ncafterdark

[ncafterdark]

Kinktober 2023

Day 31: Hiro/Ivarr/Dagger--Predator/Prey

*****

If anyone had accused him of being an adrenaline junkie, he’d have a hard time defending himself, no stranger to risky, thrill-seeking. This was a different situation entirely, in which the parameters were only vaguely known, two simple rules. Chase and evade. 

It’s not fear that sets his limbs in motion but seeking out a challenge, good for the others as well, as unlikely as they were to admit that. 

He doesn’t know where he is, only a vague idea—warehouses with broken windows, not a single person around. The air itself is choking, a sickly orange glow to the sky, harsh taste of chemicals on his tongue. Back against soot-stained brick he wills his breathing to slow, stop the shake in his hands, a knot in his chest. It’s darker here, only the flicker of the occasional streetlight but it’s enough to glance up, see the outline of a skull on the wall, twisted metal limbs bristling from it, red eyes clustered in the center. Ah hell. He’s off-course, and in their territory, not his. As well as he knows the twisting streets of the city, this is a place that even he seldom sticks his nose in. Notoriety could only go so far. 

He has to keep moving, willing shaky legs into a jog, keeping to the side-streets. It’s both an advantage and disadvantage—harder to see, but easier to separate. There’s two of them and only one of him, and it should be unfair. But he has the ability of disappearing into the buildings, until he seems like he’s melted into the street itself, not optical cameo but it might as well be. Good at evading the attention of those he doesn’t want to be seen by. The only difference is that he knows he’ll eventually be found, and that it’s what both of them really want. The thrill is in the chase itself, as much as their reward at the end. 

He’s gotten arrogant, footsteps slowing to try to get his bearings, and it was the mistake they’d been waiting for, scarcely a second to realize before there’s an arm hooked around his throat, unyielding as steel. 

“If I knew better, think you’d given up on purpose.” 

The voice is like silk, hiding menace, heartbeat racing, still shaky from the rush. Lips brush his cheek, an appreciative noise as he struggles, a knee slipping between his own. He doesn’t have to see them to know they’re grinning, twin smiles with too many teeth. 

It’s a contrast to the roughness of the other man, wolfish glee glinting in pale eyes. 

“Guess that makes you the prize.”  — 

(Ft. @dreamskug's Ivarr, and @wraithsoutlaws's Dagger 🖤🔪)

#cyberpunk ocs #oc: hiro oda #nsft #my writing #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #ship: trouble comes in threes #mutuals ocs: ivarr #mutuals ocs: dagger #tw: power dynamics #tw: fear

[ncafterdark]

Kinktober 2023

Day 30: Hiro/Dum Dum/Others--Free Use

*****

He doesn’t think he could pick out their faces in a crowd, or them his. But it doesn’t matter, as long as they all get off in the end. 

“Go on, face up Princess—let them see you.” The grip on his hair is harsh, but the sensation fades, less pressing than the onslaught of others, gazes dragging along his skin like the skim of hands. Another laughs, static crackling in their voice, cruelty audible beneath the haze. “Where’d you find the whore?” “Just wandered in, looking all lost.” 

It’s not strictly true, he’d known exactly where he was, what he wanted—knew they probably did too, a hint of familiarity, however faint. This isn’t the first time this has happened, nor will it be the last, wanting to just let himself drown—less deliberation and even less thought. He needs it, as much as he needs to breathe, a moment to turn everything else off. 

A voice, distorted but oddly familiar diverts his attention, glance traveling over cables and puckered scars, before fixing on the man’s face—seven red optics piercing him. 

“You’re back.”

His words are conversational, amusement in the way his lips curve—tone casual even as he takes in the sight, shirt balled in the corner, long forgotten—black-blue bruises dotting his shoulders, and the arch of his neck. 

“Wasn’t enough for you the first time?”

Even as he says it, he’s already closing the distance between them, cybernetics cupping his chin, grip surprisingly delicate. 

“You heard ‘em. Look at me.” 

It hurts to look at him directly, red lights blazing in the dark of the club—but he tries his best, a shudder at the harsh exhale of feedback. 

“Pretty little thing.” 

From anyone else it would sound while not innocent, affectionate—an endearment. The man makes it sound like utter filth, relishing the feeling, shame long since forgotten. A thumb traces his lips, order without words, and he obeys, accepting chrome fingers into his mouth, tongue brushing the smooth surface. The optics never leave his face, cataloging every minute detail, an appreciative hum low in his throat. 

“Bet we could find a better use for it.” **

It’s only when he’s out of the shower he notices, a quick glance over his shoulder—movement making his body ache deliciously, eyes settling on a distinct black smear, jumble of numbers and letters not quite faded, stark against pale skin. 

Dum Dum.

#cyberpunk ocs #oc: hiro oda #dum dum #nsft #my writing #maelstrom #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #tw: derogatory language #tw: power dynamics

[ncafterdark]

Kinktober 2023

Day 29: Hiro/Ivarr--Breathplay

*****

It had started gradually, the man’s hand brushing his neck—an expression of intrigued appraisal, as if musing how well it would fit. He’s not accustomed to feeling delicate, not anymore but he looks it in comparison, Ivarr’s fingers nearly meeting where they rest, cybernetics icy against flushed skin. Seeing how he’d react, he’d dug them in, a gleeful smile as he’d leaned into it, eyes slipping shut, blissfully silent for a change. 

