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yns-world · 8 months

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Idol Worship

Pairings: Cyberpunk 2077 Men x Fem!Idol!Reader

Context: You’re a hyper feminine idol with a cutesy, girlie concept. As a Night City celebrity, these are some headcanons of your life with the men.

A/N: Y/S/N = Your Stage Name

Jackie Welles: You and Jackie had been dating for a year before your rise to fame, and have been going strong ever since. He supported your music dreams from the start, and you’ll always see him as your first fan, as well as your biggest fan (both literally and figuratively). When you started booking bigger venues and had appearances on TV shows, Jackie became worried that you’d leave him for some Hollywood slick, since that’s what everyone always did when they become famous, but you reassured him that’d you’d never leave him since he was the only one for you.

At the beginning of your stardom, you had decided to keep your romantic life personal as to keep Jackie away from all of the fame but that proved to be difficult when you had a known stalker on your tail. This stalker followed you everywhere and caused you countless restless nights. The situation had gotten so bad that he broke into your hotel one night, but thankfully you had stayed out that night and weren’t inside when he broke in. After that incident, Jackie didn’t feel safe to have you out on tours by yourself.

That’s when you both decided that it would be best to publicize your relationship-- one, to keep weirdos at bay, and two, so that Jackie could be with you all of the time unapologetically.

Thankfully, the fans took to Jackie pretty well-- with the exception of your pervy fans, but you weren’t too concerned with them anymore since Jackie became an unofficial official bodyguard. There wasn’t a single picture of you where Jackie wasn’t also in it, either intentionally or unintentionally.

Concerts, TV showings, photoshoots, Jackie was always there next to you. You were able to convince your manager to hire Jackie as full-time secretary since he was able to prove himself much more useful than the lumberjacks that couldn’t stop a fly.

Johnny Silverhand: You had already made a name for yourself when you met Johnny, and your first meeting was at an elite club that’s only known to a select few. In the dark night club, Johnny’s body was pressed flush against yours and all you both could do was stare into each other’s eyes and sway to the pounding bass of the music. The chemistry was wild, and Johnny was hooked, but you left before the night was over, leaving him high and dry.

The next time he would see you would be on electric boards in the city, performing your latest song. That’s when he recognized you-- those eyes, those god forsaken eyes that reeled him in.

With a call to his manager and a few pulling of strings, Johnny was able to bring you into his home-studio on the pretenses of having you songwrite a song he’s been working on. Needless to say, that would be one of many “studio sessions”.

Within a month, Johnny found himself asking you to be his girlfriend, and you agreed. Johnny being Johnny, immediately wanted to publicize the relationship. To say the public was shocked was an understatement. A crazy metalhead dating the cutesy pop star? Do we need to alert the feds?

But when the paparazzi photos of the two of you spending quality time together were leaked, everything was finally clicking into place.

At first, you didn’t want your relationship to overshadow your career so you would regularly decline any commentary or showings that had anything to do with Johnny, but after a few deep, honest sit downs with him, you both agreed that you would be able to make this business-pleasure relationship work.

After a few months of dating, not only were you able to show up to public functions together but you both featured on songs together. Your bird-like voice and his scruffy voice complimented each other remarkably well, not to mention the mixing of such polar genres. The two of you would release some of your most popular music together.

A few examples would be “Strawberry Kisses - Johnny Silverhand feat. Y/S/N”, and “Make Daddy Proud - Y/S/N feat. Johnny Silverhand”.

Johnny’s influence would definitely inspire you to expand in both your concept and your music. You would be his muse, and he would be yours.

Viktor Vektor: As part of the industry, it’s common for idols to get cyberware and plastic surgery done to conform to societal beauty standards-- as the motto goes, “in Night City, looks are everything.”

In the beginning of your career, your manager needed you to get some cyberware done but knew you couldn’t pay for the high prices that legitimate surgeons required, so he introduced you to a man with less-than-honest credentials.

That’s where you met him. Viktor Vektor. A miracle worker based out of a dingy basement and faulty fluorescent lights.

He treated you like a princess and you were in love right then and there. His gentle touches on your face and most intimate parts made you swoon.

Your manager had sent Viktor a list of procedures he wanted, but Viktor only consulted with you on what you wanted, no more and no less.

After the first consultation, you were hooked, and the feeling was mutual. You would check in at least monthly, and would find any reason to give him a call just to hear his voice.

By the time he had finally asked you out, you both were so used to sneaking around that it was silently agreed upon to not publicize this relationship. Maybe it was taboo, with the age gap and career choice, but it was love. And to you both, that was all that mattered.

