Cyberpunk 2077 forever changed my vocabulary I'm sorry
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Bro Team
Virgile hacks the security, takes control and guides Valentin, shotgun in hand to lead the raid. An ex-NetWatch agent and an ex-Arasaka agent form a team as sexy as they are devastating...
Valentin belongs to my beloved @draerian
Click for better quality
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ROADRAGE
V stopped the Porsche, tires screeching into an abrupt halt, dust flying everywhere around the car. He got out of the driver's seat like he'd the devil on his ass.
And maybe that was more accurate than imagined. Johnny let out a mean laugh when V slammed the door and kneeled on his seat to crawl over the shift. His handsome face was twisted into a snarl, aviators firmly placed on his nose as he lowered the window completely.
V was shaking as he paced in front of the car. If he’d longer hair, he would be tearing it right now. As it was, he gritted his teeth and tried to breathe through the anger. It was rare nowaday that Johnny could work him like that, but the rocker had been in a foul mood the whole night, and talked shit without a break.
They’d been driving a while before V threw them on the side of this deserted road in the middle of the Badlands. A twenty minutes trip under Johnny’s constant belittling and nagging, and whining, and anti-corpo propaganda, and general criticism of V’s life choices.
Until he lost control.
“Aww, what’s the matter, babe?” Johnny sneered with a mean smile, “Did I get you all jealous?”
V closed his eyes and tried to find the patience and serenity needed to deal with Johnny when he got like that, but found none. He kept seeing the man slouched enticingly right next to that Animal psycho. She could’ve snapped his spine in three with her pinky but Johnny kept taunting her and making lewder and lewder suggestions. Worse was, she hadn’t been immune, her interest shifting from the business V had wanted her to conduct to the resurrected legend by his side.
Legs wide open, stretching his dark jeans until he might have torn them apart, Johnny had sagged in his seat, making his shirt ride up and flashing her with a hint of his flat stomach. V’s Kiroshis had zoomed despite his best intentions to her nostrils flaring, and her pupils dilating visibly.
Johnny had smirked, his victory visible to V from the corner of his eyes, making it clear this was entirely intentional.
That was when the merc snapped.
He opened his eyes and turned to Johnny. Like a cobra rising out of its basket, the man was now bent through the window, looking at him with anger.
“Is that why you headtailed out of that gig? Are you that gonk? It was a once in a lifetime opportunity to make them heel for good and you botched it, why? ‘cause you can’t handle some cow making eyes at me?!”
“She wasn’t just making eyes at you,” V growled, stepping closer, pulled into the maelstrom surrounding Johnny like this was his first rodeo with the man.
The rocker laughed, out loud and cutting like a knife.
“So what?! It’s not like I couldn’t have taken her.”
“I don’t think that’s what she was thinking about,” the merc hissed through his teeth, nearly nose to nose with his friend.
Johnny’s face fell into a sneer, eyes like cold diamonds behind his glasses.
“Oh yeah? What was she thinking about huh?” he challenged, “Same thing you’re thinking about half the time, right? I don’t see where the problem is, V, if she was bold enough to try, maybe I should let her have a go.”
Jerking back and turning on his heels, V put some distance between them. He wasn’t gonna lose his cool, because that was exactly what Johnny had been looking for since he woke up yesterday.
“Let’s fucking go back, V,” Johnny growled, “right the fuck now.”
V only glared at him from over his shoulder, arms crossed.
“Get me back here so I can let her do what you’re obviously not capable off,” the man went on, pointing to the general direction of the city.
Amazingly, after his rebirth, Johnny had let V continue driving the Porsche. A clear proof of love if you believed Kerry and Rogue. V felt like this was a cursed gift because while Johnny insisted V drive him around, the man was on his ass the moment he took a too sharp turn, yapping on about his precious girl. The point was that Johnny liked to use V as his personal taxi, but the merc wasn’t in the mood right now.
“Drive yourself,” V replied, giving him the finger.
They looked at each other in stubborn silence, before Johnny smirked again.
“Fine,” he concluded, becoming liquid as he folded himself back into the car.
V blinked, experiencing a moment of doubt. Johnny wasn’t really gonna get back to that mammoth, right? He wasn’t gonna let her do what he’d hinted at, right?
But the rocker was also known for his stupid pride, and apparently this was now a matter of making V lose, whatever the cost.
As Johnny turned the key into the ignition, V stepped closer again, arms coming loose at his sides.
“You’re not really going back,” he declared.
Leaning into his seat and resting his metal arm on the windowsill, Johnny looked at V from over his glasses.
“What if I am? I mean, did you see her fingers? Bet it’s gonna feel amazing around my throat.”
In a last bid for wisdom, V tried to close his eyes again, like that had ever worked for anyone.
“Johnny…”
“V..” the man drawled the same way.
“You’re not going back to her.”
“Or yeah? You gonna do something to stop me?”
That was the question. V knew what Johnny was aiming at, he could understand the need crawling under his skin, but he generally turned to Kerry for that.
“Are you gonna stop me?” Johnny breathed again, mouth right by V’s ear. “Shut me up like you’ve been dreaming the whole way here?”
His voice brought shiver to V’s flesh, an excited frisson running down his spine.
“Or are you gonna choke up and chicken out? ‘Cause I bet she won’t. I bet she could hold me down and destroy me with just one hand.”
Before he realized, V had Johnny’s chin in a tight grip, fingers whitening around the rocker’s red mouth.
“Fine,” he snarled, “I’ll give it to you, bitch.”
