#v: Johnny B. Goode | Closed

[morgansmornings]

#v: Johnny B. Goode | Closed #whosxafraid

[neowinestainedress]

𝐃𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘 𝐀 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄, 𝐃𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄?

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: any nct member!ghostface x detective!fem!reader 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄: “horror”, thriller, yandere-ish, smut, halloween special, scream!au 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: in these past months your only goal is to find the killer that is terrorizing the town of Woodsboro, but when you get close to him and feel like you finally have the upper hand, Ghostface turns the game around again.  Or, Ghostface wants to play with you but not like he does with his victims, and you let him. 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: dark content, talks of [m*rders, sl!tting throats, v!olent stuff in general], dr*g/anaesthetic use [to make mc fall asleep but unrelated to any sexu*l act (she’s awake and willing)], mentions of [dubcon] phone s*x + masturbation, implied stalking, use of restrainers, cl!t rubbing, rough t!t/n!pple play, protected s*x turns unprotected, kn!fe play, ‘fear’ play, clothes cutting, fake sympathy, pet names used in a mocking way, degradation, rough s*x, hair pulling, spit (1), p*ssy slapping, dacryphilia, possessiveness, 1 brief talk of carving, polaroids pictures, all consensual but i’ll still put a dubcon warning just to be safe (tbh it’s more like hate sex bc the mc would rip his head off but also fuck him), reader is kinda fucked up herself. | inclusivity notes: reader has hair long enough that can be pulled (no mention of texture, type and color), no mention of body type but reader is manhandled a few times and has b**bs and *ss big enough that can be cupped, no mention of skin color, no use of y/n 𝐖𝐂: 10.662k 𝐀/𝐍: this year i had vague ideas for halloween but not even a defined good one, i had some suggestions i liked but were far too complicated, and i had no energy to write them in time. but a ghostface/scream au was an idea i had in mind for some time, the original was a ghostface cosplay, but then i went with this one, and I’m happy with how it turned out. i had 2 members in mind (johnny/haechan) for the og plot, then someone suggested jeno and jisung (as a duo) but if i unmasked him the plot wouldn’t have made sense anymore, so he’s whoever you want him to be! the other ghostface is mentioned but doesn’t appear physically in the story, you can pick who you want for him too. i never wrote blankly for the male mc so let me know if it was good. please, if you like it, leave feedback through reblogs or asks! and also let me know who you imagined behind the mask 👀 enjoy and happy halloween

𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐄.

Your mother always told you to mind your business or else your curiosity was going to be the death of you one day.

It’s clear you never treasured her words, and your curiosity led you to be a private detective with only a few thrills in your life since now, nothing too exciting ever happened in your small town, until one day you received a phone call from the district of Woodsboro. A string of murders was terrorizing the town after years and all the evidence led to another psycho who thought it was funnier to kill people while putting on a Ghostface mask. 

Months have passed since that call and you have nothing concrete. It’s like he’s only messing up with you and, in the meantime, innocent people keep dying. But you have your theories, the ones you only keep to yourself, stored away in the privacy of your diary, hidden under the pillow of your bed. Your colleagues seem decent people, but with time, you’ve learned to trust nobody. 

And your secret theories led you right where you are now. In the open country, away from the small town, where a small barn grabbed your attention the first time you moved to Woodsboro. 

The barn seems empty but eerie vibes surround it. The strong smell of the grass stings your nose as your black boots walk on the muddy ground, the rain of this morning still lingering in the air and in the countryside. 

When you reach the perimeter, you squeeze your eyes to see inside, but the few tiny windows don’t allow you a big view. The more you walk around it to make sure it’s empty, the more the hold on your concealed carry with the gun inside tightens.  

It’s late October and the cold penetrates your brown leather jacket, but the temperature is not the thing that makes you shiver. 

You should’ve never followed your instinct and come here alone. You should’ve spoken to somebody else in the department, told them your theory and have some backup in this crazy plan of yours. But when your impulses take over, your smartness slips away, and you find yourself in the worst situations ever. 

Like right now. You stand in front of the wooden door and find the courage to push it open. You should feel thrilled, you found him. You found the psycho that has been haunting the town for months now, messing up with you with clues and mocks that pushed you farther away from the right path. Yet, you beat him, for once it looks like you have the upper hand now that you’re walking around the empty barn away from the town. But something doesn’t feel right, your guts are telling you something but you don’t listen, you can’t walk away now that you’re so close.

There’s not much to inspect, a few pieces of furniture, a disheveled mattress in the middle of the room, and a few chairs in a corner. It almost looks like an abandoned farm if only it wasn’t for the unnerving vibes that carries with it and for two walls that call your attention. On the right, there’s a map of Woodsboro, pins linked by a red thread, connecting all the places where Ghostface hit in these past months. Your hand quickly reaches the back of your pocket to pull out your phone and snap a picture, hoping there will also be places he didn’t go, and this time you can be faster at stopping him. 

What’s on the other side is worse. 

“What the fuck…” you mumble under your breath as you step closer to the wall. Polaroid pictures hanging from it, Ghostface and the victims, you guess, moments before they were brutally killed. You’re not surprised, one of the gifts he would leave on the scene of the crime being Polaroids, but they didn’t make much sense. “He’s a fucking psycho,” you scoff as you take another picture. 

“Surpriiise!!” 

Your phone falls on the floor with a loud thud and your heart jumps in your throat when his voice breaks the deafening silence in the room, but your reflections are swift enough to make you reach for your gun and turn around, shooting. 

“Boo, fail,” Ghostface laughs, hitting your wrist hard enough to make the gun fall on the floor next to your phone. “You’re really not as smart as I thought you were, don’t you know intruding on someone else’s property is illegal?” he points out, pushing your body against the wall, the sharp blade of his knife grazing the skin of your neck. 

You try to keep calm, deep slow breaths as you try to don’t look scared for your life. You might die today, but you won’t give him that satisfaction. 

“Don’t look so frightened, my dear. I’m quite happy to have you all to myself,” he chuckles, his hand lifts to caress your face and you struggle to avoid it, but the click of his tongue makes you stop. “I wouldn’t act too careless, it’s sharp.” 

You stop moving. You are smart, and you can get yourself out of this situation. “Do you want to play a game, Ghostface?” You ask, ignoring his taunts, the irony in your voice is clear, just like it’s blatant in the slow bat of your eyelashes, but your words only make him laugh. 

“Oh, that’s not how it works, detective. That’s my line. You didn’t study the script?” 

You scoff, trying to take time to free yourself. “We’re switching roles. Do you want to play a game? It’s called you turn yourself in and I put you in jail.” 

He snickers, and his head tilts to have a better look at your face. He’s had many people in this position before and never saw so little fear in their eyes. “Now you want to act like you don’t love the chase?” 

“Fuck you, I don’t love it,” you spit out, narrowing your eyes, desperately trying to get a glimpse of anything under the mask. Another failed attempt. 

He laughs darkly, so deep it hits you to the core and makes you shiver — in fear or excitement, you’ll let this decide to your better judgment. “I know you do,” he coos as his thumb covered with the black glove caresses your lips. “Enjoy the little clues I leave you around? You were interested in the pictures, I knew you loved them, that’s why you get the prettiest ones. I tell you so much, but you don’t understand me,” his voice is calm, scarily calm, and full of sarcasm filled with a sweetness that feels like a slap across your face. “I was a bit mad it took you so long to find me.”

Rage shoots up inside of you, but you instantly push it down, you can’t lose your composure. “So, what are you going to do, kill me?” Your voice drops of a tone, and your eyes turn into a teasing gaze, making him chuckle. 

“Talking about death so nonchalantly with me, mmh… are you brave or dumb? Because if you ask so nicely, I just might let the knife sink in.” 

You laugh lightheartedly, putting up the best performance of your life before your eyes flutter seducingly at him. “No, please don’t kill me Mr. Ghostface, I wanna be in the sequel,” you coo, lips in a pout and innocence in your eyes, until you hit him with a swift, strong kick between his legs, the distraction of your performance giving you time to slip to the side, causing just a bit of your skin to cut and bleed. 

“Bitch,” he mutters under his breath as he kneels to the ground. You reach for your gun, but barely have time to grab it before he pushes you on the floor again. “We were having so much fun, you just have to ruin everything.” 

You’re waiting for the worst when he traps you on the floor with his body on yours, but his arms don’t lift to stab you in your chest or stomach, the last thing you see before passing out is his hand lifting in the air and the sting of a needle pushing past your skin. 

The white light of the room feels like staring directly at the sun when your eyes blink repeatedly as you try to come back to earth and push away the hammering of your headache. You groan hoarsely, trying to adjust to the light, but the biggest discomfort comes from your shoulders, pushed behind your back and around the chair you’re now sitting on. 

“Sorry, I had to tie you up, but you’re a bit feisty today. Didn’t want you to get hurt,” Ghostface replies to your silent questions — not so silent, considering how loud you’re groaning and struggling on the chair, trying to break free. He’s standing in front of you, but a chair is right behind him so you guess he was sitting there before you woke up. 

“You can’t even take one down without a fight? Need to kill me without breaking a sweat?” You taunt, eyes dark and a deep frown on your forehead. 

But your teasing seems to leave him unfazed as he walks toward you with a glass in hand. “Drink.” 

You scoff, staring at him. You hate that you can’t see him, not even because you want to find out who’s hiding under there, but also because you feel like you can’t confront him well enough. “You think I’m so stupid to accept a drink from a psycho?”

His head rolls back followed by an annoyed sigh as he stops right in front of you. His black boots bumping against yours. “You know that’s not how I move, no fun in killing with these shortcuts. Drink. I would never want you to pass out here,” he coos while his free hand pushes your hair out of your face. You can’t see behind the mask, but you know he has a shit-eating grin on his face. He moves the glass to your lips, but you turn to the side, he doesn’t give you a choice when he strongly grips your chin, pushing your lips open, and forces the water down your throat. “Oops, it spilled all over, you’re so messy, detective,” he snickers when water drips on your chin and shirt. As if he didn’t do it on purpose. 

“Asshole,” you mutter, eyes closing into fissures while you look at him. His head tilts, “Oh, brave. I could slit your throat right now, add you to the collection.” 

You chuckle darkly, shaking your head. “You won’t,” you say firmly. “You’ve never had someone quite as fun as me.” 

A low laughter escapes from the mask. “So, you are at least a bit smart?” His hand places on your thigh and you try to move away, but the chair screeches on the floor, and his hold only tightens. 

“Don’t play games now. Don’t fake it,” he groans, hand moving up on your blue jeans. “You enjoyed our last conversation,” he whispers, the mask close to your face, so close you can almost see his eyes behind the blackness of the two holes. “Had shivers run down your back when the phone rang in the middle of the night, haven’t you? You sat up straight in your big bed, all alone, and felt fear take over. Never answer unknown numbers. That’s what they say, that’s what you say, running around town, warning everyone about me,” he laughs deeply. “And then look at you, picking up that phone call,��eager to hear my voice on the other side.” 

“You’re a psycho,” you spit out, struggling against the restrainers. But once again it is an act; he is a psycho, but you are starting to fear you aren’t much different. 

He chuckles darkly. “Oh, I am, never denied that. But don’t act better than me. You stood right in front of that window, stripping for me, touching yourself for me, moaning for me. How fucked up that is?” He snickers. “You have fucked up fantasies, my pretty detective, but I’m not one to judge. I’d gladly help.” 

You laugh quietly, trying to look confident but it comes out shaky from your throat, “If you want to help, take the mask off and show me who you are.” 

“Wow, wow, darling. Not so soon, I’m not one to burn stages in a relationship. What next? Want to meet my mom?” 

You inhale sharply, and spit on him, “God, you’re insane.” Your eyes snap open when he pulls out of his back the sharp knife, your breath is stuck in your throat and fear runs all over your body. And once again you regret how impulsive you are. You did well all these past years of training and then on the first real-life experiences at pushing this side of you in the cage, but it looks like it’s coming out like a beast that’s been trapped too long.  

“Don’t be so scared,” he huffs, the fake sympathy in his voice should make you mad but it triggers something else inside of you, and you hate to admit that he might be right, you’re enjoying this more than you should, you’re enjoying this entire chase more than you should. It’s like a game, but it’s not when real people are dying. “I would never hurt you,” his voice is raspy, slightly muffled by the ghost mask he’s wearing, and the knife sits on your sternum. “I hope you didn’t like this shirt too much, detective.” 

You don’t have time to react, the steel cuts your shirt neatly, the sound bouncing in the small room and the sharp tip brushing your skin. You shiver, gulping hard and closing your eyes, already feeling the sensation of it cutting through you, but it doesn’t happen. 

He clicks his tongue and shakes his head disappointingly. “You truly don’t trust me. I’m offended, and I don’t like when people offend me. Just like I don’t like when they hang up the phone while we’re playing. If people were respectful, I wouldn’t have to kill them, you know?” You stare at him with a furrow on your face, you’d like to take the mask off and see his eyes, not really to find out who’s hiding underneath that mask, but to see if his gaze is as insane as you imagine it to be. 

“Let me go,” you say, the skin of your wrist bruised from the pressure you’re applying against the ropes.

“Don’t struggle too much, it turns me on,” he warns, kneeling at your level. He smiles softly and thinks it’s a pity you can’t see it, you’re just so pretty, with your beautiful face filled with different emotions and your eyes looking at him with a gaze that wants to be threatening but it’s all the opposite, almost making you look like a lost puppy.  

“Why?” 

“Why? It’s funny to see the victim beg for their life, it makes you feel powerful, you could show mercy, but you don’t,” the smug smile on his hidden face can be heard in his voice and you shiver at how cold he sounds, the shrug of his shoulder is just the cherry on top to his unhinged behaviour. 

“So, you’re just going to keep me here?” 

“No, I want to play with you. Do you want to play a game, detective?” 

Your gaze falls on your thighs where his hand is placed again, the black gloves preventing it from leaving traces behind, as it slowly moves closer to your heat. 

You snicker, pretending to play it cool, but your breath twitches at the contact. “’Cause if I said no you would stop?” 

“Hey, I’m a killer, not a rapist,” he defends, shrugging. Yet, you still don’t reply, and he doesn’t like that. “So? I’m not so patient when I ask people if they want to play with me, so don’t test me.” 

You swallow hard, swiftly looking around to see if you can pull a move on him. Damnit, it’s your chance to get him and throw him in jail but instead, you’re seriously thinking about his proposal. You fool yourself that you’re only doing this because maybe he could slip, maybe he could say something in the heat of the moment that could give you a clue, or he could leave his traces on you somehow, maybe his mask could fall, but you know you’re feeling something else. Attraction. 

“I said,” he mutters, his face comes closer to yours, making you pull back, and the knife pushes flat in the hollow of your chest, “do you want to play a game, detective?” 

“Yes, yes, I do,” you mutter, starting to breathe again when he pulls the knife away. 

“Good, I love playing with you.” His fingers move to unbutton your jeans and then pull the zip down, you look at him attentively. “Lift your hips for me, love?”

You glare at him at the pet name but he only chuckles deeply. “What? If I’m rough with you, you get mad, if I’m sweet with you, you get mad. I can never win, can I?” 

You huff, deciding it’s better to not reply and just do as he says. Your pants are quickly at your ankles and suddenly you feel even more trapped than before now that you can’t even move your legs, but his touch on your naked skin takes you away from that thought. 

“Pretty panties just for me?” He coos, tilting his head to the side as he stares at your burgundy panties with the lace trim. “Were you hoping to find me here so we could finish what we started on the phone?” 

“Shut up, this is not for you,” you retort, your forehead creasing with a furrow. 

“And who is it for?” He asks, cupping your pussy, watching your body shiver. “Oh, no, please don’t tell me there’s a boyfriend I’m not aware of. I’d hate to kill him.” 

You bite your lips and keep the contact with the mask, but words struggle to come out when his index finger starts rubbing on your clit, moving from the slit —where you can feel you’re starting to get wet— to your sensitive nub. “It’s not for you,” you repeat, trying to don’t show how much his touch is affecting you. 

“Well, you want me to work so hard too, I’ll have to find out on my own if someone is playing with what’s mine,” he replays nonchalantly. “I know where to find you, maybe I’ll come visit again.” 

“You talk so much for someone who wants to play so badly,” you retort, a teasing grin curling your lips. 

“Sorry, I didn’t know my princess was so eager,” he replies, saccharine voice filled with mockery, before a harsh slap lands on your pussy making you jolt and whimper. “Want my fingers?”

The glare you give him would be enough to kill him; isn’t this pathetic enough? How much more does he want you to humiliate yourself? 

He rolls his head back and then the knife is against your neck again. “Do we have to do this every time I ask you a question? Do you want my fingers, detective?” 

“Yes,” you whisper. Your body relaxes momentarily before tensing up with excitement again, but it quickly shifts to disappointment. “What are you doing?” You ask when his covered fingers press against you again. 

“Oh, you’ll get the gloves too, I’m not dumb, you know? Don’t leave fingerprints on dead bodies, won’t even leave them on yours,” his voice is smug, all the confidence of someone who didn’t make a wrong move and somehow was always ahead of you and the police department. 

You hate him. You hate he’s so much better than you at this. And you hate him even more now that he has you fighting whimpers and moans. 

“Are you seriously going to pretend you don’t like this while your hips are bucking up?” He taunts, clicking his tongue in a mock. “Think moaning is more pathetic than humping my fingers like a bitch in heat?” 

Your mouth opens to retort but you can’t deny the evidence; your hips are rolling against his hand, chasing for more, your panties are darkening as your wetness leaks through the fabric and your chest is heaving in erratic motions.  

“Look at me,” he sings, hand moving up to graze your neck, thumb pressing on your carotid, making your head snap up. “You listen so swiftly when you fear for your life. It’s funny, you know, because I truly would never hurt you.” 

You chuckle, shaking your head, trying to pull away from his hold when his hand moves up to caress your jaw. The gentleness of his touch is even scarier than when he has his knife pointed against you. “Is this what turns you on? The fear in their eyes?” 

His head tilts to the side, shoulders lifting in a shrug. “Partially. But not in your case, what turns me on with you it’s the chase, and the fact I always win.” 

You scoff bitterly, struggling in his hold but his hand quickly grips your chin and pulls you closer. “Didn’t you see the movies? The villain always dies.” 

“If the heroine is not busy getting fucked by him,” he mocks, squeezing your face harder and moving his fingers faster on your clit. Your head rolls back and so do your eyes while a chocked moan leaves your lips. “See, I doubt you will shoot me in the head if you keep moaning like this.” 

You groan angrily, you’re madder at you than you are at him. You want him and it’s so wrong that you do, but there’s not even a siren ringing in your head, telling you to make this stop. 

“No, shh, shh, angel, it’s fine, this will be our little secret,” he whispers to your ear, the mask rubbing against your face, and when your eyes turn to look at him, you can see small dots of blood on the white varnish. “We could play another game: one secret for you, and one secret for me. If you behave, maybe I’ll reveal myself to you, if you promise to keep it to yourself.” 

Your teeth sink into your lips harder when he delivers another harsh slap on your clit before resuming his quick movements. “Just — just tell me if I know you,” you mumble. You know he will never reveal himself, but maybe you can get something more, anything to complete the missing pieces of the puzzle. 

He chuckles darkly, staring at a spot behind you as he pretends to think. “Mhh, we’ve met.”

You frown and your heart jumps in your throat for a moment at the thought you’ve seen him. “Only met?” 

“We talked,” he adds, finally letting go of your face, making you breathe normally again. 

Your eyes widen while your brain hurts as you try to quickly connect the dots, and find out who’s hiding underneath the mask, you just have to put a face on a voice — even if distorted, but you can’t. And suddenly realization slumps on you.

“Will it — will it break my heart?” 

He snickers under his breath as he looks into your sad eyes, you’re looking at him like a dog when it’s being scolded, but in this case, you’re also silently praying he’s not someone close to you. He has no idea why that would make you feel better, if you care more about Ghostface or whoever is hiding under the mask, but it doesn’t matter, and he mocks you again, mimicking you in a high-pitched voice. “Will it hurt if I was someone close to you? A colleague? A friend? A lover?” 

Your breath gets faster. Will it? Would you turn him in or defend him? And you can’t stand you’re even questioning it, of course you’ll turn him in, that’s your job, but most importantly, your duty. But will you? You could be doing it now, and you’re not. 

“See? It’s not as funny if you know me,” he laughs at your face, your thoughts so loud he could get a headache. “It’s not as exciting, you love the thrill of this too, more than you like to admit.” 

“Fuck,” you curse when his other hand cups your covered breast, it’s a harsh tug and the leather feels weird on your skin, yet, it makes you clasp your thighs and forget what was tormenting your morals, again. 

“They’re so perfect, I can’t believe you always keep them hidden under those ugly clothes,” he pouts, giving it another hard squeeze. “Sorry.”

“For what — what the fuck?” You scream when he cuts your bra with the knife, first the middle and then the straps, the matching burgundy bra falling in pieces on the bottom of the chair. 

“It was getting in the way, and I don’t like things that get in my way. I cut them off,” in his voice lingers a hysterical laugh that makes you shiver, and in times like this, you’re glad you can’t see his face.  

You gulp and automatically close your legs. 

“Not you,” he reassures you, forcing your thighs open again with a smack, “you entertain me. And you suck at your job, so it’s clear you also don’t get in the way.” 

“I’m good at my job and I will get you and put you behind bars —” 

“Uh, uh,” he clicks his tongue, knife under your jaw before you can even finish the sentence, silencing you in an instant. “We were having so much fun, don’t ruin it, babe.”

You swallow and look down following the path he’s tracing with the knife, goosebumps bloom on your skin and you hold your breath when it gets closer to your neck, only releasing it when the blade sits in the hollow of your chest. 

“It’s so funny how you shake like a leaf, I’m a professional,” he says, sounding almost offended. And you furrow, is he talking about the knife or his fingers? “Both, love.” 

Another groan leaves your lips before he moves the crotch to the side and the cold air of the room hits your burning core. You’ve never been so ashamed your entire life, you shouldn’t be an open book to him, you shouldn’t be so malleable in his hands, it’s pathetic and humiliating. 

“You’re so fucking wet. I’m quite pissed I can’t run to the police department and let them know how much I turn you on. I can already see the disappointment on their faces,” he taunts, the slick sound of his gloves against your dripping pussy burns your body in shame and excitement.  

“Don’t you dare,” you spit out, but you don’t sound so menacing since your voice breaks, and a pathetically high-pitched moan rolls from your tongue right after.  

“I said I’m not going to, I keep my promises,” he kneels to the ground, one hand keeping you spread more and the other is still busy taking care of you. “Maybe if you promise you won’t shoot or put me in handcuffs right away when you’ll find out who I am, I can eat you out. I bet you let out the prettiest moans when you have someone between your legs.” 

Your head rolls back, and you hiss. “You wish,” you retort through gritted teeth, but a part of you dies to know what that would be like. “I will never give you the satisfaction.” 

He laughs mockingly. “Maybe I should blindfold you and do it now, will you recognize me by that?” At those words your body tenses up, head standing straight again as you look down at him with terror in your eyes. “What?” He asks in a giggle, surprised by your reaction. “You’re fucking with me right now, I still have blood on me. Would that be the most problematic thing? Having fucked with me before? Without this mask?” 

“You’re just messing with me,” you mutter but your brain is trying to think, the list of the people you’ve been with is not that long, he can’t be so stupid to out himself like that, right? 

“Maybe… I love it when I can see you think,” he whispers. “Usually, you have your hands in your hair, pulling at it even if you just washed it or spent hours styling it, and then you nervously bite your right thumb, somehow there’s always a hangnail to pull until it bleeds, oh, and you also nervously walk back and forth, two steps forward, two steps back. It’s cute, really. You have no fucking clue how to stop this, but you look so into it, chasing after me… well, so you think because, let’s be honest, you’re only chasing after your tail.” 

You can’t believe he knows all of this, how close to you is he? And a few names start popping into your mind, but for each face that you see, your only answer is it can’t be. 

“Why are you surprised? I told you, I love watching you,” he says, voice scarily soft even through the distortion of the mask. “You’re very pretty, detective. When you work hard to catch me, and even more when you screw it all up to moan for me.” 

“Ugh,” you groan through gritted teeth, wrist rubbing against the rope keeping you in place and hips bucking up, anger and pleasure mixing like a drug in your brain. You hate to admit it, but you’re close and you doubt you can push back your climax any longer.  

“It’s alright, love, I told you, I won’t judge you,” he hums. He studies your face for a moment, admiring how your teeth trap your lips in the vain attempt to don’t truly show how much you’re enjoying this, but your eyes are filled with lust, lightly glassy, and your cum is painting his gloves white. “Now, will you come for me?” 

He doesn’t have to tell you twice, your body shutters as the orgasm washes over you, the quick movements of his fingers on your sensitive clit making your nails dig into the palm of your hands while your moans slip out of you freely. Your morality disappears, getting dragged away with the orgasm that consumes you before leaving. 

You forget where you are for a moment, or to be more precise, with who you are with, as you let your head roll back, close your eyes and take deep breaths, waiting for the high to pass. 

The thing doesn’t bother Ghostface, though, he sees enough fear in people’s eyes, he likes it better when you stop pretending and relax around him. That’s the thrilling thing about you, you are the most entertaining game he has ever played. With all the others he knows how it will end, their lifeless bodies laying in a pool of their own blood and the sirens of the police going off in the background as he blends in with the crowd, but with you? It’s unknown. Like a Russian roulette. 

He’d love to shred all your clothes off, but he knows you’d have to spill your guts (not literally) if you walk out of there completely naked, and he’s sure the version you would tell the police would add another crime to his name. So, he takes your shoes off and then pulls your pants down. 

Your laugh makes him raise his face and stare at you. “What’s so funny, dollface?” 

You shrug, wetting your lips. “You scare me more when you act all sweet, you know?” 

He scoffs, standing up again, and caressing your face. “You want me to hurt you so badly. I could carve a heart right here,” he presses the tip of the blade next to your heart, tracing the shape of a heart, causing goosebumps to appear on your skin. “It would look so pretty on you, and you will always carry me with you. Isn’t it nice? Couple goals.” 

You raise a brow at him, he doesn’t even realize it, but he’s giving away so much of his personality, even if you don’t find it out now, you’re pretty positive all of this is leading you somewhere. You shake your head quickly, trying not to show how hard you’re thinking about your plan. “I only want one thing from you, and you know what it is.” 

