes back to it, and it’s no surprise to see that the entirety of your arm was replaced with the rifle you had pulled out not too long ago at the Ripperdocs. It doesn’t look like you damaged your arm, the skin easily shifting back into place whilst you turn back to look at Bakugou. There’s a spray of blood on his face too, the blonde of his hair tainted by a dark shade of crimson that almost looked black. Bakugou is looking at you with what you might assume is worry, or some level of it anyway as he still seems to be frowning.
You open your mouth to speak, your throat tightening until you sputter out a thick vicious black liquid. Immediately your hand comes up to your mouth, touching your lips to see the synthetic blood leaking from your lips in thick rivers. “Wha…” you try to speak. Taking a step back from Bakugou, it feels like you’ve been hit by a train, your fingers go to press against the sore spot on your back but instead, you meet—nothing.
Your fingers pass through where your side should’ve been. You can feel the sticky synthetic blood coat your fingers as it continues to pour from your body, you can even feel the outline of the frayed edges of the artificial muscles you didn’t know you had.
“Shit!” There’s a set of hands on your shoulders, your entire world tilting backwards suddenly. “Hold the fuck on!” A voice calls from somewhere, yet you can’t see where it’s coming from. Your senses shut down one by one until you’re left floating in an endless amount of space.
It’s dark here.
Cold.
The vastness of the space around you expands over the horizon, and it feels like something is pricking into your skin. It hurts, everything hurts here. It’s too loud, yet it’s completely silent. Glancing down at your hands, your stomach drops and swoops in anxiety at the sight—you’re not made of human matter, but rather data. Pixels, bunched together to form a non-corporeal form of yourself. You’d heard rumours of this before.
Cyberspace.
It’s an odd feeling, to be existing but also not at the same time. The Net was such a vast expanse of data and network that almost anyone in the world could access but not everyone could take a step into cyberspace in the third dimension. It was jarring without a doubt but the unlimited knowledge one could access whilst inside of it? That’s why there were so many Netrunners, people dedicated to diving into the Net and hacking whatever data they needed.
But this place you were currently in didn’t feel like you were getting an endless stream of data, it was as if you had been cut off. Everything around you is freezing cold, with not a single thread of data to grab onto to understand just where you are.
“Hi?” someone says from your side, your head turned sharply to see someone with both lilac hair and eyes, they had a tired expression on their face but even the surprise on their face was easy to spot.
They hadn’t expected to be put into the Net alongside you. Both of their hands moved up to show they had no weapons, not that an experienced Netrunner would need weapons inside of a place like this.
“Listen, I was told to try and come pull you out. You’ve been in here for two weeks and—”
“Two?” How has it been that long? You had only just woken up, it felt like you had just been in the gunfight and protected both Bakugou and Kirishima; even potentially giving your life up for the blonde. “I–I don’t understand, how has it been that long? Who even are you?”
“My name’s Shinsou. You need to listen to me very carefully if you want me to get you out of here, okay?” He takes a step closer, stretching out a hand in an attempt to touch you—
There’s a pounding on your head, a throbbing pain that spreads behind your eyes and down to the base of your skull. Accompanying the throb is a low hum, more of a thrumming kind of noise that beckons you to turn around. Slowly you do, eyes glancing up from your hands to meet a set of dull blurred verdant eyes. Though these eyes do not seem familiar, they seem deadly, calculating. They glare at you through the opaque screen you hadn’t noticed, you can just about make out their body on the other side.
They have a single hand pressed against the screen, and the other curled into a fist that’s repeatedly beating against the screen. Each time it hits you can feel the pressure on your brain, was this your own consciousness? Who was this person? You move to take a step back but their punches only grow more frantic, more aggressive. It’s getting louder and louder, and the pressure on your brain is unbearable. Why can’t you wake up? The throbbing grows more intense until there’s a shooting pain that brings you down to your knees, curling your fingers into the ground.
You can’t hear the voice of the man named Shinsou anymore, you’re not even sure if he’s still there. All you can focus on is the throbbing pain, the way it chokes you and holds you in place. Demanding your attention.
“Found you.” A static-filled voice speaks from the darkness, and you look up to see the crack in the screen with a much clearer view of almost black-green hair. It sounds like he might be laughing, it sounds almost manic before he calls out a name, a name you can’t ignore—your name. “I’ll see you soon.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, the world around you started to melt away until you were left in complete darkness once again, though this darkness felt somehow different. You could feel something beneath you, smooth and metallic, familiar.
The second time you awake in the Ripperdocs office isn’t quite as jarring as the first, the lights are dimmed and there are no arguing voices. It’s easy to open your eyes, staring up at the overhead lights that have been turned off. The room is silent, the only distant noise is the street just on the other side of the door.
Slowly you rise from the table you had been laid out on, you didn’t need to look around to know you were alone this time. Has it really been two weeks since—you gasp, fingers touching the side where you had been hit but instead you meet the warm flesh of your body? Looking down to confirm that you weren’t imagining it, it looked like you hadn’t even been hit. No scars. Nothing.
There’s a laugh nearby, drawing your attention to the set of double doors you had never set foot through before. You slide from the cold table, your bare feet gently slapping on the cold tile floor. Taking a step forward your body falters, swaying to the side on uneasy legs, the table of surgical instruments clatters when you bump a hip against it and you freeze to see if anyone would be alerted to your presence.
No one comes bursting through the door.
Swallowing the lump in your throat, you take another step forward. This time you were careful of where you placed your feet, and with each slow yet steady step you finally regain control over your legs. Soon enough you’re standing in front of the double doors, the voices on the other side muffled but they don’t sound familiar in the slightest. Were you even back with Bakugou and Kirishima? Had you been sold off as Bakugou had wanted? Fear danced up and down your spine, you’d have to fight your way out of here if that was the case.
Steadying your heart, you raised your hand carefully to the door, ready to burst through.
Three… Two… One.
You slam the door open, throwing your body through the now open space and your arm lifts as if on autopilot to readjust the metal plating to reveal the rifle buried deep into your very bones. With a quick scan of the room, you register you’re inside what looks like a common room of some sorts. There was a sofa, a pool table, a kitchen on the east side of the room and a gigantic TV that was broadcasting something.
There’s movement, a heat signature, and your arm automatically moves to point at the two men who are on the sofa. The yellow-haired one is the first to scream, then the one with black hair who scrambles off of the sofa to try and seek safety.
“W-Wait!” The black-haired one yells, throwing his hands up, “Don’t shoot! We’re not the enemy!”
Another door on the other side of the room beside the kitchen bursts open, there’s a scrambling of feet and clambering to all get in the room first. But Bakugou is the first in, his hand firm around the gun in hand as he raises it ready to shoot until he realises he has the barrel of his gun pointed at you. If you weren’t staring at him you might’ve missed the way his shoulders sag in relief. Kirishima is next to come in, eyes darting from both men who were sprawled amongst the mess of chips and used beer cans that had been dashed across the room in their attempt to flee immediate death.
“Oh, you’re awake.” A voice that’s now familiar to you calls your name, the man with lilac hair sidesteps around the two hulking figures. There’s a lazy smile on his face, “Welcome back to the land of the living.”
Both Kirishima and Bakugou parrot the name Shinsou had given you, eyes drifting from Shinsou and to you, connecting the name to the face they’ve been living with for a while now.
“Yep, that’s the name of our friend here.” Shinsou walks into the room as if there wasn’t just a standoff moments ago, dropping into an unoccupied seat. “We should probably tell you everything that happened whilst you were ‘out’.” He makes quotation marks around the word, both of you missing the way Bakugou has his eyes locked onto you—or more importantly, your side. Shinsou gestures for you to sit down, and you make your way around the couch slowly whilst the two men you had scared scamper to sit elsewhere.
“I’ll be blunt with you. You’ve been out for nearly three weeks in total. We would’ve tried to pull you out faster but… you have some very impressive chrome. It took me two weeks to break your defences and even then you rejected me in a heartbeat.”
Your eyes break away from Shinsou as he explains your ‘absence’ to watch Bakugou as he tentatively perches on the arm of the couch right next to you, both of his arms crossed over his chest. But the things Shinsou is saying make no sense, you hadn’t pushed him out, it was—you scrunch your eyebrows together, the headache still ever present in the back of your mind the harder you think.
The silence stretches out in the room, just the sound of the TV droning on about Militech moving towards renewing partnerships with Lazarus.
Shinsou clears his throat, demanding your attention once again. “Your wounds actually healed by themselves. You have synthetic muscles but they’re something else. No one has ever seen something like that, even Uraraka said it’s not something Rippers can get their hands on.”
“Yeah… you weren’t actually breathing by the time we got you back here… I—We thought you were going to die.” Kirishima supplies from his position behind the couch, both of his hands clamped on the back of it and you can see the worry settled on his face when you look up at him. So you were dead for a portion of time, had all your chrome and cyberware saved your life? If what Shinsou said is true about your muscles repairing themselves then the time locked into your consciousness made sense.
Shinsou seems to notice the shift in the air first, clearing his throat before he stands up. He gives a stern look towards both Kaminari and Sero who are blatantly staring at you as if you were some anomaly. “We should go.”
“But—” the one with the yellow hair and black streak starts, eyes darting back to you with a question that was probably best unasked.
“Nope. Get the fuck up, we’re leaving.” Shinsou commands, already partway out of the door and he knows Sero and Kaminari will follow as he doesn’t bother looking back.
And soon enough, it is just you, Kirishima and Bakugou who looks like he’s about to shit himself with how tense he is next to you. It’s awkward, to say the least. You’re not quite sure what you should say, sorry for the trouble? Sorry for not dying? You’re sure that last one would apply to Bakugou, he had wanted you gone.
“Why?”
It’s Bakugou who breaks the silence, his head held now between his hands as he stares intently down at his shoes; knee bouncing, he’s anxious. You glance at Kirishima but the redhead just shrugs, urging you to look back at Bakugou. “Why what?”
“Why the fuck did you take the hit, huh?” His eyes meet yours, and you can’t miss the white of his eyes partially red, he was on the verge of tears. “Why the fuck would you do that when I mean nothing to you? It makes no fucking sense, no one just jumps in front of a bullet for someone. I wouldn’t have fuckin’ done it for yo–” He stops himself short, chewing on the words on his tongue that are better left unsaid. But the words still sting the same regardless of how true it is: Bakugou would not have taken a bullet for you, he would not have risked his life for you. Why did you care so much?
“I don’t know.” But it’s not the answer Bakugou is searching for, a frown is on his face but it’s not quite the same as the usual one you often saw him wearing. This one looked pained and confused. He diverts his gaze quickly, refusing to look at you once again before running a hand through his hair. “I guess I felt like I owed you for saving my life.”
Bakugou only gives you one last glare before he’s up from his spot and marching back out of the room, leaving an icy chill in his wake that makes Kirishima sigh.
“He means to say thank you, it’s… been a lot for him. We really did think you’d die on us back there, and I think Bakugou didn’t want another death on his conscience that wasn’t done by his own hand.”
Kirishima stands to his full height when you do, both his hands buried into the pockets of his jacket. “Anyway, let’s just go back home, yeah? You probably want to shower.”
“Tellin’ me I smell, Kirishima? You don’t smell of roses yourself big guy.” You grin when he smiles at you, the banter between the two of you is easy. His shoulders sag with relief before he’s strutting out of the room before you.
“Nah, not roses. Just pure manliness.”
“Manliness smells like a Maelstrom cesspit?” Kirishima whirls on you with his mouth agape, a chuckle leaving his mouth.
The city opens up to both of you when you step out of the doors, the difference this time being it’s the middle of the day and the streets are bustling with people going to and fro with their plans for the day. You take a deep breath in, Kirishima still rattling on just next to you about how Maelstrom actually doesn’t smell that bad. You break into an easy smile, a genuine laugh leaving your mouth for the first time in a long time.
A tingle runs up and down your spine, the shard slot on your neck buzzing as if someone was tugging on it, you look in the opposite direction of Kirishima to see if perhaps there was a nearby jammer or Netrunner who tripped on your own network.
But instead, you’re faced with something that makes it feel like you’ve been submerged beneath icy waters, your bones rigid and muscles tightened.
Standing idle amongst the moving crowd is a large man, with broad shoulders but that isn’t what makes him stick out like a sore thumb. It’s not the corporate suit he’s wearing, but rather it’s the mop of green hair on his head accompanied by emerald eyes that are wide with mirth when you meet his gaze over the crowd. You can see his lips move, but it's like his voice is deep in the back of your brain.
‘Soon.’
Kirishima calls your name from your side, drawing your attention back to him for a split second before you glance back towards the crowd. The man was gone. “All good? Do you need more blockers?”
“Huh?” You blink up at him, blockers? Oh. Meds that rippers always pumped you full with whenever you had any amount of cyberware. When was the last time you had taken some anyway? “No, uh, I’m fine, thank you. Think I just need a real sleep.”
“You just woke up from like a month-long nap, you’re telling me you’re still tired?” He grins down at you, guiding you back down the familiar street.
“Yeah, I guess so.”
The door to the apartment slides open with a hiss, revealing the dim lights of the amber overhead lights. Bakugou was home. Kirishima steps in first, shedding the thick jacket he had on to toss it onto one of the hooks. You followed after him easily enough, it hadn’t felt like so much time had passed but looking around the apartment you could see it.
Things had been moved, the plant on the window ledge had blossomed and grown beautiful red leaves. Stepping further into the apartment, you watch Kirishima disappear behind a black glass door that slides open for a split second to reveal Bakugou who was hunched over what looked like one of his rifles before the door slid shut.
You had been forbidden to enter the armoury, it was for Bakugou and Kirishima only. Bakugou had come with that rule, you couldn’t blame him but it wasn’t as if you needed their weapons. The thought of the gun embedded in your arm makes it ache, a tingling sensation that numbs your fingertips momentarily. Sitting down on the couch, you let out a sigh of relief when your muscles finally decompress and relax.
Despite your body relaxing your mind was still running far too fast, too many thoughts bouncing back and forth—you suppose it’s from the fact you were connected to the Net with no blockers, all that information could fry someone's brain and you’re just glad it hadn’t happened to you.
The peace and quiet doesn’t last long however, soon enough the entrance door opens with a whoosh and you turn in time to see a multitude of people walk in. You recognise two by name; Aizawa and Shinsou. You recognise both men with yellow hair and black hair, but there’s a woman with them that you haven’t met before with short dark purple hair.
“What the fuck are you all doin’ in my fucking house?” Bakugou growls from near the armoury, arms crossing over his chest.
“You didn’t think we’d let you walk away with the coolest new member of the gang, right?” The one with yellow hair flops into the seat next to you, long gone is the fear he had shown just earlier that day.
He grins at you when you stare at him, “Denki Kaminari, but you can call me whatever you want.” Kaminari offers with an easy smile, earning him a snort from the black-haired man who smacks him on the back of the head.
“Ignore him. Name’s Sero, it’s nice to meet you without a gun pointed in my face.” You shake his hand when he offers it to you, still wordless at how they’re effortlessly welcoming you into their gang.
“Don’t fucking ignore me!” Bakugou finally yells, but no one flinches at the volume of his voice. “What the fuck are you all doing in my house?!”
“New job.” Aizawa supplies, and immediately the room plummets into silence. “I know it’s only been hours since you woke up, but we really could use your help on this next one.”
Bakugou moves to open his mouth, but Shinsou jumps in. “You’re the only one here who can disappear from someone's optical enhancements. Do you know how rare that is? We wouldn’t be asking you to do this if we didn’t think you’d be able to pull it off without any problems.”
Aizawa continues, “You won’t be doing it alone of course. The whole crew will be going, but you will be the key player in this job, you’ll have to be the one to go in first.”
“When?” is the first thing you ask, and all eyes shift to you.
“In three days. Ideally, we would’ve done it sooner but I figured you might want to rest first. From what I hear, you had quite the trip on the Net.”
Aizawa notices the way your eyebrows furrow, “Shinsou was in there with you, but it was Jirou–” He points over his shoulder at the girl, who raises a hand for a moment. “–who broke through your defences. Apparently, there was some resistance from an outside source. Got anyone who'd be interested in protecting the data in your head?”
You shake your head, the only outside source may have been the man with green hair but even then you weren’t sure if he was real or not. You hadn’t been on blockers, you had been using your chrome carelessly. It could just be exhaustion.
Aizawa just nods his head, turning his attention to both Kirishima and Bakugou before gesturing with his head for them to come to talk to him privately. Kaminari and Sero both dive instantly at the chance to talk to you, gushing over the cyberware you were sporting. Apparently, they had never met someone who lived to tell the tale after having so much changed.
Aizawa sighs when he’s away from the group, slumping against the wall whilst Bakugou and Kirishima stand before him. Kirishima looks tense, and Bakugou is… well, Bakugou.
“You remember the original job?” Both men nod. “The package you were ordered to retrieve is Arasaka’s countermeasure to the new power Militech has come into. Jirou had a look at it and apparently, it’s some sort of advanced AI that can short-circuit everyone in its vicinity and even cause people to spiral into Cyberpsychosis.”
“What the fuck?” Kirishima murmurs, keeping his voice down so as to not alert the others.
“What’ve you done with it?” Bakugou asks, not missing the wince on Aizawa’s face.
“Handed it back to them.” Bakugou’s frown deepens, lip curling to reveal gums and canines but Aizawa jumps back in. “I didn’t have a choice, Bakugou. It was tracked, after you left with the girl they sent some jacked-up chrome head to come and pick it up.”
Bakugou runs a hand through his hair, gripping at the roots. This was bad. Arasaka were pieces of shit when it came to cyberware and if they were going to hit Militech with this then another corporate war would definitely be on the cards. “Shit, fuck. You sure it was an Arasaka guy that came to pick it up, not someone working for D—?”
“No, if I picked up on his chip, I would’ve put a bullet between his eyes myself.”
“Not if I do it first.” Bakugou snarls, earning a nod of approval from Kirishima. “Fucker already ruined our lives enough, we don't need him to get his hands on something that could kill us all.”
“You think they know about her?” Kirishima prompts after a beat of silence, all three men turn their attention to watch you on the couch. You were still static, Kaminari arguing with Sero about something whilst Jirou and Shinsou teased Kaminari about whatever it was. You looked out of place but at the same time, it felt as if you were always meant to be amongst the crew. You smiled easily, even laughing along with the group.
“I don’t doubt it. Jirou said the outside source that was blocking her from hacking into the system was military grade. She has something important to someone very wealthy. With this next job, stick close to her. If Arasaka makes a move, they’ll be trying to take her out first. If Militech makes a move…”
Aizawa shares a look with Bakugou before the blonde nods in understanding. “Good. Good luck on this next one, you’re going to need it when working with those idiots.”
Both men watch Aizawa leave before joining the rest of the gang on the couch, Bakugou sinks into a spot opposite of you and Kirishima slumps himself not too far from everyone, his legs spreading as he fully reclines into the seat. All attention is still on you, and Bakugou can’t help but keep his eyes locked on you.
“We should celebrate!” Kaminari grins, practically bouncing in his seat at the prospect.
“Celebrate what?” Kirishima is the one brave enough to take on Kaminari, effortlessly shifting the attention away from you momentarily.
“The newest member, obviously! I think we should show her a good time.” There’s a series of groans, a squawk of indignation from Kaminari whilst Sero berates him for always making everything an innuendo. Yet Bakugou can’t find it within himself to fight the decision, his eyes watch the way your eyebrows lift in interest before a smile brightens your features.
Maybe he’ll go along with it, just this one.
...
Part of him wishes he had fought Kaminari on some part of it. It was no surprise that the bar hopping eventually led them to visit Jig-Jig Street. It wasn’t the nicest place to be, it was the rundown part of Japantown that people often went to when they were desperate enough to get their dick wet.
Jig-Jig Street was the red light district of Night City, where you could ‘buy love’ by the hour or even get in contact with dealers who would sell you the most exotic of drugs or enhancements that would cost you a pretty penny. It was dangerous too, something that Bakugou often argued about whenever the others tried to drag him here. Too many times he had come home with a nasty black eye or even in the back of a police car from the fights that broke out here.
The crude flashing neon signs had Bakugou hunching in on himself, practically snarling at Denki who dared to poke fun at the gigantic blonde. Thankfully, it’s Kirishima who once again saves the day by shooing Kaminari away with the rest of the gang before he draws Bakugou in by his shoulder.
Bakugou just grunts, crossing his arms over the broadness of his chest before his eyes drift towards the redhead who’s now staring down at him.
“What?” Bakugou barks, modified canines adding to the visage of him being a feral dog.
Kirishima just laughs, “Loosen up man, let Denks have his fun. I have a feeling this next job is going to be a hefty one.”
Bakugou shakes his head, squaring his jaw whilst he mulls over Kirishima’s words. He supposes Kirishima isn’t exactly wrong; this next job feels like there’s a heavy weight resting on them. An expectation of something; something that Bakugou hasn’t quite figured out yet.
His eyes drift over towards you, embedded right in the middle of their little group. You still were a little bit stiff, eyes blinking owlishly whenever Kaminari came on a little too strong—but the alcohol had helped you loosen him, he thinks, you seem to smile a lot more now.
“Whatever, get the fuck off me.” Bakugou snips, shoving Kirishima’s hand off of him and Kirishima knows not to take it to heart. Instead, he steps aside, watching his oldest friend stalk away into the crowd to god knows where.
Bakugou wades through the crowds, dodging the half-naked bodies and the people high out of their minds who attempt to grab at him for his attention. He hated this part of town, it was the worst part of Night City – besides the gang wars and other shit the corpos got up to.
But this was a display of the depravity of the city, a show of just how long people would sink to feel something in this shithole of a city.
Finally, Bakugou breaks out of the crowd into the open street. It was empty, given that it was nearing three in the morning. He lifts his head to stare at the sky, the overcast clouds enough to make him grumpier. The rain always fucked with his chrome, the cold chill that came with it would send it haywire.
Glancing back, he can’t see the group he came with anymore and something in him itches to find you and make sure you didn’t get into any trouble that naturally comes with both Sero and Kaminari.
“Running away?” A voice comes from his side, and it takes the years of experience that comes with being a hired gun to not jump out of his skin. His head snaps down, and a shiver rolls down his spine when he meets your gaze.
“Yeah,” he admits, surprisingly, “Can’t fuckin’ stand this place. And you should split when you can too, you’ll end up getting roped into a threesome or some shit.”
That makes you purse your lips in an attempt to smother laughter before the corner of your lips threatens to break into a smile, there’s an easy air around you. You seem more relaxed, most definitely because of the drinks you had been throwing back when Kirishima challenged you.
“Nah, Kirishima let me leave.” Bakugou arches an eyebrow at that, Kirishima had known you were leaving too? That motherfucker. He knew you’d come following after him, like a moth to a flame. “Figured it’d be safer to walk home with you than try and navigate my way out of here.”
That has Bakugou nodding in agreement, the fuzziness of tonight's drinks softens his need to put his guard up around you. “C’mon, it’s about to piss down and I’m not getting caught in it.”
He’s already walking away, and it doesn’t take long for you to match his stride. Your own hands are buried in the pockets of the orange jacket Kirishima had given you all that time ago – did you know it was his? He bought it with one of his first paychecks, it was in one of his favourite shades of orange but somehow it looked much better on you.
His eyes drift away from the jacket you’re wearing and up to your face, you’re eyeing the signs as you walk by. They’re a range of ads for braindances that plunge you into a full-blown porno and ads for physical enhancements for stamina. It’s no surprise that everything in this part of town was about sex, Japantown practically ran off of it.
But his eyes catch on your bottom lip, how you worry it over with your teeth and squint a little like you’re not really reading everything that goes by.
“Somethin’ on your mind?”
“Huh?” You look up at him finally, and it makes Bakugou’s chest flutter with something unknown. It takes everything in him to push it down, chalking it to the previous train of thought about advertisements.
“What you worrying about? Yer gonna chew through your fuckin’ lip if you keep overthinking whatever it is.”
The way your eyebrows draw together and your face nearly crumples makes him want to backtrack, but instead you wipe your face of whatever emotion you had just felt.
“It’s hard to explain. More of a feeling than anything.”
Something Bakugou isn’t good with, he’s not one to talk about his feelings or whatever the fuck is plaguing his mind. “Just spit it out.”
You follow him up the steps to the large apartment building, and yet you remain silent as you try to mull over the words you want to say. Bakugou expects you to just ignore his request, and he doesn’t blame you. He’d never talk about his feelings even if someone held a gun to his head.
Once inside the apartment, he watches as you sidestep around him to go and stand before the large window. Pressing a button to let the metal shutters roll upwards in quick succession until the district of Japantown is exposed to you. It’s a sea of neon lights, people ebbing and flowing like water as they move around each other without ever looking away from the devices in their hands or implanted in their minds.
“Can I show you?” You speak finally, once he shucks off his jacket and flings it onto the back of the sofa. He eyes you for a moment, show him? Show him what, your feelings? His nose crinkles in thought, but he finds himself relenting. The liquid courage he drank earlier makes itself known when he relaxes on the sofa.
“Sure,” and you’re turning to look at him as if you expected him to shout at you or worse. But you don’t comment about it, scared to lose your chance so you move over to him. Settling into the seat next to him he can’t help but notice you don’t budge him at all, your own weight nothing compared to his own — had you always been this tiny?
“You gonna kiss me or some shit?” He blurts when you turn to face him, your knee pressed into his thigh and he tries to not think about the bareness of your legs. You snort, however, shaking your head.
“No, nothing like that.” And you’re reaching for him despite that, his body grows rigid beneath your touch. Your fingers are gentle as they stroke along the smoothness of his neck before they card up through the short hairs of his undercut at the nape of his neck. You’re so close he can see the intricate thin strips of metal that help with your enhanced eyesight.
He doesn’t find himself moving away, but rather leaning into the gentleness of the touch.
“Hold still,” is all you supply before he feels something slip against the back of his neck, the plating shifting and moving until his body involuntarily jolts. Everything in his body yells at him to move, to stop you from doing whatever the fuck you’re doing but it’s too late. The connection is made and he’s plummeted into darkness.
There’s a blinding light and he blinks it away, only to find himself submerged in what must be the depths of your consciousness. It’s similar to what he’d seen in his short dips into cyberspace when the time called for it, but this is different. He’s standing in the middle of nowhere, screens and flicking images dash around him.