And thanks to Viktor’s connections in the industry, you were quick to become the face of high fashion and runways. Always equipped with the latest cyberware, your tech upgrades were trendsetters, with influencers and celebrities alike flocking to imitate your work. But your tech was always one-of-a-kind, that’s what Viktor vowed to do from the moment he met you. Every creation he creates for you is only for you. It’s custom-made for your body and mind, no one else’s.

Your looks had become so famous that there was a genre of cyberware named after you: Roseware, an homage to your pink and aesthetic gadgets.

a/n: i hope you enjoyed! if you did, please consider reblogging since it helps my account! :) DON'T BE A GHOST READER!!!! i would love to hear your thoughts and opinions, and comments are what keep writers going <3 i’m open to requests again (specifically for cyberpunk), please read my the posts on my pinned before requesting :) lmk if y’all have any ideas for more content like this cause this was fun to write :D

#yns world #cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk 2077 v #cyberpunk 2077 x reader #cyberpunk 2077 x v #johnny silverhand #johnny silverhand x reader #johnny silverhand x v #viktor vektor x reader #viktor vektor #viktor vektor x v #jackie welles #jackie welles x reader #jackie welles x v #cyberpunk 2077 fanfic

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buryustogether · 1 year

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-> i really fucked it up <-

jackie welles x reader (v)

wc: 6.6k

summary: jackie told you not to take this job. now you’re fucked in more ways than one.

warnings/tags: kidnapping, some mild torture, violence, blood, weapon use, swearing, established relationship, angst, couple fighting, smut, fingering, edging, orgasm denial, possesive jackie, almost a dash of yandere if you SqUiNt

author’s note: started working on this, had to go to the hospital. bon appetit. (spanish to english translations at the bottom.)

based on ‘i really fucked it up’ by girli

Jackie had told you that this was not a job you could do alone. He’d warned you from the very start, when you’d stepped into Vik’s clinic while he was getting his chrome repaired and presented the plan to him with nothing less than a flourish and confetti. Yet even with your tactics laid out, with every detail plotted and every possibility planned, he still said no.

You had told him he was starting to sound like his mother. “You worry too much,” you had said and taken a seat beside the chair as Viktor had tinkered with a cybernetic in your man’s forearm. “It’s going to be low-profile anyway. Arriving tonight in a tiny port just north of Pacifica, in neutral ground. No gangs to claim it. No one to hear about it but you and me.”

“And where did you hear about it?” Viktor had asked.

“Nowhere,” you’d replied. They had both given you identical looks of skepticism that made your skin crawl. “A fixer I met a few weeks back. He’s a choom. Hooked me up with a few good takes recently.”

Jackie had released a heavy exhale from deep within his belly. You hadn’t been able to stop yourself from admiring the way his abs flexed beneath the fabric of his tank top as he breathed. “Still doesn’t sound like a good idea,” he told you as his hand was released and he flexed his fingers. He shook his palm out. “Just let it go, carino.”

You wished you had listened to him.

It must have been hours since the Maelstrom had caught you while loading crates of Kiroshi tech into your ride, eyes wide and lips parted in shock like a lizard in the Badlands stuck frozen in a pair of approaching headlights. It must have been hours since they had knocked you to the ground with a couple well-placed pistol whips that made your head spun, since they zip tied your wrists and ankles behind your back, manhandled you into the trunk of a Thornton, and brought down the butt of a shotgun against the surface of your temple.

There were no windows in your little makeshift cell, so you had no idea what time it could have been.

But it had to have been hours.

When you woke to a reality-splitting, teeth-gnashing, tech-glitching headache, you had discovered your captors had handcuffed you to a bathtub faucet over yourself so that you were forced to recline back in the tub to avoid your wrists snapping. The wall to make the bathroom private had long ago been torn down, giving you a generous view of the rest of the abandoned apartment the gang was using as a hideout. It was just as you had expected from cybercosis-pushing freaks like them; ratty couches and scattered drug bowls, pieces and bits of bloody tech littered across tables and countertops, a spotty television playing somewhere along the far wall. A number of them milled about, coming and going, kicking up feet or pacing with automatics clutched in hand. Your mind was far too much of a fuzzy static to even think of counting them.

If you were being completely honest, you had no idea why the Maelstrom had not killed you on the spot when they showed up to nab the Kiroshi tech and you’d already been there. You had seen them shoot to kill for worse. Hell, you’d once witnessed a junkie get his guts blown out over spitting too close to a Maelstrom’s shoe.

You didn’t know why you were here, why they hadn’t popped your head off with a simple squeeze of the trigger. You did know, however, that you needed to get out of here - before they suddenly got any ideas and started picking you apart for your chrome.