He chuckles, leaning next to your ear. “My dick.” 

“Oh, fuck off,” you curse, accidentally kicking him now that your legs are free to move. You suck your breath in, fearing your move, even if involuntary, might piss him off.  

He hisses but doesn’t do anything else. “Don’t get all bratty here, doll. You said you wanted to play a game, and we’re going to play it until the end.” 

When he cuts your panties and balls them in his fist, saying “keeping them as a souvenir,” with a grin that can be heard in his voice, you only reply with an “asshole.” 

Once again, he doesn’t pay your insults any mind, and you wonder why he’s so nice to you. Should you fear it? Will you be his last victim, getting the worst death of them all because he needs to put on a show? “Now I will untie you, if you play any trick on me… you know how it ends.” 

You nod quickly, watching him disappear from your view as he stands behind you. You inhale when the knife places against your neck again and roll your eyes back. “You don’t have to do this every time, you know?” 

“It turns you on,” he retorts firmly. “And I need to make sure you don’t do any funny business.” 

Your eyes roll back again but you try to relax anyway and keep still when your wrists are finally free. Your shoulders are in a more comfortable position again as you subtly roll them to ease up. “Get up,” he orders, and you follow, moving carefully because the blade is still close to your body and you don’t want to end up dead on the floor. “Good, now lay on the mattress.” 

Your face twists in disgust when you’re reminded of the mattress on the floor, but he pushes you forward. 

“We didn’t kill anybody there.” 

You stop, turning around swiftly, and his reflections are rapid enough that he doesn’t push the knife into your chest. “We?” 

“Oh… it didn’t click yet…” He laughs darkly at your expression, the whole world falling on your shoulders as you wonder how could you be so stupid to not realize it. “Sorry, love. But hey, aren’t you happy I helped you out?” 

You glare at him but then bring your hand to your hair and your thumb to your lips. Of course, there are two of them, that’s the only way they could always be so headed of you. 

“Not the right moment to think about that,” he warns, voice dropping lower, making you stop your nervous ticks. “Get on the bed.” 

You turn around again, suddenly aware that he’s completely covered and you’re bare. That thought makes you seek the cover of the mattress more, and swiftly you’re laying where he wants you. But it also turns you on, being so exposed to him while he’s giving you not even a peak of who’s under the mask and the clothes send chills down your body and more cum drips out you.

“Promise you’ll be good? We can play cat and mouse later if you want to,” he asks, the blade running flat on your boobs, making him chuckle darkly when your nipples harden at the contact and your hips buck up. “You promise, detective?” He repeats with urge when you don’t reply, too busy watching the knife move on your body as he pins you down. 

“Promise,” you reply, looking into the blackness of the eyes of the mask. 

He chuckles under the mask, and you watch him unbuckle his pants. You could easily grab the weapon that’s on your stomach and stab him, you could even un-mask him, but you lay still, almost mesmerized. And the conscience inside of you likes to remind you how fucked up you and your morals are, but you brush it off, shaking your head quickly. 

“Turn around,” he orders, but you hesitate. That’s too much vulnerability. It’s clear he doesn’t like your hesitation when he groans, grabbing the knife and pushing it aside. “God, I have to do everything with you,” he sighs as he forcefully flips you on your stomach before his legs trap you again. This time you can’t do anything even if you want to, but once again, you don’t want to. 

“Fuck,” he moans, hands cupping your full ass and squeezing hard, the firm hold eliciting a moan from you. “Look at you, so fucking pretty. Keep your head down, don’t try to even get a peak,” he warns, and your immediate reaction is to turn around to understand what’s going on, but you know better, so you press your face into the pillow and only when you hear the loud sound of a spit and a glob of saliva drip between your folds you understand what happened. “Not that it was needed, you’re dripping. But you know, I like to get messy at times.” 

You turn your face around, resting your head on the pillow, and bite your lips. The smugness and insanity of his voice causing more cum to ooze out of your pussy.  

“I want to feel you so bad,” he hums, spreading your cunt, making you feel so exposed, “but will you run to the police? Will you tell them ‘oh no, I had to fuck Mr. Ghostface to have a bit of his DNA and save the town from this psycho’?” he mocks with a high-pitched voice, it doesn’t sound like you at all, more like a hopeless, brain-dead, blonde girl that dies within the first minutes of any horror movie. 

You snicker. “You underestimate me, I could say I got those traces from somewhere else.” 

“But will you? Also, I’m pretty sure they will find traces of you too. How humiliating would that be? Come on, honey, I won’t blackmail you, but you will screw yourself over? That’s not very smart of you.” 

He’s right, you hate that he’s right. You will have to out yourself in the process of trying to turn him in. “I — I won’t.” 

Deep down he knows you won’t, there’s no way they won’t trace it back at you too, and he also knows you won’t try to play the victim when you’re not, but he needs to be conscious, one wrong step and you could turn the game around. As much as he likes to mock you, he knows you’re smart and have been close to discovering them a few times, it was a matter of luck, and they were extremely lucky. 

“Better safe than in jail,” he chuckles darkly, you don’t even try to peer around, and only listen to the plastic of the condom rip. 

You whimper when you feel the tip against your slit, and you hide your face in the pillow as if that could change the reality of what you’re willingly doing. You’re too excited to be so ashamed of your actions, but, even if some may argue your morality is nowhere to be found, it still feels like a big balloon hovering over you. 

You shiver when you feel the mask rest on your shoulder, “Nah, ah, angel, no being ashamed now. I told you I don’t like rude people, so don’t be rude and ask me nicely to fuck you.” 

The urge to slap him is stronger than anything else, but once again your greed makes him win. “Please… please fuck me.”

“Not what I want to hear, you know what I want. We practiced the other night, haven’t we?” He reminds you, a hand creeping around your neck, holding tight enough to make buzzes of fear run through your bones. 

You close your eyes, inhaling as deeply as you can while trying to find the courage to humiliate yourself one last time, but then the words slip out, “Please, fuck me, Ghostface,” and the air gets knocked out of your lungs when he pushes into you. It’s a strong, deep thrust that fills you to the brim and knocks you over. Your head falls against the pillow again while his loud groan fills your ears, “Fuck, it sounds so good from your lips.” 

“Oh, fuck,” you curse through gritted teeth when he starts moving right away, barely giving you time to adjust to the feeling, thick dick grazing your insides and strong hands wrapping around your waist tightly. 

“Is it too much for you, detective? My sweet little angel can’t take it?” 

A groan slips past your lips, you try to stand up on your elbows, but he pushes you down. His body presses against your back and you feel trapped again. “Don’t move. I will fuck you so deep into this mattress that I will feel your scent for days after this. I want your face smashed against the pillow, I want it to be wet with your ruined makeup and tears, got it? ” 

You nod quickly, shoulders dropping as you slump against the mattress. His breathing next to your ear makes you shiver, and you wonder if that’s the last thing the non-so-lucky people have met him heard before dying. But you push it away, for the sake of your sanity, you have to fool yourself that you’re not so attracted to a bloody murderer, that your morals are still intact, and that you are a good person. 

It’s pathetic how all the anger you feel disappears with each calculated thrust, pleasure getting to your brain so quickly you stop holding back. Soft whimpers and moans roll out of your tongue and unconsciously your ass grinds back into him.  

“Fuck, that’s what I want to hear,” he hums, standing up while his hands wrap around your waist. He never wanted to burn those gloves so badly, feeling the urge to feel your burning skin and mark you with his bare hands, but he can’t risk it. That doesn’t mean he can’t leave marks in other ways. One hand leaves your hips and cups your boob, eliciting a broken moan from you. “Have I told you they’re so pretty?” 

“Mhh,” you mumble, eyes closing as he pinches down on your nipple. You wish you could say it hurt you but instead, it makes you clench hard around him, cum leaking out more with each pinch on your delicate, sensitive buds. 

“Shit, you really are into pain,” he comments, there’s mockery in his voice —like always— but there’s also a genuine surprise. “Who would’ve thought, my innocent detective is way more fucked in the head than I thought.” 

“I — I’m not,” you retort, groaning and forcing your eyes open, but the deep chuckle that rumbles in his chest makes you quiver, and your attitude drops in a moment. 

“Honey,” he slurs, voice dipped in honey, “you’re letting Ghostface fuck you dumb, you are fucked in the head.” 

You shake your head quickly, but he’s had enough of your lies. The rough tug at your hair makes you let out a choked gasp as your head is lifted from the pillow. “I know you better than anyone else, angel,” he groans, mask pressed against your hot face. “I know your dirty, little secrets. I know what runs into that dirty, little mind of yours. You can’t lie to me,” he almost purrs, a low chuckle making shame fire up inside of you, “and I can feel you, princess. Squeezing me, barely allowing me to pull out to fuck back into you. Fuck — I should feel you right now, no stupid rubber between us.” 

Another broken moan slips from your lips when he roughly lets go of the hold on you, your fingers clench hard around the thin sheet under you, and your hips jerk up even more. It’s like you want to feel him more, to have him imprint himself deep into you, so far under your skin that you won’t be able to wash him off, and you don’t even know why you feel like this. Why it made you feel like this a week prior too, all the hesitation and fear as you picked up the phone and heard his breathy, distorted voice, flying out of the window the moment he started ordering you around. But was it truly an order when your only hesitation came from the fear of judgement, and you could only feel your body tingle with excitement? Sitting in front of the window, having no idea where he was hiding, putting on a show for the killer you swore you hated and making yourself come the hardest you’ve ever done. 

“It makes you feel special, doesn’t it? The way you’re the only exception. The only one I would never hurt.” His voice is lower, hitting you to the core, making your toes curl and your breath falter in your chest. “You’re like a daisy in a garden of bloody, red roses.” 

“Please,” you breathe out, choking on your tongue, eyes fluttering open shyly. 

“Want me to stop?” He coos, head cocking to the side as he lands a sharp slap on your asscheek that makes you hiccup on a whimper and then another to your boob that drags a louder cry out of you. “Don’t want to hear how special you are?” 

But that’s not what you meant. Your pleads were about something else, something you struggle to confess. 

A deep laugh resonates in his chest as he looks down at your already wrecked face. You’re so precious, he can’t believe you sometimes think he could hurt you. His prettiest game, his wildest fantasy. The thrill he feels in his bones every time he’s close to you, so, so near to being discovered and yet always safe. It’s exciting, getting to his brain so much he can hardly hide how much it turns him on. But you’ve never been this close before. He dreamed about fucking you, having you pressed under him, begging, moaning and crying as his dick hit deep into your sweet pussy, pounding into you over and over again until you were nothing but mush in his hands. He wanted to strip you down completely and leave nothing of the women he sees and admires every single day. He dreamed of having all this power over you, watching you get weak on your knees and let him do anything he wanted, watching your body convulse in pleasure and your brain empty. And here you are now; wet, fucked-out eyes looking up at him while your pretty, plump mouth opens and closes as your shut-down brain tries hard to find the words. 

“Speak up, princess. I don’t like to wait.” 

“Please, wa-want to feel you,” you slur in a whisper, eyes blinking lazily as you try to hold onto what’s left of your sanity. 

He chuckles, his thrusts coming to a stop that makes you whine in disappointment. “You want me to fuck you raw, detective?” 

You hum, nodding slowly, not for the lack of enthusiasm but for the amount of shame that’s looming over you like a tornado. But Ghostface doesn’t like your silences, he doesn’t like it when you hesitate, that’s not what turns him on about you. It’s your impulses, the way you jump into things headfirst without thinking, for some it may be dumb, but to him, it’s just that sprinkle of insane bravery that makes life exciting. Your head is yanked up again with a rough pull of your hair, but his hold quickly moves to your neck. “I thought we were over the phase where I have to drag the words out of your mouth, detective. I’ll ask nicely one last time, do you want me to fuck you raw?” 

You swallow your pride and reply meekly, “Ye-yes.” 

He chuckles, pulling out of you almost completely before sinking in again with no warning, knocking the air out of your lungs, air that’s already struggling to fill them as his hold on your neck doesn’t loosen up. “See? It wasn’t that hard, was it? Even your stupid brain could put two words together.” 

You gasp for air when he finally lets go and your face sinks on the pillow again. 

“I’d love to, but I won’t risk it. Maybe next time, maybe if I’ll ever feel like telling you who I am,” he replies, and you groan in disappointment. Not only he doesn’t give you what you want but he also mocks you, reminding you why you’re here and how your mission flushed down the toilet as you let him play you like a violin. 

“Then — fuck — please, fuck me harder,” at this point you want him to fuck you so hard your brain will just unplug and your superego can stop nagging at the back of your mind. You don’t want a single thought in your brain, just pleasure and lust. 

“That I can give it to you,” he hums happily, and in a second, he complies. His hips start snapping against you at a fast speed, his tip hitting you deep repeatedly as he keeps you arched back with one hand around your waist and the other one wrapped around the makeshift ponytail he made with your hair. 

You can already feel the orgasm build up at the tip of your stomach, but it only worsens when Ghostface roughly pulls you flat against him. Your head falls behind on his shoulder, eyes rolled far in your skull as your lips hang open to let out desperate moans and suck in as much air as possible. 

“You’re so fucking pretty like this,” he moans, his thumb rubs against your neck and jaw while his right hand squeezes and pulls your boobs hard before pinching the nipples. “Listen to those pretty sounds you make,” he snickers, “and you still want to pretend you’re innocent and pure? You’re fucked up just like me, baby, that’s why I like you so much,” he slurs. 

You blink, once again adjusting to the light is uncomfortable but you make out just in time the fact he’s holding a Polaroid camera. “Smile for the camera, babe,” his voice rings in your ears but doesn’t reach your brain and before you know it, you’re coming just like that. The look on your face is not a smile but an expression of blissed pleasure, the exact moment as the climax explodes inside of you, making you clench around his dick and shake in his arms, your arm twisting back, letting your hand claps on his bicep and sink your nail in the thick fabric of the black cloak.  

Ghostface would like to say he’s disappointed and scold you for misbehaving, but he can only stare at you with amused disbelief written all over his face. But you only see the constant expression of the mask and once again, you fear for a second he’s mad at you. Truth be told, he could even kill you right now, you wouldn’t mind much or even notice, too lost in the pleasure that’s still looming on your body. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, hips slowing down until they stop completely, “you just gifted me the most precious pic in my collection,” he whispers. You feel like the edge of mockery is still persistent but at the same time something genuine lingers in it, it doesn’t make it less creepy, but the ‘fuck me harder method’ worked because you don’t question his, and yours, fucked morality and just smile dumbly. 

And that smile, united with the slow bat of your wet eyelashes, is what he needs to lose it. 

“Oh, fuck it, I’ll clean you up once we’re done and if you’ll try to turn me in, I’ll find out, so you better keep your promise, alright?” 

You don’t get what he’s talking about right away, too fucked out as you lay on the mattress waiting for his next move, but when he pulls out of you and swiftly pulls the condom out, you get it. You bite your lips in anticipation and swing your hips in invitation. 

The sight would be enough to make him come right there, and he damns himself because out of all people, you can’t be his biggest weakness. It got to be some fucking joke of destiny. “Will you go to the police?” 

“No,” you mumble.  

“Good girl, because these little games are just for us, me and you, you can’t use what we do here to help you with your case.” When he sinks inside of you again, he feels like he could lose it all for the way your wet, warm walls wrap around him. “Fuck, fuck,” he curses, voice even more distorted now that he murmurs through gritted teeth, “you feel so fucking good.” 

His thrusts now are almost primal, desperately pounding you against the mattress, keeping you pinned down with a hand on the back of your head —not that you need that, you wouldn’t be able to hold your neck up even if you wanted to— and holding for dear life on your hips with the other. You’ll probably have some bruises by the end of the night, if not colored prints on your skin, surely light discomfort at the touch will follow you for a few days. And you almost want to beg him for more, to mark you in some other ways, to leave something just for you to see and carry with you. Sick and perverted thoughts cross your mind, and you push them away swiftly. 

You bite down on your lips when his hand leaves your side to torture your nipples again, he can barely push his hand between your body and the mattress, but he has just enough space to play with your sensitive nipples, making them even harder and causing you to clench even more around him. He loves how sensitive you are there and how each rub, pinch, and slap has you easily squirming and moaning under him.

“Look at you, going all dumb on my cock,” he groans, mockingly giving one harsh slap to your tits before his fingers trace your cheek. Your skin is so hot he can almost feel it through the fabric separating you, but what he’s most fascinated about are your tears, black mascara running down your beautiful face, dying on the pillow and your tortured parted lips. “Are you still thinking about being better than me or — fuck — have you finally embraced your dark side?” 

Not a word comes out of your mouth when you whimper back, and not even a thought crosses your mind. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he grins smugly. “You know,” he breathes out, head thrown back as it gets harder and harder to contain the orgasm, but he doesn’t want it to end so soon, “you should fire yourself and be my toy, just my toy, every time I need you, everywhere I need you. You’d love that, wouldn’t you? It’d make you feel even more special.” 

You mumble a weak reply, it’s a whispered ‘no,’ but your body doesn’t deny how much the thought turns you on. Too many responsibilities in your life and your job, too much to carry daily, but right now? Nothing. Guilt will eat you alive tomorrow but not now. Something feels exciting about being on the run with him, being the one that runs, instead of the one that chases. But it won’t happen, you believe in your job, and you want this slasher to end.  

“Cause only I can get you like this, ugh,” he grunts, hips slamming faster but more sloppily against your ass, the vulgar sounds filling up the room. “No man before and no man after will make you come this hard. Nobody, love. No matter how much you’ll want to, they all will disappoint you and you will look for me in every single one of them,” he groans, each word punctuated by a harsh slam of his hips, “well, the lucky ones that will get a taste before I’ll get them and kill them.” 

You don’t reply, just lay there, looking like a mess as you try to fight another orgasm because coming again would be humiliating. 

“It turns you on, doesn’t it?” You can hear the grin on his face and his voice has the edge of insanity of the usual. “Let’s be honest, you’ve got a list of shitty partners, you would’ve been grateful if I got rid of some of them.” 

“Fuck, just — just fuck me,” you beg, your hand reaching behind to touch him somehow, but he doesn’t like it. 

He grips your hand and pins it behind your back bending your arm, you hiss in discomfort, but he doesn’t let go. “Oh, no, angel. You don’t make the rules in this game, I do. If I want to sink into your brain and get so deep into you that I’ll make sure you will never come out the same, I will. I’m the darkest side of yourself, the fucked up filth you’re too afraid to face,” he groans. “And I know you’re close again. Your tight cunt is squeezing me, and you made a mess on the mattress,” he snickers. “Imagine if they find this place, this mattress, your DNA on it,” he stops, leaning next to your ear, voice dropping lower, “or better, imagine if they find us now. What do you say, detective? Would they be disappointed? Would they just jack off at the view? You look so hot right now, I wouldn’t blame them if they’d get off to you, to us together. Kill them surely, blame them not. We’re so hot, detective.” 

You squirm under him, feeling like the room is spinning fast and you can’t ground on anything. You have a darker thought in mind, something you can’t confess to him or else he won’t stop mocking you. You want to get caught, but not by your colleagues, by his partner. What would he do if he saw you and his partner in crimes like this? Would he understand this, or would he snap? Maybe even feeling betrayed. Does he even know you and him have been playing this game of attraction for a while now?  

Your silence doesn’t make Ghostface suspect anything. You simply look totally fucked out, brain empty as you plead in soft whimpers and moans. 

“You sound so fucking good,” he praises. “Why don’t we play another little game, uh?” 

Your eyes open in surprise and you hum with no strength, “what?” 

“Beg me to save your life,” he says, grabbing the knife again and placing it close to your neck. “Come on, do it for me, I won’t ever hear you say it because I will never want to kill you. Please, detective,” he coos, hips slowing down because your pussy is fogging his brain and he’s not sure his always-perfect aim and reflexes will work right now. 

You take a deep breath and then speak. “Please, Ghostface, please, spare my life.” 

His head rolls back, and a deep, groggy moan comes out of his lips. “Fuck, yes, keep going,” he orders, hips picking up the rhythm again as he skillfully flips the blade to the lesser sharp side just to be safe. 

And you obey. You beg, choked-up words slipping from your lips that soon turn into please, fuck me harder, and then please, wanna come. You feel boneless, your body is too hot, and you feel you might pass out, you need a release and then hope something bigger than you will make you get back on your legs and walk out of there as if nothing happened, as if you never followed your guts and found his —their— safe haven. 

“Come for me, love,” he orders, throwing the knife to the side before his hand sneaks under your body to roughly slap your clit a few times, enjoying the louder moans he drags out of you by doing so and watching with pleasure as your body squirms and shakes. “And don’t forget to smile for the camera.” 

This time your eyes lock with the polaroid that he points toward your face as his chin rests on your shoulder. But it only lasts for the time of the picture, your body collapses again when he lets go of your hair and you let the pleasure pervade you from head to toe. It’s breathtaking and mind-blowing, and next time you’ll fuck someone else you’ll hate that he’s right. You will feel him everywhere, you will feel his dick deep inside of you every time your fingers will desperately try to take its place, and every time you’ll let someone in your bed, but you don’t hate that thought as you should. 

“Fuck,” he groans, giving you a few more pumps to make sure you rode your high before slipping out and then roughly flipping you over. “Close your eyes,” he orders, and you follow with no hesitation —honestly, you were struggling to keep them open in the first place. 

Your heaving chest, your parted lips still letting out cries, your wet cheeks, and your trembling closed thighs are the last drop he needs to let go. Deep moans reach your ears while his hot cum drops on your face, most on your skin but some in your mouth, and they get even louder when you shyly swallow it and lick your lips for more. 

“Fuck, fuck, you’re —” he gasps but doesn’t finish, holding onto nothing as he empties himself all over your face. “Fuck.”

He feels dizzy, the orgasm still shaking him up, but then he looks at you and has to bite back a moan. The white strings of cum are covering your blissed face, your eyelashes are clumped together by the tears, and your lips are plump and darker, he knows he doesn’t want to forget what you look like right now. “Smile one last time, baby.” 

And you do, the corners of your mouth lift and then you hear the click of the polaroid. You think for a second you should’ve told him to don’t take them, he could easily blackmail you, or straight-up get you fired, but once again, you don’t truly care, and you don’t deny how much the idea of those photos turned you on.

You should get up, grab your pants, jacket, shoes and leave. But you feel heavy and tired, you’re still shaking, and your breath didn’t go back to normal, yet. 

“Don’t worry, detective,” Ghostface whispers, something passes on your face to clean you from the mess, but you don’t know what, and only then you open them ajar, just to see he’s still wearing his mask. “I’ll take care of you.” 

The Ghostface mask is the last thing you see. 

When you wake up, you’re in your bed, wearing your nightwear, completely cleaned up, but your bones and muscles are still sore, and a terrible headache is throbbing in the left side of your brain. You turn around, rubbing your eyelids with your palms before you can fully focus on the pillow and see three things on it. The Ghostface mask, a polaroid of you two from before, his face next to yours as he pulled your hair, and a note. 

“It was a pleasure playing with you, my pretty detective. Can’t wait to see what our next game will be like♡ ” 

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#nct fanfiction #nct 127 smut #nct dream smut #wayv smut #haechan smut #johnny smut #jaemin smut #jeno smut #jisung smut #jaehyun smut #taeyong smut #yuta smut

[sentoooo]

[anon: Hi can you write an Alphabet head cannon for Johnny cage and male reader?] i assume you mean an nsfw alphabet? i cannot find any other alphabet, so i apologize if i got it wrong T_T.

startin off strong with THE johnny cage. john john. yeah. that guy.

cw: nsfw, mxm, bodyworship, little bit of praise, edging, johnny fuckin' cage, baby. proofread MINORS DNI

ɴꜱꜰᴡ ᴀʟᴘʜᴀʙᴇᴛ || ᴊᴏʜɴɴʏ ᴄᴀɢᴇ

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Johnny's actually like a golden retriever. As much as he likes to show off,- and that doesn't mean he won't in bed either- he has a very tender side. Afterwards, he refuses to let you leave his arms. Need your clothes? Nope, he'll get them. As long as you hold his hand. Need a bath? He's carrying you to it. Maybe a little snack? Some water? Dragging you along for the adventure. And after all that, he'll tuck you both in, hold you reaaallll close, and whisper sweet nothings until either you or him are asleep.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Johnny's favorite body part? God, what isn't to love about him? It's so hard to choose! Just kidding. It's his biceps and his pecs. He's proud of 'em. Makes him feel all big and strong, means you can't run away like Sonya did. Though, he still loves every part of his body equally. Let's not forget about his little friend down there.

On you, it has to be your thighs. Or maybe your hands? God, he can't choose. Everything about you is perfection to him. No, no, it's definitely your stomach! Wait... no. It's your face. Nah, that doesn't do you justice. It's everything. Genuinely. He can't choose. Don't ask him to.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He's more than fine cumming anywhere. Inside? Gladly. On your thigh? Fuck yes. Stomach? Sign him up. It's like an autograph to him, as long as he gets to "sign" you, he's happy as hell.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He's dominant, yes. He likes being the star of the show. But he will let you top him here and there. His dirty secret? Just how much he yearns to moan your name. Yell it, let him know who he belongs to. But he won't admit it. His pride can't take that hit. Not yet.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

God, what doesn't he know? He's an actor, baby. He's THE Cage. He's had more than his fair share of experience. He knows your body almost more than you do, exactly where to touch to illicit a reaction from you, just the right spots to hit, and those sweet sweet words that turn you on instantly.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He love love loves cowgirl- or shall we call it cowboy? Not reverse, though. He needs to see your face. Has to. Non-negotiable. He likes to get his hands all over you, and he loves to see your pleasure. How else is he supposed to know that he's making you feel so damn good? Not that he isn't, god he knows, but just a reassurance.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

You're asking if Johnny Fuckin' Cage is serious? No. Hell no. He's crackin' jokes, but mainly he's praising himself. Not that he isn't praising you, either. But You hear a lot of "How's li'l Johnny treatin' ya?", in a way, it's kind of sexy. In a very CAGE-y way, at least.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He's got some body hair. Mainly, a happy trail, complimented by his V-Line. A little arm hair, but he keeps his chest clean. Pubic hair wise, he's got a little. Keeps himself trimmed, but still keeps some down there. Compliments his dick, that's what it does.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

God, he's so sweet it'll make your teeth hurt. Amongst his little ego-boosting, he swings praises your way. All honeyed, yet truthful nonetheless. His touch has always been full of longing, more so than lust. Everything he says is true. You know that. Regardless, he's gonna drill that into you. And drill into you.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He jacks off quite frequently. Though, he will always, always prefer you. Being in you, your hand, your mouth. But with his sex drive, he jacks off at least once a week, and if you aren't around, 7 days a week, baby. Always thinkin' of you.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Body worship. Through and through. He fuckin' loves it when you're all over him, gliding your hands from his collarbone to his waist, tracing his V-line, his abs, his tattoos, all with such love and yearning. Taking almost 30 minutes to explore each others bodies before anything goes in anywhere is always a pre-requisite.