Memories, he realises. Your memories from the moment you woke up and up until the very moment you sat down with him, but it’s not the memories you’re showing. Rather it’s the emotions connected to them, it’s bombarding his senses. He feels the tug at his heart, the fear that races up his spine when you first woke up in an unknown place and then the blissfulness you had felt when he took a bullet for him.
How could you feel at peace when you were going to die? It was too much for him to wrap his mind around, and quickly the emotion was changing. There was a sadness that weighed down on his body this time like his body was being pulled into icy waters when he heard the words he spat at you when you first woke up.
You felt sad? Bakugou didn’t know, it made his heart ache something fierce. He didn’t want you to feel sad because of him – fuck, he just wanted you to know how much it bothered him for you to dive in front of him like that. He wanted you to know just how much time he spent in that shitty docs office, watching your near-lifeless body repair itself before his very eyes.
But he couldn’t tell you that, he couldn’t tell you that Kirishima often was the one to wake him up from his slump across your lap in the mornings when he fell asleep hoping you’d just wake the fuck up and explain yourself.
Another jump in emotions, and he feels happiness – acceptance. You’re sitting among all his friends, and even with him in the picture, you feel like you found a place. Something in the memory makes his eyebrows raise, you glance at him and that feeling spikes. It feels like a thunderous amount of butterflies flutter in his stomach, rising up until they bombard his heart.
He hadn’t even known you were looking at him like that. Yet beneath all that, he could feel the melancholy that came with your circumstance. You don’t feel like you belong, or perhaps it was the reality of your previous life's existence that weighs heavily on you. You had unresolved business, and that’s something Bakugou can relate to fully.
The next time he blinks, he feels the pressure of your forehead against his own. The slipping of the cord from his plating and how your fingers curl a little more into the longer hair further up the back of his head.
“Do you get it now?” You’re the first to break the tension, your question but a whisper above the whirring of the fan above your heads.
And he thinks he does, that feeling that you couldn’t quite describe. You were content yet you were lost, you were happy yet you had a longing for something. You felt something towards him that was so indescribable it made his heart flutter. So he just nods, his own forehead pressing a little harder against yours to get it across that he truly does get it.
His hand cups your jaw, thumb rolling across the fullness of your cheek before it presses into the flesh just a little. Your breath smells sweet; faintly reminding him of the drinks the both of you had earlier in the night. He doesn’t suspect you’re drunk, he definitely isn’t but that soft buzz keeps him from thinking too much.
“It’s so confusing.” You admit, the word is just a breath against his lips and he finds himself wanting to swallow it. “I don’t want to think.”
That’s enough of a sign for him to make a move, his stomach churns with anxious excitement when he leans in. His lips finally press to yours in a tentative touch, your lips are warm and just as soft as they look. It draws him further, and further until his lips are moving against your own in a fluid movement.
You don’t fight him when his hand slips to the back of your neck, pulling you into position so you can’t escape when he pries your mouth open with his tongue. The sweetness is stronger on your tongue, tangy with alcohol yet intoxicatingly enjoyable when he explores you like he might never get the chance again.
It’s like everything explodes at that point, Bakugou grows insatiable; he needs to taste you. He needs to know you inside and out, this hunger pooling low in his stomach and burning a river of fire down to his groin. It makes him groan into the kiss when you offer a reprieve for a quick breath, he nips and bites at your bottom lip to see if he can pull any noises from you.
And he delights in it when he can, your moans are so foreign to him yet it’s a heady feeling. It has him tugging at you until you’re situated over the tops of his thighs, and in a fluid motion, he’s standing. His hands cupped under your ass, squeezing and massaging the flesh that he’s never had the chance to feel before.
It takes him no time at all to cross the space from the living room to his bedroom, the door sliding open and closed with a hiss before the automatic locks click into place. He tosses you from his grip onto the plushness of his bed, the sheets still rumpled from the morning when he didn’t bother to make it.
Bakugou looms over you like a predator, his chest rising and falling with quick breaths – you’re no better than he is, your lips are swollen and wet from his ministrations. Your heavy breathing only accentuates your breasts, drawing his attention down to them to see the rise and fall of your chest. His fingers move automatically, tucking underneath his shirt to tug it over his head.
It’s flung off into some unknown direction, and when he looks up you’re leaning up. Your fingers skate along the sharp edges of his muscles, pressing into the places where the fat resides. Then you trace along scars that are white and some that are pink; you’re transfixed on him. It makes him preen under your gaze, and in your momentary distraction, he undoes the belt on his jeans before they’re pushed down too.
The smile you give him makes his heart pitter-patter in his chest, you’re smiling up at him as if he’s the world to you. But the rational still-sober part of his mind insists that it’s just for the sex – he’s just a one-night stand to you and the feeling is mutual. Right? That is what Bakugou wants out of this, right? The tension in his stomach is unnerving, something akin to nausea at the idea of letting this not blossom into something more.
But he doesn’t get to ruminate on it further, your fingers drift downwards along the deep V on his hips until you’re at the top of his boxers. Automatically his fingers stroke up along your jaw, across your cheek until he’s hooking his fingers to the back of your head when you start to lean in closer.
The feeling of your lips against the hard outline of his cock makes him jolt and melt at the same time, the rumbling moan is deep in his chest. How long had it been since he was last with someone? Fuck, he doesn’t even know but he can’t focus when the tip of your tongue slowly drags up along the thick vein on the underside of his cock.
He must jolt too harshly because you laugh a little to yourself before you take pity on him. Bakugou wants to snap at you, shut you up for even daring to laugh at him but the words die on his tongue the second he even thinks of them. Your hands are undeniably soft when you wrap your hand around his hardness.
There’s a small crease between your eyebrows, an indication of either your concentration or perhaps your trepidation for what’s to come.
“Lie back,” he offers instead, your eyes drifting back up to meet his and you slip free from the hand hooked on the back of your head, the loss of your softness around his length leaves a longing that lingers in the depths of his stomach. This time he takes the time to undress you, sliding you free of the dress Mina had managed to wrangle you into.
It looked far too good on you, something he wouldn’t admit at the start of the night but his inhibitions continue to slip. “Look at you, so beautiful.”
His fingers skim up along the now bare expanse of your hips, brushing past your panties line and mapping their way up your sides. You’re just as scarred as he is, but yours are so different from his. He can see the almost invisible lines where someone has taken a scalpel to you and modified your body. Did you even know who did it?
He swallows the lump down in his throat, forcing his attention up to your breasts once his hands brush along the sides. His thumbs roll up over your nipples beneath your bra, the pebbled skin hard enough–sensitive enough to earn him a shiver of delight. The smile that brightens up his face is nothing short of sinful, it shows the modified canines and displays all his carnal desires without him having to even utter a word.
You lift your body up when he demands it, letting him slip you free of your underwear until you’re as bare as he is. And Holy fuck, you’re fucking gorgeous. His eyes leave no part of you unseen, his gaze roaming over you until you’re practically squirming.
“Please.” You whisper, gasping when his fingers finally find a home in the width of your hips. “Stop staring and do something.”
That has an eyebrow rising in your direction. “Oh? Someone’s demanding when she wants something. You want me to hurry up and fuck you until you’re too dumb to remember your own name?”
“You’re too much.” You all but whine, and he imagines he’d be able to feel the heat in your cheeks if he were to lean in closer.
“You have no idea.” Bakugou grins, a sultry smile that has your hips bucking beneath his iron grip and he’s swooping down.
Lips pressing into yours in a much more hurried fashion compared to earlier; it’s a hunger that can only serve to work someone up until the point of completion. It has his tongue rolling into your mouth, brushing against the back of your teeth and trying to hear you choke on him when he’s bearing his weight down on you.
He’s positively devouring you, and his hands work to spread your legs wide for him on either side of the thickness of his own thighs. Then his fingers make their way down between your legs, brushing against the crease between where your thighs bend. You’re whining, moaning and biting back just as hard when he dares to bite your bottom lip.
He wants to fucking ruin you.
Bakugou draws his head back just enough to peer down at you, the light filtering in through the half-shuttered window highlights parts of you that are otherwise shrouded in the darkness. It illuminates the harsh rise and fall in your lungs, the way your nipples are pebbled in the cool air and the slight glisten on your inner thighs.
Finally, he indulges you. His fingers press between your folds to slide against your clit before they slowly venture downwards. His middle and ring fingers circle against your entrance teasingly slow, his lips parting to breathe in your whines for more.
His eyebrows crumple with your own when you moan at the intrusion of his thick fingers, his head is swimming with how intoxicating it is to be above you like this. To have this level of power over someone who could definitely kill him before he could blink.
The stretch is easy enough with how wet you got so quickly for him, and he groans all low and rumbling in his chest at just how tight you are. You’re so soft and velvety inside, your walls clenching rhythmically with your deep inhales.
For a moment, he just holds his fingers deep inside of you completely still. Relishing in the way you try to shift your hips beneath him despite how he’s pinning you down beneath the weight of his own body. It’s such a stark difference to the nervous wreck he’s seen you as, and so fucking better than the cold-blooded killer he knew you were deep down.
“Fuckin’ look at you.” He whispers into the heated air between the sparse gap between you two, his eyes half-lidded as they meet your own. You’re trying your hardest to glare at him, but you can’t quite fight the euphoric feeling of him curling his fingers just a little to shut you down.
“Who knew all it took to get you nice and compliant was to stuff you full with my fingers?” His tone is a little mean, a little condescending. The tears don’t come for you however, but he can see you slowly dropping into the headspace he wants you to be in.
“Please,” you beg—a plea, a sweet melody that Bakugou thinks he wants to listen to for the rest of his life. But this was just a one-night stand, right?
“Tell me what you want.”
“Just–... Move already, please.” He grins wide at the whimper at the end of your words. A small part of him wants to draw this out, make you suffer just a little but the rational voice in his mind tells him he’ll only get more out of you if he obliges.
So he does. His fingers crook upwards, brushing against the spongy spot that no one but he could reach with the length of his fingers. The reaction is immediate, you moan so sweetly that it has his own eyes threatening to flutter and roll into the back of his head.
You’re practically gushing around his fingers as he fucks them into you, repeatedly crooking his fingers in an attempt to see how quickly he could make you crumble beneath the palm of his hand. Your thighs tense up, squeezing around his own when you try to close your legs to stop the onslaught of his fingers.
Bakugou noses into your cheek when you tilt your head back, your lips parted as you try to breathe in. But he doesn’t give you the chance, he pushes you further into the bed with his weight, shifting his body up just slightly so your hips are forced to bend with him – then suddenly he’s fucking his fingers into you impossibly deeper.
His lips hover just next to your temple, panting heavily against you. It’s a task and a half to stop himself from painting the inside of his boxers that he’s still yet to remove. But he’s a man on a mission, and that mission is to make you cum on his fingers.
He doesn’t stop when he feels your hand clamp down around his forearm, the strength there is enough to stop a moving truck—except you’re distracted, lost in the pleasure that races up and down your spine until it settles in the back of your mind. You’re too lost in your own head to be embarrassed about the sloppy sounds between your thighs, his fingers forcing more and more juices from you until he’s certain his bed will be soaked through.
As much as Bakugou wants to watch your pussy take his fingers so well, he can’t move his gaze away from your face. You look like something they used to paint in cathedrals, an angel. Your head is thrown back into his pillows, eyes scrunched closed and mouth open to let your moans spill free. The light from outside bathes you in neon colours, catching on the metallic strips of your chrome.
Even if it is just a one-night stand, Bakugou doesn’t think he’ll be able to forget the image of you in the throes of pleasure.
Especially not when you finally do reach your climax for him. Your hand at his wrist tightens immediately, your thighs lock up with a tension that would worry him if he wasn’t aware of the intricate materials that you were composed of. Your chest stutters, and your mouth opens wider until he’s gifted with the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard; a series of moans that grow breathier with each pass of his fingers.
“‘S too much.” You protest weakly, the hand that was wrapped around his wrist pushes in an attempt to free your swollen pussy from his long fingers. But he doesn’t pull out yet, only slowing down the roll of his wrist until finally he pulls free. Your entire body relaxes finally, muscles growing lax from where they’re wrapped around his waist.
“It only takes one time and you’re done?” Bakugou questions with a teasing arch of his eyebrow, watching in amusement when your head rolls slightly to glare at him. It’s a hardly-there glare but you still give it to him regardless, it makes him grin down at you. “Nah, you’re not done.”
You’re like putty in his hands with how easily he manoeuvres your body around, tucking both of your legs together before twisting your lower half to the side. A large arm keeps your legs held up and off to the side, whilst his unoccupied hand strokes along the rigid length of his cock. It aches, pearled with pre-cum from just watching you cream all over his hand.
He levels the tip of his drooling cock to your entrance, easily finding the hole that was previously spread so wide around just two of his fingers. The warmth is intoxicating, flooding his senses and clouding his mind. He doesn’t even notice you moving just slightly to slide a hand down over your hip to feel the length of his cock disappearing deeper and deeper inside of you.
The groan Bakugou lets out once his hips fall flush against your own is sinful enough to have you clenching around him, turning that beautiful groan into a hiss through clenched teeth. He snaps his gaze up to you, only to see your own gaze heedy with lust and half-lidded. He can feel every single inch of your velveteen walls, can feel the way you’re still panting and clenching around his cock.
He thinks he could die here, quite happily might he add.
A large hand comes down to your ass, shifting the flesh just enough so he can flit his eyes downwards and see the sticky mess that’s already tacking his pubic hair. That same hand comes back down again to level your ass with a firm spank, and it has you squeezing around him tight enough to stop him from rolling his hips back to start fucking you.
It’s enough to make him forget he’s fucking you raw.
“Squeezin’ me so fuckin’ hard. You like it that much, hm?” Bakugou goads with a bite to his bottom lip when he feels you pulse at the tone he takes with you. With enough willpower, he rolls his hips backwards just enough to pull himself out halfway before fucking his cock back into you. “Tell me how much you like it.”
His stomach tenses when you brush the pads of your fingers against the tensed muscles there, his eyes drift away from where he was connected to you, along your arm until he finds your face. You’re looking him in the eye, eyelids heavy and lips parted when you moan low at the feeling of him rolling his hips smoothly once again.
“Say it,” Bakugou bares his teeth at you, the modified fangs in his mouth gleaming with the passing lights through the window.
“Bak—”
He moves before he can even think, faster than you can react. His hand engulfs the entirety of your lower face, thick fingers digging into the flesh of your cheeks until he can feel the solid metal that was buried in your very muscles. Your eyes are wide, more alert but you don’t fight him surprisingly. Bakugou hunches his body over your own until his forehead connects with yours, forcing you to look directly into his eyes.
The angle he’s at now has your eyebrows crumpling together, mouth opening in a wordless moan—he’s so fucking deep that he’s pretty certain he’s pressed right against your cervix.
“No, use my fuckin’ name.” He growls in your face, hissing his words through clenched teeth. You’re clenching around him so tightly that his head feels like it’s filled with nanites, infiltrating his brain until all he can think about is you, you, you.
A harsh thrust of his hips has you gasping, he can see you fighting the urge to let your eyes roll back and eyelashes flutter closed to bask fully in the pleasure. But you keep his gaze, sturdy and unyielding.
“Katsuki.”
He’s never heard his given name on your tongue before, so breathy and sweet that it has his pace faltering for a split second. His name sounded perfect when you said it like that, as if your very vocal cords were crafted just to moan his name like that—like an angel. Bakugou gives in to the urge to moan in return, jaw falling slack.
Your hand is delicate around his wrist, guiding him to free you from the grip he still had on your jaw to slide it downwards until he finds your throat. His fingers latch around it naturally, digging in just enough to have you gasping against his open and waiting mouth but not enough to hurt you. He can see that you enjoy it—can feel it in the way your pussy drools for him more.
The second his hand locks around your throat, everything empties from his mind. His hips move as if they were designed to fuck you, to feel your skin slap against his and to have your entire body jump with each harsh rut. Your moans vibrate against his palm, a shiver working its way down his spine whenever your moans grow louder, more desperate when he shifts his weight just enough to bully the tip of his cock against your cervix.
The hand around his wrist tightens, the tips of your nails digging into his flesh. It makes him hiss in pain, gritting his teeth to fuck you harder. His entire body glistens with sweat, dripping down along his hairline where strands of his ash blonde hair stick to his dewy skin. It pools in the hollow of his throat and builds along his biceps, which flex and bulge with the effort of keeping up his position hunched over you.
“G’nna—” You gasp, his hand instinctively closing around your throat before relaxing. “‘M g’nna cum.”
And fuck, if he thought you whispering his given name was hot then he’s not sure where that ranks. He’s not sure why he’s never considered just how hot it would be for you to admit you were close to orgasm, to inform him that he’s doing such a good job at fucking you that you’re about to cum.
“Yeah?” He huffs in the effort of his pace, suddenly rearing back and releasing your throat in favour of shifting your position. He throws your legs over his shoulders, large hands grasping at your hips to pull you to the edge of the bed properly. “Then cum.”
With his hands lower down on your body, Bakugou’s able to free one hand from grasping at the meat of your thigh to let his thumb roll over your clit with enough pressure to have your knees turning inwards and back arching off of the bed. The moan that comes you from is angelic, a sound that has his stomach twisting in anticipation and the need to cum—but not yet, he’s going to fuck you as much as he can before he reaches his end.
He can feel you clamping down on him, squeezing the ever-loving fuck out of him to the point where his hips are forced to take shallow thrusts. But his hand doesn’t give up on your clit; he switches to his fingers to pinch and cruelly swipe at your swollen clit. Your toes curl against the back of his head, and Bakugou finds himself leaning into the feeling—needing to feel every single part of you whilst your pleasure crests.
And when you do cum, Bakugou can’t help but groan alongside you.
“Fuuu—... That’s it, good girl.” His tone is a little breathy, his chest rising and falling with the quick breaths he has to take to keep up the pace to fuck you through your orgasm and beyond that. His hand drops away from between your thighs, sliding up to grab at your waist before moving you up along the bed whilst situating himself on top.
He tugs your legs down from his shoulders, wrapping them tightly around his waist—you move easily for him, so pliant and willing to do anything for him after he made you cum on his cock. Your thighs mould easily around the thinner part of his waist, your ankles locking naturally.
His cock remains buried deep inside of you, still savouring the aftershock waves of pleasure that have your walls throbbing around him. Bakugou leans down into your space, with one elbow to the side of your head whilst the other latches itself onto the headboard. You meet his gaze, finally gaining back some clarity.
“Back with me?” He grins, sharp teeth on display when he looks down at you. He wonders if you find him intimidating like this, you’ve shown you were somewhat afraid of him in the past—never stepping on his toes, or overstepping when he ordered you to stay the fuck out of his way. Part of him doesn’t want you to be afraid of him anymore, he wants to make you smile more, laugh more, moan more—
A hand caresses itself along his cheek, drawing him out of his lust-ridden mind until he finds your eyes. Your thumb drags itself along the apple of his cheek, across the corner of his lips until you press your thumb against his lips. He’s not sure what’s enthralled him exactly, maybe it’s just the look in your eye—because you’re not looking up at him like you’re afraid, but rather you’re looking up at him with something scarily close to admiration.
Your thumb drops down from his lips and to his chin, and with the slightest of tugs you pull him down into your space. He collapses onto both of his elbows on either side of your head, his breath coming out in warm puffs against your face. He can smell you this close, a mixture of sweat and that sweet perfume Mina had bought for you.
Again, he doesn’t fight it when you pull him that final inch. Your lips are smooth against his own, so gentle and intoxicating. You kiss him like you want to savour this, savour him. And so he lets you, he lets you savour him just as he savours you in return. His mouth pries yours open easily enough, your tongue eager to meet his own in a smooth curl.
His hips begin to move on instinct, both of his thighs spread wide so he can thrust hard and deep. Your skin slaps against his, a wet sound that has the pit of pleasure in his stomach tightening and tightening with each passing second. His balls smack against the roundness of your ass, drawing up with the urge to spill deep inside of you—but he won’t, as much as he’d love to feel your walls milk him for all he’s worth.
You’re the one who breaks the kiss off, head falling back into his pillows whilst he props himself back up over the top of you. With a better view of your body, your tits that bounce with each rut of his hips, he finds himself standing right on the precipice of his climax. His thrusts grow faster, more erratic in their strength and depth—effortlessly fucking you through your next orgasm when you open your mouth in a silent scream.
“Fu-fuck, fuck,” Bakugou pants, his stomach clenches and his balls draw up tight. He pulls back suddenly from your space, away from the intoxicating heat that radiates off of your body to pull from your pussy entirely. His hand wraps around his cock and he fists it aggressively, thumb pressing against his head before he sucks in one deep breath, only to release it in a loud groan.
His cum comes in thick waves, drawing lines up along your stomach and up along your chest. You lay there, with your legs wide open and eyes half-lidded; watching him cum all over your body. Bakugou finds his hips still thrusting with each spurt from his cock, squeezing every last drop before tapping the sticky tip against your belly button where it had mostly gathered.
His entire body relaxes immediately, the weight of his responsibilities disappearing into nothing when he lets his mind bathe completely in that post-nut haze. You seem in the same mind, letting your legs droop at his waist and an arm coming to rest over your eyes, giving you a moment to catch your breath.
Slipping away from you, Bakugou doesn’t bother to pick up the clothes scattered around and instead beelines it for the bathroom attached to his bedroom. He pauses by the door leading out, he can’t hear any noise—hopefully, Kirishima was still out, if not then he’s going to be up Bakugou’s ass about fucking you.
Rummaging through a stack of towels, he finds a light and small one to wipe you down with. But as he’s about to re-enter the bedroom, he turns to see you’re standing up and looking around for your underwear.
“Where you runnin’ off to?” He gruffs, his own voice ruined from the session—he needs a drink of water, he makes a mental note.
You look up at him, quite like the image of a deer in headlights. “Uh, well—I just thought you’d want me to… go.”
Bakugou’s eyebrows furrow together before his eyes flit down to the ropes of cum still on your skin and he wants to ask if you planned on ruining your clothes with his cum. Instead, he shakes his head, stepping back into the dimly lit bedroom.
“Get back in bed, let me clean you up.” He watches as you stare at him for a second more, hesitating or debating on refusing his offer. But clearly your exhaustion wins out, because you turn with a drop of the dress in your hand and climb back in his bed, careful to not drip any of his cum on the sheets.
On the way past, he reaches down to a compartment in his wall to pull out two bottles of water. Placing them on the bedside table, he stands at the foot of the bed looking down at you. He can see you squirming under his gaze, the embarrassment starting to creep up on you but Bakugou can’t find it within himself to be embarrassed about the fact he was still completely naked. It felt good, with you.
You don’t squirm away when he wipes you clean, careful between your legs when he sees how puffy and swollen you look down there. But it still makes you flinch, a quiet gasp leaving your lips and it’s impossible to not smirk up at you before he drops the towel somewhere in the pile of abandoned clothes to be dealt with tomorrow.
Grabbing one water bottle, he offers it to you. “Drink up, and then actually get in bed. ‘M tired as fuck.”
He turns away when you take the bottle from him, still sporting that slightly bewildered look on your face as if you expected him to kick you to the streets—or rather, the sofa. Part of him does question why he’s letting you stay in his bed in the first place, but the idea of you going out to that shitty sofa after sex… it just doesn’t sit well in his chest.
He gives you the time to bury yourself beneath his sheets whilst he kicks the dirty clothes towards the far wall, next to the laundry basket before returning to you. You look tiny in his bed, made especially large to accommodate his height. You’re nearly lost beneath the thick sheets and mountain of pillows, it makes his lips curl into a playful smile before he crawls into bed with you.
You shift out of the way to let him lay down, the room dimming further until you were both plunged into darkness save for the passing lights through the slatted shutters on his window. He can still make you out in the dark, with his optics shut down and eyes naturally enhanced—he can see you’re looking at him over the top of the covers, debating on if you should still make a run for it.
“Fuckin’—...” He huffs a sigh, shifting under the sheets so quickly you don’t have the time to stop him. “Stop actin’ like I’m going to bite you or some shit.”
You curve into his muscle easily enough, moulding into the shape needed to be held close. His chin rests atop your head, thick arms looped around you. It’s odd—Bakugou wasn’t a hugger, definitely not a cuddler but having you in his arms, the smooth feeling of your softer skin beneath his and the warmth that comes from your very being is comforting.
His heart flutters in his chest when he can feel your arms slowly wrapping around him until you’re embracing him fully. You cling to him as if you were expecting him to rip you away at any given moment and ruin the moment. Has he really been that harsh to you? Sure, he’d been a bit of a dick when he first met you but you were choking out their only Ripper whilst holding a gun to their faces that’d eradicate them before they so much as blinked.
And sure, he had a tongue as sharp as a knife… fuck, maybe he was that harsh with you. He blames it lazily on the drink still in his system, despite the pestering fact in the very back of his mind that he worked most of it out of his system fucking you into his bed. It makes his head ache with the sudden rush of conflicting feelings, thoughts that clash over and over—
Forcing his eyes to shut and muscles to relax, he basks in the warmth of your much smaller body wrapped around his own and lets himself fall asleep.
You wake up feeling… warm. Not hot, nor cold. Comfortable too. The softness of the sheets around are some of the best you’ve felt in weeks, the blanket you’d been given to sleep with on the sofa was somewhat scratchy when you’d tuck it under your chin. This one is smoother, doesn’t catch on the thin intricate strips that are near-invisible to the naked eye that line your body.
There’s a weight across your body, a leg wedged between your own and a heavy arm draped over your waist. The warmth is coming from directly behind you, a solid press of muscle that breathes steadily against the back of your head. And if you glance just enough over your shoulder, you find a head of blonde hair that’s softened after a night of sleep.
Bakugou has himself plastered against you, completely. His face is buried into the back of your hair, and with him this close, all you can smell is him. His bed smells strongly of the aftershave he uses, and the man himself smells like your late-night activities—a musk that has your head in the clouds in remembrance.
You’ve never felt anything like that before. Not that you can remember, anyway. Bakugou treated you more than just someone he wanted to fuck, he didn’t toss you around or disregard the fact you had to cum too to enjoy yourself—he made sure you were on the same level as pleasure as he was, if not more. He kissed you like a lover would.
That last thought has your face heating, an odd feeling of butterflies fluttering up into your stomach until they settle in your lungs. It was ridiculous to have such a childish thought flit into your mind, Bakugou certainly wasn’t the type of man to settle down—his lifestyle didn’t fit with it.