[Continue reading on AO3]
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WIP Wednesday/Whenever
Tagged by @rosapexa, thank you! Tagging in turn with the usual disclaimers: @cybervesna @shimmer-like-agirl @dustymagpie @theviridianbunny @butchsquatch @medtech-mara @streetkid-named-desire
Modding
A couple of casual outfits for Ros, using wing's shoes and cubfan's jeans recolors (skinny bitch has her own tight jeans mesh). Shirt on the left is an existing variant of Wakako's that I really liked; right is Denny's that I'm recoloring for her.
Working on importing a jacket for fem V (yeah okay, it's really for Ros). I'm tweaking the mesh now so it works with Veegee's suit, then it's onto normals and textures
Writing
I've had a couple of drabbles that morphed into ideas for photoshoots, which in turn expanded into full scenes I started writing. This is one such drabble-turned-scene because of the pic below. Kinda long so putting most after the cut.
“Do you know what you’re asking of me?” Her brow furrows as she pauses to look at V, as if considering something for the first time. “Of yourself?”
Anxiety flooding her chest, V feels the familiar urge to jump ship at the first sign of trouble and wants to let go, to retreat; but Rosalind squeezes her fingers and holds her gaze, her eyes serious yet soft, keeps her grounded, and V lets out a long breath.
“Maybe not, but be a gonk move to let you leave ’thout saying something, wouldn’t it?”
“Constantly surrounded by Secret Service. Say goodbye to any privacy once media and screamsheets find out, not to mention all the fanatics and anti-government zealots.”
Rosalind looks at their hands while V wonders what to say. She’d thought about media and screamsheets but hadn’t considered the constant need for security. What would the logistics even look like for dating a sitting President? Maybe this is the gonk move.
“Then there’s the job.” Rosalind meets her eyes again, brow furrowed and lips tugged downward. “The country is first, always. I am always the President.”
That she had expected, and she chuckles softly. “Of course. Look, know what your priorities are, never gonna change. The rest?” She shrugs. “Deal with it as it comes.”
The flirting earlier today and during dinner bolstered her confidence, but now it deflates under the penetrating stare that has laid waste to politicians, generals, and corpos alike, and she looks away.
“Alright, V,” she says at last. Trying not to betray the surprise she feels, V looks up to find her watching with a soft smile. “Let’s see where this ride goes.”
She feels light enough to explode and she leans forward, kissing her hard.
“And the bedroom?” she asks with a grin when she pulls away.
“That’s up to the FSS,” Rosalind answers with a smirk. Frowning, V tries to decipher the answer while Rosalind's eyes light up as she receives a call, and the smirk grows wider as she listens. “Yes? Thank you.” The light disappears as the call cuts off. “They just gave the green light.”
The frown deepens as she finally gets it. “Wait, you swept my apartment?”
“Of course. I warned you about the Secret Service. Did you think they’d let me wander off to an apartment in Heywood without inspecting it, as well as ensuring a private entrance?”
V scoffs. “You had them sweeping it before I asked you to spend the night.” Rosalind’s eyes crinkle and she purses her lips in a vain attempt at holding back the ever-growing smirk, but it only exaggerates it further. “Planning on spending the night all along.”
Rosalind shrugs, the smirk replaced by an elegant smile, but her eyes remain warm and crinkled. “What can I say? I’m a politician; I like to keep my options open.”
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"You alright?" asked So Mi, "Looking a little shaky."
"I... I don't wear heels, So Mi. You know me, you know my wardrobe."
"We really need to talk about your graphic tee collection," she quipped, "you look great. We should go to more high society parties. Gives me an excuse to dress you up."
"Ah, the truth revealed," Vega replied, "we're doing this gig for Dorian so you can see me in a dress."
"Can you blame me?"
"...don't look at me that way."
"What way?"
"The one where you crook your head and give me a smirk while lookin' at me out the sides of your eyes."
"You mean this way?"
"Fuck! Fine, we'll go to more snooty corpo parties, but you have to do something for me in return."
"Sure."
"Please hold my arm. It'd be really embarrassing if I fell over."
"You fought an Arasaka cyberninja in CQB, fought half of the NUSA's most elite spec ops division, hauled my ass to the Moon, killed Adam Smasher and to top it off, did it while wearing exo-jacks... and now we find out your weakness is high heels?"
"V could fight in heels. I'm still on my training wheels."
"God, you're such a gonk. You're lucky I'm madly in love with you, Vega... please never change."
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Brain Rot Thot
Imagine a Corpo male V, the best at talking his way in and out of situations. He was taught by the best professors at Arasaka Academy how to negotiate, read people, and turn on the charm when necessary to get things done.
All that training, all that talent rushes out of his head and he becomes a nervous and nearly tongue-tied gonk. The cause?
Kerry Fucking Eurodyne.
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Black Tie (Panam x MascV)
V waits outside their tent wearing the suit from the Konpeki Plaza job. Ocasional sounds of rustling cloth and struggling come from inside.
V: ...You okay?
Panam: Shit! Working on it!
V: *Smiles and shakes head*
Panam: Uuugh...why are we doing this?
V: This job was your idea.
Panam: Yes! The job was! The method was yours!
V: The only time that corpo bastard let's go of that briefcase is at parties. Only way in is through the front door.
Panam: And we couldn't go in as staff or something!?
V: Even Staff can't get into the back lounge. VIPs only.
Panam: *incoherent grumpy noises*
The tent flap opens, Panam emerges dressed to the 9s in a black dress. V is dumbstruck.
Panam: I fucking hate dresses. *notices his look* What? What is it?
V: *steps forward, takes her hip and kisses her* You look...gorgeous.