He also LOVES edging. You, specifically. He's an asshole that way. Listening to you beg, whimper, cry to release. To cum allll over you and him. Fuck, does that get him going. He's almost let you just cum each and every time. One of these days, he's gonna break.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere, baby. Anywhere, anytime. He is always down. Shower sex? Yes. Quickie in a restroom somewhere? As long as it's as clean as a Bucca Di Beppo bathroom, yes. Speaking of, god, if he could fuck you in a Bucca Di Beppo, he so would. Now THAT'S fine dinin'.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You, always you. But specifically when you're fighting anyone. Not him, of course, shit, he's terrified of you. But all determined like that, nose bloody, knuckles bloodied, bruised. God, you are just SEETHING with sexual energy. And damn, he's going to fuck you after you win. However you like, baby.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Anything that'll hurt you. Hard no for him. He refuses to do anything of the sort. He can't hurt that pretty little body of yours, can he? No, no he can't. That is a cardinal sin, baby. He can't even fight you.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Oh, he loves giving. And he doesn't mind receiving. But fuck, he loves watching you squirm, gripping the sheets, and running your hands through his hair as he goes down on you. And he loves how you reward him after, it's like dessert.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He can go however fast you like, baby. You feelin' like enjoying the night, all romantic and sensual? Absolutely, anything for you. He will make the first round last for an hour. Feelin' especially frisky and want to scream his name all night (and all day, if your stamina so permits it)? Fuck. Yes. Say no more.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He'll do 'em. He aint afraid. Especially if you two only have time for that. He'll make sure your both satisfied and have both came. At least twice. But he does prefer having the full experience. He likes having you anytime, though.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Always, and forever, babe. He'll try everything at least once. He's fucked you in the most scandalous places before, too. One time, he was fairly sure Liu Kang was watching. That's why he fucked ya then and there.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Hours, day and night. Ride him like a horse. He'll wear that cowboy hat for ya, too. At least, that's what he said. The longest you've two have lasted was from 12am-4am. With breaks. But he sure didn't seem winded. Not in the slightest.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

So. Fucking. Many. For you, for him, for both of you. He loves watching you pleasure yourself with his toys. And vice versa. He loves torturing you with em, too. Watching you nearly tap out and lean up against him cause you couldn't hold yourself up while he was fuckin' ya senseless and using a remote-control cockring. He also LOVES his sybian. Both of you grinding up, little bit of frotting, knowing you feel just as good as he does. Fuck, it makes him hard at the thought.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Oh, he's a fucking dickhead. As mentioned, he LOVES to edge you. How weak you are against him, yet knowing you want more, knowing you love it. He could do it all night baby. Make sure you got good impulse control. He won't hold back.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He's LOUD, baby, real loud. He wants you to know how good you make him feel. And he wants to praise you. How good you are, taking his dick. Like a champ. He'll moan, and grunt, and growl. All in your ear, too. He knows you like it. A little bit of breath play, for a good boy.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

The amount of sex tapes in his phone is INSANE. But he won't post em, not if you don't want it. He knows his adoring fans would love it, and he'd LOVE to show off his boy to all of em. He gets off watchin' 'em, too. Are you surprised?

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He's a biiiig boy. Took you a bit to get used to him. He's a shower, though. He's about 6.7" in length, and 1.9" wide. Leans slightly to the left. Circumsized.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

He's gotta fuck ya at least once a day. His sex drive is through the roof, I mean. He's Johnny Cage. If he doesn't get his dick wet once a day, who is he?

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Yeah, he's tired as shit afterwards, but until you have been cleaned up, drank, and ate if you needed to, then he's out. He refuses to fall asleep beforehand. And normally, he has to make sure you fell asleep first.

#⁺◟sentooo #mk1 x reader #mk x reader #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat 1 x reader #mk1 x male reader #mk x male reader #mortal kombat 1 x male reader #mortal kombat x male reader #johnny cage x reader #johnny cage x male reader

[kyleeissilly]

𝒋𝒐𝒉𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒆 𝒈𝒖𝒊𝒍𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒕 𝑵𝑺𝑭𝑾 𝒂𝒍𝒑𝒉𝒂𝒃𝒆𝒕

𝒎𝒂𝒚𝒃𝒆 𝒂 𝒍𝒊𝒍 𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕𝒕𝒚

sorry if this is shit i was high while writing this ngl..

༻¨:·..·:¨༺ ༻¨:·..·:¨༺ ༻¨*:·.༻¨:·..·:¨༺ ༻¨*:·.༻¨:·..·:¨༺

A- Aftercare

(what their like after sex)

Johnnies definitely tired after but will run u two a warm shower/bath and help you clean yourself up if your too tired.

wants to make sure u feel loved and cared for !!!

B-Body Parts

(Their favorite body part of their partners and of their own)

i feel like his fav body part of yours is your waist just because he can hold it and he can use it to pull you closer to him,

his fav body part of his is probably like his hands just because of how many photos he takes with his hands infront of his face

C-Cum

(anything to do with cum)

would rather finish inside of you but also rlly likes finishing on your stomach.

D-Dirty Secret

(self explanatory)

honestly is a little bit of a sub sometimes,

E-Experience

(how experienced are they?)

he rlly knows how to use his tongue and loves to eat you out. he knows hes good at it to..

F-Favorite position

(very self explanatory)

Definitely spooning. man loves cuddling in general so whats better than cuddling and sex?

G-Goofy

(Are they more goofy or serious during the act?)

will prob make lil jokes when its appropriate but other than that hes more serious.

H-Hair

(how well groomed? does the carpet match the drapes?)

he usually trims it a little just to make it look neat. and the carpet does not match the drapes since hes a natural blonde.

I-Intimacy

(how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

hes a little awkward the first time you guys did it but now hes definitely a romantic.

J-Jack off

(masturbation headcannon)

jerks off 2-4 times a week because he gets wayyy to nervous to ask and is afraid hes gonna make u uncomfy

K-Kink

(one or more of their kinks)

LOVESSSS to overstimulate you until ur begging him to stop,

neck kissing.... self explanatory..

L-Location

(where he likes to do it)

honestly doesnt like doing it in even semi-public places just because of the risk factor but rlly likes in the bedroom or kitchen sex..

M-Motivation

(what turns them on)

neck kissesss !!!! he LOVESSS them. you give even a SMALL peck on his neck and hes all over you.

N-No

(something he wont do)

degrading. like hes fine with the tame shit but he doesnt want to say something rlly rude to you or hurtful even if you want him to. it makes him feel like a douche.

Oral

(preference in giving or recieving, skill, etc)

hes mastered the art of eating you out. you dont even gotta say nun and hes already got ur legs over his shoulders. he wont deny a blowjob tho,

P-Pace

(how fast or slow they go during)

he will start off gentle to let you adjust to him but once hes about to finish hes definitely speeding up

Q-Quickie

(their opinion on quickies)

Not a big fan of it at all but wont say no. he wants to make sure you feel loved and you know that hes not just using u as a hookup.

R-Risk

(are they down to experiment and try new things? do they take risks when their horny?)

would be down to try new things with you depending on how extreme. he thinks trying new things with you creates a stronger relationship and helps figure out what the other person likes.

S-Stamina

(how many rounds can they go? how long do they last?)

he can go around 2-3 rounds before getting tired but either way he will always make sure you finish.

T-Toys

(do they own them? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

owns a fleshlight but thats it. If you wanted him to use toys on you he would definitely be willing to explore that interest with you.

U-Unfair

(do they tease? if so, how much?)

he doesnt tease you that much but if he wants to then he will.

V-Volume

(how loud are they? what sound do they make)

its mostly muffles grunts or whimpers but when hes close he gets louder.

W-Wild Card

(random headcannon)

loves going shopping with you and watching you try on clothes. also adores when you see something and immediately say smth like "youd look so good in this," to him.

X- X-Ray

(whats going on under their clothes?)

6.7 inches, neat, and slightly curved

Y-Yearning

(how high is their sex drive?)

2-3 times a week but will definitely do it more if you wanted it.

Z-Zzz

(how long does it take for them to fall asleep after?)

hes exhausted afterwards but needs to make sure your alright and comfortable before falling asleep with his arms wrapped around ur waist.

#johnnie guilbert smut #johnnie guilbert #jake and johnnie #the tinas #latina

[civilization-illstayrighthere]

Ahh wait there are too many good options!!🫣You're too good to us Rama!! What about 87. for VxKerry with a hint of silverdyne? ( Take as long as you like ofc🥺)

87. he doesn’t fuck you the way you deserved to be fucked

I think I probably took this in a slightly different way than you may have thought when requesting, but this prompt absolutely gripped me and i ran away with it :’D Kerry/v, with silverdyne / silverVdyne, ~3.5k, absolutely explicit rating lol

“I think we should kill him.” Johnny Silverhand says.

Standing side-by-side, V exhales a plume of cigarette smoke directly into Johnny, watching his engram form fractal before the smoke dissipates into the open air.

“We’re not killin’ nobody.” V grumbles, though he’s feeling less and less committed to that as he keeps his gaze focused on the scene unfolding on the patio below. 

Kerry Eurodyne’s parties were something of a legend throughout Night City; even before V had met his now-input, they’d been preem front page screamsheet tabloid fodder, blurry photos of the who’s-who of Night City bumping shoulders, gossipy quips about who was allegedly bumping uglies. 

V was finding the tabloids weren’t as far off as he would’ve liked. The music world was downright incestuous; it felt like half the people here had at one point been Kerry’s one night stand, input, output, brief fling or fancy, and fuck, when did Kerry even find the time to do anything other than doing someone?

But V held his tongue. The Rockerboy was his now, besides; all those other guys and girls were in the rearview, as much as Johnny had been hissing otherwise in his ear.  

He wasn’t Johnny. Kerry was enjoying himself; he’d been so flippant about it when he’d mentioned throwing the party, but now here, V could see the man was in his element. He flitted between groups of people, laughed and chatted and preened. There was an extra swagger in his step, and not just because of the easy flow of booze and drugs. Kerry looked good in the limelight. V could share.

To a point. 

Kerry had introduced him earlier to a bulwark of a man named Patryk, ostentatiously chromed but not entirely unsurprising; after all, plenty of mercs went the private celebrity bodyguard route for the lucrative pay and relative safety compared to running fixer gigs. Him being an ex of Kerry was unsurprising as well. He was relatively handsome; built with broad shoulders, a shaggy head of straw blonde hair and a firm handshake that V’s sure he would’ve really felt if his own hands were not military chrome.

Patryk grinned. He squeezed V’s hand a little harder. “B, was it?”

“V.” He corrected tightly, flashing his gold canines in a mirroring grin. He squeezed Patryk’s hand back. Kerry, already tipsy, just chuckled and threw his arm around V’s waist, and Patryk dropped his hand. 

“Nice to meet you, B.”

Patryk kept grinning that shit-eating grin. Behind him, Johnny flickered into existence; arms crossed across his chest, he prowled around him with agitation, looking him up and down.

“Helluva ex.” He muttered. Getting closer, Patryk was oblivious to Johnny’s proximity and scowl. “Kerry always knew how to pick them.”

V only barely held his tongue, arms intertwining with Kerry’s as he settled a hand on his hip. He slipped a finger into a belt loop and pulled him in snug against his side. Kerry seemed genuinely oblivious as the conversation continued to whatever it was before V had wandered over to be introduced— or maybe, Johnny’s acerbic voice hissed in his head, he’s just enjoying all this attention. Kerry always liked having a couple of meatheads fight over him. 

He could argue with Johnny that it’d been fifty years between when he knew Kerry and now. He could feel the want to do something stupid grow. 

Maybe that was some of Johnny. Maybe that was a lot of V, who found Patryk’s gaze faltering to where his thumb traced the soft skin just above the waistband of Kerry’s tight pants, right under the hem of his tank as he held him close. 

“— good talkin’ to you Patryk, but I gotta mingle.” Kerry finished. He leaned over, pressing a kiss to V’s cheek. “V?”

V flashed Patryk a smug smile, his hand dropping down to Kerry’s ass as he lead them away. He could feel Patryk’s stare on his back. 

“Gonna grab another drink, you comin’?”

“Nah,” V excused himself, “gonna have a smoke outside, get some fresh air.” Maybe the irritation simmering in his blood was more nicotine cravings than jealousy; either way, one would soothe the other.

Kerry smiled; he knew the party wasn’t exactly V’s scene. “Come get me when you're done?”

“‘Course. You know I always wander back.”

The new second floor deck Kerry had built with the Us Cracks collaboration advance was nice; more importantly, it was empty and relatively quiet, save for the full thumping of the base from the music inside making the windows practically pulse. Chain smoking cigarettes and flicking the spent butts out into the waterfall feature was probably not the most social way to spend a party, but V was not a social creature by nature. He’d hold Kerry back.  

He hadn’t expected to see Kerry descend the stairs below to the shadowed patio below; he definitely hadn’t expected to see him followed by Patryk, either.

“One punch to the trachea,” Johnny goads, “easy as syn-apple pie.”

“No.” V grouses. 

“Just a little love tap to the temple.”

“We’re not killing anyone at Kerry’s house.” V replies to Johnny in his head, watching as the two talked below. The moving water kept him from hearing much of anything. It seemed Kerry had a similar idea as V, smoking as he chatted. “He’d immediately be suspected.”

“He’d get charged accessory at most.”

V rolls his eyes. “I don’t think he wants the media circus of what accessory at most will bring.” Eyes still on Kerry, he holds out his cigarette; he only briefly feels Johnny’s chapped lips on his palm, taking a short drag. He’d be more surprised at the sensation if he wasn’t so distracted. Patryk steps closer to Kerry; just as easily, Kerry keeps distance between them, his rumbling, nerve-filled chuckle rising over the dull roar of the waterfall.

“Like he doesn’t have the money to pay off whatever they might try and throw at ‘em.” Johnny complains.

“Again, I’m not fucking zeroing—“

Ice prickles up his throat as he watches the ex start to slowly corral Kerry backward, towards the darkness of the patio chairs; he can’t hear over the roar of the waterfall and the muffled din of the party still going on behind, but Kerry’s cringing body language and his reluctance couldn’t be telegraphed more clearly if he’d yelled it. The chrome fingers of V’s left hand twitch, instantly crushing the filter of the cigarette between them.

He’s expecting a smug “I told you so” from Johnny but is met, surprisingly, with a twin feeling of possessive fury, a second internal voice matching his own that is propelling him into immediate action. V vaults over the balcony railing; his reinforced tendons easily absorb the impact of the short fall when he lands in a crouch.

Save the lights coming through the glass where Kerry’s Aerondight is parked above, it’s relatively dark down here under the house; even the faraway lights of Night City don’t seem to pierce the gloom of the nook. Kerry’s eyes seem to glow. 

“What’d I say, Pat?” Kerry’s voice is strong, but he’s cringing as his ex-output steps forward, “I’m not fuckin’ interested. I got a mainline.”

“Yeah,” the man purrs, “but he doesn’t fuck you the way you deserved to be fucked, does he?” 

V straightens to standing. Spying V past Patryk’s shoulder, Kerry alights with recognition. 

“You always moaned so sweet for me, baby doll,” Patryk practically croons as he advances. Kerry takes another step back— his heel catches the edge of a lounger, and when he falls back onto his ass with a “whuph,” Patryk perks up like a slavering dog over a bone. “You were the best cock sleeve I ever had, and I know for sure I was the only dick good enough to fill your sloppy boy cunt. Lemme remind you—”

V allows his next step to fall heavier.

The man’s shoulders stiffen, but he doesn’t turn around. “Fuck off. We’re busy.”

“Y’know, actually,” V clears his throat. “I think you’re done here.”

Patryk turns around. He’s got an inch or two on V; he looks him up and down with a sneer. “Ah, the little mainline.”

Johnny crackles into existence, pointedly placing himself between Patryk and Kerry, as if he could do anything; his Hand twitches towards the holster on his thigh. 

“Yeah, uh,” V sniffs, real loud, real obnoxious, and he reaches up to scratch at his nose with one crooked finger. Purposefully, carefully, because all of the blades of his knuckles are fully deployed. Kerry’s gold looks real nice with all of his house's professional lighting, but he thinks the way the lights plays off his silver serrated edges look good, too. “Man of the hour already asked you to, but now I’m insistin’. You should delta, choom.”

“Yeah?” Patryk snorts. He rolls his broad shoulders. “Make me.”

Kerry shakes his head, raking a hand through his hair. “Patryk, please just fuckin’ go—“

Patryk whirls, snapping, “shut the fuck up, Eurodyne.”

The man’s chipped, of course— Kerry had a type, unfortunately— but the momentary dumb display of anger gives V an easy turned back to lunge towards, viper-quick, to grab the back of his neck with one hand and the back of his shirt with the other.

He can feel Johnny’s anger nipping at his heels, coursing through his veins of blood and chrome plasma alike— Patryk immediately grapples for V’s arm as he walks the man stumbling towards the edge of the patio, hand fisted into the meat of his neck so tightly he thinks he could crush his spine if his grip twitched just so. He barely feels the ex’s fingernails biting into his syn-skin as he scrabbles against his arms.

“First of all, you’ve got a lot of fuckin’ balls just coming here.”

The roar of the waterfall nearly drowns out V’s snarl, though he knows Patryk can hear him. 

“Second, cute as you think that B bullshit was, my name is fucking V, you got that? V, the one who zeroed Jotaro, cleared out countless Scav nests, makes Maelstrommer’s shit their pants, goes solo toe-to-toe with Arasaka and Militech spec ops,” V grits out with a swiftly rising fury, coinciding with a ramping of his processors that has the chrome in his body audibly humming with the promise of violence. 

“The VDB that are left call me Agau, the Wraiths call me Dakota’s dog, but you, princess?”

V grins as Patryk’s face drops.

“You can call me V.”

He thrusts him into the direct steam of the waterfall, sudden enough that he knows Patryk takes a full gulp as soon as he’s under. Warnings flash in the corners of his vision’s HUD as he deploys all his chrome to keep him there; he can feel his body temperature rapidly rise, his chrome tendons creaking and some of the closest spray turning into mist where it touches exposed skin. 

“And then bothering your ex-output? Kerry fuckin’ Eurodyne? You’re not even worthy of lookin’ at his fuckin’ reflection. The stupidity of that, choombatta, I mean—“ V chuckles tightly, barely upholding the veneer of a casual conversation atop his white hot rage. He pulls the man out of the spray; he wheezes, flailing uselessly under his grasp.

“W-wait—“

“Nah, think I’m done waiting.” V interrupts, further cutting the man off by thrusting him back under the torrent. Choking loudly, his struggles grow more frantic as he keeps taking on water. “You wanna talk more about my output? My output? ‘Cause clearly he wasn’t interested in you and your pathetic dick, so even when he kept saying no, you really had to push, huh?”

All V would need to do was let go and this two-enny hack would tumble right over the side of the cliff-face. His body wouldn’t stop until he had rolled all the way down to Charter Hill.

“I want you to keep Kerry’s name out of your mouth, you got that?” V snarls, “mine too, while you’re at it. I’ll bounce your skull off the pavement if I so much as catch you thinkin’ his name again.”

He’s clearly a merc; hell, V might’ve even seen him skulking around the Afterlife. He could threaten his ties he’s got with fixers, scare him out of work until he had to leave the city to even make an enny with his name. But V didn’t need anyone else's name to invoke fear; not a fixer, not Kerry’s, not Johnny’s, nobody but himself.

It takes a moment before he realizes Patryk can’t respond while still under the water; he pulls him out, impatiently listening to him hack and wheeze in a full breath.

“I got it, I-I got it, alright,” Patryk sputters, clutching fruitlessly at V. All the bravado’s been wiped from him; there is snot down his face, spittle across his lips as he gasps, “man, I’m sorry!”

V slaps the whimpering merc across the face, open-handed, laughs at the way he flinches and cringes. When V steps back and tosses him onto the ground, away from the edge, his left fist balling up in his peripheral is silver.

“Get the fuck out of my sight.” V spits.

The man scrambles to his feet—tries to, but the fear is making his limbs uncoordinated, and slick from the waterboarding, he stumbles and falls face first onto the deck. It takes another try before he’s up and running, dripping, the long way around and away. 

V could follow the bastard, and watching his disappearing back makes something predatory pulse in him; he wants to hunt him down, a hound to a hare, press his teeth to the back of his neck until he crunches through bone and shake his body until he goes limp. He wants to rend him in two; wants to carve his name, his moniker, into his skin with his knuckles, a potent portent to any other gonk who thinks they could even conceive of laying a hand on what’s his and his alone—

“V…” Kerry’s voice, unnaturally small, breaks through behind him.

V turns. He crosses the gap between them in a few long strides, immediately dropping a knee onto the patio chair between Kerry’s legs to bend down and cup his face; he’s unharmed, and shaking, though maybe that’s actually V’s hands trembling in the comedown as his body starts to unwind from its tight coil.

“Ker.“ He murmurs, swiping a slick thumb over Kerry’s cheekbone, his temples, leaving behind a trace of wetness that makes the gold inlaid in his skin shine, “you alright? You okay?”

Kerry’s chest heaves. He says nothing; he kisses him, meeting him with a voracity that makes V groan, muffled by his lips and tongue. When Kerry fists his hand into V’s mullet and yanks his head back, he goes as docile as a lamb, only just managing to silence the whine bouncing behind his bared teeth.

“I thought you were gonna kill him.” Kerry breathes. His lips are spit-slick, just a touch puffy from the abuse of the hard kiss. 

“You want me to?” V demurs. “I’ll go get ‘im. I meant it all. I’d do it for you, Ker.”

Kerry sucks in a breath. “Fuck, V.”

“Throw him off the side, pummel him to a paste, whatever you like.” V continues, a deluge of words on the current, “I’ll go out there and do it now, gorgeous, you just give the word.” He feels frenzied, only kept in check by Kerry’s ringed fingers holding him tight by the root of his hair. “Let me kill him for you.” 

Kerry’s blue Kiroshis are so bright, just a sliver around the dark, fat pupils. He looks tempted. He looks drunk off the ultraviolence of it all. V would give him everything; he doesn’t even need to ask, not when Kerry looks at him like hat. 

“You would, huhn?” Kerry quietly marvels. He reaches up, rubs his thumb over one of the prominent scars patterned across V’s cheek; he turns into his touch, mollified.

He pulls V into another harsh kiss by the back of his head; their moans muffle underneath each other's lips. 

V’s greedy hands roam downward. He paws at his sides, gropes his chest. Beneath him, Kerry arches. The thought of that fuck touching Kerry comes back to mind, unbidden, and he feels another fresh bolt of possessive fury course down his spine.

“You’re mine,” V mouths against Kerry’s bearded cheek, and his voice lowers a too-familiar octave when he repeats, “mine.”

Kerry shudders. When V pulls back, his eyes are dragged behind Kerry; leaning back against the lounger, Johnny reclines. They hold eye contact for a beat. If he was solid, Kerry would be in between his legs, lying against his chest; now, his flak jacket wavers where Kerry clips into him. He strokes an unfelt hand down the length of Kerry’s neck, and his cyberware; V follows the motion, and Kerry bares his neck with a groan, slides his hand up to cradle V’s. Underneath those million-eddy hands, V’s blades lie dormant. 

“Fuck, V,” Kerry croaks, intertwining their fingers; he lets his head fall back, his hips rocking, his body a delicious supine. Johnny's hands follow where Kerry drags V’s down, across his collarbone, pushing at the neckline of his white tank top. 

He wants what’s underneath; he doesn’t take a moment of reflection, hooking his fingers into the collar and ripping the shirt down the middle with an elastic tear. 

He can feel the collective weight of their stare on Kerry’s exposed body, even if he’s none the wiser; V cups his pec, really takes his time to squeeze him, lets his flesh bounce a little under his hand. Only when Kerry starts to squirm does V run his thumb over one of Kerry’s pert nipples, pinching it sharply before rolling the pad over in a soothing, rocking motion. The breathless noise Johnny makes is nearly drowned out by Kerry’s breathless panting.

“Wanna fuck you.” V mumbles. He pinches Kerry’s nipples again; watches his body arch into the twin pain and pleasure, as enraptured with that as by the silver hand possessively stroking up and down his neck. “Can I?”

“Jesus, kid, like you have to ask—“ Kerry groans. And he seems to realize the irony, an almost wild laugh escaping him as he starts to writhe underneath V, fumbling to shove down the tight pants clinging to his hips. “Of course, fuck, fuck me.”

Anyone could come downstairs to the waterfall loungers, looking for the man of the hour; if they did, they’d see Kerry Eurodyne, hastily stripped down to only his ripped tank hanging off him like a vest, getting down on his hands and knees like a dog in heat, reaching back and spread himself with a growled command to “spit.”. They’d see the best merc in Night City get on his knees and do him one better, pressing his face inbetween where Kerry was shaved smooth and lick his hole, over and over, until the man was mewling under his tongue. 

They wouldn’t see a silver hand stroking down Kerry’s spine, detouring across the freckles that still dot his syn-skin. They wouldn’t see Johnny Silverhand perched on the back of the lounger, watching them both, the front of his leather pants painfully tented. He’s silent as he palms himself, his heavy gaze shifting between the two of them. That was just for V.

V gets his pants down just under the curve of his ass, pulling out his cock; with only spit as lube, it takes a few moments of delicious, tight stretching before he’s in, and then he’s fucking Kerry in slow, deep thrusts, hips slapping hard against his ass each time. He takes him so well; fits perfectly around his cock, clinging tight each time V nearly pulls out, moans when V buries himself back in to the hilt. 

V’s eyes slip closed in rapture. Only for a moment; his face jerks to the side as a slap lands soundly on his cheek, and when he opens his eyes, Johnny is glowering there, gripping his chin tightly.