“If I’d known it was this easy to shut you up, I’d have done it sooner.” 

The retort is almost automatic, part indignant, part flustered—caustic words dying on his tongue, the man’s grip tightening for a moment, not cutting off his air entirely, a warning in everything but words. He hates how easily his body responds to it, adrenaline and need that drives every coherent thought out of his mind—save for the man and raw sensation, addicted to the thrill they both bring. 

“Think I could get you off like this?” 

He knows better than to answer, that he’d just have his words turned against him or denied entirely. Nor does he think he could, even if he wanted to—disagreement simply for the sake of it, even if he’s secretly wondering too. 

He grips the man’s wrist, blue eyes meeting winter—a shaky smile, confidence even with a hand around his throat. “M’not gonna break. Harder.” 

It’s the prompt Ivarr had been waiting for, arrogant certainty, that he knew him, knew what he liked even better than he did sometimes. 

“Ask nice.”

“Choke me, or I’ll find some other gonk to do it.” 

He feels the man pause—hand slackening, tension in the air enough he could pluck at it, chances a glance at him from beneath his lashes. Ivarr’s expression is inscrutable, and it’s infinitely more worrying than seeing him angry, finding his way to the bait he’s left out.

“You’re not gonna do that. Not gonna be enough. They’re gonna have my face, Kitten and you know it.”

Ivarr’s other hand goes to cup him, traitorously hard, pressure on his throat tightening again. It sends a hot spike of pleasure through him, a raspy moan that the man drinks in, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. He doesn’t have a response but his body might as well be doing it for him, chasing every fleeting touch, every point of contact. 

“Go on then. Beg.” 

—

(Ft. @dreamskug's Ivarr 🖤🖤)

#cyberpunk ocs #oc: hiro oda #nsft #my writing #mutuals ocs: ivarr #ship: tiger lilies #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #tw: cruelty #tw: power dynamics #tw: pain

[ncafterdark]

Kinktober 2023

Day 28: Hiro/Johnny--Body Worship, Cockbulge

*****

How could he miss something he’d never had? But it’s a realization that he had been missing this—the feeling of Johnny under his hands, skin warm and callused, and impossibly alive. Johnny’s hand entwines with his own, drawing him closer, words teasing. 

“You just gonna look?” 

He still doesn’t think the other is real sometimes, that he’ll roll over in the night, hand reaching out for him, to meet cold sheets, or it’ll go through him, clutching for someone who isn’t there. 

“Earth to Gonk. M’right here.” 

He shakes the thought off, shoving it down. Even if they only have today, he’s still making the most of it. 

“My good looks that distracting?” 

“Yeah, they are.” 

A retort dies on Johnny’s lips, a sarcastic response that suddenly doesn’t fit anymore, not expecting genuine praise, or the way the man’s eyes trail over him hungrily, committing every detail to memory. Relenting, he traces the line of Johnny’s ribs, ghosting over the lines, fingers expecting to meet an old scar, feeling only smooth flesh under them. Meeting his eyes, he’s anticipating for the man to hold his gaze, an intensity that tugs the breath from him. “Stop teasing, brat.” 

He smiles, less mischievous, more fond. 

“You like it when I tease.”

Johnny can’t deny it and they both know it—neither wants to bother with arguing, desire more pressing. 

“Tell me what you want, Johnny.” 

“Now? Really?”

“How am I supposed to know, if you don’t?” 

He’s playing with the man, their own little game, and cups him through the leather of his pants. Johnny arches into him, a raspy groan in his throat—and he pushes him back on the bed, eyes gleaming with mirth. 

“What did I say?” 

“You brat, I want you.”

He’s already prepped, forethought that he’s suddenly very appreciative of, and the man slips in with ease, despite his size. He’d prepared but it doesn’t compare to Johnny, addictive burn that settles in his core, scarcely resisting the urge to rock against him. There’s sweat trickling down his spine, hair hanging in his eyes—knows he must look disheveled, leagues from his usual careless confidence. But the way the man looks at him, he’s suddenly not so sure. 

Johnny’s expression is nothing short of reverent, eyes tracing every inch of his skin—very much a man who’s been confronted with the divine. Voice hoarse, he lets his hand ghost over the taut skin, noticing himself outlined faintly. “Fuck.”

#cyberpunk ocs #oc: hiro oda #nsft #my writing #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #johnny silverhand #ship: kintsugi #johnny x v

[ncafterdark]

Kinktober 2023

Day 27: Hiro/Dagger/Ivarr--S&M, Double Penetration

*****

The warehouse hadn’t been used in some time, except perhaps by rodents nesting in the corners. Dusty shafts of moonlight are the only illumination, grime caking the windows, keeping the neon at bay. The usual murmur of the city is muted to a dull hum, save for the faint, occasional roar of an AV flying overhead. It’s of little consequence, and even less significance to him, distracted as he is. 

“You sure picked a weird fucking place for a date.”

His scoff covers up nervousness. While he knows they wouldn’t really hurt him, not in a way he hadn’t asked for, he can’t deny it’s the sort of spot that someone would never find him.

“Or you’ve just skipped the date, and I’m getting sacrificed to a cult instead.”

Ivarr’s laugh is cruel, a mocking echo in the cavernous space. “Don’t want an interruption this time.” 

