This is where I post my gross bullshit writing. I sometimes post triggering content and I do not take requests. I follow back from my personal @trashcatsnark!
Do I Terrify You Or Do You Feel Alive? (Dragon!Sylus/Sorceress!MC)
Summary: Spring has sprung but Sylus' behavior has been concerning. This is my Dragon!Sylus Heat Fic, there are many like it, but this one is mine!
MC is my MC, she is named- not generic or a reader insert
Warnings: Dragon Sex, Double Peens, Double Penetration, Two Dicks One Hole (cannot stress that enough), lots of cum, so much cum, cunnilingus, fingering, biting, and Sorceress!MC being the biggest fucking brat this side of Philos- no beta reading because I hate myself
Regan huffs, blowing a strand of scarlet hair from her face, the soft mountain breeze curls around her bringing with it the familiar smell of ash as she looks out at the city on Tarus on the horizon line. Radcliffe, as she’s come to name the mountain cat, swats at the shifting hem of her cloak, her only company for the evening.
Her only company for several evenings, as a matter of fact.
She huffs again, scratching her nails through the cat’s fur admiring the soft gleam of the setting sun bouncing off her rings. It’s silly, she should be thankful for the space away from Sylus, should be plotting her next attempt to pluck his eye from his skull or perhaps to give up and run- though the very idea makes her laugh. Maybe she should even be fearful the distance means he’s preparing to finally gorge himself on her soul.
Yet all she feels is lonely.
It had been a ploy, she tells herself now as she did then, to ask for his love knowing it could not exist.
A survival strategy, the one desire he could never satiate, so her soul would never be quite plump enough to satisfy him. He’d be forced to keep her around, at least until the hunger for anything outweighed the need for a more substantial meal.
Yet, again- here she is, waiting tirelessly for their routine to continue, for him to float about and tease her, to ask what she desires tonight. For him to curl his tail around her and promise to cater to every little want she has, to request only in return that she sings for him again.
He should be out here indulging her.
Yet, Radcliffe remains her only company.
For three days now, both an excruciatingly long and pathetically short expanse of time, he has denied her his company and has not attended to a single one of her ever important needs.
For three days, three entire days- the horror, they have not killed a single Justitian soldier, they have not stolen a single new piece of jewelry or art, they have not raided a single city or village, she has been afforded no new gifts or treasures. Nothing.
He’s been neglecting both his responsibilities as a draconic fiend and her, the latter of which is far more important, to be clear. She’s gone far too long denied a shred of indulgence to now be denied by her dragon- the very first to ever care about her desire.
And it’s not as if she hasn’t brought this to his attention, she did, the very first night he neglected his duties.
Also the second.
Yet, he does not even have the decency to conjure an excuse for her, an explanation of why he’s suddenly forgotten how to be a dragon. Has refused to even roll over to face her when she stands at the opening of his specific den within his nest, content to lay in his bedding with his back turned to her and only demand she leave before she could even speak- that surely there’s something else within his horde that can entertain her for a few nights.
There isn’t. Also, that’s his job and frankly, he has no right to be this lazy.
She allows irritation to brew in response to the prickling at her heart, the worry that needles there- it’s not allowed to be worry, it’s not allowed to be anxiety, it’s not allowed to be a fear that he’s grown somehow bored of her or that this is the death knell for whatever it is they have.
Desire has defined their relationship since it first was forged- indulgence, want, selfishness. If he no longer wants with her, no longer wants her…
What will become of this?
No, no, those thoughts and they swirl bile in her stomach- forces her heart to pound against her ribs like an animal seeking escape.
Irritation is easier. She knows well how to make demands of him, no longer feeling the slightest hint of shame when she voices a desire or behaves like a spoiled brat around him- but to be vulnerable, to admit she’s scared of not being wanted by him, to admit that he’s more than a pretty eye to pluck out and a means to have her superficial desires met…
To admit her love is so much more easily obtained than his.
Throwing a tantrum like a spoiled brat is far easier.
This isn’t love, this isn’t fear of it not being returned, this isn’t anxiety of a shift in the entire basis of their relationship- this is simply wanting to be indulged and him not doing his due diligence as a fiend.
She huffs again, stands up so quickly that Radcliffe startles looking up at her with wide amber eyes. Regan smooths the fine fabric of her clothes, taking another breath of ash heavy air, the reek of smoke as familiar as any home.
“I’m simply holding him accountable for his failures,” she says, as if needing to justify herself to the only other living thing out here with her. Radcliffe’s tail simply flick in response and she can’t help but think he’s unconvinced.
She shakes her head and turns back to the opening of the dragon nest, climbing down the same footholds she treks up and down daily. Determination stirs inside of her as she moves through the flame lit tunnels and burrows of his nest. Familiar paths carved through the trinkets and treasures of his horde.
This can’t continue.
He can’t expect her to let this keep happening. He demands she prove she can be stronger, only to grow weak and complacent on her?
That simply won’t do.
“Leave.”
The command rings out before she’s even properly set foot in his den, Regan groans in response as she looks in- his face hidden in the furs and silks he’s bundled into pillows, his tail flicks in the air, splayed on his stomach and not even bothering to look at her.
Again.
“No,” she says simply, head held high as she walks forward, “This has gone on far too long, get up.”
His laugh rings out, dark and sonorous, a sound she’d love were it not mocking her in this moment. Her steps falter in the wake of it, her brows furrow. She can see in the dim lighting the tension in his back, muscles tight beneath the thick patches of black scales- a sheen of sweat heavy on his pale skin.
“It’s almost cute that you believe that was a request, sweetie- almost. Leave, now.”
“No, I-” Her voice catches as red black mist swirls around her- lifts, pulls, tugs, all attempting to drag her back out of his space, she flusters, “No, no, no! You are going to talk to me, I swear- Sylus!”
The mist fades, a sharp inhale and a groan verging on a growl as she plops into the dirt. His thick black claws dig into the furs of his bedding and his entire body seems to shudder. She blinks, trying to understand why that worked, to comprehend the physical response in his body-
“You’ve truly never met a line you wouldn’t cross, have you?” He taunts and she scoffs, rolls her eyes.
“Perhaps if someone would take a moment to explain why the line is drawn, I would, have you forgotten what you’ve promised me?” She pushes, trying to bolster herself in the face of him wavering.
“What I’ve promised you?” He laughs again and she grits her teeth as she tries to move closer to him, “You really should know better than to pin your hopes on the promises of a fiend.”
“I-”
“Leave,” he demands again and the heavy mist is wrapping around her before she can reach for him, tighter as it pulls and lifts, dragging her back, she yelps as she tries to fight it’s grip, it’s pull, worry burbling up inside of her- why would he break his promises all of a sudden? Why is he acting like this, why won’t he just talk to her, is he truly that bored of her, is something-
“Did I do something wrong!?” Is the question that finally breaks past her grinding teeth, heart thumping against the cage of her chest, voice tight and cracking with her own anxieties.
And once again she thumps into the ground, gold coins press indents into her knees as she collapses into herself- staring down at her own clenching hands, hating herself for how pathetic her own voice is. To admit her fear, to feel all over again like a scared child just desperate to know how to stop failing everyone around her- to stop being a disappointment.
The sound of shifting furs and footfalls, his feet and swishing tail come into view, a stolid heat coming off of his body. He always runs hot, but he seems to burn like fire today. Regan doesn’t dare to look up, shame sears her face as he crouches down closer.
“Look at me.”
“No.”
Warm scaled muscle pushes under her chin, his tail lifts her head and forces her to meet his eyes. The deep crimson seems to glow brighter, not the same eerie glow of his right eye when he uses its power, just something deep in them. His pale skin is flushed, the shine and smell of sweat more obvious now. His silver hair mused, short strands sticking against sweat slick skin.
He draws a breath that sounds too shaky- “You’ve done nothing wrong. I simply need you to leave.”
“But, why- I, are you sick? Can dragons get sick, you don’t look well…” She asks, hand instinctively lifting, presses her palm against the warmth of his jawline- feels him lean in, a growl rumbles in his throat.
“Don’t, you- don’t,” he speaks through gritted fangs, even as his eyes close and he presses in tighter, he’s never looked so desperate. Never looked desperate at all, but he leans in like he’s starved for her touch.
“Sylus-”
A snarl, sharp and deep, and like a flash her back is slammed against the floor- the muscles of his tail now coiling around her waist, claws pin her wrists to the ground, and those bright crimson eyes stare down at her. Her words catch in her throat, his glare only lasts a moment before his face is burrowed in the curve of her throat, his breath hot against her skin, lips and gleaming fangs brush over her pulse.
His body presses against her, his weight only makes her own breaths more ragged, the thump of her heartbeat in her ears- but it’s the way he’s slotted himself between her thighs that makes her own truly burn.
“You should leave,” he rasps against her throat, as if it’s not his tail curling around her waist, as if it’s not his fingers sliding up to intertwine with her own where he presses them down, as if it’s not his weight pinning her in place.
“Tell me why and maybe I will,” she challenges, despite the pit of want building inside of her.
She’s not naive enough to not register what it must be that he wants, nor stupid enough to believe that what’s grinding against her is anything other than his cock. Even if a part of her is a bit confused about something specific she may be feeling through her dress and his pants. But the sudden rush of lust- has he always wanted her like this? So, desperately he’s nearly sick with it?
“Surely, you noticed- the warming of the weather, the flowers returning…”
“Spring…?”
“Breeding season.”
“Oh, uh,” she stutters, chokes on her words as a flush runs up her cheeks, a deep rumble of a laugh against her pulse, “I, I was not aware that’s a thing dragon’s had.”
“Clearly.”
“Well, sorry, I’m not an expert on dragon sex!” She shrieks, earning another laugh against her throat- she wasn’t even allowed a damn lamp with the things on them, why would he expect her to be able to read about how they fuck?
“You’re not forgiven,” he teases and her indignance sinks into incredulous giggles, the silliness of the situation bubbling inside of her.
“Can’t believe it, been worrying myself to death and you’ve just been in here brooding over your own cock.” ”
“Cocks,” he says, nuzzling into her throat like it’s his lifeline, inhaling the smell of her skin.
“Cocks?”
“I have two.”
“Oh, uh, that would explain some of what I’m feeling down there- uh, again, not an expert on the matter, uh, um…” Her voice cracks and falters, drifts into nonsense as she tries to conjure more words or cognitive thoughts beyond how much she wants to see what’s pressing against her.
They feel- nice, better than nice. That’s a terrible word, they feel hot, heavy, thick, and prodding at the inside of her thigh. They feel like want, desire, like everything else about him.
He chuckles again- “Are you scared?”
“Not of you.”
He smiles against her jawline, moves to look at her again, the need in his eyes making her insides clench- thighs unintentionally tightening around him, another groan in his throat. She swallows, mouth having gone dry at some point as she tries to process it all.
“So, uh, does that mean you’ll be in here brooding all spring?”
“No,” he says, voice too soft, eyes too amused, “The worse of it will pass in a week or two, it will be… manageable, after that.”
“Mangeable?”
“Barely, but yes- think you can stand to be without me until then?” He asks, embarrassment prickles her skin. She avoids his gaze, thoughts spinning, teeth digging into her lip.
“If I say no?”
“Then whatever shreds of self restraint I have would surely snap and I’d be inside you before the end of the night.”
His voice is low but gentle- not a flirt, not a threat, a simple declaration- a statement of pure undeniable fact. That whatever part of him that can ignore what his body is pleading with him to do will lose the battle if she lingers for too long. But her own want and desire call to her too, how could they not? She’s always found him hauntingly infuriatingly beautiful, only growing more so as their lives have intertwined. A man with a face like his and a fixation on meeting her every desire, she was helpless to the feelings he’d inspire in her.
But-
“Do you want me to say no?” She asks, trying to gauge what he truly wants and what’s just his body driving him. She doesn’t want to just be a way to meet a need, she wants to be wanted.
His jaw clenches, gaze shifts between her eyes and her lips- she wonders if he thinks of when she kissed him often or if he simply shook off the gesture as quick as she’d done it. She wonders if she haunts his dreams as deeply as he haunts hers.
“What I want and what is wise, are two very different things at the moment.”
“And since the moment we’ve met, I have not concerned myself with what is wise,” she reminds him, meeting his stare straight on, “So, tell me, what is it that you desire?”
A deep familiar rumble of a groan, his face tenses like he’s been struck, his forehead presses against her own, their noses bump as he draws a shaky breath- tries to steel himself. And in the moment his hold on her wrist tightens only to then slacken. She takes advantage to pull her hands free, cupping his jawline and seeing his resolve nearly falter at her touch. And to inspire want in someone like him, to see desire for nothing but her in his eyes…
“Don’t…”
“You ask me that every night.”
“That is different.”
“How?” She demands to know, stroking her thumbs over his flushed cheekbones.
“Sating your desires serves us both, mine are… a burden at the moment.”
“You don’t get to decide what I find burdensome,” she rubs her nose against his own, “And my desires and yours could very well be the same.”
“Are they?” He asks, eyes open and serious, staring into her gaze and she knows he could pull the truth from her skull if he wanted- but there’s no need, she can’t resist, not when he’s flushed and desperate in a way she’s never seen before.
“I can’t know until you answer me, Sylus,” she reminds him, he growls again and her own thoughts stutter in time with the grind of his hips that stoke a fire in her core, “Do you like that, when I say your name?”
“Yes.”
“Even though it’s the one I gave you?”
“Because it’s the one you gave me…”
“I, uh, fuck,” her voices catches, the admission too kind, his eyes too soft despite how sharply his instincts push him to just take what he wants, “Just, answer me one thing before, before we-”
“Anything.”
“Did you want me before, before winter ended, did you want me then too?”
“Long before, yes.”
She smiles, wide and bright, unable to dull it under the weight of what that means- that their hearts have wanted the same thing longer than she realized, that-
He kisses her smile with his own, desperate and rough, catching her off guard as if he simply could not resist for a moment longer or perhaps just couldn’t help but to kiss the look on her face. She almost laughs, near delirious with joy as they finally kiss, truly kiss- not just a shy impulsive peck, but a true deep press of his lips against her. His tongue pushes into her mouth before the joyful shock can truly pass.
And he tastes like smoke and pomegranate, unyielding as he groans into her mouth, maps out the shape of her teeth with his tongue- the tease of his fangs over her lips. Her groans muffled by the press of his mouth, large clawed hands slip beneath her hips, scratch up the back of her thighs as she’s suddenly hoisted into the air. One of her hands smooths down to hold at his neck, thighs wrapping around his hips as his hands knead at the plush of her ass.
He carries her over as she pulls off his mouth, catching a quick breath as her lungs burn, then she kisses him again, again, again. Not able to decide between quick reverent presses and deep lingering pushes.
Her back hits furs and silks, dropped into his bedding as he hovers above her. Another kiss, another swipe of his tongue, and then he kisses down her jaw. Kisses, licks, gentle nipping bites at her flesh- his tongue laves over the mark he left on her all those days ago, the thrum of pleasure rolls through her nerves, his hips grind against her.
“Sylus,” she pleads, fingers twisting in his silver hair, as he groans and bites at her collarbone- a jab of pain as blood and bruises marble the skin in his wake.
“Yes, sweetie?” He teases, voice ravaged with want as he kisses the top of her chest.
“Please,” she manages, squirms beneath his roaming lips and gripping hands. He laughs, again, warm and familiar as his claws begin to push up the hem of her dress.
“Just like that,” he whispers, nips the soft give of her skin, “Beg me.”
“Please, please, please.” She gives in too easily, her need overrides her sense of shame- spreads her legs wider for him and presses her hand between them, palms at his hardening cocks beneath the leather of his pants. He groans against her, grins at the way she fumbles to get him closer to naked.
“Can you feel it, what you’ve done to me,” he whispers, kissing back up her neck, “Just by being here, just by staying with me- my entire home smells like you now. Steamy and sweet, like cherry wine.”
“I’m literally sweating, you fucking freak,” she teases, ignoring the burn of her skin as she manages to shove her hand beneath his leathers and barely wrap her fingers around one of his cocks, feels the other bump against her knuckles. He’s burning hot, sticky precum already spilling over her fingers as his hips stutter, fucks into her hand as he laughs against her throat.
“You’re the one who wanted to quench a fiend’s desires, surely you can’t think you’re the normal one here,” he teases, kisses just beneath her ear, then bites. She squeaks at the ebb of pain, even if it just coalesces into want between her thighs.
“Well, I know it’s not you, so….” She taunts, rolling her thumb around the head of his cock, feeling the steady leak of precum, taking in the shudder that rolls through his spine all the way to the end of his tail. Just one of his cocks is heavy in her hand, fingers not quite able to wrap fully around him, not even able to fathom what she’s going to do with two of those.
The tear of fabric, barely able to look down as his claws tear the dress from her body- ripping the silk to shreds and pushing it off. She can barely gasp, squirming as her underwear is quick to follow, torn to tatters.
“Sylus!” She yelps, glowering beneath her lashes, the sweat on her skin chilled in the open air- her nipples stiffening, her cunt even wetter as he feels his against her bare skin. The hand not toying with his cock, she brings over her chest, covering her breast with her arm on instinct.
“I’ve filled this nest with more clothes than you could ever hope to wear in your lifetime- you’ll be okay.”
“Sure, whatever you say,” she relents, face flushed and a pout on her lips as his crimson eyes flitter to where she covers her chest- soft flesh threatening to spill through her fingers, his brow furrows, something she can’t place in his expression.
“Have you changed your mind?” he asks suddenly, gaze lifting to meet her own.
“What, no? I’m holding your dick right now, what are you talking about?”
“Dicks.”
“Dick, because I can’t hold them both in the same hand, actually,” she corrects, though the smirk on his flushed face. Clawed fingers curl just beneath the wrist of the hand covering her breast, heat curling along her every nerve.
“So, if you haven’t changed your mind- let me see you.”
“Of course,” she murmurs, allowing him to lift away her hand, his eyes focused on the soft sway of her chest- fingers wrap around her other wrist too and she allows him to pry her grip off of his cock.
Her fingers glisten with the wet slick of his precum, he pins her clean hand against his bed as he brings the other towards his flushed face- open mouth meeting the flat of her palm. The wet press of his tongue, the heat of his mouth, he traces along the lines of her skin. He licks up the beads of precum that rolled down, lapping up until his tongue is pushing into the spaces between her figures- groaning at the taste of his own mess on her skin, sucking her fingers into his mouth.
She whimpers, watching as he licks at her skin, fingers pushing over the soft swollen plush of his lips, a hint of his teeth scratching over the flesh- his skin soon slick with nothing but spit. He pulls back, her fingers leaving his mouth with a wet pop and soon he’s pinning that hand to the bed again. He leans over her fully, a familiar almost iron taste at the back of her throat, the smell of blood and smoke- his mist wrappling around her wrists, binding them together above her head as his clawed hands pull back.
Regan huffs, blowing a strand of hair out of her face, she pouts and sees his lips curl into a smirk in response.
“Kind of thought I was going to be an active participant here,” she teases and he laughs, nuzzles into her jaw.
“You are, by giving all of yourself to me, every inch of you- all mine,” he says against her skin and another kiss to her neck, “After all, how else can you expect to sate a greed like mine?”
“Heh, you’re greedy, for me?”
“So badly, it burns,” he answers- his capability for sincerity always taking her back, coming up in the worst and best moments all at once. She meets the kiss that punctuates his admission, whines into his mouth as she meets the push of his tongue- the bitter salt of his precum still sticking to him, the taste makes her groan. Regan runs her own tongue over his teeth, moans at the prickle of his fangs.
His hands run up her body as his tongue nearly pries its way into her throat, his claws drag softly- enough to raise goosebumps across her bare flesh, but not enough to hurt. Just faint little red lines prickling her skin until his palms cup her breasts, squeezing into the soft give of her flesh. His thumbs brush over her stiffening nipples, the rub rough skin over sensitive nerves sends heat down to her cunt.
Her lungs burn when he breaks the kiss, only to press another to her jaw, to her throat, her neck. He kisses over marks he already made into her skin, licks over bitemarks, and creates new ones along the way.
“Sylus,” she calls out, groaning as he kisses lower down her body- feels the rumble against her chest at the sound of his name. His mouth easily latches onto her breast, mindful of his teeth as he sucks at the flesh. She squirms, whines, the flick of his tongue over her nipple stokes the heat inside of her.
His hands curl carefully beneath her thighs, spreading her wider as he laps at her breast, teasing with the blunt edges of his front teeth- lets her feel just the gentlest press of his fangs without piercing the flesh. Letting go just to kiss his way across to her other breast, laving and lapping at it in the same way- chest wet with sweat and spit by the time his mouth moves lower down her sternum. He groans against her skin as she moves further- lower, lower, lower- kisses growing hungry with every press, anticipation knotting in her guts until he’s settling between the thick of her thighs, hungry mouth at her mound.
Regan’s face burns, hips squirming beneath the weight of his mouth, his entire focus narrowing in on her pussy in a way that makes her dizzy. No hesitancy as he kisses down the sparse hair that frames her painfully wet cunt, a hungry snarling groan reverberates across her skin when his tongue finally meets her slick, and he’s gone.
He buries his face into her, nose and mouth smothered into the wet of her cunt. She moans, writhes beneath him, fingers itching to tangle in his hair or grip onto his horns- something to hold onto, but all she can do is clench her fists so tight her nails dig crescents into the flesh. His nose grinds into her clit as his tongue laps through her cunt. Licks, teases, sucks, and slurps at her, hungry groans muffled by her pussy. He can’t seem to decide where to linger- mouth buried into her soaked cunt or sucking at her clit, back and forth. Every action making her hips twitch, her cunt clench, slick dripping down her thighs and ass.
Sylus’ arms curl around her hips, pins them beneath his desperate mouth. Every groan, every lick wounding that knot inside of her tighter. He takes from her, eats her like he’s starved- the slurps making her head spin, can hear how wet she is. His hips grind against the bed as he licks into her, heavy scaled tail flicking back and forth- wagging as he eats.
A harsh suck at her clit and heavy press of his tongue at the swollen skin, it all snaps, her vision blurs and her ears ring as she falls apart beneath him. She thrashes, his name on her tongue as she cums hard against his mouth, slick spilling as her body trembles- his rumbles of pleasure only louder as he licks her through it, laps it up hungrily.
“Too much, too much,” she squeals, writhing as he licks her past her orgasm, pleasure verging on pain as she tries to escape his greedy mouth.
He laughs as he pulls back, head lifting and she swallows an embarrassed squeak. Slick sticks to his face; wets his nose, his mouth, his chin. The black scales that mark his jaw glisten with her mess, his face flushed and his eyes seeming dazed. Soft in a way that hurts, his wet mouth kisses her inner thigh as he looks up at her.
“Not feeling greedy tonight, sweetie?” He rasps against her thigh, nips the skin.
“Shut up,” she mumbles, catching her breath, “I just, I, fuck, need more- need you to fuck me, please... “
He pushes his face tighter against her inner thigh, takes a deep breath, his eyes closed as he lets out a rumbling purr that makes her heart stutter. He’s smiling into her skin, another bite.
“Not yet.”
“Sylus, why not, I, ugh!” She groans, head thunks against the bed and he laughs. His right hand lifts from her hip, teases the claws along her thighs as he starts to bring his fingers towards mouth.
“My restraint is a rare commodity this time of year, princess, and if I don’t take advantage while I have some left, well- you won’t make it through the spring,” he warns and her brows furrow then raise as he brings the claws on his pointer and middle finger into his mouth.
A clean snap as his teeth crunch down on his own claws, he spits the sharp points over his scaled shoulder- those nails now blunt and the break surprisingly clean.
“Sylus, is that-”
“They’ll be back by morning, you have much bigger issues to worry about right now,” he almost assures her, a finger sinking into her cunt, spearing her open.
Her voice breaks at the near painful stretch, his name mangled on her tongue- his finger thick and rough, as it pries her open with just one finger. Thicker, rough, and longer than his tongue, even with the wet dripping down her cunt, it’s a tight fit and she can’t help the babbling sounds he pulls from her throat.
“See, kitten,” he taunts as he opens her up, “You can barely take my finger and you think you're ready to have my cock?”
“Cocks,” she corrects, even through the fuzz in her skull and the heat in her veins, she can't resist. He laughs, a throaty rumble.
“Oh, my apologies, I underestimated your greed, sweetie- though if you intend to take both, I better get to work, shouldn't I?”
“Fuck, fuck, Sylus, fuck!” She curses as his second finger sinks into her, the burn of a deeper stretch as he curls his fingers into, getting wetter with every motion.
“I might have to gnaw off some more of my claws, if you're wanting to take both,” he says, voice low and almost casual despite the strain underneath. His fingers scissor inside of her, testing how deep he can spread her, how much stretch she can handle around his thick scaled fingers.
She tries to conjure a response, but the burn of him inside of her sears out any thoughts. The heat in her being stoked higher and higher by every motion of him inside of her, soon the ache is replaced by pleasure, a steady thrum as the squelch of his fingers fucking into her fills the den.
“Think I don't want to be inside you, too?” He kisses her thigh- once, twice, “If it'd been up to me, I'd have been buried in you before we even moved to the bed.”
“Sy…”
“But, it'd be a shame, wouldn't it? All this time spent feeding your soul, only to split you open and kill you with my cocks, because we both got too greedy…”
His lips drop back down to her clit, making her twitch and gasp, pumping his fingers in quicker and rough as he sucks on her aching clit. And she can barely stand it, being built up so quickly again, pleasure burns through every nerve and the rumble in his throat is what makes the tension snap for the second time.
Her hips tremble and grind, half trying to ride his tongue and fingers- half trying to escape the overwhelming pleasure. The world around her fading and blurred as she cums hard again, clenching around his fingers and grinding against his lips. Her slick soaks her, soaks him, and the blankets below her writhing hips.
Sylus’ fingers slip from her, soaked with her mess- he moves forward, those fingers slipping past her lips. She groans, tasting her slick and the heat of his skin- drool spills from the corner of her lips, a heavy stretch in her mouth as he toys with her tongue, watching the way she sucks at his fingers.
And once he’s sated, he pulls his fingers back, wet with her spit. He sits back and she’s able to fully look down to where he’s settling between her thighs, pulling her legs up to drap over his muscled shoulders.
His belt and top of his leather trousers already open due to her earlier prying, but somewhere in his torment of her- he’s completely pulled himself out. Gray hair and embedded black scales along his pale skin, two heavy flushed cocks weeping precum. And to her horror, delight, and amusement- the one she toyed with is the smaller of the two, the bottom one noticeably thicker and longer.
That’s the one he’s lining up with her cunt, Regan gasping when he rubs the head through her cunt, gathers her slick. Even just the slight press of it has her flinching, can tell it’ll be such a tight stretch, that no amount of time taken apart by his fingers and mouth will truly be enough to prep her.
“The big one first?” She tries to joke, to make light of his choice as her insides clench- he was exaggerating the death by cock thing, right? He had to be.
“Better preparation for taking both,” he tells her, the statement simple, but filled with intention.
He wasn’t fucking with her, he plans on having her take both. The very thought rattles her with anxiety and desire, a muddled little cocktail. Unable to dwell as he pins her hips with a hand, dragging his bottom cock through her slick.