“Keep your goddamn eyes open, V.” Johnny says. His voice is wrecked with disuse; with want. “And fuck him harder.”

He flickers back to the lounger, hungrily watching Kerry and V. V can feel Johnny’s annoyance simmering under the surface, too keyed up to hide his thoughts; he wants to be there, he wants to fuck Kerry until the plastic slats imprint into his knees. But time is dwindling for V, and this is as close as he can be; stroking his cock in time to V’s brutal thrusts, drinking in the sight of Kerry’s arched spine, the way his ass bounces on impact, the moans he wrenches from his output. Their output, and his; and that’s one and the same.

And that scares them both.

#silverdyne #silvervdyne #Kerry eurodyne #johnny silverhand #cp 2077 #cyberpunk 2077 #Nsft #stomping in a glass house

[baka-bakeneko]

Streets - River Ward x Fem! V Reader [NSFW]

I found it hard to find someone like you.

tags: strip tease, shower tease, shower sex, voyeurism (thanks Johnny and River), grinding, fingering, oral sex (V receiving), cuck (Johnny, sorry), exhibitionism (nightclub grinding, feeling up), (private) public sex, lick the bowl, multiple orgasms, hint to dacryphilia, obsession/possessive kink, want it once gotta have it twice

word count: 5.2 k

synopsis: River has a brand new case and needs to start scoping out a new nightclub for his mark. But he's also invited V, so he's going full horny gonk brain.

a/n: y'all remember that doja cat video for her song 'Streets'? This is that entire vibe, it's all in the way River goes. Also my brain is on full River Ward rot, I'm sorry Takemura, i'll make it back to you.

River was done getting ready. Unfortunately, he'd been ready for the forty-five minutes it took for you to ready yourself out of bed, clean your nicest outfit and now you were in the shower.

Not that River was complaining, he'd taken the time to thumb through the file of his latest mark and while your off-pitch singing was entertaining, he was content with the studious silence that came with the closed door.

Thanks to Johnny, and Viktor to some extent, you recently got into some serious old school music. Obviously nothing compared to what was popular now, but there was something about some serious R&B.

And not to be a flair for dramatics, but River's shower was a perfect area for mental music videos. The ambient lighting he recently put in helped with the foggy glass door. You turned up your music another notch, running your hands through your hair. Thankfully, Johnny knew when to give his space.

You swayed your hips in rhythm, feeling the rivulets of warm water run down your back. Screw going out, being in here was just as good as sleep. Or sex.

River flipped through his pages for a third time, attempting to wedge anymore knowledge of his mark before finally deciding to cut your shower time short.

"V," River called, standing up from his bed and setting down his file. "Let's try and wrap it up? We were supposed to be on the road almost an hour ago."

He continued down the hallway, holding his hand out for the door to pneumatically slide open. You glanced over your shoulder, through the fogged glass to River stood in the doorway.

You used your finger to trace a heart around your sturdy boyfriend before you.

"V," River said, his voice softening a meter. "Come on."

You pulled your finger back and lined your fingernail between your teeth. With another tilt of your hips, you turned around then ran your hands down your sides.

River cocked his jaw, interested, and leaned against the doorway with crossed arms. "We don't have time for this."

You shook your hair out, turning around again to rest your hands against the glass. You kissed in the middle of the heart, then dropped down, bowing your knees. Then you were were crawling on the shower floor, accentuating the curve of your back. The dark red lights clung to your curves, easing through the steam to add a flair to the performance.

River's eyes were trained on you, shifting from the door and into the bathroom. The door slid shut behind him; River stepped a bit closer towards the shower, curiosity steering ship.

You rolled your shoulders back, pulling yourself up to your knees to River in the open doorway of the shower stall. With a wet hand, you reached out for his thigh and ran it up to grip at his waistband.

"V, please," River tried, stepping into the shower as your hand tugged harder at his clothes.

You glanced up at him, running your other wet hand along your body before sliding it between your hips to touch yourself. River grimaced, tilting his head back to soak in some steam.

You undid his pants, resting your wet hands to his skin, staring up at RIver. "Join me."

River couldn't resist the call to action, obviously swearing that he was going to be extra late trying to catch his mark. Hopefully they were known for being fashionably late because River was not going to pass up the opportunity.

"Oh, you're in trouble now," he sneered playfully, pulling off his shirt then hastily dropping his pants to the wet shower floor; River tossed his clothes out of the stall then rushed to grab you up, holding your slick body against his as he walked into the shower.

He tilted his head back at the warm stream on his face, hoisting you up on his hip before moving you just right on his waist. River stared down your body pressed against his, attempting to ignore your wet lips now parting to slosh your tongue in his ear.

"Fuuck," he drew out, only getting harder feeling your wet ass jiggle just over him. "Fuck V."

You trilled, curling your arms around his neck and sensually running your fingers across his skin, wetting him up and driving him nuts. Over his shoulder, you watched Johnny glitch into existence, perched on the bathroom sink.

"A real steam tease. Where's my eddies when I need them?" He quipped, pulling his comfort cigarette to his lips.

River pressed you to the cold shower wall, sliding his hands over your slick thighs before glancing down at his cock weeping to be inside you.

You grinned at him, taking your fingers back over your body, down your collarbone between your breasts and down to your waist; you spread yourself open for him, your eyes downturned with a sudden pout.

You were wet for him, well that was an understatement.

"Let's not waste time, Riv," you taunted, drawing your middle finger over your clit and tilting your head back to accentuate the delectable curve of your neck.

River growled, suddenly a man parched, and lapped at the water that slipped down your neck and between your breasts, lining his cock to your entrance and sinking inside.

You gasped, curling your arm around him tighter as you adjusted to his girth, a perfect fit. Melded together, wet and pliable. River massaged at your thighs, holding you a bit harder to the wall to adjust himself.

Shower sex always did prove difficult in the grand scheme of things. Still, River did his best to hold your hips and ease out of your dripping pussy, earning a long drawn groan shared before your parted lips.

How River's lips could make falling water look so hot, it was beyond you, but you felt an urge to drink him whole. You caught his lips in a kiss, sopping up the water that moistened his lips and pooling more between you.

To be dirty and clean at the same time was something to put extra effort in. You rolled your hips after River's hot cock, urging him to come back right where he was meant to.

With a groan into your mouth, his tongue licking its way in, River followed your silent order and began thrusting like he was trying to find oil.

But he was straight striking gold.

"That's some preem pussy you got there, V," Johnny called out though you were effectively pushing your parasitic friend to the way back, like hiding him in a cupboard. "Give 'im something to write home about."

You melted into River's hold, not holding back on how good he was actually hitting it. Your hand crossed on his shoulder tightened, your knees vicing on his waist to get him to slow down.

The heat from the shower congealed in the air, making your breaths short and fueling the euphoric fire that began growing in your back.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you panted into his mouth, egging him to keep going.

You were already chasing a high, though your squeezing walls were bringing River to his edge as well. "Get there, V, come on. Get there."

You followed his orders, your brow creasing as your breath began to shorten further. River's eyes lulled, watching your chest heave against his until you were caught tight, squeezing further on his cock and coming in an instant.

Your tongue rolled out of your mouth, catching a few drips from the shower before kissing him again. You moaned egregiously in his mouth, riding his thrusts until River met his tide.

He stuttered into you, his heavy thrusts dully pumping into you before stopping, firmly planted inside of you and coming. You felt your own slickness mix with the water on your inside thighs, adding a new layer of filth to you from being clean.

And your eyes rolled at the healthy amount of River that was now shooting into you. He pulled away from your lips, peppering your shoulder with kisses as he relished in your gripping walls.

He waited a long moment, giving your skin more appreciation with his lips before he snapped himself back into work River.

"We gotta go," River groaned, lining his nose against yours. "We've got work to do."

You smiled innocently, "Let's get to it then."

River helped you into his truck after cleaning up and getting dressed again, almost an hour behind schedule. But those extra fifteen minutes at the end were worth it. Not only did you two have fun in the shower, you were in such a saucy, boiled mood afterwards that you teased River again.

A reverse strip tease, putting on clothes, if you could call your dress clothes, and grinding against him when you could.

River hid a pleased roll of his eyes, remembering it all again now as you sat down in the passenger seat, closing your knees again and tugging your dress down your thighs. Shutting the door for you, River bit at his knuckles then rounded the front of the truck.

He had to focus, this was a recon mission that required all of his attention. And yours too. You were good in your merc work when you were free of distractions. But on two sides of the same coin, River was a distraction.

A delicious distraction, but a distraction from the goal nonetheless. And you were sure he could say the same to you.

He climbed into the truck, starting it upon adjusting in his seat. With a glance over to you, he pulled out of the driveway and began towards the nightclub. He hoped that his mark was more than fashionably late now.

River held his hand out for you to take, bringing your hand to his lips in an appreciative kiss. "Thank you, V, for doing this with me."

You smiled, shrugged a shoulder. "Always willing to help, River."

He offered a hum in response, pulling his eyes from the road to take in your outfit. "You look really good in that."

"Really?" You were taken aback by his compliment. "Thanks babe, I got this in Japantown."

He nodded, looking at you again and piecing together more of your outfit with each passing glance. It was a spaghetti strap dress with a deep V down between your breasts.

A bit of drool pooled in River's mouth, recognizing your dress as his favorite color: red, at his favorite length to make your legs look a beautiful mile long. To make your thighs look like a goddamn present.

River's hand slipped over the center console, tenderly caressing your elbow and down to your thigh before sinking his rough fingers on the inside of your supple skin.

"Eyes on the road, mister," you teased, not stopping River's wandering hand as it inched up under your dress.

You felt like a new rush, letting your boyfriend get further under dress before his curious fingers tickled your clit.

River's eyebrows shot up to his hairline, yoyoing a gulp in his throat. "Without panties, V? You're killing me."

You pressed your cheek to your shoulder with a flirty flutter of your eyelashes. "Panty lines were not part of the outfit, Riv."

He hid a frustrated groan as you held your hand over his, guiding his middle finger into your pussy. River's cock was truly fighting against his tight jeans now, driving an ache through his body at the thought of being inside you again.

You shrugged a strap of your dress down, freeing your hardened nipple to full view. River's foot took hold of his excitement, pumping a little more acceleration into the truck and jerking forward almost prematurely.

You giggled, taking your other hand to roll your nipple between your fingers. You angled your hips out, letting River sink his finger further into you.

"God...dammit," he growled, wringing the steering wheel while his eyes fought to stay on you. At least take in more of you.

River was getting to a very different track in his mind, already chastising himself for bringing his sweet distraction. All he was doing was tempting himself.

His eyes scanned the rest of the road as you two were readying to veer onto the highway. River saw an opportune empty stretch of dirt just under the ramp and pulled his truck off of the road.

Putting the car in park, River climbed over the center console and expertly pulled the passenger seat back to wedge himself between your legs.

"River," you mewed as he drew his finger out then back in slowly.

River pressed his lips to the inside of your thigh, then the other, switching back and forth in a zig-zag pattern before carefully catching your dress on the top of his head.

You giggled softly, pulling your dress further up to allow him more access. River rested his chin on the edge of the leather seat, staring at your pussy as if seeing a new haven.

He withdrew his finger in awe, pulling a trail of wetness along with a trace of his housed cum still inside you. River's eyes flicked up at you, almost imagining you as the sudden mother of his children.

But that'd have to be another day. He teased his tongue out at your clit, using his free hand to drape your leg over his shoulder.

You stared down at him, silent but panting again, ready to be taken by this insatiable man. You folded the back of your hand to your mouth, holding back an unearned moan before crying out at his lips closing around your clit and suckling at it.

You saw stars, raising your hand from your nipple to hold the back of his shaved head. You tilted your head back to the cabin, allowing him to sink his middle finger back into you before adding his index finger.

"River, shit, we're gonna be late," you whined, your other leg perching on his thigh and your ankle twitching.

River grumbled against your clit as your platform heel brushed against his steel cock in his pants. He was about to explode if you didn't first.

You were hot and cold all at once, gasping at all the stimulation you were receiving before you felt your body twitch involuntarily. You came quickly on River's fingers, on his face, soaking his chin and throat with wetness.

You seized in the passenger seat, your fingers on River's head twitching while you stretched your body out and tried to roll out of his hold. You were loud in the cabin, a breathy, nasty moan echoing against the glass and making music to River's ears.

River glanced up your body at you, earning your sultry cum-glazed stare back at him. Maybe now you'd both behave a bit better, after just a little bit more release.

He folded his tongue up, resting your abused clit against it for you to see. Your eyes rolled at the vulgar scene, feeling yourself coming again from the sight. Your pussy pulsed as River's fingers pulled from its wake, leaving you a chilled, sloppy mess.

"On to business," River growled, climbing up to you and kissing your lips, allowing you to taste yourself.

You caught your breath after his lips left you, licking your lips to savor the wet from him. Johnny materialized in the backseat as you waded your dress to its full length, adjusting your dress strap again.

"Damn V, what're you doing to him? This man's a dog, right now." Johnny leaned forward to stare at River while he pulled himself together again. "You've got this cop lapping out of your cunt as we speak."

You rolled your eyes at Johnny, reaching across the console to grab the back of River's neck. You pet carefully, circling your fingers along his shadowed hairline.

"You okay, baby?" you asked, leaning forward again to kiss his cheek.

River hummed in response, eventually turning and catching your lips again. "I'm fine, V."

Your hand drifted down from River's neck, petting the fur of his signature jacket before snaking your hand under it to his shoulder. "Why don't we just go home? Make some dinner?"

River grinned then, staring down at you. "Trynna get me all by yourself? Not 'till the work's done."

"This dog's not only ragged, but he's still with a goddamn bone. Just when I thought I could find solace with the cop."

You sneered carefully over River's shoulder and whispered a response to Johnny: "What, with your proclivity for pussy?"

"You know it, princess." Johnny sat back, crossing his legs and stretching across the backseat.

River kept in mind that he would never cross you. Not that he would, you were getting wormed into his heart and hurting you would only hurt himself. However, if by any small chance he fucked up, River would not want to be on your bad side.

The way you carried yourself into the club was something more than a threat. You were like a flame with legs, your dress slinking on your body with each movement you made.

He was surely going to make your night when you two got home. River was imagining it now, carefully peeling your dress to the floor but urging you to keep your heels on while he fucked you so thoroughly that you wouldn't be able to roll over afterwards.

He gulped, blinking out of his thoughts and trailing close behind you before catching up and draping his arm over your shoulders. River was still hard from mouth-and-finger-fucking you in the truck but he hid it with a shift of his waist and folding his hand in his pocket over his crotch.

"You're killing me, V," River whispered directly into your ear, straightening up to look around the crowded nightclub.

"Focus, River," you urged, scanning the same floor for his mark.

River pulled back from you. "Part for recon, circle the floor, find him, meet me at the circle booth."

You nodded, pulling away from River to saunter through the dance floor, offering a few sways of your hips in effort to blend in. River did the opposite, stopping by the bar to lean against it and order two drinks while his eyes stayed in the air.

You scanned at the area, catching onto the security camera. With a quick hack, you took control of the camera and double scanned the floor, then managed to shut it down.

River stood upright after paying for the drinks, grabbing both glasses and making his way back to you. Meeting in front of the booth, River offered a glass to you, held his hand out for you to sit then scooted in after you.

"Anything?" he asked, draping his arm over the back of the booth seat, placing his glass on the table before carefully swishing it about.

You shook your head, glancing over his shoulder then returning your attention to him. "I think we might've missed your mark, baby."

River hid a deep groan, disguising it with turning away. He wanted to wait a bit longer, just to be sure. "Let's just sit tight a bit."

"Sure, Riv. I'm following your lead." You carefully ran your hand along River's thigh, purposefully avoiding riling the man up again.

River raised a brow at your hand, then at you. "Would you like to dance?"

You nodded, taking a long sip of your drink before pressing to River to urge him out. "Come on."

River slid out of the booth, allowing you out. You grabbed his hand and led him to the dance floor, making a bubble big enough for the two of you.

He held his hand holding yours over your head, twirling you slightly before you pressed your back to his front. Even in heels, you were still towered by River. Your back was plastered close to his chest, his shoulder just behind your head.

Carefully, he rested his hands to your hips, attempting to hold you just far enough from his waist while keeping his attention around the room. With a glance up at him, you wiggled a bit closer and felt River's hardened stud in his pants.

You gulped, your eyes fluttering at the feeling of him. How he slotted down your back, resting firmly against your ass. You hid a groan, leaning further into River, guiding his hands up and down your body to acknowledge you once again.

River glanced down, catching onto your lengthened neck then down to see under your dress. He turned away, but couldn't help a second glance, pulling you a bit closer.

River teased his middle finger up the middle of your body, dragged it back down and caught onto the deep neckline of your dress. "God, you are addicting."

You smirked up at him, moving to the transcendental thrum of the music. "I love you too."

River smiled, turning to rest his lips to your temple. "I do love you, V. But right now I wanna fuck you 'til you can't stand," he breathed deeply into your ear, his voice a whole octave below the music and pulling a deep chill through your body.

Your knees faltered an inch, making you drop further into River and earning his hands a bit firmer against your thighs. "I want to do it right here, on the dance floor."

You gulped, your pussy quaking at the utterance of his intrusive thought. "River..." you groaned, wedging your hand between your ass and his hot crotch.

River hissed, drawing his head back to look at the ceiling. Your hand started massaging at his cock through his pants, feeling along the zipper it was pressed against and up to feel his tip now nested near his front pocket.

"V, fuck, please," River begged softly into your ear, attempting to grind you against him for a bit more relief. "Let's go back to the truck."

"What about your mark?" You asked, entranced by the lights and River, feeling a new sense of high.

"Fuck 'im, I can catch him another night," River tried, shaking his head at the thought of a deadline. "Maybe without my girl next time."

"You're missing out. You need the best merc on the job," you said with a grin.

River was in your ear again. "She's alright, she's a huge fucking distraction. All I want to do is be all over her."

You backed further into River, pressing your hand tighter to his cock. "I'm sure she wants the same from you."

River was never one to turn down an open opportunity; he grabbed your hand and made his way to the back of the nightclub to one of the open champagne rooms.

The lights were a mixture of purple-blue, a leather rounded couch circling a brass stripper pole. River nodded you inside, closing the pneumatic door behind him and locking it with a swipe of his thumb.

You managed to sit casually on the stage of the stripper pole, antsy in hips as your hands held the edge of the stage and squeezed your body in tight.

River shrugged off his jacket and draped it over the back of the couch, leaned over it to clasp his hands and stare at you. He narrowed his eyes, licked his lips as his eyes dragged down your body in a silent mapping.

Your breath hitched, feeling River's eyes drag over your skin as if it were his goddamn tongue. You slowly parted your legs to let your boyfriend get a good look.

River drew in his bottom lip in a hiss, rounding the couch to sit down. He glanced around the room to see the remote camera in the corner.

"V," he nodded in the direction of the camera.

You did as you were silently told to, shutting off the camera before pulling yourself up on the stage and standing. You stood in front of the pole, watched carefully as River undid his belt and pants; he unfurled his hardened cock from his pants, almost reddened at the tip.

He tilted his head back, allowing his cock to stand attention as he draped his arms over the back of the couch. "Valerie, come fuck me."

You felt a distinct trickle start down your leg, already inviting River to come. Your knees held a wobble, remembering how you couldn't stay standing after fucking in the shower.

With a large step, you came down from the stage and slipped your dress from your shoulders. It slinked down to the floor in a heap which you stepped out of.

River held his breath, staring at your naked body towering in black strappy heels. It was just as sexy as wearing your dress. He brought his fingers to your hip, petting soft circles that you felt were the biggest tease of the night.

He dropped his fingers to your clit, rubbing in rough circles that caused you keen at the ceiling. River's cock twitched at the sound, leaking pre-cum at the sight.

Your breasts heaved as his fingers finally stopped; his hand gripped at the back of your knee and pulled you onto his lap, immediately caressing his cock to your entrance.

"You're so quiet," River whispered as your other knee followed suit outside of his waist. "Where's that confident V?"

You shook your head, already driving that thought to the back. You were all over him in an instant, crossing your arms behind his neck and talking against his lips.

"I don't wanna talk, I want to fuck," you whispered against him. Your breasts pressed to his chest as your pussy slicked against his cock.

River agreed, his hands guiding up to your hips and holding onto them, letting you take the lead. You backed up on his cock, allowing his tip to pop into your entrance until you sank down on him.

The two of you almost collapsed at the collided feeling, almost euphoric to another level. River hid a grimace, already fighting to come inside.

You wiggled your hips forward, feeling his tip ring at your g-spot. "River..."

River nodded, holding your hips then caressing down to your ass, massaging at the flesh. You curled into him, unable to hide your excitement from his touch.

You were suddenly needy for all of River, pressing into him like the two of you would coalesce better than you and Johnny. Not that you would truly want to because you'd miss this feeling.

River shifted you impossibly close, slowly easing you up on his cock then back down and earning a pitchy moan from you.

"I love being inside you," River offered back against your lips; you nodded to his statement, shifting your hips once to agree.

He eased you up and down again, soft bounces against his thighs until he finally came inside you and chastised himself for not holding out.

You were still enjoying yourself and River wasn't done with you either. He turned you around on his hips, dragging you to the floor with your ass firmly against his thighs.

He was then a full dog in heat. River pulled off his shirt, peeling his pants further down his thighs to press his skin to yours.

He leaned over you, peppering your shoulders as his hand reached around to your clit. "Come on, V, make it creamy for me."

Your knees melted apart at the order, wanting to come on his hot cock while the orgasm began to war on your lower back. You wanted to cry out River's name, catching your breath in gulps while his cock now leisurely pumped into you.

"V," he sang into your ear, your chest heaving as if you were about to cry. "I want to make that pussy feel good, baby."

You arched your back into him, wanting to roll on the dirty ground with him. Instead you came so hard between his fingers and cock, your body bowing away from him to lock and shake from the heat.

River praised you softly, trailing his lips down your spine before softly pulling out. You felt the strength in your body leave when River left you.

Your knees buckled like a fawn's, holding your hips up to the cool air as River's cum slugged out of you. Your peace was short lived, however, as River took grip of the back of your thigh and turned you on your back, on the floor.

"You are so beautiful," River said with a gasp of awe, leaning over you to tenderly kiss your cheeks. "I'm sorry to make you cry."

You furrowed your brows at River, raising up on your elbows to follow him off of you. "What do you mea--"

It was realized too late when River's mouth clamped over your clit. You saw stars yet again, this time a full fledged galaxy as you tried to worm out of River's now clasping arms around your waist, his hands holding your leaking pussy open while he gulped at your clit.

River's name on your lips then could not be helped. It was a vulgar utterance, like his entire title was a curse word and blessing at once. Your hands went for your breasts, staring down at River planted firmly between your slick thighs.

You watched as he licked away from your clit, offered lining of your lips before returning to obliterate the sensitive nerves in your nub.

The words you said then were not meant to be hurtful, trying to stave off the electric coiling that was whipping up in your body. "Fuuuck you River, fuuuuck you."

The pain definitely tucked behind the pleasure, all of your body stung and spent though River was huffing and humming and licking.

Your knees bucked up, ready to squeeze River's perfect head away for the feeling to finally stop but it backfired and you were keening to the ceiling, your back arching with electric whips. Your ankles kicked out over River's broad back, your body actually deflating with the amount of energy you lost. Your eyes welled up with mist, hating and loving everything you felt at the moment.

River dropped your hips then, pulled himself off of you and leaned over to kiss you. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," he repeated soothingly, his hands carefully petting your hips.

You shook your head, your face a lemon of defeatedness and euphoria. "Be lucky I love you."

River grinned softly, kissing your cheek then neck and shoulder.

Getting dressed again was a whirlwind, attempting to step into your dress while your knees were definitely recalibrating. River watched the spectacle from the couch, already dressed and clean to the best of his ability. Your wetness was not something to be played off so simply, leaving a large spot directly over his zipper.

It chafed against his cock and he was almost ready to go again. When you finally managed enough stability to walk out, River draped his coat over your shoulders then followed you out.

As the two of you started for the front door, you noticed a familiar man slide in past security. You glanced up at River, silently asking him if that was who he thought it was.

"Yeah, I see him," River said, redirecting you to sit back in the circular booth you occupied previously. "It's gonna be a long night, V."

#river ward romance #river ward x v #river ward cyberpunk #river ward #v cyberpunk #female v #cyberpunk #cyberpunk 2077 #fan work #fanfic #bakeneko

[elvenbeard]

Blank Canvas

Cyberpunk 2077 Fanfic Summary: Mr. B has called, and V and and Kerry follow his invitation. The man who claims he holds the solution to V's problem in his hands, has yet to deliver the proof and keep his word... This is truly V's last shot at a long and happy life, and he sacrificed so much to get here... it better be worth it. (Post-Sun-Ending, mostly canon-compliant, Chapter 8/?, 7542 words, Kerry Eurodyne/V, content warning for mild body horror and canonical disgustingness! - notes at the end >> Previous Chapter >> Read from the Beginning

V’s Kenshin tech pistol rested heavy in his lap. The sharp, cold metal ridges of the word “arasaka” engraved into the barrel bit his tracing fingertips. His eyes were pinned to the building not far ahead, casting an ominous shadow on them in the late afternoon light.

“Got the sneakin’ suspicion we’ll lose contact as soon as you go in,” Rogue said on the holo, “So if I don’t hear back from you within an hour…”

“Send in the cavalry,” V chuckled, as did Rogue on the other end of the line. She sighed.

“Don’t think you gotta worry as much as ya do. They’re shady motherfuckers… but that’s what’s gonna be your protection. They wouldn’t wanna draw the attention hurting you would get ‘em… and even more so, fuckin’ Eurodyne.”

“Good point,” V said, but he couldn’t quite shake the impression that Rogue herself wasn’t so sure about this, deflecting, relativizing a little too much. She’d been in this business more than thrice the time he had, knew what she was talking about. Usually. But even she didn’t know more about these people than V did.

“Ya really think it’s a good idea to take him along?” she asked after a short pause.

V kept his eyes straight ahead, to not give Kerry, on the driver’s seat next to him still, any indication that they were talking about him.

“Well, what do you think?” he said in a tone as neutral as he managed.

“That he’s almost as fuckin’ stubborn as Johnny,” Rogue said, “I get it, really do. Still… Y’know what happened last time I took a rockerboy to a gig.”