The words settle strangely and he turns to look, a lurch as he catches himself hard, palms aching where they’ve hit the ground, tugged completely off balance, the bulk of the man an insistent pressure against his spine. Stubble scrapes at his neck, a parody of a kiss before the man digs in teeth, hard enough to make him hiss. 

His brain hardly has the time to resister the sensation, a hand threading through his hair and yanking, enough that he can’t hold back a yelp. “Eyes on me, Kitten.” 

It’s instinct that guides him, eyes meeting Dagger’s, frigid blue in the dim light.

“See, wasn’t so hard.”

His voice is laced with affection, a knife’s edge of coldness beneath it. “Still too loud, though.” 

Dagger tugs him forward, enough that his cheek is pushed against the man’s bulge, zipper digging painfully into his skin, eyes indecisive about where they’d rather settle. 

“You know what to do.” 

It would normally be instinct to argue, see how far he can push before the other snaps, but he wants this just as badly as the man does, taking him eagerly, a soft noise around him that has Dagger’s hips twitching. It’s enough that he’s almost lost track of the other man, despite the bruising grip on his hips, cry muffled as the man slips his fingers inside, stretching him roughly. It’s scarcely enough but none of them are patient enough to wait, first thrust has him taking more of the man than he can handle, wishing he could see either of them—feeling as much as seeing Dagger shudder against him. 

“That’s it brat, just like that.”

—

(Ft. @dreamskug's Ivarr, and @wraithsoutlaws's Dagger 🔪🖤)

#oc: hiro oda #nsft #cyberpunk ocs #my writing #mutuals ocs: ivarr #mutuals ocs: dagger #ship: trouble comes in threes #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #tw: power dynamics #tw: cruelty #tw: pain

[ncafterdark]

Kinktober 2023

Day 26: Ares/Ofelia--Overstimulation

*****

“What was that, babe? Couldn’t understand you.” 

“It’s too much, fuck.” 

Her words are thick, clumsy on her tongue, little of their usual polish. She seldom lacks things to say, but her mind is elsewhere, need threatening to overcome rationality. Ofelia’s lips curl into a smile, and it’s more terrifying than a scowl, syrup sweet laced with danger. “I thought you wanted me to touch you.” 

A whine slips from her lips, hand tightening around the woman’s wrist. “Hurts.”

“Shouldn’t be so ungrateful pup. Only giving you what you asked for.” Despite the barbs Ofelia pulls back, lips glistening with her pleasure, brushing a kiss along her thigh, barely resisting the urge to sink her teeth in, hear her whimper. 

“Thank you.” 

“What are you thanking me for?” 

The sound from her almost makes her feel guilty, if she was still capable of that—wondering, naive if she hadn’t known any better. Digging her nails into the soft skin on her side, she slips two fingers inside, pushing back as Ares’ back arches, a pitiful, needy cry. She’s impossible to resist like this, although she’s never been one to deny herself pleasures, particularly when they beg her so nicely. “So sensitive baby.” Meeting her eyes, her core gives a twist of pleasure, tears glittering in the woman’s eyes. Despite it, she tugs her closer, contrary to her words, still eager to please. Distracted enough, she muffles a sob in her shoulder, stretched beautifully around her strap, taking her to the base. Her cybernetic arm clutches at her hard enough she know’s it’ll mark. “Look how easily you take me.” Tracing delicate fingers along the silicone, she lets them linger, higher than she knows Ares wants them, musing almost to herself. “I bet you could take my entire hand if we tried. Should we?” 

The expression on Ares face is vaguely horrified, but it’s not a refusal, knows she’d make it known otherwise. 

“You’d break me.”

“We don’t know that.” 

Ares makes a disbelieving noise in her throat, cut off as Ofelia gives an experimental roll of her hips, pained pleasure that flares up her spine. Hair a mussed halo of waves around her, brown eyes gleaming, she can resist capturing Ares’ lips in a kiss, nipping at her, twist of foreign emotion in her chest when the woman’s hand threads through her hair, a plea in everything but words. 

What are you doing to me?

#cyberpunk ocs #nsft #oc: ares tanner #my writing #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #ship: clockwork heart #tw: power dynamics #tw: cruelty #tw: crying #tw: pain

[ncafterdark]

Kinktober 2023

Day 25: Hiro/Dagger--Edgeplay

*****

Everyone had their limits, even the most patient. It was odd to describe Dagger as patient, as much as he liked to indulge, but he had the habit of giving you just enough rope to hang yourself with—backed into a corner with minimal effort on his part, all a part of the game he’d been playing all along. But sometimes antagonizing him is deliberate, enough to see the controlled facade crack, measured even in its madness. 

The moment the blindfold slipped over his eyes, it should have tipped him off, head trying to follow him, even in it’s futility, hand cupping his cheek, words soft and venomous.

“I hope you can sit still for me.” 

It’s enough to give him pause, breath frozen in his throat, made the more frigid as Dagger pulls away, resisting the urge to chase his touch. “What are you doing?” He hates how unsteady his voice sounds, everything that much louder, more intense without context. He’s not graced with an answer, the rasp of metal reaching his ears, surface digging in beneath his chin, just enough to threaten, feel his throat bob against the knife wedged firmly in place. 

“Don’t move.” 