“Last chance to back out,” he offers, despite the laboring of his breath and the steady flush on his body. His restraint grows thinner with every action, especially now, so close to pushing into her- into finally giving in to what his body has been begging him for, but still he offers her the out.
And he can call himself a fiend, a monster- but she knows him well enough to know if she asked, he’d let her roll right out of his bedding and spend the rest of the night fucking his own fist instead. But, she’d rather not spend her night jealous of his right hand.
“Please, I want you, Sylus, please,” she begs, watching the pride swell in his chest.
“Greedy, greedy thing,” he teases as he sinks into her, inch after inch pushing deep inside, stretching her wider than she’s ever felt.
Her eyes sting, tears falling down her cheeks, even through the slick- the initial stretch hurts, aches, not sharp but there's a dull burn as her body takes him in. His upper cock rubs against her mound and stomach as he pushes his lower one into her, stinking until he’s completely buried- his forehead bumps hers, and her legs pushed back they nearly meet the mattress by her head.
Sylus groans until it rumbles into a purr, his body shudders above her, his weight and heat pressing her down into the blankets- pinned beneath and split open by him. His eyes are closed as he breathes her in, he stays just in the moment of being inside of her. His body is rigid with fraying restraint, stopping himself from moving even if she can tell every muscle is tight with the need to move.
And the ache gives way to something deeper, more frustrating.
“Please, I, I need you to move, Sylus, feel so fucking good…”
He kisses her with a snarling groan, deep and consuming, followed by the first rut of his hips- stars dancing in her vision as he overwhelms her senses. The heavy grind of his cock inside of her, pounding into her, the sweat slap of their skin snapping together- his upper cock moving between them, grinding and bumping along her clit in extra pulses of overwhelming bliss. The push of his tongue in her mouth, the deep press of his cock filling her, and the brush of his other cock over her swollen aching clit.
She breaks the kiss, head thumping back as she screams and the world seems to crash apart around her- she cums around him, cunt clenching around his cock, hips writhing- and he doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow. His hips keep pistoning into her, the steady clap of their flash, the squelch of him fucking into her cunt, even as her pleasure peaks and crashes down, nerves still alight with the stretch of him inside of her. And its already right there again, not even sure she ever stopped cumming because he hasn’t stopped fucking her.
His mouth latches onto the bend between her neck and shoulder, bites into the skin, makes her yelp and squirm. Pleasure dominates everything, drowns out everything, cock still fucking, still grinding into her between brutal snaps of his hips- snarling into bite he’s locked into on her neck, like he’s pinning down his prey. Her head blurs, world fuzzy as her orgasm is dragged out more and more, or maybe just being made to cum again, again, again- everything stimulated, the deepest parts of her and her aching clit, no reprieve from everything he gives her.
Sylus breaks the skin of her neck, a sting of pain, a particularly rough snap of his hips and she feels his motions stutter through the haze- he groans into her skin and the heavy spill of his cum into her, deep and warm as she cums with him again. The heat of it too much, the flood of it all too much, as his upper cock twitches in time- thick hot cum splattering along her stomach and beneath her tits, smearing where his flesh rubs against hers.
He doesn’t stop, even as he’s spilling into her, even as cum splatters against her and overflows onto the blankets- he keeps fucking into her, every additional thrust forcing his own cum to ooze out of her, completely flooded by him.
“Take me so well,” he murmurs, when his head lifts from her neck- her blood sticking to the corners of his mouth, “Doing so good for me, sweetie, so good.”
“Sylus, I, I can’t, gonna kill me, too much, too much!” She babbles, she’s cum too much, can’t seem to stop as he keeps fucking his cum back into her, grinding against every sensitive nerve inside of her, fucking into her like its all he was ever meant to do.
“You can handle it, know you can, so good for me, feel so fuckin’ good- you’ll take every drop for me, know you can, want to give you everything, need to give you everything.”
‘Please, please, please!”
He cums again, fills her again, but she’s already been flooded with him- dripping down her thighs, staining his blankets, sticking to where his hips meet hers. Sticky burning cum trapped between their stomachs and chests where the upper cock paints them both white, making a mess with every grind of his hips.
And he cums again, her body trembles and her vision spots, how can he have anything left? Her thighs and lungs ache, unable to keep track of how long she’s been cumming or how many times she has came around him, everything just burning into overwhelming pleasure, the warm gush of cum in her aching cunt. But there’s a stutter in his hips, his mist around her wrists slackens, and he might actually fuck her to death if she isn’t careful.
She’s able to pull her hands down, arms aching and numb, but she grabs his shoulders and with quick enough twist he’s slammed back into the nest of blankets, able to swing her legs down to straddle him. He groans, red eyes bright and dazed as one of her hands steadies her against his chest and the other holds his throat.
“I, I need, I need a fuckin minute,” she curses out, breath staggered as she hovers, keeps her full weight from coming down on his dick. He’s still inside of her, but not fully in, cum running down the length of his cock. They’re a mess of sweat, cum, and slick. He laughs, eyes warm and happy as he looks up at her.
“Too much?” He teases, despite his own heavy breaths, his hand coming up to cover the one she has on his throat.
“Shut up,” she groans, “And stop making me squeeze your throat tighter, I’m not trying to strangle you, for once.”
“Explains why you’re doing a terrible job of it.”
“One more word, I’m slapping you in the fuckin’ face.”
“Please.”
“You’re a fucking freak, you know that, right?” She teases, smiling down at him and his stupid beautiful face and his stupid gorgeous flushed cheeks- he’s looking up at her like- “Ugh!”
She throws her head back, groaning in frustration at the tangled web of emotions he inspires in her, she leans back before reaching down for his upper cock. His breath hisses as her hands wrap loosely around his twitching dick, lining it up as she pulls up on his cock. But two expansive hands hold her hips.
“You don’t have to.”
“If there’s any time they’re gonna both fit, it’d be now,” she points out, between his cum and her own slick, she’s absolutely soaked, “Besides, said you’ll give me everything I ask for, right?”
“Of course, always,” he swears, grinning up at her, helping her pull up further- his hands a support, not a restraint. Regan lines both of his cocks up, pressing them tight together as she takes a deep breath and begins to sink down.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she curses, the stretch more than she could have possibly imagined. He’s carving out her insides, stretching, twitching, and pushing deep in through the mess of cum and slick inside of her.
And she swears she can feel him in her fucking throat as her weight settles down more and more until she’s flush to his cum streaked hips. She pants, squirming, and whines- all sounds animalistic and incoherent as she feels the fucking stretch of him, all of him. No thoughts in her head, only full of him.
“Look at you,” he groans beneath her, large hands kneading her hips like it can help with the strain- he’s he’s not in her fucking guts, “Fit me so perfectly, made just for me.”
The muscles in her arms tremor and give out, slumping against his stomach as something inside her snaps again- cumming around him around, squeezing around the cocks splitting her apart, without even moving they hit every fucking nerve inside of her. His hands smooth down her hair, wrap around her crumpled trembling frame as she groans into his chest.
And he grinds into her, the smallest rut of his hips, a deep rumbling sound in his chest and he squeezes her tight, cumming again, and the world goes dark, vision blurred, and her insides carved out to fit him.
But when she blinks again, it almost feels like a blink, he’s rolled over on top of her, pressed into the now damp furs and silks, the weight of a six-foot-four fiend crushing down onto her, still split around both of his cocks. He nuzzles into her, arms wrapped tight around him- sniffs at her skin, passively licks, burrows his face into her. His entire chest rumbling with that same gravely purr.
Her mind is a haze, she half expects his hips to start moving again, for his warning to become a reality and she’ll be fucked to death by a dragon. But instead, he just kisses at her skin. His tail is curled around her leg, large leathering wings curled around them- just nuzzling into her, horns occasionally bump clumsily against her skull, the ends thankfully dulled following a past incident. She scratches her nails along the back of his neck, a satisfied rumble is her reward.
“Awake? Lost you there for a minute.”
“Shut up.”
“Nothing wrong with it, should sleep while you can,” he tells her, a hint of a warning in the tone, and she remembers what he said about this lasting for weeks.
“Oh fuck…”
“You wanted my attention, kitten,” he reminds her and she laughs, holding him closer and smiling against his skin. .
“Yeah, yeah I did,” she murmurs, content as being surrounded and filled by him, having all of his attention and all of his desire. Knowing too that this started long before breeding season pulled at his impulses.
He wants her- he likes her.
Loser.
So, maybe she can forgive him for ignoring her the last two days- maybe.
Do I Terrify You Or Do You Feel Alive? (Dragon!Sylus/Sorceress!MC)
Summary: Spring has sprung but Sylus' behavior has been concerning. This is my Dragon!Sylus Heat Fic, there are many like it, but this one is mine!
MC is my MC, she is named- not generic or a reader insert
Warnings: Dragon Sex, Double Peens, Double Penetration, Two Dicks One Hole (cannot stress that enough), lots of cum, so much cum, cunnilingus, fingering, biting, and Sorceress!MC being the biggest fucking brat this side of Philos- no beta reading because I hate myself
Regan huffs, blowing a strand of scarlet hair from her face, the soft mountain breeze curls around her bringing with it the familiar smell of ash as she looks out at the city on Tarus on the horizon line. Radcliffe, as she’s come to name the mountain cat, swats at the shifting hem of her cloak, her only company for the evening.
Her only company for several evenings, as a matter of fact.
She huffs again, scratching her nails through the cat’s fur admiring the soft gleam of the setting sun bouncing off her rings. It’s silly, she should be thankful for the space away from Sylus, should be plotting her next attempt to pluck his eye from his skull or perhaps to give up and run- though the very idea makes her laugh. Maybe she should even be fearful the distance means he’s preparing to finally gorge himself on her soul.
Yet all she feels is lonely.
It had been a ploy, she tells herself now as she did then, to ask for his love knowing it could not exist.
A survival strategy, the one desire he could never satiate, so her soul would never be quite plump enough to satisfy him. He’d be forced to keep her around, at least until the hunger for anything outweighed the need for a more substantial meal.
Yet, again- here she is, waiting tirelessly for their routine to continue, for him to float about and tease her, to ask what she desires tonight. For him to curl his tail around her and promise to cater to every little want she has, to request only in return that she sings for him again.
He should be out here indulging her.
Yet, Radcliffe remains her only company.
For three days now, both an excruciatingly long and pathetically short expanse of time, he has denied her his company and has not attended to a single one of her ever important needs.
For three days, three entire days- the horror, they have not killed a single Justitian soldier, they have not stolen a single new piece of jewelry or art, they have not raided a single city or village, she has been afforded no new gifts or treasures. Nothing.
He’s been neglecting both his responsibilities as a draconic fiend and her, the latter of which is far more important, to be clear. She’s gone far too long denied a shred of indulgence to now be denied by her dragon- the very first to ever care about her desire.
And it’s not as if she hasn’t brought this to his attention, she did, the very first night he neglected his duties.
Also the second.
Yet, he does not even have the decency to conjure an excuse for her, an explanation of why he’s suddenly forgotten how to be a dragon. Has refused to even roll over to face her when she stands at the opening of his specific den within his nest, content to lay in his bedding with his back turned to her and only demand she leave before she could even speak- that surely there’s something else within his horde that can entertain her for a few nights.
There isn’t. Also, that’s his job and frankly, he has no right to be this lazy.
She allows irritation to brew in response to the prickling at her heart, the worry that needles there- it’s not allowed to be worry, it’s not allowed to be anxiety, it’s not allowed to be a fear that he’s grown somehow bored of her or that this is the death knell for whatever it is they have.
Desire has defined their relationship since it first was forged- indulgence, want, selfishness. If he no longer wants with her, no longer wants her…
What will become of this?
No, no, those thoughts and they swirl bile in her stomach- forces her heart to pound against her ribs like an animal seeking escape.
Irritation is easier. She knows well how to make demands of him, no longer feeling the slightest hint of shame when she voices a desire or behaves like a spoiled brat around him- but to be vulnerable, to admit she’s scared of not being wanted by him, to admit that he’s more than a pretty eye to pluck out and a means to have her superficial desires met…
To admit her love is so much more easily obtained than his.
Throwing a tantrum like a spoiled brat is far easier.
This isn’t love, this isn’t fear of it not being returned, this isn’t anxiety of a shift in the entire basis of their relationship- this is simply wanting to be indulged and him not doing his due diligence as a fiend.
She huffs again, stands up so quickly that Radcliffe startles looking up at her with wide amber eyes. Regan smooths the fine fabric of her clothes, taking another breath of ash heavy air, the reek of smoke as familiar as any home.
“I’m simply holding him accountable for his failures,” she says, as if needing to justify herself to the only other living thing out here with her. Radcliffe’s tail simply flick in response and she can’t help but think he’s unconvinced.
She shakes her head and turns back to the opening of the dragon nest, climbing down the same footholds she treks up and down daily. Determination stirs inside of her as she moves through the flame lit tunnels and burrows of his nest. Familiar paths carved through the trinkets and treasures of his horde.
This can’t continue.
He can’t expect her to let this keep happening. He demands she prove she can be stronger, only to grow weak and complacent on her?
That simply won’t do.
“Leave.”
The command rings out before she’s even properly set foot in his den, Regan groans in response as she looks in- his face hidden in the furs and silks he’s bundled into pillows, his tail flicks in the air, splayed on his stomach and not even bothering to look at her.
Again.
“No,” she says simply, head held high as she walks forward, “This has gone on far too long, get up.”
His laugh rings out, dark and sonorous, a sound she’d love were it not mocking her in this moment. Her steps falter in the wake of it, her brows furrow. She can see in the dim lighting the tension in his back, muscles tight beneath the thick patches of black scales- a sheen of sweat heavy on his pale skin.
“It’s almost cute that you believe that was a request, sweetie- almost. Leave, now.”
“No, I-” Her voice catches as red black mist swirls around her- lifts, pulls, tugs, all attempting to drag her back out of his space, she flusters, “No, no, no! You are going to talk to me, I swear- Sylus!”
The mist fades, a sharp inhale and a groan verging on a growl as she plops into the dirt. His thick black claws dig into the furs of his bedding and his entire body seems to shudder. She blinks, trying to understand why that worked, to comprehend the physical response in his body-
“You’ve truly never met a line you wouldn’t cross, have you?” He taunts and she scoffs, rolls her eyes.
“Perhaps if someone would take a moment to explain why the line is drawn, I would, have you forgotten what you’ve promised me?” She pushes, trying to bolster herself in the face of him wavering.
“What I’ve promised you?” He laughs again and she grits her teeth as she tries to move closer to him, “You really should know better than to pin your hopes on the promises of a fiend.”
“I-”
“Leave,” he demands again and the heavy mist is wrapping around her before she can reach for him, tighter as it pulls and lifts, dragging her back, she yelps as she tries to fight it’s grip, it’s pull, worry burbling up inside of her- why would he break his promises all of a sudden? Why is he acting like this, why won’t he just talk to her, is he truly that bored of her, is something-
“Did I do something wrong!?” Is the question that finally breaks past her grinding teeth, heart thumping against the cage of her chest, voice tight and cracking with her own anxieties.
And once again she thumps into the ground, gold coins press indents into her knees as she collapses into herself- staring down at her own clenching hands, hating herself for how pathetic her own voice is. To admit her fear, to feel all over again like a scared child just desperate to know how to stop failing everyone around her- to stop being a disappointment.
The sound of shifting furs and footfalls, his feet and swishing tail come into view, a stolid heat coming off of his body. He always runs hot, but he seems to burn like fire today. Regan doesn’t dare to look up, shame sears her face as he crouches down closer.
“Look at me.”
“No.”
Warm scaled muscle pushes under her chin, his tail lifts her head and forces her to meet his eyes. The deep crimson seems to glow brighter, not the same eerie glow of his right eye when he uses its power, just something deep in them. His pale skin is flushed, the shine and smell of sweat more obvious now. His silver hair mused, short strands sticking against sweat slick skin.
He draws a breath that sounds too shaky- “You’ve done nothing wrong. I simply need you to leave.”
“But, why- I, are you sick? Can dragons get sick, you don’t look well…” She asks, hand instinctively lifting, presses her palm against the warmth of his jawline- feels him lean in, a growl rumbles in his throat.
“Don’t, you- don’t,” he speaks through gritted fangs, even as his eyes close and he presses in tighter, he’s never looked so desperate. Never looked desperate at all, but he leans in like he’s starved for her touch.
“Sylus-”
A snarl, sharp and deep, and like a flash her back is slammed against the floor- the muscles of his tail now coiling around her waist, claws pin her wrists to the ground, and those bright crimson eyes stare down at her. Her words catch in her throat, his glare only lasts a moment before his face is burrowed in the curve of her throat, his breath hot against her skin, lips and gleaming fangs brush over her pulse.
His body presses against her, his weight only makes her own breaths more ragged, the thump of her heartbeat in her ears- but it’s the way he’s slotted himself between her thighs that makes her own truly burn.
“You should leave,” he rasps against her throat, as if it’s not his tail curling around her waist, as if it’s not his fingers sliding up to intertwine with her own where he presses them down, as if it’s not his weight pinning her in place.
“Tell me why and maybe I will,” she challenges, despite the pit of want building inside of her.
She’s not naive enough to not register what it must be that he wants, nor stupid enough to believe that what’s grinding against her is anything other than his cock. Even if a part of her is a bit confused about something specific she may be feeling through her dress and his pants. But the sudden rush of lust- has he always wanted her like this? So, desperately he’s nearly sick with it?
“Surely, you noticed- the warming of the weather, the flowers returning…”
“Spring…?”
“Breeding season.”
“Oh, uh,” she stutters, chokes on her words as a flush runs up her cheeks, a deep rumble of a laugh against her pulse, “I, I was not aware that’s a thing dragon’s had.”
“Clearly.”
“Well, sorry, I’m not an expert on dragon sex!” She shrieks, earning another laugh against her throat- she wasn’t even allowed a damn lamp with the things on them, why would he expect her to be able to read about how they fuck?
“You’re not forgiven,” he teases and her indignance sinks into incredulous giggles, the silliness of the situation bubbling inside of her.
“Can’t believe it, been worrying myself to death and you’ve just been in here brooding over your own cock.” ”
“Cocks,” he says, nuzzling into her throat like it’s his lifeline, inhaling the smell of her skin.
“Cocks?”
“I have two.”
“Oh, uh, that would explain some of what I’m feeling down there- uh, again, not an expert on the matter, uh, um…” Her voice cracks and falters, drifts into nonsense as she tries to conjure more words or cognitive thoughts beyond how much she wants to see what’s pressing against her.
They feel- nice, better than nice. That’s a terrible word, they feel hot, heavy, thick, and prodding at the inside of her thigh. They feel like want, desire, like everything else about him.
He chuckles again- “Are you scared?”
“Not of you.”
He smiles against her jawline, moves to look at her again, the need in his eyes making her insides clench- thighs unintentionally tightening around him, another groan in his throat. She swallows, mouth having gone dry at some point as she tries to process it all.
“So, uh, does that mean you’ll be in here brooding all spring?”
“No,” he says, voice too soft, eyes too amused, “The worse of it will pass in a week or two, it will be… manageable, after that.”
“Mangeable?”
“Barely, but yes- think you can stand to be without me until then?” He asks, embarrassment prickles her skin. She avoids his gaze, thoughts spinning, teeth digging into her lip.
“If I say no?”
“Then whatever shreds of self restraint I have would surely snap and I’d be inside you before the end of the night.”
His voice is low but gentle- not a flirt, not a threat, a simple declaration- a statement of pure undeniable fact. That whatever part of him that can ignore what his body is pleading with him to do will lose the battle if she lingers for too long. But her own want and desire call to her too, how could they not? She’s always found him hauntingly infuriatingly beautiful, only growing more so as their lives have intertwined. A man with a face like his and a fixation on meeting her every desire, she was helpless to the feelings he’d inspire in her.
But-
“Do you want me to say no?” She asks, trying to gauge what he truly wants and what’s just his body driving him. She doesn’t want to just be a way to meet a need, she wants to be wanted.
His jaw clenches, gaze shifts between her eyes and her lips- she wonders if he thinks of when she kissed him often or if he simply shook off the gesture as quick as she’d done it. She wonders if she haunts his dreams as deeply as he haunts hers.
“What I want and what is wise, are two very different things at the moment.”
“And since the moment we’ve met, I have not concerned myself with what is wise,” she reminds him, meeting his stare straight on, “So, tell me, what is it that you desire?”
A deep familiar rumble of a groan, his face tenses like he’s been struck, his forehead presses against her own, their noses bump as he draws a shaky breath- tries to steel himself. And in the moment his hold on her wrist tightens only to then slacken. She takes advantage to pull her hands free, cupping his jawline and seeing his resolve nearly falter at her touch. And to inspire want in someone like him, to see desire for nothing but her in his eyes…
“Don’t…”
“You ask me that every night.”
“That is different.”
“How?” She demands to know, stroking her thumbs over his flushed cheekbones.
“Sating your desires serves us both, mine are… a burden at the moment.”
“You don’t get to decide what I find burdensome,” she rubs her nose against his own, “And my desires and yours could very well be the same.”
“Are they?” He asks, eyes open and serious, staring into her gaze and she knows he could pull the truth from her skull if he wanted- but there’s no need, she can’t resist, not when he’s flushed and desperate in a way she’s never seen before.
“I can’t know until you answer me, Sylus,” she reminds him, he growls again and her own thoughts stutter in time with the grind of his hips that stoke a fire in her core, “Do you like that, when I say your name?”
“Yes.”
“Even though it’s the one I gave you?”
“Because it’s the one you gave me…”
“I, uh, fuck,” her voices catches, the admission too kind, his eyes too soft despite how sharply his instincts push him to just take what he wants, “Just, answer me one thing before, before we-”
“Anything.”
“Did you want me before, before winter ended, did you want me then too?”
“Long before, yes.”
She smiles, wide and bright, unable to dull it under the weight of what that means- that their hearts have wanted the same thing longer than she realized, that-
He kisses her smile with his own, desperate and rough, catching her off guard as if he simply could not resist for a moment longer or perhaps just couldn’t help but to kiss the look on her face. She almost laughs, near delirious with joy as they finally kiss, truly kiss- not just a shy impulsive peck, but a true deep press of his lips against her. His tongue pushes into her mouth before the joyful shock can truly pass.
And he tastes like smoke and pomegranate, unyielding as he groans into her mouth, maps out the shape of her teeth with his tongue- the tease of his fangs over her lips. Her groans muffled by the press of his mouth, large clawed hands slip beneath her hips, scratch up the back of her thighs as she’s suddenly hoisted into the air. One of her hands smooths down to hold at his neck, thighs wrapping around his hips as his hands knead at the plush of her ass.
He carries her over as she pulls off his mouth, catching a quick breath as her lungs burn, then she kisses him again, again, again. Not able to decide between quick reverent presses and deep lingering pushes.
Her back hits furs and silks, dropped into his bedding as he hovers above her. Another kiss, another swipe of his tongue, and then he kisses down her jaw. Kisses, licks, gentle nipping bites at her flesh- his tongue laves over the mark he left on her all those days ago, the thrum of pleasure rolls through her nerves, his hips grind against her.
“Sylus,” she pleads, fingers twisting in his silver hair, as he groans and bites at her collarbone- a jab of pain as blood and bruises marble the skin in his wake.
“Yes, sweetie?” He teases, voice ravaged with want as he kisses the top of her chest.
“Please,” she manages, squirms beneath his roaming lips and gripping hands. He laughs, again, warm and familiar as his claws begin to push up the hem of her dress.
“Just like that,” he whispers, nips the soft give of her skin, “Beg me.”
“Please, please, please.” She gives in too easily, her need overrides her sense of shame- spreads her legs wider for him and presses her hand between them, palms at his hardening cocks beneath the leather of his pants. He groans against her, grins at the way she fumbles to get him closer to naked.
“Can you feel it, what you’ve done to me,” he whispers, kissing back up her neck, “Just by being here, just by staying with me- my entire home smells like you now. Steamy and sweet, like cherry wine.”
“I’m literally sweating, you fucking freak,” she teases, ignoring the burn of her skin as she manages to shove her hand beneath his leathers and barely wrap her fingers around one of his cocks, feels the other bump against her knuckles. He’s burning hot, sticky precum already spilling over her fingers as his hips stutter, fucks into her hand as he laughs against her throat.
“You’re the one who wanted to quench a fiend’s desires, surely you can’t think you’re the normal one here,” he teases, kisses just beneath her ear, then bites. She squeaks at the ebb of pain, even if it just coalesces into want between her thighs.
“Well, I know it’s not you, so….” She taunts, rolling her thumb around the head of his cock, feeling the steady leak of precum, taking in the shudder that rolls through his spine all the way to the end of his tail. Just one of his cocks is heavy in her hand, fingers not quite able to wrap fully around him, not even able to fathom what she’s going to do with two of those.
The tear of fabric, barely able to look down as his claws tear the dress from her body- ripping the silk to shreds and pushing it off. She can barely gasp, squirming as her underwear is quick to follow, torn to tatters.
“Sylus!” She yelps, glowering beneath her lashes, the sweat on her skin chilled in the open air- her nipples stiffening, her cunt even wetter as he feels his against her bare skin. The hand not toying with his cock, she brings over her chest, covering her breast with her arm on instinct.
“I’ve filled this nest with more clothes than you could ever hope to wear in your lifetime- you’ll be okay.”
“Sure, whatever you say,” she relents, face flushed and a pout on her lips as his crimson eyes flitter to where she covers her chest- soft flesh threatening to spill through her fingers, his brow furrows, something she can’t place in his expression.
“Have you changed your mind?” he asks suddenly, gaze lifting to meet her own.
“What, no? I’m holding your dick right now, what are you talking about?”
“Dicks.”
“Dick, because I can’t hold them both in the same hand, actually,” she corrects, though the smirk on his flushed face. Clawed fingers curl just beneath the wrist of the hand covering her breast, heat curling along her every nerve.
“So, if you haven’t changed your mind- let me see you.”
“Of course,” she murmurs, allowing him to lift away her hand, his eyes focused on the soft sway of her chest- fingers wrap around her other wrist too and she allows him to pry her grip off of his cock.
Her fingers glisten with the wet slick of his precum, he pins her clean hand against his bed as he brings the other towards his flushed face- open mouth meeting the flat of her palm. The wet press of his tongue, the heat of his mouth, he traces along the lines of her skin. He licks up the beads of precum that rolled down, lapping up until his tongue is pushing into the spaces between her figures- groaning at the taste of his own mess on her skin, sucking her fingers into his mouth.
She whimpers, watching as he licks at her skin, fingers pushing over the soft swollen plush of his lips, a hint of his teeth scratching over the flesh- his skin soon slick with nothing but spit. He pulls back, her fingers leaving his mouth with a wet pop and soon he’s pinning that hand to the bed again. He leans over her fully, a familiar almost iron taste at the back of her throat, the smell of blood and smoke- his mist wrappling around her wrists, binding them together above her head as his clawed hands pull back.
Regan huffs, blowing a strand of hair out of her face, she pouts and sees his lips curl into a smirk in response.