Pulling gently against the handcuffs around the faucet already digging bruises into your wrists, you sat up as much as you were able and sniffed. The air reeked of sitting water and mold. If you had to guess, you were probably still in Pacifica. The fact struck you as odd. Maelstrom’s turf bordered Watson to the north, not all the way down here in the high-as-hell land of the delusional wash up actors. Something was up.

You blinked against the black eye that was surely forming on your face and licked your cracked lips. Sweat beaded on your upper lip, and you wiped it off on your upper arm. No reason to give them any sign that you were actually incredibly nervous.

“Hey, toothpick,” you called to a Maelstrom reclined back in a couch within your vision. He was skinny as all get out, and the five red cybernetic eyes drilled into his face made him look like some kind of fucked up bobble head. “Can I get a little something to drink? No offense, but your service here sucks. I’ve been waiting for ages.”

The goon rolled his wrist to flip you off before settling back against the ratty cushions again.

“I’d really like to speak to your manager,” you went on, craning up in the filthy tub. You couldn’t imagine what you must have smelled like. “This is getting to be unacceptable.”

“Shut your fucking mouth, you little bitch.”

“Make me, big boy.”

In less than a few moments’ time, the goon had gotten to his feet, crossed into the dilapidated bathroom, and brought down a chrome-d out fist against the planes of your face. Pain like fire and ice raced through your systems, throwing your head back and pulling a startled yelp from the back of your throat. Tendrils of fury and shock ebbed through your veins, but they couldn’t do much against the rocking, uncoordinated sensations now holding the reins to your world.

“You better learn to get that tongue under control before you lose it,” the goon said somewhere above you, and you felt him shove your face against the side of the grime-ridden tub. “The Voodoos don’t take too kindly to backtalkers.”

Attempting to keep the bile in your throat down, you blinked a few times against the haze clouding your vision. You felt a bit of hot, thick blood slowly trickling from your nostril. Was your nose broken? “The Voodoo Boys?” you asked through the thundering in your ears. “I didn’t even think you and them brushed dicks, with your hunting ground being up north.”

The goon’s boots crushed broken glass beneath his weight as he leaned back against the sink that looked ready to collapse with just a wrong look in its direction. “We don’t,” he said, then spat on the ground before pulling a cigarette from behind his ear. “Black magic fools have got a pretty price out for your head, baby. Turns out they don’t take too well to having their gun market shot up.”

You sniffed at the blood leaking from your nose.

Oh - yeah, you had done that. A few weeks back, you’d picked up a gig that required the need for a human trafficker to be taken out before he could make his business boom. Turns out, he’d been hiding in Voodoo territory. One thing had led to another, as they had the tendency to do, and the entire ordeal had ended with a dead trafficker, a bullet graze to your arm, and a small firearms market in Pacifica in hysterics trying to escape your gunfire.

Much as you despised this city sometimes, you had sworn an oath to yourself when you first began to pull dangerous stunts like this all those years ago. No matter what happened, you wouldn’t let an innocent person get caught in the crossfire.

It had been easy at first. Deal with business in back alleys where no one was around, and no one but those who deserved it got hurt. But things slowly got complicated. Jobs required public spaces and less room for error. Civilians got curious and peeked behind the curtain. Accidents happened.

There had been an instance that still stuck in your mind to this day, a young man who had been so absorbed in the music blaring from his headphones he hadn’t even heard you screaming at him to move as your target raised a pistol. It hadn’t been a pretty sight. You could still recall the smell of iron as you tied a tourniquet around the kid’s shoulder and called emergency services on your vision screen. He had cried. Begged you not to let him die. Apologized for getting in the way, anything and everything that came into his disoriented mind.

You never knew if he made it or not. The ambulance had whisked him away too quickly, and the shadows you’d been hiding in were too dark for the officers to spot you.

That day you shot up the Voodoo Boys’ gun market, no bystanders had been injured. You made sure of it.

But it seemed they still had not liked the bullet holes stuck in the walls.

“So what?” you finally said as the Maelstrom goon exhaled a cloud of smoke. “You going to trade with them or something?”

“Precisely,” he replied, then inhaled again and blew the smoke in your direction. The cloud of white made your eyes water, but you refused to let him see how the pain made you squirm. “Deal’s going down when the sun’s up, so I’d make my peace with whatever god, if I were you.” He grinned a sickly-looking smile, showing off the metal caps on his teeth that made him look like a mechanical demon of some kind. “I hear they like to play with their food before they eat.”

He left you in the tub, hands cuffed above your head and blood spilling from your nose, down your cheek, into the fabric of your collar. Everything in you ached, especially the place somewhere deep in your middle where you’d been kicked a number of times back at the docks. You wouldn’t doubt it if a rib had been cracked.