Panam: Ahm. *brushes hair, blushing like crazy, grinning ear to ear* ...c'mon. We're gonna be late.
V: Yes ma'am!
Panam: *trying to sound serious, failing* And wipe that grin off your face. You're my heartless bodyguard and assassin tonight, remember?
V: Of course, miss Devereau.
Panam: *grabs his collar, pulls him into a kiss* And if we pull it off, mister Dufrane, I might just get a little scandalous with my loyal hired killer.
V: *grinning like the gonk he kind of is* Now thats what I call motivation.
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Yoo Cyberpunk 2077 accidentally got too real:
So I did the new date quest they put in after 2.0 (team Judy for life btw) and after doing all the options (except sleeping cause I'm a gonk and forgot to check if you fuck while they're over) I even did the shower option which she joins you, and the dance option which is hilarious and janky.. literally AS A JOKE because I had a Roach Race arcade in the apartment (the horse jumping minigame) I was RPing like what if I invited her over and just played games instead? So I did a couple runs that instantly failed (stupid fucking rng don't EVEN...) but the third run I LITERALLY GOT THE HIGH SCORE for those unaware there're leaderboards for all the arcade minigames and this is the first time in.. let's see, all 3 playthroughs I've done of Cyberpunk 2077 and I actually got it.. well I was so psyched that I ended the date without even seeing if the sleep option with Judy around would lead to a sex scene...
Tl;dr I RP'd as a stereotypical douche who games instead of fucking their gf 😵💫😵💫😵💫 jesus, but I got high score 🥲
Proof ^ also
Quality time + I think it's really funny cause you can get different apartments ingame so all of them popping up made me laugh, this is my Corpo playthrough so it fits lol
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Cyberpunk 2077 Themed S/I Ask Game!
this could work for cp2077 ocs too! feel free to rb and use as you see fit for your characters, but do try your best to practice rb karma! and proship dni, this isn't for you.
A Day in the Life: They say looks are everything in Night City, so what does your S/I look like? Hair, tattoos, eyes, all of that. Who are they and what made them like that? Give us the most basic overview of your character. Do their looks contrast with their personality at all?
I Can See Clearly Now: Adding onto the last question, let's talk cybernetics. Does your S/I have any chrome? Why or why not? If so, what kinds do they have and what purpose does it serve? Additionally, how did they get that chrome? Do they have a ripperdoc that they trust, or was it some shady hack-job?
Double Life: Corpo, Street Kid, or Nomad? Or none at all? Where does your S/I come from and how did they end up in Night City (assuming they're there at all)?
Chippin' In: Out of the in-game radio stations, what's your S/I's favorite radio station? In general, what kind of music do they like? Do they stay up to date with new tracks or do they like the classics?
I Walk The Line: How is your S/I in terms of morals? Do they try to do the right thing in sticky situations, or do they not hesitate to shot a gonk without warning? Is there such a thing as having a heart in a place like Night City?
Beat on the Brat: How does your S/I feel about combat? Do they like it, tolerate it, or hate it? Additionally, what's their weapon of choice? A blade, a firearm, quickhacks, or something else completely? Also, are they into weapon mods?
Queen of the Highway: What's your S/I's preferred form of transportation? Do they have a sweet ride that they love to bits and pieces, or a tired ol' ride that's barely hanging out? Or none of those at all and prefer the metro or just going on foot?
With A Little Help From My Friends: Is your character a lone wolf, or do they have a crew of friends that they always stick with? What are their relationships like and around whom do they spend their time (if anyone)?
Sweet Dreams: What does your S/I dream of? What is their motivation to get out of bed every morning? What do they want from life? Are they fine with flying under the radar and living a relatively normal life, or do they want to make a statement?
Disasterpiece: Wild card! Tell us whatever the hell you want about your character! A random piece of lore, their go-to hobby, their favorite pizza order... Surprise us!
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just a small bunch of Alek because he is the babiest of girls 😔
think it's about time i explained who tf he is and why i'm always sad about him so here are a few fun facts about the boi!:
saw his parents get brutaly unalived by Arasaka aged 16 and had to delta the fuck outta there with a toddler sister in his arms
got stranded in the desert outside Night City with nothing to his name but dad's old jacket, enough eddies to buy like one burger and a hungry child to care for
came across some Nomads (the Bakkers) and for a year or two Selita Bakker took the babes under her wing (then she fucken died and he had to leave again)
was forced into a life of crime just to make sure his sis didn't starve
he'd disappear for days or weeks doing gig after gig while Jaxine stayed with Mama Welles, Padre, Dr. Vik or Mama Fabienne (a kind-hearted haitian proprietress of The Birdhouse, an orphanage set up in the ruins of a small theatre tucked away somewhere between Dogtown and GIM) more about her sometime later
because of that Jax basically raised herself and Alek forever hated himself for not being there for her when she needed him most
he called her Jacket all the time and only used her name when she done fucked up and needed an ass woopin' (she was a hooligan who'd get locked up on possession charges aged 14...)
the nickname came from the fact that after they became orphans Jax would only ever shut up and stop crying while swaddled into her dad's giant jacket; she'd even wobble around like a penguin wearing it like a giant ass cape. and so it stuck. Jacket (sometimes it was JJ when Alek was in a hurry)
back in the world of edgerunning he was known as Vulture or V for short. his selling pitch was "got a bone to pick with somebody? Vulture's your man!"