“Kind of thought I was going to be an active participant here,” she teases and he laughs, nuzzles into her jaw.
“You are, by giving all of yourself to me, every inch of you- all mine,” he says against her skin and another kiss to her neck, “After all, how else can you expect to sate a greed like mine?”
“Heh, you’re greedy, for me?”
“So badly, it burns,” he answers- his capability for sincerity always taking her back, coming up in the worst and best moments all at once. She meets the kiss that punctuates his admission, whines into his mouth as she meets the push of his tongue- the bitter salt of his precum still sticking to him, the taste makes her groan. Regan runs her own tongue over his teeth, moans at the prickle of his fangs.
His hands run up her body as his tongue nearly pries its way into her throat, his claws drag softly- enough to raise goosebumps across her bare flesh, but not enough to hurt. Just faint little red lines prickling her skin until his palms cup her breasts, squeezing into the soft give of her flesh. His thumbs brush over her stiffening nipples, the rub rough skin over sensitive nerves sends heat down to her cunt.
Her lungs burn when he breaks the kiss, only to press another to her jaw, to her throat, her neck. He kisses over marks he already made into her skin, licks over bitemarks, and creates new ones along the way.
“Sylus,” she calls out, groaning as he kisses lower down her body- feels the rumble against her chest at the sound of his name. His mouth easily latches onto her breast, mindful of his teeth as he sucks at the flesh. She squirms, whines, the flick of his tongue over her nipple stokes the heat inside of her.
His hands curl carefully beneath her thighs, spreading her wider as he laps at her breast, teasing with the blunt edges of his front teeth- lets her feel just the gentlest press of his fangs without piercing the flesh. Letting go just to kiss his way across to her other breast, laving and lapping at it in the same way- chest wet with sweat and spit by the time his mouth moves lower down her sternum. He groans against her skin as she moves further- lower, lower, lower- kisses growing hungry with every press, anticipation knotting in her guts until he’s settling between the thick of her thighs, hungry mouth at her mound.
Regan’s face burns, hips squirming beneath the weight of his mouth, his entire focus narrowing in on her pussy in a way that makes her dizzy. No hesitancy as he kisses down the sparse hair that frames her painfully wet cunt, a hungry snarling groan reverberates across her skin when his tongue finally meets her slick, and he’s gone.
He buries his face into her, nose and mouth smothered into the wet of her cunt. She moans, writhes beneath him, fingers itching to tangle in his hair or grip onto his horns- something to hold onto, but all she can do is clench her fists so tight her nails dig crescents into the flesh. His nose grinds into her clit as his tongue laps through her cunt. Licks, teases, sucks, and slurps at her, hungry groans muffled by her pussy. He can’t seem to decide where to linger- mouth buried into her soaked cunt or sucking at her clit, back and forth. Every action making her hips twitch, her cunt clench, slick dripping down her thighs and ass.
Sylus’ arms curl around her hips, pins them beneath his desperate mouth. Every groan, every lick wounding that knot inside of her tighter. He takes from her, eats her like he’s starved- the slurps making her head spin, can hear how wet she is. His hips grind against the bed as he licks into her, heavy scaled tail flicking back and forth- wagging as he eats.
A harsh suck at her clit and heavy press of his tongue at the swollen skin, it all snaps, her vision blurs and her ears ring as she falls apart beneath him. She thrashes, his name on her tongue as she cums hard against his mouth, slick spilling as her body trembles- his rumbles of pleasure only louder as he licks her through it, laps it up hungrily.
“Too much, too much,” she squeals, writhing as he licks her past her orgasm, pleasure verging on pain as she tries to escape his greedy mouth.
He laughs as he pulls back, head lifting and she swallows an embarrassed squeak. Slick sticks to his face; wets his nose, his mouth, his chin. The black scales that mark his jaw glisten with her mess, his face flushed and his eyes seeming dazed. Soft in a way that hurts, his wet mouth kisses her inner thigh as he looks up at her.
“Not feeling greedy tonight, sweetie?” He rasps against her thigh, nips the skin.
“Shut up,” she mumbles, catching her breath, “I just, I, fuck, need more- need you to fuck me, please... “
He pushes his face tighter against her inner thigh, takes a deep breath, his eyes closed as he lets out a rumbling purr that makes her heart stutter. He’s smiling into her skin, another bite.
“Not yet.”
“Sylus, why not, I, ugh!” She groans, head thunks against the bed and he laughs. His right hand lifts from her hip, teases the claws along her thighs as he starts to bring his fingers towards mouth.
“My restraint is a rare commodity this time of year, princess, and if I don’t take advantage while I have some left, well- you won’t make it through the spring,” he warns and her brows furrow then raise as he brings the claws on his pointer and middle finger into his mouth.
A clean snap as his teeth crunch down on his own claws, he spits the sharp points over his scaled shoulder- those nails now blunt and the break surprisingly clean.
“Sylus, is that-”
“They’ll be back by morning, you have much bigger issues to worry about right now,” he almost assures her, a finger sinking into her cunt, spearing her open.
Her voice breaks at the near painful stretch, his name mangled on her tongue- his finger thick and rough, as it pries her open with just one finger. Thicker, rough, and longer than his tongue, even with the wet dripping down her cunt, it’s a tight fit and she can’t help the babbling sounds he pulls from her throat.
“See, kitten,” he taunts as he opens her up, “You can barely take my finger and you think you're ready to have my cock?”
“Cocks,” she corrects, even through the fuzz in her skull and the heat in her veins, she can't resist. He laughs, a throaty rumble.
“Oh, my apologies, I underestimated your greed, sweetie- though if you intend to take both, I better get to work, shouldn't I?”
“Fuck, fuck, Sylus, fuck!” She curses as his second finger sinks into her, the burn of a deeper stretch as he curls his fingers into, getting wetter with every motion.
“I might have to gnaw off some more of my claws, if you're wanting to take both,” he says, voice low and almost casual despite the strain underneath. His fingers scissor inside of her, testing how deep he can spread her, how much stretch she can handle around his thick scaled fingers.
She tries to conjure a response, but the burn of him inside of her sears out any thoughts. The heat in her being stoked higher and higher by every motion of him inside of her, soon the ache is replaced by pleasure, a steady thrum as the squelch of his fingers fucking into her fills the den.
“Think I don't want to be inside you, too?” He kisses her thigh- once, twice, “If it'd been up to me, I'd have been buried in you before we even moved to the bed.”
“Sy…”
“But, it'd be a shame, wouldn't it? All this time spent feeding your soul, only to split you open and kill you with my cocks, because we both got too greedy…”
His lips drop back down to her clit, making her twitch and gasp, pumping his fingers in quicker and rough as he sucks on her aching clit. And she can barely stand it, being built up so quickly again, pleasure burns through every nerve and the rumble in his throat is what makes the tension snap for the second time.
Her hips tremble and grind, half trying to ride his tongue and fingers- half trying to escape the overwhelming pleasure. The world around her fading and blurred as she cums hard again, clenching around his fingers and grinding against his lips. Her slick soaks her, soaks him, and the blankets below her writhing hips.
Sylus’ fingers slip from her, soaked with her mess- he moves forward, those fingers slipping past her lips. She groans, tasting her slick and the heat of his skin- drool spills from the corner of her lips, a heavy stretch in her mouth as he toys with her tongue, watching the way she sucks at his fingers.
And once he’s sated, he pulls his fingers back, wet with her spit. He sits back and she’s able to fully look down to where he’s settling between her thighs, pulling her legs up to drap over his muscled shoulders.
His belt and top of his leather trousers already open due to her earlier prying, but somewhere in his torment of her- he’s completely pulled himself out. Gray hair and embedded black scales along his pale skin, two heavy flushed cocks weeping precum. And to her horror, delight, and amusement- the one she toyed with is the smaller of the two, the bottom one noticeably thicker and longer.
That’s the one he’s lining up with her cunt, Regan gasping when he rubs the head through her cunt, gathers her slick. Even just the slight press of it has her flinching, can tell it’ll be such a tight stretch, that no amount of time taken apart by his fingers and mouth will truly be enough to prep her.
“The big one first?” She tries to joke, to make light of his choice as her insides clench- he was exaggerating the death by cock thing, right? He had to be.
“Better preparation for taking both,” he tells her, the statement simple, but filled with intention.
He wasn’t fucking with her, he plans on having her take both. The very thought rattles her with anxiety and desire, a muddled little cocktail. Unable to dwell as he pins her hips with a hand, dragging his bottom cock through her slick.
“Last chance to back out,” he offers, despite the laboring of his breath and the steady flush on his body. His restraint grows thinner with every action, especially now, so close to pushing into her- into finally giving in to what his body has been begging him for, but still he offers her the out.
And he can call himself a fiend, a monster- but she knows him well enough to know if she asked, he’d let her roll right out of his bedding and spend the rest of the night fucking his own fist instead. But, she’d rather not spend her night jealous of his right hand.
“Please, I want you, Sylus, please,” she begs, watching the pride swell in his chest.
“Greedy, greedy thing,” he teases as he sinks into her, inch after inch pushing deep inside, stretching her wider than she’s ever felt.
Her eyes sting, tears falling down her cheeks, even through the slick- the initial stretch hurts, aches, not sharp but there's a dull burn as her body takes him in. His upper cock rubs against her mound and stomach as he pushes his lower one into her, stinking until he’s completely buried- his forehead bumps hers, and her legs pushed back they nearly meet the mattress by her head.
Sylus groans until it rumbles into a purr, his body shudders above her, his weight and heat pressing her down into the blankets- pinned beneath and split open by him. His eyes are closed as he breathes her in, he stays just in the moment of being inside of her. His body is rigid with fraying restraint, stopping himself from moving even if she can tell every muscle is tight with the need to move.
And the ache gives way to something deeper, more frustrating.
“Please, I, I need you to move, Sylus, feel so fucking good…”
He kisses her with a snarling groan, deep and consuming, followed by the first rut of his hips- stars dancing in her vision as he overwhelms her senses. The heavy grind of his cock inside of her, pounding into her, the sweat slap of their skin snapping together- his upper cock moving between them, grinding and bumping along her clit in extra pulses of overwhelming bliss. The push of his tongue in her mouth, the deep press of his cock filling her, and the brush of his other cock over her swollen aching clit.
She breaks the kiss, head thumping back as she screams and the world seems to crash apart around her- she cums around him, cunt clenching around his cock, hips writhing- and he doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow. His hips keep pistoning into her, the steady clap of their flash, the squelch of him fucking into her cunt, even as her pleasure peaks and crashes down, nerves still alight with the stretch of him inside of her. And its already right there again, not even sure she ever stopped cumming because he hasn’t stopped fucking her.
His mouth latches onto the bend between her neck and shoulder, bites into the skin, makes her yelp and squirm. Pleasure dominates everything, drowns out everything, cock still fucking, still grinding into her between brutal snaps of his hips- snarling into bite he’s locked into on her neck, like he’s pinning down his prey. Her head blurs, world fuzzy as her orgasm is dragged out more and more, or maybe just being made to cum again, again, again- everything stimulated, the deepest parts of her and her aching clit, no reprieve from everything he gives her.
Sylus breaks the skin of her neck, a sting of pain, a particularly rough snap of his hips and she feels his motions stutter through the haze- he groans into her skin and the heavy spill of his cum into her, deep and warm as she cums with him again. The heat of it too much, the flood of it all too much, as his upper cock twitches in time- thick hot cum splattering along her stomach and beneath her tits, smearing where his flesh rubs against hers.
He doesn’t stop, even as he’s spilling into her, even as cum splatters against her and overflows onto the blankets- he keeps fucking into her, every additional thrust forcing his own cum to ooze out of her, completely flooded by him.
“Take me so well,” he murmurs, when his head lifts from her neck- her blood sticking to the corners of his mouth, “Doing so good for me, sweetie, so good.”
“Sylus, I, I can’t, gonna kill me, too much, too much!” She babbles, she’s cum too much, can’t seem to stop as he keeps fucking his cum back into her, grinding against every sensitive nerve inside of her, fucking into her like its all he was ever meant to do.
“You can handle it, know you can, so good for me, feel so fuckin’ good- you’ll take every drop for me, know you can, want to give you everything, need to give you everything.”
‘Please, please, please!”
He cums again, fills her again, but she’s already been flooded with him- dripping down her thighs, staining his blankets, sticking to where his hips meet hers. Sticky burning cum trapped between their stomachs and chests where the upper cock paints them both white, making a mess with every grind of his hips.
And he cums again, her body trembles and her vision spots, how can he have anything left? Her thighs and lungs ache, unable to keep track of how long she’s been cumming or how many times she has came around him, everything just burning into overwhelming pleasure, the warm gush of cum in her aching cunt. But there’s a stutter in his hips, his mist around her wrists slackens, and he might actually fuck her to death if she isn’t careful.
She’s able to pull her hands down, arms aching and numb, but she grabs his shoulders and with quick enough twist he’s slammed back into the nest of blankets, able to swing her legs down to straddle him. He groans, red eyes bright and dazed as one of her hands steadies her against his chest and the other holds his throat.
“I, I need, I need a fuckin minute,” she curses out, breath staggered as she hovers, keeps her full weight from coming down on his dick. He’s still inside of her, but not fully in, cum running down the length of his cock. They’re a mess of sweat, cum, and slick. He laughs, eyes warm and happy as he looks up at her.
“Too much?” He teases, despite his own heavy breaths, his hand coming up to cover the one she has on his throat.
“Shut up,” she groans, “And stop making me squeeze your throat tighter, I’m not trying to strangle you, for once.”
“Explains why you’re doing a terrible job of it.”
“One more word, I’m slapping you in the fuckin’ face.”
“Please.”
“You’re a fucking freak, you know that, right?” She teases, smiling down at him and his stupid beautiful face and his stupid gorgeous flushed cheeks- he’s looking up at her like- “Ugh!”
She throws her head back, groaning in frustration at the tangled web of emotions he inspires in her, she leans back before reaching down for his upper cock. His breath hisses as her hands wrap loosely around his twitching dick, lining it up as she pulls up on his cock. But two expansive hands hold her hips.
“You don’t have to.”
“If there’s any time they’re gonna both fit, it’d be now,” she points out, between his cum and her own slick, she’s absolutely soaked, “Besides, said you’ll give me everything I ask for, right?”
“Of course, always,” he swears, grinning up at her, helping her pull up further- his hands a support, not a restraint. Regan lines both of his cocks up, pressing them tight together as she takes a deep breath and begins to sink down.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she curses, the stretch more than she could have possibly imagined. He’s carving out her insides, stretching, twitching, and pushing deep in through the mess of cum and slick inside of her.
And she swears she can feel him in her fucking throat as her weight settles down more and more until she’s flush to his cum streaked hips. She pants, squirming, and whines- all sounds animalistic and incoherent as she feels the fucking stretch of him, all of him. No thoughts in her head, only full of him.
“Look at you,” he groans beneath her, large hands kneading her hips like it can help with the strain- he’s he’s not in her fucking guts, “Fit me so perfectly, made just for me.”
The muscles in her arms tremor and give out, slumping against his stomach as something inside her snaps again- cumming around him around, squeezing around the cocks splitting her apart, without even moving they hit every fucking nerve inside of her. His hands smooth down her hair, wrap around her crumpled trembling frame as she groans into his chest.
And he grinds into her, the smallest rut of his hips, a deep rumbling sound in his chest and he squeezes her tight, cumming again, and the world goes dark, vision blurred, and her insides carved out to fit him.
But when she blinks again, it almost feels like a blink, he’s rolled over on top of her, pressed into the now damp furs and silks, the weight of a six-foot-four fiend crushing down onto her, still split around both of his cocks. He nuzzles into her, arms wrapped tight around him- sniffs at her skin, passively licks, burrows his face into her. His entire chest rumbling with that same gravely purr.
Her mind is a haze, she half expects his hips to start moving again, for his warning to become a reality and she’ll be fucked to death by a dragon. But instead, he just kisses at her skin. His tail is curled around her leg, large leathering wings curled around them- just nuzzling into her, horns occasionally bump clumsily against her skull, the ends thankfully dulled following a past incident. She scratches her nails along the back of his neck, a satisfied rumble is her reward.
“Awake? Lost you there for a minute.”
“Shut up.”
“Nothing wrong with it, should sleep while you can,” he tells her, a hint of a warning in the tone, and she remembers what he said about this lasting for weeks.
“Oh fuck…”
“You wanted my attention, kitten,” he reminds her and she laughs, holding him closer and smiling against his skin. .
“Yeah, yeah I did,” she murmurs, content as being surrounded and filled by him, having all of his attention and all of his desire. Knowing too that this started long before breeding season pulled at his impulses.
He wants her- he likes her.
Loser.
So, maybe she can forgive him for ignoring her the last two days- maybe.
So, guess who started playing DA2 and is now writing FenHawke apparently.
Summary: Fenris and Hawke fuck after A Bitter Pill. That's it, that's the fic.
Warnings: Cunnlingus, Biting, Hickies, Blowjob, Creampies (apparently animal skin condoms were a thing???? but I like writing creampies, sooooooo), and Fenris doing a cum and go
Her back collides with the wall, solid and harsh- the warmth of him against her, dark green eyes staring her down, the glow of lyrium, and his breath against her face. And if she didn’t know him, if she didn’t trust him- she might fear his fingers pushing through her ribs and seizing her heart, but his eyes seem to shift from her eyes, lower, to her lips. And she looks at his, how close they are, able to remember the heat of his face when she cradled it, the night he talked about the Fog Warriors, when she brushed her thumb just beneath his lower lip- testing waters that terrify and excite her all at once.
And one or both of them moves, their mouths crash, teeth clang together- but the ache quickly forgiven by the swipe of his tongue, the slide of it over her own. She groans into it, he tastes like blood and wine- metallic and heady, sharp enough to make her head spin and her thoughts blur, needing more. Hawke grabs at his leather, careful, still hesitant- she avoids touching his skin until she’s afforded the permission, grasping at his clothes as she presses deeper in.
He starts to pull back, space between them, she fights to fill it. To chase his kiss and tug him closer. Fear, desperation, need- she twists him around, a gasp against her lips as she pushes him into her position. His back hits the wall with a thunk as she deepens the kiss, quick and hard as she pushes her tongue into his mouth-
Shit, no, fuck- regret burbles inside of her, thumps against her ribcage in tune with her pounding heart. She caged him in, she moved him around, she pushed too far, and he was pulling away- how could she do that to him?
“Sorry, sorry, fuck, I-” She blusters and gasps as she breaks away, she ruined everything, how could she take what he wasn’t ready to give? How could she hurt him when he-
A clawed gauntlet curls beneath her ass, another behind her head, the metal cold though her clothes and hair- where it brushes her skin, pulled in tight and close, his nose bumps her own, green eyes blotted to near black.
“Don’t be, please, I, please…”
And Maker save her, she nearly falls apart then and there- his deep voice ravaged and breathy as he pleads for her, she may never know what she did to be worthy of having a man like him beg for her, to plead as he pulls her back into a kiss. He anchors her mouth to his own as he gropes at her ass, cloth tearing beneath the scratch of his gauntlets, feeling metal against bare skin.
“Fuck,” she breaks off just long enough to curse against his jaw, she’s burning beneath her skin, a faint glow runs along the lyrium in his. Her eyes dart around, they’re still in the foyer of her home, it’s late and everyone should be asleep, but-
His mouth falls to the juncture between her neck and shoulder, a harsh suck and rougher bite that dances pain and pleasure along her nerves- heat pooling between her thighs, aching as he squeezes her ass through her torn clothes, a mix of the metal of his armour and the warmth of his skin, he burns hot and she wants him closer, desperate to have more of his mouth, his hands.
She yanks and tugs at his leather, caught between desire and fear of pushing too far- but he’s mouthing at her throat, sucking bruises deep into her skin. His hand in her hair drops and soon he’s pulling at the tie at her waistband, both hands meeting there to yank at her clothes. He nips and bites- she groans at the ache and throb of his teeth in her skin, the lave of his tongue over the bruises he makes. And she can feel him hard beneath his leathers, grinding against her thighs.
“Festis bei umo canavarum,” he whispers against her bruised throat and there’s a creak in her throat as she starts to ask what it is, only knows it makes her knees weak and there’s a sharp sound and her waistband feels loose, pants slipping from her hips.
“Shit, fuck,” she gasps, instinctively trying to catch the fabric- the ties laying uselessly on the floor, cut off of her. And she aches- with need, with desperation, with the feeling of being wanted- to be desired so much he’d beg and cut the clothes from her body.
“Hawke,” he whispers, pushing his hands beneath her own, a silent plead for her to let the fabric fall away- she lets his hands slip beneath her palms until she’s barely holding her pants up
“We should go to my room,” she tries to offer and she tries to look around, to be nervous, to be scared- she should be. They’re in her foyer, anyone could wake up and see her, but she can’t look away from his eyes, can’t pull away from his hands on her own, begging her to be naked before him.
She lets him pull her hands away, lets the claws of his gauntlets hook into the fabric.
And he hits his knees as he pulls the torn pants down to her ankles, getting caught on her boot- another Tevene curse on his tongue as he starts trying to wrench off his gauntlets. Tearing at straps with his teeth until finally the metal hits the floor with a heavy sound. His bare hands brush her skin, hot against her already burning flesh, he starts to help her out of her boots- and she notices the extra care as he pulls the one off her prosthetic leg.
She steps out of her pants, accepting her fate to be stripped naked in the Amell Estate foyer- she's sure her grandparents would be so proud.
Then his hands run up her thighs and hips, lyrium glows, hums and pulses as if greeting her- warm and she's already melting, looking at the man kneeled in front of her. Impulse moves her, because acting without thinking is her favorite hobby- white hair silken between her fingers, as soft as she recalls. And his head lifts, his jaw presses into her palm, she cradles her face as he allows her too- feeling the warmth of his skin, the way he leans in, looking at her from beneath his lashes- turns against her palm and gives a shadow of a kiss there.
“You're killing me,” she remarks, not even sure if she meant for the words to leave her.
And he deems it fit to smile, to chuckle through disparate breath- pride looks so lovely on him.
“Truly?” He suggests, almost incredulous, smug and jovial at a joke she doesn't recall making. Lyrium etched fingers curl behind her knees as he looks up at her between them.
“Truly,” she assures him, not knowing quite why he's so amused, but if it makes him smile she'll say it again, again, again.
And her ass hits the ground, a heavy smack of her weight bouncing against the foyer tile as her legs are yanked out from under her. She yelps, pain pulses at the base of her tailbone- passively aware of the feel of soft hair and warm skin between her legs, but anxiety spikes sharper. Hawke slaps her hand over her mouth, cranes her neck to look upward and upside down into the den- listens for any creak of activity at her outburst, it's a large estate but noise bounces off its walls, traveling further than it has any right too.
A harsh bite at the plush of her inner thigh, Fenris steals her attention back almost as soon as he's lost it. Her legs now hooked over his shoulders as he moves further between them, mouthing at her skin- licking over the mark and she muffles a groan with the palm of her hand.
He forces her thighs further apart as he lays between her legs, kisses and bites along her skin- the dig of teeth, the lave of his tongue, the pulse of lyrium, and he's killing her.
And he doesn't bother to try and tug off her underwear, nothing that would require him to move away from her- quickly yanking the thin wet fabric to the side of her cunt and she clamps her hand down against her mouth. His tongue presse into her, a groan in his throat as he laps at her. Sharp, hot, he burns through her, pleasure prickles her skin and threatens to consume her- trying to trap her whines behind her teeth and palm, because if someone finds them here- if someone ruins this for her before she manages to ruin it for herself-
His nose bumps her clit, wet and swollen, burning and sensitive- she nearly chokes, seeing stars as he mouths at her like he's starved. Like he's just as desperate, just as needy, and she knows it's been so long for her- she can't imagine for him and maybe if she wasn't getting her cunt licked out she'd have enough shame to feel selfish- to feel bad about taking and not giving.
He sucks at her clit, the hand not muffling her voice grabs at his hair, wrenches into it- thighs tight around his head as she tries to anchor herself, pleasure building with every lick, every suck. As if he can't decide between licking into her and sucking at her clit, hungrily moving between the two in a rough hurried pace she can't keep up with- but its the hook of his fingers inside of her, pushing in with his tongue, pulsing lyrium veins splitting her open that finally sends her over.
Crashing, reelings- she cries out against the palm of her hand, desperately stuffing her noises back down her throat as she clutches at his hair, cumming on his tongue and fingers. Slowly, she comes back down off her high, whining as he pulls away, and even through the blur of her vision- she sees his hand hovering towards his waistband, cock straining beneath the leather.
“Wait, uh, fuck,” she reels back, breathless and sweaty, her own voice suprising her, “My room, we, we need to go to my room.”
And she sounds far more desperate than she intends, but she won’t survive him fucking her out here. She’ll scream and thrash- her mother, Bodahn, Sandal, and Orana will all hear and come running out to see her getting fucked in the foyer of her dead grandparent’s estate- and she will die.
“Of course,” he agrees, voice ragged and rough, his lips flushed and swollen- her slick wetting them and his chin.
As she sits up, she can’t resist, catching the back of his head and pulling him in for a kiss, needing his skin against her own again. She tastes herself on his tongue, he groans into it, leaning back over her- they haven’t even managed to get back to their feet yet.
Warm fingers wrap around her wrist, just at his neck where she pulls him in, and her hand is wrenched away- his hold iron tight as he yanks his mouth off of hers, anxiety needles.
“Fasta vass!”
“So-”
“Kiss me like that again and I will take you here and now,” he warns- but it is so tempting.
“No, no, we should, um, we should get to my room,” she fumbles over her words, not sure who she’s trying to convince- the blood still rushing around her head, but he gives her a smile and she forgets to feel embarrassed under the warmth of it. His hands slip beneath her own and if it hurts where the lyrium heats beneath her fingers, he doesn’t show it- pulling her to her feet.
Her mind still fuzzy and her gaze still on his smile, temptation and impulse win again as she presses a kiss to that expression she loves so much. Far too chaste and tender to be the result of slamming each other against walls and tearing clothes off in the foyer, but she just wants it so desperately, loves the way he wears a smile too much to resist.
“Hawke,” he says, low and threatening against her lips and she remembers what he said- she giggles, dropping one of his hands long enough to grab her torn pants and she pulls him by the other.
They skitter through the den, the pair trips up the stairs, Hawke pulls him along with her- trying to keep her steps light as she moves, his free hand catches her hip as they reach her bedroom door, easily turning her back to him. Her back hits the wood and and his mouth is on her again, his tongue presses in, he squeezes at the soft skin of her hip, before his hand roams higher and higher- slips beneath the thin fabric of her shirt and bra, gropes at her chest.
She whines into the kiss, skin prickling as he touches her, thumb brushing over her nipple. Their noses bump, each swipe of his tongue, bite at her lips- Hawke reluctantly lets go of his hand to pull at her door, feels it open behind her. Her fingers twist in the leather of his shirt, despite the eager consent- she can’t help but worry, fearful of hurting him.