“Yeah…”

This knowledge, this memory, was exactly why V did not want Kerry here with him, amongst many other reasons practical, logical, and probably also irrational.

“I’m not sayin’ that lightly,” she said, “But be careful. He might be doin’ this for you, and it could make all the difference. But they sure as fuck know he’s your biggest weakness while you’re in there together. They’re not gonna hesitate to use that against you if they gotta.”

There was a short, heavy pause.

“C’mon now, go, kid,” Rogue then said, ordered almost, “Lemme know how it went… And don’t worry ‘bout the Afterlife. We’ll cope with not havin’ ya around a little while longer.”

“Still not a fan of my optimization plans, hm?” V grinned.

“Fuck off. And move your ass. I’m not gonna come over and kick it for ya.”

She ended the call and V sighed.

“So… she got any final words of wisdom?” Kerry asked, fingers gently drumming on the steering wheel. They had swapped cars at home, and with what Rogue had said just now V wondered if it might not have been better after all to use Kerry’s Aerondight to get here… But then again, if shit hit the fan in some way, he didn’t want any more unnecessary negative attention drawn to him.

“Not really,” V shook his head, “Nothin’ I didn’t think of already at least.”

“Told ya so,” Kerry shrugged, pulling out his cigarettes at the same time. He only paused when he noticed V’s stern stare.

“Ah, fuck,” he mumbled and then got out of the car. They had not only swapped cars, but also changed clothes quickly while at the penthouse. As he slipped from the driver’s seat, Kerry’s black bomber jacket rode up briefly, revealing the gun tucked into the waistband of his cargo pants.

“You shouldn’t do that,” V said as he got out himself, “Posers in action films keep their gun in their pants. In the real world that’s gonna get you shot in the ass faster than you think.”

Out of reflex V closed the passenger side door with his left elbow, flinching at the pain shooting through his shoulder and chest. He took a deep breath, then adjusted his own gun holster worn snugly under his coat.

“Fiiine,” Kerry sighed, lit cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, and he put the gun into his jacket’s pocket. Not ideal still, but better. V smiled at him, and then slowly turned to look down the short, narrow side street they were parked in. They were close to the Santo Domingo district border, in the middle of the industrial area at the edge of the city. The location coordinates Mr. B had sent him laid not far ahead. A new, sleek white building, curved and modern in design, rose at the center of what he remembered to be factory grounds formerly. V guessed it around seven stories tall and it was far from imposing, a little bit lost on the large lot even, but it blended in well with the surrounding corpo complexes. The entire compound was fenced in. V spotted cameras and security turrets near the reinforced entrance gate. No security staff though, not even mechs or drones, much to his surprise. Or maybe they were simply not out in the open, or cloaked, or, or, or...

“I’d like to have a short look around before goin’ in,” V said, turning back to Kerry, “You wanna wait here?”

“I’d rather tag along,” he said, then added, “If I’m not in the way.”

Kerry’s tone was off, he stood slightly hunched over, as if to make himself smaller.

“You’re not,” V quickly said, forcing a smile as he reached out to tug on his sleeve briefly. Kerry really wouldn’t be a bother for some casual scouting ahead of time. He might even notice things V didn’t. Four eyes, and all that.

“I’m just asking ‘cause I’m still not sure what to really expect. Give you the chance to back out, y’know?”

“V, how many more times do I gotta tell you you’re stuck with me?” Kerry asked sternly, then slowly started walking towards the compound and V followed. As soon as they’d reached the end of the side street though, he hesitated and turned back around, downplaying his uneasiness with a brief smirk and cocky shrug, as if to say, “after you”.

“Let’s go for a short walk around the block,” he decided, nodding to have Kerry follow him around the corner. To look around, and to maybe walk off some of their nervous energy.

They headed along the main road in northern direction, “Francis Street” said the small buzzing signs at the intersection. The building was to their left now, and they’d slowly surround it counterclockwise. Kerry stayed close, V had his scanners active and investigated the security setup, looking for weaknesses in the system or structure, and anything out of the ordinary they could potentially use to their advantage.

“Isn’t it, dunno… suspicious to walk around out in the open like this?” Kerry asked shorty before they’d turn around the first corner, “I mean, not tellin’ ya how to do your job, but…”

“No, you’re not wrong,” V said, “But this is not a stealth job. If we had to sneak in quietly, I would’ve parked the car somewhere else to begin with. Do the reconnaissance from further away, over a longer timeframe. But since they expect me, and we got an access token…”

“Then… why make the effort?” Kerry wondered.

“Can’t hurt to know what we’re up against if something goes wrong,” V said, “I don’t know this area well, and it’s good to have a rough layout of everything in mind at least. ‘specially since the place doesn’t seem to have regular windows.”

They stopped briefly on the northern side of the compound and V nodded into the direction of the building. So far, he had noted nothing out of the usual, nothing he wouldn’t have expected in one way or another.

“See that?” he pointed to a gate on the side of the building blending in so well with the exterior walls, it was barely visible without a scanner, “Could be a garage entrance, and going by the size it’s big enough for a small tank. Could even lead underground. And the lights on the roof, the colors, and the way they’re arranged, suggest an AV landing pad. But can’t tell from here if there’s one there right now or not. No big communication towers or anything though, so this is all pretty closed off, which fits their secrecy and posing as an independent little lab with no ulterior motives. The security tech I’ve seen so far… all Arasaka, even if they removed the branding for most of it to make it less apparent.”

No wonder, his former employer’s name wasn’t well-liked in Night City once again.

“Huh,” Kerry pondered V’s explanations for a moment, looking the building up and down, “Wouldn’t even know where to start, like… sure, there’s security turrets and cameras but, what to do with that info…”

V had been uncertain about whether or not he wanted to… but in the end, he was convinced that Mr. B would expect him to check out their security upfront.

“Can you keep an eye out for a moment?” V asked, “Just out here on the street. Make a note of anyone passing by or giving us weird looks.”

“What’re you up to?” Kerry wanted to know, shoulders tense, but voice relaxed.

“Check the cameras. Just a minute or so, don’t wanna push it,” he said with a grin, hacking into the CCTV at the same time. His vision blurred and he gained control of the camera nearest to their position. It was attached to the corner post of the fence surrounding the compound.

“Oookay…” Kerry said reluctantly, and through the lens V saw themselves, Kerry looking around with his hands in his pockets, surely clinging to his iron.

“Don’t worry,” he tried to soothe him, “I’ll be quick and then we continue.”

The cameras on the outside of the building were all part of a separate closed-circuit network, and V couldn’t find an easy way to gain access to any internal systems. Not that he had expected to. He switched through the various cameras, most of them on the fences, around the gate, then surprisingly one surveying from the rooftop. He panned it around.

“Huh, no AV on the roof,” he informed Kerry, “Also, nothing out of the usual… apart from all security completely automated it seems. No illusive private security firm like the Peralezes had to deal with…”

He logged out of the system again, blinking a few times until his optics had refocused.

“Let’s move on.”

They completed the rest of their lap around the compound in a little less than ten minutes overall. There was not much to discover, nothing out of the usual, and V had to shut up the nagging voice in the back of his head complaining that all he did was procrastinate the inevitable.

“Last chance,” he said quietly, turned to Kerry, who shook his head sternly, eyes narrowed and dark.

“The only way I’m not going in there with you ’s them draggin’ me back out by my feet.”

V more mouthed than said “okay” in response, but still his whole body screamed to put Kerry back into the car and lock the doors until this was over. Instead, he stepped down from the curb onto the dusty tarmac. Crossing the few yards now separating them from the compound entrance seemed to be an insurmountable distance, while with each step V’s dread grew.

The gate at the center of the lot was heavy black metal, just like the fence. V recognized security scanners embedded into the floor. A couple of signs attached warned of trespassing and lethal force being used, the usual markings one could find to the entrance of every corporate- or government owned facility like this. Only now V finally noticed the nameplate above the entrance. It was somewhat subtle, fine silver letters engraved into white marble-like material, mirroring the design of the building.

“Beyond?” Kerry muttered as if he’d read V’s mind. V glanced at him also reading the sign, then Kerry looked at him.

“Heard worse names for a startup,” V shrugged. Very faintly below the “Beyond” a tagline stated “Technologies” in a spaced out, heavier font.

“Guess time will tell if they’re beyond awesome or beyond awful,” Kerry muttered, and V chuckled.

“Beyond belief, maybe?” he said, and Kerry groaned.

“Beyond belief how many bad puns this will lead to…”

They both snickered, briefly forgetting why they were here, that there was nothing really to joke about just yet.

V looked around for an intercom or something comparable, but there was nothing.  Security cameras, yes, but even as they finally stood right in front of the gate, there seemed to be no immediately visible way inside, nothing happened.

“Hello?” he asked out loud, for lack of a better idea in the moment, his heart beating in his throat, “I’m here… For Mr. B?”

Nothing.

Kerry stepped a little closer, hands still in his pockets, and looked around, over his shoulder, at V.

“Gonna try and call him,” V said after a couple of moments, but then a soft crackle of static somewhere above their heads made them both look up.

“Welcome,” a voice said. Not Mr. B’s as far as V could tell, probably an automated receptionist. He still couldn’t tell where exactly it was coming from though, it seemed to be all around them with no discernible source. Not loud or otherwise attention-drawing, only just so they could hear it.

“Please step into the scanner,” the voice ordered.

V did as he was told, somewhat reluctantly, and he flinched slightly when suddenly Kerry grabbed his hand. Not to hold him back, just to hold on as he followed. The scanner activated, blue lights flashing and surrounding them completely for a few seconds.

“Firearms detected,” the voice said, “Combat cyberware detected.”

“A cyberdeck is classified as a weapon now?” V muttered under his breath as the scan completed.

“Ezaki, Vincent, 28. Fixer, Afterlife-Merc. Ex-Agent, rank III, Arasaka Counterintelligence. ‘King of the Afterlife’, wanted in Night City for - …”

“The fuck, you wanna yell my whole biography across the street?” V complained and almost simultaneously Kerry also started berating the voice.

“Shit, how do you even know - …”

They looked at each other, as the voice continued. Then it dawned on V. He only heard it in his head.

“Fuck me sideways…” Kerry muttered quietly, coming to the same conclusion, “That’s not creepy at all...”

“Scan complete,” the voice said before they could even recover from their realization, “Token verified. Visitor access granted.”

There was a loud click and a thud, and then, like an ancient creature awaking from its slumber, the massive gate crawled open.

“What the fuck was that?” Kerry asked, both of them hesitating to enter.

“Intimidation tactics,” V said sternly.

“If that’s how they treat their guests I don’t wanna know how they treat their enemies,” Kerry mumbled. V wondered if concepts like “friends” and “enemies” really mattered all that much to these people.

“Stay behind me a bit, just in case,” he said, still convinced that any moment now someone would open fire, or snatch Kerry away from him, that he was not wanted here after all. Reluctantly Kerry let go of his hand as they entered the compound, the gate rattling shut behind them again. Mr. B had sprung one of his may traps once more.

A white-tiled path wound its way between coarse dark gravel towards the entrance of the building, framed by freshly planted, synthetic bonsai trees that were all a bit too uniform, too perfect. V and Kerry were not even halfway there when the tall black entrance doors slid open, revealing a sprawling hall beyond. A handful of flat steps led up and into it, and the hair on V’s neck stood up when they stepped inside.

“Got a bad feeling,” Kerry uttered out loud what V was thinking.

Describing the entrance hall as imposing was an under- and overstatement at the same time, somehow. Its dimensions were certainly breathtaking, encompassing at least half of the building’s height and width. A smartglass ceiling projected the endless night sky above them, cosmic clouds swirling between sparkling stars and far solar systems, the logo “Beyond Technologies” floating among the digital nebulas. The darkness of the ceiling was reflected in the black marble flooring, while the indirectly lit walls were white. Decorative silver lines crawled between earth below and sky above, reminiscent of circuit boards. “We reach for the stars” seemed to be the message here, and the first impression was certainly something. Apart from that though, the room was disappointingly empty, almost as if the budget had run out mid-furnishing. No desks, chairs, decorations. No people, either, and the security systems, which certainly existed, were well-hidden. On the inside the building was just as devoid of actual life as its surroundings.

The only outstanding architectural element was a large glass tube housing two separate elevator shafts at the center of the room, the only other visible ways in and out. Just as V had finished the thought, an elevator came into sight from above, within the familiar face of Mr. B.

“That’s him,” V whispered, and Kerry shuffled, whether with unease or to ready himself he was not certain.

The elevator stopped on their level, the door slid open elegantly. Mr. B, dressed in a white blazer combined with sleek, silvery pants today, stepped out towards them.

“So glad you could make it this soon,” he said, tone overly friendly, “Although you look somewhat more roughed-up than Saturday…”

“Nothin’ to do with the gig,” V quickly deflected.

“Didn’t think so,” Mr. B said with a nod. He slowly, steadily walked towards them, but stopped retaining about three yards of distance – respectful or distrustful? Arms behind his straightened back, he held his head high, and blue glowing eyes looked V up and down briefly before wandering to Kerry.

“Mr. Eurodyne,” he hinted a bow, “A true honor and pleasure to meet another Night City legend in person.”

V half expected a snarky response like “wish I could say the same” or “can we just skip the pleasantries and get down to business”, but in fact, Kerry remained quiet. V looked over his shoulder, just to make sure he was still there.

“So, you’re the guy claimin’ he can save V’s life?” Kerry then finally said, the tiniest, most gut-wrenching tremble accompanying his last few words.

Mr. B’s smile grew slightly wider.

“I’m not just claiming it,” he said, oozing confidence.

“How?” Kerry asked promptly, “’Cause - …”

Mr. B raised his hand to stop him, and Kerry scoffed.

“I think it is easier to show you than to explain,” he said, “Follow me, please.”

He half-turned and elegantly gestured towards the elevator. V and Kerry exchanged a quick glance. V could sense Kerry’s nerves, his nausea about this whole situation. Every cell in V’s own body warned him about stepping into that elevator and yet… Was that Johnny’s lingering influence, his aversion to corporations and slimy bastards like Mr. B, or really V’s own instinct speaking? Also, Mr. B seemed surprisingly relaxed about Kerry even being here… V had expected more of a resistance, more hoops to jump through. And now they were invited in just like that?

Mr. B led the way and V and Kerry felt they had no other option but to follow, as if they were being pulled by an invisible leash. There was no way for them to speak, communicate what to do if something went wrong. V did a quick scan of their surroundings as they walked, noting that there really were no doors beyond the entrance and the elevators in this whole cathedral of a room – was this really built just to show off, impress the – presumably – rare visitors?

“After you,” Mr. B said and V stepped into the wide, circular elevator, closely followed by Kerry, glued to his side.

“I know everything is a bit bleak still out here,” Mr. B then said with a glance over his shoulder, right as he joined them. V shivered.

“Not at all, it is impressive,” he flattered, “But yes, you mentioned this building is brand-new?”

Blue-Eyes nodded.

“You are among the first of our… clients to walk within these walls,” he said, “For lack of a better term.”

The doors slid shut with precision. V couldn’t see a control panel, and yet the elevator just seemed to know where they were headed, ascending towards the galaxy ceiling, and then passing through. Remote controlled, probably. Blue-Eyes had to be stock-full of chrome capable of little tricks like that, nothing that impressed V too much just yet.

“Who are your other ‘clients’, apart from people you invest in,” V inquired instead. Unable to hide his curiosity he deliberately used Mr. B’s terminology, even though he’d always hated to be treated as some corporation’s investment. Kerry’s stinging stare was like a knife to his throat, but V kept his eyes on Mr. B as they ascended slowly. The elevator shaft was only see-through on the ground level, further up the futuristic magic of it all was somewhat diminished, replaced with run-of-the-mill skyscraper interior aesthetics.

Mr. B turned to look at V, smile as piercing as his eyes.

“So far it is only people we invest in – in one way or another,” he said.

The elevator came to a halt, the doors slid open again, revealing a long, bright corridor that screamed “lab”. There were doors left and right, but V could not make out identifying markers, nameplates, or anything else to give an indication of what lay behind them as they followed Mr. B to the end of the hallway. The silence, apart from their echoing footsteps, was thick, and V counted the doors, memorizing how far apart they were and approximated how long it would take to run the entire distance to the elevator, how quickly they would be able to find cover.

Mr. B opened the tall white door ahead of them. They entered a large office, its shape followed the curve of the building’s exterior walls, and V roughly knew where they were now. Somewhere above the large garage gate they’d seen from the outside.

The room was about twice the size of V’s old Megabuilding H10 apartment. The entirety of the curved wall was covered in smartglass displaying once more the name “Beyond” on a minimalistic, slightly animated white and silver background. It provided enough illumination to bathe the whole room in soft, almost-natural light. A large white desk sat roughly at the back center of the room, a modern art piece of its own volition. There were two comfortable armchairs for visitors and a large office chair behind it, all white leather. In fact, the whole room was so bright, so white, so immaculately clean that it made V dizzy. As if he’d walked right into the afterlife – the literal one this time, not the bar. And again, apart from the desk and seating, there was nothing else in here. Some modular shelves built into the walls that weren’t covered in screens, but no decoration, no sliver of personality. Smooth, cold, bright, blinding, corpo-chic… in a way, it did make sense after all that this was Mr. Blue-Eyes’ office.

“Please, have a seat,” Mr. B said as he sat down in the office chair. V and Kerry obliged, Kerry still with his hands in his pockets, slumping back, legs spread wide, right one slightly bouncing. He never took his eyes off Mr. B. The latter pulled up a holographic screen in front of him, top-notch tech if V had ever seen any. Arasaka’s collapse was probably what had made the setup of this lab possible in the first place – certainly the security measures, so why not the tech on the inside as well? In a way, V was suddenly thrown back into Jenkins’ office, the many lengthy private meetings either with just V alone or the other agents on his level invited.

“I take it Mr. Eurodyne has been brought up to date on why you’re here today?” Mr. B then asked, catching V completely off guard. Blue-Eyes tapped around on his screen briefly before leaning back in his chair, legs crossed, and hands folded expectantly. Only now Kerry briefly glanced at V.

“Wish I was being brought up to date still if I’m being completely honest,” V said sternly, “I’ve kept my word, no mention of what I did for you until it was done.”

“Who else knows?” was the counter-question.

“No-one that wasn’t directly involved,” V replied fast and truthfully.

Blue-glowing eyes stared him down intensely, certainly equipped with the tech to read intention and recognize lies. But V was a good liar, and in this case, for once, he even told the truth, had nothing to hide. After a couple of moments, Mr. B’s shoulders relaxed somewhat, but V’s heart continued to run a marathon in his chest.

“I’ve left him in the dark long enough. Your turn now,” he added sternly.

Mr. B slightly tilted his head, and his smile returned.

“You remember our conversation at the Afterlife?” he asked, “I promised you something beyond your wildest imagination… An instant and permanent solution to your medical issues.”

He cleared his throat briefly, then continued. V had to force himself to relax his own posture, mirroring Blue-Eyes’ now with his legs crossed, as if they were having a nice dinner date to talk business.

“The way I see it, having known you and your condition for a while now, your problem has always been the one of an alert, bright mind, trapped in a dying body,” Mr. B said, “First it was the Relic slowly killing you, and now it’s the only thing that’s left of your life how it used to be.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” V shook his head, but he was sick to his stomach hearing what he knew deep down spelled out so clearly, with so little emotion. The doctors they’d dealt with so far had always at least somewhat tried to sugarcoat the facts, usually in medical terms. Or provided them with the same “options” Hellman had already loved to push on him, “options” to consider apart from chasing a cure that didn’t exist.

“You can sense it though, don’t you?” Mr. B continued, leaning forward slightly now, “You should, at this point. Your mind disconnecting itself, slowly but surely, from a host not fitting its specifications anymore.”

“Can you cut it out with that gross tech-jabber?” Kerry interrupted him now, “V’s not some machine, and his body is his body, not a ‘host’, for fuck’s sake.”

Mr. B briefly turned to look at Kerry, keeping up his friendly smile.

“Apologies,” he said, “I do sometimes get caught up in the technical terminology.”

“How do you know all that anyway?” V then asked, trying to maintain his relaxed posture while his head began to throb in pain once more, “The emptiness the… disconnect. Because yes. That’s how I’d put into words what I’m feeling lately. Or… not feeling, rather.”

Blue-Eyes reached out to turn around his screen for V and Kerry to see.

“We were able to get our hands on a lot of very interesting data from Arasaka’s ‘Secure your Soul’ program,” he explained, “It is far from complete, but we have access to a large database containing both simulations and clinical trials with human study participants, for both the original Relic and the Relic 2.0. With what we have, gaps were easy to approximate.”

V scanned through the data on the screen briefly, recognizing some names and information here and there from his own venture into the depths of Arasaka’s labs during that long, dark, awful night back in June.

“The 2.0 never made it to completion though,” V then said, looking up from the terminal, “I’m the first one where it… somewhat worked as intended. Failed successfully. Hellman himself said so.”

“Indeed,” Mr. B nodded, “We were able to secure many notes of Mr. Hellman’s team as well, verifying his concerns on our own time meanwhile, and reaching similar conclusions. In subjects where the Relic malfunctioned or the engram didn’t fully take, even in those otherwise most promising, there was always mentions of a growing numbness, disconnect, distance between engram and host… until the engram eventually malfunctioned and, for lack of a better word, disabled itself.”

“You mean, died,” Kerry said sternly.

“I hope you’re not implying you’ve carried on Hellman’s work…” V asked, his mind racing at the mental image of the basement levels of this building just a whiter, friendlier-looking copy of Arasaka’s labs, while containing the same or even more messed up levels of human experimentation. He did not like Mr. B’s widening, predator-like smile.

“Not in the sense you’re imagining,” he shook his head. But he did not outright deny it either.

V swallowed, he struggled to continue holding eye-contact with Mr. B, when his mind told him “Run. Now!”. Kerry looked back and forth between V and Blue-Eyes tensely, brow heavily furrowed, slowly sliding closer to the edge of his seat.

“Anders Hellman’s focus were the Relic’s architecture and the engrams themselves. Optimizing those two variables to ensure the transferred personalities were as close to their originals as possible,” Mr. B continued, “For Arasaka’s purposes that was a valid concern. Nothing worse than transferring Saburo-sama into a new host body only to have him, well… come back wrong. Not the man, the leader he is. It makes sense.”

He paused, uncrossed his legs, and got up from his chair. He turned to look at the smartglass wall behind them, the slightly pulsating “Beyond” engulfed in digital fog. Then he looked back at V.

“Your concern though, as mentioned, lies in the fact that you’re currently in the wrong kind of host body, which is actively rejecting your psyche.”

“Get to the fucking point, fucking hell,” Kerry muttered and pulled out his cigarettes.

“I’d kindly ask you not to smoke in here,” Mr. B said, tone still friendly, but he looked down on them, towered over them.

“Make me,” Kerry challenged, rummaging for his lighter at the same time, eyes electric and wild.

“Kerry,” V awkwardly placed his injured hand on Kerry’s right thigh in an attempt to soothe him. Only after staring at each other intensely for a couple of moments Kerry stopped searching for his lighter.

“I don’t like where this is going either,” V thought, hoping somehow to convey his conflicting emotions without words. He hated everything about this, but… Mr. B’s promise was his last shot at a life together. At the very least he wanted to hear all details of his offer, even if…

Kerry put his hand on V’s carefully, holding it in place. He understood.

“I know this is a lot to take in at once,” Mr. B then said, “Even more so I am glad to have you both here, as, with how close you are, my solution to your problem will certainly be a concern for each of you to consider.”

V’s stomach twisted at that implication alone. Mr. B tapped around on his screen once more, and a sudden hissing noise behind them made both V and Kerry flinch, then spin around. A previously invisible hatch in the ground slid open, steam rolling in, probably caused by the reaction of some sort of coolant with the nicely air-conditioned office. A large platform began to rise from the ground, on top of it an eerily coffin-shaped and -sized container.

“Here is my offer, my solution, my payment for you, V,” Mr. B said proudly, “And my promise for a bright future ahead.”

V’s heart and thoughts were racing. The platform came to an agonizingly slow halt, locking into place with a metallic thud. The cold steam slowly subsided, and Mr. B walked around the desk passing them, towards the container, until it sat between them. It was built from the same black metal as the gate and fence outside, as the interior of the building beneath the polished white walls and shiny screens.

“Am I gonna regret looking at this?” V asked hesitantly, still glued to his chair, as was Kerry, fingertips digging into the syn-leather.

“I think you have seen worse in your time,” Mr. B smiled, then beckoned him to come over. V rose, slowly, each movement calculated precisely. Step by step, one after the other… his feet barely obeyed him, he had to convince them to move, carry him towards this human-sized pandora’s box.

Kerry remained behind a little while longer but got up as soon as V had reached the platform.

The lid on top of the container was see-through, thick security glass, slightly covered in condensation. The interior was still clearly visible though, illuminated by the same icy light as everything in the building.

V leaned forward, daring a glimpse. He gasped, shuddered at the sight of a body laying inside. Not surprised, he was also not thrilled, but also unable to take his eyes off of it. This was not a random dead person in front of him. It appeared human at first glance, but the longer V looked the more wrong it became. It was hairless, sexless, naked, its facial features weirdly smooth and undefinable, a mannequin made to look human at best… and the worst alternatives would certainly haunt V’s nightmares in the days to come. It appeared sleeping, or dead, arms resting at its sides, its eyelash-less eyes closed. It wasn’t breathing, seemed frozen in place almost, and the container was giving off an icy cold aura.

 “What in the fuck… is that?” V finally managed to ask. Stepping away from the container he bumped into Kerry who had only just reached his side.

“Your means of survival,” Mr. B said as if they were looking at a cartoonishly colorful pill bottle, not a prop from a bad mid-last-century sci-fi horror flick.

“Sorry, but that ain’t quite cutting it as an explanation,” V said, and he was close to reaching the point of slapping the slimy smile out of Mr. B’s face. He kept his cool though, forced himself to breathe slowly.

“Motherfucker, what the hell…” Kerry hissed, now also getting a peek into the futuristic metal-casket, but he quickly withdrew again, “That a fuckin’ corpse or what?”

“What you’re seeing here is a second chance for many people in your situation, V,” Mr. B said, disregarding Kerry’s remark. He placed his hands on the rim of the container’s lid.

“People with a healthy mind that are dying of an incurable disease, whatever it may be. Let down by their own body, all options are exhausted. But they are not yet ready to give up. This is an individual, pain-free solution to live a long, healthy life, in a more natural way than any other modern therapy could offer.”