You could tell just from the way he lived in his own home, he functioned to serve himself only—with the exception of Kirishima when he forgot breakfast. But outside of the walls of his apartment, his work lifestyle wasn’t fit for a partner in any sense of the word. He was a merc, mercs didn’t lock themselves down with someone because it was dangerous. Simple as.
Having a partner in Night City was the same as putting a target on your back. You became weak and vulnerable—something Bakugou would never let himself be. You knew that just from the weeks of living beside him.
“What’s got you thinkin’ so hard this early?” Bakugou’s voice is deeper, raspier in the mornings… and it’s impossible to not clamp down in longing that he was still buried inside of you.
He shifts behind you, one long deep breath in before he releases it. His muscles ease off of you when he breathes out, the weightlessness of sleep disappearing with each second. Instead, the arm that was slung over your waist grows bold in it’s movement. His large hand guides his fingers delicately over your skin, circling your belly button before meandering off until he finds your hip.
“Hm?” He nudges you with the tip of his nose, prompting you to glance over your shoulder at him. His eyes are smouldering, barely open and yet the red that stares back at you is bright. The long eyelashes you’ve never had the chance to see so clearly bat delicately against his cheekbones.
“Nothing, sorry for waking you.” You whisper back, and his eyes automatically drift down to watch the movement of your lips. The hand at your hip kneads softly at the flesh there before it moves lower, the tips of his fingers skirting up and down along your thigh. It’s enough to draw a harsh shiver up your spine, and in turn, causes Bakugou to let out a raspy chuckle.
“Yeah?” You pick up on the playful tone in his voice, a teasing grin growing on his face. “How ‘bout you make it up to me? Hm?”
You’re drawn to him biting on his bottom lip before his grin grows wider, watching you watch him—a back-and-forth dance to see who snaps first under the surmounting sexual tension in the room. The hand on your thigh slips down, hooking his fingers into your inner thigh to hoist your leg a little higher up on his hip. His cock is hot and hard where it presses between your thighs, the tip tapping against your clit.
Shifting himself up onto one elbow, partially hovering over you from behind, he finds your lips with his own. The kiss starts off softer than he kissed you last night, it’s not as hurried—not yet anyway. Bakugou kisses you like he wants to savour your flavour, to save the taste of you on his tongue. He tilts his head just slightly to delve in deeper, and then prying your mouth open with his.
His tongue is invasive, in the sense that he has to dive as deep as he can into your mouth. His tongue curls against the roof of your mouth, feels along the points of your teeth before he’s back to caressing your tongue with his own. The hand between your thighs spreads you lewdly beneath the blankets, a middle finger finding your clit before he strokes it down along your slit; wet and slippery for him.
Bakugou groans into your open mouth, before greedily going in again after the single breath he takes. This time the kiss is more energetic, more consuming. His cock twitches between your thighs, tapping against your thigh with its sticky tip. You can’t help but roll your hips back into him, push your ass out in invitation—
A loud bang in the living area has you both flinching, lips parting just enough for you to see the scowl starting to form on Bakugou’s face.
“Fuckin’ Ei. Just ignore ‘im.” His voice is harsh with desire, a low whisper that has your stomach tightening. Bakugou swoops back in, devouring your lips with more vigour, desperate to get what he wants now he knows that his roommate is awake—who knows when he’ll get a chance like this again.
He manoeuvres you on the bed, climbing over the top of you until you’re in a similar position as last night; your thighs at his waist and his hands pressed into the sheets on either side of your head. His cock bobs again between the two of you, smearing his pre along the smooth skin of your inner thigh. His lips part from yours once again, this time to chart a path down along your jaw and neck. He bites and kisses in tandem, sucking your skin until you can feel the bruises starting to blossom there.
Bakugou continues to consume you from the outside, pressing his hips down finally to relieve himself of the pressure building in his groin. He groans beautifully against your skin, a sound so intoxicating you can’t stop your eyes from rolling and your hands seeking purchase in his hair. It’s soft to the touch, and it doesn’t go unnoticed when you accidentally tug on it, his hips press harder against your own. Rutting his cock against your pussy.
“Shit, g’nna fuck you—”
“Yo, Bakugou!” The bedroom door opens with a loud hiss, and you can only squeak out in surprise when Bakugou all but presses you into the bed in an attempt to hide you. “I thought you said we had food in, and—... uh–...”
“Get the fuck out!” Bakugou snarls, reaching over to grab the closest thing to him on the bedside table. There’s a shift of his entire body, something flying through the air and the resounding plastic crunch of Kirishima being smacked by the poor water bottle that was launched.
“Sorry!” Kirishima back peddles it out of the room before Bakugou can scramble to find something else to throw, the door hissing to announce that he was well and truly out of the room.
The air is no longer thick with sexual tension, instead, there’s a lingering awkwardness that has Bakugou deflating on top of you. His face is buried into the crook of your neck, and you can feel the heavy sigh that’s pushed out of his body in acceptance that he won’t be fucking you again today.
“He’s such a fuckin’ idiot, can’t trust him to do shit on his own.” He grumbles against you, his lips so close you can feel each word forming on them. He leans up off of you, kneeling between your legs and you try your hardest to not grow embarrassed at your nakedness on display. He looks almost sad, defeated at the fact he knows he has to go deal with the red-haired giant that’s no doubt ripping apart his kitchen looking for food.
“Sorry,” he huffs, leaning down to leave a lingering kiss on your lips before he’s up and out of bed. “You can just sleep in here if you want. I know that eyebags said you need to rest after whatever the fuck happened so—just, rest here.”
You raise an eyebrow before realisation dawns on you; he means Shinsou. You smile at that, tucking the comforter back around you and burying yourself among the pillows. You watch as Bakugou blindly digs through his wardrobe, plucking out various clothes until he finds what he wants.
As if sensing your eyes, he glances over his bare shoulder at you with a wicked smirk on his face before bending down to draw his boxers up his legs. “The showers just in there, feel free to use whatever's in there.” He nods with his head in the direction of the bathroom.
“Okay, thank you.” You smile at him when he turns to look at you, he looks awfully handsome like this. Half dressed, a shirt in one hand and belt loose around his waist where he still has to button up his black cargo pants. He hovers for a second, fingers curling a little tighter around his shirt and you can see his jaw working to help him spit out the words he wants to say.
Except, he’s interrupted again by another bang—one that sounds suspiciously like the microwave door being broken. Bakugou groans in annoyance, running a hand through his hair before giving you one last glance just before he leaves the room.
You’re left in silence, the outside world still asleep despite the sun rising.
“You fucking idiot!” Bakugou yells, muffled but still loud enough that you feel like you’re in the room with him. The rest of the argument fades out into muffled voices, and soon sleep retakes you with the comforting smell of Bakugou still clouding your mind.
It isn’t until a handful of hours later that you emerge from the bedroom. It had quieted down soon after Bakugou had come out to confront Kirishima, and you managed to shower uninterrupted—you found clothes laid out on the bed for you, no doubt from Bakugou who must’ve heard the shower running at some point.
When the door hisses open, you’re met with the smell of beer and the voices of multiple people. People you’ve come to know as Shinsou, Sero and Kaminari. Of course, Bakugou and Kirishima are there too but the former is quiet as he watches the group yap about something he’s uninterested in.
“Nah, man. I’m telling you, she was looking at me.” Kaminari whines, earning him a snort of laughter from Shinsou and a shake of a head from Sero.
“You’re delusional, she’s a doll. They don’t see a thing.” Sero snickers when Kaminari pouts at that, leaning into Kirishima’s side who mockingly consoles him for thinking he had a chance with a doll.
The name is something that most people know, it was a way for people to get away with doing whatever they wanted to another person without the repercussions. Fuck a doll and they have their memory wiped by the end of it, confess murder and they’ll just smile at you. Dolls. You’d seen plenty of advertisements for it last night whilst visiting Jig-Jig Street, the idea of a chip like that existing made you feel sick.
A call of your name has your eyes blinking, snapping out of the trance and looking towards the source. Shinsou. Immediately Sero and Kaminari flinch in realisation that you were standing right behind them on the sofa, an unwanted reminder of when you had nearly blown them to pieces no more than 48 hours ago.
“How’re you feeling?” Shinsou asks, head tilting slightly.
“Fine, better than yesterday.” You smile back a little, eyes making their way automatically towards the ash blonde who sits with his knees apart on the opposite side of the sofa, an arm draped over the back of it and a beer can cradled in the hand on his thigh. “Still tired.”
“Even after you slept all day?” Kirishima asks next, and you make the mistake of glancing at him because he has a very knowing smug grin on his face. “Or maybe it was because you didn’t—”
“Oi, shut the fuck up.” Bakugou grunts before taking a sip of his drink, and you’re thankful for the intervention. You use the momentary distraction created by Bakugou to slip into a seat, finding the only place available between Bakugou and Shinsou—there’s a large enough gap that you know was reinforced by the blonde.
Bakugou only offers you a sideways glance when you settle into the seat next to him, you can feel him watching you; observing to see if you had any regrets from the previous night. But you have none, not a single one. You felt… happy. You didn’t have an overwhelming sense of dread sitting on your chest, instead you felt at ease. You relax into the plushness of the sofa, indirectly sinking into the spot where Bakugou had his arm slung over the back.
The conversation has already moved on, thankfully. All four of the men engaged in the conversation, with Bakugou drinking away at his beer whilst observing the group gathered.
“Do you remember that gig over in Watson?” Sero snorts, earning him a groan from Kirishima and a laugh from Kaminari. Sero flicks his gaze over to you, and you can see the mischief there when he realises he has an audience who haven’t heard the story.
“Hanta, don’t.” Kirishima whines, sinking into the seat with a large hand coming up to cover his face. You’ve never seen him quite like this; embarrassed. It was new, and you can’t help but smile at the idea of hearing something that would cause the giant of a man such emotions.
“But she hasn’t heard the story!” Sero exclaims, grinning from ear to ear as he leans forward to put his beer down on the coffee table. “Alright so, we had this gig over on the Northside, up in the Watson district. It was probably one of the easiest gigs to date, a simple in-and-out steal.”
You can feel Bakugou shift next to you, and out of the corner of your eye you can see him grinning over the lip of his beer can.
“Anyway. It was me, Denki and Ei.” He gestures to each of them in turn. “And for some reason, big Red here wanted to be the guy to do the stealth portion of the mission.”
“Don’t look at me like that, Uraraka just installed some new cyberware. She said I wouldn’t make a sound!” Kirishima huffs when you shoot him an incredulous look. A man who was over 6 ft 7 was definitely not suited for stealth work. If anything, you would’ve picked Sero—lanky, tall, light-footed.
“You’re about as heavy as a bull, you’re heavy footed as fuck Ei.” Bakugou goads, a grin on his face when Kirishima turns the glare his way.
Sero snickers, leaning his elbows on his knees. “We were meant to just steal this van, apparently it was Maelstrom property but we needed what was in it. All Kirishima had to do was sneak in, hotwire the van and get the fuck out of there. Instead, he trips every alarm known to man and has to hightail it out of there in a van with only two wheels.”
Bakugou offers a laugh, a genuine laugh at the memory of Kirishima returning to the hideout with a van hanging on for dear life.
“What about the time we had to eradicate that Daemon on the Net?” Kaminari snickers, which in turn has Shinsou turning his sights on him. “Shinsou popped a boner when his connection was flooded with those sex toy ads.”
“Shut the fuck up!” Shinsou growls, and you watch quietly when he lashes out at Kaminari who dares to laugh in his face. “I told you, the next time you tell someone that shit I’m—”
The conversation fades out slowly, your eyes focused on the spot in the centre of the coffee table. Daemons on the Net. Something about that sounds too familiar, would the man you saw in your own subconscious connected to the Net count as one of those daemons? Has someone injected you with something to cause a break in your cyberware?
You can still hear his voice, calling out your name. You could still feel the shards of glass he shattered in your mind, in your soul. They were lodged so snuggly against your vital organs, pressing yet waiting to be given the order to execute. That happiness you had felt just moments ago is washed away, replaced with the reminder that you were clueless as to who that man was—clueless to who you are.
A nudge to your foot has you blinking rapidly, glancing down to see Bakugou had knocked his foot against your own. You look at the man at your side, only to find his eyes already set on you. His hand is empty of the beer can he was drinking, and he’s staring at you like he was able to see your inner struggle.
“C’mon.” He grunts, standing up suddenly and you have no choice but to follow after him. You follow him towards the front door of the apartment, where he suddenly turns to you with the black and orange bomber jacket you’ve grown attached to. You don’t fight him when he throws it over your shoulders, holding the arms to help you with putting it on.
“Where you goin’?” Kirishima calls from the living area, all of the guys turning their heads to watch you adjusting the jacket on your body whilst Bakugou does the same with his own riding leather jacket.
“Out. Need more beers, figured I’ll take this one with me to save her from you guys being a bunch of freaks.” That earns him a number of groans and insults. “Shuddup, last time you were left with a girl alone, you all had to stiff leg it out of there.”
He doesn’t wait for the next round of insults hurled his way, instead, he pushes you out of the door first before letting it shut with an audible hiss behind him. You can still faintly hear them arguing through the door but Bakugou shows no issue with the fact he probably just left his own apartment to delve into chaos.
Bakugou leads you down the stairwell that leads to the garage, he holds the door open for you once you reach your destination and you’re met with a large parking lot. You’ve never been in here before, all the times you went out it was with Kirishima and he was adamant about walking around Night City instead of driving—he hated traffic just as much as the next person it seemed.
You follow behind Bakugou like a lost puppy, eyes darting from car to car. All of them ranging from heavily modified or straight-up pieces of junk that should be scrapped for a few Eurodollars. When he comes to a stop at the end of the garage, a light flicks on overhead to show the sleek black motorbike you saw when you had been first introduced to Aizawa.
Bakugou steps off to the side, rummaging around through a bio-coded locker which leaves you to investigate his motorbike a little more closely. It’s beautiful, obviously one of the pride and joys of the ash blonde. Your fingers ghost delicately along the smooth leather seat, it looks untouched—or rather, well-loved and cared for.
You tilt your head to look down along the expensive body, eyeing the fact there wasn’t even a single scratch on it. Just how well did he care for this bike? Your eyes spot what you’re looking for; Yaiba.
“It’s a modified Kusanagi CT-3X, if you’re wondering.” Bakugou finds himself next to you, one helmet perched atop his head and forcing the hairs down into his eyes, the other is under an arm.
“A rare Arasaka bike, right?” Bakugou nods at your words, an eyebrow arched as if he’s impressed you even knew that—to be fair, so are you. Your mind buzzes at the information you’re able to pull effortlessly from the bank of information sitting in your mind. “One of the fastest and most expensive bikes out there, how’d you get it?”
“Callin’ me cheap now?” He sneers but there’s no heat to it, he grins when you turn to look at him. He adjusts the helmet under his arm, holding it up to you so he can place it carefully over your head. “It was something I got with my first real paycheck, I always wanted one. Even as a kid when I lived in Tokyo, Yaiba had some of the best bikes out there and I just knew I wanted one.”
You smile up at him when he reveals just a slither of his past. So he wasn’t from here, it made sense. There was something about him that was never truly comfortable about being in Night City, no matter how long you live here—you’re never truly a part of the city as an outsider. Bakugou’s careful in pulling down the helmet, pressing a button on the inside before pushing down his own helmet.
“You hear me alright?” He questions, and you have to stop yourself from flinching at the voice in your ears. You nod at him, and you can hear him snicker quietly over the Bluetooth connection between the two helmets. “Alright, let’s get going before Ei comes and hunts us down.”
He slings a leg over the bike effortlessly, the entire thing bouncing on it’s suspension before he looks over at you through the small lifted gap of his visor. You hesitate for a moment, glancing from him to the seat behind him—if you can even call it that, there’s hardly any room and you’re going to be pressed up right against him. Why does that even matter when you were naked and under him this mor—
“Stop thinking and get the fuck on.” He grumbles, going as far as to reach over to grasp at your forearm to tug you forward. You have no choice but to clamber ontop of the bike behind him, your hands coming to loosely grab at the material of his leather jacket. Bakugou sighs heavily through the comms, using one hand to grasp at each of your hands individually to secure them snugly around his chest. “Hold on, this thing goes fast.”
The bike rumbles to life beneath you, Bakugou no doubt revving it on purpose to make you scoot closer to ensure you weren’t going to slip away when he put his foot down. You cling to him, your arms tucked tightly around his ribcage and head tilted so you’re not poking the front of your helmet into his back.
Soon enough, you’re out on the road, and you’re amazed by just how easily Bakugou moves the bike with his own weight. He makes it seem effortless when he weaves in and out of traffic, how he bends easily forward forcing you to move with him so that he can pick up speed. You can only watch the world blur past, streaks of rain hardly leaving a mark against your visor from just how quickly you’re going.
You cling to Bakugou, hands grasped tightly on his stomach. You can feel each of his muscles under his shirt, they tense and hardened when he rounds corners much too quickly. He sits back up from his leaned position, forcing you backwards and tilting your head to look over his shoulder. You can see from the speedometer that he’s way above the legal speed limit, hitting a solid 150mph.
The wind and rain batter against the exposed strips of skin on your body, and your hands sting like you’ve been pelted with a million little rocks but you can’t complain too much. The rush, the adrenaline, it’s something else. You feel weightless when Bakugou expertly rounds corners or when he picks up speed along a long stretch of road, weaving between cars that beep and no doubt scream at him for being such an idiot.
“Look to your right,” he speaks into the microphone that’s connected directly to your helmet, his voice sounds calm—at peace. This was his peace, his getaway. To speed his way through a city that could kill him in the next moment.
You do as he says, glancing to your right to see… you. It’s a clear reflection along some corporate building, you can see yourself attached to his back holding on for dear life. The city on the other side of you is bright, flickering and flashing despite the downpour of rain. You didn’t notice it when you were in the garage but Bakugou had modified his bike to light up, the inner trim of the wheels is set alight with bright neon orange lights.
In a moment of bravery, or perhaps stupidity. You let go. You can hear Bakugou over the comms shouting at you to grab ahold of him again but you feel free. Weightless. Truly weightless. You can’t hear that man's voice in your head anymore, you can only hear the howling wind and the beat of your own heart. You can’t feel that barrier in your mind, splintered and fractured, irreparable because you’re free.
When your arms extend out at your sides, you can feel a frantic hand grab at the fabric of your jacket. Bakugou holds you in place whilst you let yourself go; to feel free, for the first time. Your heart races in your chest, the feeling like nothing you’ve ever experienced before in your life and you want to cling to this feeling, to this freedom. To the man in front of you, the one who had gifted you that freedom so easily.
The reflection of the two of you disappears quickly, the building left behind and you can’t help but grin when you finally hear Bakugou again over the whistling wind.
“I swear to fuckin’ god, I won’t be scooping your brains off the road. Put your arms back around me!”
You laugh into the helmet, wrapping your arms once again around his body. You can still feel the tension in his back but it melts just slightly when you grasp tighter than before, holding the entirety of your body against his own.
“You got a death wish or somethin’?!” He still growls despite you being reattached to him, and you give him another laugh that makes his shoulders sag just slightly in relaxation. “Fuckin’ idiot—...”
“Thank you for bringing me out tonight.” Your words are met with silence, your head comes to rest against the broadness of his shoulders comfortably as you watch the world pass by. The city eventually bleeds out into green, grass and trees that tower high into the sky. You’ve never been here before.
“Yeah, whatever.” Bakugou grumbles quietly, and if it wasn’t for the connection between your helmets you would’ve missed the bashfulness in his voice. “We’re nearly there so just hold on this time, dumbass.”
You let your body move effortlessly with his, swaying from side to side when he does sharp turns around corners that would have an inexperienced rider thrown off the back of their bike. The rain has started to lessen, only a light drizzle that drenches the back of your jacket and you only squeeze tighter around the single source of warmth.
Bakugou slows the bike down to a complete stop once he reaches the destination in mind, with a glance around you can see you’re in the middle of nowhere. There are a few houses dotted around, if you can call them that, they’re more like massive mansions.
“C’mon, keep that on and keep quiet.” Bakugou taps your thigh to get you to climb off the bike before he follows after you. You watch him manually move his bike to hide in the shadows behind some bushes and you’re furrowing your eyebrows immediately in confusion. Just what exactly was he planning?
He tilts his head in a gesture to get you to follow, taking you off of the road and down a steep hill that leads further into the underbrush. The city is obscured by the number of trees and large shrubs, and you nearly lose sight of Bakugou when he ducks in and out of the shadows—but as you watch him, you realise he knows his way through all of this a little too well.
“You’ve been here before?” You whisper over the link, and you see Bakugou glance over his shoulder at you for a moment before returning his gaze forward.
“Yeah, been comin’ here since I first moved here. It’s the only place with some real grass.” His voice lowered down to a whisper has your stomach set alight with butterflies. You continue to wordlessly follow him until he abruptly stops, throwing a hand back to grab at your forearm before pulling you down into a crouch next to him.
You peek around his shoulder, your eyes silently activating to see what he might be seeing. Immediately you hone in on a large SUV parked up on the ridge of the road, around fifty feet in front of you. There’s four heat signatures, all of them belonging to men who are in thick armour and strapped with multiple weapons.
“Arasaka.” You whisper to Bakugou, who quietly nods his head. He doesn’t move a muscle, holding your wrist tightly in his hand as if he’s waiting for them to just look in your direction and open fire. “They’re not holding their weapons, they’re not looking for anyone.”
“The Arasaka estate is up ahead. They’re still on guard dog duty.” Bakugou supplies, causing your eyes to move away from the group of men to the estate he speaks of. You can see it much more clearly with your augmentations active, you can see the heat signatures within and the overwhelming amount of security measures in place.
There’s an indistinctive shout causing you to dart your eyes back towards the group of people only to see them piling back into the car. Bakugou visibly deflates in relief, his hand around your forearm slips down to your wrist before he’s tugging you after him. You follow lowly just behind him, mindful of each step as you grow closer and closer to the edge of the underbrush. Bakugou exits first, standing to his full height which drags you up next to him.
When you glance around, you’re silenced by the view. It’s beautiful. Night City is in the distance, so wide and yet so tightly compacted into tall skyscrapers and tall flashing neon signs. Bakugou’s hand slips away from your wrist when you take steps towards the cliff edge that looks down on the lower level of residents, you can’t take your eyes away from the city before you.
It looked so… small. So dense and yet you knew the intensity of it all from the very moment your eyes opened in that ripper’s office. Night City was a vicious beast, a machine that chewed you up and spat you back out if you weren’t strong enough to survive—but when you look at it from here, look at how insignificant the people are and how tiny the city is. It’s almost impossible to comprehend.
“I come here when I need to clear my head,” Bakugou speaks clearly next to you, having taken off his helmet and holding it beneath his arm. You follow suit and remove your own, thankful for the fresh breeze and slight drizzle against your face. You glance towards Bakugou only to see his eyes set on the city before you, absorbed in his own thoughts. “Figured you could use it too.”
“It looks so beautiful from out here, but inside… it’s—”
“One of the worst places to live. Yeah, I thought it’d be great moving here all those years ago. But I was a dumb kid with a dumb idea, and now here I am.” Bakugou huffs, running his free hand through his flattened hair to re-fluff it before settling himself down onto the ground.
You take his lead and sit next to him, putting your helmet to the side and being careful to not let it roll off the edge of the small cliff in front of you. Setting your eyes back onto the city, you feel that sense of freedom again. You were free from the city, even for just a moment, you felt like you could breathe for yourself for the first time. Your heart wasn’t pounding, your mind wasn’t racing and your skin wasn’t itching in knowing what lay beneath it all.
“Any reason you spaced out when Dunceface started talking about Shinsou’s gig with the Net?” Bakugou inquires after a moment of silence, you turn your attention to him to find he’s leaning against his propped-up knees, head tilted in your direction. “Don’t gotta tell me shit but—”
“It just reminded me of when I was… healing.” You admit, not missing the way Bakugou visibly winces at the reminder of what put you there in the first place. “When I was in there… Something happened, and hearing Kaminari talk about Daemons—it made me think about why I can’t remember anything.”
“What, like someone’s infected your network or something?” Bakugou shifts slightly, raising his head to look at you properly with a level of concern that looks frankly terrifying on his face. He looks… worried.
“I don’t know, maybe? It’d make sense. I have this empty part of my head that I can’t access, like it’s been cut off from me or something. What if there’s a Daemon in my system? Or worse.”
“Shinsou would’ve picked up on that. Or even Jirou, she’s the one who said you had impressive firewalls inside that head of yours.”
A part of you wants to agree with him, because it does make sense. They would’ve found the source of whatever was wrong with you, but instead, they came out empty-handed and you, empty-headed. But you can’t shake the vision of that man, the blurred green of his eyes and then when you saw him in the street… something just wasn’t right.
“Maybe you’re right. I just—it’s scary, y’know? Not knowing who I am.” You whisper that last part, and Bakugou’s eyes turn from concern to a shade of pity. He shifts himself closer to you, slinging a heavy arm around your shoulders to pull you in close until your head is tucked against his shoulder.
“It doesn’t matter who you were, that’s what I always told myself when I moved here. I’m not the same guy as I was back then, I found myself. I found a new purpose. That’s just what you need, a new purpose, a new life that you created yourself.” His words are mumbled from where he presses his cheek against the top of your head.
A new purpose, a new life. That’s what you wanted. To shed yourself of whoever you may have been before all of this, before you had met Bakugou and Kirishima—before you had been let into their family even with them knowing you were capable of killing them all. Your heart aches but not in agony this time, it aches with joy.
You wanted so much more than what this city had to offer, you wanted to find out what you liked; your favourite foods, your favourite movies, your favourite smells and also the things you hated. You wanted to live.
“I think I’d like that,” you smile, shifting your head against Bakugou’s shoulder to look up at him. He meets your gaze with a soft look on his face, an almost invisible smile on his face. “I want to see the world.”
“Yeah? The world? That’s a lot to see.” His smile grows when you laugh quietly.
“Would you show me the world, Katsuki?”
Bakugou is quiet at your question, his eyes flit down to your lips before they find your eyes again. He looks so beautiful this close, the different shades of red in his eyes are breathtaking. There’s so much captured in them, every emotion he feels and every thought he has flicks behind them before his eyebrows visibly relax, his body holding you closer.
