#fucking arasaka took him??
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bakeneko
#cyberpunk 2077#cp77#in this playthrough i sent jackie to vik#i was so shocked with how cold mama welles was when she called#fucking arasaka took him??#and now the revelation that he might be an engram is crushing me#will we know of his fate?#gaaah
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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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TITLE: Perfect Drug
CHAPTER ONE: Jawbreaker
WORD COUNT: 4,309
PAIRING: Dagger/Dum Dum
CW: Light violence, gore mention
The story of how two fucked up guys become one fucked up couple.
The sky changed colors in the city. The endless scroll of neon gave it an artificial glow, and from the first moment he crossed the desert line, Dagger had resented it. Nothing looked real. Nothing was–not the food, the music. Certainly not the people. He found himself looking up as he drove further into it’s clutches, searching for a sliver of sky that felt familiar, but the only thing he found was a thinly veiled layer of bullshit.
Northside was different, though no less oppressive. The smokestacks kept the air murky, and no matter how many times he blinked or re-calibrated his optics, he couldn’t quite clear his vision of the red haze that defined it.
But unlike Night City, it took pride in it’s own ugly.
And he liked that.
The All Foods factory sat like an icon at the center of it all, more mythical to the locals than even the crumbs of Arasaka littering the district. Dagger stood outside with a cigarette, gazing into it’s shuttered maw.
A week had passed since he found his way to the building for the first time, toting a severed head in one hand, and a duffel of recovered Militech cargo in the other. He had taken both from a smoldering warzone in Sierra Sonorra where two behemoths fought their last battle; a cadre of Maelstrom gangoons and a unit of corpo dogs. He could have taken the wreckage back for the Wraiths. The gear would have fetched a pretty enny, and the head of a Milietech sergeant would make a lovely hood ornamented for his Quadra–but Dagger never cared for money, and he had plenty of heads already.
He brought the cargo home to Northside instead, head in hand like a peace offering, still bleeding fresh after decapitation. He wanted a deal, not a payday. Something worth more than a shiny new car, or a pair of genuine leather boots, and after one long blurry fucking night, he got one.
The Wraiths would protect Maelstrom’s interests in the Badlands and the ‘borgs would give them leverage in the city, pushing to wipe Sixth Street from Santo Domingo. Dagger would move between them, lending his skills to one while extending his power in the other.
In the end, he'd puppet them both.
His mama always said to dream big.
He pressed at a dwindling bruise over his ribcage as he double checked for his smokes in his jacket pocket. Each breath came with a dull ache that hadn’t quite quelled from that night, even a week later. He’d paid his price for admission. He could still feel the wreckage in his bones as he stood at the entrance of the garage, cigarette half smoked already, waiting for an answer at the door. The security camera at the edge of the roof peered down at him, it’s blinking red light a mimic of the trademark optics that were watching him from inside. And they were watching him. Making him wait, though they were the very ones who had set the meet. When he glared up at the lens, he could feel them on the other side.
Another minute passed. He threw his cigarette down, banging a fist to the rusted metal with impatience. After a moment of waiting he considered going around to the intercom, but it felt too much like defeat. He knocked again instead, kicking with a steel tipped boot for good measure and flicking another glare up to the camera.
The noise must have worked. The door swung open with a growl, sudden enough it nearly took an inch off his nose. Before he could blink, the front end of a revolver shoved itself against the scar on his cheek, forcing his back to the wall with its presence. Seven eyes peered over the muzzle, a shiny chrome scowl beneath them. Dagger’s fist moved on instinct, nestled now against the underside of Dum Dum’s chin where the skin still felt human. The steel claws in the chassis of his hand inched in the sheaths between his knuckles, hungry for a drop of blood. They stood still, entwined in each other’s violence, neither one ready to budge.
“Keep that gun in my face any longer and I’ll get real acquainted with your fleshy bits.” He wasn’t sure which lens he should look at, or which ones were looking at him. His icy gaze settled on the ones that looked most like eyes, though he couldn’t read them. The tip of his claws met skin, just slightly. Enough bite to prove he wasn’t lying.
Dum Dum didn’t sweat it.
“You think your trigger is quicker than mine?”
“Might be fun to find out.”
The sound that came from his throat could have been a laugh. A moment later, Dum Dum drew the gun back and slid it into the waistband of his pants. Slowly, Dagger followed suit, letting his hand fall away with a tinge of disappointment. A click of his tongue.
“Scared?”
“My bullet would rip through your meatpan before your chrome even touched me,” Dum Dum said. He sounded sure, the weight of his optics nearly prying Dagger apart, scanning his hardware in bemusement. He wouldn’t find much, except maybe that his assessment was correct. Which begged the question: why not pull the trigger?
Dagger grinned.
“You gonna invite me inside?”
Dum Dum didn’t answer, turning a corner toward the street without looking back at him. “Nothing in there for you.”
“Is that right?” Dagger pulled his cigarettes from his jacket and lit one as he followed. A busted up Chevillon was parked on the corner, garish Maelstrom colors splattered across the rusted paint like a badge of honor. Ugly, like everything else around it. He smiled. “Taking me out to pasture then?”
Smoke slithered from his lips as they walked.
“You wanna play with the big dogs you’re gonna have to work like a bitch.” Dum Dum stopped at the car, and spared him an indecipherable look. “That means you do what I say, when I say it, how I say it. If I tell you to lick the shit off my boots you better fucking get on your knees and do it, yeah? Piss me off and it’s bye bye with a bullet. We’ll sell your meat to the Scavs without a second thought.”
Dagger raised a brow, amusement flickering in his eyes as he took another drag from his smoke. “My god, I think I can see Royce’s hand up your ass using your mouth like a little puppet. Don’t you wanna be a real boy?”
Dum Dum looked tough, but Dagger had seen enough already to know that he folded for the big man as easy as paper. He half expected the gun again, but to his surprise, he only saw a smile on the other man’s face–teeth that looked too human to belong to him. The tension in his shoulders seemed to drop.
“You are one stupid motherfucker.”
He almost sounded impressed.
Dagger stared him down with the same grin, head tilting. Anyone else, he might skin them alive for the assertion but Dum Dum could be useful. No doubt more than any of the other rusted lugnuts lurking in the gang who’d still be more than happy to kill him. If he wanted this to work out, he’d need someone watching his back, and he’d already proved he wouldn’t pull the trigger.
Dum Dum slid into the driver’s seat and gestured for Dagger to go around. He wasn’t thrilled about playing passenger, his own car parked down the block, but he decided not to push it. He didn’t know his way around the city yet, let alone wherever the fuck they were headed. Or why.
He climbed into the Chevillon, choosing to play nice, a decision quickly waning as he waited for an explanation that never came. He blew smoke toward Dum Dum, a juvenile attempt to get his attention as the engine turned over.
“Got a problem, princess?” Dum Dum asked without looking. At least his head didn’t move.
Dagger leaned back in his seat. “Just wondering what the fuck I’m doing here.”
“You’re the one who knocked.”
“Funny.”
The car pulled onto the street.
“Got a pick-up.” The flat drone of his voice gave away his own annoyance in the silence. “And I wasn’t bullshitting before. Do as you’re told and we won’t have a problem.”
Dagger rolled down his window to vent the smoke from his cigarette. “Pick-up? And here I was hoping for a little fun. Ain’t you lot known for your violence? No offense but thats a waste of my talent and I’m keen to believe it’s a waste of yours too.”
“Royce wants to know you can follow orders. You might be hot shit to those desert dogs but you’re a long way from the top out here.”
Something in the gravel of his tone indicated a warning, but Dagger flicked it off with the ash from his cig. He glanced at him from the corner of his eyes, watching the city blur past the tinted glass. Northside was less colorful than the rest of Night City, all smoke and concrete. In a way, it reminded him of home–the badlands, an endless sprawl of sun bleached dirt, harsh and rigid. Vibrant in its decay. They bore their similarities alright. He could smell fire in the air. A laugh lodged itself in his throat as he finally looked over.
“So that’d make you what, then? The babysitter?”
A grunt. There might have been humor in it. Or a threat.
“You should count yourself lucky. Anyone else prolly woulda shot you by now.”
Dagger didn’t doubt it for a second. Dum Dum was different from the rest, and somehow just the same. He followed orders, and crumbled like soggy paper for the top dog. Out of fear or loyalty, he couldn’t tell yet, but he lacked the self-respect to see that Royce would throw him out as soon as he wasn’t useful. He wondered what might happen if those strings pulled taut. If something sharp happened by to whittle them down.
Dum Dum’s voice caught him by surprise.
“I’m actually impressed you’re still walking. Didn’t think you’d show up after that beating last week.”
“That right?” Dagger said, casually flipping down the visor ahead of him and examining his face in the two inch mirror. The bruise beneath his eye had faded from plum to a brown rot and for a moment he could feel the impact of the metal punch that knocked him on his ass again. It wasn’t the only one. His body was littered, like the canvas of an old painter–splashes of color hemorrhaging against his skin. He knew there was a cracked rib, probably a concussion, too. A few busted teeth, and more. Welcoming gifts from Maelstrom. It was his own suggestion, a last ditch effort to get close to the gang without having chrome shoved up his ass. An initiation plucked from his smuggling days. Each member got a single hit. If he was still alive by the end of it, he’d get in.
And Dagger always got in, smiling and spitting blood. He’d do it again just to prove that he could.
“Hell, I thought that left hook from Lars might kill you.” Dum Dum laughed.
Dagger flipped the visor closed. “You kiddin’? My Daddy hit me harder for stealing a cigarette when I was eight years old.”
“You were prolly just a pussy back then.”
A grin cut across his lips as naturally as the sun cresting over the cityscape. “Well, he had a harder swing than you, at least.”
“Makes sense.” The car turned a tight corner and Dum Dum’s head tilted toward him for the first time. “Considerin’ I pulled my punch.”
Dagger met those empty red lenses with a raised brow. “The fuck you did.”
The crack of his own teeth rang out in his ears again, as if that chrome fist was crashing into his face all over. He could still remember his seven eyes watching him as he stumbled back, spitting blood and enamel in his face. He tongued the empty space on his bottom gum where the molar used to sit. Dum Dum had extracted it more seamlessly than the world’s best dentist ever could.
Pulled his punch.
Dagger scoffed.
Dum Dum didn’t show any sign of humor. His silence said it all.
“And why the fuck would you do that?”
A pause. And then finally a smile.
“‘Cause the harder we hit you, the louder you laughed. Didn't wanna give you the satisfaction.”
Dagger’s face fell, as expressionless as the red lenses in front of him, which seemed now to burn holes through his chest in the silence. He should cut them from his skull, but the feeling passed at the sight of a smile on Dum Dum’s lips.
“Fuckin’ lunatic,” he said, somewhere between affection and dismay.
Dagger took it for a compliment. He grinned, and a bruise sang triumph beneath his skin.
The car pulled off the street beside a painted wall that looked nearly identical to every other street corner in Northside. Dagger could find his way through every small vein of dusty road across the Badlands with his eyes closed but ask him to distinguish between one block or the next within the industrial sprawl of the district and he’d be lost. He pressed his forehead against the window and looked up. Not even the sky could help him. The shadow of the city all but smothered it.
Dum Dum cut the engine.
Wrecked cars littered the crowded alleyway where they sat now, nothing but skeletal remains, picked clean by the vultures. But there was one ahead of them, a black van that stuck out among the rest. The pick-up, if he had to wager.
“What are we waiting for?” he asked, his cigarette almost nothing but ash. He finally flicked it out the window.
Dum Dum didn’t answer. He studied the van ahead of him in the quiet, and after a moment Dagger pushed his optics to scan it too. Standard. No heat signature inside, though there was something stored in the back, a chemical signature he couldn’t get a specific read on. Drugs, more than likely. Of course it was. He had heard the ‘strommers had their own brand of shit. The kind with enough kick to push past the thirty pounds of chrome in their head.
“Something the matter with it?” On instinct, Dagger looked in the rearview, scanned the surrounding area. A flash of light flickered somewhere behind them and disappeared. He waited for it to happen again, but he saw nothing.
“Gadge ain’t here,” Dum Dum said, tone flat. Once more unreadable.
“Taking a leak?”
A grunt. He leaned back in the seat, hand dropping down to the revolver wedged between his seat and the middle console. He flicked his head forward, toward the van. “Well, go on, bitch boy. Check it out.”
Dagger’s eyes narrowed, but he pushed back the urge to tell him to fuck off. He lit another cigarette on the way out. The street was quiet, though somewhere a few blocks down a siren echoed off the smokestacks. He paused when he reached the back of the van, head turning over his shoulder. There was nothing here. Nobody in sight beside those seven glowing eyes behind the glass, and still the hair rose on the back of his neck.
No Gadge. No blood. No struggle. So why did he have a bad feeling? He focused his attention back to the van as Dum Dum waved a hand at him impatiently. Another quick scan told him the same information before he finally reached for the handle and pulled the bed open. A creak of metal cracked through his ears.
It almost deafened the gunshot.
Dagger ducked, dropping low without thought. His cigarette fell to the ground half burned, mocking him as another bullet riccochetted against the back of the van. His first thought was Dum Dum. Royce had changed his mind on the deal, ordered his execution. A quiet hit didn’t sound like his style, and Dagger was almost disappointed he wouldn’t get to see the ugly bastard one more time just to call him a fucking pussy to his face, but a moment later he could hear the ‘borg’s static voice yelling at him from the car to get the fuck up.
He stayed low, unable to pinpoint the direction of the gunshot, and made his way back to the passenger’s side of the Chevillon.
The engine sputtered to life at the same time as the van in front of him. He crawled inside just in time to witness the driverless van crash through a charred Mackinaw to the next street over.
“Fuck!” Dum Dum yelled, flooring the pedal before Dagger could get his foot pulled in all the way. “Shit’s hacked. Gonk’s don’t know who they’re messing with.”
He rammed through the same debris as the van but caught a harsh edge of metal, and the Chevillon stalled for a moment before struggling through. The ringing in Dagger’s ears hadn’t stopped, and he only realized his hand was bleeding when he reached for his third smoke.
“Hack means their close.”
Dagger rolled the window down and stuck his head out, catching the stale air of Northside in a suffocating wind. He could see the van ahead of them like a black smear, but it wasn’t the van he was interested in. Quickhack on a vehicle was useful, but it had drawbacks. One being proximity. Had to be close or you lost connection, even with boosted gear.
A small Hatchback swung suddenly out from a sidestreet, narrowly missing their car as it sped past. Dum Dum swerved and lost a foot of paint on a fire hydrant in attempt to keep steady. Dagger scanned it as it followed track with the van, spitting chooh2 to catch up. Two signatures inside. A runner.
He ripped the gun from Dum Dum’s seat and pulled himself halfway out the window to take aim. He shot quickly and near blind, bullet lost in the wind as the chase veered left.
“Fuckin’ shoot steady,” Dum Dum yelled over at him.
“Drive fuckin’ steady,” Dagger snapped, and this time he held his breath as he aimed for the speeding car. A shot came back at him in response and he ducked back into the window before firing again. The windshield spiderwebbed but the car stayed true, zipping through a line of traffic as they headed into a busier part of the district. A horn blared beside him. The hatchback disappeared between two trucks, and Dum Dum struggled on the wheel, crashing into the edge of a turning car and nearly throwing the gun from Dagger's slick, bloody grasp when he shot again.
He couldn’t track where the bullet hit, but he could tell that it missed.
With a growl, Dagger reached over for the wheel.
“Switch me places.” It was a command more than a question, but Dum Dum didn’t protest. He ripped the gun from Dagger’s hand as Dagger pushed his leg over to the gas pedal and shimmied across the seat in an awkward dance, climbing over him without slowing the vehicle until they both settled into their new positions.
Dum Dum took aim as naturally as Dagger did the wheel. He was no stranger to this, or to the electricity running through his chest as he gripped the wheel knuckle tight, grin spreading over his lips.
The tight streets were no match for an open road, but it got his blood pumping all the same.
He could barely make out the back of the car up ahead, but he could see the rear light explode as Dum Dum fired beside him, leaving red glass sparkling on the pavement like blood. Another shot bellowed, and the hatchback veered wildly, nearly toppling sideways as it made a sharp turn.
Dagger followed, cutting the same corner with the ease of sharpened steel. He couldn’t see the van further up, but he locked his optics onto the car. Blood splattered the window, and he knew that Dum Dum had hit one of them inside. The engine groaned as he pushed it further. The Chevillon didn’t have the same gumption as his Quadra. He could feel the waiver in her gait, but they were close now. Dum Dum felt it too. He braced his arm on the roof. One good shot is all they’d need.
Dagger seamlessly crossed over the center line, taking the opposite lane to blow past several cars that separated them from their goal. Traffic sped by, so close it rocked the car, but he didn’t flinch.
One. Good. Shot.
Dum Dum fired.
Blood sprayed the windshield.
The hatchback veered suddenly into a passing car, which came to a skidding stop, halting the traffic behind it and keeping Dagger from passing back over into the right lane. His mind raced, and on instinct he took a quick left to avoid collision, and then another.
Dum Dum screamed in his ear, but the words were deafened from wind, the ringing, the sirens. Neon lights burned together, flashing against his corneas.
“Wrong fuckin’ way!” He heard finally.
The streets grew narrower, and then he understood.
He could smell the ocean.
Northside’s warehouses were a shadow in the rearview as they headed toward the bay into Kabuki. Tyger territory. They had crossed the district line.
Dum Dum reached for the wheel in a last ditch effort to change course. The momentum of the turn threw them upward, tires leaving the ground. The car spun uncontrollably, flipped, crashing through the barricade on the side of the road in a explosion of crunching metal.
He could see the ocean.
A smear of open blue that could match the sky his heart yearned for. It was beautiful.
Almost.
And it hit like a fucking rock.
His vision blacked for a moment before the water caved in around them. Slowly, then all at once. He barely had time to take in a lungful of air. Kicking at the door wildly, he swam away from the wreckage as the sea pulled them under. His gaze shot upward, searching once more for the sky to lead him. He followed the light up and up, chest starting to ache, until finally he found it.
Dagger gasped as he breached, shaking water from his eyes. He didn’t recognize the city around him, but he spotted a dock nearby. He swam toward it, then stopped. Looked back. The only remains of the Chevillon were petering bubbles at his back, and smooth water beside that. There wasn’t any sign of Dum Dum. By the look of him, he’d sink as quick as the car.
He glanced between the dock and the bubbles and back again.
All that fucking chrome…
Walking back to All Foods without the drugs and their sergeant at arms might earn himself a spot in that industrial microwave that Maelstrom liked to boast. Dum Dum was the only one who didn’t want to kill him, after all.
“Fuck.”
He spit water then took another breath and dived.
The car left a trail like ink in the murky water. Dagger clawed toward it, dragging himself further down into the dark depths. Day turned to night. The city was different here, peaceful, and if not for the pounding in his ears, quiet.
The distant red glare of those eyes shined like a beacon further down. He followed them like the north star, pushing himself to go faster. Dum Dum kicked despite himself, maybe instinct, maybe panic, but his weight worked against him, pulling him down quicker. Dagger pushed harder, reached further. Dum Dum finally noticed him, lenses fixed and unwavering, a calm coming over him as he finally got close enough to grab. Dagger heaved upward, working against the ocean’s cold grasp and the anchor like weight dragging him down. His chest began to burn, and the sky still looked so dark above them.