But she pushes a bit of luck, pulling him back into the bedroom with her as she steps back, finally getting closer to having a bit of privacy. Fenris breaks their kiss off again and she takes a much needed breath while he shuts her door. She starts to reach for her shirt, she wants to feel his hands back on her tits-
He’s back on her before she can even begin to lift the fabric, his hands on her hips, thumbs forming divots in her skin. His mouth slanted against her own, chaste in comparison to the heavier ones they’ve shared. She reaches for his clothes now instead, testing the waters of reaching for the straps of his armored pieces, her hands hover- her touch as light as she can make it.
She gasps, not having made any progress before she’s being pulled up above the world, Fenris lifts her, her eyes going wide- then she’s thrown backwards, her ass bouncing on her bed, she laughs. He smiles at her as he moves closer to meet her again, she’s well aware of his strength after so much time fighting together- but still her insides bubble, her face red. She’s not the lightest of women- short but compact with her fair share of muscle mass, but he threw her so easily.
“Keep this up, you’re gonna hurt someone,” she teases, this now the second time he’s done something to land her firmly on her ass, but she takes the opportunity to start pulling off her top and bra.
He laughs, a deep rich sound that rings rapturously to her ears, only to then nestle directly into her beating heart. She’d kill every Magister in Thedas if it meant hearing him laugh like this, if it means seeing him smile, if it meant seeing his head held high where it belongs- she loves him like this- happy. And to be a part of that, to be a reason for it…
Fuck.
A realization is rising like a tide in the back of her mind.
She pushes it down, watches instead as he pulls off the armour touches and pauldrons, pulling at leather until finally he’s shirtless before her. And all at once she finds him beautiful and hates herself for it. The markings cover even more than she expected, she could see hints and traces of it beneath his clothes before, but it’s clear now just how far they run. The stark white etches lines along his throat, scatter like lightning along his arms, etch along his chest, curves along his abdomen muscles, swirl to eventually vanish into his waistband- able to see where they continue beyond his shoulders, no doubt covering just as much of his back.
And they’re pretty, she can admit it, though it pains her- wishes she was above the superficial acknowledgement that the bright white against his dark skin looks nice, that when she sees them glow- he looks ethereal, mesmerizing…
But knowing they hurt him, knowing what was done to him, to know herself capable of seeing the proof of his pain as something to admire and gawk at…
He deserves better.
“You’re no fragile thing, Hawke,” he reminds her, pulls her from her thoughts as he moves closer, stands at the bed between her legs that hang off it.
“Am I not?” She teases, trying to calm her own worries as he leans over her- nose bumping her own, but she wonders how she can avoid touching his marks as much as possible- how can she make sure this doesn’t hurt?
“No,” he repeats against her lips then his hand slides over her own, brings it to his chest, “And neither am I.”
His marks thrum beneath her touch- pulse and glow to welcome the contact. The intention in his words whirl through her mind, prod at her anxiety in an attempt to settle it. He does not want to be coddled, doesn’t want her to hold back from him, doesn’t want her to test waters, but to simply dive in- no longer the time for restraint.
But, but, but-
“Does it hurt?”
She needs to know.
“Not with you.”
He’s killing her. He’s going to accomplish what the Blight, darkpawn, demons, qunari, corrupted spiders, dragons, highwaymen and more have all failed to do- he’s going to be the death of her.
And she welcomes it- readily, greedily, desperately- she throws an arm around his neck and pulls him down to her, crashes their mouths together again. He lets go of her hand to grab at the waistband of her underwear, she lets herself take what he’s readily offering, runs her fingers along his chest- feels the warmth and lean muscle, feels at his stomach where there’s just a bit of soft give.
He’s gained a bit of weight since settling with them all here in Kirkwall, still lanky and wirey, more lean muscle than anything- but he wears a bit more weight now, a touch healthier, and it’s bliss to feel it beneath her hands, she smiles into the kiss.
Pride, confidence, security, health, happiness- she’d die a thousand deaths to see him with it all, to see him thrive more than he survives.
He pulls back and she whines at the loss of touch as he tugs her underwear off her legs, throwing them aside- leaving her completely naked on top of her sheets. Hawke shifts a bit further back and tugs at his waistband, urging him to follow, to keep touching her- but also she needs him fully naked at some point or she is going to scream.
Fenris climbs over her, uses his knee to nudge her thighs apart, settling between them- his hands run up her stomach, a groan on her tongue as he grabs at her tits. His fingers squeeze and sink into her breasts, groping and playing with them. Fenris’ mouth falls to her neck, sucks and bites at her skin, she reaches between them- skims her fingers along his stomach, before slipping past his waistband- precum sticks to her as she cups his hardon.
A Tevene curse against her throat, he leans his forehead against her jaw, a shaky breath as she squeezes at his cock. She feels the heat and weight of him in her hand, twitching as she strokes him- precum coating her. And Fenris is almost entirely stalled above her, taking another deep breath. She wonders again just how long it’s been since he’s been touched in a way that doesn’t hurt, if it’s ever happened before.
She strokes along his cock, rubs her thumb along the head, groaning when he curses against- the deep rumble of Tevene making her thighs clench around him. Reluctantly, Hawke pulls her hand from his cock, a choked gasp against her skin- she steadies her hand instead on his hip and in one rough quick movement she rolls him beneath her.
His weight thumps against the bed, her own on top of him- straddling his hips and groaning where his cock grinds against her cunt. His face is flushed, his eyes blotted to near black, white hair sweaty and clinging to his forehead- he smiles as he looks up at her.
“What- you’re not fragile, right?” She teases, leaning forward and catching his lips in another kiss- soft as she pulls back for a response, needing just a touch more reassurance that she’s not pushing too far. That his permission remains, that she can take freely from him.
“Far from it,” he assures her, his hands already kneading at her hips.
“Good,” she whispers against his jaw before she kisses it and kisses down to his neck, bites at his skin- feels lyrium thrum in tune to his pulse, beneath her tongue as she licks at the salt of his sweat slick flesh.
He groans as she nips and sucks at his throat, his hands roam up again, squeezing at her tits as she bites up his neck. She bites at his ear as she slides her precum slick hand back down his waistband- giggles at the shaky breath he lets out, the way his groping pauses when she’s palming his cock again.
She kisses down his neck and throat, pausing to suck and bite when impulse strikes, stroking and toying with his cock. Hawke peppers kisses along his shoulder, listening for every groan and curse that spills from his throat. His hands fall away from her chest as she kisses down his, having to move lower as she bites at his skin. She takes a moment to pull back, to look at him.
His jaw clenched tight as he watches her and she’s left a trail of hickies along his skin- deep purple bruises between white lines of lyrium. She moves lower, having to move her hand off his cock as she leans in to kiss at his stomach- a groan and staggered breath pulled from him, at having the direct contact replaced with the lighter brush of her lips over his abdomen. One of his hands grabs at her sheets, the other finds her hair as she hooks her fingers in his waistband.
Fenris’ hand pushes through her hair, nails scratch along her scalp as she starts to kiss lower and lower- until she can feel the leather against her chin, his hard cock bumping her through the fabric.
“Hawke…” He grasps, grip tightening in her hair and she hums against his skin, considering something.
“Astraea,” she corrects softly as she pulls down his pants and underwear, not wanting to delay for too long. And she tries to ignore his gaze on her, she wouldn’t necessarily call her first name a secret- but it’s become something she doesn’t share that readily.
“Astraea?” He says, his voice a bit scratchy- his hold tightens in his hair, as if trying to anchor her in place and her name sounds nice in his mouth.
“My name, the first one,” she clarifies, her face feeling like it’s on fire- wishing she’d kept her mouth shut, but she can’t help wanting him to call her first name. She doesn’t want to be Hawke at this moment- she wants to be Astraea right now, with him.
“It suits you,” he says and heat colors her cheeks an even deeper red, he smiles at her and she’s reminded again that he’ll be the death of her.
“Shut up,” she huffs and bites at his hip, earning another soft groan from him before she yanks down his pants and underwear.
And she doesn’t know what it says about her to be less embarrassed making eye contact with his cock versus his actual face at this moment. She swallows a lump in her throat as she strips the rest of him, finally both fully naked in her bed- and he is still far too attractive. The marks still extend along his thighs and legs, almost no spot on him completely free of the lyrium- more importantly though, his cock is hard between his legs, smearing precum across his skin.
She presses her hand against him, a choked gasp ringing through the air, she squeezes and strokes- he's thick and heavy in her hand. Her thighs clench as she feels the length of it, runs her fingers along the veins, imagining what it'll feel like inside of her. She's no virgin, but admittedly- Kirkwall hasn't served her sex life well. In her four years, she can count on one hand how many times she's found herself tangled in the sheets with anyone. Gamlen's house didn't exactly have any privacy, she wasn't about to bring anyone back to her bottom bunk bed. Not to even discuss how grief, adjusting to a prosthetic, getting over a crush, developing a new one- has all kind of made intimacy… difficult.
She's a little worried at how the stretch will feel after so long, but even the worry is overshadowed by want. Her mouth watering as she presses a kiss to the flushed leaking head of his cock, the salt of precum on her lips, swiping her tongue through it, bitter and hot.
“Venhedis, Astraea, ah,” he curses and groans, her name in his ragged tone goes straight to her cunt- clenching her thighs together to get some fraction of relief.
She takes the head of his cock into her mouth, humming at the taste of him, his hand wrenches tighter in her hair- his hips stutter, snap up and it presses his cock further down her throat, nearly gagging her.
“Sorry, I..” His choked apology fades to another Tevene swear as she smoothes a hand over his hip- attempting to assure him without having to speak, not wanting to pull her mouth off of him. She hums around him instead, taking him further down her throat as she does so.
Her scalp prickles as his hold on her hair is an iron vise, affording her barely enough slack to move, his other hand twisted painfully tight in her sheets. The muscles in his neck and jaw set tight, she can feel a tremble in his hips, his thighs- like he’s trying to hold back desperately not to fuck her throat. And that makes her cunt clench, able to feel how badly he wants to feel her mouth around him.
She starts bobbing her head, sucks as she moves up and down the length of him, trying to move him deeper down her throat with each motion. Drool spills from the corners of her mouth- each movement of her head, plunge down her throat, is rewarded with precum streaking across her tongue and a shaky groan or curse from Fenris. She moves faster, the wet slide of him in and out of her mouth, a squelching sound starting to ring out in the room alongside his groans- her lungs start to burn-
“Astraea, e-, vasta fass, enough, I-”
And then she's wrenched off, her scalp aching as she's pulled off of his cock. She sputters and coughs, throat raw- but before she can even collect a breath, he's yanking her into a kiss, their teeth clang in a familiar ache, his tongue pushes into her mouth in a quick desperate lip lock. Her mind blurs, her lungs ache, his other hand grabs at her hip
Then her back is on the bed, Fenris on top of her. The kiss breaks off and she finally gets a deep breath as his mouth falls to her throat, his hands at her thighs and spreading her legs. A part of her wants to ask why he pulled her off, but her thoughts blur and muddle when she feels his slick cock brushing over her cunt.
He pins her thighs against the mattress and in a quick brutal motion he’s fucking into her, her voice strains and he gasps against her jaw as he sinks in. A slick squelch as his cock splits her open, no pain but she can feel the stretch of him, whining when she feels his hips flush against her, the lyrium that dips down along them hums and warms against her. He’s as deep as he can press into her, filling her until she sees stars.
“Fuck, Fenris, ah- fuck,” she stutters as he grinds his cock into her, barely pulling out at all, staying as deep as he can reach for a moment- friction sparking against his hips where lyrium etched skin rubs against him.
She throws her arms around him, clings to him and drags her nails across his shoulders. He bites and sucks at her jaw. He starts to pull back, the slide of him inside of her, before he fucks into her again- a sharp brutal snap of his hips that makes her hold tighten, her voice squeak as he begins to set a pace.
“You feel, I, ugh,” he groans, his words crumbling as he thunks his forehead against her skin- hair tickling her, skin sticking sweaty to hers. His pace quick and harsh, her hips ache with every thrust, bruises forming where their bodies collide- each fuck of him into her burning through her, pleasure building, tension growing tighter and tighter as his cock drags through her sensitive cunt and crashes deep inside of her.
Astraea nudges her face down against his, Fenris lifting his head from her neck- his nose bumping hers. She pulls her arms tighter around him, rubs a thumb against the beck of his neck and slides her fingers into his hair- pulls him down for another kiss. His hides run up from her thighs and slip beneath her and around her as his weight comes down more on her- nails digging into her back as they’re pressed completely flushed together, no space between them.
She wraps her legs around his hips, tighter around him, their voices muffled by each others mouth- the tighter clench making her body thrum, pleasure molten between her thighs, and her high building with every motion. Her heels dig into his ass, pulling him closer, tighter. His pace becoming quicker, motion more contained, barely able to pull out before he’s burying himself back inside of her- not given the chance to feel empty before he’s filling the deepest parts of her again, like her body won’t let him go, like he can’t stand the thought of pulling any further from her.
And it all builds and builds into too much- his tongue in her mouth, sweaty slick skin pressed together, every vein of lyrium thrumming against her, his cock buried inside of her as he chases his end as he pushes to her own-
“Fuck, fuck, Fenris!” She cries out against his mouth, clinging to him like a lifeline as the tension snaps- as she shakes in his arms and pulls him as tight and close to her as she can as she’s overwhelmed and cums beneath him, cunt clenching around him.
Something in Tevene she’s either too stupid or too blissed out to understand and then he’s spilling into her, warm rush of cum filling her, leaking out onto the sheets beneath them- a mess where they connect as he fucks through the aftershocks until he collapses, warm and sweaty on top of her.
They catch their breaths, deep ragged panting as they tangle together. His natural warmth, the muted burn of lyrium, and the heat of exhaustion stack and stack- the room obnoxiously hot and cloying. But she can’t stand to lose her hold of him, can’t help but stay pressed to his skin. And she knows she likes him more than she ever planned- a certain word having spun around her head and nearly bubbled up her throat. But she can deal with that in the morning, they can talk this out when her cunt isn’t filled with him and sweat isn’t chafing beneath her tits.
Reluctantly, disgustingly, they have to separate a little- his cock slips out of her and she whines, already missing the stretch. But he doesn’t make it far from him, falling sweatily to the bed, and they’re back in each others arms like they never left, curling into each others warmth- not even bothering to pull the blankets over each other, Astraea not even able to gather the energy to tug off her prosthetic. She just wants to stay here, content in his warmth, exhaustion crawling in and weighing down her eyelids- she drifts off with the heat of lyrium veins thrumming beneath her cheek and the shadow of a kiss against her forehead.
She wakes up cold.
Even with golden light beginning to drift in from the windows, she finds herself cold. Sweat chilled against her body, slick and cum drying and sticking to her thighs, her stump raw and aching where she’s kept her prosthetic on for too long…
Her bed is otherwise empty and his back is to her as he pulls on his leathers- she pulls her blanket around her but there’s no warmth to be found.
Author's note: Blame my friend Ellen for this one- they know what they did, I'm not even an Astarion romancer. This is a quick messy drabble because I was having feelings about Astarion and his relationship to cold and warmth and heat- given vampire.
Technically- this is Astarion/Tav or Astarion/Durge. It coule be either, it's kept purposely vague. No gendered pronouns, no physical features, and no defining traits mentioned. If you really want, you could pop anyone in the "they" role, they only have one line since its not a dialogue focussed oneshot.
TW: Astarion's backstory, nothing explicit, but it's a drabble focused entirely on him so- trauma be here.
The world has had a chill for two-hundred years. Since the life was stolen from his veins and a new bastardized version placed in its stead. Astarion’s world has been chilled. Cold more often than not. Pale skin cool to the touch, innards hollowed. Heat no longer lingers in his skin, no longer pumps through his veins- he’s never fed enough for the blood to truly pump. Barely kept at the edge of starvation. A bone deep chill that rarely recedes, his body never warm- not even his.
The only breaks are not warmth. But smothering heat, cloying heat- the slap of flesh, the friction of grinding bodies. A temporary surface level heat, it stays in his skin for a moment, but it never reaches his bones. It’d burn him alive if it did. Stick sweat, the sear of groping hands, touches he doesn’t want, didn’t ask for, made to take, made to endure, made to be used- his body is not his, the only retreat a wandering mind.
He thinks he prefers the chill. Even in the coffin, it was coldest by far, even when he screamed and his throat ran raw- even the blood drawn from his clawing, breaking fingers couldn’t warm him. But at least the only hands in the prison were his own, well- not his, but a small comfort regardless.
Blinding rays of sun, sand beneath his fingers- a jolt of fear, a prey animal instinct curling around his insides and demanding he run. The sun, bright and big, it hangs above his head and he waits for the flames. To die in smothering burn and ache, for all to end in heat.
His skin doesn’t blister, doesn’t char- it warms.
And he can’t help but think faintly that two-hunded or more years ago, a version of him that’s long since died- liked to feel the sun on his face, when it felt like his.
No one takes the sun from him, not truly- only missing out on it’s rays when the night falls and he finds himself yearning to feel it again. But in those moments, it’s replaced by the crackle of bonfire. Flickering orange flames throwing off thin remnants of warmth, though it comes of his company is far larger waves.
The body heat most give off, most with proper pumping hearts, the living. Even without their skin touching his, he can feel it when they linger around the same space- the warmth that comes off their skin, when they share stories and pass around cheap acrid excuses for alcohol.
A small bump, a jostle, his skin prickles- hackles raised like a cat, an arm brushing his when their leader turned too quick. When they forgot the space between them, an accident, barely last a moment but the warmth of their skin lingers on his own, doesn’t burn, and there’s an apology on their lips a moment later. For something so small, so pathetic- already sorry, sorry to touch him without meaning to, without asking to. They treat his body like it’s his, he wishes it felt like it was.
Warmth of blood- a full belly. He’s never felt so sated, so powerful, so warm. He drains boards until they’re nothing but hide and flesh, drinks a bear until his stomach feels it may burst- but it never feels like enough, never sated after knowing hunger so long.
He tries to sneak his fangs between their veins, to sape some of the warmth that still a tenday later still clings to his arm- to know what it may be like to eat what he never could, to have more power. Maybe then his body will feel like his own, he tries to take without asking- that’s what the world does, so why shouldn’t he?
But then they let him. Let him feed. Let him eat, allow him to sate himself. Allow him to climb over their body, to feel the same warmth of their body nears his- then drain the heat of their blood. To drink until he can feel a chill enter them, until he nearly sapped all that precious warmth, only then asking him to stop. Forced to tear his fangs from their flesh, a bone deep warmth inside of him, settling in his veins- in his gullet. He thinks this may be what people mean when they speak of the warmth of a homecooked meal, he can’t remember if he’s ever had one- but this feels cozy, pleasant, warm.
And they let him do it again.
Let him feed when he needs to. Let him sidle up to their side every couple nights, lean into that warmth, bury his teeth- and he waits for the burn. Waits for that warmth and comfort to give away to the scorch of a wandering hand. For the spike of arousal he feels in their system when he bites to become a grope, a push, to find himself on his back, and used. His body not his own.
But their hands never stray. Never demand. Never even ask. They allow him his fill and allow him what he wants after. At first to leave with no questions, no fuss- no ask for more, just a kind good night as he saunters off with a full belly. Later, they allow him to stay. Allow him to pull off their bleeding veins and linger. To lay the weight of his head between their neck and shoulder, to lean into their skin. Never a question, never an accusation- there are no demands made of him. Allowed to sprawl like a cat against a sun warmed patch of grass.
He feels the sun, he sates his hunger, he knows warmth- but the chill is never far behind. He’s a hunted man, a hunter in a bog- a reminder that he’s not cut his collar, but merely lengthened his leash. That until he can sever it, until he can off off the hand yanking it back- he will never be free. His body will never be his own. He will find himself again in a world of chill and burn.
It’s a plan. A strategy. Not affection or love that pulls him to invite them out. Someone to keep him protected. To help keep him safe as he figures his way out of this, as he tries to sever his leash. They’re the obvious choice. The leader of the motley crew, at times desperate good doer, already fond of him, and most importantly- they want his body. He feels it in the casual lingering glance, the hormones in their blood when he drinks from them- they don’t say it, but they want him. And if they’re willing to slaughter a hunter for him now, what will they do once they’ve been given his body? How much harder will they fight for him if he gives them what they want? All anyone wants from him.
His body is a weapon, wielded by Cazador for two-hundred year- why shouldn’t he wield it as well?
This time it’s his choice. It’s different. He initiated. He asked for this. Not in a pathetic simpering self blaming way, but he verbally asked for it- he invited them out. His way to claw back some power, some control, to use and be used but on his own terms- for his own safety, his own freedom. It’s his choice, for once in two-hundred fucking years it is his choice.
But it feels like it did every time before. He chose this, but it doesn’t feel like it. Still a tool but he’s learned how to work without his master, still a means to an end- his flesh just the way of getting what’s needed. The same cloy of body heat, the cling of sweat, his mind far away. His body not his own, abandoned as it does what it needs to. It’ll help him in the long run, it’ll be okay, steel his nerves, and wait for it to be done. Tells himself there’s a power in this, he’s making a choice, he’s choosing himself- protecting himself, that he’ll never feel the bone deep chill again.
He feels half frozen when he lays at their side.
He plays his act as well as he always does. Uses his body when he needs to. Manipulate. Seduce. Trick. Running off a script he’s memorized over and over. Same song, same dance- telling himself he’s running the show. But between lies and disassociation, the other things bleed through.
Warmth. Being asked for nothing but a cuddle on a cold night, his flesh unable to warm- but they ask to curl around him all the same. They give them sweet words and kind gestures, he gives them back with a smile that doesn’t always reach his eyes. They worry for him, fret over him, and at some point he realizes he’s the only one pushing for those burning touches. Those moments where his mind has to wander to make it okay, because otherwise- why would they keep this going on? If he’s not spreading his legs, what good is he? He can’t risk them losing interest. Can’t risk them growing bored before he gets the leash severed, before they’ve helped him- before he’s used them.
A broken mirror, long forgotten after a conversation of forced compliments and faded memories. He assumed it’d been abandoned at the same campsite he’d thrown it against the ground on. Reminded that he’ll never see the visage of who he was again, that who he was is but a stolen memory.
But it’s silver decorated handle is laying face down in his tent night. No speck of dirt nor grime, plucking it up between his fingers. His eyes narrow, a portrait in charcoal, the paper tucked neatly within the framing panel where the mirror glass once sat. The visage of a man looking back at him- sharp eyes, hair curling around his ears, smile lines- a name jotted in the corner.
Astarion.
It’s him. And he knows exactly who did it. The only person who would, the same person now poking their head into his tent- but something is wrong.
His face burns with warmth and heat, up his cheekbones and clear into the tips of his ears as they poke their curious face inside, their own face a deeper ruddier shade than usual. An awkward scratch of their neck, acknowledging he found their present- asking if he likes it, but how can he even know when there’s a sudden inferno in his face. Not smothering or cloying, but hot. Fever was a symptom of the parasite wasn’t it, is that what this is? His fingers graze his cheekbones, brush along his jaw- they feel warm and alive, but they shouldn’t
“Something is wrong, my face is- my face is burning,” he yells, he warns, feeling the fear in his chest pit- of course he’d turn first, the world too cruel to do anything else, “Am I, is this-”
Hands delicately cup his cheeks, warm, so warm- their eyes examine him as they did the night they played his mirror, the heat only worsens- the fever spikes. Their thumbs stroke along his jaw where tentacles would split his flesh.
“No squidier than before, love- just a little flushed,” they tell him and the heatn only spreads- flushed, blushing. He hardly ever had the blood to do it before, barely enough to perform how he was forced to.
But his stomach is no longer concave. His skin so rarely chilled. And an affection he’s lied to get is turning his face scarlet. Too much, far too much- pitting a heat in his chest, where the warmth has never reached.
And eventually he can lie no more. Can use no more. Defenses laid down and vulnerabilities splayed out like viscera in an autopsy. The truth of how it hurts to be used, how it hurts to never be in his own body, how it never feels like it’s his body, and how it hurts that he’s done it to himself as readily as Cazador did it to him.
He waits for the rejection, refusal- what good is he if he cannot sate them, what use is he if not fro what’s between his legs, and if can no longer give that- what else does he have to give?
Arms wrap around him- warmth. And he hardly knows what to do with himself, where to put his hands, or how to pull them in. But it settles in his bones and he longs to cling, to allow himself to cling. To cling to every promise on their lips, that it’s okay, he doesn’t have to do anything he doesn’t want to- that they don’t need anything from him he isn’t willing to give.
That never need feel a touch he doesn’t want.
That his body is his own.
It may be the first promise he’s never seen broken.
His body is his own, his life is own, and he’s allowed the space to learn what that means for him. He’s allowed to make choices, some good, some bad. He tries things outside his comfort zone- some good, some bad. Sometimes he feels silly, making choices, agreeing to things- only to find himself unhappy, uncomfortable. To learn it’s not something he wanted. But every misstep, every utterance of ‘I thought I was ready, I thought I’d be okay,’ is met with nothing but warmth, it’s okay that he didn’t know. It’s okay that he’s relearning how to own his skin, his body, his life- that it’s not an easy process, but he’s learning who he is. And he doesn’t need to know every answer, they’ll learn them together in time.
But the leash still clings. A hand still pulls and temptation calls to him.
And he makes a choice.
He stabs and he stabs, until his blade chips into the floor. The warmth of blood on his skin, soaking into him- Cazador’s. The hand that pulled finally severed and his body wracks with tears, with hurt, and he cries out. Cries out for two-hundred years of chill. Cries out for the power he didn’t grasp. Cries out for everything he’s lost, he’s gained, and the path that lies ahead. Cries for the sun that may never warm his skin again.
Cries until arms wrap around him, until he’s pulled into familiar warmth- until he’s sobbing into the joint between their neck and shoulder, the place he’s began to see as home. A promise in their touch, in their love, their grace, their kindness- that he may never know the warmth of the sun, but he’ll never feel that chill or burn again, that their warmth will fill the spaces where sunlight can no longer reach.
He hopes that too is a promise he’ll never see break.
A Simple Request For An Unsimple Man (Gale x Fem!Oc Tav)
Author's note: Hello, it's certainly been a minute since I've been able to post fic here without worrying about formatting bullshit (love so much that my longest running fic can't be posted here because it relies on italics/formatting techniques within the first 50ish chapters and tumblr makes that a headache)But, I've found myself sinking a bit into BG3/Gale hell and after some prompting my @shallow-gravy about a comment I left about Gale being able to summon a bed, I decided this might be a fun idea and oops have a thirty page one shot! So, have something featuring my tav- Petra and Gale. Still not sure of what I"m doing with these characters, but hey~
Summary: Petra and Gale are more than a little clumsy in the ways that they love, both having their own significant dry spell when it comes to romance and sexual desires. And while the two have shared themselves within the weave, Petra has made a simple request to share their physical bodies as well. Gale is not good at simple.
Warnings: Unprotected vaginal sex, praise kinks, creampies, cunnilingus (tav/petra in this is a cis female woman), fingering, mutual masturbation, tooth-rotting fluff (turns out I write fluff now), soft!dom Gale, and magical sex mishaps.
Petra's mind has been a maelstrom of worries for quite a while now, however, if someone had told her that amidst tadpoles, cults, and shadow cursed lands that her mind would be consumed with matters of the heart and loins- well, she'd think they were crazy.