as a side job he also ran an indie rock group "The Vultures". music helped him cope with day-to-day traumatic shit he had to endure. it's through the showbiz that he met Kerry Eurodyne and developed a hopeless crush on the celeb. feelings were mutual AF but both gonks were too shy to say anything. Kerry would only find out about it some years later from his sis when she became a walking floppy disk for Johnny_Silverhand.exe
at some point he utterly peaked in the merc world. every dog at the Afterlife knew his face and everybody wanted to work with him. even Rogue at some point advertised him to her clients as "the" man to do the job
at the pinnacle of his career Alek chipped in some mean mantis blades, top of the line Kiroshis, a Militech-made Sandevistan and a gazillion more enhancements that made him a fucken beast to be reckoned with. he also trained relentlessly and folks even mistook him for an ex-military, even though everything he knew was self-taught. he never stopped improving his body and mind and because of this (or maybe inspite of this?) he started showing the first symptoms of cyberpsychosis sometime around 2070. despite that, he'd keep his illness under control up until his death in 2074
it was also around this time that he klepped a pristine Type-66 Avenger off some corpo rat. he took the beaut to the Nomads to have it juiced up and after some work the wheels came out black as midnight, equipped with CrystalDome tech, guns upon guns, meanest freaking engine and tyres that could cling to walls if need be. don't ask how many people died staring down that bumper approaching them head-on at supersonic speeds, cause the answer is too many. Jax always felt like he loved that damned car more than her sometimes... and whenever she asked to take the beastie for a spin he'd always reply "over my dead body". who knew fucker meant it literally?!
Alek lied to Jaxine her whole life in a desperate bid to protect her from literally the entire world. the story of how they became orphans, what he did as a job, where he went off to for days on end... girl grew up knowing nothing about real Alek. only years later when with the help of a mutual friend she discovers his secret pad in the Glen that she'd start to piece together who he really was
Alek was afraid of his illness taking away his memory, so he scrolled damn near everything. birthday parties, hangouts at the shooting range, hikes into the badlands... every more or less important moment with Jaxie got recorded onto a BD shard and tucked away like a precious little slice of life that he was losing alongside his self-destructing neural links. later, Jaxie would spend hours rolling them over and over again, reliving the life that Arasaka took from them
throughout his career Alek's sole purpose in life (besides keeping his lil' sis alive) was revenge on Arasaka. specifically, he wanted to end Saburo himself with his own hands. any gig that involved messing with 'Saka or allowed him to gather crucial info was an automatic green light for him
he knew his dad didn't die in the assault and suspected he was Soulkilled like many other enemies of the corp (old man did in fact manage a anti-corpo group of vigilantes for like a decade before getting ratted out by somebody). at some point while on a gig to steal some 'Saka intel he got a hold of his dad's engram's copy. not like the Relic which would delete your personality, but the old gen - one that you plug in and talk to like your average hologram. of course, Alek never told Jax that he had their dead father on a shard slotted into his head at all times... and old man Bryce didn't want to traumatize his junior kid even further, either
dad wholeheartedly supported his son's mission to topple Arasaka, which was probably a bad idea... because history tends to repeat itself and eventually 'Saka discovered Alek's true identity and connected numerous crimes against them back to him. Adam Smasher was on his way to smash Alek...
too late did Alek realize that he done fucked up. he got all the crucial info locked away in his pad, the keys from it he left in his wheels and send that mf off into the sunset with a trusted fella. he recorded a sordid confession for Jaxie with a shitton of i'm-sorry's and i-love-you's and sent her away by... lying, again. he told her some drug dealers where coming to collect their due and he wanted her out of danger while he dealt with them. but the metal man Smasher showed up and the epic fight ensued. Alek knew he had no chance but he wasn't gonna make it easy for the dickwipe that zeroed his fam. the least he could do is hurt the bitch. and so as Jaxie was speeding away on Alek's bike - explosion. both Alek and his digitized dad were gone for good. Jaxie was left to fend for herself, not knowing that 'Saka now knew that they didn't wipe all of the Bryces and were looking for the one that got away
eventually she'd learn the whole tragic ass truth. and despite Alek's last wish for Jaxine to leave 'Saka be and just live her life, she made it her life goal to avenge her family. somehow, someway. one Johnny Silverhand would later come in extremely handy in this quest of hers
even though his life was hard and short, he did try to live to the fullest. he put his heart and soul into his music, he tried his damned best to show Jaxine that he loved her, and he looked out for his friends. Rogue would describe him as "the good villain" - a guy who despite having bloodied hands that never dried, always tried to do well by others. there was a short time when he was considered the deadliest motherfucker in town the mention of whose name sent shivers down gangoons' spines. and then he, like many before him and after, died
so if ya wanna honor the legendary Vulture whose flight was cut short, come down to the Afterlife and ask Claire for a shot of The Vulture: Armagnac Massy on the rocks with a splash of Cirrus Cola and a mint garnish. expensive, you say? if you knew him, you'd know he was worth every ennie
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persistence
Once an attacker manages to gain access to the network, via exploit or other method of compromise, they will seek to gain some measure of persistence, i.e. a way of maintaining their access. That access can then be leveraged to allow them to further explore the network, exfiltrate data, and escalate privileges.
water wears away stone
3.6k - explicit - cw: dysphoria, suicidal ideation
Post-ending. Valentine is back working for Arasaka, but she still secretly makes time for Johnny, who is body-hopping in dolls with Alt's help (and the doll's permission). Things go a little different from usual.
written for @silverv-week :3 (prompt: no-tell motel)
<>
It’s a rainy day in Night City– a rainy day in a string of rainy days that’s turned streets into spent fuel pools, stripping all the grime off the buildings to collect in the gutter. The whole city smells like a sewer, and inside the bar where Johnny sits waiting he can also smell the moldy bloom of rot. Things are busier than usual, full of gonks looking to drown their sorrows in alcohol instead of floodwater. The space he’s carved out for himself has grown smaller and smaller, his neighbors crowding in around his stool, some of them just looking to get the bartender’s attention and some of them buzzing like flies on meat.