Christ, you were so fucking naive. Of course your new fixer had sent you right into a set up. Now that you thought about it, you had once seen a Maelstrom tattoo poke from his sleeve when he lifted his arm. He was going to profit from this circumstance, Kiroshi tech or ransom.

Turning your face so that the goons wouldn’t see the red lights that flooded over your optical units, you brought up your vision screen and attempted to call Jackie. Before the first ring even had a chance to begin, a message erupted across the screen.

OUTGOING CALL UNAVAILABLE.

Releasing a slow, pained breath, you shut your eyes and rested your throbbing head against the edge of the tub. They had told you not to do this, much less alone. Jackie had told you to drop it, because he’d been in this business longer than you, and he knew when lost causes were lost. Fuck, you should have listened to him. Why did you have to be like this? So gung-ho, so eager to impress even when you had no one to prove yourself to?

Deep down, you knew why. It was because you were a street rat. A kid who had been pawned for a few grams of drugs, a mutt that had been raised by the bouncers and madams and right hands of gang leaders your entire life. It was because the world had decided early on, before you could even speak up for yourself, that you were going to be a no one.

Then, in what had seemed like your first stroke of luck, you had met another no one.

Jackie had been running with the Valentinos when you first met him; he’s been nothing more than an errand boy then, some scrappy kid with a limp in his leg and his teeth bared when someone even glanced at him. You had been caught rifling through the side bag of some big shot Valentino’s motorbike and dragged by the hair to the guy who’d been left in charge while Daddy Val was out of town. Your punishment was to be death. Your executioner?

Jackie Welles.

A final test, they’d said as they handed him the gun and told him to take you out back, to see if he was really Valentino material.

You remembered the look in his eyes as you stared up at him, his barrel pressed to your forehead and tears streaming down your cheeks as you begged for mercy. He’d looked so hesitant, so tentative to tighten his finger around the trigger and finish the job. You saw yourself reflected in his gaze; just some kid trying to make it by in the city, doing things that would stain your hands so irrevocably you wouldn’t recognize them when you looked down.

Jackie had not painted himself with your blood that day. Instead, he’d hauled you to your feet and raced with you away from that back alley, away from the Valentinos, away from the fate the universe had set for you both.

You had been inseparable ever since. First there came the friendship, the inside jokes shared over food copped from his mother’s kitchen and singing along to the radio while you helped him in his garage. Then came the something more, slowly at first, then unstoppable. The lingering touches while patching up after street fights, that first kiss shared on the roof, the feeling of his body on top of yours and your legs locked around his hips and the moans and cries and gasps swallowed up by the other.

You suddenly felt like a stupid little kid, frightened and wanting to run to him. You were V, for god’s sake, one of the most infamous mercenaries in Night City, but goddamnit, you wanted your boyfriend to hold you close and tell you that you were safe.

Fuck, you were pathetic.

You were sure if the Maelstrom had blocked your communication devices, they must have also found a way to disrupt the tracker in your head that only Jackie and Viktor had access to. You had no way of calling them, letting them know you needed them, crying out for help.

Your man wasn’t coming to save you.

No one was coming to save you.

Just like you insisted on doing this job alone, you would die alone.

It couldn’t have been earlier than five in the morning or so when the Maelstrom goon you’d spoken to before shoved your head against the tub to wake you.

“Wakey wakey, sunshine,” he said in that glitchy, fucked up voice of his. “Time for your field trip.”

You suppressed a groan as he unlocked your wrists from the tub faucet and you slumped down, your arms screaming in relief. You’d lost feeling in them maybe a few hours ago, after they’d been numb and tingly for too long before that to really know. But it was all too short-lived. The goon hauled you out of the tub and through the wrecked apartment toward the front door. There, another freak waited with a bandana wrapped in his hand.

“Get that shit away from me,” you said and squirmed when he began to pull it around your head. The first goon connected his fist with your neck, which had you reeling long enough for the blindfold to be tied snug over your eyes, and another to be tied over your mouth. Your teeth bit into the dirty fabric and a flood of disgusting tastes shot onto your tongue. You tried your best not to gag and puke then and there.

A hand grabbed the back of your head and brought you close to another face. Even through the flavorful rag in your mouth, you could still smell the rotten meat on his breath.

“Listen up and listen close, doll face,” he said against your ear. We’re goin’ to walk outside and you’re goin’ to sit tight and silent while we work this deal. No yellin’, no runnin’, no bullshit. You copy?”

You swallowed thick, then nodded.

“Good. Let’s move.”

Behind the blindfold you saw the faint flash of daylight as the front door opened and you were marched outside. The warm, salty air of Pacifica hit you like an obligated embrace. The smell made your nostrils twitch. Fuck, you missed the smell of the apartment you shared with Jackie, of the noodle bar outside the complex and the leather of his bike.