Although he’d seldom consider himself obedient, the alternative doesn’t cross his mind. He doesn’t think Dagger wants him bleeding out in his floor, as much as he himself doesn’t want that, but it’s little reassurance, a glimmer of uncertainty that has him pliant. Even as he can’t hear him, he hears the smile in his words, something wicked, eyes glittering with a promise of pain. 

“I didn’t like how you were looking at that man today.” 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Even as he says it, he knows it’s a lie, knows the other man does too. 

“M’loyal, not blind. You were looking too.”

“That’s okay, though.”

He pauses, words bitten off, argument dying on his tongue, even as he’d promised himself he wouldn’t. 

“Wasn’t going to do anything. Just…wanted attention. Yours.”

“That’s okay. You’ve got it now. It’s understandable, memory fails everyone, right? You should know who you belong to”

The knife trails down, softly at first until the tip catches, digging in just enough, until a thin line wells up—beading scarlet against his skin. His lips follow, hot against his skin—a soft moan bubbling in his throat.

“I’ll give you a way to remember.” 

—

(Ft. @wraithsoutlaws's Dagger 🖤🔪)

#cyberpunk ocs #oc: hiro oda #nsft #my writing #mutuals ocs: dagger #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #ship: trouble comes in threes #tw: jealousy #tw: knives #tw: edgeplay

[ncafterdark]

Kinktober 2023

Day 24: Hiro/Victory/Johnny--Sex Toys

*****

He hadn’t anticipated the second set of hands on him, callused and warm, Vic’s appreciative hum sending a shiver of pleasure through him. 

“Thought you were busy with your book.” 

“I was. You’re distracting, Little Prince.” 

It never fails to get a reaction from him, doesn’t have to see himself to know he’s blushing, heat spreading all the way to his fingertips. 

A rough kiss brushes against the column of his throat, Johnny’s grip on his hip tightening, “She’s right.” He scarcely knows where to focus his attention, and they seem content to overwhelm him,  until he can’t think of much at all. Head propped in Johnny’s lap, tugged into a kiss, he doesn’t feel V shift until she’s encouraging him to part his thighs, little shame at being sprawled out for the two of them. Johnny’s lips muffle his moan as hers envelop his cock, distracting enough that he almost doesn’t notice cool fingers prodding at him, till he’s spread around them, arching into the sensation. 

“You’re perfect like this.” 

He can’t stop his words from shaking, little heat to them, mock indignant. 

“M’perfect all the time.” 

He hears a muffled snort from Johnny, and resists the urge to elbow him, and the man sensing it, smiles, equal parts fond and troublesome. 

“Be nice. You’ll ruin the mood.” 

Vic’s fingers crook, brushing a bundle of nerves and his retort dies on his tongue, moaning at her touch, chasing the feeling as she withdraws her hand, hooking one of his legs around her, any argument long forgotten. He hadn’t seen the object in her hand, preoccupied as he was, until it’s already slipping in, smooth silicone meeting little resistance, his hand tightening in the sheets, a startled noise he can’t keep in. The size isn’t absurd, but it’s enough to tug the breath from him, hips involuntarily rocking against it, already desperate for more sensation. 

“Rather have you.” 

“I’m not done yet.” 

Glancing at Johnny, he meets his eyes, a familiar gleam in them, someone who hasn’t placed every card on the table. 

Then tightness he bucks against, aching around the base of his cock, hand going to clutch at the man, digging in, just shy of bruising. 

“What the fuck? V!” 

Shock and pleasure mingle, drowning out the frantic thought that she’s planned this, as carefully as she does anything else. She doesn’t answer for a moment, only clicks a button on the base of the plug, an appraising glance as he writhes. 

“Five chapters, then?” 

—

(Ft. @shinycorvidae's Victory 💕💕)

#cyberpunk ocs #oc: hiro oda #nsft #my writing #johnny silverhand #partner's oc: victory #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #ship: kintsugi #johnny x v

[ncafterdark]

Kinktober 2023

Day 23: Hiro/Johnny--Deepthroating

*****

“You’re damn loud.” 

He’s shot back that he’d never have any complaints, not from Johnny or anyone else, rolling his eyes when he threatened to find a way of keeping him quiet. If he wasn’t so certain that his neighbor was afraid of him, he’d be concerned about the possible repercussions. But he seems content to scowl at him when they see each other, caught between disapproval and disgust—teetering on the edge of staying silent and staring a hole through him.

“Never worked for long.” 

Johnny’s look turns calculating, the expression of someone who’s been issued a challenge and he doesn’t respond. It should raise concern, especially from a person who can’t keep his mouth shut. The conversation trails off, and he’s happy to allow himself to be tugged into a kiss, smoke and sex. It shouldn’t be addictive but it is, their version of perfect.

He still can’t believe he gets to touch him, body fever-hot under his hands. He always runs warm, hadn’t realized it for so long, a detail he normally would have taken for granted, mundane but not for them. Tracing a scar across one hip, he lets his hand drop lower, cupping Johnny through his leathers, swallowing his moan—satisfied that he can elicit such a response from him. Brushing a kiss along his jaw he can’t stop his lips from twitching into a smile. “What was that earlier? You’re damn loud?” 

Johnny huffs, irritation and amusement, a good show at being put off, even if he can’t hide the fondness in his eyes, even as his words are filthy. 