He leans in, lips brushing against your own before he speaks. “I’ll show you it all.”
And when he kisses you, he kisses you softly and gently like you were to be handled with such care. It’s not love but you have a feeling that it might blossom into something like that. One day.
Before you know it, the three days of rest have come and gone. It felt like you had blinked and you were back right where you started before everything had happened in that plastic-wrapped room. But this time you had Shinsou on one side and Kaminari on the other in the back of Bakugou’s car.
Currently, Shinsou was connected to your interface via a cable that slipped free from his wrist and fused itself into the plating on your palm. He had told you it was to relay all information that you’d need to ensure you got in there unnoticed, he loaded you with visuals of maps, layouts of their cameras and their usual patrolling routes.
Kaminari on your other side was fiddling with a hunting knife, the jagged edge was glinting in the passing street lights and every now and again it would buzz with electricity. He told you it was connected to his own chrome, he’s able to absorb electricity and pass it back through objects—something that had earned him plenty of shocks to the system that left him reeling.
Even with the presence of Shinsou in the back of your mind offloading a multitude of data, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from Bakugou who was once again in the driver's seat. He had been different in the three days since that night outside of the city. He was more open to the idea of intimacy, often opening his arms for you at night and holding you in the mornings until he had to inevitably get up.
Kirishima had noticed it too, grinning along with the back-and-forth jokes between you and Bakugou. He thankfully didn’t make a scene out of the gentle touches he absolutely caught the two of you exchanging when you assumed no one was around.
Your chest fills with those pesky butterflies, the smile on your face must look mushy because you can feel the ache in your cheeks. You felt genuinely happy, an emotion that was your own and something you were able to hold onto. You wanted to experience everything with Bakugou at your side, and no doubt Kirishima would tag along too.
After that night out in North Oak, you had returned home to find that it was just Kirishima left and Bakugou had offhandedly said that a trip to Japan was on the table. Kirishima had leapt at the opportunity to talk about his hometown, about the different shops and restaurants there. He spoke about his country with so much love, and Bakugou had a nostalgic look on his face—so you asked if he’d take you there one day. He agreed, of course, stating it’ll be the first stop on your way to conquering the world.
Kirishima, of course, had no idea just what that meant.
“Try to keep your head clear,” Shinsou comments from the side, effectively dragging you free from your thoughts. “It’ll go more smoothly if you’re not actively trying to force me out of that brain of yours.” Your eyes drag along the cable connecting the both of you, something that could open you up in the most vulnerable of ways.
During the three days of rest, you spent more time with Shinsou too. He had been a Netrunner for a long time, even coming from Arasaka’s very own prestigious school with the help of Aizawa funding him through the entirety of it. The rest of the crew hadn’t been so fortunate, coming from no education at all or limited from when they lived in Tokyo.
That was another thing you were curious about. People didn’t just come to Night City for fun, it was a city designed to trap you here until your inevitable death. Apparently, Shinsou had always been in NC, born and raised in Japantown but almost everyone else had tales of the way things were being run back in Japan—long story short, it was being overrun by corporations that had no regard for people who were beneath them. It was either leave or die.
“Done. Should be good to go.” Shinsou says, withdrawing the cable connected to your wrist. The information flickers through your mind rapidly, similar to how someone would graze through a filing cabinet. Everything was here, this would be a simple operation if you pulled it off correctly.
You hadn’t realised the car had drawn to a stop until Bakugou turned his head to look at you, eyebrows furrowing together as if he was trying to figure out something to say. But instead, it’s Kaminari who speaks up, slapping a hand against your thigh before he grins.
“Ready to pull off the coolest fucking job?” You don’t miss the way Bakugou’s eyes lock onto the hand for a second too long before he meets your eyes again. All you can do is nod along, still unable to break your eyes away from Bakugou until he forces himself to look away first.
With a nod of his own head, Kaminari deems that worthy enough of a response and grins at you. His hand squeezes your thigh absentmindedly before he climbs out of the car, yelping with Bakugou grunts a command at him the second he steps out of the car.
Soon enough, you’re out of the car too whilst Kirishima ensures you have your weapon loaded and Shinsou talks over the game plan again. “You need to get to the underground levels. On the first floor, it should be primarily empty, the rest of Maelstrom will be beneath that. All you have to do is get into that room, snag a shard and leave. We’re here for backup.”
“I’ll have to go dark when I’m inside.” You see Bakugou shift on his feet a little at that, the uneasiness of you being unable to communicate with them properly if anything was to go wrong. They all nod in agreement regardless, stepping back when you slip the handgun into its holster on your waist before shrugging off the orange jacket that Kirishima had given you all those weeks ago. Bakugou wordlessly takes it from you.
Looking at the building just across the street, it looks unassuming. A simple warehouse, but even you could see the spray tags on the walls of the Maelstrom, this was a significant base of theirs.
Just as you’re about to step forward to begin the job, a hand grabs your elbow and you turn to see Bakugou looking at the building instead of you. “Don’t do anything reckless this time.” His eyes drift down to meet yours, the red flaring to life in his eyes for a second. “Got it, hotshot?”
Your eyebrows raise. “Hotshot?”
“You took a pulse rifle shot—”
“Oh, you’re terrible. Really? Hotshot?” You grin at his words, it was another terrible joke he couldn’t stop himself from making. His lips twitch in a small smirk before it fades, the gravity of the situation settling on him once again. “I’ll be fine, I have you to back me up this time. Right?”
Bakugou stays silent for a moment before he nods. “Right. I’ve got your back.” He looks hesitant when you take a step backwards, his fingers that had been in contact with your elbow twitching at his side before he ultimately decides to pocket them. “Don’t play hero either, you get out of there if you have to.”
“It almost sounds like you care for me Katsuki,” his eyes widened the tiniest amount at the use of his name, no doubt a flurry of memories from just a few nights ago flitting through his mind. “But don’t worry, I’m not going to be taking bullets for anyone today. I have the world to see, remember?”
But before Bakugou could say anything, you fade into nothing right before him. Even when his eyes flash to life, he can’t see you anywhere. His eyebrows draw together in concern, this plan felt rushed—he should be going in with you, you shouldn’t be taking this on alone. What was Aizawa thinking? A hand clapping on his shoulder draws his attention away from where you may have gone.
…Your shoulders drop once Bakugou looks away, you could see the concern on his face, painted as clear as the sky above. You couldn’t remember if you had ever done solo missions like this before—having a partner to help would’ve been nice, but you had no time to dwell on it when you started to walk towards the big warehouse. You note the multiple cameras as you pass by them, the red blinking light flickers for a moment before they’re shut down. Have you always had cyberware that could shut down electronics?
“That was me.” Shinsou’s voice is loud in your head, as if he were speaking directly next to you. “Sorry, should’ve said something.”
“Yeah, no shit.” You murmur back, eyes darting back and forth once you slip through the open warehouse door. There was a big truck in the centre of the room, modified with spikes and reinforced windows. Definitely Maelstrom.
“About twenty feet in front of you, and then to the right there should be a door that will lead to the stairwell. That’s your way in.”
You follow Shinsou’s guidance without hesitation, feet moving silently across the floor whilst your eyes dart back and forth through the dark warehouse. It was odd for it to be so empty, were they all really below ground? Surely there should be a guard— “Stop!” Shinsou all but hisses at you, your entire body freezing at the edge of a rack of crates.
There’s movement, and your eyes dart upwards to see a drone scanning slowly. Drones? Since when did Maelstrom have the money for drones? You don’t say anything as you watch the silent drone pass by, thankfully having not detected you even through your invisibility. This could prove to be a problem if they’re using tech like that, who knows what else they have hidden.
“There are no mentions of drones anywhere. They’re chromeheads, sure, but they always liked doing shit themselves.” Shinsou supplies once you’re moving again. Slipping into the stairwell that Shinsou had directed you to, you notice the difference in temperatures almost immediately. It’s freezing.
“Turning off comms.”
“Wait—” His voice cuts out immediately, something doesn’t feel right down here. It shouldn’t be so cold, it’s like stepping into an industrial freezer. Maelstrom didn’t like the cold, for one simple reason; it fucked with their cyberware.
Freezing temperatures caused it to malfunction, which meant… it’ll fuck yours up too. You need to back out, and report what you think might be down there but—something is stopping you. Aizawa would be pissed if you back out of this with your tail between your legs, he definitely wouldn’t let you come back empty-handed either.
With slow careful steps, you continue to descend into the freezing depths of the basement. Rounding the corner that leads to the final set of steps, you stop in your tracks. The lights are off, save for a slow, long blink of a red light. All the hairs stand up on the back of your neck, something screaming in the back of your mind to back out now. Your hand slips to the handgun on your holster, withdrawing it when you press your back to the cold concrete wall.
You can do this. You can find out what’s in this room, slip by and find the shard. You can do this. You can. Sucking in a harsh breath, you brace your body before whipping around the corner with your gun raised but your blood runs cold, determination falling from your face and morphing into fear. “What—”
...
“What the fuck do you mean you can’t contact her?” Bakugou snarls, glaring at Shinsou who’s hunched over a laptop that was once tracking your whereabouts.
“She said she was turning off comms, but she wasn’t even in the basement yet.” Shinsou frowns, running a hand through his unruly purple hair for a moment. “Fuck, you don’t think she…?”
“No,” Kirishima replies, leaning against the car with his eyes locked on the building in front of them. “She wouldn’t do that, not now.”
“Should we go in?” Kaminari offers, glancing over Shinsou’s shoulder to stare at the blank map.
Shinsou opens his mouth to talk before all heads whip towards the warehouse, their hearts thumping in their chests whilst the sound of the alarms being tripped drowns out any words any of them may have wanted to say.
There are approximately three seconds of calm before the storm hits full force. The Maelstrom weren’t in fact in the building at all, instead hiding in the surrounding smaller buildings dotted around. Yet none of them looks at the group that is sitting staring at the scene unfolding; they’re all descending onto the warehouse.
Onto you.
“It’s a setup,” Bakugou says, words coming out monotone as if he wasn’t quite aware of what he was saying—unaccepting of the ugly truth. “She’s been fucking set up.”
He doesn’t hesitate. His feet move before he fully registers that he’s barreling towards what is most likely certain death, he thinks he can hear Kirishima shouting at him to stop but he can’t. You weren’t going to fucking die now after everything.
His heart hurts from how hard it pounds against his ribcage, the rifle in his hand is light when he raises it to shoot anyone who steps foot into his path. Bakugou barrels through the open warehouse door, following the directions Shinsou had given to you no more than ten minutes ago. It seems a lot of the Maelstrom have made their way below ground, or had been shot on Bakugou’s way in.
His stomach twists uncomfortably at the thought of you being trapped beneath the ground with a gang of twenty or more descending on you with the intention of killing you. His hand itches around the rifle, fingers twitching with the urge to open fire the second he can.
Something like true fear starts to pool into Bakugou’s stomach once he deduces that you must’ve descended the only set of stairs. The freezing fog slowly creeping up the steps is enough to make him shiver, the chrome in his body aches from the slow approaching cold. There’s no way you could be down there and still be alive, you were more metal than human than he was.
And yet still, Bakugou pushes through the veil of fear that washes over him and descends the stairs. The fog swirls and wraps around him like tendrils, tugging him further into the icy depths of the dark basement. His thumb brushes against the side of his gun, flicking it off the safety and soon a red laser helps guide him through the dense fog.
He can’t see anything, or anyone, it does nothing to quell the horrid feeling that’s making a home in his chest. Had they already gotten to you? Kidnapped you? Did they know you were a high-priced target? The Maelstrom were no strangers to wanting to get their hands on money, they’d do anything for it.
In the darkness, Bakugou stumbles as the tip of his boot catches on something. He catches himself quickly enough, gun darting downwards and he’s unsurprised to see the remnants of one of the gang members. They already weren’t people anymore, but seeing them like this was something else. You had certainly been the one to cause such damage, but that just leads to the question – where the fuck are you?
A hand clamps onto his shoulder, jolting the large blonde to move and reposition his gun until it was under the chin of whoever dared to sneak up on him. Just through the thickness of the fog, he’s able to see the illuminated red eyes of Kirishima staring down at him. It only soothes his heart a little, he knows Kirishima will have his back through this and for whatever is to come next.
“You fucking big idiot, who just grabs someone in the dark?” Bakugou hisses regardless of the relief that settles into his rigid bones, his heated breath puffs out to add to the ever-growing fog that surrounds them.
Kirishima smiles a little, albeit sheepishly and lets his hand drop from Bakugou’s shoulder. “I didn’t want to shout, who knows what’s in here.” Kirishima manages to whisper back, his eyes finally darting away from Bakugou to scour the darkness.
Bakugou can only grumble about that, Kirishima did have a point. Neither of them knew what was in there, and Bakugou couldn’t rely on his eye enhancements in the frigid cold. So he just moves, and Kirishima moves naturally along with him.
“Do you think they got to her?” The dreaded question comes tumbling from Kirishima’s mouth.
“I fuckin’..- I don’t know.” Comes Bakugou's blunt reply, but he doesn’t mean for it to be so blunt. There’s just no other way around it, the possibility of you being taken or worse is slowly increasing. Bakugou doesn’t know what to do with the slow-building guilt in his conscience. He should’ve turned this job down for you, you were just blindly following whatever Aizawa demanded of you.
A click has both of the men freezing, Bakugou’s rifle in his hand poised and ready to fire the second the threat shows itself.
…The gun feels like a ten-tonne weight in your hand, it makes the synthetic fibres in your muscles in your body ache. But nothing is quite as heavy as the shard in your hand, it makes your stomach lurch uncomfortably to the point where your breakfast threatens to make a return.
When you rounded the stairs and found the shard in a lone storage slot within an open cabinet, you had never wanted to run more. It wasn’t the fact it was a shard—but rather that it had your name engraved into the delicate metal.
As soon as you had picked it up the red blinking light had turned off, the freezing air spilling from the now empty cabinet and tumbling onto the floor. You were plunged into darkness, and yet you could still see the shard as clear as day in your hand.
However, it wasn’t just any data shard; it belonged to Militech. They were known for their ruthless advances in A.I. and other technological achievements, and the very thing in your hand with your name etched into it—you knew it could only mean trouble, whoever had dropped it off here wanted you to find it. But why? You didn’t understand, with each passing thought that involved Militech and the shard in your hand, it felt like your brain was ripping itself apart trying to recover memories that were locked behind a thick wall.
You had to get rid of it; destroy it or make sure no one ever got their hands on it. This thing could hold countless pieces of information on the inner workings of Militech and its operations.
“Hurry, or they’ll kill you.”
There’s a quick shuffle of footsteps coming down the steps behind you, and your fingers tighten uncomfortably around the chip. If you died here, you’d never be able to get away and ensure this thing never saw the light of day. The Maelstrom must’ve paid a pretty price for this thing, or perhaps they were keeping it safe until Militech came and picked it up. You couldn’t risk any of them getting their hands on it.
You only had one choice.
It’s not a painful procedure, it feels more like a tingle when the chip slides into the slot next to your own data shard on the back of your neck. But then it locks in, and it feels like you’re injected with nanites; they bite and chip away at you until they take root in your brain. They skitter and scamper across your spine, wrapping themselves around every vertebra. You can feel the way it spreads and wraps itself around your frontal lobe, squeezing until it’s too painful to bear.
You squeeze your eyes shut, and your fingers press fruitlessly into the slot to try and pry it out of your body but it won’t release. It feels like your very soul is being warped and pressed into a mould, ripped and torn until you’re no longer a person anymore.
The scream that tears apart your throat doesn’t sound like your own, it’s mangled and distorted—you can feel yourself fragmenting, your very skin splitting apart to rebuild itself in an attempt to save itself from the A.I. that was rapidly infecting your system. Your mind feels like it’s on fire, burning in the deepest depths of hell until finally, you feel nothing.
Everything clicks into place, and the pain vanishes just as quickly as it had latched on. You move automatically when the first wave of Maelstrom approaches you, your handgun tossed to the side in favour of the gun embedded in your arm. It whirs to life, and you can only watch through the tinted glass of your eyes as you make your way through people as if they were nothing more than wet paper.
It all slowly comes to a lull, bodies slumped to the floor and blood sticks to your skin. It should feel cold but you feel like you’ve been locked out of your own body—everything is numb.
It’s all so empty now, the memories you had formed over the last few months of being part of a family flicker and fade from existence. You couldn’t put a name to the faces in your mind, the voices and laughter becoming nothing but static that blinds you to the noise of approaching footsteps.
Not until it’s too late. You hear a shout, your eyes adjusting to the darkness to make out two outlines of gang members. One has a gun raised to you, the other has their hands raised to you as well yet you don’t spy a weapon. The Maelstrom weren’t known for their chrome for nothing, you suspected they had some interesting weaponry just like your own.
Your eyes flicker, the augmentations in your eyes malfunctioning the longer you resist the command to execute all those who pose a threat to you. A warning flashes across your vision, a clear message that if you continue to resist you’re at risk of imminent death.
You raise your gun in response. There’s a presence looming just behind you, out of sight, yet you can hear a low chuckle – the familiarity of it has your blood freezing, and yet you can’t find the strength to stop yourself from acting on command for whoever was in control of the A.I.
“Put it down!” One of them yells, yet it’s muddied by the static in your ears. It sounds like they’re shouting through an old radio. “Lower your fucking weapon!”
“They’ll kill you. Make sure you get there first.” The voice over your shoulder supplies, and you swear you can feel the puff of warm breath against your neck. There’s a soft brush of curls against your cheek when they lean just enough into your peripheral you can see green.
There are more whispers between the two of them, words you can’t make out but their momentary distraction is enough. Your arm tenses, the warning across your vision vanishes and then there’s a blinding light, it illuminates the darkness of the basement enough for you to finally make out the faces of the two men who had approached you.
You can only blink, the familiar red and blonde hair makes your heart lurch. This all seemed so oddly familiar, a strange sense of deja vu washes over you. You expect to see one of them fall to the ground, but instead, it’s you who watches the world tilt and fall away.
You can’t move. Your limbs feel like they’re too heavy for your bones, and the cold finally starts to seep through your bones the second you make contact with the floor.
“FUCK!” The blonde all but screams, and before you know it he’s in your face. Your body moves like a ragdoll until you’re scooped into his lap. You think you can feel the brush of his fingers against your forehead, frantically swiping away the hair that clings to your sweat-ridden skin. You can feel one of his hands move away from your face to press hard against your chest, you watch his face crumple when he realises something.
He’s speaking, rocking just slightly and the static starts to fade away until you hear him. “‘M sorry. ‘M so fucking sorry. I didn’t–I knew I shouldn’t–.” His sentences aren’t complete, broken up by the wet sobs that shake his body. His hand is wet when it comes back to your face, the smell of synthetic blood clogs your nose.
The unnamed blonde continues to press his fingers against your face, squeezing your cheeks in an attempt to get you to respond but you can feel something now; a tug to just let go. You can only watch when the red-haired one squats down next to you as well, his mouth moves but there’s no sound.
You don’t think you have it in you to speak, to tell them something—anything, your world slowly starts to darken around you. But you hope the man cradling you knows he meant something to you; even if you can’t quite grasp the reason why. You just know that perhaps you might’ve come to love him, if you were given the chance to.
“Another disappointment.” The unknown man shrouded in a cloak of darkness watches from over the shoulders of both men who crowd you, but neither of them seems to notice him, too preoccupied with attempting to stop the rapid warmth that is spilling from your chest. The last thing you see is him shaking his head, a flash of green before there’s nothing.
. . . .
There’s a clatter on the sofa, followed by a choked sob. Bakugou rakes his hands through his hair, pushing back the long strands that fell onto his face. He side-eyes the headgear next to him; a braindance.
It wasn’t just any braindance, it was one he had made specifically for him. They called it ‘Soulswap’, it was a walkthrough of your entire time with him, from the moment he had found you in that warehouse and up to the moment he had shot you. How it was made was something that Bakugou fought with for a while, it was morally wrong. To have someone dissect you like some high school science experiment and implant strands of your data—your memories—into something that he could watch.
A ding on the coffee table draws his attention away from the braindance, and he swipes up his phone to see Kirishima has sent him a message.
[22:34] RED: Stop reliving it. You know that isn’t what she wanted.
Bakugou scoffs, what the fuck did Kirishima know about you? What the fuck did he know about the weight in his chest that replaced his once beating heart? He knew nothing. No one listened to him when he said that it wasn’t you at the end, that you weren’t in control.
It was charted down to Cyberpsychosis on your unofficial death certificate.
The uneasiness continued to eat away at Bakugou, even when he chose to ignore the onslaught of text messages from the others. It’d been this way for the last four years and it had only come to fruition now. It was hard to find someone capable enough of creating a braindance that wasn’t just a cheap way to get off or to kill someone without repercussions.
It was a delicate job, and he had finally found the guy to do it.
Yet now he’s unsure if he should’ve gone through with it. Whilst it was all in cyberspace, he could still feel the emotions you had in your final moments. You had felt something for him, just as he had felt something for you—does feel something for you.
Sinking back into the sofa, the world buzzes around him yet it feels like Bakugou is still stuck in that basement all those years ago. It used to take a more violent toll on his body, his modifications often becoming the victim of neglect until Kirishima forced him to keep taking the blockers to ensure he didn't spiral into psychosis.
Bakugou’s head lulls back, staring up at the spinning fan on the ceiling. It won’t be long until Kirishima comes back and lectures him about bad habits or whatever the fuck he wanted to be on his ass for.
“And with the renewed partnership between Militech and Lazarus, I truly believe we’ll be able to bring a stop to crime here in Night City.”
That voice causes Bakugou to snap his head up, glaring at the television that hung from the ceiling in the centre of the room. It wasn’t often he would make TV appearances but it wasn’t unexpected. He watches the camera pan across an array of Militech drones and other tech that he can’t quite understand before it falls back onto the CEO of Militech.
Izuku Midoriya.
Midoriya has a fake smile plastered on his face, hands buried in his deep expensive pockets as he stares at the interviewer just off to the side. His verdant eyes are dull, devoid of anything lifelike. Bakugou isn’t surprised entirely by that, Izuku was… once a friend, but he betrayed him and the rest of them for a chance at fame.
He moved to Militech and quickly overtook the company, plunging them into tech that wasn’t short of war machines.
“Hah, yes. It is true, we have been working on a new AI that we think will definitely be capable of deterring even those inflicted by Cyberpsychosis.”
Bakugou blinks, his attention drawn back to the screen to see Izuku laughing about whatever had been asked, something about that laugh sounds familiar – not just from when he had known Izuku but from recent memory.
And when it slowly dawns on him, it curdles his blood and makes his stomach tense. That laughter. The voice that lacks any emotion. The world fades into nothing around him the longer he stares at Midoriya talking animatedly about something in the interview, his chest tightens more and more until it feels like his heart may just burst.
It wasn’t a case of regular Cyberpsychosis.
Izuku Midoriya was the one who triggered it. He must’ve been the one who had planted that foreign chip, he wouldn’t just hand something like that over to the Maelstrom.
“We’re proud to announce the next line of fully-developed Artificial Intelligence; Akuma. This is just one of our newly created full cyborg—”
Bakugou finds his body locking into place, muscles growing tight and stomach twisting in knots before his heart plummets down into his stomach. His eyes widened. There. Right next to Izuku is… you. But it’s not the you he knew, it’s a duplicate, one of the new cyborgs created to withstand ‘Akuma’.
He can tell from the way you hold yourself, rigid and cold like you were just some lifeless robot. You don’t respond to the stimuli around you, staring blankly ahead. It feels like his heart is being torn apart once again, shredded in a blender until there’s nothing left but an empty void that sits in his chest.
He knows for a fact that it’s not the real you, the one he held, the one who took a bullet for him—the one he was going to take home to meet his parents. He watched you go up in flames at a pyre funeral. It was Aizawa who had suggested it. “To make sure no one gets her.” Looks like that didn’t fucking matter, did it?
…No. Izuku must’ve had your DNA stored from when you worked at Militech. You were just an experiment, all the chrome you were sporting wasn’t just because you were a Militech worker, but rather because you were one of the prototypes for Militech. From the very start, you were destined to fail—another disappointment.
Bakugou doesn’t even register that he’s already moving, swiping up the bomber jacket you wore. The pulse rifle swung over one shoulder and the door slammed shut behind him. It was time to pay his childhood friend a visit.
#bakugou x reader#bakugou katsuki x reader#bakugou katsuki x you#katsuki bakugo oneshot#bakugo katsuki imagine#cyberpunk!bakugou#bakugo smut#bakugo katsuki smut
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⎙ — 𝐉𝐎𝐘𝐓𝐎𝐘.𝐓𝐎𝐑
› WELCOME TO THE RED ROOM... RESERVED FOR GUESTS OF PARTICULAR TASTES
› toji x f!reader
› word count : 2k+
- ̗̀໒ warnings : sex work, on camera, choking, my spit kink shining thru again, biting, backshots, (1) ass smack, fingering, cervix fucking, reader has hair long enough to pull, squirting, rough sex, full nelson, creampie
You take a drag of your cigarette, bleary sleep deprived eyes doing their best to focus on the obnoxious flashing neon sign. WE'VE GOT A DOLL FOR EVERY TASTE. It makes you scoff as you grind the but out beneath your scuffed shoe, that's all they think of you all as, dolls. Props that just so happen to moan and squirt.
For the most part you keep your complaints to yourself, money is money. Not that this was what you ever pictured you'd land on as a career but it could always be worse.
Exhaling the last of the crisp night air from your lungs you pull open the sleek silver backdoor to Cloud Nine. The back hallways are made up of dim, twisting corridors. Some lead to the back offices, to security, but as you hook a left to brush past a tinkling bead curtain you're met with the large open dressing room you all share.
You prefer to spend as little time back here as possible, doing the bulk of your prep at your apartment before you're on for the night. You can't stand their mindless, giddy chatter. It also prevents you from getting attached to any of them, or taking on a puppy so to speak.
Before you can finish tucking your bag and coat away in the dingy locker your floor manager is waving a piece of paper in your face.
It makes your stomach flip.
"You got swapped, Angel can't do the red room and you're the only other experienced girl in tonight."