But, perhaps she's the crazy one.
She never expected to love again, never expected to find someone who felt like home, or makes her heart stutter on every other beat. But she never expected to have a tadpole shoved into her eye or to pull a wizard from a stone- let alone for that very wizard be the one doing this to her. Life is full of surprises, as is her lover.
Ugh, gods- she has a lover.
The very thought makes her face burn, her heart pound, and her guts twist. If she didn't know any better she'd think herself ill, but alas- she's learned that's merely Gale's influence on her. The wizard needed no charms or illusions to win her affection, but he warned her early on- well before either of them had realized what was growing between them, that he had a taste for grand gestures.
And grand they were.
He conjured her stars and shifting auroras against an ink black night, he showed her his home, his sanctuary without her needing to step a foot into Waterdeep. And he plucked their very souls from their bodies, to kiss and touch and merge within a realm beyond their own. Glittering blue forms, never knowing quite where his touch ended and hers began, surrounded and consumed by him. An electric blur of his touch over her very being.
She would have been content with a flower and a bowl of his deer stew, but who is she to turn down the adoration fueled gestures of a man she does not deserve.
Which in part is why she can't help but suspect she might be being just a touch greedy…
Made all the worse by her greed and insecurity tugging her mind back and forth between them like rabid dogs would a slice of steak.
In some ways she's already done the hardest part, confessing her desire to Gale felt like a herculean task in itself, a stumble of poorly put together words while her face burned hotter than Karlach's engine. But ultimately, she got the message across and Gale as always was far too eager to oblige.
Though, he seems intent to oblige her request in his Gale way of obliging.
Because, you see, her request is incredibly simple. Despite her anxiety and insecurity- she wants to fuck Gale the old fashioned way. She loved the way they bonded before and truly will jump to do it again, but she just can't help but also want the more mundane variety. To feel flesh and bone, to touch his skin, to press her lips against his throat and feel his pulse race beneath her tongue. This of course means he'll also be seeing her naked properly without blue blurry auras smoothing out her every- less excited for that, but her desire for him outweighs her shame for herself.
And this simple request, frankly- could have been sated nearly the moment it was made in the privacy of his tent. He needed only to roll her onto her back or pull her to straddle his hips, a few garments tossed aside, the dark providing her with some some cloaking while still getting to feel and see him- gods bless darkvision.
But that would be far too simple, her request instead met with a wide smile a; "Say no more, consider it done, my love," a kiss goodnight, and the looming knowledge that he was planning something.
So, perhaps surprise is too strong a word when she returns to camp after a brief walk alone to find her companions snickering and Gale's mirror image standing outside his tent. Thin ripples of weave radiating through an otherwise perfect copy of her favorite wizard. She knows it could be perfect, saw him make one perfect before- the imperfections intentional, to let her know it's not him and instead a messenger.
Petra skirts past her chattering friends, pretending she doesn't feel several sets of eyes following her as she stands before the replication of her dearest. Who merely beams with that bright smile that she's come to adore, even if it's merely a simulacrum of it.
"Heh, I take it Gale has some plans for us tonight?" She whispers towards the mirror image, trying to keep prying ears from learning too much. Not that her and Gale are secretive about their relationship by any means, but not every one of their friends needs to know when they're having sex.
"That he does and I have the most wonderous task of taking you to see him, words cannot begin to express how eager he is to see you tonight," the mirror image chirps, not even a hint of shame or volume control as his eyes burn with that same flame of adoration the real Gale always seems to carry- her face flushing beneath its heat.
"Ugh, hells you two are going to make me throw up a perfectly good meal, would you please take your simpering gazes elsewhere," Astarion calls out from around the campfire, a hint of a smile in his words, then his lips when Petra turns to glower at him.
"I hardly think whatever shadow cursed vermin you've managed to snack on out here counts as a good meal- but rest assured, I am leaving."
"But of course- after all your little magician is so very eager," he mocks again and if he weren't her friend, she'd kick his arse- still might.
"Oh lay off her, Fangs- it's cute, like two pups wagging their tails at each other."
"I believe nauseating is the word you're looking for," Shadowheart chimes in, "I mean really, not a drop of shame between the two, every time he leaves behind one of those mirror images- he might as well just declare that they're about to go rut around in the woods all night."
"Date nights are perfectly healthy for a newly bonded couple-"
"Dates- is that what you think they're doing out there? In the middle of nowhere, alone- you think they're, what, chatting about their favorite books over a glass of wine?" Astarion cuts Wyll off, incredulous that he would refer to Petra and Gale's outings as a date.
"I mean, wouldn't really be all that shocked if they were- it is Gale, after all…"
"Regardless, I think seeing our friends form such a union is something to be celebrated not mocked."
"Their carnal desires are hardly any of our concern, so long as they remain vigilant in battle- however, I must say I do find it curious that the wizard always seeks to be hunted, he might as well submit outright if he cannot best her in combat."
"Oh, I'm sure he does plenty of submitting."
"I don't know 'bout that, Petra may be bossier but look at the poor thing- redder than a devil's arsehole, probably turns into a mess the moment clothes start comin' off."
Petra grasps the mirror image's arm, her face burning hot and no doubt just as red as Karlach said. She hisses between gritted teeth; "Get me the fuck out of here."
"Your wish is my command, now- let us find more pleasant company," he assures her, quickly walking her away from the camp as their friends speculate about their sex life.
"And by that, you mean yourself," she teases, leaning against the mirror image's arm. The conjured form isn't a perfect match, both from the rippling static like eminence of weave and it being a little less shameful than her Gale. But it carries his warmth, his smell- like the innards of an old library, cozy and welcoming.
"Would you have it any other way?"
"Gods no," she admits, burrowing her face into his arm, hiding her flushed cheeks from his view.
"Careful now, I'd hate to be jealous of myself," Gale's voice rings out, more alive, more human and not right beside her- her head shoots up, the sky is bathed in shifting colors and twinkling lights. Her Gale just a short walk away; "Though I can hardly blame you, he is quite handsome."
And that’s all she needs, letting go of the mirror image, the half-elf rushes towards him- the real him, a small laugh escaping Gale’s lips as she throws her arms around him. As nice as the fake one is, it will never feel as good as touching the real thing. His heat seeping in between their clothes, warming her skin- that must of old books and lavender offset slightly by the salt of his sweat. His large hands holding her in kind, one settling on the small of her back and the other stroking through her hair. She takes a deep breath, a heavy inhale and exhale of him, before finally lifting her head ever so slightly- enough to look up at him,
The way he looks at her could melt all of Frostfell. Those soft brown eyes looking at her like she’s hung the stars and moon, all the while he’s the one who’s conjured the sky above them.
“A good evening to you too,” he greets, smiling so sweetly and she stands up on her tiptoes- Gale meeting her need as she presses a kiss to that very smile. The warm press of his mouth against hers sending heat and butterflies through her very veins, she breaks back before she can get carried away. Not wanting to ruin his plans, but struggling to stifle the desire to kiss him until her lungs ache.
“Good evening,” she hums back instead, squeezing him tighter, her eyes looking around the wide field bathed in the glow of soft purples and blues. It’s largely familiar, the same space and view he created the night he brought their very souls together- when he confessed his fear, his love, and so much more. Where she pleaded for him to stay, for him to live.
Though with one very new addition to the expanse of field- an extraordinarily out of place bed. Lavish and lush with deep indigo blankets, bathed in the glow of the sky and the burning of a torch mounted in the ground beside it- the addition betraying the reason they’re here tonight.
“You know what I can’t help but notice?” Petra remarks after a beat of silence, a quiet moment of simply sinking into one another’s hold- blinking up at her wizard.
“My dashing good looks?”He asks, a small smile and a raise of his brow.
“Mm, yes, but no more than usual,” she plays along, smiling against him. Knotting her fingers in the plush purple of his tunic,debating on if she should slip her hands beneath the fabric- wanting to feel more of his skin.
“My brilliant mind and ever expanding intellect?”
“Well, that just goes without saying,” she assures him, heaping on the praise for him.
“Hmm, than it must be my veritable wealth of charm and wit.”
“Close and before you ask- no, it’s not your modesty either,” she teases, scratching her nails over his back through his shirt- trying to sate her ache to touch him, “What I can’t help but notice is that whenever you pull me away for a night via your mirror image- it seems to mean I’m the one left dealing with the whispers of our companions.”
He grimaces slightly, somewhat between amusement and annoyance; “Ah, yes, a… much unfortunate consequence, but one we simply can’t avoid, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, is that so?” She teases, laughing through her smile, “Funny how that unavoidable consequence seems to benefit you.”
“Life is full of those funny little mysteries, I think it wise to embrace- not question, these curiosities.”
“Thats quite a fancy way of saying you intend to keep throwing me to the wolves,” she chirps, pulling a hand back to slap him playfully in the ribs, he merely laughs because he knows exactly what he’s doing; “Do you know that right now, at this very moment- our friends gossiping like hens about which one us… takes the lead?”
“Ah, yes, I’m… terribly sorry to have missed that conversation.”
“And yet, I suspect you’re not sorry at all,” she comments, reaching upward she strokes through his hair- tracing a streak of gray that curls around his ear, soft brown strands slipping between her fingers. He’s so lucky he’s so damned adorable.
“Oh, but I am- absolutely contrite that I could not steal you away before their sordid chatter reached your ears- after all, I’m no more keen on our proclivities being the subject of discussion than you are,” he admits and she hums, a small smirk on her lips as he continues on, trying to insist he definitely feels bad about leaving the gossipy shit for her to handle.
“Perhaps not, but you do seem keen on leaving me to handle it.” She points out again, cradling his jaw- his beard scratching her palm as she rubs her thumb along his cheekbone. Petra often wonders if he minds the callouses that cling to her skin. Her flesh so much rougher than his, he leans into her touch, presses his jaw to her hand.
“And my apologies are most sincere, however if you still find yourself unconvinced- perhaps I can show you the depth of my remorse?” He asks, pressing his forehead to hers, lips a breath away, “You need only ask, demand any penance you deem fit- and I will gladly pay it.”
“Is that so?”
“There is no sin against you, no matter size or severity, that I would not repent for.”
“Well, I mean, I wouldn’t mind a kiss,” she admits, the only thought on her mind when his face is so close to hers- when his lips are just a breath away. When one tilt of her head, one jolt would crash their lips together.
“Hmm, I think you may not have a full understanding of what penance means, my dear, typically-”
“Gale,” she says, looking up at him with the sternest eyes she can manage- no doubt stopping him from prattling off the definition of penance. Because she’s in love with a sentient thesaurus.
“Yes.”
“You have until the count of three to kiss me and if you don’t- I’m going to bite you,” she threatens, not sure how much she wants him to listen- she does like biting him, “One-”
“Thinking over my options,” he chimes, sing songy as he seems equally unsure of which choice he likes more.
“Two.”
“I do rather like your love bites, but your kisses are quite enchanting as well.”
“Thr-”
His lips press to hers, deeper than before. One of her hands twists in his tunic, the other in the his hair. He cradles her jaw and lower back, pulling each other closer, she can’t help the small sigh of happiness and bliss as his tongue pushes into her mouth. The faintest taste of his cooking still on his tongue, a hint of mint where he tried to clear it out- maybe she should have been so kind.
Their kisses are still clumsy, a slightly awkward press and swirl of tongues, both single and isolated for a year or more. But it feels like warmth and love and home in a way she can’t define, heat simmering between her thighs when the hand on her back moves lower. A broad palm playfully squeezing at her ass, tugging her closer, the grope of his fingers sinking into the plush of her flesh- a soft moan echoing from her throat, muffled by his tongue.
They break apart, breathing ragged- hot puffs of air across each other’s lips. She can feel the heat clinging to the apples of her cheeks, mirrored in the flush that creeps beneath Gale’s beard. Petra grins up at his beautiful red face, the brown of his eyes nearly swallowed by the black of his pupil.
“Three,” she whispers, catching his lower lip between her teeth and nipping playfully at the kiss swollen flesh. Gale groans, deep and throaty, sending molten heat right to her cunt. His lips pulls out from between her teeth as he pulls her into a desperate hungered kiss.
It’s deeper than the last, even more ravenous and rough, both of his hands now groping at her backside- kneading at her flesh, feeling his fingers sinking into the plush of her flesh through her clothing. Wishing his hands were beneath her clothes, on her skin, pressing into her properly.
She tugs at his hair, scratches her nails along his scalp as he kisses her deeper and deeper, her lungs burning by the time she feels the back of her thighs bumping something soft. Breaking off the kiss to see she’s somehow been staggered back to the bed. It’s plush blankets and rows of pillows beckoning her. She can’t help but giggle.
“Couldn’t settle for a dirty bedroll, could you?” She teases, stealing another soft kiss.
“The least I could do for your comfort, time spent together in the flesh should be no less beautiful than that spent in the celestial- whatever way you’ll have me, I wish only to make it perfect for you.”
“Then… wish no more,” she murmurs, voice soft as she avoids the intensity of his gaze, the adoration that consumes his words and expression, “You’re here with me, I could not imagine anything more perfect than that.”
“Careful now, keep talking that way- you may never be rid of me,” he tries to joke, to tease- but when she forces herself to look back up at him, she can see the flush of his cheeks deepening as his smile widens.
And with everything that still hangs in the air- Mystra’s unreasonable request, the knowledge that a part of him still doesn’t feel certain of whether he’ll see the end of this journey. The fact he may still make that choice, that he very well still might leave her in some desperate attempt to save the world. She throws her arms tight around his neck, latches her nails into his skin as she tugs him closer, closer. His nose bumping her own, his forehead back flush against hers.
“I truly hope that I could be so lucky,” she rushes out, reiterating her wish- her plead again. That he’ll stay here with her, that she will never be rid of him- that on the other side of this whole ordeal is a future where his story stays enmeshed with her own. That she’ll not have to lose another love, not sure her heart could stand it.
Then it’s another clash of lips, tongue, and teeth- not even sure who started this one, both desperate to get their mouths on each other. And for a moment, she feels herself lifted, feet off the air- she giggles into his kiss before the world shifts every so slightly, her back thumping down onto the soft blankets. Her weight sinking into the plush of the mattress, Gale smiling at her lowers a knee to the bed and climbs up, settling above her.
Adoration, the word comes to mind over and over again whenever he looks at her. Brown eyes soft and clear with nothing but that emotion, letting it sink in through her skin and into her bones, consuming her wholly. She never thought she loved brown eyes so much, disliking her own for so long- but on him they’re so beautiful. Warm and filled with more love than she’s could ever hope to deserve.
She cups his face and pulls him down for another kiss, never satisfied. He said before that moment with her could sate him for a lifetime and while the sentiment still rattles her to her very soul- she can’t say she relates, feeling as if she could have a million with him and still beg for one more, for another, another, another. Not enough time in the universe for how much she wishes to spend with him.
Her hands tug at his tunic, reaching one beneath- no longer able to suppress the desperate need to just touch him. To feel his skin beneath her fingers, warm flesh and coarse body hair, the soft skin of his stomach. A layer of plush with a hint of firmer muscle beneath, when she presses a little harder. Their lips part again as Gale leans back onto his knees, which sink into the bed on either side of her hips.
She skims her hands down his hips and thighs as Gale grips at his shirt, tugging it off- carefully putting it aside. Petra’s eyes roaming the open exposed flesh of his chest and stomach. The celestial version of him gorgeous, but not truly doing him justice. Smooth glowing blue aura not showing the dark body hair that scatters across his chest, trailing down his stomach and leading to below his waistband. The occasional freckle and even rarer scar that decorate his skin.
Even the mark on his chest, the symbol where the orb took root in his chest. Bruised in the middle, tendrils sweeping out from it- the ones that curl up the left side of his throat growing fainter as they stretch out to vanish beneath his beard- connected faintly to the prominent veins that ghost below his eye. She hates what that thing has done to him, how it’s hurt him- how it’s not being used as a threat against his very life, but even that she finds beautiful on his flesh. The mark of his mistakes, of his devotion to one who never deserved it, proof of him as a man who sought love in worship. His folly is as much a part of the man she loves as every virtue he carries in kind.
“Fuck,” she curses, all the words she can utter as she gazes at him. Admiring every inch of his body that’s been revealed to her. Realizing she’s rarely seen him shirtless, not counting the celestial plane and a few brief, awkward mistakes while navigating river baths in the early days of their travel. How odd that they’ve been so deeply intimate, yet she can’t say she’s seen him fully naked.
Which means he has yet to see her fully naked as well- which scares her even more than the tadpole gnawing at the inside of her skull.
“If you ever sought to deflate my ego, I must say- you’re doing a terrible job at it,” he teases, a brilliant grin on his face as her own burns with heat.
"As if I'd ever embark on a such a fool's errand," she taunts, skimming her hands upward and feeling the heat of his skin. Raking her nails along his lower stomach, feeling the muscles tense beneath her hand, biting her tongue to not make any comments about belly rubs.
"Hmm, given your…tendencies, forgive me if I remain unconvinced."
She lets out a breath of a laugh- "You know, you're astoundingly disagreeable, for a man attempting to bed me."
"Not to add to the matter, but I do believe we've past the point of 'attempting.'"
"I swear to the gods, I'm gonna learn magic just so I can cast silence on you one of these days," she threatens, pinching playfully at his flesh.
"And I'd be honored to teach you, but for now- I hope finding other uses for my mouth will suffice," he offers, dipping down to kiss her again, bracing one hand to the pillows by her head- the other cupping her jaw. His thumb brushing along her cheekbone, a soft sigh muffled by his tongue pushing into her mouth. Her hands roam his torso, unable to settle fully on which part of him she wants to touch- his stomach, chest, sides, back, and shoulders all feeling so perfect beneath her fingers.
His warm wide palm brushes down her jaw to her neck, heat and sparks rising to her skin wherever his fingers touch. Unable to help the way she squirms beneath his mouth and hands, the soft noises she whimpers into his kiss, against his tongue as her own presses into his mouth in kind. Burning heat aches between her thighs, barely touched but even the faintest of his kisses or the briefest brush of his fingers pulls desperation from her very soul. Pathetic in her need for him,
Gale's hand leaves her skin for a moment, already cold without his touch, she drags her nails along his shoulder blades- tries to pull him down closer. Then his hand finds her ribs, presses against her side molten warm on her chilled skin. Caught between relishing in the brush of his fingers and the way her insecurities make her body go rigid. Her hope that he may not notice dashed the moment their kiss breaks apart, ragged breath and flushed face not betraying the concern that knits his brows- the worry carved into every line of his face.
"Is everything alright?" He asks, voice lower and rougher, lips swollen and wet- strands of hair beginning to fall and stick against the sweat that beads along his forehead.
"Yeah, yes, of course," she insists, her own voice rougher than she expects as she tries to cram down the bubble of anxiety in her ches- desperate not to ruin her or Gale's night.
"Petra, I would never claim you to be an open book, but you are one that I feel most adept at reading- though, I could still clearly still use some slight guidance and for that I'll need your words. Tell me what is wrong, so I may make it right, please," he tries again, with more words and more conviction- his hand lifting to brush her hair behind her ear, his thumb dragging along the sensitive point. A little chill curls along her spine in response.
"It's nothing, really," she murmurs, smoothing her palm along his neck- tracing along the tendrils of blacked raised flesh that curls from the orb. Wondering again, if the callouses and scars of her hands bother him.
His hands are softer than hers, more versed in flipping book pages and casting spells than hunting or stealing. He's mentioned spas and bathhouses in Waterdeep, and she wonders what balms or lotions he'd be using were their supplies not so limited. He's not without his scars, she knows- but even the raised flesh feels softer on his body than hers. Subtle faded burns from cooking and casting mishaps alike, a raised crease on his forehead from summoning a toy he wanted as a child- only to have the wooden train set appear and thunk down atop his head.
Her scars and memories aren't so kind. No stories as sweet or kind. No fuzzy nostalgia for raised lashmarks on her back or thighs. No warm feelings about the scar across her lip, the only thing her mother deemed fit to let her keep, the same scar Gale must feel every time they kiss.
Gale has suffered truly and she would never suggest otherwise, she'd sooner fist fight Mystra than deny the pain he's endured, the pain he is still enduring. However, when he hears him talk of his childhood, his mother, Tara, his education- she can't help but feel like a tragedy in comparison. A pitiful thing next to him. Nowhere near worthy of his adoration, his efforts, his love…
"If it weighs on your mind, then it is not nothing."
"Okay, so… it's nothing, but it is silly," she tells him, scratching her thumbnail through his beard, hoping to distract him.
"Then if it is so silly and inconsequential, there will be no harm in telling me, will there?" He says, her nose wrinkling, he's so stubborn, "My aim is not to push you into telling me anything, but what kind of man would I be to notice your discomfort and continue on as if I hadn't?"
"Okay, okay- if you must make sense," she huffs and pouts, chews on her lip and avoids his gaze as she turns her head to the side, "I just am a little…insecure. Without the weave smoothing out my scars, blurring my freckles, and softening me- well, it helped make me someone worth touching."
Her admission hangs in the air for a moment, her chest rigid with tension and swollen with a bubble of anxiety. He must think she's exhausting, asking this of him then getting so worked up over it. Her desire for him outweighing but not fully dealing away with her own insecurities. Truthfully, she'd have been content to strip Gale down,kiss and touch him to her heart's content- while never letting his hands graze her. But, he always has a way of taking the lead when it comes to these things. A fact that can never make its way back to camp.
A soft kiss presses to the side of her lips, where that scar cuts jaggedly through them. Another against her jaw, her forehead, her cheeks as warm welcoming hands cup her face.
"Look at me, my love." He brings her gaze to his. Her heart lurches up into her throat, skin burning beneath the intensity of Gale's expression. "There is no plane or realm or state of being in which you are anything less than a person worth touching. You are my hope and my light- and no matter how or where you are presented to me, you will always be the most beautiful thing I have set my eyes on. The stars, the moon, the sun, the very heavens themselves- you put them all to shame…"
She feels like she's been set ablaze. Her face nearly glowing with its heat, eyes wet, and the chill of the night a distant memory as his words burn through her very being. And he means them, gods help her- he means them. Able to hear and feel the conviction in every syllable, see his earnestness in the lines of his expression, in the spark alight in his eyes. And she will never know what she did to deserve him and she will always fear that she may lose him, but she is so happy to have him,
"Ugh, gods, fuck- Gale," she curses, stuttering on her words because she has nowhere near his grasp on the English language, "I don't really know how the hells I'm supposed to argue with that."
"So don't," he says, the request surprising in its brevity. His lips press to the corner of her eye, Petra realizing a moment too late that tears had started to streak down her face.
He kisses down the path of her tears, her jaw, her neck craning to the side as he buries his face against her throat. Feverish and heavy kisses across her skin, her arms wrap tight around his back- digging her nails into his shoulder blades as he bites tenderly at her skin, laving his tongue across the sting he left behind. She groans as he sucks harshly, nips at her pulse point, and she can't help but squeeze her thighs together- trying to get a bit of relief, everything he does just making her needier.
She curls her hand into his hair, twisting the silver streaked strands around her fingers as Gale kisses along her collarbone. Careful as his teeth graze where the skin stretches thinner over bone, the briefest edge of pain soothed over by the lap of his tongue. She moves the hand not tugging at his hair down his chest, skimming down his stomach, and finally presses her open palm to his groin- feeling his cock hardening in his pants, the heat of him through the fabric. A rough, nearly pained groan echoes against her collarbone. His forehead suddenly pressed to her shoulder, twitching beneath her touch.
“Too much?” She whispers against his ear, worried she may have pushed too far too soon. Far too aware despite her eagerness that neither of them have had physical sex in a year or more- probably more, considering his time with Mystra.
“No such thing with you,” he says through a raspy breath, his lips catching hers again as his hands brush up her sides- warm open palms stroking up the taunt freckled skin of her stomach. Stoking a fire that burns inside of her, heat rising to the very surface of her flesh as grinds her palm against him. Desperate to give him even a hint of the same heat burning in her.
His movements halt as his fingers brush the edge of her cropped nightshirt, kiss breaking as his eyes meet hers, a surprisingly silent request from her wizard. Reluctantly, she pulls her hands from his hair and cock, Gale provides her the space as she sits up to hook her fingers beneath the edges of her shirt and tug it up off over her head. Petra tosses it aside, shaking out her hair and trying not to overthink being naked from the waist up.
Every fiber of her being screams that she should cover her chest, having gained some weight since traveling with Gale- his cooking having put a few pounds on her, but sadly none of those managed to reach her tits. Small and fuller at the bottom than the top, freckled like damn near every other inch of her.
But as always, there is nothing sheer adoration in Gale’s eyes and with a little press of his palm on her sternum her back is hitting the sheets again. The blankets and pillows all the softer on her bare skin, sinking down into the blush of it. Warmth of the sheets and his hand a contrast to the chill of the open air that’s snuck back in, her nipples stiffening as a breeze taunts her.
Her legs spread for him as he moves closer, allowing him to slot himself between her thighs- a gasp on her tongue when his cock brushes against her core. Cloth grinding against her wet clit, feeling the outline of him against her. She groans and tries to wrap her legs around his hips, only for his hand to find her thigh- a steady palm pressing it back against the mattress. And his other hand finds hers, his large warm palm eclipsing hers, fingers intertwining with her own- as he presses another quick kiss to her lips, the next to her collarbones, another to the top of her breasts, then the heat of his mouth is around her nipple.
“Fuck,” she curses, a hiss of breath as pleasure sparks across her skin- Gale sucks harshly at her chest, teasing her nipple with his tongue, just the hint of his teeth on the fullest part of her breast, and the scratch of his beard on her skin.
She whines and whimpers, fingers knotting in his hair- his hands on her hand and thigh keeping her pinned beneath his weight, only able to arch and squirm against his mouth. Her hips try to writhe on instinct, trying to find friction against her core, trying to refind it. But he presses a little harder on her thigh, keeping his full weight off her, too much empty space between them for her to be sated. A frustrated whine in her throat as he pulls off her breast with a soft wet sound, not offering her any relief to her core or even acknowledgement of his torture, only a small hungry groan as he takes her other breast into his mouth.
The air feels even colder on her spit slick chest, nipple swollen and redder, a scratch of flushed beard burn left behind. Sharp contract making her squirm all the more as he makes the other match. Her sounds pathetic and needy, as he teases her sensitive chest. Every swipe of his tongue, brush of his teeth, scratch of his beard, and hungry reverberating groan against her skin sends a pulse of pleasure between her thighs.
“Gale,please,” she keens, not even sure what she’s begging for, more or less- if she’s squirming to press herself tighter to his face or trying to escape the laving of his tongue on her body. But she can only whine when her cry is met with a groan that echoes against her, reverberates in her bones, seeps through her veins, and settles in the wet heat between her thighs.
His lips pull away from her chest, the hand that had been pressed into hers slips away- palm stroking down her forearm, along her collarbones as Gale’s mouth moves lower. Soft kisses beneath the curve of her breast, down the middle of her stomach, his thumb brushing over her nipple- his fingers nearly chasing after his mouth as he moves down her body. Lips kissing over her belly button as he squeezes at her breast, the sink of his hands into the squish of her chest, large warm hand groping and teasing while he works his mouth even lower.