He considered letting go, eyes squeezed tight, angry ‘ganic lungs ready to burst.
And then he could breathe again.
He reached blindly for the dock ladder, trying hard not to heave. Dum Dum climbed up beside him, still as a corpse.
“Fucking gonk shit,” he muttered.
Dagger almost didn’t catch it over the sound of his panting. He laid flat on his back, taking in the welcome blue above him. He could finally see a break in the cityscape, clouds sneaking in at the edge of his vision.
“Quite a fuckin’ thank you,” Dagger said without taking his eyes from above.
“Oxygen reserves. Could sit down there all day.”
He sat up slowly, running a hand through wet, matted hair. “All the good it’d do you. Be a pile of rust by the time they found you. If they found you.”
Dum Dum laughed. Short, quick static. Somehow it sounded genuine.
“And I’m sure you did that outta the kindness of your heart.”
“What fuckin’ heart?” He said flat, patting down his pockets for his cigarettes. He pulled the pack out, sopping wet. He didn’t bother trying to light one before he tossed them into the bay with a sigh. “Owe me some fucking smokes.”
Dum Dum opened his mouth to speak, but the words never made it. He lifted his head, and though he couldn’t see exactly, Dagger knew he was looking past him. A gun cocked at the back of his head. Cold barrel against his skull. He clenched his jaw, and turned to see a woman he didn’t recognize staring down at him behind glass eyes.
His automatic translator picked up her words better than his ears.
“Welcome to Kabuki, bitch.”
#cyberpunk 2077#oc: dagger#dum dum#x: perfect drug#my fic tag#well i fussed over this too much so im just gonna say yolo and post it#that also means i have to start on the second chapter. hm.#anyways..........its been a long time coming dklsajfdlsa#linked the song i got the title from for soundtrack purposes if it suits you UwU#sad to tell you all that cockroach won't appear until ch.2 despite being in the above image v.v#false advertising im sorry
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Take Me Back to Eden
Pairing: Johnny Silverhand/Reader (V)
Warnings: Reader is V, No use of V, No use of Y/N (Don't get used to that from me lol), Cunnilingus (F receiving oral sex), P in V sex, Fluff with a little bit of angst (because V/Reader is a dummy and so is Johnny), Vaginal fingering, use of pet names (Bright-eyes and baby), alcohol consumption.
Summary: V/Reader is in love with the reformed ghost in her head, but she's pretty sure it's just her, oh how wrong she is.
GIF by: Keanuphile
Notes: I finished the game, I'm not okay, so I'm writing fanfiction about it. Cross posted to AO3
Minors DNI
The tequila burned as it raced down your throat, so did the whiskey chaser that followed it. The music of The Afterlife was pounding in your ears and brain as the liquor took hold and made your muscles relax, jaw no longer clenching quite so tight.
You caught Claire’s eye and lifted the empty glass in a wordless request for another, which got a nod of acknowledgement in return, but she was already with a couple of customers so it would be a moment. That was fine. You were nothing if not patient.
So patient that you managed to get yourself stuck in a loop of waiting for the reformed ghost in your brain to realize you’re in love with him and had been since you helped him go on a date with Rogue, like a gonk, and knowing he probably never will, or if he does figure it out, to care enough to act on it.
You’d seen his memories. Know what loving Johnny Silverhand does to a person. Yet here you are, as if one almost death sentence wasn’t enough for you.
There was a split second, when you were carrying each other out of Arasaka HQ, when you thought he might have felt the same. You’d fallen to your knees, legs refusing to keep going, and he’d gripped you tight and said you needed to get up, that he couldn’t leave without you, that he needed you.
At the time you’d thought there was something else there, the way he’d said it sounded so…Soft. But now you’re pretty sure it was the adrenaline and your grey matter still reeling from Alt fucking with it to give you your body back that made you cling to your hopeless desperation for the man you knew you couldn’t have, not in the way you wanted him.
“You stare any harder at that shot glass and your Koroshi’s’ll shoot lasers.” Came Claire’s voice, yanking you from your thoughts.
You cleared your throat awkwardly and shifted back in your seat while the other woman refilled both glasses. “Thanks.” You said before throwing the first one back.
“Trouble in paradise?” The Bartender asked as she leaned on the counter, giving you her full attention. After helping Claire resolve her business with Sampson, you both got closer, close enough that you felt comfortable telling her about Johnny and the Relic. Johnny had teased you about the attraction you had felt toward the other woman, but it was nothing compared to what you felt toward him.
“Gotta be paradise for that to happen.” You answered before shaking your head. “Nah, just me being a gonk, like always.” You said it more to the glass in your hand than the woman in front of you.
“You know, torturing yourself won’t solve anything.” Claire said lowly, so only you could hear her. “He hasn’t been to see Rogue since you both got back. From what you’ve told me, that means something.”
Your face was warm as you met Claire’s gaze, whether you were just that easy to read or Claire was using her magic bartender powers you didn’t know, but it didn’t really matter. She was right.
“I’m not gonna be another notch in his belt.” You downed your remaining drink. “And I’m not going to follow him around like some thirsty little groupie.” It came out a little bitter, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t picturing Alt when you said the words.
You’re being unfair, you know you are. Alt loved Johnny for real, that much was obvious, so summing her up as something as simple as a groupie is cruel to the deceased woman, but you can’t fight the sour burn in your belly that threatens to turn you green.
Claire let out a sigh and shook her head. “Yet, that’s what you’re doing.” That gets a glare and Claire’s eyes are hard as she stares back. “Don’t look at me like that. You know I’m right.” She steadies herself on the bar with both hands and she leans into your space. “You told me yourself that he hates when people beat around the bush. So fucking talk to him before you end up old, grey, and still pinning. Or worse, one of you dies again.”
That snaps you from your cloud of self-pity, but not in the way Claire was probably hoping for. “Whatever.” You grumbled somewhat childishly as you flicked the Eddies to pay your tab and got up.
You knew the other was watching you go but didn’t care to look back. She was right, and it pissed you off. Not the part where Claire called you out, you deserved that, needed to hear it even. The part that you hated was that you really were exactly what you didn’t want to be, a hopelessly in love groupie following Johnny around like a horny puppy, except without any of the payoff of you two actually fucking.
And the saddest part was that you would rather keep pinning than be fuck-buddies, you wouldn’t be able to keep feelings out of it and you don’t even want to begin to imagine being on the receiving end of some of the shit Johnny said to Alt, and he actually loved her…What hope would you have?
It was raining when you got outside, and you considered calling your car instead of taking Jackie’s bike, it had a rain cover and would be fine for a night, but you needed to think and you couldn’t do much of that if you were driving, so rather than either option you turned and started walking, would it take longer? Sure, but that was what you needed to think, or spiral, whichever came first.
The rain was quick to plaster your hair to your face and neck, trailing cold lines of water down your skin that caused goosebumps to bloom, thinking about how much you hated Johnny when you met, how much he hated you right back. You kept walking.
Then those trails of water along with new water falling on you soaked through your clothes and chilled you to the bone, thinking about when you realized you’d fallen for him, lying in bed the night after his date with Rogue with a pit in your gut but determined not to say anything about it, praying he couldn’t feel it through you. You kept walking.
After a bit your shoes began to squish with every step, socks drenched and pooling water in your shoes, thinking about what he’d said that night on the way out of Arasaka HQ, about needing you, he’d breathed the words like he didn’t want anyone else to hear them, like they were for you and you alone and it would be a crime for any other ears to hear them. You kept walking.
You started to shake as Megabuilding H10 came into view, harsh shivers that made your teeth chatter till you clenched your jaw to make it stop, but all that did was make the shakes move down to your shoulders, thinking about how your heart had grabbed onto his whispered plea like it was a declaration of love even though it was nothing of the sort. You kept walking.
A puddle formed under you on the elevator floor as the floor numbers flashed and ads blasted in your ears, but you weren’t paying them any attention, you couldn’t care less about Milfguard or whatever new flavor of Mr. Whitey’s was being screamed about, you were too busy buzzing with the warring hope and dread of the thought that he would be home when you walked through the front door. You stopped walking when you got to the door.
Your fingers hovered over the button that would open it, but you were frozen in place, a new puddle forming, water dripping from your free hand would echo if the atrium wasn’t so goddamn loud.
“You gonna keep staring at it? Or do I gotta move you?” Came the one voice you still weren’t sure if you wanted to hear.
Looking back, you met Johnny’s gaze, or rather your reflection in his aviators, God you looked like a soaked cat…
Rather than answer him you pressed the button and watched the door woosh open, walking in with him right behind you felt like being watched by a warden.
“Why the Hell are you wet? You look like you walked home.” He asked as the door closed behind him; you couldn’t look at him again.
“Cuz, I did.” There was no use lying, anything you could come up with was just as stupid as the truth.
You could practically hear him lift his brow. “The fuck you do that for? Vic still has both of us on probation, getting sick could be a fucking death sentence.” Annoyed disapproval drips from his voice the same water is still dripping from your hair.
“Needed to think.” You offered lamely as you made for the closet, intent on both getting dry clothes and not letting him see your face.
“About what?” He asks from by the bed, where you’d seen Nibbles lounging, but when you didn’t respond you heard him take a few steps closer. “About what?” He asked a little louder, either thinking you hadn’t heard him, or intent on not letting you ignore him.
“Lots of shit, Johnny. What? You want a fucking catalog of my daily thoughts? Didn’t get enough of that when you were in my head?” You snapped sharper than intended, but you just wanted to make him shut up.
You heard his footsteps once more, and before you could move or look at him, he was at your back. “Thought we’d moved past snapping at each other to avoid talking about shit.” His tone was hard but not cold, like he could tell something was up.
“It doesn’t matter…” Why did you sound so fucking small? You hated it.
“Bright-Eyes…Look at me.” His hand feels like fire when it lands on the icy skin of your shoulder, where he tried to turn you, but you resisted. “Please…Look at me.” Your heart stops, it’s like you can hear the words that haunt you all over again. “Get up. Please, I can’t leave without you. I need you…Get up.” Same tone, begging and just barely this side of desperation.
And like a sleeper agent that’s heard her trigger word, you turned, but you can’t lift your eyes to meet his, you know he’s taken off those damn glasses and you can’t bear to see his eyes looking at you, your heart will store it away just like those words, and you can’t handle yet another thing making you hope like a gonk for more than you’re allowed to have.
People like you don’t get to love and be happy, if they were, Jackie would still be alive, and Misty wouldn’t be alone.
As if sensing that you won’t meet his gaze, Johnny lifts his metal hand as his flesh one slides down to your upper arm, searing hot skin making yours tingle, even his metal hand feels warmer than you, a shiver of a different kind rolls down your spine and you want to yank yourself out of his hold, but his grip tightens just a little, like he knew what you were thinking, but then he probably did. You’d put money on it that he knows your every micro expression and what they all mean, which terrifies you if you’re honest.
“Go take a shower, you’re freezing.” He whispers, warm breath fanning over your face, smelling of whiskey and cigarettes, such a Johnny smell. He let you go to reach past you for the clean clothes you were going to grab and passes them into your hands.
As if a spell was broken, you moved around him to head across the room to the bathroom, but you could still feel his eyes on you. The urge to snip at him about watching you undress sat on the back of your tongue, but you swallowed it.
By the time you’re pulling your wet tank top over your head, you no longer feels the heat of his eyes on you, then you heard the radio turn on, some oldies rock station playing some ballad that you don’t recognize, but you hear him quietly sing along to it, for a nanosecond you think you hear more emotion in it than when he normally mumbled along with the radio, but shake the thought away.
The water feels pleasantly scalding when you step through the fog of steam and into the spray. Tilting your head into the warmth to wash away the chilled water still clinging to your hair, you hear his voice no longer melding with that of the radio, though you still hear the song playing over the sound of the showerhead.
Eyes closed to keep the water out of them, you feel his eyes on you once more, not as close as by the closet, but certainly not from across the room. Running a hand over your face to clear your vision you turned and were met with Johnny standing there looking like he’s debating something.
“Johnny?” You questioned, no real thought given to the fact that you’re naked, he’s seen you a dozen times since Mikoshi, granted all those where when you both were recovering and you needed help getting dressed, but it was all the same to you.
Hearing you say his name seemed to help him make whatever decision he was working on, and before you could react or say anything else, he was crowding into your space, both of you under the spray, drenching him in hot water. But neither cared about that, neither was thinking about that, not when his lips were pressed to yours so hard it’s like he needs it to breathe.
Your back pressed to the wall, his hands holding your face, rings rapidly growing warm from your skin and the water, metal hand doing the same, the coarse hair on his face rubbing against your skin, making the goosebumps that had long since settled return full force.
You kissed him back for all of a second before you realized what was happening and pushed him back, he put a few inches between your faces, but gave no more land than that. “Johnny, what the fuck are you doing?” You panted, looking up at him with a tentative look of hope that mixed with fear and it damn near breaks his heart to see it.
“Not making the same mistakes twice.” He answered, thumb brushing over your lower lip, clearly thinking about kissing you again.
Your heart seized in her chest again. “Stop it.” It comes out cold and it’s clear he wasn’t expecting it.
“What?” He’s dumbfounded, had be misread things? No way, he knows what he saw when he was in your head, what he felt.
“Don’t fuck with me, Johnny.” The hope in your eyes turned hard, a wall going up that he’s all too familiar with. “I’m not her.” Your voice is small again.
His shock melted away as understanding took its place. “I know. Never wanted you to be her.”
“Then what the Hell are you doing?” Your fingers had curled into the wet fabric of his shirt, so he can neither move closer nor pull away.
“I already said.” He answered before taking a slow breath. “I was shit when I had her and lost her because I was a fucking moron, and I did a lot of shit in her name after that that didn’t fix anything. I never deserved her, and I sure as shit don’t deserve you, but fuck if I’m not going to shoot my shot and try.” He said with the same conviction he had when he went on one of his anti-corp rants, only this was a lot softer, a lot less angry.
As he spoke, he watched the hardness in your eyes soften and that hope return, but it’s slow, you’re digging your claws in, trying not to get your hopes up, still waiting for the Gotcha “I won’t be another quick fuck…I can’t…I can’t be no strings…” It feels searing admitting to that.
He leans in once more, till his forehead meets yours, eyes unable to look anywhere but at each other. “Neither can I.” You can barely hear him over the shower, but you do, and your heart races.
Using the leverage of your hold on his shirt, you pulled him back in, mashing your lips to his in a messy desperate kiss that steals both your breaths, falling into him with slow tentative twists of your lips.
His hands trail down from your face, over your neck where your hair is plastered to your skin, down your body, avoiding every sensitive place that you crave his touch, to settle on your hips, pulling you closer and grinding against you.
He feels you shiver against him at the stimulation, little though it is, but he savors it all the same, right along with the way your beath hitches in your chest, he wants to hear it again, wants to hear more, wants to make you cry out his name and tell the whole megabuilding who you belong to.
He’s loathed to do it, but he breaks the kiss and slips his hands down to grip the backs of your thighs to lift you up, instinct taking over to wrap your legs around his waist as your arms wrapped around his shoulders, hands slipping into his hair to twist in the strands, softer than one might expect.
A lazy hand shot out to turn off the shower before he left the bathroom, leaving a trail of water on the floor to the bed. Rather than toss you on the bed like you expected him to, he sits on the edge and settles you on his lap, and with you secured there his hands moved up into your hair to pull you into another deep kiss that’s all tongues and teeth.
You wonder if he can feel your heart racing where your chests are pressed together, your hands are shaking as they come to rest on the space where his neck meets his shoulders, fingers still twisted in the wet strands of his hair, unable to pull the away, scared you’ll float away if you stop touching him.
This is a dream; it has to be. But does that really matter? If it is then you never want to wake up, and if it’s not then you won’t have to.
The heat at the apex of your thighs had begun to ache, craving something, anything more from him. You don’t even seem to notice when your hips start to grind against him, and it pulls a hungry grin from him that breaks your kiss, and you make this pitiful little cutoff humming sound when he meets you halfway with his own hips, eyes rolling closed and face tilted forward, forehead to forehead.
He can’t take his eyes off you, never could. That used to piss him off, reminded him too much of Alt and how she made him feel, but this was different, both women pulled his passion to the forefront, but only you had ever made him feel like he was capable of being decent, like he deserved to be.
Now, as your breaths mingle, hips driving against each other like they’ll die if they stop, he can’t help but take in every minute detail, from the color of your lashes to the way the space between your brows crinkles as they draw together in desperate need to the panting breaths falling from your kiss swollen lips that he craves.
But there’s something else he craves even more.
Taking hold of you once more he flips you both, laying you on the bed beneath him, you don’t resist, all too happy to do whatever it takes to have more of him on you, around you, in you.
Your hair splays under your head like a halo and Johnny thinks that if you’re what God looks like, then maybe he was wrong not believe.
He hovers over you for a moment, taking in your face, your body, the way your chest heaves with every desperate breath. Then, when his forever limited patience runs out, he trails his hands down your sides, over your hips, and stopping on your thighs, strong and soft as they part so willingly for him.
Leaning in his lips follow a similar road as that of his hands, making detours at your tits to take a nipple in his mouth to suck and nip, making the flesh turn blush dark and your back arch up into him, a shuddery sigh passing from your lips. He could live the rest of his life lavishing your breasts like this, but the heat from between your thighs is beckoning him.
So, he continues on his path, pressing his lips to every new patch of skin he reaches till he gets to your hips, where he bites down till a pretty red, soon to be purple, mark blooms. Your hands thread into his hair as he marks you, but other than twisting into the strands you don’t do anything, needing the anchor more than anything else.
Settling between your thighs he’s met with the beautiful sight that is your glisteningly wet pussy, wanton and waiting for him to give whatever he will.
Ever the tease, Johnny leaves a couple more darkening marks on your inner thighs, watching your body tense in pleasure, before finally, finally, running his tongue over your aching heat, from bottom to top, where your clit is swollen and begging to be touched.
Your whole body jumped when he flicked his tongue over it, thighs trying to close on his head out of reflex, but his hands, strong yet gentle, hold them open as he latches on and sucks for only a second, yanking a gasp from between your lips.
“Fuck…” You breathed, sounding more like another reflex than an actual thought.
“We’ll get to that, Bright-eyes…Just let me take care of you…” He purrs against your flesh.
Trailing his flesh hand down your leg then back up again he runs his fingertips slowly around the opening of your beautiful pussy, it’s an almost reverent action, coating his skin before pushing one in, a slow and shallow in and out.
He was never really this gentle with Alt, she’d never wanted him to be, and Johnny’s pretty sure that if he asked you, you’d tell him the same to protect your ego, but the way your body was melting under him told a different story.
It told of a woman so used to being treated roughly, used to sandy winds whipping her face and sun scorched skin, fists and bullets, hard fucking and yanked hair, that all it took was a few gentle touches and sweet words and she was melting like so much ice in his hands.
It both warmed his heart and made it ache.