The red room was only ever offered on nights an experienced doll was on the floor, since the people reserving red rooms always have a... particular taste in mind. Newer girls wouldn't be able to handle it. As much of an annoyance as it is to be switched with so little notice, you don't mind. It can get dull shaking your ass for run of the mill patrons all night, plus the red room is where the real money is.
"One or-?" You ask vaguely.
"One guy, don't keep him waiting alright?" She says dismissively.
You grab the piece of paper, the list of what you will and strictly won't do for a red room service. It was standard fare: creampie, light sadism, degradation, ect. Since it wasn't too extreme you didn't bother filling it out, it's easier to just tell the guy.
It's not far to the private rooms, and part of you is more than a little eager to see just who reserved one of these eye wateringly expensive sessions.
Even bathed in the dim red lights you could tell he was attractive, dark hair and eyes that held something elusive even though he kept contact with your own.
"I didn't bother filling this out, nothing you requested is off limits for me." You smile as you let the paper flutter to the floor, taking the seat beside him on the plush lounge.
Out of the corner of your eye you see the blinking light on the camera, he already set it up to record. It makes you quirk a brow at him, usually even the most gutsy ones are a little camera shy.
He smirks at you. "I'll be gentle."
With the way he says it you know it's a lie.
With a grin you lay back, propping a pillow under your head and trying not to focus on that little green recording light in your peripheral. The worst part is being filmed, but that's part of the rooms appeal. These guys pay for the ability to record the entire session not just for being able to fuck someone with no holds bared, but the catch is the club also gets to upload it.
The feeling of his skin brushing against yours cracks your train of thought. His fingertips are calloused, hands rough but he doesn't have the look of a working man. As those fingertips caress a trail down your inner thighs you shiver, letting out a quiet gasp.
"Puttin' on a show?" He purrs.
You give a breathy giggle, winding your arms around his muscles back as he leans over you between your legs. "Isn't that what you paid for?"
He pushes against you, lips brushing experimentally against yours, and deepens it to something harsh and hungry when he feels you start to squirm beneath him. His touch feels like fire, scorching a path across your skin with every grope and fondle of your body. You feel a familiar sensation of dizziness, of lightheadedness; every movement is skilled and purposeful, a deliberate attempt to steal the breath from your lungs and leave you choking on your own spit.
His lips begin to make their way down your neck, sucking hard against the delicate skin and making you groan with every nip of his teeth. In a daze you help him undo the straps of your barely there top, head tipping back when his mouth finds one of your nipples. They get the same rough treatment as your throat, and he gives a particularly sharp graze of his teeth clearly just to hear you yelp.
Your hands cup your breasts, kneading them, as his mouth dips marks a path down your stomach. Caught up in your own eagerness you wiggle your hips slightly, anticipating what's coming only to feel him grip your legs and yank you down further. The suddenness makes you wince, propping on your elbows to see just what he has in mind.
The way he's looking at you, with such debauched hunger it sends butterflies off in your chest. You don't even know his name but you know this is the kind of man a red room was designed for. As he leans forward again between your legs you feel his erection press hard against you, making the fabric of your panties slide against your clit with delicious friction.
Before you can ask, beg, for more his thick fingers glide up the column of your throat and press hard against the sides. Squeezing against your carotid artery and making your mouth drop open. As soon as your lips part you see the shimmer against his bottom lip, watch in fascination as a thick clear string of spit comes down to meet your tongue.
Sucking his lip he brings his face barely an inch from yours, through the fuzz of your restricted blood supply you notice a scar on the corner of his mouth.
"I didn't pay for you to look at the fuckin' camera." His voice is low, gutteral.
The second he lets go your body is automatically sucking air into your lungs, hard and sputtering as you lift your hips up to grind against him. In one smooth movement, before you can even process it properly, he's got you flipped on your stomach and pulling your ass up and back.
Your cheek presses against the plush fabric, eyes squeezed shut feeling his fingers run over your damp panties. There's not even enough time to relish in the contact before two fingers have the fabric pulled to the side, his knuckles sliding past the ring of muscle makes you moan against the lounge seat.
Hearing the soft shuffling of clothes you know he's undressing, even while his other hand is occupied with keeping his fingers scissoring against your slick walls. The sudden emptiness of his fingers withdrawing was quickly replaced by the head of his cock sliding through your arousal, making you suck in a sharp breath.
Just from that little contact you can feel he's got girth and heft, excitement makes you dig your nails into the lounge and press your chest down against it, keeping your ass higher.
You hear him scoff and the sting of his hand coming down hard against your skin makes you cry out, but it's nothing compared to the biting pain as the swollen head pushes against your soaked hole. The stretch is agonizing, you're not sure any amount of prep would've been sufficient. You groan, bottom lip caught in your teeth as you feel the fabric against your face getting wet with the spit seeping from the corners of your mouth.
He doesn't wait for you to adjust before slamming his hips against your ass, hard enough to make your breathing hitch in your throat, and you can feel him brushing against your cervix. The pace is brutal, making your body jostle and shake with each thrust.
Slick squelching mingles with the sound of skin smacking skin to form a perverse melody that only heightens the tension building in your gut. Frantically you slide one hand down to rub you neglected, aching clit but before you can make contact he's got you pulled up by a fistful of your hair. The sting of pain makes tears prick in your waterline as blubbering moans spill from your lips.
The way your body rocks forward with every brush of his cock against your cervix, the way his girth makes your cunt feel overstuffed, it all makes your head spin. His grunts join the obscene cacophony of sounds along with your whines when he lets go of your hair to support your body with one arm while his other hand catches your jaw in a bruising grip.
You squirm, feeling the hot tracks of tears slipping down your cheeks but his hold is steadfast. If you had more presence of mind you'd swear you could feel your heartbeat not just through your entire body but in your cunt too.
As you dissolve in his hold, a crying whimpering mess, he pushes you back down face first into the lounge, holding you by the scruff as he repositions to hit deeper. Your moans fracture into gasps and hiccups as you clench down around him, finally able to rub frenzied circles around your clit and feel that compressed coil snap inside you.
The lounge becomes incredibly damp around your knees and your brain feels as if it's coated in sticky, thick honey.
You whimper pathetically as he yanks you up again, never breaking his pace, forces you to look straight into that ever blinking green light.
"Not all you can take is it?" He sneers, hooking fingers into your mouth and whatever reply you had gets lost in the garbled sounds you choke out around them.
When he suddenly pulls out you groan, body feeling exhausted and boneless on the comedown from your orgasm but he isn't done with you yet. He lays on his back, supporting you on top of him as he makes sure your pussy faces the cameras lens and slips back inside you.
Your eyes roll back as you struggle to help support your own weight. It catches you off guard when pulls you down so your back is pressed against his chest, both of your bodies slick with sweat and various other fluids. His arms loop beneath yours and his fingers lock together behind your neck, making your breaths come in wheezed yelps and your legs automatically rise up.
The muscles in your thighs are screaming from the strain and your lungs burn again, you feel yourself camping around him, walls throbbing and sucking his cock back in with every thrust.
You can't help but sob and blubber hoarsely, begging to cum again with every sharp upswing of his hips. His pace breaks up quickly the tighter you squeeze him, devolving into sloppy thrusts until you feel his cock throb inside you. Warm, sticky heat spreads inside you and you sigh brokenly in his hold.
The cameras unfeeling, fish eye lens catches the creamy white rings forming on his cock, the way his cum drips out of your sore pussy when he slides out of you with a throaty, satisfied groan.
You grin, slow and lazy up at the ceiling. Red room sessions aren't just about the money, they're the most... fulfilling.
#inspired by talking about cyberpunk & toji with anesa this is for youuu <33#& before anyone says anything ik thats not how tor addresses work but i ain't making the title 56 numbers so#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk smut#jjk x y/n#jjk x you#toji x reader#toji fushiguro x reader#toji smut#toji x you#jjk fic
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day 18, orgasm control
johnny silverhand x reader
warnings: nsfw 18+,dirty talk, creampie, fingering, light angst at the end, johnny doesn't have a body but he also does???, reader is referred to as "v"
kinktober ☠︎︎ main masterlist ☠︎︎ read on ao3
Johnny Silverhand was a parasite. But, he was your parasite, and as much as you wanted to hate his constant presence, it comforted you in a way.
You tossed and turned under your thin covers, frustration brewing in your chest. Your mind raced with all the ways you could lull yourself into the unconsciousness you so desperately craved.
Finally, you landed on an option, and you scanned your apartment, checking for that annoying figment of your imagination. He was nowhere to be found; you couldn’t even feel the slight burn from the smoke of his cigarettes in the back of your throat.
You cautiously slipped a hand under your sleep shorts, waiting for him to appear in your peripherals. Slowly, you relaxed and began drawing slow circles onto your clit. You bit your lip, your frustration growing when you couldn’t get the right angle.
You shimmied out of your shorts and underwear and kicked your blanket to the side. A sigh left your lips as you spread your legs, goosebumps covering your body as the nighttime air hit you. You tugged your shirt over your head and threw it to the side, moving a hand up to knead your breast while the other slid through your folds.
You dipped a finger into your entrance before circling back up to your clit, teasing yourself. It’d been too damn long since you’d had any action, and you were close already.
You slid a finger inside yourself and pumped it a few times before adding another one, stretching yourself. You extended your thumb to glide across your clit. The sounds of your core squelching with your movements filled the room, and you arched against the mattress.
Your movements became hurried as your climax rapidly approached. You were so fucking close.
“Damn, V,” Johnny breathed from the other side of your room, and your legs snapped shut.
Your eyes darted open and met his, and you scrambled to cover yourself. His arms were crossed as he leaned against your bedroom wall, eyes scanning over your body.
He shrugged, “Don’t stop on my account. I was enjoying the show.”
“Fuck off, Johnny,” you snapped, pulling your covers closer. “You ruin everything.”
He tsked and disappeared for just a moment before his form flashed to the end of your bed. He leaned back onto his hands and turned his head to look at you over his sunglasses.
“I could tell how close you were, V. It’s a shame I couldn’t watch you cum all over those pretty fingers,” he hummed, and you couldn’t deny how your core ached at his words.
You huffed and rolled your eyes, your dripping core contrasting your annoyance towards him.
He disappeared once again and you thought you’d gotten rid of him for the night before he appeared, kneeling in front of your covered legs. His sunglasses were tucked neatly into his vest, allowing you to meet his eyes.
“Lemme help you,” he urged, a corporeal hand sliding up your calf. You knew he wasn’t actually there with you but, damn, it felt real. You still couldn’t wrap your head around how real his touch felt against your skin, but you’d given up trying to figure it out a long time ago.
You relaxed in his touch and bit your lip. “I was doing just fine without you.”
“I know,” he replied, breathless as his hand skated across your thigh. His free hand tugged away the covers to reveal your naked form. You instinctively moved to cover yourself with your hands, but he pulled them away.
He nudged your shoulder so you were lying down, and he took up the space between your thighs. He ran his hands over your thighs, the cool metal of his hand making your muscles twitch under his touch.
His hand moved to swipe through your folds, collecting your slick onto his fingertips. He circled your clit, and you arched against his touch, whining a little. His metal hand moved up to cup your breast, rolling your nipple between two of his fingers.
He sunk a finger into your core, pumping it a few times. A breathy whine escaped you as he took his time with you. You’d expected Johnny to be the type of guy to get right to it when it came to fucking you. Clearly, you were wrong.
His finger was quickly joined by another one, and you let a sigh as he worked you toward your release.
He palmed himself through his jeans as he watched your greedy pussy swallow his fingers. He extended his thumb to rub against your clit, and a breathy moan left you.
“You ever think about me while you’re playing with yourself, baby?” he questioned as he jutted his fingers deeper inside you.
You nodded, reliving all the times your mind drifted to him while you touched yourself, wishing it was him instead. He groaned at your response and curled his fingers inside of you, reaching that spot that had your toes curling.
Your release was dangerously close, and your walls fluttered against Johnny’s fingers. He panted as he continued to drive his fingers into your seeping core, filling your tiny bedroom with lewd noises.
You rested a hand on his forearm, desperate to touch him. Just as you were about to teeter off the edge, he removed his fingers. The whine you let out was borderline pathetic.
“Johnny,” you mewled, tears of frustration dotting the corners of your eyes.
He took his fingers into his mouth, groaning at the taste of you. He removed his fingers and popped the button on his jeans. His hand drifted past the waistband of his briefs, and he pulled out his cock. Your breath caught in your throat as you watched him stroke himself a few times.
“Wanna see you cum all over my cock, baby,” he grunted as he slid his cock through your dripping folds. He plunged inside you without much resistance, and your legs wrapped around his hips.
You knew this wasn’t really happening. It was just your brain malfunctioning and your neurons sending signals when they shouldn’t, but his cock buried inside you felt as real as anything you’d ever felt.
His breathing quickened as you clenched around him, getting used to his length. After a few moments, he started moving his hips. Johnny fucked you like he meant it, and you expected no less. Every thrust of his hips was like he was trying to prove a point— like he was trying to prove that he was there. That it was his cock drawing those pretty noises out of you, and no one else’s.
He leaned down and pressed his lips to yours in a sloppy kiss. You ran your tongue over his bottom lip, and he groaned against you. Johnny’s hand trailed over your thigh and to where you were joined, drawing lazy circles against your clit.
He pulled away to leave wet kisses against the column of your throat. He nipped at the exposed skin, and you briefly wondered if he’d actually leave a hickey.
His thrusts became short and rough as you neared your climax, once again. You wrapped your arms around him, bringing him impossibly closer. Your nails dug into the flesh of his back as arousal coursed through you. Johnny pressed his weight against you, hissing as you scratched him. He jutted into you like he was trying to convince you that he was real. That he was here to stay.
“You feel so good, baby. C’mon, cum for me. Wanna feel you cum,” he pleaded, his words slurring together.
At his words, you were coming undone, thanking whatever deity out there that he finally let you cum. You moaned out his name as he rutted inside you, chasing his own high while allowing you to ride out your own. His hips faltered and he groaned against you, his release coating your walls. You felt him fill you, and you swore you could feel his cock twitch within you.
He stilled within you as you both caught your breath. You snapped your eyes shut, savoring his touch. Your chest ached at how much you wanted him to be there with you— actually there with you and not just a figment of your imagination.
He rested his head on your shoulder, pressing a kiss there before pulling out of you. He soothed the whine that left you with his lips against yours. You found yourself suddenly craving a cigarette, his own desires mixing with your own.
You blinked, and he vanished before reappearing at your side with a cigarette dangling between his lips. His sunglasses were back in their usual spot, and he leaned his head against your headboard.
“Tired now?” he questioned, looking down at you.
You turned on your side, resting your head on your arm, the ache in your chest growing. “Yeah, thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Your throat tightened, and you weren’t sure how much of it was his sadness and how much was your own. You wished you could meet his gaze. You wished you could touch him, and you wished he was yours. You wondered if he felt the same way.
“Johnny,” you called out, your voice thick with emotion. He hummed in response. You sighed, “I wish we had more time.”
“Maybe in another lifetime, kid.”
#johnny silverhand#v cyberpunk#cp2077#silverv#johnny silverhand x reader#johnny silverhand x v#cyberpunk#cyberpunk2077#reader insert#no y/n#kinktober#kinktober 2023#me: man this trope has been beaten to death#also me: *picks up a baseball bat*#johnny silverhand smut#johnny silverhand x v smut
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Random doodles of things that I think about all the time and refuse to share yet but cyberpunk au goes brrrrr
And bhtf charcoal messy something bc I was an idiot and forgot my art supplies
#bhtf au#bhtf au art#biting the hand that feeds au#bhtf moondrop#bhtf sundrop#my art#cyberpunk au#←kinda temporary tag or something#moondrop#fnaf moondrop#fnaf moon#moondrop fnaf#moon fnaf#moondrop x y/n#moondrop x reader#moon x y/n#moon x reader#sundrop fnaf#fnaf sundrop#sundrop#fnaf sun#sun fnaf#fnaf eclipse#eclipse fnaf#maybe later#now i go eepy sleepy
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Idol Worship
Pairings: Cyberpunk 2077 Men x Fem!Idol!Reader
Context: You’re a hyper feminine idol with a cutesy, girlie concept. As a Night City celebrity, these are some headcanons of your life with the men.
A/N: Y/S/N = Your Stage Name
Jackie Welles: You and Jackie had been dating for a year before your rise to fame, and have been going strong ever since. He supported your music dreams from the start, and you’ll always see him as your first fan, as well as your biggest fan (both literally and figuratively). When you started booking bigger venues and had appearances on TV shows, Jackie became worried that you’d leave him for some Hollywood slick, since that’s what everyone always did when they become famous, but you reassured him that’d you’d never leave him since he was the only one for you.
At the beginning of your stardom, you had decided to keep your romantic life personal as to keep Jackie away from all of the fame but that proved to be difficult when you had a known stalker on your tail. This stalker followed you everywhere and caused you countless restless nights. The situation had gotten so bad that he broke into your hotel one night, but thankfully you had stayed out that night and weren’t inside when he broke in. After that incident, Jackie didn’t feel safe to have you out on tours by yourself.
That’s when you both decided that it would be best to publicize your relationship-- one, to keep weirdos at bay, and two, so that Jackie could be with you all of the time unapologetically.
Thankfully, the fans took to Jackie pretty well-- with the exception of your pervy fans, but you weren’t too concerned with them anymore since Jackie became an unofficial official bodyguard. There wasn’t a single picture of you where Jackie wasn’t also in it, either intentionally or unintentionally.
Concerts, TV showings, photoshoots, Jackie was always there next to you. You were able to convince your manager to hire Jackie as full-time secretary since he was able to prove himself much more useful than the lumberjacks that couldn’t stop a fly.
Johnny Silverhand: You had already made a name for yourself when you met Johnny, and your first meeting was at an elite club that’s only known to a select few. In the dark night club, Johnny’s body was pressed flush against yours and all you both could do was stare into each other’s eyes and sway to the pounding bass of the music. The chemistry was wild, and Johnny was hooked, but you left before the night was over, leaving him high and dry.
The next time he would see you would be on electric boards in the city, performing your latest song. That’s when he recognized you-- those eyes, those god forsaken eyes that reeled him in.
With a call to his manager and a few pulling of strings, Johnny was able to bring you into his home-studio on the pretenses of having you songwrite a song he’s been working on. Needless to say, that would be one of many “studio sessions”.
Within a month, Johnny found himself asking you to be his girlfriend, and you agreed. Johnny being Johnny, immediately wanted to publicize the relationship. To say the public was shocked was an understatement. A crazy metalhead dating the cutesy pop star? Do we need to alert the feds?
But when the paparazzi photos of the two of you spending quality time together were leaked, everything was finally clicking into place.
At first, you didn’t want your relationship to overshadow your career so you would regularly decline any commentary or showings that had anything to do with Johnny, but after a few deep, honest sit downs with him, you both agreed that you would be able to make this business-pleasure relationship work.
After a few months of dating, not only were you able to show up to public functions together but you both featured on songs together. Your bird-like voice and his scruffy voice complimented each other remarkably well, not to mention the mixing of such polar genres. The two of you would release some of your most popular music together.
A few examples would be “Strawberry Kisses - Johnny Silverhand feat. Y/S/N”, and “Make Daddy Proud - Y/S/N feat. Johnny Silverhand”.
Johnny’s influence would definitely inspire you to expand in both your concept and your music. You would be his muse, and he would be yours.
Viktor Vektor: As part of the industry, it’s common for idols to get cyberware and plastic surgery done to conform to societal beauty standards-- as the motto goes, “in Night City, looks are everything.”
In the beginning of your career, your manager needed you to get some cyberware done but knew you couldn’t pay for the high prices that legitimate surgeons required, so he introduced you to a man with less-than-honest credentials.
That’s where you met him. Viktor Vektor. A miracle worker based out of a dingy basement and faulty fluorescent lights.
He treated you like a princess and you were in love right then and there. His gentle touches on your face and most intimate parts made you swoon.
Your manager had sent Viktor a list of procedures he wanted, but Viktor only consulted with you on what you wanted, no more and no less.
After the first consultation, you were hooked, and the feeling was mutual. You would check in at least monthly, and would find any reason to give him a call just to hear his voice.
By the time he had finally asked you out, you both were so used to sneaking around that it was silently agreed upon to not publicize this relationship. Maybe it was taboo, with the age gap and career choice, but it was love. And to you both, that was all that mattered.
And thanks to Viktor’s connections in the industry, you were quick to become the face of high fashion and runways. Always equipped with the latest cyberware, your tech upgrades were trendsetters, with influencers and celebrities alike flocking to imitate your work. But your tech was always one-of-a-kind, that’s what Viktor vowed to do from the moment he met you. Every creation he creates for you is only for you. It’s custom-made for your body and mind, no one else’s.
Your looks had become so famous that there was a genre of cyberware named after you: Roseware, an homage to your pink and aesthetic gadgets.
a/n: i hope you enjoyed! if you did, please consider reblogging since it helps my account! :)
DON'T BE A GHOST READER!!!! i would love to hear your thoughts and opinions, and comments are what keep writers going <3
i’m open to requests again (specifically for cyberpunk), please read my the posts on my pinned before requesting :)
lmk if y’all have any ideas for more content like this cause this was fun to write :D
#yns world#cyberpunk 2077#cyberpunk 2077 v#cyberpunk 2077 x reader#cyberpunk 2077 x v#johnny silverhand#johnny silverhand x reader#johnny silverhand x v#viktor vektor x reader#viktor vektor#viktor vektor x v#jackie welles#jackie welles x reader#jackie welles x v#cyberpunk 2077 fanfic
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Dating Johnny silverhand Headcanons?
Gender-neutral reader!
Alive Johnny
I don't think I need to start these headcanons off by stating that Johnny puts on a 'tough guy' act, but here's a reminder.
He puts on a tough guy act.
I mean, Johnny is the type of guy to start on a man just for gawking at you. "Keep your eyes to yourself!" he'll bark before throwing a punch, which always leads to him getting his ass kicked, and you having to apologise to everyone as you (literally) drag him away.
But after the battle, Johnny will milk his injuries, and takes pleasure in lounging in your lap as you tend to his bruising eye.
"Did you see how hard I hit him, babe? Poor sucker hit the ground so hard!" blahblahblah, all whilst he's cooped up in your lap, one hand resting on his chest, whilst the other swirls his whiskey around in its tumbler.
Johnny's love language is a mix between quality time, and physical touch.
He's a little physically needy, but not always in public. His hand will almost always be around your waist, chest puffed out, scowling at any guy who considers laying an eye on you, but the second that you're behind closed doors, Johnny will want to snuggle up to you.
Play with his hair, coo and soothe him, hold him close in your arms; that man is touch starved.
Everything you give to him will be returned tenfold, only he has to keep the cold-hearted, tough guy image up for others. But don't worry! You're his angel, and he'd never do anything to hurt you.
Engram Johnny
Johnny can't exactly touch you, so words of affirmation and quality time are his love languages.
It's not rare to see you sitting alone in a shabby diner, but in your head, Johnny is with you, and you two are having the time of your lives.
Johnny is essentially your conscience, and he's not shy when it comes to adding his two cents.
In some ways, you're thankful that he's always there. He does his best at keeping you safe, pointing out sketchy guys, reminding you how many bullets you have left, doing anything and everything to keep you moving forward.
However, Johnny will also say the most inappropriate things to you at the worst times possible.
Out on a mission? Here's Johnny listing off all the things that he'd do to you, if he could.
And no amount of ignoring him will work. He's going to continue riling you up, and when you finally bite, he'll vanish.
Johnny likes to try and always be in your line of sight, such as lounging about on your desk chair whilst you clean all your weapons, or lying beside you whenever you get into bed.
He will do anything and everything to be by your side, and remind you of how thankful he is that he ended up in your head.
#cyberwriting#johnny silverhand#gn!reader#johnny silverhand x reader#johnny silverhand x you#cyberpunk#cyberpunk 2077#cyberpunk 2077 fanfic#headcanon#headcanons#reader insert
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𝙞 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙣𝙚𝙚𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙩𝙤 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙢𝙚
river ward x fem! v
warnings- fluff with smut??? mostly gross fluff18+, this is seriously nasty lovey dovey shit, soft sex, v is tired, sad as fuck and injured, v and river are disgustingly in love, johnny cameo bc he's annoying as fuck, gentle dom!river, sub!v, slight angst but mostly fluff, creampie+fingering+oral (f receiving)
wc: 5.1k
It’s been a shitty day.
Your body aches. Aches from the constant misfiring of your brain. Your head feels like it's on fire, each thought a searing ember tearing through your consciousness. You’re bloodied, battered, bruised and exhausted— but shit, at least you’re almost home— and River’s there waiting for you.
Tonight was supposed to be a respite from the chaos, a date night with River that you had been looking forward to for days. But as the hours stretched on and the assignments piled up, it seemed like time had betrayed you. You don’t even remember the last time you’ve taken a break.
Your eyes blur as you step into the elevator— your legs begin to wobble. Your head hurts— and you feel like you can barely fucking stand. Your eyes flutter shut as you step through the doors, immediately slouching against the wall to soothe your aching muscles before your eyes flutter shut.
Your condition was worsening.
Johnny's presence in your mind is no longer just an annoyance—it's agony. He's there, unable to do anything but watch himself wreak havoc upon your brain.
All you ever wanted was to make it big.
Friends you’d laughed and fought alongside with are now fucking gone, swallowed by the unforgiving streets of Night City. Your job as a mercenary isn’t much better- it ensures that danger’s your constant companion, a perilous dance where survival was the one and only goal at the end of the day. And now, you found yourself entangled in Arasaka's web, tethered to the engram of the long-gone Johnny Silverhand—a construct that was slowly eroding your very existence from within.
But amidst that darkness, there was River Ward.
River's presence at your side was the one solid, the one steady anchor amidst the turmoil of the world. His arrival in your life was a bittersweet revelation, a reminder that even in the darkest moments, there’d always be that little glimmer of light. He was a constant amidst the chaos, a steadfast presence that anchored you in a sea of uncertainty. His kindness, his unwavering support, had chipped away at the walls you've built around yourself.
With River, you had found something you couldn't, and wouldn't, let go of. But the weight of your own impending demise pressed heavily on your chest, a reminder that time was slipping through your fingers like sand. Everything you’d ever known was slipping away, slowly but surely.
Your thoughts are pushed aside as the metal elevator doors open with a ‘ding!’