“Go on, want your mouth around me.”

“Ah for your amazing cock?” 

“Impressive cock.”

Dropping to his knees he drags a teasing palm across him, relishing the groan of frustration. 

“Some time today.”

He makes it look practiced, even if he’d privately admit it’s a struggle to take him completely—the Johnny’s hand tangling in his hair, breath hissing through his teeth. He’s scarcely touched him and he’s already hard, hoping he doesn’t notice. No need to make his ego even bigger. There’s moments where he regrets not having nails anymore, the smooth surface of his cybernetics not offering the same effect. He’d look so pretty marked up. It’s more of a risk than he’d like to take, both know how much damage can do if he’s not careful. It doesn’t stop Johnny from tugging him down, grip on his hair almost painful, till he’s flush with the man’s stomach, drowning in the scent of him, hand almost bruising with the grip he has on his thigh. 

“Told you I’d shut you up, brat.” 

#cyberpunk ocs #oc: hiro oda #nsft #my writing #johnny silverhand #ship: kintsugi #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #johnny x v

[ncafterdark]

Kinktober 2023

Day 22: Ares/Ofelia--Bondage

*****

In retrospect she should have expected that Ofelia would be into stuff like this. Should have but didn’t, even if it was utterly obvious. She’d met her in a club, blood still drying on chrome, some unfortunate gonk lucky to leave with his limbs intact limping away. Is getting that part really worth it?

She isn’t bloody now, although that isn’t out of the realm of possibility—regarding her with an intensity that ought to be a warning. Anything she looks at like that comes out of the encounter with claw marks in it. Her voice is a rasp, static lacing her words—betraying interest, as much as she tries to hide it. 

“Trying something new today.”  ** 

New involves her hands hooked behind her back, leather cuffs biting into her wrists, ankles with the same treatment and a strap between the two. Her back is arched to the point of aching, shoulders pulled back, utterly on display. Each point of tension is magnified, world narrowed to the physical, her own stuttered breaths loud to her ears. She’s not accustomed to stillness, not in which it’s the only thing she can focus on. 

“How long are you going to keep me like this.”

“Until I say otherwise.” 

The tone doesn’t invite an argument, so she doesn’t—she’ll be good. 

“So obedient for me, puppy.”

She doesn’t have to see herself to know she’s blushing, heat prickling at her skin. For you I will be.  **

“Please.”

“Please what?” 

“I want to touch you. You’re so far away.” 

She can hear the quiet whine in her tone, but that doesn’t stop her, muscles aching, soft leather made unforgiving. 

“Do you think you deserve it?” 

“I—yes. I hope.” 

Ofelia’s hand is cold where it cups her cheek, and she leans into the touch eagerly, a quiet sigh slipping from her lips. “You feel so good.” She doesn’t expect the sensation of lips against her own, scarred skin rough beneath hers—a needy moan low in her throat. She’s aching to thread her hand through the woman’s hair, tug her closer, and not let go. 

“My hands, please.”

Ofelia pauses, head slightly tilted to the side considering.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it? Touch.” 

The woman skims a hand along the dip of her throat, to cup her gently—fingertips ghosting lightly, not allowing themselves to linger, before it slips around her neck, an icy manacle. 

“How could I resist you, baby?”

#cyberpunk ocs #oc: ares tanner #ofelia sirawian #nsft #my writing #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #ship: clockwork heart #tw: power dynamics #tw: cruelty #tw: pain

[ncafterdark]

Kinktober 2023

Day 21: Hiro/Kit--Lingerie

*****

He was no stranger to buying nice things for himself—the concept of self-care was one that he took seriously, and enthusiastically—long, hot showers and as much time as he needed to look good. But buying things for others felt different—not pressure, rather uncertainty. What if he doesn’t like it? It was easy to tell others, ‘of course they will. If they don’t well, that’s their loss’ and another to believe it himself. He’s not accustomed to the hesitation, not out of unwillingness, but of anxiety. 

“Can I help you?” 

A saleswoman peers at him—errant strand of silver hair tucked behind her ear, meeting his eye from over a rack of clothing—although clothing is a generous word to refer to it. There’s not enough fabric on the entire display to make a single shirt. 

“I’d like to buy something for a friend.”  **

He’s glad he settled on this, and not something with more straps, fingers fumbling. The lace feels impossibly delicate in his hands, and he takes care not to tear it, letting himself settle into the familiarity of the motion, ease settling in with repetition. He’s done this before, enough times that he’s lost track of it—and if it’s one thing he can do, it’s looking good. 

Shooting him a text, he settles in to wait. 

6:45pm

Hurry home, got something for you

6:48pm

What? 

6:49pm

It’s a surprise ;) **

The expression on his input’s face is stupefied, bag of groceries slipping out of his hand with a thump. “What is that?”It doesn’t sound disgusted, or disdainful, but genuinely shocked, an almost imperceptible shake of his head, ‘are you really there?’  

“Come find out.”

Kit’s hands are hesitant, as if he’d break, easily shattered instead of titanium and flesh, fingertips delicately tracing the edge of a ribbon. His voice is hoarse, low—only barely audible over the noise of the city, constant murmur beyond their walls. 

“It’s perfect.” 

Now it’s his turn to flush, unprepared for the warmth flooding his cheeks. There’s no subtext, no hidden meaning—praise freely offered. Words are slipping out, despite his intentions—unable to stop them. 