Soon enough he’d eased that one clever finger in enough to curl it up and brush against that spongy spot he was dying to see your reaction to.
It was everything he hoped it would be and more. Your cunt tightened around him sharply, your thighs did the same, but his shoulders didn’t let them get far, you let out moans and gasps that were nothing short of pure music. All those things he’d expected, but he hadn’t expected your hand to slip from his hair and fall down to where his metal hand was still holding your thigh to grip his fingers, a silent plea to let you hold it if ever he saw one.
So, he did.
Johnny wasn’t the type to hold hands, something so elementary just wasn’t his thing, but a lot of things weren’t his ‘thing’ till you, his Bright-eyes. So, he’d hold your hand, he’d never let it go if that’s what you wanted of him, he’d live and die by those digits wrapped around his.
And he slipped a second finger into you, giving you only a second to get used to the sensation before he was back to massaging your G-Spot with his fingertips, but that wasn’t all he did, he reattached his lips to your clit and ran over it with his tongue in circles, giving it the occasional suck to pull a jolt from your body.
You were like a livewire of coiled muscles and aching for release. Your eyes had long since fallen closed, unable to keep them open, gripping his hand like it was the only thing keeping you on this plain of existence, pussy gripping his fingers like a vice.
“Johnny…” You pleaded, high and just this side of a whine. “Please…” Your thighs were starting to shake as you begged, so very close.
But Johnny is a bastard, even when he’s being nice, so he has to tease you just a little more. “Please, what? What do you want, Bright-eyes?” He asked lowly, smirking against you. “Gotta use your words.” He felt you clench at those words, but he was already teasing you, so he’d address that later.
“…Please…So close…” You managed, sounding close to crying.
His smirk grew just a little more. “Then open those eyes and look at me. Let me watch you cum on my fingers.” He ordered, keeping you teetering on that edge till you obeyed.
Your gaze was foggy with pleasure and wet with unshed tears, it was the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen in his entire fucking life.
His eyes never left yours as he returned to your clit and worked it and his fingers till those tears slipped free, leaving wet lines down your face, but your eyes didn’t close, though it looked like you were fighting it with your whole being.
He watched as you teetered on the edge for all of a few seconds before plummeting off it in a show of dilated pupils, choked off moans, clenching muscles, hand white knuckle with how tight it held his hand, and trembling thighs, well, more like trembling everything.
But the thing that drew him in, the thing that made his chest feel tight and his cock jump in his jeans, is that your eyes never once, not for even a second, left his. Those endless portals of life stayed locked on the bottomless expanse of brown of his own eyes.
After a long several moments he had to break eye contact because he felt like he’d cum in his pants like a teenager if he didn’t.
Pressing a kiss to your thigh, still shaking, leaving a wet mark where your slick clung to his facial hair, then left a trail of such marks as he kissed his way back up your body, till he got back to your lips, where you met him halfway, moaning at the taste of yourself on his tongue.
Neither let go of the others hand, but your free hand cradled his cheek like he was made of porcelain, your palm calloused from years in the desert and Solo work but still so soft.
You stayed like that, lip locked and sharing the same air, for a bit while you came down from your high, and when you were dragging him back down to grind against him once more, he pulled away just long enough to devest himself till he matched your nudity, then he was back again.
He didn’t need to ask if you needed a condom, he knew you had an implant, so he wasted no time lining up and slowly pushing in, taking it inch by inch because even Johnny knew he was too big to go in all at once like an asshole, and there were some lines he’d never cross, hurting his bedfellows was one of them, less they asked real nice of course, but there was time for that later, right now his Bright-eyes needed soft, and damn if you weren’t going to get it.
Your face twisted in pleasure as he entered, and a broken gasp fell from your lips. “I know, baby, I know…” He breathed before pressing his lips to your neck. “So good, fuck…” You were tighter than he expected, but he wasn’t shocked, you hadn’t had any partners when he was in your head, and you didn’t seem particularly interested in finding any after you were in your own bodies.
Your hand returned to gripping his metal one as soon as he was back on you, the other found its home on his shoulder where your nails dug in, the pinch of pain sent a thrill down his spine that made it harder not to thrust into you.
“Johnny.” You said in a breath, getting his attention.
“Hm?” He hummed against your pulse point.
“If you don’t move in the next three seconds, I’m going to do it for you.” You threatened, though with how hard you were breathing it was a loose threat at best.
He smiled, not smirked, not grinned, honest to God smiled as he looked down at you. Rather than make some smart comment, he did as you asked, pulling out to the tip then pushing back in, so slow it was torture for both of you, especially when your still sensitive walls fluttered around him.
It was slow, or at least slower than you expected, his build up in speed. A small part of you expected him to be rough with you, you expected him to fuck you, not this. There was no way to describe this but as making love.
Just as quickly as before that coil in your belly started to tighten, and Johnny seemed to see it immediately. “Look at you…” He breathed as he watched you fight to keep your eyes open. “Taking me so well, baby…So fucking well…” His voice turned into a growl at the end, and you couldn’t help the way it made your insides clench.
Every roll of his hips had his tip brushing hard against your G-Spot, while the hair at his base kept a steady pressure against your clit, and that didn’t even cover what his lips and words were doing to you. Your whole body felt so hot you thought you might combust, but you didn’t dare let him stop.
Your legs wrapped around his hips to pull him in further, which served to leverage your hips up just right to have him pressing deeper, which you had thought impossible a second before.
You felt yourself once more on the edge of orgasm and he knew it, be it from the way you sounded or the way very part of you was clinging to him even tighter, he knew. “Shit…You’re so perfect…Gonna cum on my cock? Hm?” He hummed as much to himself as to you, probably to distract himself so he didn’t cum before you.
You couldn’t have answered him if you wanted to, it was all too much, too perfect, before you even realized it the coil snapped and you came hard, so hard your vision went white and you think you might have passed out for a few seconds because the next thing you heard was his voice rasping out your name mixed with several swears while his hips stuttered and you felt heat flood your insides.
He didn’t collapse on you the way other guys you’ve slept with had, he did lower himself enough to rest chest to chest, but his knees and free hand kept him propped up enough as not to crush you.
His face was pressed into your neck while you both caught your breath, and after a moment he pulled back to press his forehead to yours, eyes closed but it made him feel even closer, so you certainly weren’t complaining.
When both your breathing evened out, he opened his eyes and looked at you, finding you already searching his face. Trepidation was there at the bare edges of your gaze but seemed to be held back by the fact that he hadn’t pulled away or said anything shitty to you yet.
“You okay?” He said softly, quietly so as not to disturb the calm that had fallen on the room.
He watched your throat work around a swallow, and you nodded ever so slightly. “Yeah…” You breathed, voice sounding thick.
He gave your hand, still wrapped so tightly around his metal one, a gentle squeeze. “I love you, Bright-eyes…” He said, knowing you needed to hear it as much as he needed to say it.
Your eyes widened slightly and grew wet but before tears could fall you pulled him down into a kiss, this one was filled with a different kind of passion, it was softer, sweeter. “I love you, Johnny.”
He helped you clean up after that before going to bed, the radio still playing the same oldies station quietly.
“I have traveled beyond the path of reason…Take me back to Eden…Take me back to Eden…”
#johnny silverhand#johnny silverhand/v#Johnny Silverhand/Reader#Cyberpunk 2077#cyberpunk 2077 fanfic#x reader#one shot#smut
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New Kind of Love - Takemura x Fem!V (Reader) [NSFW]
cw: sexual tension, casual remorse, bad flirting, drunken feelings, confessions, oral, creampie, overstimulation
word count: 4,157
Synopsis: Takemura, a new acquaintance in the absolute shitshow that is V's life, feels more like a constant rather than a variable and V would like to keep him that way.
a/n: This was totally self indulgent on my part, my b.
Alive.
You were alive, despite your best efforts. If it were not the worst 24...48...36 hours, or however many days it'd been since the angry Japanese man scooped you up and dropped you off at Viktor's.
You were in and out for a lot of your time at Vik's. You'd seen him sitting by your bedside and every time you saw him, you wanted to mention Jackie. Of course it went back to Jackie.
Every waking moment you were struggling to think of something to say, moving your hands like they were weighed down by cement.
When you finally woke up enough to feel your spine, you were met by Viktor's hand on your shoulder.
"Easy kid," he said, matter-of-factly. "You been put through the ringer."
You opened your mouth to say something but the only thing that escaped your lips was 'fuck'. You sat back in your chair, the one you'd made your home and now felt aching your back.
"Where's..." You began, squinting around the ripperdoc's dark clinic.
"Takemura?" Viktor responded, sitting back on his stool and dropping his hands to his lap. "He took a break, went to get some coffee. Surprised he even left."
You reached to rub at your temple. "What do you mean?"
"Guy's barely even left your side in the past two weeks," Viktor said with a deep exhale.
"Two weeks?" You stiffened and sat up again, this time gaining a bit more strength.
"Kid, that chip you put in your head 'bout fried your hardware. Really put a damper on you."
At that, you sat forward with a groan. "Do I even wanna know?"
Viktor was silent for a long moment, then wheeled his stool to the foot of your chair. "Either way, it's gonna affect your way of life."
"Great," you lied, hiding your face in your hand to disguise whatever twisted emotion was warring on your brows.
-
You sat up the following morning in your bed after talking to Misty. From where you sat was Takemura, arms crossed on his chest, his legs stretched out before him. He'd followed you home, on the heels of Misty, and casually demanded entrance inside.
You had waved him in as Misty held the bars of your wheelchair. You were sure he wouldn't take no for an answer at this point.
But he was considerate.
Polite and considerate, demanding to a point but stern without raising his voice. He felt like a new constant compared to the squaking relic on your shoulder that was Johnny Silverhand.
At least Takemura took it easy on you. He slowly rustled and woke before stretching his arms before him. "V, good morning. Would you fancy a breakfast at the diner?"
You blinked, nodding though Silverhand was perched on your bed behind you. He was telling you to not trust a fucking thing this Arasaka jerk would say or do.
Takemura slowly stood, shrugging his suit jacket on as you shifted to your feet. You both took a few timid steps towards the door before you caught your reflection in the screen of your computer.
"Sorry, I'll just be a minute," you said, ducking to your bathroom to clean yourself up. "You don't have to wait, I can meet you there."
Takemura hummed, unenthused, taking a seat at your computer desk. "I believe that would be unwise. I will wait until you're done."
You nodded, ignoring his presence to strip and shower. Nothing extravagant, slicking down your wild hair and warming your atrophied muscles.
When you were done, you stepped out and swore under your breath at the lack of towels. You tilted your head to look out of the doorway, hoping that Takemura was occupied with his phone.
"I gotta get to my closet, okay?" You called out, edging closer to the bathroom doorway. "Just...occupy yourself."
A beat of silence before Takemura agrees and you hear your chair squeak in a rotation. You ducked your head out of the doorway, noticed Takemura occupying himself with your computer, and sprinted across your apartment floor to stop before your closet.
The door couldn't open quick enough as your hair dripped down your shoulders and beads rolled down your back, almost accentuating the curve of your body. Basically all the wrong things you wanted to happen before the stranger in your apartment. The polite stranger, whose patience was an undetermined scale, who also had a clean-cut ruggedness to him.
You shook your head, holding your forearm to your chest as you scoured your closet for clothes, pulling on jeans and a tank top before donning your signature jacket.
You wrung your hair out, squeezing whatever damp droplets remained then cleared your throat. "Alright, let's go."
You heard an affirmative grunt behind you, the chair pushing back before your front door pneumatically hissed open.
"Let's not wait."
-
Okay, he was growing on you. Maybe growing was an understatement. Growing was a slow process, one that involved roots and sunlight to nuture like a fresh patch of daffodils. This felt like an infestation, almost obsessive.
He didn't worm into you, he spread over you like old English ivys you saw from old photos. Pressing its way over hardened brick and mortar, snaking over cement like it had purpose.
Takemura felt like the closest person in your life. He was the only person you spent more time with than Judy (and you casually blew that away when you ditched her for Takemura).
But he gave nothing.
He was a translucent window that showed a gate inside. A guarded man with nothing else to lose and so much to gain from his outrageous plot. How he convinced you, you never truly understood.
You believed it was a long con, every time you stared into his opulent gray eyes and agreed by everything he said. You wanted to know everything he was planning and nothing at once because that would leave more for him to say.
When you felt his eyes on you, you tried to remain distant, staring blankly and hoping that this wasn't the sudden moment he'd started to read minds. Because yours was mulling through filth.
"Do you like sushi?" You asked dumbly at one of your many various rendezvous.
"Sushi, yes. But what Night city has is not sushi. It's suicide and somehow disrespectful."
You spared a chuckle to his comment though he hadn't made it to be funny. "Fair enough. What about pizza? I could order us some one night."
"Pizza is good," Takemura commented, keeping his stride towards your destination.
You skipped to catch up, almost childish in your attempt to get him to notice your effort. "Yeah, you can come over one night, we could go over the plan..."
The same plan you'd been over at the diner, on the rooftop, in the bar, on the phone, in the car...
Takemura shrugged. "It would be the same there, yes."
You furrowed your brow and rubbed at the knot between them.
"What're you, 12? I can smell the middle school desperation all over you," Johnny quipped, sitting on a nearby dumpster as you walked past it.
You ignored him with a wave of your hand. You were trying, dammit, wasn't that obvious?
"Maybe we could watch a movie?" You asked, your tone almost hopeful before it was immediately squashed by the thought of movies nowadays.
Porn, every last one of them. Takemura seemed like that kind of man to just...ignore things like that. He felt like the old fashioned that actually used his unsaturated imagination.
Takemura hummed, still keeping stride down the alleyway. You shook your head.
"Bad idea, forget that. But maybe we could, I dunno, take a break."
At that, Takemura paused in his steps.
"Bad choice of words," Johnny whispered over your shoulder. "The arasaka-bot looks like his head might explode."
Slowly, Takemura turned to face you, his steely eyes narrowing at you. "A break?"
You shrugged. "Bad choice of words," you repeated off of Johnny, "Don't blow a fuse. I just mean, let me dine you for once."
Takemura raised his brows in unison, a look of what could be conveyed as shock was intricate on his weathered face. "A free meal, on your bill? I do feel special."
"Alright, then tonight. My place. Just show up when you can."
"Tonight, I will see you there."
"It's a date," you tried, only to earn an unwarranted groan over your shoulder from Johnny.
-
You had barely made your apartment presentable, though Takemura had seen it at its worst. You were too busy holding onto the warmth of your shower to the very last second before blasting your body with cold.
You couldn't chill out to save your life. Resident rockstar horndog SIlverhand especially knew it, taking space on your brain couch next to the festering sexual tension you had towards Takemura.
It was absolutely one-sided, you could tell. By his stoic responses and at-a-distance glares to you. Everything came back down to business with him.
You needed a serious jet-cooling. This was only going to explode the wrong way if you kept down the path you were headed.
Johnny whistled from the bathroom counter. "I know what you're thinking in there, and I'm telling you, don't do it. We share a fucking brain, V."
You withstood the battering cold water a little longer, letting it take away every ounce of warmth from your body before you finally gave up and shut off the shower.
Getting out, you dressed as you normally did, but more on the sweats side than jeans. Takemura would have to understand comfort in ones own home.
The pizza you'd ordered was waiting on the counter, sealed tight to keep the heat in. You were just about to flip open the cardboard box to steal a slice when Takemura cleared his throat from the couch.
You jolted slightly from his presence, too distracted by your self-indulgence to hear him come in.
"I'm sorry, your door was unlocked so I let myself in," he began, standing from the couch with his suit jacket folded over his forearm.
"It's all good," you offered in returned, resting your hand to your chest before turning back to the pizza. "Wanna slice?"
"Sure."
You reached into your kitchen cabinet for two plates then slung open the fridge door to peer in for drinks. "Want a beer?"
You received the same cut answer from Takemura; you reached in and grabbed two beers then the two slices of pizza before nodding for Takemura to sit.
"Here you are, fine sir. Exquisite cuisine, finest of delicacies," you tempted, setting down his food and drink on your crowded coffee table.
"Thank you," he said, returning to his seat as you sat down in the corner of your couch.
You popped open your beer and took a long swig, eyeing Takemura from over the end of the bottle before setting it down.
He was careful in his movements, reaching for the pizza first and taking a steady bite from the tip.
"Takemura..." you began, grabbing your pizza and bringing it to your lips. "Why do you what you do?"
Takemura straightened up at that, chewing methodically at the pizza in his mouth. "I'm not sure what you mean."
You hadn't fully understood your own question either, but now it felt too late to back out. You faltered: "I mean, you're so careful and calculated, but for what? All it's brought you to is Arasaka disgrace."
Takemura's mouth flattened to a straight line and Johnny appeared behind him, on the lip of the sitting area.
"Good start, V. Insult his character. Next, bring up the way he dresses, that'll surely get him hot."
You ignored Silverhand and turned fully to Takemura. "I didn't mean it negatively, I just--"
"I understand what you meant." Takemura's response was metered and tepid. "I simply have no answer for it."
"Oh."
"Or rather, I do not have a simple answer for it. I have grown from a child to this person, following exact steps and paths for my best success. Yet it has still brought me failure."
"Takemura, I-I didn't mean it..."
"My name is Goro," Takemura stated, almost deflating as he finally slouched forward to open his beer.
"Goro. I'm sorry, I didn't mean it as a negative," you tried to reassure him but stone and brick wall made him.
He was an infestation at the same time he was the infested. Goro was riddled with guilt from his master's death and suddenly tasked with restoring his own title from the lowest point.
"I understood what you meant," Takemura, Goro, bit out before taking a long slug of his beer.
You had no words for him, only reaching to pat his shoulder comfortingly. "You're more than just your status. You're a man before anything."
Goro huffed, a pointed amused thing. "Easy for V to say that."
He spoke through you, taking a finger and turning it back to you in the same way you had.
You said nothing, only continued to eat your pizza while casually glancing over at Takemura.
"I did not mean that with venom," he finally said, halfway through his beer, pizza abandoned.
You stood up and went to grab two more beers then returned, handing one to Goro. He nodded his thanks, finished his last swig of his first then opened his second.
You slowly caught up to him, finishing your slice of pizza and gulping your first beer without tasting it. Goro hung the beer between his open legs, swayed it slowly in a pendulum motion.
"I have invested much of my life to my title, and to turn my back on it now feels disrespectful," he whispered.
You nodded solemnly. This was not how you imagined this to go, hoping to not break down the stoic man to questioning his entire beliefs.
"It's more of a growth beyond that," you tried. "You are Arasaka's preem bodyguard, Goro Takemura, who likes pepperoni pizza and cheap beer."
Takemura chuckled, or his best imitation of it, while he stared ahead. He held his beer in his hands for a moment longer, the smile on his lips wearing down.
"This beer is shit," he added with a final swig of his second beer gone.
"I was kidding about the gourmet."
Another chuckle, this time the smile holding longer on his face.
"So you were. I should not be surprised. This is nothing like Arasaka tower."
You opened your mouth to speak but was cut off by Takemura talking again.
"Not that I'd want it to be."
He turned his head towards you and relaxed back in the couch. Johnny appeared next to you, picking at his nails in utter boredom.