“Time to snap out of it, sweetheart. Cop’s waiting for ya.”
You hadn’t even noticed Johnny until now. Your eyes flutter open— and for just a moment, you’re grateful for your digital companion’s presence. You step through the looming metal doors, your mind buzzing, your tired legs beginning to tremble as you attempt to navigate yourself to your apartment. You’re fucking determined to make it home to River, even as your muscles scream and ache in protest.
Finally, you reach your apartment. Your heart pounds in your chest as you unlock the pneumatic door with a shaky swipe of your thumb.
“V?”
Sheer relief floods over your senses at his voice alone. Before you know it, you’re met with the warmth of River's presence in front of you— worried gaze bearing into yours, before his eyes slide down to examine the rest of your bloody, weak body.
“Hey," he said softly, his voice a gentle caress that swept over your tired senses. The soft white glow of his mechanical gaze captured every nuance of your exhaustion. But beyond that, he saw the pain you carried, the knowledge of your own impending demise that weighed heavily on your shoulders.
A shaky smile forms on your lips. The sight of him, his unwavering presence, was a balm to your aching soul. Fuck, you were just glad to be able to come home to him. But then your weakened trembling legs finally gave way beneath you, the exhaustion hitting you like a tidal wave. As you began to sink, River's strong arms were there to catch you, his touch steady and reassuring.
“You know..” He holds you up with a tenderness that spoke volumes, his hands gentle as they brushed against your weary frame. His eyes met yours, concern and love intermingled in their depths. "..I would’ve picked you up, V.”
You let out a shaky breath, your facade cracking as the weight of the day and the pain you were in threatened to overwhelm you, tears burning at the corners of your tired eyes.
“You don’t have to deal with this all alone.”
That was the catalyst for you.
River wasn't the type of person you were used to. This time, you had found someone who really fucking cared. The love you felt for him was real—a force that pushed you forward even when everything else seemed to be falling apart and crumbling around you.
"I know," you admitted, your voice a soft admission of vulnerability. "But I just... I really wanted to see you."
His embrace tightened, and you felt as if he could shield you from the world with his arms alone. Tears finally spill from your burning eyes, falling down your bloody cheeks as you let out a choked sob. You didn’t want to have to lean on him. Didn’t want him to see you like this. All you wanted, all you’ve been looking forward to all week, was a night alone with River.
“Oh, V..” He sighs, reaching up to your face with his ganic’ hand to wipe away the tears that dampened your cheeks, metal hand holding your waist in place. His touch was so soothing and warm that chased away the pain, if only for a moment. “What am I gonna do with you?”
You took a shaky breath, emotions slowly ebbing as you meet his gaze. “I don’t know, River..”
Your voice was a whisper, fragile and raw, as you admitted what you needed most. What you craved. You wanted him— needed him.
“But I need you, I know that.”
As if sensing your need, River's huge arms envelop you, pulling you into a hug that's both comforting and electrifying. His heartbeat is a steady rhythm against your ear, and you cling to him as if he's your lifeline in a sea of uncertainty.
A little weakened whimper escapes your throat as he wraps his big arms around you again. “I just… I need you to love me.”
His response was immediate, his fingers intertwining with your hair as he held you close. "I do love you, V. More than you know. I don't need you to be perfect, V," he murmurs against your hair, his breath a warm whisper that ignites a fire within your bones. "I just need you."
Your lips press against his, and in his arms, you finally feel ready to let go, surrendering to the vulnerability you’ve avoided for so long. The weight of the world, of the engram's presence in her mind, of the looming threat of your very own mortality, becomes a burden you two share together. River's love is a lifeline, grounding you in the midst of your shitshow of an internal storm.
“Need you to show how much you love me,” you whisper.
In that moment, vulnerability meets strength, and River's eyes hold a depth of understanding that surpasses words. He smiles at you so sweetly, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead that makes your heart swell. “Course, V. That’s all you need to say..” He whispers.
“But first, we gotta clean you up.”
★○★○★○★○★○★○★○★○★★○★○★○★○★○★○★○★○★
River’s attempting to help you undress in the most gentle way possible as to not disturb your scratches and bruises. His deft fingers work to shrug off your strapped jeans, and you’re able to shrug off your jacket and peel off your top with no problem. And for a second, he can’t help but to stare at you bloodied, broken skin, and his heart just fuckin’ breaks. Of course, it’s your job to do dangerous shit, you put your life on the line all the time, but it still fucked him up whenever you came home like this. It wouldn’t be the first time you have, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.
He moves on to cleaning up your cuts as carefully as possible, doing his absolute best as to not cause additional discomfort.
The familiar burn of desire burned through you as his warm hands traced over your bare skin, taking great consideration in mending your wounds, even occasionally pressing his lips to your damp skin now and again. But you push it aside for now— you just want to enjoy his presence.
He helps your trembling body into the shower, and the warm water cascades over your bodies, soothing your sore muscles and washing away the remnants of the night's chaos. The soothing scent of lavender washes over you as his gentle hands cascade over your skin away from the wounds. Your cuts sting against the hot water, and your legs ache a little from having to stand, but you push the pain aside— you’re focused on River, and River only.
The quiet intimacy of the moment speaks volumes, the unspoken understanding that exists between you two a lifeline you never expected to find.
His big hands trace over your skin, and every little touch is gentle, reassuring as he washes away the blood and grime, calloused fingertips brushing against your lower stomach and setting your mind aflame with burning desire. His touch is soothing, tender— and it sends little shockwaves of heated desire through your core.
You lean into his chest, a little whimper escaping your lips as his metal fingertips trail down your sides finding comfort in his embrace despite the pain that courses through your body. It's the one fucking moment you’ve been waiting for all week—and you cherish it with your entire heart.
Both of River’s hands slide down to your waist. He leans down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead before letting out a soft murmur against your wet skin.
“Still need me to show you how much I love you, or do you wanna settle down?”
You’ve wanted him, needed him, for so long now, you just can’t hold back any longer. You need him— and you need him now. “No,” you rasp. “Want you.”
His hands slide torturously slow up past your waist, torso, and up to your chest. With a little hum, his big hands move up to cup your breasts before sliding his rough fingers against your nipples before stopping abruptly. “Y’sure?”
You nod enthusiastically, a raspy and desperate “please” escaping from your tired lips.
“I’ll be gentle tonight. Promise,” River mumbles in your ear.
At this point, you need him. In River’s arms, the world seems to still— and you can only focus on him— the way he lets out soft groans whenever you accidentally grind against him from his consistent teasing, the way he towers over your much shorter frame, literally holding you up with his strong arms alone…
“Well shit, at least you can die happy now.”
You swear you need to get this motherfucker out of your head as soon as possible. You’re too tired to fight Johnny right now. You don’t even open your eyes at this point— River’s making you feel too good enough for you to care.
His hands move down your chest, tracing away every little cut and scrape as his hands glide against your lower body, carefully observing the way you whimper and shudder underneath his careful touch. Metal fingers dig into your ass as his other hand trails between your plush thighs, spreading them apart as his finger carefully slides between your soaked folds.
You don’t know why every single one of his touches send electric shocks to your core. A high-pitched whine escapes your lips, and you don’t even notice the way your legs shake violently underneath you— you just feel too good.
You do, however, notice when he pulls away— left arm wrapping around your waist to give your weak legs some rest as his other hand reaches over to shut the shower off. A little whimper escapes your tired lips, and his metal fingers tap against your cheek. “Let’s get you comfortable first, ‘kay? Don’t want you to fall.”
When you two step out of the shower, your body feels tired yet renewed, the pain momentarily eased by the care he's shown. River wraps your trembling body in a warm towel, his embrace a promise that transcends the challenges you two face together. You allow him to scoop you up into his big arms, and it’s almost laughable how vulnerable you really feel. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t cherish it.
River's arms remained steadfast around you as he lifted you gently, cradling you like a fragile treasure. Your head rested against his chest, your body bone-weary and battered, but in his arms, you found a sanctuary. He carried you to the bed, each step a reassurance that he was here, that you weren't alone in this struggle.
Gently, he lowered you onto the bed, onto the soft pillows below, his touch tender as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. The dim light cast soft shadows across the room, the neon glow from the city outside seeping through the windows. The world beyond may have been chaotic, but here, in this moment, it was just you and River. Not even Johnny dared to fuck with you right now.
A soft hum escapes his lips, leaning down to cup your cheeks with both of his hands. His steel fingertips dance across your cheek as your lips crash into his, before he pulls away from you. His hands trail down the sides of your body, carefully making sure to avoid any cuts or bruises, oh-so-gently.
He smiles when a shiver wrecks throughout your body, before he sinks down to your damp thighs, shut tightly as he looms over you.
“Open up for me?” He taps his mechanical hand against you, and with a shaky breath, you open your legs— exposing yourself to the cool night air.
“Pretty girl..” River whispers, spreading your soaked folds apart with a smug grin, before licking a firm stripe up to your clit. He presses his tongue up against it, and laughs when his lil merc gets flustered at the vulgar sight. He looks up at you again— the soft glow of his metal eye bearing into yours, and fuck, he’s so cute, smiling like a dumbass as he devours you whole.
His gaze leaves yours as his gaze trails over your tired body, admiring every little scar, every little bruise, and every little freckle. He can’t help it— he just fucking loves every little bit of you.
River loves the way you tremble underneath the soft touch of his cold metal hands— cherishes the way you look up at him with your cheeks flushed red.. hair messy and your makeup all smudged, hands fighting for purchase against the sheets as your chest heaves, and you let out tiny whimpers..
River loves how he’s the one you seek solace from— how you allow him to help you relax after a long, shitty day, allowing him to spread your pretty thighs for him.
Internally, River is so grateful for your presence— so fucking grateful that you’ve stayed by his side, aiding him and his family. But beyond that, he loves you for you. Loves you for that stupid goofy side of yours— he genuinely enjoys your presence.
River loves his lil’ mischievous, dangerous mercenary. He loves the person underneath that rough n’ tough exterior you hold yourself to.
He doesn’t even know where he’d fucking be without you. He doesn’t know what he’d do with himself if he never met you. Never would’ve had a chance at saving his nephew— wouldn’t have a chance to experience those sweet summer nights laying in the back of his truck, miles away from the City just to admire the stars… never would’ve had the chance to spend countless nights just enjoying one another’s presence— and loving one another like it was your last fuckin’ day on earth.
Except the last part rings far too true.
You’re his person— how can he deny it?
He sees your strength, the physical and mental scars from long ago, the pain, and the fire that burns within you like akin to the likes of nobody else. It fucking hurts him, so desperately so, to see you struggle like this. Fucking hurts to see the cursed cards life has given you.
So tonight, he’s determined to show you just how much he loves you.
He’s brought back to reality by your cute sniffles as he continued to toy with your aching cunt.
“F—Fuck, River…” An errant moan escapes your lips, back arching as your hands scramble for purchase on his big shoulders as his tongue fucks you dumb.
He looked so proud, so smug as his eyes fluttered half-shut, a dumb grin plastered across his face. He uses his metal hand to pin your thigh further apart— your leg beginning to shake adorably as he continues to lap at your drenched cunt.
He doesn’t miss a single spot—kissing up and down your plush thighs, then back to your dripping folds. Each time you would whine, he’d just make out with your throbbing clit before it turns to unfair sucking and slurping.
His nose brushes against your folds and it makes sweet little whimpers and cries of his name fall from your pretty lips.
When his tongue and jaw begin to ache, he gazes up at you with the entire bottom half of his face completely soaked. He rests his chin on your thighs for just a moment— a smug little grin plastered across face before he presses a single thick digit between your folds, before he looks up at you again.
“You sure you can handle this tonight, V?”
You gush a little at his words, and you nod back, the burning desire in your chest ready to burst at any fucking second. “Don’t wanna stop,” you whine.
River smiles again, his large finger slipping into you again. The sight alone of his finger pumping against your tight walls, the sight of him flicking his tongue against your desperate aching clit, was far too much for you to handle at once. Soft little shivers escape your lips as your body trembles, this time not out of hurt, but out of the sheer overwhelming pleasure River provides you.
He insets a second finger, stretching out your tiny hole. He’s too much— and you love it. His tongue flicked against your throbbing clit before he closed his lips around the bud, all while his thick, long, rough fingers pump in and out of you.
The way your tight hole clenches around his thick fingers nearly sends him over the fucking edge. He’s painfully hard at this point, but by God, is he ever so determined to help his little merc cum after a hard day.
“Rivveeeeerrrr,” you hiccup, your hands coming down to attempt to grab and claw at his big wrists, but River just looks up with a smug grin on his face, his cock beginning to throb in his sweats again. “m’ close..” You whisper into the night air. But River just stares up at you to watch the way you unfold for him as your cunt trembles below his tongue.
“So soon, baby?”
You love it, but by fuck, it’s just too much for you. You’re literally ready to burst any-fucking second now. At this point, you’re so, so out of it. Purely just fucked dumb by River’s tongue and fingers alone— and you’d have it no other way. Your cunt’s starting to tremble and shake, and you can’t control the wetness dripping down your plush thighs. Your hips squirm and buck up against his face, desperately trying to ride out your high, and he only groans against your wetness in response. “L-Love youuuuuu….” You whine weakly. River responds back with a groan against you.
The burning knot inside of you finally unravels when he latches his lips onto your clit. Your eyes roll into the back of your skull, and the high-pitched whines and begs for more escaping your lips are damn-near unrecognizable. Your hands claw desperately at his big beefy shoulders, tears rolling down your flustered cheeks as you finally let go of your orgasm— and you gush into his mouth and soak the sheets below with cute whimpers and whines of “thank you’s” and “m’ sorry’s” as he spreads your shuddering legs further apart beneath you— still lapping at your soaked hole.
“Mmm… that’s my girl.”
His voice is raspy and low before you whine. River growls against you as you pant and shake beneath him as his tongue swipes against you to clean up your mess. You look down at yourself, at River— and fuck, you’re both soaked.
…And so are the sheets below.
You’re a shaking, whiny, wet mess when he pulls away, a string of your slick connecting to his lips as he places a sloppy kiss to your wet folds. Fuck. But you didn’t want him to stop. Sure, you’re sore as hell, but by God, you just wanted, you fucking needed more.
“Riveeerr…” you hiccup again.
His big hands drop your thighs onto the soft mattress below, and both of them come up to rest against your flushed cheeks, soft eyes bearing into yours, filled with a soft, genuine concern as you let out a desperate whimper.
“Need you to fuck me. Please.”
A little dumb smile forms on his face.
“I’ve gotcha.”
He positions himself between your soaked thighs, lining his fat tip against your puffy and swollen folds, metal hand sliding down to guide his throbbing cock into your tight soaked hole.
His cockhead nudges your clit accidentally, and you moan before staring deeply and intensely at each other for just a brief moment— eyes filled with nothing but pure adoration for one another.
River pushes the rest of himself inside, and he almost knocks the fucking wind out of you as your hole attempts to take the stretch. After nearly two weeks, you forgot how fucking big he was, and you can barely form a coherent thought as he drags his hips so deliciously against yours as he softly reassures you.
“Fuck, V— always takin me so well,” River sighed softly while balls deep inside, internally noting your heavy breathing and shaky legs as you struggled to take him. It’s been a little while.
A squeal falls from your parted lips as he splits you in two so softly, hands moving to wrap around your ankles as he slowly thrusts his hips into yours. His eyes are focused on the way your tight cunt takes him soo nicely. Your little whimpers and sobs for more cause him to bite into his lip— you’re so fucking cute like this, and he’s so fucking lucky to have you. He loves to fuck his little mercenay nice and thorough, just wanting to treat you good after a tough day at work.
He almost loses his composure when little begs of “harder, please!” escape your lips. Truthfully, he’d love nothing more than to pound you senseless into the mattress, but shit, he doesn’t wanna hurt you tonight. Your body was already sore enough. Even he knew that.
“Can’t, V. Don’t wanna hurt you,” River’s voice rasps against your ear in response to your begs.
A little disappointed whimper falls from your lips, and you wrap your weak arms around the back of his neck.
“I know, I know..” River bows forward, almost mounting you entirely, and this slight movement pushes his cock further in. You whine, wiggling your hips against his slow thrusts to chase the fleeting pleasure that stemmed from his movement. Internally, you’re so so grateful for him. He looks so fucking cute, you swear it— your heart flutters at the sight of him, attempting to move as gently as possible but absolutely struggling to do so, the occasional whimper escaping his lips.. fuck, it kills you.
You’re so fucking grateful for the way he makes you feel. The way he distracts you from your pain with soft licks and gentle thrusts is just entirely unmatched, and so is the way he loves you oh-so-gently. The sheer amount of pleasure he’s providing you with is insane, and your eyes can’t help but to flutter shut as shockwave of euphoria shoot through your entire body every time he slowly bottoms out within you. You love River Ward, and you couldn’t have it any other way.
River’s thrusts refuse to relent, even as your tight cunt squeezes around him. He huffs, feeling fully endeared. You look utterly fucked dumb— your hair’s all messy and splayed out on the pillows below you, your eyes are shut tight, nothing but little whimpers escaping your lips. River just wants to make sure you’re okay before he starts to move again.
“Hey,” he whispers down at you as he pats your cheek gently. “Anyone home, V?”
“Uh huh,” you mumble, fucked-out eyes slowly zoning back in on your boyfriend.
River smiles, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “There's my girl.”
Then, he straightens back up again, his hands returning to their purchase on your ankles. You keen to the ceiling when he drags his cock out slowly, and you unconsciously squeeze your thighs around him before he gently separates your legs again.
River’s eyes are confused and glazed over as he pushes himself into you again. He allows you to latch onto him— he swears you’re so fucking cute when you whimper into his neck, sharp nails clawing at his back.. It’s just fucking addicting. He’s too focused on the way your cunt takes him in so well— your cries and tears of pure bliss causing him to bite his lip back in a groan.
River’s buried deep inside when you begin to clench around him, and he’s shoved deep inside of you when you feel your second orgasm approaching, and you let out little cries of “I’m’ close again!” and he’s staring down at you as your hips attempt to crash against his, your eyes rolling to the back of your skull— tears streaming down your cheeks. You could barely breathe. Your breaths are shaky and weak against the cool apartment air, and you’re just so so fucking needy— you can only focus on him.
You lean up as best as you can to hide your face in the crook of his neck and he lowky moans— his hands moving to guide your hips.
“C’mon, baby. Let it out for me.”
Your lips fall ajar at his command, feeling how his cock massaged your walls oh-so tenderly before your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you gushed again. You relish the whimper that escapes his lips as you cum again, but he refused torelent, the sound of your cunt squelching filling the room as he continues to fuck himself into you. The pressure inside of you finally snaps— and you let a loud high-pitched cry escape your lips as your back arches against the mattress. His rough hands move down to dig into waist before your little bucks begin to slow—gushing still all over him dumbly.
His thrusts finally begin to falter, his eyes fluttering, the soft mechanical one flickering a little bit as he bites into his bottom lip to keep himself from whimpering. Fuck, you’re just so good— he can’t help the needy noises that escape his throat. He swallows back a whimper— and a low “m’ gonna cum” falls from his lips.
“Please,” you whimper weakly against him— cunt clenching again as he continues to fuck you. “Need you, Riv…”
Your words were the catalyst for him. With one more harsh thrust, he pushes himself into you, allowing himself to deep inside. River’s large body trembles as he cums, euphoria washing over him as both eyes flicker shut. You’re both fucking exhausted, and you two stay still— chasing the remnants of your long awaited euphoria.
The world around you seems like it’s stilled— it’s been replaced by a sense of calm that settled over you like a soft embrace. River's steady breathing beside you was a soothing rhythm, a lullaby that lulled you into a peaceful state of mind.
“Thank you..” you weakly mumble as he pulls out, his seed spilling from your weak hole, slipping down your thighs.
He flops onto his side as you flop back against the pillows, pulling your trembling and sore into his big arms with ease as your eyes flutter shut and your chest heaves. He presses a soft kiss to your forehead— his hands reaching up to sweep your hair away from your dampened skin.
“Let yourself get some rest.." he whispered, his voice a calming melody that enveloped you. "You’re safe with me tonight.”
Fuck.
His words cause tears to burn at the corners of your eyes, a testament to the weight that you had been carrying. Your walls had crumbled, the armor you had worn for so long had fallen away, and in this vulnerability, you felt a strange mix of relief and fear. River had always been there, a constant amidst the chaos, and now, as he held you in his arms, you allowed yourself to lean on him.
“I love you, V,” His metal fingertips brush against your cheek, wiping away remnants of stray tears. “You don’t need to be afraid to lean on me sometimes.”
A tremor ran through your body, a mixture of exhaustion and the emotions that had been pent up for far too long. You turned into his touch, your head finding the crook of his neck as you nuzzled against him. His scent, a comforting blend of familiarity and safety, enveloped you, and you allowed yourself to fully let go. “I know.”
“I love you too, Riv.”
And as his arms held you close, you allowed yourself to embrace the solace he offered, to find comfort in his embrace, and to let go of the burdens that had held you captive for so long. You allow yourself to drift off to sleep, nested in his embrace, allowing the world to dissipate around you. In the silence of the room, the distant hum of the city's chaos seemed to fade away. It was just you and River, bound by something deeper than the turmoil that surrounded you.
#this fic is 100% purely self indulgent btw#river ward x reader#cyberpunk smut#river ward#cyberpunk 2077 fic#joce writes#river ward romance#v x river ward#river ward x v
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Assigning “daddy k!nk” gifs to my top four Keanu characters: (NSFW!! No particular order!)
This one:
To:
This one:
To:
This one:
To:
This one:
To:
Have nice fantasies my loves 🖤.
#keanu reeves#keanu reeves characters#john wick#keanu reeves x reader#johnny silverhand#john wick x reader#cyberpunk 2077#kevin lomax#kevin lomax x reader#john constantine#john constantine 2005#john constantine x reader#daddy k!nk#nwheregirl made this#my ideas
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ANDROID GHOST AJDBAHGEJADHJWHAH SKEHEBJWBDJA WKRBBWJF IM NEVER GOING TO THINK ABOUT ANYHITNG ELSE EVER AGAIN
also question: is there like a cum storage in his body that would have to be manually refilled?? if so imaging fucking him until it’s literally empty
It does have to be manually refilled. Trying to find a way to put a come making system in Ghost's body was a bit more challenging than you thought it would be, so you opted for the refillable route. Much easier. Plus you figure he won't run out too quickly. It's not a huge amount that gets stored, but you figure it's enough.
You did not anticipate that going his entire android life without a dick or orgasm software would probably lead to some... overconsumption once he did have it. Ghost shows up like two days later and needs to be refilled. He'll tell you straight up it's because he was masturbating too. He's got a "lot of time to make up" and boy is he making up for lost time.
Also "fucking him" is a bit of a stretch, "being used to get him off" is more accurate. Because that's what he does. He moves you with mechanical strength and precision like a living doll made to take his cock. In a way you are. You designed his dick exactly to your own desires, meeting his specifications while you drooled over the mechanics and tested the synth skin under your tongue. Now you sit on your knees with your head bumping against the wall as Ghost thrusts your perfect cock into your mouth, holding your head between his hands and pulling you down until you gag.
"Giving you what you deserve lovie," He tells you, something achingly tender in the swipe of his thumb against the tears staining your cheek, "lemme shut that brain o' yours off for a while."
He pins you to the workbench, keeps you on your back and presses your knees up to your shoulders. The weight of him is enough to keep you from moving as he pushes his thick cock into your dripping cunt, the angle perfect for him to beat against your cervix with each short thrust. It's too much too fast. The ache of it punching pleasure deep in your stomach, your cunt clenching as it tries to keep him inside. Your head spins, your breath catches, Ghost hooks your legs over his shoulders and laces his fingers behind your head. He forces you to bend under his weight, makes you watch the way his cock disappears into your puffy pussy and comes out glistening with slick.
And he'll keep you there, keep hitting that mind numbing spot deep inside you until your legs are shaking and you're screaming his name. He'll fuck you through orgasm, tap his metallic forehead against yours and let your breath fog his faceplate. He'll fuck you through his own orgasm, make you realize that despite adding a routine to increase sensitivity with each consecutive orgasm, you didn't actually program in a refractory period. Ghost will fuck you until he's empty, and then he'll fuck you past that.
"Making up for lost time," He'll tell you when he finally lets you up. Making up for lost time, you think as you stretch your aching legs towards the floor and try to find your balance. You're losing time on your back and on your knees, and now you've got synthetic come sloshing around and dripping out of you.
Price can't fire you for this, can he?
#cod x reader#x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost mw2#simon ghost riley#ghost x reader#simon riley#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon ghost x reader#mw2 ghost#ghost cod#android!ghost#cyberpunk au#just dump like a half gallon of come in my girl Ghost#would anyone be interested in.... no I shant say
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-> THE EROS CLUB
jackie welles x f!reader (v)
summary: you and jackie receive a job to infiltrate a popular new club and retrieve a sample of a drug making its rounds through customers. unfortunately, it takes being dosed to realize the drug is an aphrodisiac.
word count: 6.7k
warnings/tags: swearing, drinking alcohol, drugs, being drugged unknowingly, explicit sex, rough sex, p in v, dirty talk, praise, semi-public sex/bathroom sex, dom!jackie, dom/sub dynamics, aftercare, confessions, slight throat/neck kink if you squint, jackie and misty are NOT a couple
author’s note: shout out to @neon-junkie for making me a jackie welles whore
You felt the thrum of the club’s bass before you even saw the front doors. It shook the ground in rhythmic beats, some kind of strange, unnatural earthquake, and seemed to pull anyone within a mile radius toward its center. Everywhere you looked, civilians were headed toward the entrance. Skimpy skirts, sleeveless muscle tanks, even pressed business suits - they all gravitated toward the Eros Club like droning, mindless machines.
As you cruised slowly down the street, your hand rested atop the steering wheel of your ride, Jackie released a low whistle from his perch in the passenger’s seat. He was so sinewy and bulked that he hardly fit in it. “Some place,” he said when you parked your car on the curb between a number of other vehicles. “No wonder every other club in town’s tanked to shit. Everyone’s comin’ here.”
You gave a hum and peered up the club through the window. The Eros Club was a three-story decker situated on a corner close to the water, with neon lights that cast the streets surrounding it in an eerie, yet exciting glow. A long, twisting line of people waited for entrance, kissing and grinding and complaining on their cells. Armed guards stood at the doors, standing rather close to a small woman personally checking each visitor before they went through.