The Maelstrom goons were soon joined by a number of others, as told by their mumbled greetings and the footfalls that surrounded you. You walked for what seemed an eternity, tripping over concrete jutting up and overturned crates lying in your path only to be yanked up by your collar when you stumbled. You wouldn’t be surprised if they were actually walking you into the obstacles in your way.

After what could have been either ten minutes or fifty, you were yanked to a halt. If you listened close, you could hear the sound of the waves and a nearby highway. You were by the beach.

Your attention was pulled to somewhere in front of you when heavy, almost ground-shaking footfalls approached. You felt the grip on your collar tighten slightly.

“This is her?” asked a man in that heavy Jamaican accent the Voodoo Boys spoke in.

“Yeah, this is the one,” replied a Maelstrom somewhere to your right. “Scanned for facial recognition and everything. It’s her.”

Footsteps came closer. You were forced to take a step back when the goon holding you cowered slightly.

The Voodoo man said, much closer now, “You give her here.”

“Not until we see the eddies. Pop ‘em into my account, and then we’ll hand the chick over.”

There came a long, stifling few moments of quiet as you assumed the eddies were transferred between accounts. It was agonizing. You didn’t exactly like the Maelstrom, but you knew that compared to the Voodoo Boys, they’d been treating you like royalty. You felt yourself sweating, your palms growing sticky, and tried to come up with any kind of plan. There were way too many of them to make a run for it - plus, you were cuffed and blinded. It would be like shooting an eyeless street rat.

Your heart nearly exploded from your chest when a large, beefy hand wrapped around your upper arm. “Money is yours now,” said the Voodoo man as he gripped you right. “And girl is ours.”

The Maelstrom had just let go of your collar when, from somewhere to your left, there came a familiar holler. “You all are gon’na wish you’d never fuckin’ gotten out of bed today, hijos de perra.”

You jerked in your captor’s grip.

Jackie.

You heard the sounds of guns being raised and safeties being flipped off, but the gunfire reached them first before they’d even thought to pull their triggers. Blood spattered across your face and you ducked for cover beside what you felt to be a van, bringing your aching, screaming arms up over your head. Your nerves were all alight with panic, never sure whether the bullets spraying the tarmac nearby were from your captors or your savior. All about you, Maelstroms and Voodoos shouted and yelled, scrambling for some kind of order or direction. A grenade exploded close enough that you felt the heat through your clothes, and it drove you to your stomach and underneath the van. The smell of gasoline and concrete enveloped you, but you preferred it to the reek of blood and lead.

You didn’t bother removing your blindfold, because you knew that even if you did, you’d still be squeezing your eyes shut. Suddenly you were back to that moment all those years ago, on your knees over a dying young man trying to staunch the bleeding assure him everything would be fine.

And in this moment, you didn’t care that it might have made you weak or pathetic or small, but you were afraid. You wanted someone to tell you it would be alright, that you were going to be fine.

After what seemed an entire lifetime, the firefight fell to a now-deafening silence. You listened to distant footsteps against the ground, praying with everything you had in you that you would recognize them, that they belonged to the man you loved. A moment later, a string of Spanish curses rang out across the bloodied battleground.

“Hijos de puta! Eso es lo que obtienes cuando jodes con mi chica. Ardeos en el infierno, todos vosotros!”

“Welles,” said another man. “We even now?”

“Yeah, yeah, hombre, scram out’ta here. We’re even.”

Still beneath the van, you listened to the sound of cad doors slamming shut and tires screeching as vehicles peeled away from the scene. They were wise to book it so soon after the fight; NCPD would be swarming the place in a while, especially being so close to the highway. Had you been your real, sensible self, you would have crawled out, grabbed Jackie, and high tailed it. But you were too enveloped in the smell of gasoline and the feeling of blood that was not your own slowly drying on one side of your face.

“V?” called Jackie from somewhere nearby. His boots crunched against shattered glass. When he spoke again, his voice was more strained than it had been before. Fear danced on his tongue. “V!”

You finally forced yourself to reach up and tug the gag from your mouth. “Here,” you called in a shaky voice. “I’m here.”

Not even a moment later, hands were guiding you out from under the van and onto your own wobbly feet. The blindfold was gingerly pull over your head, and you winced as brightness like the second coming of Christ took over your world. Jackie gripped your shoulders so hard they ached, staring down at you with an intensity you knew would melt your soul if you met his eyes. So instead, you kept your gaze stuck on the chains around his neck, ashamed and frightened and so incredibly exhausted.