"Either fuck him or blow my brains out, I'm so fucking bored," he whined.
You ignored Johnny, standing up to take the dirty dishes away. Takemura followed you, grabbing the empty beer bottles from the table and trashing them.
You slipped past him on your way to the sink, dropping the plates in it before spinning around to face Takemura. You gripped at the underside of the counter as he lingered, debating on taking another beer and prolonging his departure.
"I should probably get going," he stated, matter-of-factly, taking a step towards his jacket on the couch.
"Now or never, V," Johnny urged from his place on the couch.
You reached out for his hand and squeezed. "Goro, wait."
He stopped, looked at his hand clasping yours then to you. "What is it, V?"
With a tender nibble at your bottom lip, you tugged him close then crashed your lips to his. You waited for the immediate push, the grapple of your shoulders and the sputtering of disgust, but it never came.
Goro's eyes were slowly lulling to close, the smattering of your lips together opening to welcome his tongue in your mouth. Careful, almost clinical, the way his tongue slid past your teeth and tenderly scoured your mouth.
You hummed, feeling yourself bow into his build. Your hand on his squeezed tight before you released it and weaved your arms around the back of his neck.
Goro's methodical hands rested at your hips, holding you a safe distance away from his waist. But you wanted to meld into him, cross your wires together and create a synapse of the ages.
With a sharp footing, you spun him around and forced him against the kitchen counter, finally causing your lips to part.
The older man caught his breath, his pale lips slick with your spit and plump from the suction. You took grip of his metallic jaw and caressed tenderly, your thumb drawing a line under his bottom lip.
Goro lunged at you, reuniting your lips together while his clumsy staggering led you towards your bed. The back of your feet hit the ledge before you landed on your back across your mattress.
Takemura timbered down with you, landing carefully over your body to not hurt you. His hands on your hips returned, this time roaming carefully in tandem up your tank top before shrugging off your jacket.
You obliged his request, shrugging off your jacket with it pinning your hands in the sleeves.
He wasted no time tearing your shirt open, revealing your breasts which he took in both hands and pawed at aggressively.
Takemura's touch was wildly intoxicating, much more than the beer could ever be. You followed his lead, arching your back into him as his thumbs rubbed over your nipples, perking them with his cold touch.
A moan escaped you, rippling through his mouth and reverberated in his actions. His curious hands drifted downwards, finding the waistband of your sweatpants and tugging them down hard, freeing your pussy to the distinct chill of the room.
You ached so lowly, it was almost unrecognizable. That was until Goro's thumb folded on your clit, slipping two fingers through your pooling wetness and inside.
You whined then, earning a curl of Takemura's lip on yours. At least he was finally enjoying himself.
He flicked recklessly at your sensitive nub, earning a few more errant keens and huffs. Your knees bucked in the confines of your sweatpants, your hands still pinned by your own jacket.
But he was off of you in an instant. You opened your eyes, mind reeling at the past thirty seconds until Takemura snapped his fingers impatiently at you.
"Lose the clothes," he ordered, unbuttoning his dress shirt before swiftly undoing his belt and tearing it out from its loops. "Now."
You followed his order without question, shrugging off the rest of your jacket before kicking off your sweatpants then tossing them both away.
Goro hummed in response to your obedience, his silver eyes mapping your body as you lounged across your bed. He gave up with fully undoing his dress shirt, tugging it over his head by grabbing it over his back then tossing it away.
He dropped his belt and his pants along with it, before kicking off his shoes and climbing across your bed to you.
Goro grabbed at your ankle, sliding you across the bed to him before stopping short. His mouth met the inside of your thigh, earning a trill of nervousness deep within you.
He said nothing, his tandem hands going under your thighs before draping them over his shoulders. Goro flashed a look up your body to you, through you. His eyes no longer resembling a mechanic, but something visceral, primal.
Goro sank to your pussy, enveloping your clit with his tongue and causing you to cry out. You brought your hand to your mouth to silence yourself, lest he stop by too much noise.
He was quiet, making his time down there eventful and succinct. There was no doubt about him being a professional, down to the very careful curling of his fingers when they entered you, matching the timed tapping of his tongue.
You were unfurling, thinking of a way to hold on a bit more before you carelessly unspooled, twitching and moaning out Goro Takemura's name.
Goro removed himself with a single slurp on your clit, earning an involuntary twitch in your knee.
"V, look at me," Goro whispered, now crawling over your body to meet your gaze.
You tried your best, staring up at him in a fogy haze. His eyes pierced through you, surrounded by the dark red that shrouded your bed area.
You reached a hand up to caress Goro's cheek again, this time acknowledging the stubble that lined his jaw. Your thumb found his bottom lip again, staring unwaveringly into Goro.
"I love you," you uttered, something you barely recognized as your own. You'd never thought of that word, never imagined it in your vocabulary if it didn't involve cars or guns.
But here you were, unraveling, defrosting the more you stared into this man's, this stranger's, eyes.
Goro said nothing of acknowledgement, but you saw it in his face. It was there, the dilation of his eyes at the utterance and the steady beat of his heart matching yours.
That was enough. You tilted your head up and pecked his lips, more so to punctuate your words than to fill the long silence.
Takemura allowed you to lead, his methods turning sloppy as he slowly slid inside you.
He was large, larger than imagined for his stature, his demeanor. To be so manicured and obedient, but with such power under the surface. Goro's cock paved its own way, making you feel the perfect fit to the end of him.
Your legs curled around his waist, wiggling your hips once to urge his movements. Goro opened his mouth before yours, panting into you as he started a slow pace.
You breathed him in, the beer stained in his breath, your nose brushing against his the more he pumped inside of you.
"Fuck," you whispered into him, your hands curling around his shoulders and meeting his thrusts halfway.
Goro panted, smirked dimly and nodded at once. Your hand drifted down his back, feeling at the slickness that built along his back before holding at his small and following his thrusts.
You tilted your head back, allowing Goro to pepper your neck with haphazard bites, nibbles, ones that would show who was now yours.
Your breathing heightened, hitched the more Goro became reckless, careless, his hips stuttering with a pace and finally fucking so tirelessly into you that you careened into another orgasm.
"Goro!" You called out, your hand on the small of his back holding him there a second longer, attempting to still his efforts for you to ride out your high.
But he didn't stop, and was chasing a harder, sloppier high that was met with rabbit thrusts of an uncommon speed. Your hand turned to nails as you gripped him close, shaking and sputtering to speak, your throat burning raw at the overstimulation.
Your toes curled as your heel caressed Goro's ass, almost wanting to kick him off but riding him out though the energy was leaving you.
His breathing shallowed, returning over you, with his chest hitting yours with inhale.
"V, you truly love me?" He asked, on the verge of something explosive.
His eyes were wild now, his manicured hair in spindly tresses framing his face.
You nodded, your back arching into him again. "I do, Goro. I really do."
A rumble erupted from Goro's chest, another instance of a primal nature revealed within him. He held onto your hips as he stuttered his final thrusts before planting himself fully inside you, gushing ropes of cum with each deep breath he took to come down.
You held your knees tight behind Takemura's back, coming down from your high as he did the same. You felt each shot of him the more you catch your breath.
Slowly, Takemura pulled out of you, leaving a decorative ring of his cum and yours at the base of his cock.
He rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling in silence as you turned your head to him. Now you wished you could read minds.
Goro folded a hand to his chest, acknowledging his heartbeat before reaching over to slide it under your cheek.
He pulled you in carefully, his grey eyes lulling for sleep. You rested a hand to his chest, pulled yourself closer still.
His nose touched yours, sliding over it before planting a kiss on your cheek.
"I love you as well, V."
You gulped, staring into his eyes, holding the moment for as long as you could.
Tomorrow, Goro would wake up and shower, clean up the apartment and return to bed for a while.
He'd wake up with a new sense of existentialism, wondering if it was still too late to return to Japan.
He'd wake up, craving a breakfast at the diner across the street.
But you would cross your arm over his waist and he'd wait.
#takemura romance#goro takemura#cyberpunk takemura#v x takemura#takemura x reader#cyberpunk2077#female v#bakeneko
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Tell me about Vance 🫵
thank u for giving me this opportunity to introduce you to vance my love my light v(ance). it's. a long one. a very long one
vance is a gay transgender man who grew up in a corporate family. his mother n father had met while working for arasaka counterintel during the 4th corpo war and had vance and his sister maya shortly after the war ended. they owe arasaka their comfortable, safe lives; if it weren't for their loyalty to the megacorp, they'd have been crammed into some rundown megabuilding alongside a thousand other poor, working class night citizens.
a lot of things started to change for vance when he turned 15. he realized he was transgender and confided this in maya, who had suggested his first chosen name: he started going by penn when he started his education at arasaka academy.
this was also the year he received an official, albeit beginner-level, cyberdeck. it's a hard implant for someone so young, but he had expressed an interest in tech and the NET years beforehand; why not let him hold the beauty of it in the palm of his hand?
he had jumped at the opportunity. he had always wanted it; why not accept it, now that he's been told he could have it?
he began to see his small world for its interlocking machinations. began to understand the little bits of code fluttering inside every piece of tech in the city. with the cyberdeck linked up to his neural systems, night city's buzzing got louder and louder, until the ever-present drone started keeping him up at night.
it would follow him throughout all his years in the academy—right until he graduated and arrived on arasaka's doorstep at the age of 19, newly transitioned and unaware of the other, freer paths the world might've had for him.
they took the beginner deck they had given him four years prior and began building him a new one.
a new deck required new implants. some of these were necessary, at first: a black steel spine to shoulder the weight of the deck, for example.
but over time, as vance excelled at every task they had given him, and then some—arasaka began to wonder: could they make him into something beautiful, in its intricacy, something impossible?
the average netrunner looks like their profession; technosights; jumpsuits; the seams for their cyberware running through their skin.
arasaka wanted to create something different—something covert. the most innocous of people; a tech weapon the nusa government themselves would kill to have (but how little they really knew).
vance's handlers proposed this plan to vance himself, there seated in arasaka's basement; they were, in some aspects, honest about what they wanted for him. they wanted him to be dangerous. they wanted him to be good. they vowed that they would be by his side throughout the whole process, the promise as loyal as vance had decided to be the first time he put on his uniform.
so he agreed—to all of it.
they started slow.
the steel spine traded for titanium; an expansive cyberdeck with more ram capacity; pulmonary implants to keep up the processing power; other organs traded for their mechanical counterparts, to ensure their safety when vance overclocks his systems.
vance became eerily familiar with arasaka's in-house chop shop. the ripperdoc there, boone vasco, put him under the knife time and time again—each major procedure had been carefully scheduled a few years apart. but vance wasn't just arasaka's pet project; on the side, he was their assassin. their ghost, trickling through the neon-drenched gutter that is night city, slaughtering anyone that needed zeroing.
a little hack there, an iron pressed up against someone ribs here.
he flatlined some disgruntled, middle-class corpo rat, some pencil pusher, who thought all it took to delta out of the corp had been booking the fuck out of the city with little else but both his family and several canisters of CHOOH2 in tow.
as far as anyone is concerned, maybe they did make it across the border.
or maybe they could've just made it, had they been faster; smarter; had they stayed to begin with.
maybe.
vance ran ops in and out of the nusa; his file will never see the light of day, not for all the eddies in the world. there's shit on there that'd start coups; destroy what little they've all built to keep. there are just some things that will always stay between him and the corp. they owe him that much.
when he wasn't out on the field, he was chasing novice netrunners out of arasaka's intranets.
eventually he had gained enough implants that the skin on his torso and back began to run warm—too warm. these were the days where he'd run ops feverish and slow. these were the days his own systems would fail him.
letting the machines breathe out in the open would've defeated vance's entire purpose; they had to get creative.
enough of these slip ups led to an entire torso's worth of a realskinn graft. arasaka had taken the market variant and specifically modified it so that it would allow vance (and his systems) to cool down faster. it's like a mesh rather than skin, soft enough to pass as the latter, but with pores big enough to remind one of the former.
they peeled the organic skin off his back and chest and replaced them—slowly, carefully—with this unique version of realskinn.
it took vance a long time to recover; for his body to accept this skin-like facade as its own.
--
because of the nature of his work, arasaka had thought it best to keep his existence a secret from the people beneath him in the pecking order. as far as they were concerned, vance was in a class of his own—just as adam smasher is his own unit, in a sense. still arasaka's; still a product of their patronage; just with a false sense of independence and superiority above everyone else, as if they're not all wearing the same tags.
vance had found a friend in someone like him; her name was veronica. she was a weapon, too—more blatantly, however, and certainly more of a physical, immediate threat that secrecy would've been a waste of more realskinn.
they often snuck out of work when they could—they took any and all measures to ensure that they didn't look anything like what arasaka had made them into. they went to bars. concerts. they breathed with the rest of night city—for the first time in a very long time.
--
the year is 2076. vance has been in arasaka's ranks for 12 years. he is 80% realskinn and the only truly organic parts left are on his arms, legs, and face. he is still arasaka's top dog; he is still their hound, loyal on a short leash. he still hears the world as loudly as they want him to.
but one, slow night in the basement, his handlers begun to talk—not to him, but amongst themselves. they didn't know he had left a little virtual watchtower for himself in the mikoshi chamber; the one place where he wasn't allowed to be.
he had spent 12 years as their model of what the perfect netrunner should and could be: covert, dangerous, and a powerful piece of tech.
he had spent 12 years as the first in a potentially long line of others.
they could've started sooner, more efficiently; they could've rolled out 3 generations in 12 years, not just the one.
one of the techies claims trial-and-error; there had been many times where certain implants had made vance violently ill. they had had to roll back. his recovery had been a necessary delay time and time again.
another agrees: one generation for twelve, another 2 in half that time. why not stop complaining and start now, with all the information gathered thus far?
and what'll we do with him?
the techies gathered around the room didn't have to answer for vance to understand his own obsolescence.
he had given them 12 years of his life; he had given them the skin off his back; he had told himself that every time he chose arasaka, he was choosing out of his own desire to be good.
what good comes of something past its expiration date?
--
he hadn't been the only arasaka pet project to be thrown out. veronica, too, was going to have her implants traded out so that they may go to the faster, newer generation of her kind.
together, they worked fast; they pulled every string that they had had the foresight to weave around night city; they created a small team of mercs to ferry them out of arasaka HQ; among them was vance's contact, jackie welles.
not many mercs were open to going toe-to-toe with a megacorp like arasaka—but if vance scrambled all the data concerning himself and veronica from their escape, then no one would ever be the wiser. to anyone on the outside looking in, it'd just look like they were stealing equipment from a shipyard.
--
i won't go into too much detail about the escape; only that it was long, tedious, and had left its marks on the both of them—physically and mentally.
in 2076, veronica and vance disappeared from arasaka's ranks, carrying within themselves the unique, stolen implants that made them who they are.
in 2077, they were beginning to live their own lives again.
vance changed his appearance; scrubbed all traces of himself from the NET, if any at all; tried to find his footing in the city that had heard of him only in the bodies he had left behind.
he looked over his shoulder a lot, those first few weeks he had spent lying low in mama welles'. he had been averse to any and all touch; he still craved it, however. that soft affection that demanded of him nothing but to let himself have it.
the hand brushes from jackie; the way mama welles would pat his cheek or fix his hair (even if it didn't need fixing) now and again; how viktor had put his hand on vances knee after the latter had confided in him everything arasaka had done to him.
he had left his family behind. his sister.
but he had friends at the end of his corpo world, too.
moving among them, he had found something in himself that he had had never realized was there: that he has a lot of love to give, and no idea how to give it.
but he tries, anyway; that is the one act of free will arasaka can't take from him.
--
that's it from me! you can learn more by perusing vance's character tag (#vance) or! if you have any further questions I'd be more than happy to answer them :3
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'Till Death Do Us Part
Pairing: Johnny Silverhand x Fem!Idol!Reader
part 1 and part 2
A/N: V goes by she/her pronouns. Y/S/N = Your Stage Name
Bold Italics is Johnny speaking.
WC: 1.5k
this was requested by the lovely @diabolusdevia, i hope you enjoy :)
When V was first introduced to Johnny’s engram, she was overwhelmed with this indescribable rage; a rage so deep and sharp that she was afraid it would kill her right that second.
But like the waves of a summer storm, the pounding rage gave way to a duller, more prominent feeling in the background— a profound feeling of anguish that consumed her.
The anguish was followed with memory after memory of a woman— a woman that performed side-by-side Johnny, a woman that was curled into his side— those memories gave V the tiniest bit of hope, before those feelings were ultimately crushed by the images of the same woman crying and lashing out.
V’s eyes flicked back and forth as she processed the memories, and she felt and heard everything that Johnny was feeling in those moments. She could feel the nostalgia that Johnny experienced, she could feel the love and adoration he still felt for her even when the woman was pushing him away.
The memories of the woman faded out, and all that was left was an empty gray space of time. V expected Johnny’s last memories to be of the Arasaka bombing, but no.
Johnny’s last memory was of a bird’s eye view of that same woman, walking out of the very tower he would destroy.
In that memory, V’s heart was torn to shreds before they were spat in hate and resentment.
“Y/N L/N.” V whispered, and she immediately felt the aching of her heart.
“Y/N L/N, Y/S/N, Mother of Cyberpop, key to my heart. Architect of my death. That heartbreaker goes by many names.” Johnny reiterated, appearing next to V and lighting a cigarette.
“I think that bombing is what killed you but okay…” V thought to herself, but only earned a scoff from Johnny.
“I can see and everything that pops up in your mind, wise ass.” Despite the harsh tone, Johnny carried a longing in his own mind.
Johnny would never admit it to himself, but V was witnessing every fleeting thought that Johnny experienced every waking second, and they were all immersed in Y/N.
Where V had thoughts of survival and how to get rid of the terrorist in her head, Johnny could do nothing but replay the last few years of his life. And among those few years, all he thought about was Y/N.
It was nonstop, V couldn’t even hear her own thoughts.
“Enough!” V shouted, startling the both of them. “It’s been 40 fucking years! You still haven’t moved on?”
“It hasn’t been 40 years for me. The Arasaka bombing happened just yesterday. Just yesterday I saw her for the first time in a year.”
V rubbed her face in agony.
“Does Y/N still make music?” Johnny’s question took V by surprise, but what was even more shocking was the twinkle in his eyes at the thought of listening to Y/N’s velvet voice once again.
“Not that I know of.”
And just like that, Johnny’s hope shriveled up and was tossed to the side just like the rest of his emotions.
“How about we go find her and ask her yourself?” The words just slipped out of V’s mouth without a second thought and her heart jumped at the worst case scenario. The last thing she wanted to do was upset an already ticking terrorist.
Johnny lifted his head and looked at V with a stone-cold face and for a second, V thought he was plotting to kill her right then and there.
“Alright kid. Let’s do it.”
It didn’t take a visit to a fixer to find Y/N, a simple internet search was all that was needed to find out that she was residing at a nursing home out in the countryside by the sea.
It was a 10 hour drive to get there, but Johnny didn’t let V have a wink of sleep once they arrived.
Sleep deprived and urgently being pushed through the entrance, V walked up to the front desk.