“It won’t be standing for much longer,” you said, then climbed from the car.
This job was supposed to be simple. Simpler than most you and Jackie had done. Your client was a faceless shroud who spoke to you over the net, promising big bucks for the infiltration of the Eros Club. They claimed to be a rival club owner who was losing business; they’d heard from a friend of a friend of an enemy Eros was illegally drugging patrons until they were hooked and coming back every night for more. Your job was to secure a dose of whatever substance was being used and give it to your client’s men at the drop point.
Jackie hadn’t liked it at first. He was adamant about seeing the client face to face before agreeing to nabbing the drug, but he hadn’t needed much more convincing when you told him the amount promised.
“Sounds too easy,” he’d said when you informed him of your client’s approach. “Then again…” He’d flashed you that signature smile and you hadn’t been able to help but give it back. “We could use a night out on the town.”
As you left your vehicle and approached the club, weaving between sweaty bodies and over broken bottles scattered along the ground, you spared a glance over at your partner. Jackie Welles was a unit of a man, built like an ox and suited to take one down. Not only was he one of the best-looking men you’d ever met, he was also the kindest. In the same day, he would toss live grenades into gang dens, then untangle a stray cat from the plastic wrapping caught around its paws. He was funny, and caring, and above all else, loyal. No matter the situation, you knew you could count on Jackie to have your back.
And a part of you hated it.
You hated how close you had grown to the mercenary over the number of months you’d been working together, how you knew his middle name and his birthday and his mother’s favorite flowers. You hated that every time you shared a drink at After Life your knees would brush together and the simple touch would strike a match in your veins. And you hated yourself for, not once or twice, but almost every time you relieved some of your pent-up sexual tension by yourself, you imagined it was him hovering between your legs making you feel so deliciously.
“Aye. You with me, chica?”
Blinking away the dirty thoughts swimming through your head, you glanced up at Jackie. You had almost made it to the front doors - much to the chagrin and disdain of the people who had been waiting in line for hours. “Come again?” you said.
Jackie jerked his head toward the doors. “I said, you got the passes?” He watched as you fished through your pockets before producing the VIP passes your client had provided you with in order to get into Eros without much hassle. “Somethin’ on your mind?” he said as he accepted his pass. “Your head’s usually more in the game than this, V.”
Slipping the pass around your neck, you swallowed thick and avoided his gaze. “Sorry,” you said, and left it at that. He tilted his head at you in that way he did when he knew you were lying, but he didn’t push it. If anyone knew how to coax something out of you, it was him.
And you were terrified he would get this out of you, too.
The guards blocking the front doors looked you and Jackie up and down as you approached, arms crossed tight or hefting a baseball bat over a shoulder. “What business you got?” asked one.
In sync, you and Jackie both raised your VIP passes from around your necks. It only took a few moments of inspection for them to step aside so that you could face the small woman sitting on a stool. Up close, you were able to see she wore plastic gloves over her thin hands and beside her on a cart lay caps of what looked like ink. She beckoned you forward.
“Listen up, and listen well,” she said as she prepared a fresh cap from her tray. “No touching the dancers unless you want to walk home without one of your arms. No going behind the bar; if you want something - or someone - ask one of the bouncers inside and they’ll get it for you. No contraband allowed inside.” She motioned. “That means pieces. Unload it all.”
Jackie grumbled beneath his breath as he grudgingly unholstered his firearms and the machete strapped across his back before placing them in the trunk at one of the guards’ feet. You followed suit, dumping your belongings beside his. “Be good, carinos,” he murmured to his iron before the lid was snapped shut.
“One last thing,” drawled the woman before snapping a bubble of gum in her mouth. “Tongues out.”
Your breath caught in your throat, something between a scoff and a laugh. “What?”
She wiggled her ink-coated thumb. “If you want in,” she said as if she were talking to a child throwing a tantrum, “tongues out. Helps us know who actually heard the rules and who snuck in through the side door.” She tilted her head in exasperation. “It’s just a bit of edible ink. It’ll wash off in a few hours.”
Despite how appalled you were at the idea of having this random chick’s thumb on your tongue, it was the thought of more eddies in your account that made you open your mouth and lay your tongue flat. You clenched your fist as she pressed her thumb against your tongue, fighting off the urge to gag. When she was done, you wiped your lip and watched as Jackie stuck out his tongue to get his own print.
You were unable to help the pang of hot, searing jealousy that shot through you when he gagged slightly and she winked at him.
“Get that reflex under control, baby,” she teased as she pulled her arm back and discarded the glove. “Who knows when it’ll ruin a good time.”
“Are we done here?” you blurted. “No offense, but we didn’t come to get tongue tats and swap dick sizes.”
She was obviously bored of you. With a flick of her head, the guards opened the doors, and you both strode through quicker than necessary. Jackie’s limp - put there after he broke his leg as a boy and it never healed properly - slowed him slightly, but you’d become accustomed to matching your pace with his. Your frame silhouetted beside his bulk and muscle, the doors sealed shut behind you, a crypt trapping unfortunate souls within.
Jackie ran his freshly-inked tongue over his teeth, his features illuminated by the neon pink glow from the lights overhead. “Tastes like licorice,” he commented, then screwed up his face. “The bad kind.”
You murmured a low hum of agreement as you walked toward another set of doors that led into the main wing of the club. “The kind that’s been sitting in the sun for a week.”
“Heh.” He smiled, and you kept your focus straight ahead, trying to squash the butterflies fluttering in your belly. “And you know what that tastes like?”
“Please,” you said and placed a hand on the door. “I grew up in the streets, Jackie. I ate anything I could come across.”
You heaved open the door, and at once you were both enveloped in a hurricane of noise and light and skin. A gargantuan disco ball threw off flashes of neon lights across the club floor, bathing dancers and strippers and drunks in a dream-like hue. Booths were filled to the edges, every stool at the bar taken. Overhead, balconies overlooked poles and flashy cages that hung from the ceiling; inside, men and women wearing less than an inch of clothing humped the bars and whistled down at patrons. And if the customers weren’t ogling up at them, they were grinning stupidly at the glittery joytoys serving their drinks.
You were forced to stop for a moment to take it all in. You’d never seen anything like this. Sure, you’d been raised by a multitude of people in your childhood; madams of whore houses and gang leaders and club bouncers… suffice to say you’d seen a lot of clubs and dollhouses, but never something as grand as this. Jackie was right; no wonder all the other clubs in town were going under.
“Some place,” he said loud enough to be heard over the music.
Pulling yourself from the dazzling painting before you, you blinked a few times to clear your head and pursed your lips. “You know the drill,” you told him. “Don’t get distracted, okay? We’re here for a sample of the drug, and that’s it. Text if you find it, and we’ll meet back here.”
Jackie snorted through his nose as the bass dropped in the music and the floor rattled beneath your feet. “Me, distracted?” he mused and placed a hand on his chest. “You should practice what you preach, chica. You’re the one with your head in the clouds today. Although…” He cast a meaningful glance upward and winked at one of the young women in the dangling cages. You frowned. “Doesn’t seem like a bad place to be these days.”
Refraining from rolling your eyes, you huffed and left him near the doors of the club. You felt your boiling blood begin to cool to a simmer as you wriggled your way through the throng of parties and started for the bar.
Christ, you really needed to get this little crush done and over with. You’d known Jackie long enough to know what he liked; and it wasn’t what you were. He would never reciprocate your feelings; and even if he did, it would hardly be professional. The two of you were partners. So what if sometimes you crashed at each other’s places? So what if he sang you your favorite songs in the car when they came over the radio? So what if, when you’d once caught a bullet to the side, he’d crouched before you to stitch it up himself on your bathroom floor, needle held between his teeth and giant palm firm against your sternum to keep you still and breath on your stomach and -
“What’s shakin’, honey?”
You were yanked from your memories by the voice of the joy toy bartender behind the counter, staring at you with a flirty smirk painted across her lips. She polished a glass with nails that glowed neon here in the dim light.
“Sorry.” You took a seat at the bar - the first seat to have opened in a while - and rested your arms on the counter. It raised goosebumps along your skin. “I’m new here. What’s the most popular thing people get?”
“Why go with the flow, baby?” She grinned before she began to conjure up a drink, mixing liquors from bottles at her knees and pipettes from a sink behind her. “There ain’t another one like you, so don’t go and try to make a no one of yourself. Be true to who you are and what you want. ‘Ya hear me?” In a matter of seconds, she’d placed a shot glass in front of you; the drink within looked like liquid moonlight. How poetic. “Since you’re new, this one’s on me. Just be sure to come back, darlin’, yeah?” She winked, then crossed the bar to attend to her other guests.
Her words rattled through your head as you picked up the glass and swirled it a bit. You knew who you were; you were fucking V of fucking Heywood, for god’s sake. And yet… what did you want?
You scoffed, then glanced back and let your systems take a moment to analyze the contents of the drink in front of you, searching for any foreign substances. You knew what you wanted. But that just couldn’t happen. You were being stupid, crushing on your partner. Your friend - your best fucking choom. You spared a glance over your shoulder, at once spotting Jackie’s hulking frame where he sat at a wraparound couch with a trio of joytoys giggling and batting their eyelashes and touching his thighs. You grit your teeth and whipped back around.
Yeah - you were fucked.
A green alert from your systems told you the drink in your hand was perfectly safe. Nothing foreign or suspicious. Quirking your brow, you brought the shot glass to your lips and tipped it back. You weren’t going to turn down a free drink.
Nothing behind the bar - time to move on. You waved to the bartender in thanks, then got up and offered your seat to the next person waiting for a drink. Forcing yourself to keep from looking at Jackie and his new little entourage, you continued to scour the Eros Club for the drug.
Half an hour, then an hour ticked past you, and you still came up with zilch. None of the dealers - some of whom you’d grown up with on the streets of the city - had anything to present. Nothing in the food. Even a scan of the joytoys showed nothing to raise your alarm. You were empty-handed.
But not quite empty.
As you continued your search, you became aware of a warm, blossoming sensation making its presence known in the pit of your belly. It was heavy and light all at once, swirling like caged serpents aching to be released. It wasn’t long until you felt that familiar pang of need in your core, in between your thighs, did you realize what it was. You were turned on.
You tried to dismiss it as your hormones out of whack - whose wouldn’t be, surrounded by practically naked strippers and the smell of sex lingering in the air? - but as the minutes went on, you were unable to just pass it off. The tugging and demanding was becoming more urgent, and you felt your panties slowly soaking. Fuck.
Inhaling deep through your nose, you stopped for a moment to lean up against a steel pillar and clutch at your stomach. The ache was painful now, and sweat was beading at your hairline. What the fuck was this? Your mouth was producing saliva in overdrive, begging you to swallow, and you felt more empty than you ever had in your life. Your pussy was clenching around nothing, your nerves jumping with tingling sensation.
You lifted your head, feeling almost sick with desire, and your eyes locked onto a young couple leaning against the far wall. They were both a little more than red in the face; she was shaking out her top to let her chest breathe, and he was awkwardly crossing his legs in an attempt to hide his hard on. They murmured in one another’s ears for a moment, touched their tongues, then grappled hands and rushed out a side door.
Your lips parted as your mind finally connected the dots. There was no addictive drug here in the Eros Club; it was outside. The ink that woman had stamped onto your tongues; the drug was in that. You had been fucked before you even stepped inside. Of course people were trampling each other to come back here. The Eros Club was handing out aphrodisiacs at the door. Who wouldn’t want to fuck until they felt better?
You didn’t even have the chance to pull up your texts on your vision screen to warn Jackie. A wave of need ripped through you like a bullet, and you clapped a hand over your mouth to muffle the moan that escaped your lips. Oh, Christ. Pushing yourself off the pillar, you found yourself stumbling through the club toward the restrooms in the corner. Your breath was coming out in heavy pants as you squeezed through sweaty bodies, every moment of contact with another person sending vibrations of desire through your veins.
It seemed an eternity and a half before you reached the restrooms; by whatever grace was left in the world, there was no one else inside. You rushed to lock the door behind you, then tipped over the sinks and brought handfuls of cold water to your face. It dripped from your nose and your chin, your lips, as you panted and gripped the sides of the sink. Unconsciously, you ground your covered crotch against the hard edge of the counter.
There was no way you’d be able to make it out of here before you all but collapsed of horniness - forget about even getting back to your apartment. You needed to take care of things here and now.
Just as you were about to push into a stall and practically rip your pants down your legs to bury your fingers in your cunt, an alert popped into your vision screen. It was from Jackie. Just thinking of his name pulled a hoarse moan from your throat, one that echoed through the bathroom. You opened the message.
V
That was it. Only your name. No period, nothing special. Then -
V
V
V
Open the door
Now
Now chica
Your stomach clenched and your core ached as you realized how he knew exactly where you were; you each had private-channel trackers installed in your hard drives. Viktor had suggested it after a job gone wrong when Jackie had been dragged half a block to get the shit beaten out of him while you were searching the streets a neighborhood away.
Fuck these fucking trackers.
There was no way you could even look at Jackie while you were in this state. You knew the moment you laid eyes on him, you’d jump his bones. And while the thought sent shivers of desire running down your spine, you knew you could never live with yourself if you did. Of course Jackie would never feel the same way you felt about him; he was your friend. Your friend who had held your hair back while you thew up in an alleyway, your friend who had dragged your drunk and sorry ass home too many nights to remember. Your best friend, who had seen you in too many states of ugly and repulsive to ever want you the way you wanted him.
You ground yourself against the counter once more, letting a shaky moan be pulled from your throat. It reverberated throughout the bathroom, echoing back to your own ears like a jagged symphony.
You jumped when something banged against the restroom door. At the same moment, a flood of texts from Jackie swarmed your vision screen.
V
V
V
Answer me
Open the door
Now
V
NOW
CHICA
OPEN THE DOOR
V
DAMN IT V
FUCK
The banging on the door grew more and more desperate, more frantic, and you realized Jackie was trying to ram his shoulder into the metal. You gasped for breath, clutching onto the counter, your face still wet from splashing water on yourself.
He was going to break the door - or his shoulder.
Swallowing thick and trying to drown out your thunderous heartbeat by focusing on the pulsing music, you gingerly pushed off the counter and approached the door. Your legs shook and your cunt clenched, desperate to be filled. Fuck, it hurt. It hurt like nothing you’d ever felt before - it was a kind of sensation you had never even imagined existed.
As you reached out to flip the lock on the door, you briefly wondered if Jackie was under the influence of the drug as well. Surely he wasn’t nearly as down bad as you were right now; he was at least three times your body mass. That dose he’d been given couldn’t have possibly done the same number on him as it did you; he was far too bulked and beefed up for that.
Biting your tongue to keep from immediately launching yourself at him, you unlocked the door to the restroom and opened it.
Your breath hitched at the sight that awaited you on the other side.
Jackie filled the doorway like a persistent shadow, sweat beading at his brow and his lips parted as his chest rose and caved with labored breath. His shoulders were tensed, his jaw set and his fists clenched at his sides. He peered at you from beneath his lashes, and for the smallest, quickest fraction of a second, you were slightly afraid of him.
“Jackie,” you said, but his name came out in more of a whimper.
His eyes flashed and he stepped inside the restroom, hand blindly flipping the door shut behind him. He locked it with a click, his gaze never once leaving you.
You found yourself taking small steps back, your heart fluttering and your hormones screaming at you to drop to your knees and tug at his belt. But your brain was firing in a different direction, speeding into overdrive as your partner began to approach you, footsteps hitting heavy against the tile floor. Was he mad at you? Furious that you had screwed up this job so far, enraged that while he was out there looking for the prize, you were in here getting off on counter counters?
Or was he feeling the same effects you were?
It wasn’t until your back hit the opposite wall of the sinks did you realize Jackie had backed you into a corner. His eyes stared you down from beneath his brow, the cross earring swinging from his lobe with every crooked step he took. You pressed yourself against the chilly wall, palms pressed flat on the metal.
“Jackie,” you whispered.
He stopped only inches from your form, his arms encasing you on either side. When you inhaled, you caught a lungful of his cologne that singed your nose in just the right way. Your knees wobbled and you clenched your jaw to keep from moaning right there and then. Your core ached to be filled by the man in front of you, and your fingers twitched at your sides.
Jackie brought one of his hands to touch your neck, the soft expanse of skin just below your jaw, and this time you did finally whimper to him. A high-pitched whine escaped your throat as his tattooed fingers trailed across your delicate throat, which he could have so easily crushed at a moment’s notice. He cocked his head at the noise, earring swinging back and forth like a pendulum.
“I got’ta be crazy for this,” he murmured, perhaps to himself, as his fingers trailed down, past your shirt collar to your collarbone.
You released a garbled moan again, forcing yourself to keep up on your own two feet. “No,” you forced out. His eyes flickered to meet yours from where they had been lingering on your neck. “I feel it too.”
“Yeah?” His eyes became half-lidded, and when he leaned forward, you swallowed thick. “You feel it when I do this?” Slowly, tantalizingly, teasingly, he dragged his lips down the column of your throat - and then clamped his lips down when you moaned aloud. It echoed across the restroom like a call to action, like the blank starting off the race.
Everything exploded from then on.
Jackie brushed teeth along your neck as he sucked bruises and hickies into your skin, tongue laving over the raw spots. To spur him on, to bring him closer, your hands flew up to grasp at the back of his head. Your skin burst into tingles and miniature detonations where he touched you and you touched him, and it was almost too much to handle.
“Fuck, Jackie,” you whimpered out into the hot air.
Jackie had moved his ministrations down to the hollow of your throat, right between your collarbones, and he licked his tongue over a fresh bruise before tilting his head up to rest his forehead against yours. You longed to lean forward and kiss him, to kiss him until he couldn’t breathe, but you could only stare back at him as his gaze bore into yours.
“Jesucristo,” he huffed, his breath fanning hot across your face. You core ached and your pussy clenched, and now that you were so close you could sense the stiff, prominent erection tenting his pants. “You think we got a dose’a that shit?”
“I don’t care,” you panted, then grabbed his lapels to pull him even closer. “Dammit, Jackie, please fuck me.” Your brow furrowed, and your eyes screwed shut because if he suddenly came to, if he suddenly realized he was just on a drug and didn’t really want this, you didn’t want to see it. “I’ve wanted you for so fucking long, at this point I don’t care if it’s the drug. I need you so bad. I’ve needed you since you shoved your piece in my face in that garage, and I’ve needed you every fucking day since. Please - please, Jackie, fuck me.”
You stared at the darkness behind your eyelids, waiting for him to pull away. Waiting for him to tell you he was sorry, it was just the drug talking, that he needed to go. But he never did. Instead, you felt him take your chin between his thumb and his finger to tilt your head up. He pressed his forehead to yours again, then leaned his head until his lips brushed the shell of your ear.
“Open those eyes, chica,” he murmured. “I want you to watch me while I fuck you senseless.”
Not even a moment after you opened your eyes, your heart in your throat, Jackie attached his lips to yours as if he were going to die if he didn’t. He attacked your mouth with his own feverishly, almost violently - and you you wouldn’t have it any other way. Teeth clashing and tongues laving and moans rising from your throats, you barely registered it as he moved his hands over your sides. They traveled over your hips, squeezing the flesh of your ass, before grabbing your thighs just below.
“Jump.”
You didn’t need to be told twice. Keeping your lips locked to his, your arms wrapped around his neck as you hopped into his grasp and locked your legs around his waist. You didn’t need to hesitate; you knew, you trusted, that he wouldn’t let you fall. He’d always been there for you, and he wasn’t about to stop now.
Jackie carried you to the countertop, where he set you down on the edge and came to settle between your spread thighs. He pushed them a bit further apart as if testing you, teasing you, seeing just how far you could go without snapping. You whimpered against his lips, tugging at his jacket.
“Hips up, chica bonita,” he said, and you at once obeyed. You lifted your hips as he took ahold of your waistband, trousers and panties together, and ripped them down your thighs. Almost as if the smell of your throbbing sex, almost as if he could actually smell it, he released a groan and bucked his hips forward to grind against your cunt. Your moans joined his and your nails dug into the leather of his jacket.
“Christ, Jackie!” you practically howled.
With one hand, he began to unbuckle his belt - your starving eyes following his every move - and the other flexed two fingers up the dampness of your slit. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as a tidal wave of pleasure washed over you; if you weren’t bracing yourself against the counter behind you, you would have crumbled. An intensity like you’d never known before was taking over your systems, flooding your drives. The drug was amping itself up now that what you needed was finally within reach.
Jackie cocked his head again as he ran his fingers up and down your entrance, at last working his belt loose and shoving his pants down his thighs. His erection sprang from the confines of his boxers, and your mouth watered just looking at it. His member was just like the rest of him; big, and thick, and wide. It slapped against your thigh as he surged forward to slam his lips against yours again; it was almost painfully hard. If you thought the effects of the drug hurt you, you couldn’t begin to imagine how he was feeling.
“So wet for me already, mamita,” he drawled under his breath. He drew his hand from your core and you nearly whined before he brought his fingers to his lips and sucked your slick from his digits - all while maintaining eye contact with you. Then he brought his thumb, thick and calloused from years of manual labor, and brought it to your lips. You understood at once. Grabbing onto his wrist, you took his thumb into your mouth and gently sucked on it, swirling your tongue around the tip. He released a shaky sigh, then withdrew his digit and placed it over your clit. The moment he began to rub quick, harsh circles over it, you cried out - and yet they were swallowed up as he connected his lips to yours.
“Good girl,” he moaned, rutting his hips against your thigh. “Good fuckin’ girl, V.”
You keened at his praise, spreading your legs further for him as he took his thick cock in hand and began to line himself up with your entrance. Outside the bathroom door, the music pumped and people were shouting with glee and lust, but you could hear none of it. You were transfixed on the man before you, the man that was peering down at you like you were his entire world.
“Fuck me, Jackie,” you told him in a strained voice. “Fuck me like you want it.”
“You better believe I do, chica,” he rumbled. “Always have.” Without another word, he pushed himself into your sopping pussy in one fluid movement. You opened your mouth to moan, but nothing came out. You were far too stunned, far too high on cloud nine to even think about coming down. Jackie’s cock stretched you in the most delicious way, practically spearing you open as his hips lay flush against yours. He tilted his head back to the ceiling and groaned low from deep in his throat, a noise that had you clenching around him.
That seemed to set him back into motion. His large hands wrapped around your middle, just above your hips, and used that as leverage to begin pistoning his cock in and out of your pussy. Your back arched and your mouth fell open as he pounded into you mercilessly, chasing not just your relief but his as well. The drug was still coursing through the both of you, driving your bodies to the extremes to get what they needed.
His name spilled from your lips, slowly at first, then quickly, like a mantra or a desperate prayer. His member was dragging across your walls in the most perfect way, letting you feel every ridge and vein and velvety inch. He would pull out almost entirely, then slam back into you again, his grip on your abdomen the only thing keeping you from inching up the counter.
“Jackie!” you wailed up to the ceiling. “Jackie! Fuck, Jackie!”
“That’s it, mamita,” he panted, dragging you further down the counter toward him. “Scream my name for them all to hear.” He slowed his pace, only slightly, so that he could lean over you and gaze down at you with half-lidded eyes. “I want them to know who you belong to.” He straightened, then slammed into you with a particularly harsh thrust that brushed against that sweet, heavenly spot inside of you. Your hands scrabbled for purchase on the counter, your legs wrapped tight around his waist.
“Right there!” you screamed, gripping onto his inked forearms. “Don’t stop! Please, don’t stop.”
“Tell me who you belong to, princesa.” He slowed his pace even further, instead opting to rail into you with deep, hard-hitting thrusts that left you seeing stars. “Tell me.”
You panted for breath, your cunt squeezing around him, begging for your nearing release. “You,” you breathed out, then yelped when he slammed into you. Your back slid slightly up the counter. “You!” you bayed, your throat beginning to go raw from the howling and begging. “Only you! Just you, baby, only you.”
Another thrust, one that forced black spots into your vision. The pleasure was right there, just on the brink, teetering on the edge.
“Tell them.” When you hesitated, Jackie leaned down and licked a short stripe up your throat. “Tell them who you belong to.”
Who were you to disobey? “Jackie!” you cried out, and you were faintly aware of the tears beginning to spill down your cheeks, born from the raw, unbridled pleasure and the pain of being kept from it. “Jackie Welles! Jackie - FUCK!”
“Cum for me, V.”
Spreading your thighs even further apart, he slammed into your cunt, bringing his thumb down to stroke at your clit all at once. It took only a number of thrusts until suddenly you were cumming. It was an almost violent, explosive, drowning-kind of orgasm that left you gasping for air you couldn’t draw in. You were blinded by the spots dancing in your vision, your limbs leaden and your lungs aching for air. You were above cloud nine; you were in heaven.
Above you, Jackie’s hips were beginning to stutter and falter in their rhythm. He yanked you down the counter again, slamming his hips into yours in a frantic sprint to his own finish. You watched him as he used you, unable to move or even speak as he groaned and grunted and railed into you one last time before he spilled into your pussy. A staggered moan was pulled from his lips as he emptied himself, his earring swinging as he slumped over you on the counter.
For a long, long while, you were both simply silent, still connected, sharing each other’s air as you regained your breath. Finally, Jackie stood straight again and slowly pulled his softening cock from your cunt. You winced as he fell from you, everything from your waist down practically numb. Your entrance, your clit, your thighs - sore, and red, and spent.
You said nothing, suddenly exhausted out of your mind and unable to do anything much, as Jackie grimaced tucking himself back into his pants, buckled his belt, then grabbed a few towels and wet them in the sink. He shushed your whimpers of overstimulation as he gently cleaned you up, keeping you quiet and still when he helped pull your pants back up and your shirt back down from where it had bunched up around your middle. Then he gingerly pulled you off the counter, slid down the wall of the sink, and cradled you in his arms.
Had the circumstances been different, you would have laughed. Jackie was holding you against him, nestling against your forehead and petting your hair on the filthy-ass floor of a club bathroom. But they weren’t different. You had just been drugged, and then fucked within an inch of your life by your best friend.
What a fucking mess this night had turned out to be.
Your bottom half ached as Jackie shifted you in his lap, keeping you cradled against him protectively. He smoothed your sweaty hair from your forehead, brushing the thumb you had sucked gently over the jut of your cheekbone.