He tries to wave down the bartender for another drink, but another body slides in front of him– some two-bit corpo with a cheap suit just starting his night. There are times when Johnny misses his body more than others, and this is one of them– just the sleazy smile on the other man’s face makes him wish he could rearrange it. But dolls are built for flash, not fire, and his arm is perfectly polished Realskinn, not heavy metal.
“You look too good to be here alone,” the corpo says, “Who’re you waiting for?”
“Waiting for a goddamn drink,” Johnny snaps, setting his empty glass down onto the bar with a heavy thunk.
The man laughs, but it’s a mean superior little laugh. “I can help with that.”
“Fuck off,” Johnny says. “Got a better chance of getting your dick sucked by bending over.”
“Hey, bitch–“ All of the corpo’s charm dissolves into an arrogant sneer. “–you’d better watch how you speak to me.
“Or what?” Johnny asks, leaning in. “You gonna cry to daddy?”
The corpo grabs his arm, and on instinct Johnny throws a quick jab up into his jaw. His head snaps back, but his grip stays strong as he drags Johnny closer and the first set of alarm bells start ringing as he realizes he’s not strong enough to just pull free. “You’re gonna pay for that you cheap fucking whore–“
The asshole is cut off by someone suddenly grabbing his shoulder and punching him in the back of the head so hard he collapses like a puppet with its strings cut, hitting the floor with a crash that causes a silence to settle in the bar save for the blare of the television. V stands over his body, soaked to the bone, hair plastered to her face, and a slight sneer on her lips. Her chrome left hand is still curled into a tight fist. She rolls the body over with her foot, eyes sparking for a moment before she loses interest and steps over him to join Johnny at the bar.
He always wonders if she’ll recognize him, but she always does. This time is no exception. She smiles at him, in the way that gets his blood pumping even higher, and more importantly, even lower. The corpo she laid out had been drinking something brown– she tosses it back and sets the glass down with a thunk and a contented sigh. Johnny grabs her by the collar to pull her down for a kiss and tastes some kind of sickly sweet brandy on her tongue, hears the drunken laughter of their neighbors at the bar. She pulls away first, letting out a deep breath but keeping her head bowed so their foreheads touch.
“Was starting to think you weren’t coming,” he tells her.
“Had to wait to make my entrance,” she says, darkly amused.
“My own personal knight in shining armor.” He pulls her closer by her belt buckle and hears the smile in her sharp exhale. “You hoof it all the way here from downtown?”
“Got busy–“
They’re interrupted by the groan of the idiot still entangled in between the bar stool legs and V’s feet. She watches impassively as he struggles to pull himself free and then staggers to his feet, holding the back of his head with one hand. His eyes flick to Johnny first, full of rage, but then he meets V’s eyes and decides to cut his losses. A few of the other patrons jeer and laugh as he leaves, entertained by a little run of the mill humiliation. V leans back against the bar and preens, still wearing her corpo arrogance like a second skin as she slides in close enough to touch him.
“Don’t look so pleased with yourself, you only sucker punched the gonk.” He finally has a chance to wave the bartender down for another drink, more eddies sliding away from his borrowed account. “My grandma could have done it.”
“Your grandma was a mean old drunk with a meaner left hook.” V’s back is still to the bar, her eyes scanning the rest of the crowd, restless with adrenaline. “Family trait.”
“Where the hell have you been?” Johnny asks, suddenly feeling the full force of the alcohol hitting him like a fist to his own skull. “Been sitting on my ass here for hours.”
“Where the hell have I been?” she repeats, mockingly. “I’ve been working at my fucking job. Unlike you I have responsibilities.”
She finally meets his eye, and it’s one of those disorienting moments where he can feel what’s going on underneath the surface just by looking at her– nerves clanging, teeth grinding, skin itching. She’s stuffed to the gills with stims, primed to pick a fight with anyone who rubs her the wrong way, himself included. He hooks his fingers around her belt buckle again, pulling her in close for another kiss. This time she doesn’t try to pull away, but growls into his mouth, fingers digging into his hips.
“Trying to charm me?” she accuses, when they finally break, breathing hard. She pauses. “You look good.”
“I always look good.”
V exhales sharply through her teeth. “Fuck you.”
“Something really got your tighty whities in a twist, huh?” He kisses her cheek. “Let’s get out of here.”
Her grip on his hips tightens, her left hand painfully tight. “Don’t try to fucking manage me.”
“Stop being such an uptight corpo bitch.” He tries to kiss her again but she pulls away and he settles for grabbing her by the tie. “Now you want to fight or you want to do something more fun?”
She’s about to argue some more, but before she can think of anything cutting her eyes land on his chest and linger there. He grins and cups his hands under his borrowed set of overflowing tits, and she sighs in irritation. “Don’t know why the hell I put up with you”
They set out into the rain, which has turned into more of a drizzle. He has another reason to hate the shoes he’s strapped into, open toes letting in cold, filthy water. Rosie had offered to give him a quick lesson on heels, and he wishes he’d taken her offer instead of laughing at her. Maybe then she would have agreed to change into something he could actually walk in instead of laughing right back.
He slips and nearly eats shit, V catching his arm and holding him upright. She stifles her laughter, but he knows she’s suppressing a grin. “Where the hell are we going?”