“Was afraid you wouldn’t like it.” 

The intensity in his expression drives the breath from his lungs, warmth and wanting. “That’s impossible” His lips are warm, soft against his own, trailing across his neck, teeth grazing the hollow of his throat. 

“Let me show you what I think.”

—

(Ft. @a-pirate's Kit 🐈‍⬛)

#cyberpunk ocs #oc: hiro oda #nsft #my writing #mutuals ocs: kit #ship: just chooms #kinktober #kinktober 2023

[ncafterdark]

Kinktober 2023

Day 20: Avi/Mr. Blue Eyes--Foodplay

*****

The low thump of bass reverberates in his chest, discomfiting in the sea of so many other stimuli. There had been a training, a way to filter out additional information and focus on what is relevant, and he applies it to his own body—enough that it dulls to something vaguely unpleasant and not outright abrasive. His cybernetics are designed to measure body heat, pick up minute amounts of noise, but they make clubs like this an auditory nightmare. He’s practiced at being able to sift through the noise and do his job, but he’d never choose it—the idea foreign to him. 

“Remind me why we’re here again?” 

It’s impossible to keep the displeasure out of his tone, an attempt to moderate it, even as it’s already out of his mouth. His input’s lips twitch, not quite a smile but close, eyebrow arching. 

“It’s a job.”

“One I’m necessary for?” 

“Let’s hope not.”  **

They’re curled in one of the VIP booths, a good deal more soundproof, offering the illusion of privacy, while in arm’s reach of the staff, should they need anything. 

Softer music and better lighting, and for the mark to mess up terribly enough, that the job’s over almost before it starts. His input looks the picture of unbothered, arm slung over the back of the couch, eyes gleaming as he scrolls. It’s more information than he’s capable of processing, even with his excellent cyberdeck, and he makes an attempt to look like he belongs here. 

“So just an escort then?” 

“Would you rather have waited for me at home?”

The silence that stretches says everything, and the man traces an idle hand down his back, pondering. 

“You have that expression again, you’re scheming.” 

“You did want a job, didn’t you?” **

The man’s hand is lingering under his shirt, exploring the planes of his chest leisurely, before deftly working at the buttons, unhesitating, even as he shudders, the drag of fingers across sensitive cyberware. 

His voice comes out rough, far from his usual smooth tone. 

“Is this part of the job too?”  

“Not entirely.” 

There’s a logic to it, in that they blend in as much as either can—eyes sliding over them, a couple of Corpos who have too much money on their hands, little care for anything else, even as the man is still scrolling. 

“Should I be offended that I don’t warrant your full attention?” 

The answering laugh is laced with smoke, indulging him. A glass of whiskey sits on the low table in front of them, forgotten in lieu of work and the man dips his fingers into the glass, moistens them with the liquid, drawing a thick line of it across his neck, before following the trail with his tongue, and he’s suddenly glad for the soundproofing, a moan low in his throat. An ice cube follows, tracing one pert nipple, relishing the shiver it gets, arrested, startled cry pulled from him, leaving a cold trail down his stomach. 

“Another glass, please."

#cyberpunk ocs #nsft #oc: avi kaiba #my writing #mr. blue eyes #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #ship: the devil you know

[ncafterdark]

Kinktober 2023

Day 19: Hiro/Victory--Uniforms

*****

“V where the fuck did you get that?” 

“Why?” 

“Because I don’t want a naked Maxtac agent trying to knock down my door.” 

“Oh! She won’t be! That’s taken care of.”

Ah.

“You don’t like it?” 

“No, V—it’s good.” Really, really good.

So good, that he’d barely made it to the end of the day without asking if she would wear it, cheeks burning when he caught the look on her face, affection that’s quickly replaced by a frigid smile.

“We have a warrant on you, Oda.” **

Her grip on his hair is harsh, back stinging from where she’d raked her nails down it—just shy of tearing skin. They throb, but he scarcely notices, the entirety of his focus on her—exactly how she wants it. Brushing a hand up her side he freezes, gaze caught in hers, obscured by the visor. It’s her, he knows it but there’s something alien there too—her but not. 

Words clipped, she slips her palm over his own, grip threatening. 

“Not your hands. You have to earn that.” 

She yanks him forward, till his cheek is against her thigh, breath catching in his throat. 

“You so were eager to use your mouth before. Go on—I’m only giving you what you want.” 

As much as her voice holds a suggestion, it’s a false one, and he’s drowning in the taste of her, eagerness mingling with shame, achingly hard, desperate for anything he can rut against. She’s using him, heedless of his own need, and it makes it all the better, soft groan in her throat. If it’s anything he’s addicted to, it’s this.

“Give me a reason not to hand you over. Convince me it’s worth keeping you.” 

She doesn’t frighten him often but there’s a tone that gives him pause, the suspension of disbelief, even as he knows she wouldn’t. But she’s doing a good job of making him think otherwise. The floor digging into his knees, back aching with the efforts to keep it straight, that he can’t drag in an entire breath, it all fades to the background, letting himself slip into a place where everything’s easier—doesn’t have to think, except of her, where everything makes sense. She hooks a leg over his shoulder, boot digging into his back, a current of pleasure running up his spine. 

“Good boy—just like that.” 