From the outside, the residence was a beautiful building that sat by itself on acres of open land. The sea was only a few hundred feet from the building, and there were miles of beautiful grass dotted with trees. The wind carried the smell of salt and tranquility, and eased both the minds of V and Johnny.
At the front desk of the lavish lobby, V introduced herself. “Hi, I’m here to see Y/N L/N.”
The secretary’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “Oh? And what is your relation?”
V’s brain started scattering around for a response before she sheepishly responded. “Uh…I’m a family friend.”
The secretary sent a suspicious look but didn’t prod further.
“Right this way.” The secretary ushered V—and Johnny—to follow her outside to the backyard.
Sitting on a bench under a tree, an elderly woman stared out at the gray sea.
“Ms. Y/N, you have a visitor.” The secretary calmly approached the woman, to which she glanced over at the visitor in question before turning her gaze back to the sea.
“She’s a quiet one, doesn’t speak much.” The secretary noted before leaving them alone.
V took a step forward, but Johnny stood back, frozen.
With a glance back at Johnny, V spoke.
“Hi, Ms. L/N. I’m V.”
Seconds passed with silence. V thought she hadn’t heard her and was about to repeat herself when a soft voice spoke out.
“V…short for Valerie?”
Under normal circumstances, V would lash out at the mention of her real name, but this time she kept her mouth shut.
“Yes, Valerie.”
A few more seconds, and then— “What a beautiful name.” The ends of Y/N’s lips curved just slightly into a hint of what could be called a smile, but was gone with the next wind.
“Uh..thanks.”
“Sit, child.”
V did as she was told, and looked back to see Johnny but he was already gone. Weird.
Neither of them spoke for the next few minutes, and V relished in that peace. There was no expectation to fill the silence. The two women stared out at the sea, lost in their own thoughts.
Except V’s thoughts were not her own, rather they were Johnny’s scatterbrained anxiety running a mile a minute.
It was clear that Johnny wasn’t coming out anytime soon, and there was no point in waiting it out. Might as well rip the band aid off now.
“This might sound crazy…but just hear me out,” V took a deep breath before continuing, “Johnny…Johnny Silverhand is technically alive…” V didn’t know whether to stop or tell her the full truth, but there was no point in omitting anything now. “His soul resides in an engram that’s in my head.” V pointed to the microchip slot behind her ear.
V wasn’t expecting an immediate response, but minutes had passed without a reaction and worry began to brew in both V and Johnny.
“This was a stupid fucking idea. Why the fuck did we come here in the first place. I doubt she even remembers me. Why would she remember me? Why would she even want to remember me? After the hell I put her through-”
Johnny’s usual cold persona was beginning to crumble and it felt worse than the shitty attitude V had to put up with.
But breaking through Johnny’s spiral was that same soft, steady voice.
“I believe you.”
V was gobsmacked and Johnny immediately materialized next to her.
“What- how-” V stammered.
“You just have a feeling about these things.” That same, small smile graced Y/N’s lips, but this time, they were accompanied with the flow of tears. “Oh, Johnny.” She whispered.
“I’m right here, baby.” Johnny was kneeling in front of Y/N holding onto her knobby, fragile hands. His own face stained with parallel trails of tears— trails of the pain he’s endured, with and without her.
“You want to tell her anything?” V thought to Johnny.
At the moment, Johnny made firm eye contact with Y/N but spoke through V’s mouth.
“I’ve never stopped loving you, my sweet little rockstar. Not once, not ever.”
V and Johnny sat on the bench, underneath the tree, closest to the sea.
Johnny’s fingers brushed over the newly-made plaque—
“Y/N L/N, Y/S/N, and key to our hearts.”
“Guess we gotta give her a drink at the Afterlife, now.” V stated with a sniffle.
“It’s the least she deserves.”
“One Y/S/N and One Johnny Silverhand, coming right up!” Claire shouted before heading back to get the ingredients.
“Pink lemonade, a dash of vodka, and a pretty green lime.” Both Claire and V recited at the same time.
“Enjoy.” Claire smiled and pushed her Y/S/N’s drink.
“To Y/S/N and Johnny, the coolest rock stars to have ever lived.” V clinked glasses with Claire and threw her head back.
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 cyberpunk requests so feel free to send me one <3
as always, have a great day and i'll see y'all in the next one <3
#yns world#cyberpunk 2077#cyberpunk johnny#cyberpunk 2077 fanfic#cyberpunk 2077 v#cyberpunk 2077 x reader#johnny silverhand#johnny silverhand x reader#johnny silverhand x v#cp2077#cyberpunk 2077 johnny#cyberpunk 2077 johnny silverhand
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[DISBELIEF]: after the receiver has done something completely unexpected (and reckless) the stunned sender cups their face in their hands while trying to get them to explain why the hell they did it. + Rooney x Yorinobu 💕
Thank you for sending in this prompt! I took some liberties with it while writing it, but I got it done!
[Prompt List]
Summary: In the parking garage after a dinner date, Rooney Shepard and Yorinobu Arasaka are attacked. The event (and Yorinobu's actions) leave Rooney feeling shaken.
Title comes from Bring Me The Horizon's Kingslayer.
Words: 2.4k
Content Warnings: Just canon typical violence, and Rooney's perpetual fear of not being enough to save the people they love.
Author's note: Coming up with Restaurant names fucking sucks. That's all.
Taglist (Opt In/Out): @bbrocklesnar, @marivenah, @alexxmason, @carlosoliveiraa, @captmactavish, @cloudofbutterflies92, @direwombat, @cassietrn, @voidika, @strangefable, @theelderhazelnut, @fourlittleseedlings, @socially-awkward-skeleton, @clicheantagonist
AO3
“What did you think?” Yorinobu asks, pleased with himself. Rare Vibes, an exclusive restaurant, was highly recommended and only served high-end clientèle like himself and Shepard. He looks over to his left, Shepard on his arm as they walk back to his car in the parking garage, a custom-designed Rayfield. They look gorgeous tonight, dressed in all black. Shepard seamlessly blended in with himself and others of similar status. Yet, even in a place like Rare Vibes, he could still see the soldier in them, ocean-blue eyes vigilantly scanning the restaurant for any threats to themself or Yorinobu. Tonight made him realize something important. What if this could be the duo’s life? A future where Shepard stayed, where they helped him take down Arasaka. That sounded magnificent.
“The food was good,” Shepard replies neutrally, leaving Yorinobu wondering what else they could possibly want, “could have used some hot sauce.” He shakes his head, a smile on his lips. Shepard was religious about their hot sauce. “There was something that I enjoyed more than the food.”
Raising an eyebrow in curiosity, he asks, “What would that be?”
They look at him with a slightly shy smile, their cheeks faintly red. “My favorite part of the night was spending time with you. I really enjoyed getting the chance to have a nice date with you like two normal people,” a second later, their smile turns to frown, “or as normal as it could be.”
“Shepard,” He places his hand over their hands, “Life with me will not be what you are used to, but I promise you that you can adapt to it.” Shepard’s frown deepens, seemingly uncomfortable with that fact. It is the reality of his life, and Shepard will need to adapt or leave. Yorinobu hopes that they will adapt to it, hopes that he is worth the temporary discomfort. “It will take time; it does not happen overnight.”
“If you say so.” The two lapse into silence as they continue towards the Rayfield. As the pair reach the car, only a few meters away, Shepard stiffens, their grip on his arm loosening. Yorinobu notices them stealthily looking around, trying not to raise suspicion as they survey the scene. He also knows the look on their face: their mouth set in a grim line and their eyes narrowed. Yorinobu has seen that look when watching Shepard participate in combat tests, focused and lethal.
“Is something the-?”
“Don’t,” Shepard keeps their voice low, leaning in so he will be the only one to hear them, “When you get in the car, call Arasaka Security and get the hell out of here.”
“Will you be in the car with me?”
“No, I won’t.” Yorinobu does not like the determined tone of their voice; he likes the idea of leaving Shepard behind even less. Why does he get the feeling that Shepard is going to do something reckless?
“Please don’t do anything rash.”
"No promises,” He catches a slight smirk before it disappears, a serious look returning as they slip out of his arm, “RUN!”
On Shepard’s command, he runs toward the car, only glancing over his shoulder once he reaches the car. Shepard roundhouse kicks an attacker in the face, sending them crashing towards the ground. Another attacker appears between two cars, rushing Shepard from behind. “Shepard!” He lets go of the car door, turning on his heel to go back to them.
“NO!” They yell, ducking to the left to narrowly avoid a punch. “GET HELP!”
Shepard is right. Despite wanting to run to them, he listens, knowing that he might be more of a burden. Yorinobu knows he can help them by bringing in reinforcements, namely Arasaka security. He would typically avoid Arasaka security, but permission to take Shepard out of the facility was to involve Arasaka Security instead of the police in case of emergency. Jumping into the open car, he turns it on, the door closing as he dials Arasaka security. “Yorinobu-sama, what is the nature-?”
He cuts them off, putting the Rayfield into drive. “Send an evacuation and combat team immediately. Shepard and I are under attack.”
“Yes, Yorinobu-sama. Please stay on the line. We suggest retreating to a safe distance if possible and allowing the combat team to handle this situation.”
And leave Shepard behind? Absolutely not. Wheeling the Rayfield out of the spot, Yorinobu catches sight of Shepard surrounded by three attackers. Their monowire glows a bright blue in the dimly lit parking lot as Shepard stares down their assailants. Shepard could handle this, but Yorinobu thinks that it is time for someone to even the odds. “No, send the team now.” He hangs up as the three start to advance towards Shepard. Pressing down on the gas, he speeds towards the three, sharply turning at the moment, drifting into the three attackers.
Shepard’s eyes widen as they jump out of the way, tucking into a neat roll as they land. One of the assailants quickly follows suit, but Yorinobu hits the other two. As the Rayfield slams into the attackers, it sends one flying into parked cars, leaving a dent on the hoods as they land. Car Alarms start blaring, headlights flashing. The other is sent straight into a concrete wall, leaving a dent as they slide down.
The Rayfield spins, slamming into another parked car. Yorinobu is dazed by the impact as the airbag ejects, the car groaning. A second later, the engine whines, followed by a death rattle. He catches his breath, his senses coming back to him. Yorinobu turns the key, hoping the car will respond. Instead, it sits silent, unresponsive as he tries a few more times.
CRACK! His head whips over in Shepard’s direction, fearful it might be them. Instead, an assailant screams, holding their knee as Shepard looms over them. Shepard swiftly ends the scream, their metal fist connecting with the attacker’s jaw in a mean left hook. They slump to the ground as Shepard looks up at him, fiercely glaring. “I thought I-.”
The other attacker, the one who landed on the cars, gets up, shaking their head. Mantis blades appear, glowing a sinister red. They launch themself at Shepard, who whips out their monowire, deftly dodging the attack. Yorinobu’s breath catches in his throat as he watches Shepard block the next attack, sparks flying as blade meets wire. Watching Shepard has always been mesmerizing, even more so in real combat. Shepard is a force of nature. Unyielding. Unrelenting. They’re almost a neon blue blur, dodging and attacking so quickly.
Heavy stomps draw his attention in another direction as Yorinobu realizes the third assailant is coming for him. Fuck! He needs to get out of the car. Now. To his left, the driver’s side door is pinned by another car, leaving it unable to open. Unclipping his seat belt, Yorinobu reaches for the passenger door, hoping it might open. He hears the click of the door, but nothing happens, leaving him utterly trapped. Grabbing Kongou from the glovebox, he aims the gun towards the attacker, flicking the safety off. Yorinobu will not allow himself to be easily killed. If anything, he will take his attacker with him. The attacker raises his arm, revealing a charging projectile.
Fortune favors him as Shepard looks over, realizing the situation. A ring of electric blue glows in their eyes, the telltale sign of a quickhack. (Yorinobu is glad that he convinced the team to allow Shepard to have a few quickhacks.) Their attacker screams, hands over her eyes. Shepard dashes away, towards him as his attacker draws closer, preparing to launch.
THWIP! The neon blue wire wraps itself around the attacker’s neck, flesh burning as electric volts course through him. Shepard pulls back on the wire, his attacker stumbling backward as the projectile fires. The missile soars over Yorinobu’s head, hitting the ceiling of the parking lot, some concrete tumbling to the ground. Shepard continues to pull his attacker back as the other one recovers. The other attacker, now recovered from the quickhack, launches themself at Shepard, blades raised.
Shepard dodges, whipping his attacker into Mantis Blades attacker, the two colliding. Both slam into each other, before eventually crashing into the ground. As Shepard readies themself for the next attack, loud sirens blare. “LAY YOUR WEAPONS DOWN NOW! ANY MOVEMENT WILL BE MET WITH FORCE!” Shepard retracts their monowire, raising their hand in surrender. Flicking the safety back on, Yorinobu sighs in relief, glad for them both to be alive.
—
It is nearly 3 AM by the time Shepard and Yorinobu return to the facility. During the questioning by Arasaka’s security team, Shepard has not looked at him once, answering most questions with a robotic and detached tone. Any that mention Yorinobu being attacked immediately sparks anger in Shepard’s voice. He also notices them hovering over him as the medical team inspects him, watching the team suspiciously. Following them down the hallway towards their room, he asks, “How are you feeling?”
Shepard stops suddenly, Yorinobu bumping into them. He steps back, opening his mouth to apologize as Shepard turns around to face him. They look furious as they cup his face tightly. Their hands are comforting, yet trembling slightly as they hold him. “What the hell were you thinking?” Shepard snarls.
He glares, anger rising within himself. “I hoped I could distract-.”
“What you did was reckless, dangerous, and stupid,” Shepard cuts him off, “You’re lucky that your little stunt didn’t leave you with a concussion or worse, and you’re even luckier that you didn’t get blown to smithereens. You should have listened to me; you should have left.”
Yorinobu cannot believe what he is hearing. “I am not stupid, Shepard,” He snaps, Shepard’s eyes widening slightly, “and, you cannot be suggesting what I think you are.”
They look slightly apologetic as they admit, “You aren’t stupid. I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have called you that.” However, Yorinobu should know better than to think the lecture is over. “And yes, I am suggesting what you think I am. You should have left. Your priority should have been getting yourself to safety. You should have left the parking garage and headed back to the facility. Or the nearest Arasaka building. Or a police station. You should not have come back for me.”
“Why would you ask me to do that?”
“To protect you. To make sure that you survive.” Everything clicks into place. Shepard is not angry; they are terrified for him. He thinks back earlier to when Arasaka Security arrived. Shepard refused to let anyone look at them until he had been checked out, stubbornly insisting that they were fine. He also remembers how they hovered over him, watching carefully for any threat. Even now, he sees the sign of fear: their ocean-blue eyes look like a tumultuous ocean under stormy skies. They are trembling, holding his face like they are trying to reassure themself that Yorinobu is here and safe, that all of this is real. He knows what must be running through their mind. Shepard must have been terrified that they would have failed to protect him, to watch him die despite their best efforts. Another death in a long string of deaths that followed Shepard in their wake.
“Shepard,” He starts gently, “Were you scared that I was going to get hurt?”
They release his face, hands dropping down to their sides. Shepard nods, looking ashamed of their behavior.
He pulls them in for a hug, Shepard stiffening in surprise. A second later, they relax, wrapping their arms around his waist and burying their face in the crock of his neck. Stroking their dark red hair, he comforts them, “I am alive, Shepard, because of you. You saved my life tonight. You need not worry; you will not lose me.”
“I know,” They reply, voice slightly muffled, “I was just terrified that they might hurt you, and I would be powerless to stop it.”
“I trust you, Shepard. I know you will do everything in your power to protect me, and if tragedy happens, it will not be your fault.”
“Thanks," They sound unconvinced, but unwilling to argue with him, "Does that mean the next I tell you to run, you’ll listen?”
“On one condition,” Shepard pulls out of his arms, tilting their head in confusion at his request, “If you ask me to leave you behind, promise me you will come back alive.”
Their eyes widen, surprise flickering across their face. Eventually, Shepard softens, looking at him warmly with a soft red on their cheeks. “I promise I’ll come back alive.”
“Good.” Noticing Shepard seems exhausted as they try to stifle a yawn, Yorinobu holds out his arm for them, “Allow me to escort you back to your room.”
Shepard does not fight him, looping their arm through his as they rest their head on his shoulder. “Yeah, I’m beat. You must be too. If you want, you can stay the night.”
Smirking, he teases them, “Asking me to stay the night in your bed? I will need to find my way into danger more often.”
They roll their eyes, pretending not to be amused. “Yeah, now you’re getting the couch.” Shepard teases with a charming smirk.
“What if I am cold on the couch? What if I need someone to warm me up during the night?” He jokes back.
“You’ll just have to freeze,” They reply sarcastically.
“You would leave me to freeze? How cruel.”
Shepard laughs at his fake admonishment. “We could always get you an extra blanket.”
“I would prefer you, and,” he adds with a knowing tone, “Arasaka couches are very uncomfortable. I will wake up sore. You would not do that to me, would you?”
They raise an eyebrow. “How would you know that?”
“I fell asleep on one.” Yorinobu had been jetlagged, falling asleep on one while waiting for a meeting. He was sore for a whole week afterward, unable to move without some part of his body aching.
“Yorinobu, are you sure it wasn’t because you’re an old man? The elderly need to be careful about the way they sleep.”
“Not that old, Shepard,” He retorts, “and very rich coming from someone into an older man.”
“Touché,” they reply, “And I’m kidding. We’re going to share a bed. Can’t have you freezing to death or breaking a hip on my conscience.” Softly, they add, their tone more sentimental, “I’m really glad that you are okay.”
“I am glad that you are unharmed too, Shepard,” He presses a kiss to their head, truly glad for Shepard’s safety.
#kate writes#the rooney fic tag#commander rooney shepard#I won't let fear compromise who I am#OTP: It always comes right back to you#yorinobu arasaka x OC#v: cyberpunk 2077#I'm not putting this in the main tags lol#kinda struggled with this one#but I finished#and I hope the ending comes across as teasing and goofy#and not cringy#but what I can say#you win some you lose some#cyberpunk 2077#cyberpunk 2077 fanfic#cp2077 fanfic
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Cyberpunk 2077: Chorus
Judy Alvarez (2077) and Vega 'V' Hawse (2077)
If you could pull the lever to carry on forever
Would your life even matter anymore?
Sure it’s a calming notion, perpetual in motion
But it’s not what you signed up for
The Rare Occasions - Notion
"Time's runnin' out, Judes... don't have a lot of time left. Relic Malfunctions gettin' worse... sometimes I'm out for half a day," V explained, "...fuck... I feel bad for draggin' you into this, Judy."
"No," Judy sternly replied, grabbing her chin, "We both knew what we're getting ourselves into. You'll find that cure. If there's anyone who can make magic happen, it's Vega Hawse..."
She leaned closer, "Also, you wouldn't want to make my abuela angry by dyin' on me, would you?"
"Fuck no!" V responded, "...but what if curing me meant we had to be apart for a while? What about us, Jude? Wouldn't be fair to you."
Judy's thumb reached up to her lips, hushing her, "I'll be waiting for you, calabacita."
Warning: Sad story below
Some Time Later...
"We almost never come up here, V... we can see the whole city from here."