“Close,” he says, righting himself and gestures with his chin to where the bright sign of the No-Tell gleams brightly in the gray mist.
“Fuck, I hate that place.”
“You got a better idea?”
The corner of her mouth creases into a deep frown along with her furrowed brow. It’s charming, although he’d never be stupid enough to tell her, at least not while she’s got a whole foot on him.
“You always take me to the shittiest places,” she says, in such a sweetly saccharine tone that he nearly falls over laughing again before she yanks him back into motion.
The inside of the motel is more crowded than usual, humid smoke saturating the lobby, separated into two groups of people: those avoiding eye contact and those trying to catch attention to sell a little comfort. A few of the latter give Johnny a professional sneer– he’s the wrong class of whore for this neighborhood. V heads straight for the kiosk, not even pausing before she’s pulled out her knife and starts prying off a side panel. It doesn’t take her long to pull it free, and there’s a warp to the metal that suggests she’s far from the first to do so.
“You’ve got the eddies, just pay for it,” he says, freeing his left foot and putting his bare foot down on the floor with a sigh of relief. Prosthetics have gotten much better than he remembers. He can feel every detail of thin, crusty carpet covering concrete underfoot, but at least he doesn’t have to worry about tetanus. And it’s better than being hobbled.
“I am not paying for a room in the motel where I got shot in the head,” V mutters, already recalling her personal link into her wrist with a snap.
He grunts, prying off the right heel and throwing it down next to the other one. “Should qualify you for some sort of discount, at least.”
She turns to look at him and wrinkles her nose. “This floor is filthy.”
“You sound like that old ronin.”
The look she gives him in response is fit to kill. She bends to snatch up his discarded shoes with one step and scoops him up in the next, grunting as she adjusts him in her arms.
“Alright, princess. Your tower awaits.”
“Easy there, tiger, you’re going to throw out your back,” he says. It’s not so bad, getting carried around. Closest he usually got to this kind of thing was crowd surfing, but with this, there’s only one set of hands feeling him up. He leans into V’s neck and kisses her over her pulse point, provoking a sound that is halfway between a laugh and a growl.
“Next time you do all the lifting,” she grumbles, shifting him in her grip as she waves her hand over the lock and then shoulders the door open.
Johnny’s been thrown around plenty of times, but there’s something different about it when his back is on the mattress and he’s looking up at someone he couldn’t wrestle his way out from under. He doesn’t always miss his arm, but he misses it now, feels naked without it. V isn’t even looking at him, eyes scanning the room with a frown, annoyed by the mess, or the memory of the place, or maybe both.
“Hey,” he says, interrupting her train of thought. “Eyes on the prize. I can’t tell, are you supposed to be Prince Charming or the dragon?”
She grins, pleased as a cat with the cream on both comparisons. “Which do you prefer?”
He moves to the edge of the bed, annoyed by the way his dress restricts his movement, but equally gratified by the way it draws her attention. When he’s in some chump with nice hands she wants to fight. When he’s in some chick who can barely see over the counter she wants him to tell her what to do. If he points that out she’ll probably try and strangle him.
“C’mere,” he says, tugging her closer by the belt.
He’s been on the other side too many times to count, so he knows what it means when she moves in close, suddenly quiet with concentration. As eager as any gonk to get her rocks off. She takes one look at his face and exhales sharply, turning away in embarrassment.
“Found your weakness,” he says, undoing her buckle and her pants, lifting up the only dry part of her shirt. She inhales as he kisses the soft part of her stomach. “Is it the tits, or the fact you can finally throw me around?”
V scoffs, hands making short work of the buttons of her shirt. “It’s definitely not your sterling personality.”
“Ouch,” he pretends to be wounded, slipping his hands around her hips and squeezing her ass. “Personality is all I’ve got left.”
“Fake it til you make it.”
She finishes unbuttoning her shirt and he helps her peel it off her skin, grinning as she tenses her stomach. After she’s ditched her shoes and pants she slides in behind him on the mattress, pulling him back into her lap and rucking up the skirt of his dress until she can spread his knees on the outside of her own. A small part of him wants to protest, but he can hardly think over the chaotic struggle of shame and lust he feels at being exposed, at being feminine and weak, and at feeling V solid behind him, knowing that there’s no part of him she could ever look at in disgust. It’s been lurking around here and there, but now it’s got him by the throat, and everything is wrong.
“Okay?” V asks, one reassuring hand on his thigh and the other– her chrome hand, tracing gentle circles around his collarbones. Her breathing is steady, and he matches himself to that. “You’ve gone quiet.”
“Fine,” he snaps, reaching back to grip the back of her neck in one hand. She shivers at the contact and for some reason makes the tension in his stomach dissolve. He doesn’t have to explain anything to her. “Fine.”
V hums, leaning back so she can loosen the zipper to the dress. “You know this gives me an opportunity to teach you a thing or two?”
“Oh yeah? About what?”
Her damp skin sticks to his as she pulls him close to her chest again, the fabric of the dress suddenly pushing away from his tits, the slack enough to give a well positioned observer something extra, or to let a hand slip in. V finds a nipple and pinches, and Johnny goes from observer to specimen, the brief moment of pain mixed with pleasure, branching out from his core. He wants her hands all over him, to let her devour him whole.
“Fuck,” he says, and doesn’t even care that it doesn’t sound like his voice. “Get this thing off me. See what other things your mouth can do besides talking big.”