Even after everything, she still wants me. 

—

(Ft. @shinycorvidae's Victory 💕💕)

#cyberpunk ocs #oc: hiro oda #partner's oc: victory #nsft #my writing #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #ship: kintsugi #tw: power dynamics #tw: cruelty #tw: trauma

[ncafterdark]

Kinktober 2023

Day 18: Avi/Mr. Blue Eyes--Spanking

*****

He is by nature a patient person. It’s what he’s been shaped into—years of Arasaka conditioning had seen to it, and his innate personality had contributed the rest. But even his patience has it’s limits, and shortcomings. 

Particularly when his partner seems to have a limitless supply of it. 

He’s kneeling under the man’s desk, chin resting on his thigh, hand gently stroking his hair, almost enough to lull him into relaxation. Almost, but not quite. Perhaps on a normal day it would, and not one where he’s craving attention, or a distraction. The third time he shifts, the man’s hand stills, a pause to let him get settled, and then the motion continues, until he moves again, knees protesting at their position. 

“Yes?” 

“You’ve been working all day.” 

The man still regards him, clearly waiting for an elaboration. 

“I think it’s time for a break.” 

“I’ve been working for an hour and thirty four minutes.”

He opens his mouth to respond and he’s cut off. 

“What’s gotten into you today?” 

You. You’re under my skin, like a virus. 

“It’s nothing.”

The look he receives suggests disbelief, but he chooses not to push. 

“If you’re certain.”  **

“Avi.” 

He lets his shoulders sag in relief, posture slipping into something more natural, no longer on alert.  

“I didn’t say we were done.” 

He freezes, examining the others face for any hint of what’s coming next, perturbed when he doesn’t find one. For how much he believes he can predict others, the man seems to take quiet delight in subverting his expectations. 

“You were impatient today. Distracting.” 

There’s a part of him that wishes to argue, try to turn his words back on him, find a way in which he feels justified, in his behavior, in their agreement. But he also can’t deny the truth in them. So he waits, listens, gaze fixed steadily on him. 

He’s unhurried, deliberate in how he moves, sitting on one of the couches, gesturing him over, words firm. 

“Strip.” 

“In front of the windows?” 

“You should have considered better, if this was going to pose an issue.” 

His hands move to his shirt, already starting on the buttons, when the man’s voice cuts in. 

“No, just the pants.” 

Movements hurried, he doesn’t linger, abandoning gracefulness in lieu of haste, and anticipation. 

“You’re going to lay across my lap, and you’re going to count. Five for every time you argued, and two for every time you moved without permission. If you lose track of them, or miss one, we start over. And an additional five.”

“For what?” 

“Because I wish it.” 

#cyberpunk ocs #nsft #oc: avi kaiba #my writing #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #ship: the devil you know #mr. blue eyes

[ncafterdark]

Kinktober 2023

Day 17: Hiro/Victory/Johnny--Threesome

*****

“We could try it sometime—if you want to I guess.”

Johnny been slightly drunk when he’d said it, enough that he didn’t press him on it, only filed it away to ask about later, when they both were sober. To his immense surprise, he agreed—motioned to ask Vic about it as well.

“Saw you doing it, and it looked hot.” 

Which was reason enough for the three of them—impossible to resist indulging passing flights of fancy. 

“It’s not as easy as you think it is—gotta be patient. Think you can do that?”

“Fuck you, kid.” **

He was eating his words and he’s never been happier to be proven wrong. It’s good for him as well, taking a moment to sit back and appreciate the other two, watching instead of chasing his own pleasure. Johnny is striking, skin sweat-slick, gleaming in the low light, and he’s aching to trace his hands across his muscles, every long, lean line of him. But he’d been instructed not to, to keep his hands to himself and wait his turn, and he intends on obeying. It’s not enough to ensure his silence but it’s still a far cry from his usual arrogant bluster, words rasping. 

“How come you’re so whipped for her?” 

He shrugs, unbothered—palming himself lightly through his leathers. She hadn’t said he couldn’t touch—just that the other man couldn’t. Opening his mouth he seems posed to make another remark, and it’s cut off, Vic’s hand smoothing across his spine, leaning over to nip at his neck. 

“Behave.” 

It’s only a whisper, but the effect it has is instantaneous, the tension leaving his spine—caustic words forgotten, catches the glare as he mouths at him, 

‘Hypocrite.’ 

Vic’s hand moves and he watches the expression on the man’s face morph into rapture, voice gone ragged with pleasure. Victory’s eyes are intent, her braid draped heavily over her shoulder. It’s the same expression she wears from behind a rifle, utterly consumed by her task, not missing a single shift of the man beneath him, hips flush against his own. He can’t resist, and leans forward, capturing the man’s lips with his own, swallowing the answering moan. It’s nothing short of worship, words unable to say what actions do. 

A hand threads through his hair, tugging him off, lips harsh against his own, leaving his bruised, even as he chases the sensation. 

“I meant you too, Little Prince.” 

—

(Ft. @shinycorvidae's Victory <3)

#cyberpunk ocs #oc: hiro oda #nsft #my writing #partner's ocs: victory #johnny silverhand #ship: kintsugi #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #johnny x v

[ncafterdark]

Kinktober 2023

Day 16: Hiro/Dagger/Ivarr--Public

*****

“Keep a better eye on this one.” 