A long, long moment later, he exhaled a heavy sigh that sounded like it carried the weight of an entire world on it. “Come on, chica,” he said, placed a hand on the small of your back, and began to lead you toward his car where it had been parked on the empty side of the lot where the deal was supposed to take place. “Let’s get you out’ta here.”

The ride back to Little China was one of the worst you’d ever had; hell, you preferred being unconscious in the trunk of the Maelstroms’ van than this. At least then you hadn’t had to face the silent, seething wrath of your boyfriend.

Jackie said nothing as he drove, only kept one hand on the wheel of the car and the other on the stick shift between the two of you. His expression had darkened into one of fury, but it was the quiet kind, where his lowered brow and his slightly lifted jowl spoke for him. His shoulders had locked into a tense square and the grip he had on the front wheel had paled his knuckles.

You wished he would do something. You wished he would yell at you, scream and swear, tell you that you were an idiot for going after that shipment when he’d specifically told you not to. You wished he’d pull the car over and make you walk home. Fuck, a tiny part of you wished he would hit you.

But you knew he wouldn’t. Jackie Welles would never hurt a soul in his life that didn’t deserve it - not ever. In all the years you’d known him, he had never once raised a hand toward you, made you even think he would in his rare moments of anger and fury. Sometimes he yelled, sure. You’d once even seen him hurl a glass against the far wall. But he had always apologized for raising his voice. He’d apologized, and cleaned up the glass, and lie his head in your lap as you told him it was alright.

No, you knew he would never hurt you, even if his mind was gone and all that was left was a walking piece of muscle and chrome.

So you both sat in the poisoned silence, uttering not a word.

He took you to Vik’s place first. There, he stood with crossed arms and a stance that would have sent fucking Arasaka himself running while your ripper popped your nose back into place, repaired your chrome, overrode the bug the Maelstrom had installed in your head.

Then he took you home.

Jackie told you to undress once you arrived at your apartment with a single command that punctured a fresh hole in your lungs. “Strip,” he said, dropped his gun belt in your shared weapons vault, then disappeared into the bathroom.

You were not one to disobey in this state.

He helped you bathe, even took a rag and gently wiped away the blood that had spattered across your face, trickled down your nose and across your lips and chin. He extended your arms under the water to inspect bruises. He washed and cleaned scrapes. When you were finished, he brought you a fresh pair of night clothes, then helped you limp up and into bed.

You sat on the edge of the mattress, watching as he muttered quietly to himself in his mother tongue and stripped off his tank top. The muscles in his back flexed beneath his bronze, sun-kissed skin, but the sight didn’t invoke the same feeling it would have yesterday. Instead, all you felt was shame, and anger, and most of all, helpless.

When he kicked off his boots, still mumbling under his breath, you finally punctured the thick tension hanging over you.

“Will you please talk to me, Jack?” you said, gripping the comforter beneath yourself. “Please, say anything.”

“Oh, mujer,” he barked from across the room as he shook his head and faced away from you. “You don’t want me to talk to you right now. I ain’t got any words you’ll like.”

You refrained from rolling your eyes at him. “Hit me with ‘em,” you snapped in his direction. “I’m not some fucking kid, Jack. I can handle you telling me what a fuck-up I am, or that I need a babysitter or some shit.”

“You wan’na play this game with me, V?” Jackie stood from where he had been bending over to grab his boots and throw them in the corner, drawing himself to his full height that threatened to challenge the doorway behind him. “Fine. I was gon’na tell you that you ain’t got your fuckin’ head screwed on right, but it seems like maybe you know that already.”

“What made you just now notice?” you snipped, your voice dripping with an acid you hardly ever took up with him.

“I don’t know, maybe it was when you go and get yourself nabbed by the fuckin’ Maelstrom and I got’ta call in favors I’ve been savin’ to get your ass, because Dios forbid you get yourself into a situation that requires one goddamn gun to fix.”

You sniffed defensively and looked away, attempting to push down the lump that was forming in your throat. You hated when you fought with him. You hated it when you suddenly felt more alone than you ever had because the one person you would move heaven and hell for was looking at you with a disdain that tore into your heart. “Good to know you lost a few precious fuckin’ favors to come and get me.”

“Yeah. You’re welcome, by the way.”

You couldn’t take it any more, couldn’t take the way his eyes flashed and his teeth bared the way they did when he was angry enough to become part animal like this. Pressing a hand over your mouth to keep him from seeing your bottom lip quiver, you lay down in the bed and rolled over so that your back faced him. Your chest constricted and your throat squeezed as you tried to silence the cry that was crawling up your throat. You only half-succeeded. A small squeak escaped your mouth and a shudder racked your body.