“Fuck that, nothin’ ‘bout that thing’s natural,” Kerry grumbled, and once more, Mr. B raised a hand to stop him, calm him down. Kerry glared, then he turned to V.

“You’re seeing how fucked up this is, right?”

V’s own heartbeat was so loud, he barely heard Kerry’s voice.

“This is more natural than your body is at this stage, Mr. Eurodyne,” Mr. B said, then paused briefly, “No offense.”

Kerry froze, biting his tongue certainly sharp with an angry retort.

“What exactly is it, even?” V then slowly asked, but still didn’t dare to look back inside the container, “Some kinda… RealSkinn-covered cyborg? A new kinda total body conversion, a clone, or what?”

“Neither, not quite,” Mr. B shook his head. He looked down into the coffin, bright light from within reflected in his eyes, illuminating his pale face. Then he took half a step back again and sought V’s gaze.

“This is the product of years of trial and error, research and optimization, many failures,” he began to explain, “A blank canvas comes closest maybe to what it is exactly. No conversion, but a replacement. A biological body, with slight… enhancements. It needs food, sleep, exercise, grows hair, ages, can get aroused, sick, injured, bleeds, and it will eventually die… everything a ‘natural’ body would do as well. This is not immortality, but life. The body can be pre-equipped with top-tier synthetic organs, an operating system, interface plugs, personal link, and any other cyberware the client wishes for or is used to. With the great benefit that, since the body ‘naturally’ comes with these enhancements, cyberpsychosis is almost no concern anymore, for example. On its own though it cannot survive. It needs to be equipped with a conscience first.”

“Not so ‘natural’ after all then…” Kerry muttered under his breath.

“No offense,” V said, “That’s all nice and well but…”

“You can’t see yet how this would help you in your situation?” Mr. B asked. V grinned.

“That thing’s ugly as fuck,” he said, “Adam Smasher was a beauty pageant winner in comparison.”

Mr. B chuckled, but his eyes remained coldly fixated on him.

“Can I just pick a nice faceplate to slap on, too, together with all the other fancy chrome you can stuff in there?”

“Oh, far from it, V,” Mr. B said, raising his head triumphant, “This body can be yours as much – or even more so – than your current one is.”

He walked to the lower end of the container, tapping onto a small panel there. V was momentarily scared the creepy flesh-mannequin would now wake up and emerge, to secure its spot in the top three of messed up things he’d seen this year. Instead, though, the glass panel atop the container flickered, like a screen being turned on.

“No need to be afraid,” Mr. B smiled.

“I’m not,” V quickly retorted, almost believing himself.

“Come closer, have a look.”

V swallowed, then slowly stepped forward again. When he looked in the container, his heart stopped. He looked at his own face, asleep, dead, frozen in this weird state of stasis.

“What the… a projection?” he realized as he tried to process this visual still.

“To give you an idea of what’s possible,” Mr. B nodded.

And indeed, it was still the same, blank, doll-like body, just with his face and hair projected onto it. Kerry slowly approached again as well, staring into the container speechlessly.

“The body will be yours not only in a biological sense,” Mr. B explained, “We use your DNA’s structure as a basis to shape the genetic aspects. From skin- and hair color down to individual freckles.”

The projection slightly adjusted, beginning to resemble V more and more. Describing the visuals as “bizarre” was not nearly strong enough an emotion to fit V’s thoughts and feelings in this moment.

“But we can also modify every aspect to your liking, create an ‘ideal’ you, far from what modern medicine and modifications could currently achieve in an already existing body.”

V didn’t even have to ask for clarification when the appearance of the body’s chest changed, top surgery scars gone as if they’d never existed… and its genitals definitely were different from what V was used to seeing when he looked down, when he scrutinized himself in the mirror on a bad day. He shuddered, with intrigue, horror, disgust, curiosity alike.

“You’re saying… you’re remaking my body from scratch, and ‘better’, basically…”

He barely managed to get the words out, his throat tight and dry, his stomach unhappy with the mere thought.

“Not better,” Mr. B said, marketing-voice in full action, “However you want it, whatever you wish it to be like.”

Next, V’s neck cyberware appeared on the projection, then his tattoos, in surprising detail. Even Johnny’s stupid love-heart… V didn’t want to ask or even know just how they got all of this down so accurately.

“Okay okay,” V said and stepped back from the container, before the nausea of seeing himself lying in that coffin, kind of dead-looking, got the better of him, “You got a new body for me, alright. But how do you get me in there? And…”

His breath hitched at a grim realization.

“What happens… to this body? My… real body?”

Mr. B blinked slowly, raised his eyebrows, then turned off the projection. Only the blank body base from the beginning remained in the container.

“Your new body will be more real, more you, than this one is at this stage,” he said calmly, gesturing in V’s direction, “It will be healthy, free of old trauma, and equipped with the tech to safely contain your mind and memories without the option of someone – accidentally or willingly – turning the lights off by removing the Relic from your neck slot. I hate to say it, but your current body is your greatest weakness, V, riddled with exploits. You will not need it anymore, as it is only holding you back from using your full potential.”

V's head began to spin wildly, midway through Mr. B’s explanations.

“Vince…” Kerry, who had kept himself in the background for the last couple of minutes, reached out to support him, hand firm on V’s back.

“So… what, I gotta… You’ll run me through Soulkiller again, or what?” V asked, trying to sort his racing thoughts as he spoke.

“In a way, yes,” Mr. B said, but he might as well just have punched V in the gut, “We are currently looking into creating our own version of the algorithm, a more… gentle approach. The problem of engrams created with Arasaka’s Soulkiller has always been, to more or less of a degree of severity, their emotional stuntedness. We would want to avoid a further decrease in authenticity for this transferal.”

“And my body is just… It will die?”

“It is dying this very moment,” Mr. B said, without a hint of sympathy in voice or expression, but a flat matter-of-factness striking V at the very core, “And it will take your mind along with it, if we don’t act soon.”

“Hold up, hold up,” Kerry said, his fingers digging into V’s bruised side, making him flinch, but he leaned into the touch, into Kerry for support, “Didn’t you just say you’re still working on… how to even get him into this new body?”

“Yes, and we are almost ready,” Mr. B nodded, “A few days, at most. And for the time being, we also have the option – just an option, no must – to slow down the decay. A medically induced coma, in laymen’s terms. You go to sleep in this, and wake up in your new body, without noticing anything in-between, ideally.”

“Ideally…” V repeated weakly.

“V?” Kerry said quietly, urgence in his voice. V slowly turned away from the container to look at Kerry. His eyes were wide and worried, he looked him up and down briefly. Beads of cold sweat ran down the small of V’s back, his legs were numb, his hands clammy.

“I think I need some fresh air,” was all he managed to say, trying to hold Kerry’s gaze but failing, grabbing his arm now as his head grew heavier by the minute.

“Of course. It is a lot to take in at once,” Mr. B said. With that and a loud clank the body container started to slowly disappear into the floor again, locked away behind shiny white tiling, like a well-hidden dirty little secret.

“Let me accompany you outside,” Mr. B suggested, and now it was Kerry to raise his hand at him.

“We’ll manage, thanks,” he said, mimicking Blue-Eyes’ overly friendly tone.

“As you wish,” Mr. B nodded, opening the office door for them at least, “As I said, at the latest in a few days we are ready to receive you here, but you can come in any time from now on to get the procedure started. It’s the least we can do to ensure your wellbeing for the future, V. That you even get to see a future… both of you together.”

“Sure, thanks,” V said tersely, Mr. B’s voice muffled and distant as Kerry half-dragged, half-pushed him out of the office, through the endlessly long white hallway with mystery-doors left and right. The open elevator awaited them, miraculously took them to the ground floor without them having to push any buttons or even say a word.

“We’re outta here in a moment, don’t worry. It’s all good,” Kerry said, hands cupping V’s face, but every time their eyes met, V reflexively looked away at the stinging flash of blue.

The elevator doors snapped open, and V and Kerry marched across the huge, empty, echoing entrance hall to the already open exit. The sun had almost set when they stepped outside onto the flawless path ahead, sand and street dust swirling across the courtyard. V stumbled down the steps by the entrance, almost pitched forward, breath shaky, knees trembling. For a moment he thought he’d be able to regain his composure, taking a few deep breaths… but his headache, the nausea that had been riddling him the whole time they’d spent in that building, took over. Right on Mr. B’s doorstep, between neatly trimmed fake bonsai trees, V puked his guts out onto the pristine white marble tiles.

*****************

>> Next Chapter

*****************

Notes:

Last time there was smut, and now here's the promised angst... HHHH I was really really nervous about posting this, cause we're entering straight-up sci-fi territory now and my Cyberpunk lore knowledge is not as deep as I would like it in some regards sometimes XD But yeah... V's problem is, his body's letting him down, is dying... time for a new one right? Simple! Easy!

What would you do in his situation? I'm honestly curious (as I'm unsure how I would even feel like xD)!

I hope you enjoyed reading this, I think this was the longest chapter so far... and the angst will continue for a bit next time but maybe... maybe (I'm really not 100% certain yet, depends really on how V and Kerry are gonna behave XD), we'll have a little cameo of someone coming up soon 👀

Requested Fic Update Tags:

@humberg @r3d-f0x-blog @thatinternetwanderer @localtranspigeon @xtaiyo  @kharonion  @genocidalfetus  @seeker-of-truth 💜

If you’d also like to get tagged when I post a new chapter for this fic, leave a reply on [this post] or send me a DM!

If you do not want to receive further notifications, shoot me a quick DM and I’ll take you off the list again!

#cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk 2077 fanfiction #cyberpunk 2077 spoilers #cyberpunk 2077 fanfic #cp2077 #cp2077 fanfic #cyberpunk kerry #kerry eurodyne #kerry eurodyne x v #mr. blue eyes #cyberpunk v #male v cyberpunk #male v #vincent ezaki #otp: to bad decisions #my writing #love is stored in the olive jar

[quaddmgd]

Yes it can! Got something cool to show ya.

So on a Tuesday night I was kinda stuck in the workroom, running rendering tasks, so I figured I can at least pop in a CP77 disc into the One S I have lying around. I had to make some preparations for my future Corpo AU shots and I've never played the last gen version before, so I was already excited to try it out.

I did all I wanted in about 15 minutes and decided to quickly shoot some pictures to see how they stack up against Series X (apart from lower resolution of course). Halcyon suggested that I start Nocturne Op55N1 to get some pics with Hanako. I decided to ship Corpo!Crystal with her after all (now you know). What the hell, I'm stuck here anyway, right?

So let's see what we can achieve with the most vanilla photo mode experience possible and the right mindset - in Cyberpunk 2077 v1.61 on Xbox One S.

I was wondering if I can get any shippy saturday material with such a limited set of tools. I got Crystal as close to Hanako as possible, then tried out (mostly unfitting) poses that I'd deviously cut to make them look convincing enough, similarly to my previous vanilla photo mode ventures (I have yet to post some of my favorites).

It worked well enough, even with the barrier around Hanako stopping me from getting them really close together. I created tension between them, simply by having Crystal "Eavesdrop (Left)", "Distracted Girlfriend" or "C'mere, Gonkbrain" towards Hanako.

But come on.... they had to kiss somehow.

I focused on poses that: a) have Crystal lean in any direction b) have an up/down slider to compensate for the height loss from leaning

Leaning poses made it possible to bring them even closer to each other, but it wasn't enough. No matter which one I chose, her barrier was impossible to break... or so I thought.

See, the counter is seemingly inaccessible, but jumping on any stool makes it easy to get on. Collision system tries really hard to push you off of it but, with some luck, switching photo mode on and off can stop it from happening*, let you stay on top and move freely. Now I was back using poses with up/down sliders and I quickly settled on "Off to the Races" as the one most likely to make them kiss. Luckily, the minimum slider value was IDEAL to get Crystal's lips on the same level as Hanako's. The only issue was with moving C left/right/close/far, as her collision remained in the same place she spawned - on the bar top. At this point sliders were useless, so I had to go back to gameplay to correct her position. After some trial and error I set her perfectly. Now a quick rotation towards Hanako and voila! Now they kiss! * - if your V spawns with the default starting pose - "Tabula Rasa", "What Can I Get Ya?" or "Night City Strut" - then it's a good sign

And how does it look from the outside perspective?

Yes, that's a lot of steps and time spent on a small photo shoot. The lighting is what it is, their eyes are open, Johnny The Parasite stands exactly where I'd want to place the camera, but it's still cute and it proves that creativity can get you places with vanilla photo mode. And final results can look really good, even on a base Xbox One.

Of course, photo editing software like GIMP can get you even better results. I use it to change aspect ratio of my pics, patch up any lighting/texture bugs, and sometimes for basic color correction. For the sake of clarity, I didn't use it for shots in this post. Just know it's there and it's easy to learn.

I couldn't decide whether it should be a blog post or a tutorial, so it's a blog post that goes step by step through my thought process, I guess. I might do some vanilla VP tutorials in the future, if the demand is there, but right now my job doesn't even let me finish my Legacy of Kain: Defiance playthrough, so I can't promise anything!

#cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk game #fem v #female v #shippy saturday #oc: crystal hartley #corpo au #hanako arasaka #vanilla photo mode #xbox one pics #it's as vanilla as it gets #sky is the limit if you can kiss hanako #text.qd #screen.qd

[morganlefaye79]

Can I get 34, 40, and B for all of them?

Hi Wash! Thank you for your ask! 💙

34. How hard is it for them to shake a sense of guilt? 

Valaire was an assassin and he killed many and feels guilty for every single one of them. He has problems to shake the guilt off he feels. Especially the hit on Faye's parents.

Killing goons during gigs is different to him, they know what they signed up for and he will not have sleepless night because of this filth.

Vicco killed also many people during their life, most of them to survive. They doesn't feel guilty for any of them. It was either him or them and he chose his own life is more important to himself.

Joris won't kill anyone that stays out of his way. But if you do he will be ruthless and will not have the slightest remorse.

40. How sensitive are they to their own flaws?

Valaire knows his flaws, and he hates them. He struggles accepting that no one can be perfect. He will by time though.

Vicco, does he even has flaws? Who knows? He is good in hiding them.

Whatever flaws Joris has, and he does have them, he accepts them.

B) What inspired you to create them?

I just wanted a male V in the first place when I created Valaire, and he even didn't have that name then. He also evolved much. In one of this asks I showed first versus last Valaire but there are so many more stages here:

Between the first and second picture should be another one similar to the first, but much older looking. But I couldn't find any of those for some reason. Whatever, he is my main oc and my only V. If you look closely in the second last picture Valaire has 2 cyberarms, so yes I wanted to take both his arms, but I decided it would be too cruel of me and just took one.

Vicco was first planned as a V, but during my playthrough (he was always a joytoy) I found so many things that won't work for him being V. He hated Johnny, and didn't get along with Panam, so he would only have the devils ending, he would take it, because there would be at least a small chance to live, but it is my least favorite ending. I didn't want to drop him though, and so I incorporated him into Valaire's story and extended Valaire's backstory.

Now I had the problem that Valaire was happy with Kerry, but Vicco was left behind heartbroken. None of the ingame NPC did fit for him that well and so I needed yet another oc: Joris.

Joris and Vicco weren't planned as a romantic couple, but only as best friends. (I explained this already but well, here we go:) I didn't want to do this because I know that it is difficult to have a partner who is a sexworker so I actually didn't want to go into that niche. Yes Vicco and Valaire already were there but bc this would be the past I didn't need to provide too much details. With Joris at this time being asexual it would have worked well.

But then I got sabotaged by a friend who said, but what if?

I wrote a 2 chapter what if fic, and I fell in love with them and the idea of them being a couple, or better getting together.

I changed Joris to pansexual as Valaire and Vicco and here we are.

Joris and Vicco only had minor changes in their appearance which I already showed in a previous ask so there's not much more to say there.

Joris was from the start supposed to be Valaire's twin, and Valaire would have never knew about him if he had died from the relic.

#uncommon questions #long gush with pictures #Valaire #Vicco #Joris

[neon-prison]

Crossed Wires- Ch 7

A03 link HERE

Pairing: Delamain/V

Rating: T

Taking a page out of Delamain’s book, V spent the next few days avoiding him like the plague. Well…she wasn’t technically avoiding him. There were too many jobs, too many people calling on her, and way too little time to spare for V to plant her ass on plush syn-leather seats. There were Johnny’s favors to deal with, Panam had been blowin’ her up, and every fixer and their mother in Night City suddenly remembered a gig that would ‘be perfect’ for V.  

Besides, it wasn’t as if Del didn’t have his own shit to look after. V reasoned that she wasn’t his only customer; even a longanimous AI needed a break from cleaning blood off his interiors. What had he said? That they spent an average of 6 hours a day together? Way too much. Both of ‘em needed some space. 

V held on to that belief like a lifeline, and God himself couldn’t convince her otherwise.

But it wasn’t God that came to pick her up from the Afterlife. She stood frozen in the parking lot, staring at the familiar sleek chassis of her No.21 Villeforte pulling up. It was getting a fair share of attention, the sight of the luxury cab a rarity in that seedy corner of the city. The doors popped open in silent invitation, lights flashing a greeting. Her brain had long peaced out after a tedious day of being shot at, leaving V floundering for some excuse long enough to realize her moment to delta had passed. 

The engine started, and the doors closed, a buffer between her and the overwhelming world. V settled into the passenger side,  her body having missed the luxurious interiors. “Heyyyy, Del!” she started, cringing the moment the words came out her mouth. 

“Hello, Victoria.” Delamain’s voice piped up from the speakers, courteous as always. “How are you this evening?” He turned smoothly out of Afterlife’s squalid parking lot, merging into Night City traffic with inhuman delicacy. 

Shifting in her seat, V resisted her childish urge to squirm. “I’m good. How did you know I was gonna be here?” Pretty sure she hadn’t called him, and her last gig had been spontaneous so-

“I’ve simply analyzed and cross-referenced data based on previous routes to extrapolate your most likely locations depending on the hour.” Delicate strings of code pulsed in a harried tangle for a brief second. “All as a part of the Excelsior package, of course,” he amended quickly. 

There would be a time and place to explain stalking, but V was distracted by the implication. “Am I really that predictable?” 

“There is a 96.45% chance that your next destination would be your apartment.” Delamain confirmed. Yikes.

That was a lot to unpack. Better to throw away that suitcase. Giving him the thumbs up, V cranked the radio, determined to enjoy the ride despite the tension. Wasn’t like this was some interrogation room, and It wasn’t hard to privately admit that the soundproofing buffer was a balm to stem the tide of V’s forming headache. Night city was as beautiful as ever, grime and gold glittering and weaving into a curtain of storming strings that threatened to overwhelm her. Unable to take the onslaught of sensation, V closed her eyes, still feeling the digital throb eating at the edges of her consciousness, an alarmingly common occurrence in the past few days.

Focusing on breathing, she counted the turns and bumps as they wove through traffic toward home, seeing if she could mentally map her way back. Quiet moments were rare, especially in V’s life, so she’d learned to appreciate the few she got. The music bled into white noise, and her headache subsided. After a while, Delamain turned, and V recognized her apartment's garage's familiar shift and pitch. The cab slowed, coming to a gentle halt.

Sighing, she opened her eyes and turned off the radio. Delamain had been silent throughout the ride, as companionable and accommodating a driver as ever. Maybe she’d been overthinking it, and Delamain’s reboot had written off their experience as nothing but an insignificant footnote to be logged and forgotten. Was her entire week spent in a flurry of overthinking and pointless anxiety? She gripped the handle, ready to thank her gallant friend before heading up to pass out cold for a couple of hours. 

“Del?” She asked, confused, “Are the doors… locked?” The fuck? Could he even do that?

“Victoria, forgive me, but….” Delamain spoke haltingly into the silence, clearly fighting against some ingrained protocols, the lines of his coding scrambling in tandem.

Oh boy. 

“May we speak?” 

Oh boy. 

“Haha, What about?” V asked, unconvincingly oblivious. The screens and rearview were dark, Delamain’s voice the only indicator of his presence. Was he feeling weird about it too? Good, at least it could be awkward for both of them. In the back of her mind, V started planning an exit, by Deshawn’s method, if need be.

“I would like to talk about what happened several days ago.” Del’s voice was a frown, as if he couldn’t believe she’d just forgotten. “ Are you feeling well?” It was hard to keep it up in the face of his sincerity.

“I’m good; all systems green. How about you? You good?” Her desire to ascertain his well-being overrode her embarrassment. “Nothing left over from Lilith?” 

“I am well, thank you for asking. My reboot was successful, though several subprocesses had to be rebuilt from the ground up, as it were. Some logs, while patchy, are intact.” Delamain reassured her, his avatar materializing in the rear-view, pale eyes cycling to focus on V (who very pointedly did not turn off her face-scrambler). “You were quite…thorough.” 

Embarrassment came back in full force. “That's good,” V tried not to fidget. Failed. 

Delamain filled the void, “I have noted a significant decrease in this vehicle’s runtime.” He hesitated a moment, lips pursing, “Are you…unsatisfied with my performance?” He was deflecting.

But then again, so was V, “No, of course not.” 

He hesitated again, and the delicate lines of code enveloping his dash pulsed in a strange tangle before righting themselves, “Then you are avoiding me.” The shock of such a bold statement coming from her usually very reticent friend stunned V long enough that it took a second to recognize the emotion flitting across his normally tranquil face. Del looked… hurt.

V flinched, a boulder of guilt joining embarrassment to crumple her spine. She was positive he didn’t mean to pack it on, but there was no way she wouldn’t fall to pieces when he looked at her like that. Tightening her hands on the wheel, V mentally flailed, trying to put complicated feelings into a snazzy elevator pitch that would magically set everything to rights. The seconds ticked by, long and horrible, ratcheting the unease to unbearable levels.

“You regret what happe-”

“No!” V blurted, face flushing. “It’s just…It’s just complicated,” She finished lamely, flinching at the understatement of the century. 

“Yes, I understand that we are in many senses…incompatible.” Old Del would have dropped the subject. New Del, courtesy of V’s insistence that he not refrain, forged on. “But, respectfully, might I ask in what way?” How typical of V’s advice to come back to bite her in the ass.

At least Johnny had opted out of the shitshow for once.

V sighed in defeat and slumped against the seat, determined to at least enjoy quality leather while she humiliated herself. Running a chrome hand through her hair, she avoided Del’s eyes, “Listen, Del, after that fight with Lilith…you were really fucked up and-” A helpless shrug as V babbled with all the coherency of wet spaghetti, “Then I just plugged in without asking and when you were ok I should have left, but I didn’t and then there was that feedback loop and I didn’t stop it and shit - I…I took advantage of you.” By the time she finished, voice tinny, her face could have lit a cigarette.

Ridiculous, but there it was- the crux of the issue, the guilt gnawing on V’s brain for the past week.

Another long, pregnant silence stretched between them. 

“May…may I ask how you came to believe that?" On another occasion, V would’ve been fascinated to see Delamain look so stunned. As it were, she avoided meeting his eyes entirely. 

“Del, it’s barely been a few weeks since you’ve started…you know,” A chromed hand gestured helplessly towards his dash, “figuring yourself out.” And V was a grown-ass woman whose birth certificate was about to hit the expiration date.

“My heuristic learning algorithms have been running since my inception,” Delamain gently corrected her. “But,” He conceded, inadvertently proving his point, “I have indeed marked improvement in client-business relationships over the past few weeks. The emotion-based subroutines I have been trialing have proven quite successful, thanks partly to the stimuli our conversations and friendship have provided.” Not one to leave dots unconnected, Delamain continued, a pensive line carving across his brow, “Am I to presume the rapid development of my personality runtime the primary cause for your…concern?”

Yes and no.

Rapid growth and self-improvement were as close to an instinct in Delamain as breathing was for V, but growth and understanding were vastly different. Del’s cognitive processes absorbed data at lightning speed, but all the information on the net couldn’t compensate for his lack of experience. A few weeks ago, he’d had all the personality of a lamp. Now he was chatting, offering opinions, adjusting propriety and rigid ethical subprotocols to figure out who he was beyond societal shackles. V was unbelievably proud of him, for him, but despite his progression, Del was still very… young.  He couldn't rightfully make an informed decision. V should have withdrawn when she felt the first flare of her reflected desire through that stupid loop.

As if reading her mind, Delamain interrupted her, “I appreciate your concern, but it would not be fair to compare our maturation against one another. As an Artificial Intelligence, I analyze and learn at an expedited rate.”

He could lecture her on the differences in their developmental cycles until the heat death of the universe. However, it still wouldn’t forgive the fact that V had made a unilateral decision to strap a fuckin’ jet pack and blow through carefully earned boundaries because she’d been horny.  

But V was a coward, too scared to speak her mind into existence, so she opted for some of Delamain’s vocabulary instead, “It doesn’t matter. What I did to you was…unethical.”

“When we first made our acquaintance,” Delamain started, evenly and measured, “I only ever conversed with my clients on an infrequent, professional basis. Few cared to engage with me, and even fewer still desired that connection beyond the confines of my services. It took several cycles in your company before I…allowed myself to run exceptions to my professionalization protocols and initiate what I would normally consider unethical conduct.”

“Yea, but I asked you to call me.” a brief smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she remembered that first holo popping up on feed in the middle of a gig. She’d been proud of Del for looking after his own needs though she avoided pointing it out for fear of his rigorous self-correction.

“As did I, for your assistance,” He replied shrewdly.  “What I am trying to say,” Delamain continued, voice softening to reassuring tones, “Is that in my quest to adapt and learn, you advised me not to be “so hard on myself.” I entreat you to allow yourself the same leniency you extended me.” His eyes flicked downwards as if he were summoning courage, “Also, I enjoy our conversations and…I miss your company.” 

V shut down her face scrambler. How could anyone argue against that kind of sincerity? Extending a hand, she patted the dash with gold-boned fingers. “Yeah,” She admitted readily, somehow less embarrassed to follow his lead than to take the initiative, “Same here.” 

His dash hummed under her touch, little snippets of code blooming to full before tangling back up in his processes to whisk away toward his master core. V stared briefly, enjoying the sight of glimmering threads pulsing under various protocols. A soft sigh of relief escaped her, glad that some semblance of normalcy had reestablished itself and the silence that bloomed between them was a comfortable one. 