Ivarr isn’t escorted out, as much as he’s dropped into his arms, a shiny bruise already forming on his cheek. 

“Thanks.” The bouncer jumps visibly, the third member of their little group strolling out from behind him, smugly self-satisfied, as if this was entirely his orchestrating. “We can take him from here.” 

“Not taking me anywhere.” 

Realizing that they’re more trouble than they’re worth, the bouncer stalks back towards the club, an annoyed wave of his hand. 

He waits until the man goes back inside before rounding on the two of them.

“Really? I liked that place.”

Ivarr’s expression sharpens—impossible to be mistaken for kindness, despite the delicate grip he has on him. 

“Didn’t like how he was looking at you.” 

“He was looking at both of you gonks. Hoping he didn’t have to rescue the poor bastard.” 

Even as he argues, he’s aware he’s being led, shoulder to shoulder with the two of them, a sheltered alley behind the club, allows him to be pressed back against Dagger, leaning into his touch, the man’s arm slipping around his waist easily, voice silky against his ear. 

“Rescue? As if you didn’t want us.” 

And he knows, as much as he’d like to argue, tell them they’re wrong, be petulant for the sake of it, he can’t school his voice into something convincing—knows they’d be able to tell he’s lying the second it left his lips. He isn’t given a chance to speak, lips captured in a bruising kiss, Ivarr’s leg slotting between his knees, something he can’t help but grind against. There’s a risk of getting caught, and it just makes it all the sweeter—the idea of being on display for anyone else to see. Ivarr tugs away, a gleam in his eyes. “Felt you twitch brat. Go on, tell us what you’re thinking of.” 

“Got kicked out, remember?” 

“We’re not in the club anymore. He can’t do shit.” 

A set of hands explore under his shirt, a hiss at the rush of cold against his skin, cybernetics an icy contrast, heat sparking at the tug on a piercing. 

“Go on, Kitten, you had so much to say before”

It’s simultaneously too much, and not enough, caught between them, able to read him effortlessly—almost better than he can. 

The sound of fabric tearing hits his ears, night air chilly against his bare thighs—an indignant, furious noise slipping out.

“Suit you better this way.” 

—

(Ft. @dreamskug's Ivarr and @wraithsoutlaws's Dagger 🖤🖤)

#cyberpunk ocs #oc: hiro oda #nsft #my writing #mutuals ocs: ivarr #mutuals ocs: dagger #ship: trouble comes in threes #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #tw: power dynamics #tw: cruelty #tw: jealousy

[ncafterdark]

Kinktober 2023

Day 15: Avi/Mr. Blue Eyes--CNC

*****

“Do you trust me?” 

The question had come to him several days prior, spoken almost casually, his input’s fingers trailing absent-mindedly up his spine, a moment of relative quiet. 

“Yes?” 

“You sound unsure.” 

“I’m not unsure, just curious as to why you ask.” 

“It’s relevant.”

“To?” 

The man only smiles, so slightly he thinks he could be imagining it. 

“Enjoy your secrets, then.”  **

He’d made no mention of trust, or declarations of it in the coming month, enough to make him think he’d imagined the exchange, dreamed it, or a hallucination brought on by too much work, and too little leisure. This wasn’t an avenue of thought he enjoyed, so he pushed it from his head, easily diverted by the prospect of a job, something to keep his hands busy, and mind busier still. But it lingered, nagging at him—just persistent enough to keep turning over. He never said things without a reason, or idly. So it is something if he hadn’t imagined it entirely. 

It’s late when the man arrives home, lights of the city enough to illuminate the penthouse—lurid colors playing across his skin. He tries to keep the tone out of his voice, school it into something less accusatory and more of an observation. 

“Busy evening?” 

Although he’s accustomed to a degree of stoicism, blue eyes reveal very little, expression inscrutable—enough that there’s no warning, his own legs buckling beneath him—catching himself heavily on his palms. 

“What—what is this?” The words are heavy in his mouth, slurred together—moving as sluggishly as his thoughts, limbs leaden. He should have anticipated, although even he’s capable of being taken by surprise, off his guard entirely. 

Mr. Blue Eyes crouches down, a firm hand under his chin, tipping it up so their gazes meet. 

“I asked if you trusted me.” 

He’s rarely at a loss for words, but it’s a moment before he’s able to answer. 

“Still do.” 

The hand on his chin moves to cup his cheek, heat pooling in his face at the simple gesture. He should be wary, should be afraid, but can’t muster the feeling. Usually so articulate, his answer feels clumsy, words not making sense.

“You didn’t answer me.” 

“It’s not your concern.” 

—It’s not a drug, he hadn’t ingested anything, unless it was something with a delay. But he wouldn’t leave something like that to chance. He never did. Which leaves his cybernetics. Of which he has many. Netrunning. He’s always known the man to be capable of it, even if it was seldom observed. There’d been allusions to it in conversation, and he’d inferred the rest. 

His hand slips through the knot in his tie, fingers deftly untangling it, letting it drag across the column of his throat. 

“You are not in control.” 

The word feels strange in his mouth, a feeling that resembles gratitude. 

“Thank you Sir.” 

#cyberpunk ocs #nsft #oc: avi kaiba #my writing #mr. blue eyes #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #ship: the devil you know #tw: cnc #tw: power imbalance