She’s happy to oblige, stripping him down with practiced ease. The best thing about V is she never asks any unnecessary questions, shows not the barest interest in why he’s in this body and yet seems to have a preternatural sense for the brief moments of discomfort that bubble up while she’s mapping him from toe to tip with her palms. The exercise is as much for her as it is for him, but he relaxes anyway, the sensation of her gently squeezing his tits going from strange to good in a way that still feels fragile.
He’s not prepared for how easily she lifts him so his legs are hooked over her shoulders, how vulnerable it feels to have her breath warm in sensitive places, how different it is from how it was with Kerry, when he was inside her in a different way. Then she puts her mouth on him and his only concern is chasing the high, abandoning all concerns about self to focus on her tongue and the bruising grip of her hands.
The alcohol works against him but still, he comes spectacularly, bucking and writhing. No sooner does she gently lower him down then she’s right back at it, the shock of her fingers sliding into him offset by the gentle kisses she feathers around his sensitive clit. He can’t think of anything except the way she alternates between rhythmic thrusting and the fluttering of her fingers, until she’s got him again– this time the pleasure not constrained to a single peak but a long wave, crashing over him until she deposits him back again into the sweaty nest of sheets that have somehow wrapped around his arms.
While he’s still enjoying the afterglow, she curls up against him with her face in his chest, and is almost immediately out like a light. She doesn’t stir. Not when he rests his hand on the back of her neck, or when he makes one feeble attempt to reach his cigarettes– almost a whole foot out of reach and taunting him where the pack sits in a pile of discarded clothing at the edge of the bed.
He holds out for another five or ten minutes, and then has to wriggle out from under her to take a piss. When he returns he finds her sprawled in the space he’s left behind, breathing slow and even, but not quite yet unconscious.
“How’s the crash?” he asks, and receives a grunt in response. “Didn’t even give me a chance to return the favor.”
“I don’t care.” She cracks open one eye and then closes it. “Rather sleep on your tits.”
He snags his cigs and lighter before laying down next to her, and she drags him closer and makes herself comfortable without ever opening her eyes. She even lets out a little sigh, like a dog settling in for a nap, grumbling when his laughter makes for an unsteady pillow.
“If you were so tired you could have said so,” he tells her, running fingers through her hair with one hand while he pulls out a cigarette with his teeth.
“Why?”
He pulls the cigarette out of his mouth, fiddling with it a bit. “I mean you could have canceled.”
Her head shoots up at the sound of his lighter, and before he can defend himself she’s snatched the cigarette from his lips. “No smoking in bed.”
“The hell do you mean, no smoking in bed?”
“It’s disgusting.”
“I guarantee a lot more disgusting things have been done on this bed.” He gestures to the cig with his chin. “C’mon, this ain’t exactly the Konpeki.”
V frowns at him so deeply he thinks she’s going to toss the cigarette to the side, but eventually she places it back in his mouth. There’s a certain amount of huffiness in the way she nuzzles back against him that means he’s going to be hearing about this again. She searches blindly for his free hand, and laces her fingers into his.
“I didn’t want to cancel,” she mumbles.
Johnny realizes too late there’s no ash tray. He flicks ash onto the comforter and watches the fibers melt into each other, and then stubs it out entirely. “Miss me, huh?”
She really must be exhausted, because for once V doesn’t deflect. “Yeah.”
They lay in comfortable silence for a while, and Johnny traces circles along V’s neck and spine, his craving for nicotine replaced by a feeling akin the way he used to lay awake at night and try to imagine metal and plastic was really flesh and bone. This body is as good as any other body because it isn’t his. This body is as worse as any other body because it isn’t V. Just another interchangeable part.
“Who knew we’d miss the good old days?” he asks.
V props herself up on her elbow so she can look in his direction, although her eyes are fixated somewhere over his shoulder. “I still talk to you. It’s not you, obviously, I don’t see you or hear you or anything.”
“You never let me win an argument,” he says, and it feels good to see her real smile, and not the one she uses to cover up something else.
“I can’t keep doing this,” she says. “One of these days I’m going to get sloppy. I feel like I’m falling apart, Johnny. I wish you’d just let me die.”
“Jesus, V–“ He sits up, but she doesn’t move a muscle, staring blindly forward with her teeth gritted. She’s trying not to cry. “What is it?”
Her mouth thins into a flat smile, and she wipes at her cheek. “Nothing. I’m just tired. Haven’t slept in…” Her expression goes blank, silently calculating. “I don’t know. Since Wednesday.”
In another few hours it will be Saturday. She does look exhausted, awake only through sheer iron will, the circles under her eyes darker than usual. She looks miserable too, in a way he hasn’t seen since he was inside her head. It’s her fault, walking right back into that fucking snake nest, too chickenshit to accept actual freedom.
“Go to sleep,” he says, leaning forward to kiss her. She sighs, leaning her forehead against his. “Got these huge cans, might as well put them to use.”
She chuckles, then clears her throat. “They are pretty great.” Her metal fingers are cool against his skin, light and tender before she pulls away. She bows her head, shifting so she can press a kiss where her hand was. “Going to keep them in the rotation?”
“Nah.” He threads his fingers through hers again as she settles back down to use him as a pillow. “Think you got the right idea about them. Besides, I miss the old bait and tackle.”
“You and your goddamn dick,” she grumbles.
“Jealous, huh?” He pets her hair, tracing the shell of her ear with his fingers. “Don’t have to keep doing this, you know. Could leave all that shit behind and live your life without some jackass telling you what to wear and what to eat and when to sleep.”