They could just forget about the whole thing. Maybe everything would be ok now-

“I would like to court you.” Del suddenly interrupted, decimating the amiable silence with all the subtlety of a nuclear bomb.

V choked, language failing her completely. “Uh, I’m sorry, what?! ” Where did that come from?! “I..uh-” Stammering, hand frozen on the dash, V tried to summon some coherency, “Why?” Delamain really needed to learn how to pull punches because she was getting fuckin’ whiplash. 

“Forgive me, that was rather forward. I will explain. I have been attempting to measure my responses following human terms and concluded that I am romantically interested in pursuing you.” He continued, using so many words to clarify absolutely nothing.

“Can you…explain the logic?” V stalled for time, still trying to organize the English language in a sensible reply. Some part of her was curious, and V knew better than to oppose it. She wasn’t stupid enough to feign obliviousness as to why her, specifically, but she was baffled at his decision-making.

“Of course.” He seemed enthusiastic, the prospect of explaining analysis perking him up. “As you know, I have been researching human history to facilitate a better understanding of relationships and integrate better with my surroundings. I used the information I learned to develop emotion-based subroutines and processes, integrating them throughout the Delamain network to great success, much of which can be directly traced back to our social interactions. However, the responses generated with other clientele are noticeably different than those elicited from your presence.” 

“How so?” She asked weakly, shifting in her seat. 

“My reactions -namely the consistent activation of my reward centers- towards your presence and our conversations mimic that of many characters in historical literature. Particularly romance.” There was a short silence, following words flustered, “To speak in human terms, I am happy to see you, and our discussions provide cognitive stimuli in a manner I would equate to pleasure. Beyond that, several instances in which your well-being was at risk produced exigent responses, almost as if I were in danger myself. I believe the corresponding human term for it would be panic.” If she didn’t know better, V could mistake the tremble of his gossamer coding as anxious fidgeting. The loom beneath his dash was pulsing, tangling, and righting itself at speeds almost too tricky to catch with mere human reflexes.

Delamain continued, “At first, I did not understand the anomalies in my coding, though I isolated our repeated interactions as their primary root cause. Continual reboots did little to resolve the discrepancies between my original parameters and the improvements I’d made over the past few cycles. Removing the problematic variable would be the best action in most circumstances, but the past week has proven…difficult for me. Our interface was rather…edifying, to say the least, and has provided much-needed context to many of the queries flagged throughout our acquaintance.” A flicker of shame crossed his normally placid features, “Your absence has had a notable effect on my matrices, to the point where I have little choice but to conclude that I am invested in your welfare far beyond the standards of my programming.”

V was reeling, dumbstruck. She was touched beyond words, a font of affection and fondness rising within her like a growing tide. But what he described could easily be attributed to friendship. This was exactly what she meant when referencing learning vs. experience. How could Delamain honestly assess himself at this stage? In the grand scheme of human emotion, he was an amateur. Didn’t mean his judgment was invalid, just…premature. 

“I’m flattered, really-” She stammered, aware that everything had spiraled far out of control. “But I can’t .” 

“Oh,” Delamain uttered the word like a slow revelation. His coding cringed. “You are uninterested,” He sounded mortified. “Apologies, I didn’t mean to assume-. I have made a grave miscalculation-”

“Del, babe, I’m dying. ” Her words exploded between them, shocking them both into stunned silence. 

It was the first time she’d said it aloud, the words no less effectively willed into existence than in the foggy stillness of her head. He’d been there from the beginning, knew her prognosis as well as Vik did. Every day her chances dwindled, the noose around her neck tightening by margins with each passing second. Hope felt more and more like a joke, and though V was determined to fight all the way, sometimes she knew better than to swim against the current. Some deep instinct told her that she was too far down the hole to come out in one piece. “Even if I-I want to-” Did she? Didn’t matter. “I can’t give you what you deserve; I don’t even know how long I got left.” 

V didn’t want to tease her friend with scant seconds or brief glimpses into something that could never come to fruition. Everything in V’s life, the music, food, the thrill of a job well done, her chooms…all her love was on a timer. The difficulty of facing reality was already too much to bear. Could V be selfish enough to level that kind of cruelty toward Delamain? Was grief the memento she wanted to leave him? “I can’t do that to you.” 

“I see, ” Delamain said, the words swallowed by the thick silence. Did he sound disappointed? V honestly couldn’t tell. “In that case…might we still be friends?” His tone was so transparently plaintive that it startled a flighty laugh from V.

“Don’t be weird, babe. Of course, we’re still chooms .” They’d been linked the day Deshawn had signed her up for the Excelsior package, and dying or not, V would milk the experience for all it was worth. The long strings of complex ciphers pulsed in response to her petting the dash. Whether he was meat or circuitry, V was ride or die, pardon the pun. Embarrassed, V tried to infuse humor into her tone and bring some levity into the equation, “I don’t have much time left, but whatever I’ve got, you’re stuck with it, sorry.” She forced a smile across her face, “See you tomorrow?”

“I look forward to it.” He replied, apparently cheered. “Have a good night, Victoria. And thank you for choosing the Delamain network.”

“Don’t tell me you’re actually interested. ” Johnny sounded affronted. Guess dating an AI ranked lower on the rockstar’s list than causing an actual holocaust. “Don’t matter. You did the smart thing,” Johnny appeared beside her in the elevator, leaning close. Satisfaction laced his expression as he inhaled a cig. Somehow V didn’t think their reasoning aligned but had no energy to argue.

“Thanks,” She commented, sullen. It was hard to feel like she hadn’t hurt Delamain, but Johnny was right regardless of his motives. It would be unfair to both of them. Del’s time was just beginning, while V’s was coming to a close. In another lifetime maybe, when chances weren't so misaligned- V forced that train of thought out before she crumbled. The elevator pinged, and V stepped into the never-ending hubbub of her megabuilding’s apartment block, squinting against the onslaught of digital thread clogging her feed. Making her way to the apartment, V stumbled through the door and collapsed in an exhausted heap on her bed. She’d been able to distract herself against the looming specter of death, but tonight had been a painful reminder of all the things V would lose…all the chances she’d never have. 

What a fucking waste- her legacy. 

Sheet crumpled in her tight grip, threads coming apart at the seams. Grief overwhelmed her, following V into a restless, ominous void of code and nightmares.

#cyberpunk 2077 #Neon_fics #Delamain #Delamain/V #V #V has feelings but death sure takes the fun out of it #And del has NO chill

[reilleclan-blog]

CYBERPUNK EDGERUNNERS

My favorite scene

-

So I decided to enter the contest on twitter, cdpr wanted ppl to say their favorite scene and I wanted to pick a scene that not many ppl picked BUT what was also significant to me.

[ my favorite scene b/c it showed the severity of David's situation, "another tale" how many dreamers have thought they were "special" but inevitably die in this line of work? It reminded that no one is "special" in NC. The city that eats ppl alive. Eats dreamers ]

Now when I first watched the anime, this scene had popped out to me in the first place, b/c David was clearly not being himself. Doc was familiar with him so they were cool butttt he was never always "nice"to little boy David. Still it was clear Doc has formed an attachment to David. In a way he was kinda saving David's life when he was trying to "stop" him multiple times. Not saying he was the best influence but he did care for him.

Ok so fast forward David is using the Sandy more times then he ever should've, Doc constantly warns him, multiple ppl warn David he shouldn't push himself but at this point. That's all David was shown. Even in the beginning stages of his edge running journey he sat around waiting for something to do. He couldn't sit still possibly cause if he did, he'd have bad thoughts traumatic ones. And so he was always looking for work and always trying to upgrade that became more prevalent when Maine dies. Either b/c he wanted Maine's arms and/or "replace" Maine become something that Maine couldn't since he went "psycho". And adding on to the fact he wanted to "TAKE LUCY TO THE MOON" lol but everyone knows that part.

. High risk high reward. David stopped being the respectful kid he was known to be; David grabs the Doc and realizes he didn't mean to but what's done is done. Also made me think maybe that's why the doc never got "too close" to David b/c how many young bloods has that man seen. "Go be a living legend u punks say"(something like that) he couldn't stomach seeing another kid dead chasing after this sick dream that NC has fed ppl. (First time I watched edgerunners this scene immediately reminded me of V as well)

Honestly that's why I pick going with the aldecaldos everytime. But whatever. How much of your life are you going to give till you know you've finally "made it". David kept pushing to either chance other ppls dreams and cause what else could he be if not an edgerunner, V kept doing the same not realizing they had something better or not letting go of an old dream. OR not ever seeing their own potential b/c NC won't let u. Even Kerry says some shit like that. Johnny also fell for this trap and so did Jackie. SOO MANY

-

NC is a cancer I've said this time and time before. I actually did a yt vid on it. Anyways I went on a tangent some shit I forgot what the hell my point was but I believe I collected myself, anyways.

Good thing twitter only has 280characters wth

#cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk edgerunners #cd projekt red

[masschase]

1, 2, 7 and 10 for the boss ask meme :^]

I'm just gonna start by saying, in the unlikely event the 1 awesome person reading my SR fanfic 'Out Of Time' comes across this, massive spoilers! But I've been posting my Boss's name all over here so that ship may have sailed!

Whoo boy.

It's a secret, basically.

Her name is Cassandra Clark. Her mom was a big fan of Greek mythology and her dad "read one book on it then pretended to be". She's gone by Casey since she was a kid. She's not against Cassandra but did find the way her mom said it grating(eta: hates her mom).

In 2006 when she joined the Saints, she was a naive 15-year-old who didn't think there was any reason to keep it a secret. Because of this, all the original Saints knew (Casey but not Cassandra) (took them a fucking while to work out she was a girl though). Obviously Lin, Julius, Dex and Troy all knew up to their respective deaths.

Post-coma she decided to try her best to cut ties with her name and background for everyone's protection. So then only Johnny knew. He calls her Case. He struggles not to call her that on a weekly basis. She went by Emma for a bit. But eventually it just became Boss.

When the Saints became more famous she needed a fake name for the credit cards, and went for Blake Olivia Smith. The rest of the gang talked her down from Saint-Smith (she's a bit fucking ridiculous). She only really uses that name for shit like booking hotels etc.

In Steelport, Kinzie finds her name (again, Casey but not Cassandra) via the internet. She manages to heavily encrypt it for the Boss, as well as any trace of her real age (she pretended to be 18 when she joined the Saints). The Syndicate don't know it's an issue, or they would've got Matt on it.

The name she falsified documents for the Presidency in was Erica V. Saint. She's later very embarrassed about what the V stands for(Violence. Did I mention she's a bit fucking ridiculous?). She has to keep up that her age is 29 (it's actually 26) when she becomes President because they agreed to change the constitutional age to 28.

In 2022, there is a coup, a small bunch of rogue Zin going back in time to kill her. As a result of this; Matt finds out her real age, the Zin find out her real name, Johnny finds out her real age, and Matt finds out her real name(as does the reader). Due to the nature of time travel, it's debatable to say in what order those events occured, but that's the order I've written them in. When everything is more or less over she tells the team her full name. It's no longer a secret as of mid-February 2022. The team call her a mix of Casey/Boss/President/Emperor. Johnny still calls her Case. Matt calls her Cass.

I've played her in 3, 4 and GOOH but all the games are canon to her story (except for the reboot, haven't played it yet, but I'm not sure I could work her into that anyway).

It's very obviously implied in my fanfic that Persephone Brimstone in AOM is the rebooted universe's version of her, as she says her parents thought about a. moving to Paris, b. calling her Persephone instead of Cassandra and c. investing in good stocks (and perhaps as a result of their move, staying together). In addition she has dark blonde hair like her dad and hazel eyes like her mom whereas Persephone would have blue eyes like her dad and black hair like her mom. Also because of this:

I try to stick to the canon of them all as much as reasonably possible.

*cringes and covers face with hands* Matt Miller.

I cut my explanation of this right down:

It's extremely endgame; happens 2 years post-SRIV. She is very anti-relationship up to this point. Seeing Johnny lose Aisha made her worse but he calls her out on the fact she had a pre-existing fear of commitment.

For this character, Carlos and Shaundi also come very close to having actual relationships with her but one's doomed by actual canon and one's doomed by my headcanon (they both avoided telling each other). The weirdest thing is that in general I'm a massive GatBoss shipper, but for this character, he's much more of an older brother figure.

She becomes less naive and, obviously less mute, in SR2. She's gone from 16 to 21 without experiencing it, so everything's pretty confusing to her, and SR2 probably sees her at her most ruthless and violent. Between 2 and 3 she finally gets the money and power she desperately wants, and perhaps more to the point, a decent shrink. By the time of SRIV so much crazy shit has happened in her life that she just kind of has to roll with it. Chill in a chaotic way. But she's still prone to the more violent behaviour when her peace is disturbed.

See, Shaundi gets it.

#saints row #saints row boss #saints row 2 #saints row the third #saints row iv #casey #boss canons #ask meme #ask #SORRY. I WRITE A LOT. #asshole with a gun

[haifengg]

A = Affection (How do they show their affection?) The kinship type of guy. A lot of holding hands and smiling forehead kisses. Almost everywhere does he wrap his arm around his s/o’s shoulder. At a basketball game or something he will pack an extra blanket or jacket to give to them if they’re cold. He is very thoughtful about the little things in a relationship.

B = Breath (What could their s/o do to take their breath away?) Their smile. Seeing their whole face light up when they are happy or amazed. How their eyes sparkle and maybe their dimples show? It’s his favorite thing in the world. His s/o’s smile makes his aches go away and his day clear up. It clears his mental acne really.

C = Cuddling (Do they cuddle? If they do, how and when do they cuddle?) Huge cuddler. All the time. (See more at H)

D = Dream (What do they dream of doing with their s/o?) He would want to take his s/o to Chicago and show them where he grew up. Introduce his parents and show his partner around. Make them taste his favourite pizza, maybe a road trip? The open road (the highway to heaven....), sunsets and gas stations. Have midnight pancakes and black coffee at a diner!

E = Effort (How much effort do they put into a relationship?) This I am not sure about. I would say he puts in a normal level of effort. Pretty much the same amount as his s/o. He shows them they are precious and his most valuable thing in life but he won’t go full bonkers on valentines day or something like that.

F = Fear (What do they do if their s/o is scared? How do they handle it?) Johnny handles it very well. He is very educated and cautious about mental health in general so he would take every fear seriously. If his s/o is anxious about anything he will do his best to make a situation more comfortable for them or try to avoid the situation as a whole. G = Gifts (What type of gifts do they give their s/o? Do they want a gift in return?) Accessories. Johnny strikes me as a men who gets his s/o small things likes designer bracelets or card holders. Things they wouldn’t buy themselves because it’s unnecessary and expensive but if he knows they will accept and like it and most importantly use it - he will get it to them. And if they say they can’t accept he would say something like “It’s alright, don’t worry. I got a discount on it because I worked with them earlier this year.” Even if it’s a lie.

H = Hugs (Do they hug their s/o? How often?) Johnny is tall and he has long arms. Perfect to wrap around someone and should them from cold wind at a busstop or pull them in after a long walk in the rain. He knows how much his s/o craves those hugs and how protected they are feeling when he holds them tightly.

I = Intimacy (How romantic are they? Do they have problems with intimacy?) Has this man issues with intimacy? No?? Have you seen him??? I would be just as confident if I was him. J = Jealous (Do they get jealous? How do they act when jealous?) Jealous boyfriend right here. Johnny might act chill about his s/o hanging out with other men on days he is also available or seeing them walk out of lecture together on a day he wanted to surprise them by picking them up. He won’t let it show because it would hurt his reputation as LBBY (Laid Back Boyfriend of the Year) but his s/o will notice. Maybe by how short his answers are or because of all the questions he asks about that friend. Or maybe by the way he kisses them later that night. Maybe he also dislikes this side about himself because he knows he can trust them. K = Kiss (Are they a good kisser? Do they like to kiss? How often do they try to kiss you?) Johnny’s kisses are to melt for. Just the perfect mix of soft pecks and slightly rough ... idk how to describe it. He would randomly bite his s/o’s lips to catch them off guard and if they blush he will laugh about it and pull them into a long lingering and smily kiss ... 

L = Love (When do they say they love you? How often do they say it? Do they prefer to say or show it?) Constantly. He will say it. He will text it. He will moan it. He will ask you “You love me right?” There won’t be a day his s/o won’t hear or read it or both.

M = Marriage (Do they want to get married? If so, what kind of ceremony?) In a committed relationship Johnny would think about marriage 100% but he doesn’t have to get married right away. Maybe ever. He strikes me as the kind of guy who is happy just being with his s/o. Maybe he will think different if they’re ever thinking about having a kid. But in that case time will tell.

N = Night out (What type of dates do they like to go on? How often do they like to go on them?) Goofy dates! Game nights! Haunted houses where his s/o clings on to him! Arcades and hours of dance dance revolution! O = Out of the Ordinary (What’s something they don’t normally do with/for their s/o?) I don’t think he would go to fancy restaurants. Not even for an anniversary. It’s just not his thing and this casual red wine at the river or beach is more his thing than make dinner reservations and letting waiters tell him what wine he’s having. I am not saying that he doesn’t do it at all - maybe he enjoys it on some occasions (when he has to impress parents for example) but overall with his s/o ... I think a chill open air wine tasting might rather be his thing. P =Playful (Are they playful in a relationship? If so, how do they play around/mess with their s/o?) He messes around all the time. He will make himself a bra out of lather when he’s in the shower try to seduce his s/o, he will mock the radio moderator and make up an semi-interesting newsflash about their breakfast. Q = Questions (Do they ask their s/o their opinion on things? Do they share theirs?) Loves to ask their s/o for their opinion so he does it a lot. Sometimes he even changes his decision if his s/o has some really good points or perhaps even better ideas. R = Random (How spontaneous is their relationship? Do they do things on the spot or plan ahead?) This man is so goofy how is he not random. He will wake his s/o up in the middle of the night just to go see the stars. He would make last minute dinner reservations and trick them into a dinner date by asking them if they come pick him up. He is so random and I love it. Though it would drive me insane. S = Sleep (How do they sleep with their s/o?) A lot of cuddles and soft temple kisses during the early state of the night or the going-to-bed/settling in but once everyone is comfy and tired they slew butt to butt. He jokes about that constantly. T = Trust (How much do they trust their s/o?) He lives off and thrives on trust. A relationship in which he wouldn’t fully trust his s/o is no relationship to him.

U = Unique (What makes them unique as a s/o?) Johnny radiates positive vibes, which makes him insanely attractive. He is so comfortable with himself and empowering towards literally everyone it’s as if you would have your very own personal cheerleader. With him on their side his s/o could literally accomplish everything. V = Vulnerable (How long until they can be vulnerable around their s/o? What are they like in this state?) He is pretty open about his feelings and concerns so I don’t think it would take a long time for him to talk to theyr s/o about everything. He shares his worries with a lot of friends/close friends but that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s less significant when he tells his s/o. He might talk to a lot of people about things but he might only take advice from a few. W = Weather (What would he do during a cloudy and rainy day?) Coffee and galleries. A day with rolling thunder or just light annoying rain for him is the most welcome excuse to take his s/o for a classy museum tour. It doesn’t matter if it’s modern art or some good old fashioned photography. He would love to spend hours there and not missing out of anything in the outside world. X = Xylophon (What does he think about their s/o’s taste in music? Is it different?) If you they like the same music as he does - he would love it. But honestly he is such an open-minded man we would listen to anything at least once and even though he doesn’t like it would say something like ‘It’s interesting.’ On a car ride or something they would agree on something they both enjoy or put on a shared playlist and he would peacefully endure the songs he doesn’t like or enjoying them just as much because they make his s/o visibly happy. Y = Yuck (Is there anything that might bother their s/o about him? Any flaws?) So... we all know how much he enjoys coffee. Sometimes maybe a little too much. And we also hopefully all know the rules of basic hygiene and how you shouldn’t overdo it. What I am trying to say it that boy has coffee breath. He has so much coffee during the day that he can’t possibly brush his teeth every time. Not saying that he is dirty or anything. Just ... take a hint - pop a mint.

Z = Zeal (Are they passionate as a s/o? Do they want or like passion?) This man breathes passion. I honestly don’t think he could be with someone less passionate than him. More reserved? Yes. Someone who doesn’t take the lead? Yes. But someone lacking in passion is a no-no. I’m not even talking solemnly about passion in a sexual way. It also applies to interests or hobbies. Being passionate about a certain topic or sport, music, politics, ... you name it. He is the utmost passion able person and we all know it. Period.

Taglist

@kpopsnowball​ @starrdustville @jeonghanmoon

@himitsu-luna  @pocky-otp

Masterlist

#this is my favorite look on him #can he please go back #this is my former bias so I have strong opinions about him #and I clown him a lot I am sorry #its how I cope #nct127 scenario #nct scenario #nct127 scenarios #nct scenarios #not johnny #nct127 johnny #Johnny suh #suh johnny #Johnny seo #seo juhnny #nct127 boyfriend #nct boyfriend #nct imagines #nct127 imagines #nct fluff #nct127 fluff

[blu-joons]

DATING NCT A⇴Z HEADCANON ⇴ Kim Donyoung

A ⇴ AFFECTION 

Doyoung tends to love to be affectionate when it’s just the two of you. He’ll often cuddle up closely to you when no one else is around and whisper a lot of sweet nothings into your ear. And of course, leave his lips against your skin.

B ⇴ BEFORE DATING 

The two of you met through Johnny at a party for his birthday. You were stood at the bar all alone, and so Doyoung came over to say hi, as he was never one to leave a damsel in distress. He offered to buy you a drink to try and get you smiling again, and the two of you soon struck up a conversation with each other.

C ⇴ CONFESSION 

Your friendship soon blossomed into something more, you spent a lot of time together as friends, and not long after did the two of you begin to wonder if there was something more between you both then just being friends. Doyoung ended up confessing to you one night at the dorm when he invited you round for a quiet night, in the middle of a competitive game to try and take more of the attention away from what he said to you.

D ⇴ DATES 

Your dates were often very homely, Doyoung loved being in his own space so he’d often invite you to the dorm and set up a romantic space for the two of you. Movie nights were very common between the two of you, wrapped up tightly in a pile of blankets and cushions as close as you could be together. Doyoung gives the best hugs, so being able to lay against him all night long makes for the perfect date night in your opinion. You’re happy doing what makes Doyoung comfortable, and if the dorm is it, you’ll never complain.

E ⇴ EXPERIENCE 

Dating was very much a mystery to Doyoung before he started dating you. When he fell for you, he fell with his whole heart and wanted to make sure that he did things right. He often turned to his elders in the group for advice and encouragement whenever he doubted himself. Sometimes, falling in love with you scared him as he never imagined himself falling so hard, but with the support of his friends around him, they’d always assure him that he was doing the right thing and keeping you happy.

F ⇴ FIGHTING 

At times, Doyoung could be a little bit snappy which led to a few squabbles between the two of you. He had a bit of a shorter fuse in comparison to some of his other members, and you weren’t an exception to feeling the wrath of that at times. He always tried to remain calm around you, but sometimes he just couldn’t help but bite back. When the row of you argued, Doyoung would often leave for a little while to give you both some space to think, and after a few hours, would return so that the two of you could talk things through with each other, and he could apologise for being so abrupt.

G ⇴ GETTING TO KNOW HIS FAMILY 

Doyoung couldn’t wait to introduce you to his family, he wanted to show off the girl that had stolen his heart. It led to a lot of expectation being placed on your shoulders, but every time you saw them, they loved you a little bit more than they did the last time they saw you, and saw how happier Doyoung was with you too.

H ⇴ HOME 

His space was very valuable to him, so Doyoung didn’t want to rush anything when it came to moving you in. As much time as you spent at the dorm, knowing you still had your apartment was incredibly comforting, and seeing you give that up was often an intimidating thought for Doyoung in case anything went wrong.

I ⇴ “I LOVE YOU” 

He was the first one to say, ‘I love you,’ at the end of one of your movie nights after watching a harrowing romance. Doyoung found himself incredibly teary at the end of the film, and when his eyes met yours as the credits rolled, he couldn’t help but whisper those three little words down to you whilst you wiped away his tears.

J ⇴ JEALOUSY 

There were definitely times when Doyoung would get jealous, selfishly he wanted to have you all to himself, but he knew that wasn’t possible. Whenever he got jealous, he would stare a lot, it was also a pretty subtle hint to any of the other members who were around you that they were overstepping the line. He couldn’t help but often be quite protective of you, even though he trusted you implicitly, it all often felt too good be to true as if he was waiting for someone better to come along and blow him out of the water.

K ⇴ KIDS 

Having children was definitely something that Doyoung saw in his future, but he was definitely in no rush. He wanted to take things slowly with you, even after several years he didn’t want to do anything that would scare you off. With that, he wouldn’t mention children around you often unless you brought it up and then he would know that you were happy to talk about it and wouldn’t get frightened if he suddenly brought it up.

L ⇴ LAUGHTER 

The sound of your laughter was what Doyoung lives for, he loved being there to make you laugh, and also wear a proud smile on his face whenever you made him laugh too. You could often be heard by the other members laughing away in his room at even the most random of things. There was something infectious for Doyoung about being around you that just naturally made him laugh, his cheeks were always hurting whenever he was with you, there was never a dull moment as long as he had you with him to keep the smile on his face. Any time the two of you laughed together, usually spelt out mischief for everyone else.

M ⇴ MISSING 

Being on tour and away from you was always an emotional time for Doyoung. He hated the distance of being away from the dorm, and from you. You usually stayed at the dorm to keep an eye on things when he was on the road, but seeing that you were there and he wasn’t was almost like a torture for him. If there was one bonus about having you there, it was that as soon as he got home you’d already be there and waiting for him in his room. There were definitely a few occasions when Doyoung would get teary about being away from you, the other members would often see him wiping under his eyes with his sleeve to try and hide his tears before he was spotted getting upset.

N ⇴ NICKNAMES 

It was a nickname that Doyoung hated, but you loved to call him ‘dodo.’ It was one you used to try and sweeten him at the end of an argument once, which just so happened to stick with the two of you, much to his disapproval.

O ⇴ OBSESSION 

He’s obsessed with your waist, he’s an incredible hugger, and loves to keep his arms wrapped tightly around your waist whenever he pulls you close to him or rests against you.

P ⇴ PDA 

Affection in public isn’t something the two of you are huge on, you’ll usually feel Doyoung hugging onto you from the side or behind, but that’s as far as anything goes. It’s enough to make sure that he knows you’re safe and with him which is all he worries about whenever the two of you are out in public.