"Yeah... there's some memories associated with this place. I can't remember the original feelings I... we... she... fuck, I dunno, had at the time... but I remember the events, and I can't help it... I hate this place."
"What happened here?"
"Two years ago, not long before I... we joined the Aldecaldos and went into Arasaka Tower... just helped Goro Takemura kidnap Hanako Arasaka..."
So Mi raised a concerned eyebrow, "...long story. We stayed the night with Judy, and then we came up here, on the way back from Laguna Bend."
Vega turned towards the city, "Looked out upon the city and asked her how she'd feel if my getting cured meant I had to be apart from her for a little bit. She told me that she'd be waiting for us."
"...Vega..."
"It's in the past now. A different life... can't help but feel somewhat betrayed, So Mi. V's last two years before Arasaka Tower were rough. Disowned by our father, kicked out of the clan, Jackie... I guess I picked up this feeling that V has an aura of death around her... everyone close to V either dies... or they leave, move on, find something better."
So Mi crossed her arms, "Plenty of people you worked with... helped... who're better for it, V. River? He's thriving, same with Randy, Joss and the kids. The Aldecaldos took a hit, but with Panam and Mitch at the helm, they've never been better. Dorian and Kaylee are doing... fine."
Val raised a brow. Dorian may have been physically fine, but years of reflection on his shitty corpo enforcer career had led him to go full Johnny Silverhand, wanting to set the whole city on fire. Kaylee, his closest friend, had spent years in the NET doing God knows what, and came out the other end... different.
"You always know what to say, So Mi."
"Not worried I'm quickhacking your hormone levels, or emotionally manipulating you?"
Vega furrowed her brow, "Have you been talkin' to Johnny?"
"Yeah, crazy conspiracy theory... you wouldn't even guess he's never been able to hold down a woman."
#cyberpunk#cyberpunk 2077#cyberpunk 2077 photomode#cp2077#cp2077 photomode#virtual photography#my vp#fem v#cp2077 au: chorus#oc: vega 'v' howse#judy alvarez#judy x v#johnny silverhand#song so mi#songbird#songbird x v#songv#phantom liberty#things done changed#story post#judy moved on :(#just to be clear vega doesn't blame judy or disagree with her decision#it just makes her feel sad#even though she wasn't with judy it was the vega she was made from#emotional damage
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The first Christmas after the relic incident and Vax actually coherent enough to participate is the first time Kerry gets to talk to Mama Welles and Vik without the space of a hospital or Vax on death’s door.
Vik is really unsure about Kerry, despite his willingness to do anything for Vax. To take care of him in his time of need. Maybe he just saw Vax as something to do. A charity case. He’d get bored once Vax was back on his feet. Though it had been over a year since Vax had gotten down, and Kerry was still here.
Their first Christmas with Kerry in their lives had been bleak. Vax still wasn’t talking and was still unsure if he’d actually make it. But now, he had begged Kerry to actually meet his family. No doctors or threats of death. And Kerry couldn’t help but agree.
Mama Welles was more inclined to give Kerry a chance, watching them from her window as the ‘Diva Rockerboy’ got out of the drivers seat in a baggy sweatshirt and jeans, helping Vax out of the car and comfortable on his crutches. The rehabilitation of V had been rough, lots of arguing and tears and stubbornness. But Mama Welles saw her son’s smile when he leaned for a kiss, and the way Kerry held his face like it was the most precious thing he had.
The dinner was nice, Kerry was mostly quietly. The charm couldn’t be on here. And he may be 90 years old, but meeting the parents was still just as stressful as it had been 20 years ago. Especially with the amount of scandals and drama Kerry had been involved in. He wanted these two to trust him with their boy.
Vax was all smiles, his favorite soup, his parents, his partner. It was perfect. Until Vik called him into another room- leaving Kerry alone with Mama Welles.
Mothers were always scarier.
“You love him.” It wasn’t a question. It was stone cold fact. One that Kerry was terrified of. He knew he loved V… but damn he did not wanna admit that. It was supposed to be a fling. Closure for Johnny. Then he saw those sad eyes in the Arasaka shuttle and his brain shut down. All he knew was that he needed V back.
So Kerry nodded. There was no beating around that bush.
“Good. He loves you. I went to a speech therapy session with him and you were all he talked about. It wasn’t even about your music, it was about you. I know more about how your hair feels than I do my own son.” God that kid was such a sweetheart what the fuck?
“He’s a sweet person, Ms. Welles. I’d do anything for him.”
“Oh I know. You got into a legal battle with Arasaka for him. And somehow won?”
Never mess with the gays as Nancy always said.
“I couldn’t lose. I had to win, for him.”
Mama Welles smiled and nodded, then took Kerry’s hand. Despite him being way older than her, he felt a comfort he hadn’t felt since his own mother had last held him… when he was 10.
“I see it in your eyes. You have my blessing. If you ever, Y’know, decide to get married again.” She patted his hand and pulled away when the sound of V’s crutches came back into the house.
“‘M Fuckin’ knee is about to give out.” Vax swore, making Mama Welles look up.
“Language!”
“Sorry mama!” Kerry chuckled, shaking his head. He didn’t deserve Vax… no one did. Not a single soul in Night City deserved him.
But Kerry was selfish, and he’d hold onto Vax for as long as possibly.
“I might take you up on that offer.” Kerry whispered, squeezing her hand on the table before going back to his partner.
#sobs#cyberpunk 2077#kerry eurodyne#cyberpunk kerry#kerry#cyberpunk v#male v#male v cyberpunk#vax eurodyne#kerry x v#kerry eurodyne x v#kerry x male v#cyberpunk Kerry x male v#male v x kerry#v x kerry#cyberpunk v x Kerry#otp: supernova#pre-marriage Vax and Kerry own my heart
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// oc in 15.
tagged by; @devilbrakers, thank you so much!!
tagging; @reaperkiller, @vvanessaives, @hibernationsuit, @katsigian, @adelaidedrubman, @dickytwister, @rindemption, @noirapocalypto and YOU!
rules: share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an oc, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the oc. bonus points for just using dialogue without other details about the scene, but you're free to include those as well!
decided to do this for vincent since he is the main character of my cyberpunk universe and it's been a hot sec since i talked about him! these bits are all from various fics including the broker which is a long fic that i'll never shut up about. sorry. i've included more than just the dialogue since a lot of vincent's manner of speech is also in his body language and internal monologue :^) his voice claim is basically masc v from in-game but with very distinct southern flair
from chapter 7 of the broker:
‘Here we are,’ Vincent repeated, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jacket and flinching lightly when he heard an explosion in the distance. ‘Just another fuckin’ day in Night City.’
from an unreleased fic i still need to finish and post:
‘The Deckhead?' Vincent asked. 'Fried to a crisp. Found ‘im hooked up to the Net high off his tits- he had an intruder alarm set up but it caused him to panic, ‘n he disconnected himself too soon. Lights went out before I could do anything.’
paraphrased from this fic, showing that vincent can and will talk to johnny out loud whenever he wants:
‘What the fuck,’ Vincent blurted out, voice shaky as he took another step back. […] Johnny raised a hand and gestured vaguely at Vincent, and himself, and the space between them. ‘You don’t have to speak out loud when you- I feel like I’ve said this before.’
from an unreleased fic:
‘Maelstrom wasn’t too happy I was running off with their toys,’ Vincent answered, eyes lingering on the bruise on Vitali’s face. ‘Had to flatline half of ‘em before I could get out.’
from chapter 11 of the broker:
‘Peachy,’ Vincent said and gave him a thumbs up. His mantis blade was still deployed and he nearly cut himself with it.
from chapter 16 of the broker:
‘Right.’ He stepped back, visibly biting the inside of his cheek as his eyes wandered off into the rest of the living room and he did a mocking salute in Vitali’s direction. ‘Yessir.’
from chapter 2 of the broker:
‘Pleased to make your acquaintance?’ Vincent said, the sentence more a question than a statement, and he frowned slightly as he watched Dupoint walk around the desk and sit down opposite of him while unbuttoning the jacket of his slightly too big suit.
from an unreleased fic:
‘Yep, that was me,’ Vincent said in response, his voice suddenly a couple of octaves higher. Smooth talkin’, you fucking airhead. You sound like a damn high schooler.
from this fic, talking to johnny out loud again:
‘Right, ‘cuz apologizing means everything is instantly forgiven and forgotten,’ Vincent snapped, accidentally startling an old lady he passed by; he quickly raised his hand to her as an apology and fastened his pace.
from an unreleased fic:
‘Born ‘n raised in the Glen, yeah,’ Vincent answered, flinching when he noticed the edge of someone’s umbrella get dangerously close to his face. ‘Won’t find the nicest people there but at least they generally know they’re not the only gonk on the fucking road.’
from this fic:
‘Headache that comes and goes-’ Vincent paused and glared at Johnny. ‘- but yeah, peachy. And you’re right. Worrying doesn’t help anyone.’
from chapter 2 of the broker:
‘V has had a lot of things on his mind, as of late,’ Vincent dryly said. ‘Please do enlighten me.’
from this fic, talking to johnny out loud again:
‘Alright, speaking rights fucking revoked,’ Vincent cut him off, visibly startling Vitali who had just slightly leaned in to Vincent’s touch. ‘Piss off, Johnny. Jesus.’
from chapter 15 of the broker:
Grant Armitage. Some seemingly random Arasaka exec with “his greasy little fingers stuck right up Yorinobu’s golden ass”, as Vincent had described him a few days prior.
from chapter 2 of the broker:
‘A fully opened center.’ Dupoint paused, raised an eyebrow, and glanced back at Vincent. ‘Do you know what that move is called, V?’ Vincent shrugged, and swallowed his laughter. ‘Dunno. The American Nutcracker?’
#tag games#ask:vincent#yes i keep mentioning that he talks to johnny out loud most of the time but it's important for his character i need you to understand#it's funny to watch him startle everyone around him by suddenly starting to speak to johnny out loud. boy you could pretend you're on a cal#also i didn't really know who to tag for this because i'm out of the loop with who writes etc etc so i just grabbed some regulars#but as always feel free to kill me with hammers for whatever reason honestly i won't take it personally
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Never Tear Us Apart
Part of the @cp77nyexchange for @elvenbeard, hope it's just what you always wanted!
There was a time not so long ago that just waking up with a roof over his head was enough for V, hell whether he’d wake up at all wasn’t something he took for granted. If he really tried, he could have imagined finding the Eddies to rent his own place again; as long as there was a bookshelf, a bed and a laptop he would be more than happy, but anything on top of that would have seemed a pipe dream.
Relationships were definitely off the cards too, the couple of times he’d dabbled in the fetid waters of the Night City dating pool he couldn’t swim away fast enough, there may be plenty of fish in the sea, but most of them were either sharks or blobfish.
As for work, much as he hated everything Arasaka stood for it was at least a steady job with regular pay and when it was over the choices were limited, since selling his ass on a street corner didn’t particularly appeal, he fell into the merc work and turned out to be pretty good at it. But the jobs and the training took over his life and for the kind of crappy gigs he was getting the pay was scop too, all he could see in his future was the same again, day after day, though on the upside mercs didn’t tend to live to be old and grey so it wouldn’t be his future for very long.
That’s why, every morning, rain or shine, good sleep or bad, V smiles. He’s got more than he ever imagined and although ‘stuff’ doesn’t make him happy, security and love definitely do and he has both of those in abundance.
Kerry never doubted that he’d be successful and wealthy, it took years of hard work and some shady decisions sure, but he knew he’d get there in the end. What he did doubt was that he’d ever find someone to share his life with.
At first, he just didn’t see the point, he fell in love every week, every day sometimes and would give the object of his affection every ounce of his being for the time they were together, until, like a magpie attracted by shiny things, he’d find a new obsession and move on without looking back. That lifestyle took it’s toll though, he was getting a reputation and making increasingly poor choices so he took himself out of the loop, went back home and returned some time later with a new mindset, he was ready to find ‘the one’. That was over forty years ago and much as he’d found several ‘definitely not the one’s’ in that time, it was only in the last few years that he could say he’d succeeded.
Right now, ‘the one’ was back home in Night City, Kerry had never wanted to go home as badly as he does right now, but there’s one more day and night of schmoozing and interviews to get through first and, since he’s in New York for the first time in forever, some Christmas shopping to catch up on.
-
“Hey,”
Kerry’s voice in V’s holo is heavy with sleep but still sexy as fuck.
“Hey back atcha, how’s it goin’?” V says brightly from his nest of pillows, Nibbles purring softly at his side.
“Shiiit, I’m sorry V, y’know I always forget about the time difference, I just…I just really missed your voice.”
“It’s fine,” chuckles the fixer, “been up for a while, emails to catch up on and stuff. Was going for a run but the weather’s stupid right now,” he turns around his optics to let Kerry see the view from their window. “Storm’s not even properly here yet and it’s already like Ragnarök out there.”
The storm had been working its way up the coast for days, Pacifica was getting the worst of it right now, so it was only a matter of hours before it hit Little China, the sky was already black, the dark clouds skittering madly ahead of the incoming wind.
Kerry’s perfect brows meet in concern, “You gonna be alright up there? Maybe you should go to the villa, might be safer.”
“Sure, a house on the top of a hill is way safer than a modern apartment block, I’ll be fine working from home and just using the gym downstairs. Don’t worry.”
Kerry still looks unsure, “Fine, just…just keep me updated. Be on my way back this time tomorrow, can’t wait.”
“Mhm, me either, we can order in some food and have a cosy movie afternoon.”
“Sounds preem, love you.”
“You too Ker, speak soon.”
The holo darkens and V’s voice fades, it’s been a long couple of days but thank fuck it’ll be over soon.
-
New York is bright, but cold. Wrapped up in his padded jacket and scarf, the world-famous Rockerboy is completely anonymous, not that anyone around here cares who he is anyway. It’s a relief to be able to walk the streets without being mobbed or molested, though he still has a security guard following at a discrete distance.
Kerry loves buying presents, he can happily spend days picking out the exact right thing and the recipient always reacts with surprised delight, all except V. V is horrible to buy for, he asks for nothing because he wants nothing, says he’s got everything he needs; Kerry sees it as a personal challenge to find him a gift that will blow him away. He’s pretty sure he’s aced it this year, just needs to pick it up.
-
V wasn’t telling Kerry the absolute truth, he really wasn’t planning on leaving the penthouse, but he wasn’t there working and he wasn’t alone. He slides out from under the sheets puts his sneakers back on and picks his coffee up from the side table with Nibbles following him back down the stairs into the living area.
Sitting on the bottom step sipping at his drink, V watches the chaos unfold around him. Dark greenery is being swathed and erected around the room, whilst purple and gold accessories adorn the foliage and surfaces. He moves to one side to allow a small, busy woman in a red pantsuit to wrap the banister rail in ivy and pine, several other similarly dressed workers are putting their designer touches to the trees and bookshelves.
With only a few days to go until Christmas, the weather had forced Kerry and V to change their plans and spend the holidays at home instead of at the mountain cabin, as long as they were together neither minded too much, but it did mean that all the decorations and food that had been delivered up there were now only for the benefit of the staff. Before Kerry left, they’d decided to have a quiet day and make up for it on New Year’s Eve, but V knew that Kerry loved Christmas and really loved the over-the-top flamboyance that was positively encouraged at this time of year, so he wasn’t going to let him down. It had been tricky to find someone to do it at such short notice, but the Eurodyne name – and its Eddies – open a lot of doors.
-
Kerry’s day was dragging, interview after interview asking the same questions over and over. He wasn’t much of a clock watcher, barely knew what day it was sometimes never mind what time, but today the clock in the corner of his Kiroshis is counting him down to when he can finally pack his bags and head home. His initial intent was to set off in the morning, but fuck that, he can sleep on the plane, so he has his manager book a flight a couple of hours after his last commitment, his fifteenth hosting spot on SNL, and uses the time between interviews to pack his bags.
Back home, V watches Kerry’s performance on the big screen, cheesy as some of it is, he still finds himself smiling proudly throughout, a small, unsure part of him still finding it hard to believe that the Rock God on TV is his mainline. He knows that every look into the camera and every cheeky smile is his alone, safely away from the ongoing storm, and with a snoring Nibbles on his lap, there’s only one thing that could make this evening cosier.
Even as the credits are rolling a call comes through on the holo, “Heeeey V, bags are in the car I’m on the way to the airport.”
“Thought you weren’t setting off until morning?”
“I just want to be home, with you Vince. Besides, I’ve got something for ya.”
V groans inwardly, Kerry knows he’s not good with receiving gifts but he tries just the same, “That’s great Ker,” he fibs, “I’ll see you in a few hours, be safe.”
“You know I will, love ya V.”
“You too ya gonk.”
-
There are some things that even money can’t fix, chief amongst these is the weather. For the third time it is painstakingly being explained to Kerry that there are no direct flights to the West coast tonight, none, nada.
Kerry stops his complaining for a moment to take in what the airport security was telling him, “No, direct flights, fine,” This is why he usually has ‘people’ to do this shit for him, “what about indirect ones?”
An hour later he finally makes a flight, not to NC but to what remains of some place called Bakersfield, then there would be a two-hour drive the rest of the way, could be worse so he tries to stay upbeat explaining the sitch to V.
“How long til you land?” asks V sleepily.
“Bout four hours I think, get some sleep baby, I’ll be there before you know it.”
If V was sleepy, then Kerry was positively exhausted, the long days, the time difference, the lateness of the hour all took their toll and Kerry is asleep in moments.
-
“I’m sorry to disturb you Mr Eurodyne, but we’re about to land.”
Kerry is woken from a deep sleep, momentarily confused and disoriented he soon turns it back on for the air steward, “Thanks doll, congrats on the uber-comfy seats.”
The pretty steward smiles broadly– she had a poster of him on her wall at home and was quite star-struck– and advises him to fasten his seatbelt.
-
Making his way through the airport animatedly ‘discussing’ with his manager over the holo how to progress with the rest of the journey, Kerry doesn’t notice he is being followed and so is not at all ready when a strong hand grabs his wrist and spins him around…
“Vince!” he cries, happily burying his face in the other man’s neck and enjoying the sensation of being held in warm, safe arms. “Not gonna pretend I’m not pleased to see you, but what you doing here, it’s the middle of the fucking night, at least I think it is, it’s pretty dark anyways.”
V chuckles into Kerry’s collar, he could be such a gonk sometimes, “Couldn’t leave you to drive all that way alone. You’ve crashed your car twice this year just going to the other side of North Oak, I’d never be able to sleep knowing you were driving all this way.”
Both men lean into the hug a moment longer, then make their way hand in hand to the car, oblivious to the fuss and photos going on around them. “You were right about one thing,” V tells his mainline, “it really is the middle of the night, gonna sleep for a week when we get back.”
“Gonna sleep for a week eventually,” corrects Kerry.
-
The storm has abated, the usually littered streets of Night City look cleared somewhat, though looking into the darker corners reveals detritus - both human and otherwise - better left unexplored. Kerry always feels a weight settling on him when he returns, it’s comforting in some ways and has lessened of late, but it’s a constant reminder that he is fragile and mortal and he hates it. He’d snoozed away the last couple of hours, but wakes to the sun just rising above the horizon illuminating the neon and dust with a yellowish hue.