“Gale,” she whines again, as he presses her thigh tighter to the bed, his beard scratching just at the waistband of her pants. His hand skims down from her breast, fingers pressing soft divots into her hip. Then hook into her waist band, her thigh released finally as he mirrors the gesture of his other.His deep brown eyes looking up as her.
“May-”
“Please,” she cuts him off, hissing her consent, the ragged sound of his voice only making her desparate for more of him. He smiles, far too sweet for a man about to strip her naked- another soft kiss beneath her navel and then he’s tugging her clothes down.
She does her best to make it easy for him, lifting her hips as he rolls the fabric down them, moving her legs as needed when he finally yanks the clothes from her body. Her dearest magician having made sure to grab her underwear with them as well. Petra laid completely bare before him, The air just as cold on the slick heat of her cunt as it’s been to her split slick breasts. A chill curling along her spine, reminding her that despite the plush mattress and the soft downy blankets hugging her skin, they’re unmistakably outside. Conjured bed in the midst of the field, twinkling stars and kaleidoscopes of colors still dancing over head- bathing her blush touched skin in their glow.
Petra presses a hand to her mouth, trying halfway to hide her crimson face as her other hand hovers to hide her cunt. She can’t imagine the sight she must make- red faced, tangled hair against the pillow, throat mottled by his teeth, chest marked with saliva, the red scratch of beard burn lingering along her flesh and slick clinging to the meat of her thighs. The mess his mouth has made of her on full display.
His fingers are warm and reverant when they wrap around her wrist, plucking her hand from where it covers her cunt- exposing her even further as he presses a kiss to her palm.
“None of that, my love,” he whispers against her skin. Her nose wrinkles, heat still burning through her face- no words find her, so she pulls her hand from her mouth and sticks her tongue out at him. Feeling his smile against her palm, a soft nip of teeth against her wrist.
His hand falls away from her wrist, Petra scratches her nails through his beard before allowing her own to drop. A gasp catching in her throat when the broad warmth of his palms presses against both of her thighs. Her knees bending as she allows him to spread her further apart, even more exposed- even more on display than she felt before. His deep brown eyes reverent and nearly eclipsed by his pupils as he looks down at her slick cunt- Petra squirms against the sheets and the press of his hands.
“Gods,” he breathes out, her heart stuttering in her chest, “I could study for ages, read every tome and scroll in all of Faerun and still never be able to conjure a more beautiful sight than you.”
“Gale…” She whines, burying her face in her hands- burning beneath his gaze and words, how can he say these things without a singular fucking drop of shame? And how can he mean every single word of it?
“I’m right here, love,” he answers, pressing his face into her inner thigh- soft lips and the scratch of his beard, her breathing hitches as he kisses her flesh. Another moving further inward, along her skin. His tongue licking the slick that clings to her, his teeth nipping bruises into her thigh.
She squirms and writhes, anticipation coiling tight inside of her, only one goal with the direction of his kisses. Every lick and bite jolting phantom pleasure to her cunt, insides clenching and aching for something more direct, to feel that scratch of his beard and the lave of his tongue where she needs it most. No matter how embarassing the idea is. Need outweighing shame.
And as he moves further between her thighs, he lowers himself down, closer and closer- the skin feeling all the more sensitive as he nears her cunt. His hands and arms shifting, pushing beneath her thighs- a warm support of flesh and bone, his palms settling on her hips, before pressing down. His steady hold preventing her squirming, pinning her in place as he sucks a harsh mark into her skin.
“Please, Gale,” she whimpers, twisting both her hands into his hair, trying to squirm her hips to no avail.
“You have not an ounce of patience, do you?” He murmurs against her thigh, blunt edges of his teeth nipping at her flesh.
“Absolutely fucking not, not with you,” she whines, words burbling out, “I need you, please.”
A smile pressed into her skin and she can see it in her mind, even if she can’t through her thigh- she bites her tongue, waiting for his words to spill forth again. Waits for more waiting. Waits for another three part sentence and enough verbiage to put a dictionary to shame, all needed before he may finally put his fucking mouth on her.
The brush of breath on her wet cunt, his head shifting between her thighs- beneath her fingers and the heavy lave of his tongue through her center. Pleasure shockwaves through her, a half stuttered curse on her lips as her hips jolt and her fingers dig into his scalp. His hands press down harsher on her hips, mattress and blankets denting beneath her, keeping her still as the heat of his mouth consumes her every thought and feeling.
A practised tongue works her over, laving through her slit, dipping inside of her and lapping at the slick that rushes out of her. Each swipe of his tongue only drawing more from her, making her cunt clench around his tongue, feeling herself soak the scratch of his beard. A hungry groan against her, reverberating and twisting the coil inside of her tighter, sounding like a man starved- her insides burn, her hips try to writhe, to find even more friction as his tongue traces every inch of her.
Groans and wet noises against her, echoing and hanging in the open air, mingling with the nonsense of whines and pleads that she can’t seem to stop. Body and voice hardly her own as she's taken apart by every hungry lick into her cunt, pleasure burning hotter and coil dragging tighter.
A bump of his nose against her swollen clit and she's thrown over the edge, embarrassingly easy, a thunder of pleasure through her veins- coil snapping and body on fire as it consumes her very being. Only distantly aware that she's thrashing, gasping, and pressing down harsher on Gale's skull as her body jolts. Pleasure ravages her, his tongue and lips toying with her clit all the while, Gale burying his face into her as he pushes her end further and further, harsh sucks on her swollen flesh, pushing her back into ecstasy's grip anytime it threatens to let her go.
Not so much as cumming again, but Gale refusing to let her stop. Drawing her pleasure out, the faintest sign of it waning met with a firm nearly painful swipe of his tongue or suck against her clit, tracing patterns against it that her blanking mind can’t make sense of- only able to call his name and thrash beneath him, as pleasure edges to near pain.
And finally, he pulls away from her, orgasm crashing down and away to faint tremors versus an active quake. Her throat raw and aching from the noises he pulled from her, cunt throbbing and clenching at the sudden relief and gut wrenching absence- both somehow existing at once. Both missing his mouth and happy to be afforded the chance to come down from her high.
Her breaths are ragged and raw, coming back to her body. Shame aching painfully in her chest, needling at her hammering heart. The first physical bodily orgasm wrung from her by another’s hand in two years. Brought to her end by the stray bump against her clit. Her celestial form not only prettier, but able to endure far more- it seems.
And that shame only grows as the world fully returns to her, realizing just how tight her hands are wrenched in his hair- how harshly she’s pressing against his skull. His breath ragged and hot against her wet thigh, slick with sweat and more. And she can hear how out of breath he is, how she nearly stole the very air from his lungs- nearly drowned him in her.
“So-sorry,” she whispers, letting him go and hiding behind her hands, hating how desperate and ragged her voice is, “I uh, shit- didn’t mean to- I could’ve suffocated you, I’m so sorry, fuck-”
For all her begging him to live, to stay- she nearly killed him with her fucking vagina. Because of fucking course that’s something she’d do. A pathetic excuse for a person, a lover, and just an existing thing.
A huff of breath from him, hot on her already burning skin- it’s light and bubbles into a small laugh, another kiss to her thigh. The bed shifts beneath her, his arms and hands pulling away- Petra dares to peek between her fingers. Gale moves over her- his cheeks ruddy with exertion, his hair sweaty and mussed, beard and lips wet with slick. His grin only wider, more boyish when he meets her eyes through the gaps of her fingers- his own wrapping around her wrists.
Delicately, he prises her hands from her face.
“I can think of no better death, than one between your thighs.”
She snorts, a breathless laugh,; “Oh yeah, sure, and I’d be the one stuck explaining your naked corpse to K'ha'ssji'trach'ash.”
“He may appreciate the chuckle, but do remember the ‘chhh’ sound, comes from the back-”
“I know,” she retorts bluntly, her wizard only laughing in response. She can still remember how her nerves rattled the first time she was tasked with saving Gale’s life. Not evening knowing at the time just how much more precious that life would become to her. Terrified of saying a single wrong syllable of the mephit’s name, moving the thread to the wrong side, or hiting a wrong note on that stupid fucking flute.
Keeping him alive will be the death of her, but as he settles slightly next to her- arms curling beneath and around her- her cunt still throbbing with her drawn out orgasm, his body warm, and his open palm cupping her jaw… She can hardly say she’ll mind.
“I must say, I do feel assured knowing you’d bring me back again.”
“Of course, as many times as it takes,” she admits, her next breath swallowed by his lips. His tongue heavy with the taste of her, his kiss and beard wet with her slick, a muffled groan in her throat at the very thought.
She chases to deepen the kiss as much as she can, pressing into his chest- resting her hand over his forearm. Her tongue pushes deeper into his mouth, her insides aching again, even with the throb of near pain between her thighs from her overstimulation. The soft wet sound of their kisses, her own sigh muffled between their mouths as his mouth starts to taste less like her and more like him.
His forearm flexes beneath her fingers, his palm leaving her jaw, the other hand still holding her close and brushing her ribs. Before she can break the kiss or see where his other hand is traversing, she feels his fingers on her lower stomach and skimming down her body.
“Gale,” she whispers against his lips, thighs squeezing together- his fingers already teasing along her mound, scratching through the sparse patch of dark hair above her cunt. He hums against her cheek, pressing a kiss to her jaw- “I can’t… again.”
Her words are stuttered and breathy, not at all convincing- she’s still thrumming after her last orgasm, cunt still aching and sensitive, every cell of her being an exposed livewire he seems intent to keep playing with.
“You can’t… do what exactly?”He asks, voice edged with teasing as he bites at her jawline. Her thighs draw tighter together as his finger start to push between them. Whining as he kisses at her neck and she can already feel that coil starting to twist again.
“Can’t- cum again, too, mm… too soon, let me touch you instead,” she manages through the kisses and bites against her throat. Petra starts to move her hand that’s been placed in the narrow space between their bodies, groping downward- frustrated with the fabric still clinging to his lower half.
“There’s never too soon enough time to touch you,” he whispers against her throat.
“Gale, please,” she gasps, feeling him groan against her as her palm cups him through his pants- hard within his clothes, twitching beneath her touch.
“Spread your legs for me, dear,” he requests and she knows she’ll fall apart so quick, that the pleasure may ache into pain, but she needs him, the promise of his fingers too much. Petra clumsily obeying, spreading her legs; “There we are, so good for me.”
The words go start to her cunt, followed shortly by his fingers- the faintest brush over her swollen clit. She gasps, his name on her lips as she tries not to lose focus on where her own hand is, squeezing at his hard-on, trying to offer him some fraction of the pleasure he’s so persistent on pouring into her. A strained groan against her neck as his fingers start to swirl around her clit, a wet slide and building friction, already painfully close.
“Fuck, Gale,” she hisses, haphazardly trying to yank at the laces of his pants- cursing herself that she can pick the strongest locks in Faerun but can’t yank open her lover’s fucking pants between the odd angle, not being able to properly see what she’s doing, the mouth at her pulse point, and the finger slowly pressing into her.
“You already feel so perfect around me,” he speaks against her neck as a single thick warm finger pushes into her, opening her up, curling into her- her cunt clenching around him, her head thumping back against the pillows as she gasps. Soul sex aside, it’s the thickest thing she’s had in her in years, her own thin nimble fingers not comparing to his broad palms and long thick fingers.
“Please, please, Gale,” she breathes, not sure if she’s asking for more fingers or for help undoing his pants. Maybe both.
She gets a kiss beneath her ear, another finger pushing into her- slow and methodical in his pace. Not seeking to push her into immediate orgasm again, but to stretch her further apart, to see how deep he can fill her with the twist of his fingers. That pleasure building, aching inside of her as his lips kiss up her ear. Small wet presses that sends little chills as he nears the pointed tips of her ears. Feeling herself coating his fingers in wet, slick and accepting as the press of his thick solid fingers.
“You’re so beautiful, you’re taking my fingers so well,” he murmurs before kissing right at the point of her ear, nipping the sensitive skin and she jolts- face hot with pleasure and shame at how easy she is to take apart.
Then he starts to pump his fingers, no longer idly stretching and curling, finding a rhythm as he rocks them in and out of her cunt. A desperate cry on her lips, fingers dragging in and out of her slick heat- toying and curling in to press at her nerves, only to pull back and push back in.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she cries, not able to come up with any other word- even when the laces of his pants finally come undone with her frantic tugging. Biting her lip and groaning when she can finally- finally, shove her hand down his pants, beneath his underwear, hard solid cock finally in her grasp as she barely manages to pull it free from his clothes.
“Fuck,”Gale grits out, a rare curse for the wizard- for once all other words but profanity failing him. His fingers in her cunt pause as she wraps her own around him. The hand on her ribs pulls her tighter, as she feels the heat of him against her palm. Can feel the weight of his cock, can trace the veins along his length as she runs her fingers over him- the stick of precum when she touches the head. Gale breathing rough and ragged against her temple.
“Gods, I can’t even get my fingers around you,” she blurts out, taking the rare chance to be the talkative one- surprised by just how thick he is in her hand. She’s no halfling or gnome, but her favorite wizard stands a good foot or more taller than her- size difference palpable in how her fingers struggle to meet around him.
He bites beneath her ear,rocking his fingers back into her- pace harsher and rough as she tries to stroke him. Smearing precum down his cock as best she can, trying to make an easier slide of her hand up and down his cock, feeling it twitch against her fingers. A rough ragged groan against her skin, her insides clenching as his fingers fuck into her- thoughts of how his cock will feel, how much more it’ll split her open, making the drag of his fingers that much slicker.
“So pretty in my arms, love- right where you belong, so sweet and desperate for me,” he rasps against her ear and she squeezes her fingers around him, feeling the stutter and stall in his hand inside of her. The strained growl against her jaw, his expression furrowed and tense- his jaw visibly clenched, eyes clenched shut. Perhaps the first time he’s fully taken his eyes off of her.
He doubles his efforts between her thighs, working his fingers more harshly into her, fucking his fingers roughly into her. Each thrust and drag along her insides making her sees stars and not just the ones he’s conjured for her. Pleasure spiking higher and higher, building her up- her cunt clenching around him. She tries to work her own hand faster too, cursing herself for not having more experience with this sort of anatomy.
And then a thought, a singular thought manages to surge above the fog his fingers have put into her mind. She needs it to be wetter, slicker, his precum helping but not enough for her liking. Her gestures are sloppy and messy, haphazard with need- pulling her hand off of him, he curses faintly, the feeling of his eyes back on her. She leans forward just a little to drool against her hand, gathering as much spit and saliva as she can, strands straining from her lips. Spit dribbling down her chin and she can only hope he’s not disgusted by the sight, but it’s left her hand wet. Another ragged breath, inhale and exhale against her as she wraps her spit slick fingers around him.
His lips surge forward, catching her own in a messy crash, teeth clanging together as he kisses her- his tongue swiping to catch the spit that clings to her her skin, hungrily groaning into her mouth. She tries to keep up, tightens her grip as much as she can without fearing hurting him, her hand sliding up and down much easier with the glide of her drool and his precum. The piss poor excuse for lube allowing her to at the very least move her hand faster, trying to match the pace he’s set with his fingers inside of her. His palm presses down more firmly, the heel of hand finding her clit. A rough tempest of pleasure jolting through her nerves.
And it’s a rough mix of kisses, moving hands. Being fucked apart by his fingers, grinding against her clit, pushing her closer and closer. A echoing squelch as he takes her apart, the wet slide of flesh against flesh as she strokes his cock- the hungry groans and soft sounds of their kisses, everything consuming her every sense. Pushing her closer and closer, coil pulling tighter, tighter. The drag and tease of him inside of her, the grind against her sensitive clit- the promise of what’s come with his cock twitching in her hand, the bite of his teeth against her lower lip.
The world seems to split apart, crack open, and fall away from her- everything crashed into pleasure, thrown over the edge again. Twitching and writhing beneath his hand, hips thrashing and fucking herself through the shocks. The faint curse and snarl against her lips, the twitch in her hands- the heat of seed spilling over her fingers and hip
Then she’s falling, world truly carrening out from beneath her, yelping as her ass thumps painfully into the muck. A sharp jolt of pain through her tailbone, Gale trying to tug her closer, squeezing her tightly as the world physically shifts around them, his face burying into her hair.
“Gods damn it.”
Petra tries to process the sudden mix of just plain fucking pain. The cold cling of mud to her ass, blinking through the blissed out fog in her mind- no longer coated in the green blue glow of a shifting sky. No longer is her ass burried in a soft silken mass of blankets and sheets, now aching in the cold cling of muddy shadow curse dirt. The only light a mounted torch with faint flickering orange flames. There’s no traces of Gale’s illusions, just him and Petra- naked and sweaty in a patch of mud. The wizard holding her tightly, his face hidden in the top of her head- possibly the most bashful she’s ever seen him, even in their awkward little flirting moments, she’s never known him to physically hide his expression from her.
“Gale… honey?” She says, using a rare term of endearment for her- those usually his territory.
“Mmhm,” he hums vaguely against her scalp.
“I have mud on my ass.”
“As do I.”
“Is there a particular reason why?” She tries, trying not to laugh as she tries to understand why he’s suddenly thrown them into the muck- if he wanted to rut in the dirt, she wouldn’t have been opposed to it, but it seems a little sudden and out of character for a man who still tries desperately to smell like lavender and bath oils while traipsing through the wilderness for days on end.
“Ah well,” he murmurs, finally pulling back and allows her to see his face- cheeks ruddy, sweat beading his skin, his eyes looking down at his slick wet fingers, “Some conjuring and illusionary spells require… concentration to be maintained. And while my multitasking abilities are certainly exemplary,that focus can be particularly hard to keep when…”
“When you’re getting jerked off?”
“Not the wording I would have chosen, but- yes,” he admits, still avoiding her eyes.
And she tries- she truly tries, biting her lip and gritting her teeth, because she wants to be mindful of his embarrassment. But her stomach tenses as a rush of laughter burbles out, snorting as giggles turn to cackles, pressing her hands to her mouth- body aching as she cracks up.
She made him cum so hard the fucking spell broke. It’s so ridiculous, it’s so asinine, she can’t help but laugh- the pain in her tailbone now eclipsed by way her belly aches in laughter. And it only dies when she looks back at Gale, his head bowed slightly still- his eyes avoiding her and guilt eats at her heart. A part of her having hoped he’d be laughing along, that he’d see the humor in this.
“Gale..” She whispers his name, her voice a little ragged and rough.
“My apologies, I- this is not how I wanted this night to go for us, for you,” he explains, face far too contrite and shamed for what is just a silly little mishap, “I think, perhaps, another night if I conserve more of my energy during the day than I did today, I should be able to maintain the illusions for longer.”
“Gale…”
“Or perhaps, I can do just a little more research, see if I can find variations that require less concentration or maybe none at all,” he prattles onward, “I swear, my love, I can give you the night you deserve, I just may need more preparation than I expected, but I will make this up to you, I’ll-”
“Gale!” She yells his name more firmly, finally looking at her- his eyes soft and vulnerable and she feels like she’s scolded a puppy but she leans forward to cup his face, “There is nothing for you to make up for.”
“We’re lying in mud, my dear.”
“Yes, we are lying in the mud and my stomach is streaked in cum because I jerked you off so hard you forgot how to be wizard for a minute- I’m not mad, it’s really fucking funny,” she reiterates, nuzzling his nose with hers as she tries to swallow her giggles- desperately trying to get him to just laugh. His lips curl into a shadow of a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach those big brown eyes.
“Perhaps- but I didn’t bring you here to make you laugh, I brought you here to give you a perfect night, to make the joining of our bodies as beautiful as the joining of our souls. And we are lying in mud, you deserve more… I want to give you more.”
“Gale, the night we joined souls you started off by showing me a book of people sixty-nining.”
“A very poignant and beautiful book about newlyweds becoming one in every sense of the word-”
“By putting their mouths on each other’s genitals.”
“That was one aspect of the process, yes- however-”
She silences him with a kiss, soft and chaste- just enough to muffle the words threatening to pour from his lips. Petra pulls just a half breath away, leaning her forehead against Gale’s. Feeling the warmth of him, the cling of the sweat on both of them, smelling the salt of it on him.
“I love you,” she murmurs, whispers it and hopes he can feel the adoration she pours into every syllable, meeting his gaze head on as her voice cracks, “I love you so fucking much and you’re so so much more than I deserve- and if you cannot believe that, trust that I do, that I truly mean it.”
“I do, I truly do, I just, everything you’ve done for me, everything that you are- you deserve the world.”
“And yet the only thing I want from it is you.”
“Petra…”
“So, for a moment, worry less about what you think I deserve and listen to what I want,” she asks, murmuring against his lips, skimming her thumb over his cheekbone, “I don’t need perfection and I don’t need pageantry and I don’t care if it’s messy or funny or weird- I want you, I need you. So please, let me have you. Don’t pull away, don’t scuttle off and worry yourself to pieces because something went wrong. Laugh with me, kiss me, fuck me- gods damn it.”
“Anything for you, dear,” he says and their lips come together again, another reverent press of their mouths- she places her palm against his shoulder, pushing softly.
Quick witted as ever, he gets the idea- laying back for her and shifting off of his side, onto his ass properly as she throws a leg over his hips. His still hard cock bumping against her cunt as she settles on top of him. Breaking their kiss to pepper them across his jaw, nipping at his flesh through his beard, kissing down the marks that curl across his neck. Following them to the middle of his chest, where the orb burned through his flesh- pressing a kiss where the skin is forever bruised blue. The deep rumble of a groan in his throat making heat rush between her thighs.
She sits back a bit, looking down at him- sweat tangled hair, ruddy cheeks, chest laid bare beneath her, and the faint orange glow of the torch light. Her hands run up his chest, thick and broad beneath her- body hair the roughest part of him, scratching beneath her palms.
“Absolutely perfect,” she whispers, raking her nails along the swell of his pecs.
“My thoughts exactly,” he returns, his hands gripping her hips as he smears a thumb through the streaks of cum still on her skin, and she can’t resist rolling her eyes- as if she wasn’t the one to initiate this round of corniness.
Through the flickers of amber light, she notices a flash of deep purple fabric- Gale’s sleep shirt he’d tossed aside earlier. She lifts up a little further on her knees, leaning over him to reach for it, twisting her fingers in the soft fabric.
“Eep!” She yelps at the sudden heat of his tongue and mouth on her chest, a sharp nip to the underside of her breast- “That is not why I was leaning over!”
He smiles and laughs against her chest as she playfully swats at his chest, settling back to her position- his tunic still dangling from her fingers. Gale smiling up at her, too handsome for her to feel any measure of malice.
“You can hardly blame for falling to temptation, especially when it comes to you.”
“You underestimate just how much I’m willing to blame you for anything,” she teases before shifting forward just slightly- “Lift your back up a bit for me?”
“Of course,” he obliges, quickly getting her intent as they softly arrange his sleep shirt on the ground- it’s no four poster bed, but it’ll get his back out of the mud.
“Not much, but-”
“I feel positively pampered.”
“Well, I do live to spoil you,” she teases back, considering for a moment wrangling his pants and underwear down further- his cock still the only thing that’s freed. But, that also means his ass has a modicum of coverage against the mud. Spoiling him again- obviously.
Petra keeps one hand steady on his chest and the other reaches beneath her, feeling again the heat and weight of his cock in her hand. She hums, whines as she steadies her grip around the base of him- a groan deep in his chest, rumbling beneath her as she drags the head of his cock along her cunt. Her body aches with need as she lines him up with her entrance, Gale's hands grip her tighter. His fingers dip into her skin as his breath hitches and his jaw clenches tight.
And she sinks down, her voice straining into a wordless cry as the head of his cock slides into her. Barely even inside of her and already stretching her wide, even having had him in her hand, but she needs to take a moment- not expecting just how much she’d be split open.Not painful, far too slick and ready for it to do anything feel incredible, if just a little new for her.
A strained creak in his tone: “That’s it, no rush- take your time, if it’s too much, you only need to say the word.”
“Gods no, no, it feels good- really fuckin’ good,” she assure him, voice rough and breathy, biting her lip as she starts to slowly lower herself down further, “So, so fucking good, fuck.”
“There you are, taking me so well- perfect around me, like you were made for me,” he praises, voice gritted and his fingers grasping her tighter as her cunt clenches around him, the adoration stirring her insides as his cock buries within them.
Every inch a deeper press, a tighter stretch, never painful but always full- like he could truly split her apar at any moment. But it’s never too much, the drag and sink of him perfect, absolutely perfect. A babble of breathless noise and nonsense on her tongue as she he carves a path into her- her hips finally settling when she’s about to scream out and there’s no more of him to take. Feeling the faint scratch of his body hair where they join, barely tugged down pants rough against her thighs and ass.
The back of his head hits the dirt, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat- his eyes closed as his moves just slightly beneath her. Bracing his feet in the dirt, knees bending slightly as his hips lift up. Bucking inside of her, a sharp lightning strike of pleasure ripping through her- lurching her forward body forward, bracing her hands against his chest as she cries out.
“Fuck!”
“Ah, sorry, are you-”
“Yes, yes, I’m fine, I’m good, gods, I’m good,” she rushes to assure him, digging her nails into his skin, leaning forward to kiss at his jaw, groaning against his skin when it grinds him against her insides.
Tentatively, she starts to rock herself on top of him, cursing as she starts to lift off him just a bit, whining at the drag of him inside of her. His hands allowing her to move, guiding her gently despite the harsh dig of his nails, digging red ragged crescents into her skin- blue bruises forming beneath his harsh touch.
Petra barely pulls up before she lowers herself back down, his name on her lips as she’s filled with him again. Her grip on him only growing more desperate- more bruising, as she starts to find a harsher, quicker pace- bouncing herself on his cock, body thrumming and pleasure twisting tight as she tries to slam down hard enough on him. Tries to hit the right spot inside of her, grind her clit just right against his skin as she tries to set her pace. Her motions frantic and desperate, smearing and streaking slick across his skin and clothes, every desperate slam of her hips making her that much wetter, that much more accommodating, body frantic to welcome him into her over and over again.
“Gods, your cunt doesn’t even want to let go of me, look so pretty with my cock inside of you,” he groans, her inside clenching at his choice of words, Gale’s cheeks flushed beneath the dark hair of his beard- his face screwed tight with his pleasure as his cock twitches inside of her squeezing walls. Petra in a frenzy as she fucks herself stupid, rides him as hard as she can, getting pushed closer and closer to the brink- pathetically close to her end, just a little more, a little more.
His hands move further back, curling around her ass, sinking his fingers into the plush flesh- her whimpering at the grope, the feeling of his warm digging into her- squeezing her so tightly. Harsh and firm, when hips roll into her, thrusting in as she sinks down- striking the very nerves she couldn't quite hit hard enough, a torrent of heat and need, stars dancing before her eyes without any magic. The force of his hips jolts her, her shaky arms giving out, her body collapse flush to his chest, nails digging into him as her face presses into his sweat slick skin. Pliant and boneless as Gale takes over the pace, gripping his ass tight between his hands and steadying her as he fucks her apart.