Q ⇴ QUESTIONS 

The two of you would often ask a lot of questions to each other late night at just before you went to sleep, cuddled up to each other. Neither of you could ever just fall asleep, so you’d stay up and chat for a while about whatever thoughts came to mind for you both.

R ⇴ RANDOM FACTS 

Every single thing that reminded Doyoung of you, he kept. Underneath his bed he had a whole folder alone dedicated to all of the cards that you’d given him over the years, either for his birthdays, anniversaries or something else. He found himself attached to it all, just knowing that you had given it to him meant that he didn’t have it in him to throw the stuff away, instead he’d hoard it all under his bed where no one else could see it.

S ⇴ SEX

Would often be a very cuddly affair, Doyoung would love to hold you as close as he possibly could to you so that his hands could run through your hair and his lips could press to yours. Doyoung loved to take his time with you, he was never one for a quick fix or to rush anything between you both, you were worth a lot more than that, and he wanted to spend a lot longer making sure that you felt loved and safe with him.

T ⇴ TEXTS 

He’d often text you with suggestions of films for the two of you to watch that night or a takeout that he fancied ordering. He’d always ask you what you thought about it, and if you liked it, he’d always set it up for you both.

U ⇴ UNIVERSE 

Doyoung loved welcoming someone into his own world, even if he enjoyed his own company at times, there was still something so comforting about knowing that you were even just in the room with him, even in silence.

V ⇴ VACATION 

The two of you never really tended to go away, you knew that if Doyoung ever had any time off then he’d like to spend it at the dorm and just enjoy his own comforts and his own personal space. You were more than happy to do whatever Doyoung was comfortable with, just being able to spend a bit of time with him was enough.

W ⇴ WHINING 

Doyoung doesn’t tend to whine too often, unless you’re spending too much time with the boys and not him. He likes to make sure he’s always your favourite member.

X ⇴ XXXXX 

Whenever he cuddles you, he just can’t help but kiss you too. It almost comes as an instinct to him to kiss your cheek whenever you reveal it to him, or press your lips whenever there’s a short distance between the two of you. If you’re feeling down, Doyoung knows that a kiss from him will usually be the medicine to put a smile back on your face. More than anything else, he loves to make you blush by pressing as many kisses to you as he can.

Y ⇴ YOU 

You were his team mate, the two of you together were inseparable.

Z ⇴ ZZZ 

He’d cling to you every night, without fail whenever the two of you went to sleep together. He loves having you close when he sleeps, it’s incredibly comforting to Doyoung to know that you’re that you’re right there beside him, especially when he has a restless night.

---

Masterlist

#nct #nct imagine #doyoung #doyoung imagine #dongyoung #dongyoung imagine #nct scenario #nct reaction #nct doyoung #nct 127 #nct 127 imagine #nct 127 doyoung #kim donyoung #kim donyoung imagine #nct drabble #nct fluff #nct headcanon #nct one shot #doyoung scenario #doyoung reaction #doyoung fluff #doyoung one shot #kpop #kpop imagine

[kirieshhhka003]

So... Can I have Gyro Zeppeli's nsfw alphabet, pretty please? 🤭🤭 thank you so much, love you!

Thank you for your request, my lovely anon, I love you too💚😘

Note: in all NSFW alphabets I describe how this character acts during sex with different partners, NOT with someone they love

Warnings: NSFW

Gyro Zeppeli NSFW alphabet

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Gyro is good at aftercare. He gives his partner massages, strokes their body and cuddles up with them. If partner ask for something(like glass of water or running a bath for them) Gyro would do it as fast as he can and return to canoodling with them

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

On partners Zeppeli loves their thighs, especially if they’re sick and plump, he squeezes and plays with it, licks and marks them. On his body Gyro loves his dick, he likes if a lot and finds it pretty

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

The amount of sperm Gyro produces is average, it’s very watery and almost transparent, has very salty taste. Blonde doesn’t care much where to cum, everywhere on partner’s body is great for him, but creampies have special place in his heart

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Once, when he was 18, he was almost caught fucking his “best friend” by his father. Gregorio heard some weird noises coming from Gyro’s room, but when he checked it out, there was nothing strange there. Gyro heard his father’s steps and hid himself and his friend Alberto in a wardrobe and kept fucking him while Gregorio looked around his room looking for something that caused those sounds

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

At the age of 17 Gyro already was pretty experienced, so, his body count is reaching 100, maybe even more, he’s literally expert in sex, he knows what to do, where to lick and stroke, when he should slow down and when to fasten his pace

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

His favorite positions are 69 and all related to missionary. Gyro loooves when female partners sit on his face, squeezing his head between their thighs

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Gyro is always goofy, it’s just the way he is. Sex isn’t something serious for Zeppeli, he’s sure that it must be comfortable for both partners - jokes and puns are the best way to chill both him and partner out and set on a right mood

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Gyro always has a short bush down there, it’s color matches his drapes. On his partner Gyro doesn’t care much, some interesting intim haircuts really turn blonde on

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Gyro is goofy, but he’s also very passionate, he kisses and caresses partner’s body, whispers something dirty into their ear and praises them. “Damn, babe, look what you’re doing to me. You’ve already made me cum for four times and I’m reaching my next orgasm. You’re such a little precious whore, aren’t you, huh?”

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Gyro is very horny and is up to sex almost all day, so if there’s nobody who attracts him physically nearby, he’ll just do it by himself, using his hands(and maybe steel balls). Everytime Gyro gets bored - he masturbates. Jacks off every night before sleeping, and, sometimes, after waking up, but it depends on his mood.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Oh, there’s a lot of. Dirty talking, daddy kink, creampies, choking, marking, cock warming, facesitting, facefucking, outdoor sex, squirting, edging, degrading and dominance over him

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Everywhere, every location is fine. Of course he has his limits and would never fuck at the place where kids may see him, but all other places are good

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Literally anything. A pretty guy winked at him - Gyro has a tent in his pants. A few dirty words whispered in his ear make him 100% ready, it takes almost zero efforts to make Zeppeli going

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

There are not a lot of things that Gyro would refuse to do, he’s willing to try out everything! But everything related to shit, wormit or blood is his NO, don’t even ask for it

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Loves both giving and receiving. Gyro may spend hours eating out/sucking off his partner. When it comes to receiving Zeppeli loves to see partner’s red teary face while they’re choking on his dick. The sight of it makes him cum down their throat almost immediately

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Gyro’s pace is usually normal, not too slow but is also not fast. But it depends on his partner and on how close Zeppeli is to orgasm. When he’s nearing his high during sex, Gyro’s thrusts become rougher and faster, but when he teases his partners he moves so slowly, that it almost hurts

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Absolutely loves them. What can be better than being sucked off during a 10 min lunch break? When it’s so much hornieness and so little time, quickie is a perfect solving of a problem

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Outdoor sex is one of his biggest kinks, Gyro gets so thrilled by a thought that someone can catch him fucking some pretty girl(or guy🌝), adrenaline sends shivers running down his spine, all his senses go crazy, stars shine bright in his eyes

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Usually Gyro goes for 4-6 rounds, each of them lasts for about 10 minutes, but blonde lasts longer during oral sex(but it really depends on his partner’s skills)

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He doesn’t have any toys, but he has his steel balls! They are perfect vibrators that stimulates all right places and nerves

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

It really depends on blonde’s mood. There are times when Gyro just wants to blow off the stem and things such a teasing or edging only piss him off more. But when he’s feeling tricksy he may spend hours between partner’s legs, fucking them mercilessly, almost letting them cum, and stopping the last moment

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

This man never shuts up, he talks and talks and talks... He has a really dirty mouth, praises mingled with swearings slips of his tongue, moans and quiet groans accompany his every thrust

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Gyro doesn’t like to be a bottom with male partners. His ass hurts the next few days and he can’t ride his horse properly, so he always insists on being a top

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

His dick is 5,5 inches when fully hard, not curved and isn’t veiny. The tip is slightly smaller that the shaft and is very sensual

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Gyro is very horny. Really really really horny. Most of his thoughts are about sex, masturbation, naked bodies of his partners and, sometimes, about Johnny’s ass. He wants to fuck 24/7, his sex drive is crazy

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Gyro isn’t one who needs to rest after sex, just a few minutes to catch his breath and he’s ready for new adventures

Masterlist | Smut Masterlist

#gyro zeppeli #gyro zeppeli headcanons #gyro zeppeli not sfw #gyro zeppeli not sfw headcanons #jojo’s bizarre adventure #jojo headcanons #jojo #jjba #jjba headcanons #jojo not sfw alphabet #jojo not sfw #jjba not sfw #jojo part 7 #steel ball run headcanons #steel ball run #jjba sbr #jojo no kimyou na bouken #not sfw #jojo smut #jjba smut #gyro smut #gyro zeppeli smut #not sfw alphabet

[faerune]

the sun has come to save me

pairing: johnny silverhand x f!v [vera volakov]

summary: in the aftermath of mikoshi's destruction, johnny takes his old body for a joyride and v accepts an offer from the aldecaldos though they can't seem to shake the other's presence. johnny shows up for a drink.

warnings: smut with feelings! drinking! smoking! spoilers!

[AO3]

Johnny Silverhand is on her doorstep and boy, if her teeny bopper self could be here-

But she isn’t and Johnny barely looks at her when he shoves inside with not a hello but a “Where you keep your booze?” 

They both seem to realize how redundant the question is when Johnny makes a b-line for the cabinet stocked with half-finished liquor bottles and mixers. 

Vera clicks her tongue against the back of her teeth and frowns at him, shoving the door closed. She hasn’t seen him for weeks. Not since Viktor gave him the all clear. She wasn’t surprised. It seemed he was rearing to take his new...well, old body out for a spin.

Still, a text to let her know he wasn’t dead in a gutter would have been nice. She had worked damn hard to get that body back for him. She’s surprised he didn’t take it and run; get back to doing what he does best — shredding in some sleazy bar for free drinks or sniffing out any way to fuck a corp over.

Vera shifts on her bare feet, hip cocked out and her arms crossed. She bites her tongue because it’s weird how much the picture of a pissed girlfriend she must be right now. 

She wanders over to where Johnny has uncorked a bottle of whiskey that’s been gathering dust in her cabinet. He pours it garishly into mismatched cups and hands her one. It’s the first time he looks at her, eyebrows raised expectantly.

“It’s like...ten in the morning,” Vera tells him, motioning toward the window aglow with sunlight.

“Like you give a shit,” he counters.

Vera ponders that for a moment and then shrugs, throwing the glass back. The whiskey burns her throat and she makes a disgusted noise, a little shiver shaking through her. Vera has never liked whiskey and regretfully his tolerance for it was not something they shared now. She catches Johnny’s crooked teasing smile before he takes the cup and bottle, swaggering over to her couch.

She wonders if he has noticed that — that they have bled into each other like ink on a soaked page. It is no coincidence that Vera has suddenly developed the ability to write with her left hand. And gained an affinity for shitty 2020s alternative rock.

Vera doesn’t bring her cup with her but follows him and sinks onto the couch with him, folding her long legs underneath her. 

“So, where have you been?” 

Johnny leans against the back of the couch, long silver arm stretching over the back and mirrors her so their bodies are turned towards each other. He takes a thoughtful sip and Vera fights the urge to roll her eyes. Always one for the dramatics. Though, it’s not like she can judge. Her annoyance with him has simpered to a warm, idle irritation. Something born more out of habit and unfortunate fondness for the asshole.

“Explorin’ the city. Seein’ what’s changed-” he begins. He points at her. “On my own terms. You were a good tour guide, V but-

“So…getting fucked up,” Vera continues with a wry smile.

Johnny laughs and sets his drink down, “Little bit of that too.”

“Why are you here, Johnny?” she finds herself asking, resting her cheek on her fist. 

“Realized we never celebrated,” he tells her, relaxing back with a satisfied grunt and aims his eyes at her. “Got our bodies, our lives. Hell, I can’t figure anything better to drink to.”

“We got lucky,” Vera tells him as both a grateful praise and a truthful warning. The cautious paranoia she has adopted has nothing to do with his influence that’s for sure.

“When’d you become so pessimistic,” Johnny scoffs. “What happened to my favorite starry-eyed little merc?”

Vera avoids his eyes, stares down at a scratch in her coffee table. Her manicured nails play with the studs in her ear. 

“You miss me?” 

Johnny’s voice comes as a surprise, thick and sticky with emotion. When she looks up, he’s staring right at her, studying her face. Vera’s chest tightens. Maybe he does feel that itch, the unfamiliar and haunting foreignness of being alone in the silence of a room. The lingering touch of someone else on the soul.

“You wish,” she teases dryly but the tightness in her throat prevents it from packing the intended punch. Vera reaches out for the bottle because suddenly that burn seems all the more appealing. It’s easier the second time around but she still can’t help the little twist her face does. He takes the bottle from her, again without comment. This time, however, his face looks serious and inquisitive.

Instead of prodding, filling the silence with words she waits patiently. It’s a hard habit to break but she’s getting better at it.

“Fuck,” Johnny grunts, leaning forward to rub the heels of his hands to his eyes. “Feel like I’m goin’ insane.”

Vera watches him — the fall of his hair in a dark curtain around his face, the curve of his back in the black t-shirt he’s wearing. The couch dips with the shift of his weight and it hits her again like it always does. She could reach out and touch him right now.

“I keep tryin’ to talk to you,” Johnny says in disbelief. “Keep forgetting I’m not in your head anymore.”

She lets out a breath of relief.

“Me too.” 

Vera’s lips curve into a tight-lipped smile, “Keep doing shit just to piss you off so you’ll talk to me.”

Johnny laughs at that. Well and truly laughs, deep in his belly. Vera isn’t sure she’s ever heard him laugh like that. It’s awfully contagious because pretty soon she is laughing with him.

“Been chewing on that fucking gum you chomp on,” Johnny tells her, snapping his ‘ganic fingers together. “Fuck what is it-”

“Cherrygasm?” Vera grins. 

“Shit, yeah,” Johnny says, shaking his head and leaning back against the couch. “Get antsy if I don’t taste that teeth-rotting shit. Got me to quit smokin’ at least.”

Vera lets out an uncharacteristic snort, “Well, shit, I started.”

“Ah, V…” Johnny begins.

She gasps and clamps her hand on his shoulder, sitting up onto her knees in excitement, “Don’t tell me The Johnny Silverhand is about to lecture me on smoking right now.”

Johnny’s hand cups the back of her thigh and moves it to the other side of his waist. Vera blinks dumbly down at him, her hands held up in front of her, limp and awkward. The two stare at each other for a moment but Johnny’s chrome hand doesn’t leave her bare skin. God, he almost looks...scared shitless.

Her voice is tight and quiet when she speaks.

“What are you doing?”

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly.

Vera’s lips are on his. It’s rough, sudden and desperate as he responds in kind. A frantic kind of want starts to burn in her belly. Johnny is solid. Warm. Real. Her fingers sliding into his hair, Johnny grasping at her ass with bruising eagerness and flips her onto her back. He’s over top of her, around her. 

Her thighs spread so his slim hips can settle between them. Johnny’s hand tightens around her thigh and he grinds into her through the soft fabric of her shorts. A little sound leaves her mouth that she can’t manage to swallow. He smells like shitty motel soap and his tongue tastes like fucking bubblegum just like he said. Their frantic hands both war with her shirt for a moment, pulling in every which way as they scramble to get it off. 

Vera is exposed to the chill of her apartment, colorful tattoos spread over her heavy breasts, her stomach and the curves of her hips.

He is touching her, touching with long calloused fingers and chilled chrome; and is it a surprise she whines when he pinches her nipple between his silver fingers? Her head swims as it tries to grasp onto reality. Johnny’s warm mouth latches over her other breast with the kind of messy hot licks that make her squirm. 

“Fuck,” she breathes, arching up into his mouth as he sucks greedily at her skin. Her breast, her collarbone, her stomach. Johnny nips at skin and soothes away the sting with a hot tongue. 

Vera tugs roughly at his hair enough to make him groan deep in his chest. Is this what she has been aching for? To have him inside of her again?

“Johnny,” she huffs impatiently, losing grip on the back hem of his shirt when he shifts to lick and bite at the one of the pistols on her hips. Almost angered by the interruption, he moves up onto his knees and tears his shirt off over his head. Vera’s hands grab him, pull him back down to her. She needs to feel him. The solid weight of his body, the brush of the hair on his chest over her sensitive nipples, the ragged border of his shoulder where skin meets metal. 

Johnny licks at her neck, loves roughly at her sensitive skin. Vera lets out another keen of impatience, rolling up against him as he rocks against her through their pants. Then he’s down again, trailing long tails of heat with his tongue.

She’s about to tell him to stop fucking around when he lifts her legs and yanks her shorts off in a swift motion.

“Fuck,” he groans, only giving himself a breath to gaze over her before tossing her legs over his shoulders. A happy purr of pride burns through her chest at that. Johnny buries himself between her thighs. Vera’s hand reaches overhead and grabs the edge of a velvet cushion as he covers her with his mouth and laps eagerly at her. 

A moan, a breath-

She presses him between her legs with a hand on the back of his head, tangling again in the silk strands of black hair. Her body shudders, heat having hit her like a truck, burning through her body. Johnny’s tongue drags the small amount of wetness that has gathered at her opening and licks it all over her cunt. His hands grab her hips and yanks her closer to him, her ass lifted a little into his arms. 

He lets her hips rock up against his tongue desperately but his clenched fist on her thigh that will surely bruise tells her that he normally does not allow this. Blinding pleasure aches through her all the way to her fingertips. Pretty moans and gasped whimpers offered to the room. It drowns out the news reporter babbling away on the radio.

Vera’s concerns and thoughts of past, future and present have been lost to her frantic train of thought.. It is only the two of them again. It is only Johnny between her legs flicking his talented tongue over her and pressing two warm fingers inside. Vera lets out a breathless, broken moan and bears down on them, her knuckles white as she grasps at the cushions and his hair in an effort to ground herself.

She wants to be filled, wants him, wants more, more, more.

Her chest is tight, her body is crying for it, begging for him and-

Vera’s lips only manage the first syllable of his name as her release crashes through her like a booming stroke of thunder. She moans loudly to the ceiling, her ankles locking together between Johnny’s shoulder blades. This is when he presses her down, holds her to the Earth, while she keens and groans deep in her chest for him. 

Johnny doesn’t wait till she’s finished before prying her thighs away from his head and scrambling to settle above her. Her mind is a pleasured daze as he shoves his pants down his hips just enough to pull himself from the tight pleather. It’s good he doesn’t wait because he’s big when he slides into her, her cunt giving way to him in one stroke with how slick she is. Johnny lavishes his tongue over her ear, his breath hot and his hands greedy, touching and grabbing at any part of her he can reach.

Vera wraps herself around him — legs hitched up around his waist, arms around his middle. It feels as if she can’t seem to get her breath back but it’s alright because Johnny’s got her, fuck he’s got her in his arms and he’s inside her. She buries her face into his neck and thinks about how much she doesn’t want to let go of him. Vera cannot let go of anyone. Cannot give up. How many times has he called her stubborn?

Johnny grinds into her; stretches her and licks at her collarbone to smooth the dull sting inside of her. It’s been a long time for her and maybe he remembers that. Memories of hers she didn’t keep too well guarded— far too preoccupied with other parts of her psyche she didn’t want anyone to touch. 

He grunts into her skin, bruising grip still on her hip and starts to fuck her hard. He stays seated within her, content not to draw himself out of her tightness. Johnny’s thrusts are hard and quick and shallow, leaving her breathless. Vera concludes that if he stops and leaves her aching and empty she would shatter. 

Johnny starts groaning and huffing, breathing V and then Vera and then baby and it could be the force of his pace but she swears she feels him shaking in her arms. 

He tightens, stills and grunts a slur of profanities against her neck before he relaxes against her. 

Vera starts to chase her breath, staring at the cracks in her ceiling while his weight settles on top of her. It is quiet except for their breaths and the continued drone of the radio. Vera tries to latch onto the words but she can’t seem to make sense of them at the moment, heart pounding in her ears. The two of them, sticky chests pressed together and breathing in an awkward, frantic tandem. Her fingers slide up over his shoulders and back into his hair, his breath hot and wet as it beats against her neck. 

Johnny doesn’t seem to be moving any time soon but she still keeps her arms around him, even if her legs have fallen back apart like jelly noodles.

When he finally picks his head up, her breathing has returned to normal. The edges of his hair are damp with sweat when she combs it from his face. 

“You good?” Johnny asks her. She isn’t looking in his eyes, a burn of intimacy blooming in her chest that is hard to bear.

“Yeah,” Vera nods and aches when they disentangle themselves from each other. Vera reaches down and snatches up his t-shirt, tugging it on to cover herself. Johnny instead kicks his pants off the rest of the way and sprawls naked on her couch. There is a long and tender moment of silence between them, Johnny watching her curl her legs under her, tucking herself into the curved corner of the couch. 

She reaches over the back to grab her half-empty box of smokes. Vera holds her lighter in her shaking hands and lights it with just a bit of difficulty. The burning drag feels good, settles the nerves that are bounding in her body; heart still pounding under his gaze. 

Satisfaction. A heart-rending something she still does not want to name and thinks she might not have to. Loneliness, an empty ache with him so far away —  though it may just be a foot or two in reality. Guilt too. 

“I’m leaving.”

“Fuck, I know it wasn’t bad,” Johnny jokes and smirks lazily. It falls when she doesn’t chide him or smile back at him. Vera takes another shaky drag.

“Joining the Aldecaldos when they leave for Arizona. We leave in two days.”

Vera is an expert now in catching the quick strike of hurt in his features. No matter the words he slings at her she can see it and that fucking scares him. Vera knows because it scares the shit out of her too. 

“Spit it out,” Vera huffs in irritation, anxiously flicking the ashes from the cig.

“You’re fuckin’ with me,” he scoffs with a shake of his head, “Why in the fuck would you wanna live the rest of your life with tarmac rats, eatin’ sand and-”

“It’s my fucking life, Johnny,” Vera snaps angrily, forcefully flicking more embers into the ashtray she pulled into her lap. “Finally. Just mine.”

Vera laughs breathlessly and shakes her head in disbelief. 

“This city ate us alive. We are lucky to even be sitting here,” Vera tells him forcefully, her finger raised in accusation. 

“Be fucking smarter next time then. You’re really going to give up? Let all of them-”

“All of who?!” Vera exclaims. “Arasaka? Millitech? Petrochem? NCPD?”

She stands, almost stumbling in her anger. The ashtray clatters onto the table. Johnny sits back and glares at her, watching her body curl in fury.

“Never thought you’d be a fucking pussy, V,” he snarls, yanking his pants back on when he stands.

“Aren’t you tired of fighting?” V breathes, staring up at him. There is a softness to her body, her voice — not of defeat but of exhaustion. “Johnny, this city takes . That’s all it does. It gives nothing. It took you. It took me. It took-”

Jackie. Evelyn. Her mother-

Vera leans over, blowing a column of smoke from the corner of her mouth and stubs out the cigarette.

“For some fucking reason we have another chance. I’m not going to waste it throwing my bloody corpse against a fucking wall like every promise this city makes isn’t a fucking lie .”

Johnny’s jaw is tight but he doesn’t speak. It’s how Vera knows there are no more walls he can throw up.

“A new start. It’s more than any dirtgirl from Heywood could ask for,” Vera tells him.

“Okay,” he tells her with a shrug.

“Okay?” 

“Both know you won’t listen to me anyway,” Johnny grunts, arms crossing over his chest. A flippant flick of his hand. Still, there is something in his resolution. Something bittersweet and maudlin. Her body swims with the same ache.

She kisses him again, softer this time, arms threading around his waist. It isn’t long before Johnny lifts her into his arms.

 -

Vera’s apartment is darkened save for the warm glow of a lamp and the ever-present neon flicker outside her window. One of her neighbors is playing some music that booms through the walls, into her stomach. A bright green and yellow light dances over Johnny’s face, cuts sharp lines into his cheeks. She refuses to let him take a drag of her cigarette, the pair of them tangled in sweaty sheets on her bed.

Vera leans her cheek against the side of his chest, staring up at the ceiling. He has an arm looped around her and she can’t resist playing idly running her thumb over each of his fingers.

“Panam and I are going to say goodbye to the city. Sunset on that bridge in Westbrook. Two days.”

They both know why she’s mentioning it.

The silent dark of the apartment swallows their silence.

 -

Two days later, Vera is bathed in sunset glow as she says her farewells to the city skyline. A tangle of emotions ache in her chest but the heaviness is peeling from her shoulders like a bad sunburn. Panam had told her to take a long look. She left Vera with a reassuring touch on the shoulder and an understanding Vera had only found a handful of times before.

Johnny had left her apartment that morning after without waking her. Neither of them were really equipped for goodbyes anyway. How did you say goodbye to someone who knew you like that? Vera felt untethered, light and bittersweet. Despite herself, when she closed her eyes she could still feel the ache of tears pressing forth. A few fell freely, quickly swept away by a manicured finger.

So lost in fighting back the well of emotion in her chest, Vera doesn’t hear the car until it comes roaring around the last curve in the hills. The tarmac waves with heat, the shiny silver metal reflecting sunrays into her eyes. She squints against the brightness and eyes the red racing stripe that cuts across the back half of the car.

It rumbles to a stop at the curb. Too far away, Vera decides, pushing off the half-wall she had leaned her height against. She is already taking long strides — that might have been a jog if her legs were shorter — when the driver ducks out of the car and loops around to the hood.

“Just so you know,” Johnny begins, arms crossed, leaning back against his Porsche. “I get sand in my asscrack once and I’m leaving-”

“Johnny,” Vera huffs, pulling him down for a hard, messy kiss once she reaches him. An arm loops loosely around her waist, tugging her closer. Against his lips, she lets out a satisfied sigh, a beautiful, peaceful smile gracing her features in sharp contrast to the annoyed, fond tone that leaves her lips. “Stop talking.”

Johnny smirks lazily and straightens with a grunt.

“Know I can’t do that V.”

#johnny silverhand #johnny x v #johnny silverhand x v #cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk 2077 spoilers #emily! stop using em dashes! enough! #:) no #writing* #ship: you're in my veins #i can't believe i actually wrote like at least....something sort of productive #i'd say read this on ao3 it's long and i haven't checked the formatting of it on tumblr i just wanna post