“I love this time of day,“ V says softly, somehow aware that Kerry has awoken, “the City looking fresh and new, full of possibilities.”
“As long as its full of coffee and toast that’ll do for now,”
V smiles and rests his hand on his lover’s thigh, “I’ve got a surprise for you back at home.”
Raising an eyebrow, Kerry looks deep into V’s emerald-green eyes, “I thought you said you were tired,” he smirks.
“Not that kind of surprise, at least not yet, you’ll see.”
-
Elevator music has not improved over the last hundred years or so, V grins and Kerry groans as a tinkly, jolly version of ‘User Friendly’ floods the small compartment, thankfully the journey isn’t a particularly long one and the doors to the penthouse slide open silently. Kerry lifts his head from where it had been resting on V’s shoulder, the twinkling lights reflected in his sapphire eyes.
“Shiiit Vince, it’s beautiful. When did you have time to do all this?” he asks stepping into the suddenly unfamiliar living space with wonder.
“Um, I managed to persuade the company that does the set design for your shows to loan us some stuff, they came over and…”
The sentence is stolen away by a fierce kiss from the Rockerboy who now looks at his lover, tender hands framing his tired face, “I don’t deserve you, but I’m never fucking letting you go.”
Another kiss and V leads Kerry through the golden and purple lights to the promised coffee and toast.
-
“You know I said I got you something?” Asks Kerry, espresso in one hand and half-eaten raisin toast in the other.
“Mhm,” answers V through a mouthful of cereal.
“Well, um…” Kerry is rarely tongue-tied, but finds himself anxious now the moment has come. Although always appreciative, V has never been impressed by a gift that Kerry (or anyone) had given him, though this one would be tricky to hide in a cupboard or re-gift. “Gimme a minute.”
Rummaging around in one of the bags still dumped by the elevator door, Kerry pulls out a slightly crumpled old-school cardboard folder tied with a ribbon, whilst V tries to organise his face and thoughts into something that looks and sounds grateful for whatever this turns out to be.
“You could’ve just emailed whatever this is y’know.”
“It’s Christmas, I wanted something you could hold in your hands, but you don’t need to hold it like it’s gonna explode, go on baby, open it.”
V places the folder on the counter and pulls on the ribbon with Kerry nervously looking over his shoulder, a hand resting gently on V’s hip. He watches as V first looks at the photo before placing it to one side and reading the paperwork with a furrowed brow.
“Erik?”
“Yeah, I thought he’d be company for Nibbles, we’re kinda away a lot and she gets lonely. Thought it’d be fun for her – and us - to have a kitten around. Can’t pick him up for a few weeks yet though.” Kerry bites his lower lip and looks up at the ex-merc for a reaction.
“You got me a kitten, seriously?”
“Kinda,” Kerry’s arms fall to his sides and he walks away perching on the edge of the coffee table, no longer able to look V in the eye, “Keep reading…”
There’s silence as V works his way through all the sheets in the folder, Kerry quietly slips out onto the balcony for a smoke and soon strong arms wrap around him and he leans back into the hug with relief.
“You’re completely mad, you know that right?”
“It’s been said. Just thought, y’know, if we owned the cat sanctuary then we know they’ve got everything they need and that they’re being looked after properly, and as an added bonus you can go over and pet the inmates whenever you’re feeling stressed.”
V hugs his mainline a little tighter, kissing him behind the ear. “Plus, it’ll give you something to do when you’re too old and doddery to go on stage anymore.” he whispers.
A well-placed elbow to the ribs makes V gasp and then giggle, he takes Kerry’s hand and leads him towards the living area and huge projector screen for the promised movie afternoon, though not much of the film is actually watched; both are gently snoring in each other’s arms within moments.
#kerry eurodyne#kerry eurodyne x male v#cyberpunk 2077#kerry x male v#cyberpunk kerry#v cyberpunk#kerry is my muse#cyberpunk v#kerry x v#cp77nyex
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20677
“What happened in 2067?” Kerry asked.
“Hm?”
V, still somewhat zoned out, needed a moment to register fully what he had said. It was oddly quiet in his apartment, as if the city hadn’t fully awoken yet either. Nibbles dozed on her favorite pillow on the sofa and the sun was shining, dust swirling in the light. Everything seemed strangely peaceful, normal even… as if there was anything normal about having Kerry-fucking-Eurodyne casually lounge in his bed after an emotional rollercoaster of a day and night yesterday. Yet, with all that had happened over the past two months, V grasped at every semblance of "normal" he could.
“I mean… don’t have to tell if ya don’t wanna,” Kerry added, sitting up properly now, and moving to join him at the edge of the bed, “Was just curious.”
He had every right to be… V had grown so used to being silent about his past, his private life, that it had become quite hard to open up when prompted. Even with people he felt safe around. To a degree, his silence felt unfair towards Kerry, whose life had been on public display for decades – more or less accurately depicted. He literally carried his past on his sleeve, but even if he didn’t, by Johnny’s presence alone V already seemed to know so much more about Kerry than the other way around.
Kerry trailed a finger or two down V’s spine, making him shiver in a pleasant way. A caress of something he had almost forgotten about, at least for a moment taking his mind off his uncertain future. Reminding him of where he once had been and how far he’d come, who he had become since then.
“Ah, the tattoo…” he realized.
“Guess you can put two and two together ‘bout mine,” Kerry said with a sad smile, looking to the floor for a moment, “2023… hell of a year.”
“Pah, he can talk,” Johnny scoffed somewhere in the back of his mind, but V decided to not humor him right now. Honestly, he doubted Johnny really meant what he said half of the time. They weren’t so different after all, in that regard at least: hiding their hurt behind sarcasm and snark…
This thought alone made V want to spill his entire life’s story right then and there. But no matter how much he wanted to do it just to prove Johnny wrong, spite wasn’t strong enough a weapon to break down the walls he’d built up around himself. As much as he’d set himself free in 2067, it had somehow also marked the beginning of a downhill race – sure, with a few peaks in-between, but the overall trend hadn’t been that positive in hindsight. There was little glory in his past, and he dreaded the moment he’d have to come clean about his time with Arasaka. Not in the sense that he regretted having worked there, he still didn’t and probably never would… but not being sure at all about how Kerry would take it.
As if he could hear his thoughts, Kerry looked back up at him, almost expectantly, but V still didn’t know where to begin, or what he was even ready to share.
“Could say 2067 for me was what 2023 was for you, in a way,” he decided to say, lame as it was as a reply, “Something ended, and something new began.”
Deep down he knew Kerry would understand. You didn’t get a year and wings tattooed across your whole back if it didn’t hold significant meaning, usually even in a painful way. Yet all that had happened then seemed so minor and unimportant to what was happening to him now… If he made it out of it alive, he’d have to get the six covered up with a seven.
He realized he’d been quietly staring at his own intertwined hands for a little too long now, abruptly turning to look Kerry in the eyes again. The thin golden rim around his gorgeous, piercing blue irises gleamed in the morning sunlight and the sight took V’s breath away for a moment.
“As I said, no need to tell right now. Or ever,” Kerry repeated softly, lips then curling into a cheeky grin, “Like me a man with secrets. Somethin’ to look forward to unravelling further down the line.”
V’s heart first jumped then sunk at that notion.
“Kerry…” he hesitated, voice barely more than a murmur. Then he sighed.
“In 2067… Felt like I was at a point of no return then. I thought I’d never be as scared and lost again as I was that year. But now…”
He hesitated for a moment.
“Ironically what scares me the most is knowing exactly what I’ll have to do next. My path is clear, seems to be set in stone, I didn't have that certainty back then… but at the same time it’s like I’m ‘bout to walk straight off a cliff.”
Kerry looked him in the eyes intensely, and V wanted to believe he recognized understanding and sympathy in his expression.
“I’m not gonna say I understand even half of whatcha goin’ through right now,” Kerry said and scooched a little bit closer, their hips and thighs touching now, his arm around V’s back. Kerry sighed, and his face was so close to V’s, his breath brushed past his cheek and neck and chest. Had he wanted to, he could have counted all his freckles, reminding him so much of the stars in the night sky he’d always been so desperately looking for as a kid.
“You asked me yesterday if I was sure about this. Us,” Kerry said quietly, “Knowin’ what’s potentially gonna come.”
V’s heart was beating so hard, so fast, as if it wanted to climb out of his throat.
“Yeah,” he said, voice cracking slightly, grasping at his own fingers even more tightly now, shoulders tense. Then Kerry pulled him closer, just a tiny bit, less than an inch really… but it was still somewhat startling and unexpected. Kerry wasn’t shy about touch, that much was clear, and V was still somewhat overwhelmed by it now and then. But this now was different, subtle, soft… and he liked it a lot.
He looked back up at him.
“Still no doubts,” Kerry then said, gently and firmly at the same time. V was frozen in shock for a moment, but the warmth of Kerry’s smile started to melt his tenseness away, little by little.
“Thing is… ya never know what’s gonna come. Sometimes you just gotta take the leap and hope for the best. Take all chances you can, cause life’s only gonna throw so many at ya.”
He had a point. All he could really do was continue moving forward. No matter how much he wanted to put off the inevitable, it would arrive sooner or later.
Kerry tilted his head slightly and smiled, and V couldn't help but do the same, heart beating hard and fast again. Fuck... it was way too soon to say "I love you", but in this moment he was certain that this was exactly what he was feeling. He hadn't fallen so hard and so fast for someone in a while, hadn't even thought he'd ever be capable of it again.
"Guess the odds of us ever meeting and ending up here were pretty slim, too," he then said instead.
"Nothin's impossible if you set your mind on it. You've shown me as much, and I'll keep it in mind for sure..." Kerry smiled as he leaned in to capture V’s lips in a soft, warm kiss, his hand reaching out to hold V's, the sun embracing them.
Maybe it was worth risking it all, if on the other side of the abyss waited a future with more of this. And even if not… V was certain, whatever time he had left, he wanted to spend it at Kerry’s side.
#cyberpunk 2077#cyberpunk v#male v cyberpunk#kerry eurodyne x v#kerry eurodyne#eurovyne#cyberpunk fanfic#cp2077#cp2077 fanfic#cyberpunk 2077 vp#shippy saturday#otp: to bad decisions#vincent ezaki#hello I made myself sad with my own writing again#the line with the freckles surprised me so much and punched me in the feels but it's my fave#~ they were made for each other ~#I wanna do so much more in this format#stories with screenies inbetween#also this is all the aftermath of another conversation I haven't written yet#the whole 'how much did johnny really tell you about my condition and how limited our time together could be?' issue...#only played through in my head over and over#but I'm not emotionally ready for writing that yet XD
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It‘s time. Going to drop some headcanons and assumptions about the Colonel here.
Grab some snackies and feel free to comment your own thoughts about him if you like. Think everyone has his/her own view on the character, would be interested to hear them. And I already noticed I missed some information because I am like a blind little mole while playing games. So if there are STILL things I just missed, that are somehow connected to stuff I came up with pls let me know. Need to absorb all the little details about the dog.
And of course there are spoilers below the line. If you don‘t likey, don‘t looky.
1. He‘s not dead
That‘s like my absolute main hc. Said it in a post before and say it again: I was disappointed How he was treated especially in the end. Guess I could live with his death, if it was written differently, but for me it was extremely unsatisfying. First of all: he‘s a high performing, experienced military machine. It‘s said his strengths primarily lie in interrogation, that he‘s a natural born leader and organizational stuff is his thing, but he‘s a skilled fighter too. If you side with Reed you have to fight him and damn. He‘s a beast.
I don‘t like that the protagonist of a story (would be V in this case) has to win all fights. There should be more enemies who are invincible and fights would be resolved differenty. It’s a general thing I would like to see more often in games, especially rpgs with strong choice making mechanics. Yes, V is a skilled fighter and Alex definitely knows how to completely delete someone too, but I don‘t know. It felt really uninspired and didn’t do justice to the character. If I had to decide for a mixture of canon for my headcanon, it would be Alex catching him off guard (like when you‘re siding with Songbird) but he‘ll survive and lands in the hospital (the same way if you don‘t kill him at the end of the boss fight).
The hc would be that he took this opportunity and staged his death. Fake news, fake corpse at the funeral, Jago and Bennett doing a little show so it’s more believable. Let Myers and the gov think he‘s gone, while he has the opportunity to plot against them without them knowing. I want him to have an epic revenge arc.
2. His scars and cyberware
Not that confident with this one yet but I need a story for it. His bonked-in forehead, the ear and the arm need to be connected somehow. Not a coincidence that all of this is happening on the left side. I like to believe it happened at the end of the Midnight Storm mission. When Arasaka came to shore and they where forced to retreat. Maybe I missed that or it‘s just not clearly stated but for me it always sounded like they got the order to get the fuck away, but literally where left to die, because Arasaka was superior to them. They got attacked, many died and he lost his left arm. The what and hows I am not sure about. Feel like he got bonked really hard by something or someone and the arm was ripped off. Could have been a grenade or something, but don’t know if there would be different type of scars then. The last survivors found shelter, Kurt decided to fuck the orders, after Myers agreed on peace and the rest is history.
Part of that hc is, that he doesn‘t like his cyberarm. He adapted to it, but to me, he seems like a „less is more guy“. He surely has a lot of implants but compared to veterans like Bennett or Rinder he‘s rather low on chrome imo. Like the casual military gear for a person with his rank, he probably had to install but nothing more.
Since he is right-handed I’d say he got the cyberware on the right this arm earlier and it’s related to better aim or another improvement regarding the use of weapons. There‘s a little tiny lettering on it saying „Yukimura“. That‘s a type of smart gun. Wild Dog and Bald Eagle are both power weapons but could be some sort smart link cyberware anyway and they used smart assault rifles in the military.
3. Family/Childhood/Military
It‘s said in his military file, that he was a gang member at young age and enlisted in the Militech Forces soon as he reached legal age. Thing is: I basically don‘t know anything about american law or army regulations. Just did a quick research on that topic and found some stuff on Reddit that it is technical possible that you could avoid a prison term, especially in juvenile law, if you instead join the armed forces. I don‘t know if there is something like this in the Cyberpunk lore too, but I think it would be very fitting. So there was gang member Kurt, doing all the illegal stuff like theft, armed robbery and probably worse. Think he than grew up in a typical broken home situation. Divorced parents or they just didn't give a shit. Something like this. Then he or one of his goons fucks up, got caught and he joins Militech instead of spending a lot of years in prison. In one of his voice lines he says smth like: some don't have another choice than joining the army. Like to think that applies to him aswell. At the beginning it was just a way out for him. He then settled in very quickly and liked the solid structures and discipline, that he probably never had before in his life. The fact, that he was really good at the things he had to learn and had to do, gave him a lot of confidence - like a military glow up. Think he really enjoyed his time in the military to a certain point. The Power and respect he gained throughout the years. But also he never lost his rebellious side, like it's said in his psychological profile.
Could be possible that he wanted to join the army by free will also. But I like the plot, that he always was kind of an rotten apple, the military made him stronger and brought up hidden qualities in him, but in the end failed to reform him. Reed said something like: that's it the govs fault, that Kurt is the man, he is now. So they failed to keep him on the rightous path.
4. His first kill
Inspired by the message you can get from Alex. She’s asking V if he could remember his first kill. That’s a pretty cool question and hc material imo. In Kurts military file it‘s stated, that shortly after he joined the military he was picked to go to the military academy. So I guess he did something he stood out for, between all the other people who joined at that time. He definitely was judged very critical in the beginning and had a hard time because of his streetkid past.
He probably could have killed some ppl back then, but I‘d rather believe that he still was in the lower ranks of the gang, considering his age, and had to do rookie-shit, instead of big jobs involving killing ppl for example. My hc is, that there was another recruit in his unit who tried to skip a lot of training by getting heavy cyberware and taking a lot of boosting stuff to quickly become the best among them and getting chosen for a higher position faster. In the end all he got was a cyberpsychosis and eventually turned on his mates during a combat training. Kurt then managed to take him out and saved the others. In the end he was the one getting the wanted attention of the superiors. Connecting to this event, I think he has a low tolerance for people who don‘t know their boundaries and can‘t handle their chrome and themselves.
5. Jago
I think he really likes Jago, maybe even more then Bennett sometimes. I like to compare these two because of the „Run this Town“ mission. Bennett surely has a bonus because he’s been in the army with Kurt and is his most trusted and loyal man, but I can imagine Kurt enjoys to work with someone without military background. He would probably call it refreshing. Don’t know just really like their dynamic. Absolute pros in what they do and profiting from each others skills. Can imagine he often just asks Jago about his opinion, if he needs one, because he has a different view on things. Other than a soldier who‘s just used to follow orders most of the time.
6. Boxing
He‘s into boxing. Doing it himself and following professional sports alike. He definitely does some kind of sports. Daily workouts or something like this too, but he‘s eager to stay in shape for sure. Like to think he has some sort of Fight Club thing running inside of Barghest. They meet up one or two times per month and are boxing against each other. There’s a scoreboard, they show off their bloody noses and black eyes the next day. That HC came from the „Balls to the Wall“ mission. Loved that vibe. And he enjoys watching professional fighters. And betting on the fights for sure. AND imagine a highclass boxing fight in the Sapphire. Inviting all the rich folks, there’s a boxing ring instead of a stage. Following that Las Vegas vibe Dogtown has.
7. Collection
Although he is quite a show-off when dealing with his customers and business partners, boasting about fancy parties, expensive champagne, his successes and income, I think that he is otherwise a pretty grounded guy. The way he still dresses like the casual military man, no chic suits or other unnecessary things. The Black Sapphire is the only really glam looking place in Dogtown. Everything else that‘s run by him is purely practical. But: I think he has some sort of guilty pleasure. Like collecting historical or rare guns and other weapons. Or a collection of high priced liquors. Or maybe he‘s interested in cars and/or motorcycles like Aymeric. Would suit him.
8. Privacy
This one is very simple and rather short but I think he really values his privacy. His quarters (according to early concept art) is in the upper levels in the Black Sapphire. A big ass office and probably all the other stuff like bedroom etc. on one floor. Can imagine that all or the most of these rooms are off limits for everyone else. Everyone needs some save space to decompress.
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Hello… do you have any head canons for Hansen to share? I was disappointed to only have one conversation with him, and you seem like a good person to ask. >:3
Me? Having ideas about the warlord? Nooo never-
Anyways here’s a list of Thoughts that I hope are vaguely coherent, though warning: they’re a tad all over the place
He was raised by his granny on his father’s side. She was actually from Serbia, and had met his grandfather when he spent some time there then moved back to America with him. His grandfather was dead before he was born, and his mother’s parents weren’t present in his life. Grandma Hansen practically raised little Kurt, his parents were career-oriented – his father a colonel and his mother held some minor political role – so their time for him was limited.
She fostered his love for her home country as she shared stories of her own childhood while tucking him in to bed, or when he was still small enough to sit on her knee. One evening she told him a story of the bauk, and boy did that plant a mild fear of the dark him. He had to sleep with a nightlight for a few weeks after.