You shut your eyes tight to the rest of the world, instead focusing inwards. The injuries on your face throbbed as you continued to pull a painful expression against your cries. Your rib wailed in agony. But most of all, your heart ached more terribly than you really ever recalled it doing.

Why hadn’t you listened to Jackie? Why hadn’t you put your damn ego aside for once in your fucking life and listened to someone else’s advice? You’d done it again; you had fucked around and found out the price of doing so came from your own pockets. Now you were dirt broke and still too proud to beg.

You pulled in a shuddering gasp and clutched at the pillow beneath your head. “I’m sorry,” you said, just loud enough so that he would hear you. “You were right. I shouldn’t have fucking gone. I didn’t mean for it to go like this.”

For a long moment, the apartment was empty. You began to think that Jackie had left and you’d been too washed up in your own world to even notice. But then the floor creaked in that spot it did near the center of the apartment, and a moment later the bed dipped behind you.

“Aye. Come here, chica. Let me look at that pretty face.” Jackie wrapped his arms around you and, with a flex of the muscles in his biceps, hauled you up and over so that you were lying cradled against his bare front. Gone was his vicious, animalistic expression he’d worn just a few minutes ago, now replaced with that gentle look reserved for late nights and early mornings. He exhaled tiredly and used the callused pad of his thumb to wipe away the tear that had been trailing down your nose.

For a moment or two, neither of you said a thing. This kind of silence was different than the one that held the car captive. This was soft and peaceful, not at all laden with the kind of anger and hurt as before.

“I’m sorry for yelling, amor,” he said, his voice a soft husk. “I just…” He sighed again and shut his eyes before touching his forehead to yours. His nose nestled against your own. “I got freaked. Real scared. Like, out’ta my mind kind’a shit. I didn’t know where you were. Hell, had to scour that damn port to find one of those cyber freaks and make him tell me where you were.” There came another short pause. “We got dangerous lives, V. Things happen in this kind of work. But if somethin’ ever happened to you… I ain’t so sure I would be here in this world after you left it.”

A new, fresh wave of tears muddled your vision as you gently nudged his nose with yours. “I’m right here, Jack.” Despite the aching in your chest, you forced a tiny smile onto your lips. “You’re still stuck with me.”

Jackie let out a small, breathy chuckle that fanned across your face. “Guess I am, querida.”

Using what strength you had left in your bruised and battered body, you craned your neck up and gently, ever so softly, pressed your lips to his. His brow relaxed as you kissed him, his mouth at once moving against your own. You’d had years to practice this, get it right; and it was so, so right.

Jackie’s tongue gingerly swiped over yours, silently asking permission to be let in. You granted it through the smile trying to flood across your features. He always asked and asked and asked, even if he knew the answer would always be yes. It made your heart flutter and your belly flip. You opened your mouth to him and he shifted you closer so that his tongue could lay claim once more to your own, your swelling lips, your very senses.

The Maelstrom and the Voodoo Boys had been fucking idiots to think they could keep you, could own you.

You already belonged to Jackie fucking Welles; and he made sure everyone knew what was his.

As the kiss turned hungrier, more desperate to connect the two of you together again, your core began to ignite to life. When one of his hands settled on the upper plane of your thigh, you released a soft sigh and felt yourself begin to ache with need.

And you told him so.

“Jackie,” you breathed into his mouth, your arms wrapped around his bare shoulders. His ink played like magic beneath your fingers. “I need you. Please. Make me fucking forget they even touched me.”

In response, he captured your lips again, this time more feverish and starving-like. One large, labor-scarred hand kept you up and pressed against him while the other began to glide up over your sleep shorts and toward the waistband. You felt your cunt clench with the promise of what was rapidly approaching.

“Oh, my chica,” he whispered. “I’m gon’na make you forget your own damn name.”

His hand found its way inside your shorts through the waistband, long and thick fingers finding their home at the warm apex of your thighs. You released a small moan when his digits slowly inserted themselves between your legs, expertly sliding over your folds and back up again.

“Already wet for me, chica bonita?” he purred against the shell of your ear. His pointer finger slid between your slick folds, edging along the spot where knew your clit was begging for attention, before he swept it back down toward your entrance. “I barely even started to touch you.”

Words had left your vocabulary entirely, vanished into the dawn as the tip of his finger finally found your clit and began to rub slow, gentle circles around it. A shockwave of pleasure rolled through you like thunder, drawing a whimper from the back of your throat. You pressed your face deeper into your special spot on his shoulder, open-mouthed and already following his hand with your hips.

Jackie shushed you as he continued to draw circles around the bundle of nerves, planting kisses to your forehead and the surface of your temple. His fingers left your clit to travel down your center toward your entrance, where you could feel your arousal already leaking onto your thighs. He gathered some of it with his index finger, then teasingly began to dance around your needy pussy.