She sighs, but there’s not even a grumble of argument. No stubborn noises about her job being a part of her, what she’s good at, what she wants. He idly rubs his thumb over the small fine hairs at the base of her neck. He knows her inside and out better than anyone, and a lack of an answer is as good as confession. Between one minute and the next he feels her go slack, while he lays looking up at the slowly growing stain in the ceiling. Another day of rain like this and it’ll split open.
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First meeting
“You Silverhand?”
Johnny chuckles, and raises an eyebrow “You’re fucking astute.” He saunters up to the young woman and gives her a look over. The military grade Netrunner suit is a dead giveaway she isn’t some random gonk off the streets. “Didn’t know Rogue was hiring a corpo shithead to tag along.” He lights a cigarette and takes a drag, making sure to blow the smoke in her face.
“Ex corpo shithead, besides I wouldn’t miss a chance to hit arasaka where it hurts.” She leans against the terrace wall and takes a drag of her own cigarette. Johnny hums,
“Disgruntled ex employee?”
She scoffs, “Of Arasaka? Fuck no, Militech.”
Militech? Interesting, “Personal vendetta?” He meanders over towards the walled garden, settling right next to her making sure to invade the Netrunner’s personal space. Instead of shrinking away she turns to face him.
“You could say that…” She trails off. Her green eyes peer into his dark shades, his lips curl into a grin. “So, what’s your name?”
“V.”
“…V? Who do you think you are, Prince?” V chuckles a bit, she drops her cigarette and crushes it under her boot. Johnny takes a drag before following suit “Come on, stop tugging my dick. Name.”
The sudden approach of an AV signals it’s go time. Shaitan opens the door as Rogue motions for the pair to come on board. V walks ahead, she turns to face Johnny, “Maybe after this gig I can tug on you some more, who knows? Maybe I’ll even tell you my name.”
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Can you infodump about your oc a bit?? I want to know how his personality is like, what does he does for a living, the things he likes and dislikes
So this is Noir -twirls hair and giggles-. Thats his street name. His real name is Damiano Gallo. He is originally from Miami and then moved to Night City to make it big.
His personality is very outgoing, expressive, loves to be the center of attention. He is cunnning, resourceful, but sometimes doesn't think things through. His morals lay in the grey area, and he can be a bit of a scumbag, but he always goes out of his way to help a friend or satisfy a client. Earning trust is important to him.
He is a Fixer in the Glen district of Night City. He runs his office out of a Dollhouse/Night Club called Court Luxe. On some occasions he will work gigs with mercs or go out solo. His affiliations are the Moxx and Valentinos. He is enemies with the Animals. They are the ones who cut his fingers off. But they did get replaced with a shiny set of cybernetic claws.
Likes - Coffee, Violence, Drugs, Live Music, Dancing, Pink, Video Games, Spicy Food, Streetwear/Shoes, Motorcycles
Dislikes - Gonks, Corpos, Yellow, Sweets, Binging Shows, NCPD, Cold Weather
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a reformed corpo gonk turned night city's most lethal netrunner.
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OC Interview | Melanie Foster/Gonzalez (depends on the timeline)
Was tagged by @ouroboros-hideout. Thank you, Colonel.
Name: Name's Melanie Foster... although, things going well, it might be Gonzalez soon enough.
Nickname: Some people call me 'Mel.' Truth be told, I'm not fussed.
Gender: Female (Cis)
Star Sign: I was born on March 27, so I guess that makes me a... *checks agent* an Aries.
Height: 5'7"
Orientation: Pansexual
Nationality/Ethnicity: I was born in Seattle, which technically makes me a citizen of the Western Corpo States. Both of my parents were white.
Fave Fruit: Pineapple. Sometimes, even on pizza. I've been told that's bad, but fuck me I didn't realise we were all conformist sheep in 2079.
Fave Season: No season is fun in Night City. It's either dry and cold as fuck, or it's 100% humidity, swimming through the air... oh and the rain is acidic and burns your eyes. Honestly, it's the fall. Nice reminder that everything's in a constant cycle of renewal.
Fave Flower: Japanese Cherry Blossoms. They're so delicate, and while pretty, they're short lived... the best people in Night City are like sakura. They bloom, live short, brilliant lives, then they die as quickly.
Val's more like a peony. Hardy, yet beautiful. Her ex is a fuckin' gonk for letting this one slip through his fingers.
Fave Scent: Val bought a peach-scented spray for the apartment the other week and it's now everything to me. Really masks out the smell of rotting garbage that permeates Japantown.
Coffee, Tea, or HC: Hot Chocolate. They sweeten the shit with scop paste but fuck me if it isn't addictive. Just don't tell 'er I'm drinkin' it. 'kay?
Average Hours of Sleep: More than what Val gets when she's tuning virtus for the Mox, that's for sure. Somewhere between 6-8 hours.
Dog or Cat Person: I'm a dog person, but Val has this ginger cat, she's grown on me though.
Dream Trip: Love to go somewhere tropical. Not sure exactly where, but I just want to relax on a beach with a mojito.
Favourite Fictional Character: John Wick, not just because he's fuckin' brutal in those BDs, but he also kinda looks like Johnny Silverhand.
Number of Blankets They Sleep With: One. I tend to run a little hot, but Val really feels the cold. So sometimes I'm buried under a mountain of blankets. She's lucky I love her.
Random Fact: Promise not to share this with too many people? There's a little secret I've been keeping from Val... I've been tuning some of the raw BDs from Lizzie's she's been working on, help take the workload off her. Doesn't seem right that Susie Q expects her to do that job alone.
Tagging (with no pressure): @genocidalfetus @gloryride @shivsghost @olath124 (and anyone else who would like to hop on)
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