And it’s pitiful how much better it is with him in control, Gale knowing her body and what she needs or perhaps just that much better at giving it to her. Harsh brutal snaps of his hips, every rut of him into her making her body thrum, her mind blanked with every strike at her deepest parts. Carving her out, splitting her open, burying himself into her over and over again- the wet squelch of him into her. Holding her vise tight to his chest, her sensitive tits scratched by his body hair a his motions rock and shift her against him. One hand leaving her ass to wrap around her middle, holding her tighter, clinging closer- his face buried to her temple as he fucks into her, uses her, splits her insides, and makes her body fit hims so perfectly. Not even able to hear or comprehend the whispers and praise whispered against her sweat tangled hair- gripping him tighter, Gale inside her and yet somehow nowhere near close enough. Not able to cling tight enough, not able to burrow far enough into his skin as she burns beneath the sharp bruising pace he drives into her.
Then it all snaps, world shattering and cracking apart, crying out against his chest- mind empty with nothing but pleasure, clenching tight as he pulses inside of her. Squeezing around him, thrashing within his grasp, toes and fingers clenching- curling against him, around him, into him.
A few more harsh thrusts, rushed and hurried into her, followed by a rush of heat. The spill of cum into her insides, burning hot in her cunt, filling her- flooding her, warm in her fucked raw body. She pants and sighs against his skin, breaths rough as she comes back to earth and with no falling this time. He holds her like a promise, tight and reverent, kissing across her scalp and forehead as he rolls through the last of his ebbs of pleasure. Messy as he fills her with his cum, whining against his flesh, she feels it split out between the space where they connect. Filled to the brink with him, overflowed and spilling over with it, feeling it stick and cling to their thighs, their hips, where they meet. The languid slowly roll of him into her fucking his seed back into her, before his hips finally still as the last drop fills hers her, only to drip out again.
They lay in the flickering torch light, skin wet with sweat and settling into each other’s flesh. His heart thunders and pounds beneath his skin, where her ear is pressed tight to him. Able to hear the desperate race and her own hammers in kind, in pace with each other, some relief that may be as ruined and ragged by her as she is by him. Only the sound of thundering hearts and them catching their breath, the faintest chirp of insects from the shadows.
Slowly, steadily, the moments tick forward but time hardly feels like it’s touching them. Only the calming of their breaths and hearts marking the passage. His hands stroke and rub along her back, tracing her sweaty spine, both reach down to idly rub and stroke her lower back, pressing gentle reverence into her aching muscles. His lips burning adoration where they kiss her scalp, skim the scar of her forehead- she shifts to tuck her chin against his chest, looking up at his soft loving gaze.
His hands push the hair off her forehead, cup her cheeks, thumbs stroking over the freckles that mark her face. A breath of a kiss against her forehead, her eyes closing beneath the touch.
“Absolutely beautiful,” he praises, her eyes opening, her nose wrinkling as she blows a raspberry at him and his stupidly precious compliments- he laughs, “And a complete brat.”
“Hmm, you love it.”
“That I do,” he reponds to her teasing, another kiss and she meets his his lips. Sighing softly, knowing they can’t stay like this forever.
Gently, she sits herself back up,Gale’s hands roaming down her sides- not missing the crease of disappointment in his brow when she’s no longer pressed flushed to his chest. She blinks, swallowing a gasp as she looks down at him. Rough raised scratches now mark his chest, thin red lines where her nails streaked his flesh and just managed to break it. Gently, her nails brush the marks.
“Sorry, I’ll rub some salve and balsam ointment over it for you when we get back,” she promises, guilt creeping in- her nails are polished and due to her left, often have more dirt on them than she’d like- she could cause him an infection, “Maybe I should learn a healing cantrip or two…”
“Thought you believed relying too much on healing magic was a crutch,” he asks, smiling up at her as he chimes the words she’s spoken so many a times when him or Shadowheart try to heal her when she only needs a bandage or a few dozen stitches.
“I mean, for me, yes,” she murmurs, knowing it’s hypocritical- but it’s different when it’s him- he smiles, placing his hands over hers. She pulls her palms from his marked skin, bringing them to the press of his lips.
“Worry not, dear- I hardly mind being marked by you,” he promises her, smiling against her knuckles and her nose wrinkles, his sweet words stirring her heart and only one response falls to her lips.
“Blegh,” she spats, mock gagging at his corny existence, even if her cheeks are flushed and her heart thumping- he drops her hands, reaching out quick and giving a small sharp swat of his hand to her ass- “Ah, hey!”
“Do not make gagging noises whilst I am inside of you,” he hisses, voice raised and incredulous- with just the softest edge of a laugh, his lips pulling back to a smile as she giggles.
“Fine,” she reponds, rolling laguidly off of him- letting his cock slip out of her and plopping into the mud beside of him, giving a pointed look- “Blech!”
“Darling-”
“What I’ll no longer gag while you’re inside of me,” she promises, teasing him and his choice of words. His brown eyes rolls, a tut on his lips as he looks at her, before a different glint places.
“Well, there can certainly be exceptions to the rule, should you wish,” he teases and after a beat, his meaning catches her- a way he’d be tucked inside of her that he’d accept her gagging, the idea of tasting him, and feeling him in her throat…
“Is that something you’d wish?” She asks back, smiling a little- grin only widing when he clears his throat.
“Another time, right now…” His voice trails and she watches him shift slight, a a little strained groan of pain his throat.
“Your back killing you?”
“Terribly so,” he admits, shaking his head and starting to sit up with a small grunt- his old achey muscles and joints always giving him issues. But it doesn’t stop him from pulling her over, tucking her into his lap as he sits; “Here, lets get you out out of the mud, dear.”
She giggles, nuzzling into his neck as he make her plop her cum and dirt streaked ass in his lap. And as the afterglow fades and reality settles in her bones, she starts to realize some increasingly pressing concerns. The two are streaked in sweat, mud, and fluids. Her fingers brushing flecks of dirt off Gale’s shoulders, where his skin still met the dirt. His hair messy and tangled with little clumps of dirt, his skin warm and smelling of sweat and musk, Petra unable to help inhaling against his chest.
Beneath them, his shirt is caked in mud, grinding into the dirt under their bodies. His only kind of on pants streaked with cum, clearly stained, dirt on back of it. Her own clothes are tossed in the dirt as well, having hit the dirt through the illusion. Mud on her back and some clinging to her ass, streaked where his fingers groped her- a mess of cum between her thighs.
And they do have to go back to camp.
“Uhm, do you have a spell to clean us and our clothes?” She asks, traces her nails over his neck.
“Yes and no,” he explains, expression slightly tense, one hand on her hip, the other gesticulating with a pointed finger, “Prestidigitation can quite easily clean our clothes, with a bit of folding for mine perhaps, and is cantrip as well- fairly simple, only lasts an hour I”m afraid, but that would certainly be long enough to get back and safely tuck ourselves away in our tent.”
“Mmhm..”
“However, it is specific to objects and those of a certain footage, which- you and I do not qualify as. And between our fights of the day and my illusionary work, it’ll take a good nights rest before I can cast much more than a cantrip, so…”
“So, our clothes will be clean, but we’ll be traipsing back with dirt on our skin and reeking of sex,” she double checks because there’s no river near the clearing- the camp using warmed basins of conjured magic for a while now. Which are back at camp. Where their companions are.
“Or we could stay here for a night…”
“And keep tally of the number of shadow cursed insects that inevitably crawl up our assholes.”
“There are the bugs…”
“I think we may have to face the music on this one,” she says, knowing sculking and sneaking back to camp is not a choice- not with Gale’s knees.
“Alas, reality returns far too soon,” he muses, looking down at her where she’s still balanced within his arms and her cheek to his chest, “Still the night you wanted?”
She giggles- they’re caked in mud, sweat, and cum. Sitting in the muck of a cursed lands, the threat of returning to camp to prying eyes and questioning voices. The only reason they can even safely sit here with monsters prying flesh from their limbs and darkness creeping into their souls is the blessing of a captured pixie. Demands of goddesses and moonstruck kingdoms ran by cults all on the horizon. But his arms are wrapped flush around her, the smell of his skin in her nose, the ache of where he was inside her. Skin marked in his love.
Since tumblr was always borking my formatting, I stopped posting Can You Feel The Sun? my SIlverV fic on here but I have been updating it very consistently on AO3!
If you were a tumblr reader who’s been missing it or if you’re curious, give it a look!
Hey, there! I know it’s been a hot minute- I just updated my masterlist and some of you who follow my Can You Feel The Sun? Cyberpunk 2077 Fic Series may notice that
A) a loooot of chapters added
and
B) they link to AO3 instead of tumblr posts
And while I know not a lot of people were following that series over here, I just wanted to let folks know the reasoning for this and why this blog has kind of laxed in activity. It is because I’ve been focused mainly if not entirely on my Cyberpunk 2077 fic (hyperfixations do be a fickle mistress) and have shifted focus to updating on AO3 exclusively because- well, Tumblr fucks with my formatting. When I past my chapters over from drive, if i past more than a paragraph at a time it gets rid of my italics and bolding, which is use a lot of in this fic because my oc has three different forms of communication. And given my chapter lengths, editing this in tumblr is very time consuming. So, I ended up just not doing it.
So, if you’re interested in that series- go check out my ao3!!! It’s actually made for fanfic and makes my updating process relatively painless!
omg hello snarky!! it’s been like years since we last talked and i’m just glad to see that you’re doing well ! though we aren’t friends anymore, i’m so happy to see you thrive <3 take care of yourself and i’m wishing for your happiness always !!
Hey there! Yeah, I lost contact with a bunch of people of the years, a lot of times just because I'm kind of bad about staying in touch with people and stuff. But yeah, I've been doing alright; graduated with my masters, looking for a job, and writing an absolute ass load of cyberpunk fic (damn you, Keanu Reeves and your pretty face)
Thank you so much for the kind message! Sorry, I suck at talking to people like the gremlin I am and I hope you have a lovely day and take care of yourself as well!!!! 💖
Of Monsters and Rockerboys (Johnny Silverhand/Fem!V/Kerry Eurodyne)
Notes: Happy Halloween!!!! I had this idea for a hot minute and really wanted to write it in time for Halloween!
Warnings: Threesome, Vaginal Sex, Creampie, Deepthroating, fast and loose anatomy rules with throat bulging. Fangs and brief blood mentions
Johnny Silverhand/Female V/Kerry Eurodyne Threesome; the focus is on V but there is some Silverdyne elements. It involves Kerry having sexual contact with a cis female woman, because he is bisexual. If that makes you uncomforatble, it's not for you!~
October has settled in Night City, the spooky season spirit spreading around every neon lit corner. And for the first time, V’s got something to do other than work, bar crawls and horror movie marathons. It’s Johnny’s first Halloween since he got his body back and Kerry’s throwing a party, because why the hell not. People drunk and in costumes at his house is apparently a fun time in his mind.
V scrunches her nose in the mirror, a part of her feeling more than a little silly. She’s never worn a costume outside of one's meant as lingerie. She went for something cute that drew her eye, but now, seeing the fluffy gray wolf eared hoodie on her head, she feels a touch ridiculous. The hood goes along with a red plaid dress with fluffy gray trim, a little matching wolf tail dangling off the waistband, and gray fluff fingerless glove. She adjusts her low-set blonde pigtails and pulls at the top of black thigh high socks. Maybe the hair is a bit much, she’s an adult after all, even though she thought they were cute before.
“Can you hurry the fuck up?!”
V rolls her eyes, walking out of the bathroom. Johnny dressed in his standard fair, his own band merch. His dark brown eyes look her up and down, a little smirk pulling at his lips.
“Excuse me, I’m second guessing my hair.”
“I like it,” he says, reaching up to toy with the stumpy pigtails, “it’s cute.”
“If you say so, now go get dressed and we’ll head out.”
“I am dressed.”
“It’s a costume party, Johnny,” she says, pouting and glaring.
“And I’m going as a badass rockerboy.”
“God, you really are insufferable, aren’t you.”
“I’m not gonna throw on some dumb costume just to get drunk with you and Ker, no point to it,” he tells her, shrugging.
“It wouldn’t kill you to have some fun with it.” She rolls her eyes, never understanding why he has to act so above everything.
“It might, now c’mon, wanna get there before Christmas.”
Johnny presses his hand to her lower back as he ushers her out of the apartment, V unable to resist leaning into his touch and the warmth of it. Especially, once they leave the megabuiling. Late October air chills the merc through her thin short costume. Johnny gets to drive because ever since he got his body back he’s been eager to drive his precious Porsche, V content to tuck herself in the passenger side seat as they head off to Kerry’s house. Johnny blasting MorroRock the entire way, singing along while V finds herself leaning against his shoulder. Not missing when he cranks up the heat for her just a little more.
It doesn’t take long before they’re pulling up to the gate outside Kerry’s house and getting buzzed in, V can hear the music from outside the house, cars parked everywhere around the mansion. She preemptively turns the volume down on her hearing aids, she’s become a little less sound sensitive since Johnny’s brain began bleeding into hers, but still gets a bit overwhelmed.
“What’s wrong?” Johnny asks, looking for a parking spot.
“Uh, I mean, nothing’s wrong… I just was kind of hoping it would be… smaller, I guess.”
“Yeah, Kerry goes all out for this kind of shit. Wanna bail?”
“We haven’t even parked yet.”
“Exactly, perfect chance to run.”
“I can handle a party, besides, haven’t seen Kerry in a minute since his last tour. I miss him.”
“Eh, not much to miss.”
V rolls her eyes, as Johnny finally finds a place to park, “Don’t give me that shit, you’ve missed him too.”
“I don’t know about that.”
V trails after Johnny as he marches up to the door, opening it without hesitation and starting to walk in.
“Johnny! You can’t just walk in!” She scolds, but is right behind him, nearly attached at the hip.
“No one knocks at a party, V.”
“It’s rude.”
“You kill people for a living.”
“It’s rude,” she doubles down, smiling up at him. And he rolls his eyes, but she can see the hint of a smile curling up at his lips.
The buck-a-mansion, as Johnny once so eloquently put it, is packed tight with people. A few faces V recgonizes and a sea of faces she doesn’t. Musicians, models, actors, athletes, producers, etc etc all dressed in a variety of costumes. Demons, witches, vampires, every animal under the sun, characters from movies V has never seen. All a cacophony of chatter as they drink and party, music pounding behind it all. Johnny’s hand presses around her waist, pulling her close to him as they work through the throng of people. He doesn’t say anything about it, neither does she, but she leans into; happy to be kept close at his side.
“There’s my favorite pair of scopmunchers,” Kerry suddenly yells out over the crowd, “get your asses over here!’
As expected of the aging rockerboy, he’s gone for the full dramatics. Red suit with a black shirt under, both open showing off his chest and stomach, Where the gold cyberware indents across his skin and she swears she catches touches of body glitter alongside it. He grins big and wide as they make their way to him, his canines longer and pointed than usual, what looks like blood on the side of his mouth. A precious dramatic vampire.
“Kerry,” she cheers his name, throwing her arms around him, “feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”
He squeezes her in return, hand warm on her back as she’s pressed against him, beard scratching at her cheek.
“Great to see you again, doll,” he whispers against her ear, the pet name making her face flush red. She swears he’s doubled down on it ever since he noticed her reaction.
“Okay, think that’s enough of that,” Johnny cuts in, stare more than a little pointed.
“Something wrong, Johnny?” Kerry asks and she can hear the grin in his voice as he rubs down her back, “you don’t like me hugging on V?”
“Really starting to wish you had extended that tour.”
“Okay, V groping aside, the fuck are you wearing, Johnny?” Kerry asks, as V pulls away a bit, still leaning into his side.
“Tried to get him to wear a costume, but he’s apparently too cool for it,” she explains, eyes scanning around the room, noticing a girl in a cat costume already passed out on a chair.
“Told you, I’m a badass rockerboy.”
“Swear I could see your ego from the other side of the planet, Johnny.”
“Yeah, keep that in mind when you’re spending the next three weeks trying to get glitter off your dick,” Johnny bites back, grabbing a cup of booze off a table, gagging the second it hits his lips, “fuckin’ vodka.”
“I’ll take that then,” she takes the cup from his hand, Kerry cracking up, then she shifts away pulling the cat ears from the sleeping girl's head, “and you’ll take this.”
V stands on her tippy toes, careful not to spill her drink as she barely manages to plop the cat ears onto his head. Black fluffy and a little crooked, Kerry is snickering and Johnny glaring down at her, a faint annoyed flush of red across his cheeks.
“What the fuck, V?”
“Now, you’re a cat rocker boy!”
“They suit ya,” Kerry teases and she can’t help but think he’s right, the ears blending in well with his dark hair. Could nearly convince herself they were real if she hadn’t been the one to put them on him.
“Yeah, not fucking happening,” Johnny goes to rip them off.
“C’moooon, won’t kill you to join in, please?” V begs, pouting and giving her biggest pair of puppy dog eyes, watching him sigh, annoyed but she knows he’ll give in.
“Fine, I’ll wear the damn cat ears.”
“Wooo!” V pumps a fist and cheers softly, taking a swig from the cup, candy apple vodka burning down her throat.
“Never thought I’d live to see the day,” Kerry laughs, “Johnny Silverhand, pussy whipped.”
“Heheh, real funny,” Johnny’s jaw clenches, “how’s Louise enjoying the second house?”
“Johnny…” V scolds in a low voice, not wanting Johnny to start taking low-blows just because he can.
“Eh, no worries V, heard worse from him back in the day, best to ignore him when he’s in a mood,” Kerry pulls her close to his side, “c’mon got some people I wanna introduce ya to.”
Kerry starts to pull her through the crowd, guiding her through people and away from Johnny. The merc unable to help giggling, knowing how much this sort of stuff gets under Johnny’s skin, teasing him is Kerry and V’s favorite hobby.
“Hey, get back here, assholes!” Johnny yells after them, running along behind them, annoyance clear in his voice.
Kerry pulls her across the party, introducing her to celebrity after celebrity, as she goes along with it. More than a little overwhelmed by it all as she steadily drains her cup of booze. Johnny following behind the entire time, glaring at a singer who shakes V hand for a moment too long. Between noise, alcohol, and just a bit too much excitement; a steady ache is starting to throb in V’s temples.
“By the way,” she thinks to ask after a while, “the hell kind of fangs did you get, they look real.”
“‘Cause they are; dental sculpt job. Quick and easy, just pop in and get it undone once November hits.”
“Oooh, fancy.”
“Yeah, only issue is the blood is real too,” he says, smirking when her eyes go wide for a moment.
“What?”
“Cut my fuckin’ lip on the things earlier,” he admits and she laughs, gently reaching up to pull at his chin in order to get a closer look at his lip, sure enough the little dribble of blood by the corner of his mouth leads up to a little cut on his lower lip.
“Aww, and you just went with it?”
“Works for the costume, besides, maybe I was hoping some cute merc would show up and kiss it better for me?” Kerry says, grinning wide as he watches pink flush up V’s cheeks.
“Christ, think I’m gonna be sick,” Johnny grumbles, making Kerry roll his eyes, pulling away from V’s touch.
“Something wrong there, Johnny?”
“Not at all, figured you’d wanna know though, heard someone say Slavoj broke a window, might wanna go check that out?”
“God damn it, Slavoj! I swear to fuck, not one thing it’s a billion others, be right back,” Kerry curses as he runs off to make sure he doesn’t have to kick someone’s ass. And as soon as one geriatric rockerboy has left her side, he’s replaced with another.
Johnny pulls her close, nearly crushing her against him, hand skimming around her hip. She leans against him, looking up at Johnny, cheeks feeling even warmer than before.
“So, is there actually a broken window or were you just trying to get me to yourself?”
“Who knows?” He says, a soft smirk on his face, then he’s grabbing a handful of her ass.
“Ah!, Johnny!” She squeals and jumps, Johnny shamelessly trying to yank up the skirt of her dress, hand grabbing and squeezing at her ass. Fingers sinking into the plush of her backside, his grip only getting firmer as she squirms. Face a vibrant shade of red, as she tries to reach back and keep Johnny from flashing her underwear at anyone behind them.
‘C’mon, princess, you need some quiet and I need some alone time,” he punctuates his comment by rubbing his fingers over her underwear, teasing at her cunt.
“Uh, fuck, uh should at least tell Kerry we’re leaving early.”
“Who said anything about leaving,” Johnny pulls away, just to grab her hand and tug her through the house and right up the stairs.
“Don’t think Kerry wanted any one up here,” V warns as Johnny picks at a locked door, Kerry having blocked off access to his bedroom for the party. But sure enough, Johnny manages to undo it.
“‘Xactly why no one will bug us here,” Johnny says, plopping his ass down on Kerry’s pat, then patting his lap, “now come siddown.”
V doesn’t have it in her to argue anymore, further around from the noise of the party, now just a faint thrum beneath their feet, she’s already starting to feel better and Johnny’s lap looks incredibly inviting. She’s in front of him in a second, climbing up to straddle him as she loosely wraps her arms around his neck. Johnny’s hands on her waist as she bumps her nose against his.
Surrounded by his smell and his warmth, the long haired rockerboy always smelling like sweat and cig smoke even after he’s cut back on the habit, she swears he sweats nicotine. It’s downright shameful how much it’s grown on her, how quickly Johnny and everything about him has become irreplaceable to her.
The leather of his pants scratch and rub at her thighs, the merc unable to resist grinding her cunt down against him. Leather rubbing at her wet slit through her panties, feeling him getting hard beneath her. Their lips connect as she toys with his hair, Johnny’s tongue slipping deep and easily into her mouth. She can’t but whimper softly at the feeling, loving the taste of his tongue, of his lips, how perfect it feels to just slot together like puzzle pieces. The rub of his tongue in her mouth; nicotine, mint gum, and tequila flavoring his kiss.
His flesh hand pulls up her skirt and she squeal, breaking the kiss, when it’s his chrome hand that gropes at her ass. Cold silver squeezing at her skin, touch pad and grooves of the prosthetic digging into the thickest parts of her ass.
“Fuck, Johnny,” she curses, swallowing a mouthful of spit, half her own and half Johnny’s.
“Head must be feeling better, if you’re squealing like that.”
“Yeah,” she nods, barely able to concentrate with his hands groping her, with his hard on grinding against her slick center.
“Then you won’t mind if I make you scream, now, will you?”
V’s not given a moment to respond, as she’s picked up and spun around, tossed on her back across Kerry’s bed. Head nearly hanging off the side of the mattress. There’s a whimper in her throat as Johnny’s hands are on her in an instant. Yanking off her boots and tugging her body down till her ass is on the edge of the mattress. Then he’s pulling her panties off, throwing them across Kerry’s room, leaving her in her thigh highs and the rest of her costume. Only her slick soaked cunt exposed to the open air.
Johnny’s on his knees, wrapping his around her hips and pinning them to the bed as he buries his face in her pussy. V moaning as she grabs at his hair, tugging as she squirms her hips up to meet each eager lick of his tongue. His beard scratches at her sensitive skin, as he laps up her slick. Groans reverberating in his throat, against her, hungry sounds as he tastes her. Lips attaching to her clit, sucking and licking at the sensitive bundle of nerves as one of his hands moves to play with her. Two calloused fingers sliding inside of her.
“Oh fuck, Johnny,” she whines his name out, each slick and suck of his mouth making the heat inside her burn hotter. Each rub of rough calloused skin over her insides makes her see stars. Hips grinding and squirming more and more- unable to hold still as she writhes beneath his tongue.
The tension is winding tighter and tighter inside of her, pleasure building up more and more. A harsh suck on her clit and a third finger sliding deep inside of her, sends her over the edge, screaming Johnny’s name as she hits her peak: seeing white as she cums on his face, grinding against his mouth, riding his fingers with each instinctual bounce of her hips.
He pulls away, V looking down at him as pulls his slick coated fingers out of her, sucking on them before he presses a kiss against her inner thigh. His wet scruff rubbing against her skin before he bites at her flesh, sucking a harsh red hickey on her thigh.
“You gotta be fucking kidding me!?”
V starts to jolt in surprise, Johnny’s hands anchoring her to the bed. Kerry now standing in the doorway to his bedroom, glaring at the two for fucking on his bed. The merc’s already flushed face now burning up at having been caught like this.
“Hey, Ker,” Johnny greets his friend, face still half pressed against V’s thigh.
“Seriously man, fifty some years later and you’re still fuckin’ chicks in my bed!”
“And you’re still poppin’ a stiffy over it,” Johnny taunts and sure enough, Kerry’s hard, erect cock forming a tent in his pants, “so you gonna watch and play Bram Stroker with yourself all night, or you wanna come fuck V’s throat?”
Johnny’s shameless, making a jerk off motion alongside his joke and standing as he throws off his shirt and begins unzipping his pants. Making eye contact with Kerry the whole time. The gray haired man chewing on his lip for a moment, flinching when he accidentally hits the cut in his lip.
“Fuck it,” Kerry announces, hand grabbing at his hard cock, “you down for this V?”
“Yes,” she says, no hesitation as she thinks of swallowing down his dick while Johnny fucks her.
“That’s my girl,” Johnny laughs, “didn’t even have to think about it. Other side of the bed, Ker, now.”
“Fuckin’ can’t believe I’m letting you boss me around, again,” Kerry grumbles, but does what Johnny asks, undoing his pants as he gets to the other side of the bed.
“Yeah, well, both know you’ll do anything for a decent blowjob.”
“‘Cause you’re so much better.”
“Never said I was, up you go, V,” Johnny grins as he manhandles the small merc, she half expects him to flip her over, but instead he moves her up and further across the other side of the bed where Kerry is, V’s head, now dangling over the side bed, blood rushing there as she’s making upside down eye contact with Kerry’s dick.
“Fuck,” Kerry curses, stroking his cock with one hand, the head leaking precum, while his other reaches out to touch V, groping at her breasts through her costume. His dick is so close, the heady smell of him surrounding her, mouth drooling as she thinks of finding a way to lick up each drop of precum.
The bed moves beneath her hips, mattress shifting, Johnny’s hands on her thighs as he spreads them as wide as he can, slotting himself between her legs. She whines, feeling the head of his cock brushing against her already wet and sensitive cunt. Once he’s gotten into place, he rubs his thumb over her swollen clit, chuckling when she whimpers, the combination of Kerry’s hand on her breasts and Johnny’s fingers on her clit makes her head swim. She needs them both, desperately. V lays her head back fully, opening her mouth as wide as she can, waiting for Kerry to fuck her throat. He teases her first, rubbing the head of his dick across her lips, smearing precum across her skin, letting her get just a taste of him.
“You’re drooling,” he says, a soft smile she can hear in his voice.
“Oh, yeah, suck your soul out through your dick if you let ‘er.”
“Fuck you, Jo-ohnny!” She screams as Johnny buries his cock into her cunt, sudden and deep, no more warning as he stretches her open and seats himself inside. He’s thick, each time it feels like he could break her, tight cunt struggle to take all of him, No matter how many times he threatens to fuck her loose, it’s always a tight fit that makes her see stars.
“C’mon, V,” he squeezes at her jaw, forcing her to lean her head back more, she hadn’t even realized she’d moved it, “need you to open wide for us.”