You moaned unabashedly, gripping his bicep as your hips bucked. “Fuck, Jackie,” you whined against his pec. “Don’t fucking tease me. Not today.”

“Heh. Sometimes I can’t help myself, especially with this pretty pussy that’s all mine.” Without much warning other than that, he slipped his finger into your cunt until he was sunken in to his top knuckle. A broken, gasping cry was wailed into his skin. He chuckled to himself and continued to kiss your head before slowly pulling his finger out and pushing it back in.

Christ above, you’d never get tired of this feeling. You swore you felt each and every callus, every tiny little line that made up his fingerprint, made him who he was. His finger stroked your walls so perfectly it was hard to believe your cunt wasn’t made for him specifically. Maybe it was. Maybe you were built for him, and him for you, because god almighty, was this a fucking match made in heaven.

Jackie slowly added a second finger to your hole, his palm brushing against your clit every time his hand brushed against your naval. “My poor pretty baby,” he cooed in a low, husky voice that made you clench around his fingers. “Can’t leave her alone for five minutes, can I?”

You’d die happy if you never left his sight again. Why on earth would you want to, when he was fucking you so good with just his fingers? Every nerve ending within you was alight with a heavy, shocking pleasure that felt like you were being electrocuted. You’d happily let him do just that; stick live wires to your skin, just as long as he was fucking you at the same time.

Your hips were bucking up into his hand now, your back arching in his lap and your nails leaving angry red indents in his shoulder. “Ah! God, Jackie, holy shit. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

Slowly, you were beginning to feel that wonderful, familiar coil tightening inside of you. It was a wound-up spring only he could wind like this, in the way you would have gone mad without after knowing it for the first time. Your bucks became more frantic, your arousal sliding down your thighs and soaking your sleep shorts.

“Jackie! Jackie, oh fuck, I’m -“

His fingers slipped out of you completely. You actually let out a half-scream of frustration and alarm, your eyes flying open from their dazed state. He peered down at you with lust-blown pupils and an expression you could not place in the heat of the moment. Was he mad? So overtaken by the hard on pressing against your shoulder blades he himself was becoming lost to the world?

You got your answer when he leaned down close to your face, his lips just barely brushing yours when he spoke. “You know I love you too fuckin’ much to lose you, bebe,” he drawled. When your hips thrusted upward, searching for his hand, he grabbed your hip in a bruising grip. “Promise me you’ll never pull a stunt like that again, and I’ll let you cum.”

Oh, he was an animal. A sick one at that. But - weren’t you, as well?

“I promise,” you practically cried against him, your knuckles pale from how hard they gripped his shoulder. “I promise, Jackie, I promise.”

“Promise what?”

“I promise I’ll listen to you,” you babbled as tears of frustration formed in the corners of your eyes. “I promise I’ll never leave you again. I’m yours, Jackie. I belong to you.”

Your mouth opened in a silent scream, but no sound came out when he plunged his fingers back into your cunt and set a brutal, bruising pace. You went limp in his arms and he held you upright with one hand as he thrusted his digits in and out of your sopping pussy. That coil in your stomach wound, weeping joyfully to have been stretched more, and you came with a garbled cry of his name. He slowly withdrew his fingers and you felt your release slowly dripping from your abused entrance.

Jackie made sure you were looking at him when he brought your slick to his mouth and sucked it off his fingers.

If you thought you were tired before he had finger fucked you raw, you knew that space between sleep and consciousness now. Your eyelids threatened to shut for good as you tilted your head against your man’s shoulder and exhaled a shaky breath.

“I’ll be holding you to those promises,” Jackie said, then placed a sweet, gentle kiss at the space between your brows. “Rest, dulzura. I’ve got you.” He nestled his chin onto the top of your head and held you just a bit tighter. “Ain’t no one takin’ you from me again.”

translations:

carino - sweetheart

hijos de perra - sons of bitches

Hijos de puta! Eso es lo que obtienes cuando jodes con mi chica. Ardeos en el infierno, todos vosotros! - Motherfuckers! That’s what you get when you fuck with my girl. Burn in hell, all of you!

hombre - man

mujer - woman

Dios - God

chica - girl

amor - love

querida - dear

chica bonita - pretty girl

bebe - baby

dulzura - sweetness

#cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk jackie #cyberpunk 2077 smut #cyberpunk 2077 x reader #cyberpunk x reader #jackie welles #jackie welles smut #jackie welles x you #jackie welles x reader #jackie welles x v #cyberpunk jackie welles #jackie welles/reader #jackie welles/you

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