“Jack-“
“Aye, carino, save that pretty voice of yours. We got to get you home-“
“Did you mean it?” Your voice came out sluggish and hoarse, strained from screaming his name.
Jackie peered down at you with a furrowed brow, carefully wiping away a tear stain on your cheek. “Mean what?”
“That…” You found your words sticking in your throat. You averted your gaze from his, instead focusing it on a corner of the ceiling. Another stroke of his thumb along your face at last coaxed the question from where it had been resting deep within your belly. “That you always have. Meant it.”
He stayed there for a moment so long it felt as if it had stretched into an hour. Before you could take it back, say it had just been the drug to try and cover your embarrassment, a small, crooked smirk spread across his features and he ran a hand over his face.
“Fuck, V,” he murmured, then exhaled a breath and craned his neck down so that your noses nudged together. It was a strangely passionate gesture, so foreign after the sinful acts you’d just committed. “Been wanting you just as long, chica. See you every day, looking like that, and it feels like I’m… I don’t know, a ticking fucking bomb. Didn’t know when I was gon’na go off.” He glanced up and around at the bathroom surrounding you. “Wish it would’ve been somewhere else, but I guess beggars can’t be choosers.”
You stared up at him, the ache blossoming through your used body momentarily forgotten. At first you thought it was the drug talking, that soon his eyes would darken and he would be ready for another round. He wasn’t in his right mind; he was just saying these things to get you riled up.
But as you held his gaze, and he gingerly leaned down to capture your swollen lips in a soft, gentle kiss, you realized it was all real. It was all true. No drug-fueled fuck sessions, no lies - nothing but the truth. He did really, truly want you, just the way you were.
Slowly, Jackie pulled away from the kiss to smooth your brow with his thumb and press his lips against your forehead. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
A drained, sluggish smile overtook your lips. “No,” you murmured and reached up to cup his weathered cheek. “I know you’d never hurt me, Jackie.”
You stumbled through the club together a while later, supporting each other’s weights as you stopped at the front doors to collect your weapons from the bouncers. The woman who had drugged you still sat on her stool, and she watched you both with a knowing, charming smirk. When you met her eye, she winked before turning to the next customer in line.
A tired sigh escaped your lips as you collapsed into your car’s passenger seat, having handed over the keys to Jackie upon his insistence. He climbed in beside you, his own lids drooping as he started the engine. Then a grin passed over his features as he dug around in his pocket before flipping a small object your way. You caught it, then opened your palms to find one of the small tabs of drugged ink lying on its side.
“What?” he teased as he settled his hands on the wheel. “You didn’t think I’d forget about the job, did you?” His thick brow quirked. “Not that I didn’t just have the best fuckin’ night of my life with my girl.”
You smiled and flipped the tab of ink into the air. “You’re something else, Jackie.”
“I’ll be whatever you like, princesa,” he said before peeling away from the curb. “As long as you remember that you’re mine.”
#cyberpunk#cyberpunk 2077#cyberpunk jackie#cbp 2077#cyberpunk x Reader#jackie welles#jackie welles x reader#jackie welles x you#jackie welles smut#cyberpunk 2077 smut#cyberpunk 2077 x reader
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I Think I Like When It Rains
A soft smutty SilverV oneshot, 3k words. A/n: fem V from a corpo background, nsfw.
The long trek towards her northside apartment was unusually silent and painfully dull. Normally Johnny's comments would be firing at a rapid pace. When can they start looking for Alt? Let him take control just for an evening, take a smoke break. Instead she found herself walking through night city alone, in the rain, shooting off random questions hoping it’d rouse him from whatever recess of her mind he’d hidden himself in. Nothing. No answers at all, not even a huff of frustration.
‘It’s fine.’ She thinks to herself. ‘It’ll be like that when he’s gone.’ And that thought brings out a burn in her throat. Something pained and sharp has burrowed itself in her chest and made itself home. V stops short at the corner about a block away, she leans against a light post and sighs.
‘You’re being weird again.’
It’s her voice but it’s not. The sudden realization dawns on her that Johnny could read her thoughts. It makes her feel exposed. She quickly runs the block home in the downpour, the rain soaking through her too big tank top and leather pants.
After fidgeting with the broken card reader, V stumbles inside her small apartment. The pink neon lighting and blue beaded curtains make it feel so homey, so lived in. She remembered the day she bought it, Johnny berated her about her lack of taste. V wanted to tell him about her luxury condo she had to give up when she got sacked, but a sudden wave of shame had washed over her and she simply answered with a small hum in agreement. Arasaka seems like a lifetime ago. Another life, another person, another V. Her Watson home was too painful to stay in after Jackie died, the memories of the both of them shooting the shit, Misty coming by after her shift with tacos and yakitori were all things of the past. The northside apartment had become like a sanctuary, she could be at peace here in this small shoebox of a room.
Just her, Nibbles and her tapeworm.
As she crosses the threshold, a friendly meow greets her. Nibbles jumps off the arcade cabinet and rolls on her back exposing her equally bald tummy. V chuckles and closes the door behind her, as she bends down to bless the feline with a generous scratch behind her ears, she can hear the familiar sound of Johnny’s static reappearing.
He groans and makes his way over towards the armory. V pretends not to notice him, not to be excited he’s left whatever shell he was in earlier. Instead she fishes out a pack of cat food for nibbles and walks over towards a small porcelain bowl.
Johnny immediately moves away and heads over to the bed, she watches him out of the corner of her eye. He’s a bit tense, wound up. As if he could sense her questioning gaze he simply lights up a cigarette. “I’m tired.”
“You’re tired?” V asks incredulously. Johnny’s static form stutters a bit as he shifts himself onto her small bed. “Well actually you’re tired. I’m just feeling it too.” He mumbles. V makes a face, this fucking guy. “I thought engrams don’t need to sleep?” She stands and walks over towards him, his legs planted firmly on the linoleum floor. A heavy sigh escapes his lips. “You really gonna fight me over this? Fuck V...” The bite he normally has in his voice is mostly gone, Johnny sounds exhausted, miserable. She sighs, the day's events hadn’t been easy on them, the sudden rainstorm plus the non working fast travel pods around the city only added to her frustration. If only her car wasn’t in the shop, she could have just driven home.
Nope, it was just her trudging through the rain. Now she’s home, dripping wet and muscles aching. V sighs, there’s no fight in her, hell she’s not even hungry. All she wants is a hot shower and sleep. “You can sleep with me tonight.” She mumbles. Johnny looks up as V begins to turn away, “ I know you don’t need to but…”
“But what?” He asks, ready to tease her. “Someone’s eager to get me into bed.” He observes her as she slips her boots off.
“You seem…I don’t know…off? Quiet maybe.” She says before disappearing into the bathroom. Johnny scoffs, before he knows it he’s in the bathroom ready to argue.
“As if I-“ he begins before he stops himself. V stands topless in front of the shower, her wet samurai top already on the ground, her hands on her pants zipper. She raises an eyebrow. “What? Never seen tits before?” She turns around and begins to remove her pants, Johnny knows he should fuck off right now, give her some kind of privacy. But something’s compelling him to stay, see what happens, V doesn’t seem to mind it.
“Wasn’t expecting to see yours.” He chuckles. “Didn’t know my little corpo rat was an exhibitionist is all.” V turns the shower on trying not to focus on the “my little corpo rat” comment, he notices the way her breasts jiggle a bit, they’re bigger than he’s used to, Johnnys always had a penchant for petite women, V’s musculature had been a bit of a turn off for him, recently he’s been rethinking that.
She turns to face him and something in Johnny’s chest tightens. She’s bare, with nothing but his tags on. Something about that does it for him, maybe it’s her lack of aggression or just how intimate it feels. “Not gonna take those off too?” He lifts his cybernetic hand and places his fingertip onto the tag, V can feel slight pressure there. She cocks her head a bit, “I’ve never taken them off.” She says following his wandering hand as it travels from the tags to her navel. She can feel him and she doesn’t know how or why, but she doesn’t want to think about it. She doesn’t want to ruin it.
V makes a motion with her hand, “You coming in?” Johnny is a bit stunned, he’s not used to V being so nonchalant about contact. Normally she’s very cagey about him being near her. He doesn’t blame her, especially since their meeting was terrible. He’s conflicted, but the need for touch is overwhelming. “You want me to?” He asks, hesitation sprinkles his words. V nods. ‘Yes’ she thinks and so he follows.
V stands under the hot shower, the steam feels so comforting, like a warm blanket hugging her. As she stretches she can feel her back bump into something solid. As she reaches back Johnny catches her hand, his ganic hand gently caresses hers. She hesitates but turns to face him, he’s there naked as the day he was born, only with the addition of that familiar blue static. She studies him, he’s definitely handsome, not that she wanted to admit that but something about his little grin tells her he already knows that. Her eyes wander from his dark brown eyes to his sloped nose down to his happy trail, she lifts her head to face him, not wanting to focus on the obvious.
“You look like you got questions.” He murmurs. V looks for her shampoo. “Can you feel the water?” He nods. “Yeah, feels nice, I guess it feels nice to you.” He moves to stand under the shower head, it merely goes through him but V supposes it adds to the experience.
She grabs the coconut shampoo and begins to work up a lather. Her back is towards him, “Where did you go?” She asked. Johnny notices a slight hitch in her voice, he watches as she scrubs her scalp. He steps in and replaces her hands with his, lightly massaging the product into her hair. “Can’t exactly go anywhere…” he avoids the question. V steps under the shower head, her back pressed against Johnny's chest. He watches as the shampoo runs over her breasts down her toned stomach. His hands move from her scalp to the sides of her waist, before he grabs her and presses her firmly against him, his mouth pressed against her ear.
V presses harder against him, he feels so real, so solid against her skin. The only difference is the lingering fuzziness he gives off, maybe it’s the static. “You…didn’t answer my question.” She manages to mumble out, Johnny simply hums “I’m here now.” His metal hand traces down from her collarbone in between her breasts. V wants to prod him, demand he tell her why he left her alone with her thoughts but his touches are so reverent, so gentle.
“I was angry.”
She turns to face him, Johnny’s brown eyes scan her face, he looks vulnerable, soft, uncomfortable. She grabs his ganic hand and presses her face against it, his thumb strokes her cheek. “Did I do something?” He simply shakes his head, everything pisses Johnny off to some extent. The shitty weather, his PTSD, the way Fuckin’ Takemura and River give her those looks when she’s not paying attention. V used to piss him off too, her selflessness, the way she’d always get involved in shit that didn’t concern her, her kindness. Her ability to just give parts of herself to anyone in need.
Now he’s before her, a starved man seeking it out for himself. He hesitates and leans down to press a gentle kiss to her lips. V slowly allows herself to be soft, to be open for him. Love isn’t something you come across in Night City, it’s something you buy for an hour or two. But this isn’t that, this is something else, something that’s needed by both of them.
His kisses are rough, they’re desperate for dominance, to lay a claim on her. She can feel how needy he is, the way his hands press into her bruised back, how his fingers find those sore spots and rub into them. V lets out small pained cries, as she opens her mouth Johnny simply probes deeper. He wants all her sounds and cries, all of them. The good and the bad.
“V…” he whispers, her bitten lips skimming over his down to his neck, she bites into him like forbidden fruit and such as original sin she knows she’s crossed over into temptation. That pained thing that burrowed into her earlier is now growing between her ribs and it flutters so gently she can barely breathe.
How strange.
Johnny grabs V’s face and pulls it to meet his gaze. He wants to see her, needs to see her face when he’s worshiping her. Her eyes are hazed over, glazed in want and desperate for release. He plants more swollen kisses on her lips. “Let’s go to bed.” He whispers hungrily. V turns off the shower and grabs a towel. “Let’s go to bed?” She begins to towel herself off. Johnny simply grins and reappears sitting on the bed, he can see her though the beaded curtains and even though he’s mapped out her curves and scars with his fingers it’s still exciting to see only bits of her behind the blue plastic beads. Like a private show meant only for him, something no one else can have.
Because how could they? No one knows her like he does, no one ever could.
V emerges from the bathroom, her hips sway a bit as she closes in on Johnny’s personal space. “Sit on the bed.” He whispers in that whiskey’d tone. She does as instructed and immediately he appears on the floor in front of her, kneeling. Johnny’s not used to being subservient, but it feels so natural with V, so easy. Like he doesn’t have to be that “rowdy asshole rockerboy” everyone wanted. He’s simply Johnny, touch starved, pent up, needy Johnny.
He slowly trails his fingers over V’s thighs, it makes her shiver under his touch. “Know how frustrating it is watching you play nice with a pig and a corpo dog?” His tone is dangerous with a veneer of playfulness. V raises herself up on her elbows, she watches as Johnny kneads her inner thighs.
“Has Johnny Silverhand always been the jealous type?”
He chuckles, “Possessive might be the better word.” He spreads her legs out further and places a wet kiss on her clit. Her hips buck into his face a bit. “Fuck…” she gasps out. Johnny chuckles “Not yet, I wanna have some fun first.”
His ganic fingers circle her entrance, she’s already wet and dewy but he’s never been one to half ass eating someone out. He doesn’t want to rush anything. “Thinkin’ real hard down there, silverhand?” V’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts. Her half lidded stare and the way she runs her fingers through his tangled hair makes him feel alive again.
“I need you to ride my face.” Before V can protest or tease, Johnny’s already teleported under her. He’s taken the liberty to spread her legs as she precariously balances over his face. She holds on to the wall in front of her. “I-I’ve never done thi-“ Johnny licks a swipe over her clit and she shudders.
“Just relax.” He says as plants a tender kiss on her entrance. “Don’t think, just do.” He presses her wet cunt onto his lips as he moves her hips in rhythm. V holds onto the wall in front of her trying to set a pace for herself, worried she might hurt him.
‘You won’t, trust me. Ride my fuckin face like a cowgirl.’
Before she can even ask what the hell that means, his tongue makes its way inside her. “Oh fuck yes…” she moans as her hips move against him, her clit brushing up against his nose and moustache. Johnny holds her down even tighter against his face, sucking and tongue fucking his way through his host. He wants to make her see stars, to become so undone by his mouth alone that even after death, she’s ruined by him.
“Johnny…john- I’m gonna…” her hips swivel in that familiar way, her pussy tightens around his tongue, she’s looking for it, searching for release. He removes his tongue and replaces it with his fingers relentlessly pounding into her. “Come on V just let it go baby…” he holds her hips and presses his lips onto her stomach as she fucks herself above him. “Goddamn…fuck yes yessss…” she sighs as her climax washes over her.
V wobbles a bit as her legs give out on her. Thankfully Johnny teleports and reappears to help steady herself. She’s on the precipice of sleep, yet it doesn’t stop her from trying to crawl into his lap. He laughs a bit “what are you doin’?” V presses up against him, his cock nestled between her puffy lips.
“I wanna sleep on you like this.” She moves her hips and positions his cock at her entrance. Johnny watches as V slides herself on his thick cock, his girth makes it sting so deliciously. Johnny grins and lays back in bed with V content and filled on his chest. He spreads her legs out over him and slowly fucks into her. He throbs with each stroke.
“This how you want me inside you every night?” He asks, his lips hovering over her ear as he caresses her sore lower back with his metal hand. “Get home from running around this city? Fixing everyone’s fuckin’ problems…” He whispers in her ear as he continues to slowly pump himself inside her. Agonizingly slow.
“That’s what you want right? You want someone to take care of you too.” He grips her hips and plunges himself deep into her core. V calls out for him, begging him to go faster but he relents. “Nah, I wanna savor this, wanna make sure it only fits me from now on.” He bites her harshly and with intent. Savoring the wet sounds they share between them.
“How do you think people would feel? Knowin’ Night City’s golden girl is getting dicked down by the dirty old man living in her head?” He punctuates his question with another harsh thrust. V mewls against him and sobs “t-they wouldn’t….get it!” His pace begins to pick up as he holds her down and fucks into her used hole.
“That’s right, they wouldn’t…but we get it, right baby?” His forehead touches hers as he continues to fuck into her.
“Y-yeah…”
“Yeah? Because we belong to each other. From the day I met you, you’ve been mine, all fuckin’ mine…” he grips her throat with his metal hand and keeps a brutal pace. It’s a strange feeling, the agony and ecstasy of relishing in unhinged coitus, of bearing your ugliness out on the same table you fuck your lover on. It’s liberating because he knows what she’s thinking. There’s no guessing games, he doesn’t feel any fear, no hesitation, just complete and utter synchronicity.
Johnny knows he’s needs it and fuck if V also needs this as well. So he fucks her hard into completion, into submission, into a promise. A silent accord, for as long as they have each other. To have and to hold, to fuck and to kill, however the hell people pledge themselves to each other in this day and age. His very soul belongs to her.
The silence between them is comforting, only the sounds of rain drizzling outside and nibbles playing with the beaded curtains next to the minibar. V slides over to lay on his ganic arm, his heartbeat, his warmth, feels real. She shuts her eyes tight and holds onto him for dear life, as if he’d disappear if she let him go.
A whisper floats through her mind, “I’m not going anywhere.” He promises. He can feel her smile and press herself closer to him, less out of fear and more out of need. He lays and watches the ceiling fade from view, letting sleep take him for the first time in over 50 years.
#johnny silverhand#female v#cyberpunk 2077#cp2077#cyberpunk2077#my fic#oneshot#silverV#Johnny x female v#johnny silverhand x reader#I wrote this for me but y’all can read it too💖
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Hi, I want to start off by asking how you are doing, and that I loved the monster task force 141 × reader fic and the cyber-punk sagau headcanon’s.
Ok, now into the ask. Can you do a smut fic with Childe where the reader is a sub top and Childe is a dom bottom where Childe whorships cyber-punk readers body running his hands all over readers joints which are bonded so reader can’t touch him while overstimulating and orgasm denying (is reader able to be overstimulated and have orgasm's... if not then forget about those 2 kinks.
Sorry for the long ask.
Kink list to make it clear:
- Body whorship
- Bondage
- Overstimulation?
- Orgasm denial?
Heck yeah my peep, I'm doing better, and it's great that you liked my other stuff, sorry it took this long, med school is a bitch. Hope ya like it:DD
P.S: ya'll are always free to ask me/give me ideas of what to write, i'm gonna be trying to write more from now on.
Pious Worship
CW: NSFW, body worship, bondage, overstimulation, orgasm denial, mild electro play?, SAGAU au! Cyberpunk reader!, Sub Top reader, Dom Bottom Childe, riding, Dom/Sub dynamics, Worshipper Childe, Bondage. NOT proof read lol.
It had taken you a long while to convince him to do this. For all of his devotion he had been... hesitant; To please you was the highest form of reward anyone could dream of receiving, but what you had asked of him felt wrong — the thought of binding you like the heathens who'd fallen for pretty lies made him physically sick, the thought of chaining you, his guide, his light, his Steel Forged God...he couldn't even come up with the proper words to describe the sickening disgust he'd felt in his very bones.
But you are his light, his guide, his merciful creator, so how could he possibly refuse?
Childe is insatiable.
He rides you with wild abandon like a beast in heat, too caught up in the desperate chase for release and the need to please you to care about the strain in his muscles or his burning thighs. He slams his entire body weight down on your cock, moaning and babbling about how perfectly you stretch him out, how you fill him up so perfectly he can feel you in his throat, how happy he is to be the one who pleases you like this.
His heart flutters as you watch him, drawing pleasure from his pleasure rather than from how tightly his body grips you, your arms tied above your head with the finest silk. The corp remade you for warfare, not pleasure. Steel is unfeeling, it can survive more than living flesh, and with your enhancements you barely feel anything besides the hot tightness of his body.
He drinks up the little rumbles of your synthetic voice box he manages to pull when he takes you fully, driving his body to bounce faster on you, racing towards his second release while you are nowhere near your first. He moans whorishly, his fingers dig into your shoulder joints, cock twitching as sperm and electro shoot from his body.
A strangled sound leaves your lips before your body shuts down without notice, voice box giving a mechanical screech as it glitches, every artificial muscle in your frame contracting from the sudden flood of electricity.
"My Grace! Are you- no, no, no, no- please don't be-”
You hear his worried whimpers when your audio receptors finally come back online, your optics shuttering open yet barely able to see anything with the sea of blinking warning screens in your view. You feel his calloused hands on your cheeks, the usually dull sensation now making you shudder as your combatting systems had turned every synthetic sensor up to 11.
“My Grace, please tell me you’re okay, please, I couldn’t have- I didn’t mean to- I-, I-, I-”
He hiccups, and you manage a glitched warble from your frazzled voice box as you assess your internal diagnostics— his electro delusion had shocked you enough to lock your joints in place without damaging the vital life support systems in your core. You should be able to move again when the electricity wears off, your body geared to survive stronger EMP bombs. You tell him such, reaffirming that he hadn't harmed you.
"Oh, my Grace, I am so sorry, please, forgive me!"
He says, tears prickling his eyes as he rises off your cock, pulling a surprised gasp from you when that small sensation nearly makes you cum on the spot, your cock — your whole body — sensitive to the smallest touch.
And Childe gets...giddy.
Not like a child with a new toy, but like Dottore when an experiment is successful.
Childe hung on every sound leaving you, eyes growing wide; Had you thought of this? Had you prepared just for this to happen? For his electro to make it easier to feel, to make it easier for him to worship you? Yes, that must be it!
“My Grace, you are beautiful like this. Thank you, thank you, thank you-”
His voice was a hoarse whisper as he slunk down your body, carefully holding up your leg with steady calloused hands. His lips are dry as he places reverent kisses the metal surrounding your exposed ankle joint. Your metal parts taste no different than the tips of his arrows, like blood and war, but the soft sounds you make from the odd sensation has him wanting to give more.
He doesn't even notice when he cuts his lip on a sharp edge, but aren't you proud of him? Who else would bleed for you like him? His tongue delves into tight little cracks between your pistons and wires where only the smallest of ripperdock tools had ever come. His tongue isn't as small, nor as precise, but the sheer eagerness in his movement has him touching and pressing on the sensitive sensors all the same.
You jolt, or you would if you could, overcome with sensations your body isn't built to process. More warning screens flash in your sight, static pleasure/pain buzzing along faux synapses. His heart all but leaps from his chest as he listens to the sounds you make.
So he redoubles his effort, clever little tongue licking at sensitive sensor arrays, mouthing and sucking on cables until soft frazzled sounds leave your glitched voice box. He can taste coolant on his tongue, his lips tingling with electricity, blood and spit mixing together in his mouth and making your metal parts glisten in the light. He polishes your ankle joint until it shines, before moving up towards your knee, tracing the edge where metal plates meet faux skin.
You're internal cooling system has started at this point, body shaking as best it can. Your sensors don't know how to interpret the sensations, corp augs having been geared for warfare and not worship, so the processors don't even try to categorize the new sensations into neat boxes. Instead you're hit with the full force of it, the feelings flooding your mind, zapping through every neural cell and artificial link.
He's at your hips now, eagerly sucking you off as his clever fingers busy themselves worming and rubbing delicate hardware and artificial ligaments beneath inside your hip joints. You feel like you're on the edge, your release so close you can feel it burning at the base of your cock.
But something is wrong, like a knot or a rock inside your stomach, something that's keeping you from cumming, forcing you to experience these overwhelming sensations. You sob, barely able to think, and his heart soars at making you feel this way, making you feel this pleasure.
He's quick to finish polishing your cock and even quicker to climb up and sink down again. But that only makes the maddening heat burning in your loins worse, every nerve in your augmented body feeling like it's on fire with no sight of release. You can barely see him through the cracks between different warning screens, sensor arrays screaming at you with information your body can't interpret any other way than pure sensation.
"Please, let me do this your Grace."
You watch — you can do nothing but watch — as he takes one of your limp arms. His muscles bulge beneath his skin as he has to work hard to move your arm now that your motors and pistons are momentarily inactive. He smiles at you, mouth opening wide before he puts your fingers in his mouth. Little jolts of sensation run through your body every time his tongue flicks between different joints, teeth scraping along faux skin and metal plates.
He continues to bounce on your cock, unaware of what blissful Hell he's making for you when he pulls your spit shined fingers from his mouth, urgently but carefully pawing at the plates which cover your hidden weaponry in your forearms.
"Your Grace, I'm a fool to demand this of you, but please, let me see them, let me worship you like you're supposed to be worshiped."
He says, eyes wide and pleading, laying desperate kisses at your wrist joint, lips almost burning from how hot your metal parts are becoming. He needs to worship you, all of you, especially the part you usually keep reserved for the battle field and nowhere else.
Your voice box is back online to the point where you can talk, and you know that if you told him, he would happily continue bouncing on your dick until you were finally able to cum, with all notions of his own need forgotten.
But you don't.
For as much as your systems may be screaming at you. For as much as your cooling systems struggle to keep you from overheating. For as much as you desire to cum... you want to please him — the first character you ever wished for, the first you ever mained, your favorite.
The look on his face when you manage to get your weaponry unlocked melts your heart despite the lustful heat in your chest. Your combat systems are blissfully unaware of your true intentions as they power on the pistons and gears in your weapons, making them extend to their proper configuration.
"Thank you, thank you your Grace!"
He breathes, immediately reaching out to trace the sharp points of your weapons with his tongue before he latches on the first joint that connects your weapon with your arm. It makes sensation, neither pain nor pleasure but pure feeling, rush from your arms right down to your dick still balls deep inside him.
Your vocal box glitches a second time, your head moving just an inch as you're subjected to his torturous worship again, and you can only pray that your body is able to move again before you loose your mind to the pure sensations.
#centerpieces of the hoard#x reader#male reader#top reader#dom genshin x sub reader#sub reader#dom Childe#Dom tartaglia#genshin impact smut#cyberpunk sagau#genshin cult au#top male reader#childe tartagalia#bottom childe#genshin impact x reader#answering asks
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CURRENT MASTERLIST
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#eddie munson smut#eddie munson#steve harrington#steve harrington smut#jonathan byers#jonathan byers smut#billy hargrove#billy hargrove smut#robin buckley#robin buckley smut#jim hopper#stranger things#supernatural#dean winchester#cute#dean winchester smut#sam winchester#sam winchester smut#castiel#castiel smut#tiffany valentine#stu macher#billy loomis#mark hoffman#jack marston#alphabet#x reader#johnny silverhand#cyberpunk 2077#character playlist
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