His granny owned a dog when he was growing up, dear ol’ Bowie. She was a big loveable mutt who was already quite old when Kurt was born. She’d sleep under his crib when he was a baby, and would walk shakily alongside him as he was taking his first steps. Almost every photo of baby Kurt has Bowie in it, up until he was four years old and she passed.
He got to choose their next pet dog when he was eight, it was a mean looking bastard he named Titan. The Barghest symbol is based on him.
His gran died just before he got promoted to colonel. It broke his heart that she didn’t get to see it, because she was so excited to see him get the recognition he deserved. He took her ashes back to Serbia, promised that he’d visit when he could. He hasn’t been able to visit for a while.
His dad’s dead by the time Barghest is finding its feet, his mother gets removed from her position while Myers is simultaneously airing her very public condemning of her son’s actions. Nothing’s heard from her since. She’s probably dead too tbh.
Kurt’s lactose intolerant. He had to learn to like his coffee black, the cramps just weren’t worth it. (weakling)
Damn though can this man handle his drink. He can hold eye contact and not make a face as he downs vodka straight from the bottle. His men get a good laugh when he blames them and their shit for it. Tbh he’s only partially joking
Kurt when he hears the bullshit Yuri tries to pull:
His right arm is a recent cybernetic only gotten in the past year or two, meanwhile his left was standard militech-issued at the time he was serving. He suffered a relatively minor injury during training and took the opportunity to get an upgrade.
He’s rather wary of netrunners, esp more combat oriented ones. While he appreciates their effectiveness and utility, he always has an edge of caution around them and takes particular care to keep them either charmed or afraid, whatever keeps them from potentially acting against him.
During Operation: Midnight Storm, there was always this quiet wariness to Hansen and his men when an Arasaka AV would fly close to their position. Each time they waited in absolute silence, dreading to hear ‘Code: A.S’ over the comms
Some of the younger, braver, stupid men were biting at the bit for it, Hansen wasn’t keen to be added to Arasaka’s graveyard by Smasher.
He’s a light sleeper. He doesn’t particularly struggle in getting to sleep, it’s just that a pin dropping can wake him
He’s quite Spartan in regards to his personal possessions – his room lacks a lot of personal touch, there’s really nothing that signifies it as Kurt’s beyond the small collection of knives and guns on display. If anything it could be mistaken as another storage room. Even the bed, while fucking massive, isn’t comfortable beyond measure, the mattress is stiff and the pillows memory foam.
He listens to the same music on repeat and has done for the past few years. I’m inflicting my personal tastes on him and saying his favs includes Biffy Clyro (x), Iron Maiden (x), and Black Sabbath (x)
Even though he could get actual real meat he still prefers the taste of synth-beef, it’s what he grew up knowing. Probably eats more pot noodles than he should, but he’s a busy man and they’re quick and filling
Because I think it’s funny and would rile Johnny up something fierce: Kurt…appreciates Silverhand’s actions back in ’23. He’s well aware Silverhand got the nuke from Militech and is a massive fucking hypocrite but hey, isn’t everyone? He wouldn’t be where he is now if Johnny didn’t get that ball a-rolling.
Barghest does have a militant structure, a very clear hierarchy of who’s in charge of who, but it’s a lot more casual? In how they speak with each other. Even with Kurt. He makes them see him as a person and not this mighty figurehead. He jokes around with recruits, might ruffle one’s hair in passing after knocking the shit outta them and giving them pointers on their footing. It’s partially real affection for the people under his command, and another part is simple manipulation – he wants to give them something real to tether their loyalty to, wants them to see him as a man, a terrifying, brutal bastard at times but nonetheless a man, and not the untouchable better-than-you titan the higher-ups at the NUSA always painted themselves as.
Speaking of brutality – it’s something I feel like the game didn’t really show of his. Even V seems quite flippant towards his threat of sending them back in body bags – Hansen’s hands were tied that particular night as he didn’t want to cause a scene in front of his guests. Bad for PR and all that. But the worst of his punishments make the corps look tame. He doesn’t immediately execute; he tortures until there’s nothing left of the person from fingernails to spirit. And then their bodies are just tossed in the disposal units. Though, public executions on his order aren’t all that uncommon either.
Not so much a headcanon as a thought: I genuinely don’t know what would have happened to Songbird had Kurt’s plans gone perfect. Maybe he might’ve let her fly away, let the little bird go on to the stars, keep his word and all that. But it’d be just as easy to make her disappear; she’s dangerous, a living weapon that’s he’s already got his use out of. A loose end who knows too much. I wouldn’t be surprised if the freedom he’d have given her was a bullet to the brain.
Knife play! Blood kink! Choking kink!! He also likes pulling hair a lot
He gets put on the back foot quite quickly if his partner takes charge, he’s used to being expected to take on that role, but he recovers and indulges quick enough
He runs hot, just an absolute radiator of a man who’d probably be great to cuddle with if NC wasn’t in a fucking desert.
He’s distressingly touch-starved and would probably sink into a proper hug like a warm bath.
While he is very much alive and well in Victoria’s canon, I do like to think that following his death certain information was transferred to NetWatch pertaining to Songbird and what Myers had her do beyond the Blackwall. Fucking her over even when he’s gone, a last little fuck you as he still somehow manages to get the last laugh.
#cyberpunk 2077#phantom liberty#Kurt Hansen#why Felix its almost like you know bald war criminals are my bread and butter-#but yea I do have some headcanons for the man#just a fewwwww#the biggest difficulty i had was deciding what iron maiden song to link to
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Everlong - Takemura x Fem!V Reader [NSFW]
tags: quickie, forced orgasm, dominant Takemura, submissive V
word count: 2.8k
synopsis: V barely escaped with her life after Arasaka stormed in after Hanako. She'll get used to being on the run
a/n: literally, why is it so easy to just keep writing off of the story i've already started. what can i say? i love trilogies. maybe even sagas. (first, second)
You jolted awake in your chair, noticing Johnny walk from the corner of your eye to the dining table. Your eyes boggled softly, the notification that your relic was malfunctioning at the top of your sight.
"Think they make these motels especially for fuck-ups like us?" Johnny asked, leaning forward and pretending to peer out of the busted blinds of the room. "AC's busted, dirty needles under the mattress, shitter's clogged..."
You groaned, tilting your head back to look at the ceiling, splattered with water damage and the fan missing an entire wing. It squeaked lowly, going in displaced circles.
You adjusted your grip on your rifle, your hands sweaty from holding onto it for so long.
"No, seriously, who the fuck comes here to sleep? We're a couple miles outside Night City," Johnny sat down heavily on the table, leaning back to look at the window again. "Someone leavin' town just keeps driving. Somebody going there sleeps in the damn city!"
You blinked slowly, only half-listening to Johnny's rambling. "Johnny, please. Shut. Up."
Johnny crossed an arm over his thigh, sitting forward. "You think you just stepped in shit. Actually, you fell headfirst into a cesspit." He looked to the door, then back at you. "Anyone knocks, blast the fucking door. No warning."
You silently agreed, managing to nod at that. A noise rustled from outside your room, causing you to straighten up in your seat.
"Hear that?"
You shot a dead glare to Johnny then pointed your rifle at the door.
"Car," you said, lowering your voice as you stood up from the chair.
"At this hour? In this place? Finger on the trig, V." Johnny ordered from the table.
You carefully took a soft step towards the door, then another until you were a foot behind it. You stared at the approaching shadow that grew under the door, holding the rifle butt to your shoulder.
You glanced at Johnny when he told you not to touch the door, waiting with bated breath until a soft knock rapped at the door.
You furrowed your brows, turning the safety off of the rifle. A second knock.
You loaded the rifle and released a low, shaky breath at the third knock before you stopped. You looked to Johnny slowly, wondering why this person hadn't just burst in until they knocked a fourth time.
With it clicking, you undid everything on your rifle; uncocking the ammo, replacing the safety and slowly dropping its sight to the floor before allowing the door to pneumatically slide open.
"Goro," you gasped, not helping yourself and almost tackling the man to the floor. You felt yourself turn into the sudden bullet vest, strapping your arms around the man's neck and pulling yourself tight to his chest.
The door shut back just as quickly with Goro stepping inside and crossing an arm around your waist. You wanted to batter the man over again, wanting him to know how incredibly stupid it was for him to show up.
"Oh great, now we're really dead." Johnny griped, pulling both feet onto the table and crossing his arms.
You pulled away slightly, running your hand down Goro's chest as if to assess whatever damages he had. Then you started punching at his chest, only hurting your organic knuckles by the sturdiness of him.
"Why would you come here?" You grimaced, punching at him again. "You're putting us both in danger. You're so stupid, so reckless."
Takemura only withstood it, sparing a soft smirk at the corner of his lips. His arm around you tightened comfortingly, turning his face into your neck.
"I could not stay away, not after how I left you," he muttered against your skin, his lips cold and his beard prickling at your collarbone.
You shied away from him, gearing all your strength to punch him again. "Goro, damn you. You're the one that told me we couldn't risk it."
Goro winced lightly at that punch, sparing an amused huff of breath against your skin. "I know what I said, but I also know that I could not stand by after I put you in danger."
You squeezed your eyes shut, fighting the inkling of you that wanted to give in. Goro's body was warm against you, you could smell a bitter sake on his breath wafting over your shoulder.
"You're painting the target bigger, V," Johnny interrupted your thoughts, appearing over Goro's shoulder to sit on the kitchen nook.
This was not an ideal place to meet again. And if Goro could find you, then it was only a matter of time before Arasaka did. Then it'd be the two of you on the silver platter.
"Goro," you tried, your fist softening to wiggle him away.
"I love you, V. Valerie," Goro corrected himself, straightening up to rest his forehead to yours. "I don't want to cause you pain. I'll truly leave if you'd feel safer."
Your breath hitched before him, parting your lips to tell him to go before you lurched and kissed him. You crashed your lips to his top, hungrily taking him in.
"I don't want you to leave, Goro," you whispered, sharing a breath with him as his hold tightened.
Your legs curled around his waist, holding yourself onto him further while fighting to engorge him whole.
Johnny exhaled deeply to the ceiling, rolling his finger in a circle as if to get the ball rolling. "Cue the fucktage. Wake me when your legs stop shaking."
You ignored him as he blipped out of existence, only grabbing at Goro's button-up to tear it from his body.
Goro crossed his other arm under your thighs, adjusting slightly to palm both of them. He squeezed teasingly up your legs, resting his hands on the apple of your ass and groping softly.
You offered a moan into his mouth, nodding your head to the table that Johnny once occupied. Takemura leaned up against it, pulling away from you as you tore his shirt from his chest.
"We should make this quick," Goro whispered against your lips, hoping to catch them in his orbit again. "We can't stay to morning."
You nodded hastily, stopping to savour his physique as if you hadn't in years. Your fingers traced down his metallic neck, eyes entranced on the passionate red that was embedded in him. Your eyes flicked to meet his, noting the silveresque rings in his eyes brighten.
You nudged closer to his waist, parting your thighs further to rest your knees on the table. "Then we'll make it quick," you said, though you both knew the lie.
Goro nodded back, taking your mouth again as his hands clawed at the back of your pants. You smiled against him, reaching back to stop his strong hands from ruining your limited wardrobe.
He growled into you, his hands sliding away from your waist and up under your shirt. His fingers were cold against your stomach, shrugging your shirt further up before he teased at your nipples.
You jerked softly, taking your hands away from Goro's chest to fold them over his hands under your shirt. "Cold," you muttered into his mouth.
Goro smiled in return, pulling away to tug your shirt and jacket from your body in a folded lump. He dropped it behind you, his hands slowly tracing down your shoulders and around your back before pressing you back to him.
He exhaled softly, staring into your eyes before hastily shrugging off his shirt. You climbed off of him and went for your pants, tugging them off before returning on Goro's lap.
"I would've bought you new pants," he said, groping your thighs with a few affectionate squeezed.
You shook your head, going for his belt. "You still haven't made up for the last pair."
Goro hummed, stretching to kiss at your neck then down your shoulder, leaving a sharp and chilling trail of his facial hair and wet lips.
You giggled at the feeling, biting your lip as his hands roamed in circles along your legs and hips. Your hands drifted under his belt, mapping his thick waist with your fingertips before shifting his pants down enough.
His cock bounded from its confines, sliding against your inside thigh almost begging to be let in. You groaned at its warmth, reminding you of the heat between your hips.
Your pussy clenched at the thought, earning attention from Goro's curious hands. His fingers slipped down the inside of your thigh, earning a heightened exhale from you.
You stared down at Goro with an intensity that was mirrored in his dark eyes. You collapsed against him, jerking your hips to tempt his cock to your entrance.
"Please fuck me," you whispered, meeting his lips in a peck.
Goro scoffed, pulling himself to sit upright. "Don't be so crass."
He crossed an arm over your waist, standing up and flipping you to the table. Your hands braced the dirty table, ignoring the sudden flash of headlights in the window.
Your mind short-circuited when Goro sank his cock into you. You reared up on your tiptoes, wanting to take more of him in as his hips came flush to your ass.
You turned your nails into the vinyl of the table, reaching a hand back to touch Goro's hip. He folded over you, his hands taking hold of your hips before pulling his full length out then sinking back in.
Your eyes crossed, releasing a high moan to the window glass. At that, Goro took a hand to cover your mouth, holding his index finger up to one of your nostrils as his thumb roughly caressed your cheek.
Your ankle lashed out, wanting to express how good he was making you feel, but he shifted his hand to press his middle finger between your lips.
"Bite," he ordered, pulling out again slowly before snapping in again.
Your toes curled, trying to hold yourself upright though you were already crumbling in his grasp. You did as you were told, clenching your teeth on his skin and minding your pressure.
Goro started at a fluid stride, pulling your hip further up and angling his cock to hit you deep. You curled up on the table, huffing against his index finger while you began to drool on his middle.
He lifted your knee to brace the table, allowing him to go further. You flattened to the table, turning selfish in the pleasure he was giving.
You tried to meet his thrusts, rolling your hips to collide with him but was forced to stop at his sturdy hold.
You cried out against his finger, your teeth gritting a bit tighter into his skin. Goro grunted softly behind you, hissing against the back of your ear.
Goro's hips stuttered, slowly losing his grip on restraint. His hand circled around your waist, finding your clit and folding two fingers against it.
Your body reacted with another coiling, clenching around Goro's length and causing you to unravel. His fingers flicked softly in a circle, the pressure steady yet tepid.
"Urck," you moaned against Goro's digit, trying to hold your breath even though you were near collapse.
Goro's lips peppered your shoulder, behind your neck and to the opposite side before lapping at your throat. His mouth latched to your skin, suckling tenderly until the combined actions caused you to break down..
"Oro," you groaned out, your body heating up under him while your nipples hardened against the cool vinyl.
You came in an instant, the remaining strength in your standing leg shaking. Goro moaned into your neck, finishing off the love bite with a soft smack.
He pulled his gnawed finger from your lips, turning you to his face. Goro's hand gripped at your chin, taking in your fluster before petting your lips with his thumb.
His hand on your clit started scrubbing, earning an involuntary convulse from your body. Your other hand reached to pull him away, but he chuckled darkly at your effort.
"Come again, V," he instructed with a lustful growl. "You feel so good. Come again."
You whined then, your body only gaining strength back and losing it again. "Goro, please."
Goro ignored your plea, taking your earlobe between his teeth and stuttering with his pace. "Please, come again."
You rested your cheek to the table, let Goro ravish your ear until your eyes rolled back. Suddenly, your body was once again on the precipice before you were suddenly over. Your leveraged foot ached and twitched against the dirty floor, your muscles seizing as your mouth fell open with a loud moan of Goro's name.
He smiled against your skin, slowing his pace and allowing your throbbing pussy to send him over. Goro buried his face in your shoulder, growling and groaning against your skin as he leisurely pumped his seed into you.
Goro slowly slid out of you, allowing your knee to drop from the table. The two of you held onto the table carefully, catching your breath before Takemura raised his head to look out of the window.
His eyes scanned the dark scene of the motel, the sliver of light from the streetlamp streaking over his face. You stared up at him, breathing deeply as his eyes dulled back from the lustful glow to hyperawareness.
Goro lowered himself back down to you, pecking at your prickling skin. "We can't stay like this."
You couldn't come up with any words, so you nodded.
Goro eased off of you, leaving you raw and exposed in his wake. He folded his cock to his thigh and waited for you to gain the strength to stand.
You slowly pulled yourself up, using your arms as leverage. You turned to look at Goro, who was now picking up your pants and folding them over his arm.
You wanted to pause the moment here, savor the intimacy that lingered between you two. It felt almost domestic, how he was picking up your clothes and resting them carefully away from the grimy mattress.
You wanted to suddenly disagree with him, tell him you could stay like you had for a few moments longer. You'd be running away from each other for a short time after this, until he deemed it as safe.
But him being here wasn't safe and he knew it. Yet he still did it.
"Let's go to the Aldecaldos," you suggested, turning against the table and leaning against it, feeling the logy trail of his cum down your inside thigh.
Goro stopped in pulling his pants on to narrow his eyes at you. "Val," he began and that alone shot through you hard enough to rid the thought from your head. "We'd be risking their safety."
You knew that, they were already on Arasaka's radar alone. The thought of Takemura leaving made your throat go dry. Where would he go but the direct opposite from you from now until who knows when?
He noted your worried brow and walked over to caress your cheek, his fingers curling down to your jaw before his thumb flushed to your earlobe.
"I have been selfish with you," Goro said, clearing his throat with a gulp. "I put you through this."
"Aww, the corpo-bot learned regret," Johnny glitched into existence on the edge of the dirty mattress. "Your dynamite pussy has warmed his heart."
Your undereye twitched at Johnny's words, tempting a tear. Goro shifted his thumb to ease the water away from your lashes. "It pains me to part from you, to suddenly be without you."
He leaned in and you shared a soft breath with him. "But I've risked you enough tonight. And we must truly part until further notice."
"This reminds me of a movie," Johnny lounged back on the mattress. "The samurai must part from his normie girl to return to war. Makes my balls ache."
You hid a roll of your eyes at Johnny, wishing he was as easy to disperse with the flick of a switch. Goro's lips ghosted before yours but pulled away at the last second.
His hand roamed up to your temple, then his eyes examined your face closely. "I need you to stay safe...I need you to come back to me, Valerie."
You gulped at the sound of your name on his lips. "Same for you."
Goro smiled dryly, affectionately pinching at your lips with his thumb and index knuckle before letting his hand fall. He pecked your cheek and you shut your eyes, holding back the mangling feeling inside you.
"Don't cry, V." Johnny interjected, shifting on the mattress. "We've got more shit on our plate than your little boyfriend's long goodbye."
You opened your eyes to see that Goro was gone, a wrenching action in itself. Your body lurched at the vacuum of the room, feeling your stomach twist up into your throat while you choked back hot tears.
"I'm not gonna cry," you tried to convince yourself, steeling your resolve with holding your breath. Your chest heaved indirectly, ready to let go the muddied feeling within you.
You pressed your hand to your mouth and folded over yourself, hiding a gagged cry in your palm.
#goro takemura#takemura x reader#v x takemura#cyberpunk takemura#takemura romance#cyberpunk2077#v cyberpunk#cyberpunk#fanfic#bakeneko
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