And she does just that opening her mouth again, as Kerry sinks inside. Cock hot as it slides across her tongue and down into her throat, the merc keeping her muscles relaxed as he pushes inside. Balls pressed against her upper lip and nose as he gets his full cock into her throat. Kerry cursing at the feeling of her throat squeezing around him. She can feel the veins of his dick across her tongue, the taste of his precum smeared across her mouth, where the head of it stretches the deepest part of her throat.
“Fuck,” Johnny’s chrome fingers rub up her body and touches her exposed neck, “can fucking see you in her throat.”
“Not gonna last long if you pull that kind of shit, Johnny,” Kerry curses, Johnny’s touches rubbing Kerry’s cock through her throat.
“Aww, old age making you a quick shot, Ker,” Johnny taunts, this time squeezing V’s throat, just hard enough to feel, her oxygen already a bit cut off.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Kerry curses, feeling her throat and Johnny’s hand around him at once, “fuckin’ hate you!”
Johnny just laughs, one hand on V’s throat, but he loosens the hold, and puts the other on her hip; keeping V loosely in place as he begins to fuck her. Harsh steady thrusts, skin slapping against skin, rocking in and out of her cunt. Cock hitting every sensitive nerve inside of her as he fucks her open. Stretching her open with each grind of his dick into her slick pussy.
Kerry isn’t far behind, starting to fuck V’s throat in earnesst, using her throat to get off. A slow drag at first, steady slide along her tongue, barely pulling out just to sink back in. Cock never fully leaving her throat, not even close to it as she flexes her throat muscles, swallowing around her dick, making him curse, making his thrusts stutter just a bit. His ball hitting V’s face as his thrusts get faster. A mixture of drool and precum leaking from the corner of her mouth, unable to swallow it all down around his cock.
The thrusts get rougher and harder between the two, fucked and used from each side. Johnny fucking up into her cunt, the force of his hips pushing her further down Kerry’s cock. Kerry uses her throat pushing her back against the bed and into Johnny. Used and shared between them, just accepting everything they give her, as it sets every nerve on alight with pleasure. Body covered in a sheen of sweat, face and body flushed red, every moan and whimper muffled by Kerry’s dick. She’s already close, so soon after cumming on Johnny’s tongue, she’s already so close. The taste of Kerry in her throat and Johnny hitting the deepest parts of her, leaking slick across the sheets.
Kerry and Johnny’s curses muffle over V’s head, the angle leaving her unable to see what’s happened. Only clue of what happened is the two rockerboys pressing deeper and closer into her.
“Ow, shit,” Johnny curses suddenly, “fuckin’ fangs.”
“You deserved it, asshole.”
“That so?”
Then Johnny’s laying over V, burying his head into her throat, where Kerry bulges the skin. And he licks at her throat, bites at the stretched skin, V whimpering around Kerry’s dick and Kerry cursing, no doubt he can just feel the touch of Johnny’s mouth through V’s throat. Johnny sucking a harsh hickey into V’s neck, right where he feels the head of Kerry’s cock in her throat.
And that sends Kerry over the edge, cock twitching on V’s tongue as he cums down her throat, filling her stomach; the merc barely able to taste it with how far he’s fucked into her. The feeling of cum sloshing down her fucked raw throat, paired with a sharp thrust of Johnny’s cock, sends V over the edge. Seeing white as she’s overwhelmed with pleasure, cuming and gushing on Johnny’s cock as she hits her high.
A few harsh rough thrusts and Johnny’s the last to finish, spilling deep inside of her, making her whimper at the feeling of being filled with each drop of cum. The feeling of leaking out around his cock, staining Kerry’s sheets beneath her.
There’s another whimper on V’s lips, Kerry pulling out of her mouth, smearing cum across her tongue. She takes a deep breath, remembering that she has to breathe, her throat raw and sore after the thorough fucking. Her face bright red and her head dizzy from the angle. Johnny pulls out next, V whining as she’s left empty and leaking, her cunt just as sore.
Already dizzy, her head spins as she’s pulled up and placed onto the pillows, blinking away the fuzzy feeling as she gets her equilibrium again. She can see blood on Johnny’s lip, the blood from Kerry’s lips smeared more than it was before.
“The hell happened there,” she asks, rubbing her thumb over Johnny’s lip, earning his tongue across her skin.
“Go for a kiss and Kerry’s fuckin’ fang got me,” he admits, plopping back against the pillows beside her.
“And I repeat, you deserved it,” Kerry saying, kicking off what’s left of his clothes as he falls back to lay with them.
“Don’t you have a party to worry about?” Johnny asks, watching Kerry get comfy.
“Oh fuck no, you’re not gonna fuck in my bed, invite me, then kick me out during the afterglow; ain’t happening!”
“Hey, I was just looking out for your house.”
“Yeah, right,” V rolls her eyes.
“Never given a fuck about my house, left jizz stains in my sheets and broke my pool table last time you were here.”
Headrush a little better, V sits up enough to strip off her costume, tossing the gloves and yanking the dress off over her head, sweat making it stick and cling to her body. She throws it across the room, left in nothing but thigh highs, but before she can pull them off; Kerry’s arms are around her. He pulls her back to his chest, nuzzling his face to the junction between her shoulder and neck, pressing light kisses.
Johnny’s snuggling up close to her front, pressing her between the two rockerboys, his hands skimming down her hip. V sighing at the soft kisses, followed by the hint of a bite, the graze of his fake fangs on her skin.
“Not sure V’s up for another round, Ker,” Johnny tells him, watching V starting to drift off in their arms.
“It’s called cuddling, Johnny, ever heard of it?” Kerry whispers against her skin.
“Nah, sounds made up,” he jokes, “ear off for tonight, V.”
She lets Johnny softly pull out her hearing aids, putting them aside, a nightly ritual for them at this point. V can feel in Kerry’s chest that he says something else, able to read Johnny’s lips when he responds with a ‘fuck you’. Then she’s slipping off to sleep between them, surrounded by their warmth as she drifts off.
Can You Feel The Sun? (Chapter Twelve): Your Demon, Never Leaving
Notes: Soooo, its been a minute, like I said, been kind of sick. And I've been sitting on this chapter for a while, I was gonna wait until I finish the next. But decided, fuck it. We're still rocking around the angst train with this and I'm sure some of you are like, when is Johnny gonna be let out of brain jail and the answer is soon, next chapter, promise. Our girl just needs some time to process and what better way to do so, then to get into a fist fight and talk to some folks.
Word Count: 11873
Warnings: Suicidal thoughts and mentions, bit of blood and violence, general angst, some talks of sex but no actual in chapter sex.
If you haven’t yet, you can read the previous chapter here!~
V finds herself in Westbrook next, kicking herself for forgetting that Wakako never paid for the Dorsett job. The sun’s barely been up but an hour by the time she makes it to Jig Jig street, the merc preoccupying her time by pouring more energy drinks from a vending machine into her thermos. A quick hack used to get them for free.
She leans against the wall of the pachinko parlor while she waits, someone passing by offers to sell her drugs and a joytoy tries to flirt with her in the meantime. Both swiftly denied and the merc jumps when she sees the parlor lighting up, Wakako likely already tucked in her back room. She slides on her mask as discreetly as she can before she walks across the blue tiled floors and past the desk clerk, who shoots her a dirty look.
Past a beaded curtain, she sees Wakako at her back desk. A slick black and gold color scheme that seems completely at odds with the gaudy vibrancy of Jig Jig street. Wakako is one of the older fixers, V would wager to guess she’s at least Padre’s age, with long gray hair pulled back off her face and cold shrewd eyes.
“Well, well,” the fixer greets, “who do I spy but V, in my humble parlor no less.”
“Here in the flesh, never did answer my call,” V can’t help but sign, thankful her bitter smile is hidden behind her mask.
“I must have been busy, I’m sure.”
“Of course.”
“So, what brings you here?” Wakako asks, tapping her red nails across the wood of her desk.
“Last gig, said I had to swing by to grab my payment, remember?”
“I don’t forget such things, V. Here is your reward, it comes with a fairly ample bonus. Go to Cassius Ryder in Watson, he’ll weave you a derma-imprint with smart-gun compatibility, a Tyger Claws special. You did good work, you and that… friend of yours.”
“Appreciate it,” V signs, feeling her muscles tighten at the mention of Jackie. Then the money comes in, over three thousand, not bad at all. But, she could still use a bit more before she pays back Vik. If she completely drains her bank account for him, Vik will throw a fit.
“And V,” Wakako calls out before the merc can leave, “I’ll be sure to keep an eye out for your calls from now on.”
V simply nods, unsure of how to take the comment as she leaves the pachinko parlor. Wakako is hard to read, that much she knows. Everything the woman says seems to drip with poison and sarcasm. She could wish V could morning and the merc would wonder if it’s a veiled death threat. Kindness and cruelty sound the same coming from Wakako. Meaning the statement could be a cruel taunt regarding V’s ruined reputation or it could be genuine, that somehow the merc has built back some of it. She has been going hard the past three or four days, refusing to do much else. Deciphering Wakako will only drive her crazy, V determines, leaving Jig-Jig street and climbing in her stolen MaiMai.
The fight in Kabuki is worth at least two grand, meaning if V’s lucky enough she can finish it up and pay Vik back while still leaving around… two grand in her bank account. Not much, but she’s worked with less. If she loses, she’ll just have to make it back in more scanner jobs, she supposes. Or start selling some stuff.
She parks near the coordinates Coach Fred sent her. V pulls off her mask, it could be considered unfair, fighting with a face cover. When she gets out of the car, she catches a flash of something in the side mirror, breath catching in her throat. Thinking it’s a flash of dark hair and a beard, think it’s him, she looks again. But only sees her reflection, granted, she looks like she’s already been fucked up in a fight.
Her hygiene has… suffered during this ordeal. Nose bruised to hell and back, looking a little crooked she realizes. There’s blood and dirt on her face, the worse of it down her lips and chin. She smells like sweat, blood, and still vague hints of stagnant water. Wakako probably smelled V before seeing her.
The merc first takes a deep breath, grabs her nose and cracks it back into place, setting it as pain shoots through her face and tears blur her vision. . She curses, giving herself a moment before she goes looking through her bag for wet wipes or antiseptic ones, something to give herself a quick whore’s bath. But finds nothing, her supplies needing a restock.
In a pathetic attempt at something, she spits onto her hoodie sleeve and tries to scrub some blood off with the drool. Only managing to smear the dirt and blood into a new pattern. As far as she knows, no one she cares about will be at the fight. She’ll shower before she sees Vik. For now, she’ll just be gross. Too exhausted and overwhelmed to care about how strangers view her hygiene.
She takes three heavy drinks of energy drink and makes her way to the feet, down a set of stairs that run next to the overpass, walking across cracked cement through patch work metal shacks. Up a little yellow ladder and climbing over air conditioning units. Even getting to the fight has to be an ordeal it seems.
V can see the backs of people, on one of the other rooftops involved in this little parkour endeavor. A crowd gathered around and she has to assume that’s where the fight is. A little set of metal steps up to the slightly higher platform. When she walks up the stairs she can see the crowd is around a clearing on the roof; two identical men squaring off. She half expected a Tyger Claw gang member, given the area is their turf. But the men look fairly nondescript, twins who box, she supposes.
“This is pointless, I know where I’m gonna strike before I do it,” one of the men say, fist raised to his brother, though the wording seems off. Of course, one would know where they’re going to strike. Brain damage too many blows to the head, maybe.
“Typical, I knew I’d say that.”
She raises an eyebrow but shakes her head, and clears her throat. The men straighten up, two pairs of brown eyes staring straight at V. They’re older than her, which isn’t saying much, with bald head and implants around their heads. Completely identical, only thing to separate them out is their clothing; one is a tee shirt and the other in a tank top.
“Was told I have a fight here,” V signs, “so, which one of you is it?”
“Me,” the men speak in unison and V blinks, confused.
“Didn’t know it was a tag team fight, but alright, who’s up first?”
“No, no,” the one in the t-shirt waves his hand, “you don’t get it. That body and his one, I’m the same person.”
“I’m seeing shit then?”
“I used to be twins, which you could probably guess. The twins had a close bond, but they wanted to be closer, stronger. “
“So they installed neural oscillation synchs. And now they’re… well.”
“Me, one person, two bodies,” the twins finish in unison again.
And here she is, two persons, one body. Whether she likes it or not. The whole tale is horrific to the merc, unable to understand why anyone would willingly undergo something like that. She has a twin, Eira, and despite everything that’s happened, V loves her sister dearly. But, she can’t imagine ever wanting to merge themselves together, to want to lose herself. Its part of why what’s happening with the chip is… horrifying. She doesn’t want to be something else, someone else. V is far from perfect, but, she’s her. As many times as she’s wished to be better, she’s always wanted to still be her.
These two willingly signed up for the horror show, V’s enduring, just split across two bodies. They wanted to be someone else, to morph into some new amalgamation of who they once were.
“So, I’m fighting you both at once?” She asks, trying to get out of her own head, to focus on the here and now.
“My bodies do everything together. Everything,” the pair speak with finality and V can’t help but smirk at the implication. How far does everything go?
“Everything? Even in the bedroom?” She signs, waggling a brow and can feel the immediate annoyance.
“I have one girlfriend for both bodies, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Shared between both.”
And it takes everything in her not to laugh, a smile pulling at her lips and face flushed at how stupid it is.
“So, what. she gets a daily double teaming?”
“No. She’s with one body from Monday through Wednesday and the other Wednesday through Sunday. Bitch.”
“You take shifts?!” V bursts, the entire ridiculous nature of it is exactly what she needed, cracking up at their whole situation.
And maybe it’s mean to laugh, but she can’t help it, holding her stomach as she cackles. The insult more than worth it to know these two have their girlfriend on a sex schedule, that they take shifts for fucking. They have fuck shifts, how is she meant to handle that information?
“We doing this or what?” The twins yell, obviously not amused by her outburst.
“Yeah, yeah,” she signs as she comes down, “but we’re doubling this, four grand.”
She was already at a size disadvantage, the twins not huge, but taller than her. And now they’re outnumbering her as well, it’s already high risk, so she needs higher reward. The twins consider her deal for a moment, before nodding to each other.
“Fine, see no problem there. So, can we get started?”
“Show me what you got.”
And three pairs of fist raise. The twin the tee shirt moves towards her first and she steps up to meet his charge, swinging the first punch and knocking her knuckles into his head. And then she steps back, grin on her face. Its been a long time since she’s sparred, a good clean fight with just fists and no weapons, it feels good.
She throws another punch and misses, the same twin comes back in to hit her, but she connects another punch first. He staggers back, but swings at her, a hard pain wracking her jaw when he connects. V blocks the next swing and momentum makes him twist around, letting the merc get a cheap shot against his back. Then another as he twists then she connects a right hook to his jaw; three hits in rapid succession, he stumbles back. He hits the ground. Then the other twin comes charging.
V throws a right hook into the force of his run, catching just the right way to make his nose bleed. She swings for a left jab but the tank top wearing twin ducks and steps back, the one in the t-shirt is back on his feet.
Tank-top comes at her again, right fist hitting her temple and she throws her own in return, knuckles catching his ear. She misses with her left and he brings a knee up, knocking it into her chin, making her teeth clang together as she bites her tongue in the force. He swings another punch and she deflects with her left forearm, punching her right into his face. He falls back.
T-shirt comes at her next and gets punched in the eye, blackening under her fist. She connects the next punch to the opposite cheek, knocking into his nose. He stumbles back and wipes blood from his nose.
The other twin swoops in, he acts like he’s going to knee her again, then swings a fist and catches her already injured nose. Pain cracks through her, but she laughs and throws a punch in return, connecting two more hits against him. Twins switch out again, t-shirt twin kicking her in the gut before throwing three quick hits. Then he shoves her back, only for her to push back and throw two more punches. And he’s down. One half done, she turns her attention back to the twin in the tank top.
He tries to keep distance from her and she waits him out, fist raised. And after a quick moment of dancing around each other, he runs at her. A punch to her head, a swing to his own, and she connects one more to his chest. And he hits his knees. V stares for a moment, unsure if she really just won a bare knuckle fist fight against two grown men?
“Stop, stop, I give up!” One twin yells and gets up, face bloody as he walks to the railing. V looks down at the other twin.
“You got more fight in you or had enough like your brother?”
“That ain’t my brother,” he yells as he gets up, “that’s me. Jesus, what’s so hard to understand?”
One leans against the railing and the other sits on a table by a couch, each with fresh blood and bruises on their faces. She finds herself standing before them, mind still revisiting the twin’s dynamic and situation. Melding yourself with someone else, even someone so close, she can’t even imagine being that close to someone. Even her own sister, she has a strained relationship with. She’s going into this situation with the chip kicking and screaming.
“Here, your winnings,” the twins eyes glow as they transfer four grand into V’s bank account.
“Not bad at all.”
“Don’t worry, there’s always the next fight,” one twin tells the other.
“Stop talking to yourself!”
V can’t help but smile at the odd exchange, “Thanks for the fight, it was fun just sparring for once, I’m V. By the way.”
“Certo,” the one in the tee introduced himself.
“Esquerdo,” the other chimes in.
“I know I kind of razzed on you earlier, just your situation is… interesting to me,” she admits, genuinely a part of her just wanting to ask a bit more about it. The twins must not have been perfectly alike, not anyone is, then they melded together. She can’t help but think of the ghost in her head, the man she’ll meld into, the fear of it.
“If you’re here to pry more into my sex life, piss off.”
“No, no, not that. Do you two read each other’s thoughts?” She asks, Johnny responded to her thoughts in the subway, assuming it was him and not an exhaustion induced hallucination.
“No. Same person. Same thoughts.”
“If that weren’t the case, I’d be on schizoid meds.”
“Yeah, be weird having someone else's thoughts in your head… Would drive anyone crazy. Speaking of, wasn’t that, I don’t know… scary.”
“What?”
“Melding together like that, becoming one person. Because like… you’re no longer you, right? You’re a new combo, wasn’t that terrifying, to lose yourself?”
“Not really, everyone’s always becoming someone new. Brothers knew each other well enough, loved each other enough, they knew they didn’t mind becoming each other.”
“Strange… no offense.”
“Why you so curious about it?”
“I don’t know,” she stumbles for a response that makes sense, can’t explain she’s thinking about the ghost in her head, “I got a twin myself, actually. Love her, but life took us to different places. Can’t imagine… becoming part her, part me.”
“You don’t though, you just become something new, the best of both of you.”
“Interesting, uh, I won’t hold you up any longer. See you around.”
V heads off and makes her way back home, guzzling energy drinks along the way, stinging the new bite mark in her tongue. She passes by Barry’s apartment on the way to her own, she’ll grab a shower, she decides before she talks to him either. Showing up at a former cop’s doorstep covered in blood and sweat sounds like a bad idea.
The merc strips down as soon as she’s in the privacy of her apartment and makes a beeline for the shower, Hot water a godsend even as it stings her cuts and bruises, the heat relaxing her tightly wound muscles and the ache in her head. Her eyes drifting shut, body relaxing. A blink that lasts a second, maybe a minute, or two too long.
Then pain shoots through her tailbone as she crashes to the wet shower floor, falling right onto her ass. She curses beneath her breath and gets back onto her feet, finishing her shower quickly before she falls asleep again. The energy drinks are cutting it less and less, three days without any sleep, other than long blinks.
She checks her tongue in the mirror thankful the bite didn’t tear at her piercing, and sighs as she takes a look at herself. Still bruised, but no longer bloody or dirty, dark bags have formed under her eyes and she’s paler than before. Her headache has become a constant throb she can’t get rid of, ears irritated from the rub of her hearing aids, the pain in her joints is equal parts overexertion and neglecting her immunosuppressants, the familiar burn of her disease flaring up.
If Vik and Misty see her like this she’ll never hear the end of it. It feels like lying as she grabs up her foundation and concealer. She laves on a heavier layer of makeup than she’d usually do, applying it until she looks a little more human, a little more awake and put together. After everything she’s put them through the last thing she needs is to cause them any more worry.
V throws on some clothes and makes up a new fresh batch of her caffeine cocktail before she leaves out again, fiddling with her bullet pendant as she makes her way down the stairs. She knocks on Barry’s door, trying to get the neighbors attention.
“Hey, you home?” She signs, turning the volume up a little on her translator, hoping he’ll hear.
“Who is it?!” A rough voice yells out.
“V, your neighbor, remember? We talked about rides, You were all worked up over the newest Mizutani. I said it was for flash-posers.”
“Heh,” he chuckles behind the door, “you don’t forget a gonk thing like that.”
“You gave me this look, I was about to run back to the Badlands right then and there.”
The door finally opens, showing Barry, just as she remembers the older man. Dark crew cut, over a foot taller than her, with tattoos across his biceps. He leans against the door frame, looking down at her by necessity.
“I remember, what do ya want?”
“To talk, I know that’s what you need right now, even if you don’t realize it. I can’t turn back time or magically make everything okay, would if I could, promise. But.. if nothing else, I’m good for a chat, hear you out as best I can, and make sure you know you’re not alone.”
“Now hold on a sec,” he makes her pause, the heaviness of it taking him off guard, “we barely know each other, and you just rock up here talkin’ to me about my problems? Where’d you get the idea something with me was up? You watchin’ me? Somebody send you?”
“You got me, your buds from the station asked me to drop in. I figured, why not, decent guy even if he’s got shit taste in rides,” she signs, with a teasing smile.
“Come back just to get your ass kicked?” His grin makes her snicker, “man, you really know how to cheer a guy up. Maybe those two asshats really are worried about me… All right, come on in. You wanna talk, let's talk.”
Barry leads her into the apartment, it’s layout a little different than her own. Most notably where her window stretches across the wall, he has none, with a couch against it instead. The apartment dark and gloomy without the sun being able to touch it, her boot knocks into an empty can, one of many. There’s trash across his floor, discarded takeout boxes, bottles, cans. Has he left the apartment since she spoke with his friends? Has he locked himself up in here for the past three days?
He sits down on the couch and V plops herself on the table in front of it, careful not to sit on his ashtray or nearly empty pizza box. She wants to be able to make eye contact and she knows human voices are far more comforting than AI ones, turning off her translator.
“I lost someone, too,” she hates the scratch in her throat, the slight widening in Barry’s expression as he hears her speak for the first time, “he was my best friend, a good man.”
“What do you mean ‘too’? Wait, this about Andrew? They… told you about him…”
“Yeah, I know it ain’t easy, losing someone like that.”
“Best bud I ever had… known him my whole life. Only person I could spill to without being judged.”
“Take it Petrova and Mendez weren’t that great at listening?” She raises an eyebrow, Mendez seemed like a genuine dickhead, but Petrova was nice. Surely, she wouldn’t have minded hearing Barry out, given how worried she seemed. Barry shrugs his shoulders.
“Petrova’s a decent gal, but she’s not good with this stuff. Mendez just doesn’t get it He thinks us blues need to be tough. Can bear the sight of a kid getting murdered? Born with pussy genes, according to him,” Barry tells her, the crestfallen expression telling her those are exact words from Mendez.
“You told them about Andrew, though?”
“Honestly? I thought about it a lot. Anyway… they don’t know everything. Better that way,” his soft nearly whispered tone tells her there’s more to this, something he doesn’t want them to know Or maybe he’s just like her and prefers to keep his cards close to his heart.
“What exactly happened with Andrew? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“Does it matter? Uh,” he rethinks when he looks at V’s face, “old age took him…. No wonder, seeing as he was only a few years younger than my grandma.”
“I know it doesn’t make it hurt any less. But, Andrew had a long life with a good friend like you sticking by him through most of it. No better way to go, if you got to. And in Night City of all fuckin’ places? That alone deserves a fuckin’ monument.”
That makes Barry smile, a soft laugh tumbling from his lips, “ashbox in a niche will have to do.”
“So, was Andrew like a grandpa to you?”
“Hm. Wouldn’t go that far. He was like… egh. I don’t know. A window into the past or… something. He reminded me of my gram-grams, about our little talks… time when everything had its proper place, y’know? He was the last living record of those times.”
“He clearly meant a lot to you, it’s only natural losing him is gonna hurt. Mendez is full of shit, to be blunt. Life and loss is hard, really fuckin’ hard. And feeling that hurt doesn’t make you weak, makes you human.”
Her throat feels tight as she speaks, each word making her feel more and more like a hypocrite. Preaching the importance of feeling out your hurt while hiding from her own. She can still taste gunmetal, feel the weight of the barrel on her tongue as she willed herself to pull the trigger. Talking a man off a ledge she tiptoed no more than a few hours before. And it’s not that she doesn’t mean what she says, but she can’t give herself the same kindness she affords him.
“What if he’s right though?” Barry asks, eyes big with worry, “maybe my genes are soft? Don’t only the strongest survive?”
“Losing people hurts. And that’s okay, doesn’t make you weak, and ignoring it don’t make you strong. If you felt nothing at all, then his loss wouldn’t have any meaning. You lost someone you cared about, who was there for you most of your life; anyone with a heart would be hurting right now.”
“I guess… so. Thanks for the talk. I, uh, need time to take all this in.”
“Alright, take care of yourself,” she stands from the table, “and if you need anything else, you know where to find me.”
She leaves Barry’s apartment and lets out a soft sigh, rethinking what she told Barry, wondering if she handled it well. Taking in how it applies to her. The words she can easily speak to someone else, but not to herself. Feeling hurt doesn’t make her weak, just human. Painfully, disgustingly, revoltingly human.
V shakes her head, making her way out of the apartment complex and taking the NCART down to Buran and Bradbury. Walking down the family little cluster of storefronts, pass strippers dancing in windows, where Gary the wannabe prophet sleeps on some abandoned filthy mattress, and into Misty’s store. Her heart jumping in her throat when she sees the older woman.
“V!” Misty calls out, green eyes brightening and a breath of relief leaving her chest, “its been a minute, got worried about you.”
“Nothing to worry about, just been, busy… Actually, wanted to see Vik, got a debt to pay back.”
“Hmmm, c’mon then, I’ll walk you back.”
“I think I know the way by now,” V signs with a raised eyebrow. Misty isn’t going to start babying her now, is she? Sure, V got hurt and is in the shit right now, but that doesn’t make her any less of a grown adult.
“You’re the first customer to walk in today and I’m bored out of my mind, just give me this,” Misty jokes and V feels bad for doubting her intentions, though there's still something in the way the older woman looks at the merc. More akin to a worrying mother than a friend.
“Alright, whatever you want.”
The two women leave out the back of Misty’s store and into the back alley, V searches for the bald little cat she pet last time she was here, but it’s gone now. Misty leads the way down the stairs to Vik’s clinic, the ripper doc in his usual spot at his desk.
“Someone’s here to see you, Vik,” Misty announces as they walk through, the older man looking up to see V. A smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes pulls across his face, more of pity than happiness.
“Hey, kid, how you’ve been?”
“Getting by,” she shrugs, “more importantly, I got the eddies to pay you back.”
“What is this?” He asks as she starts to transfer the seventy thousand.
“Optics, mantis blades, and the launcher; all adds up. That’s the best estimate I could ge. If they cost more than that I-”
“Hold onto ‘em,” he waves her off, “just in case. You need ‘em more than me.”
“Not taking them to my grave, Vik, please, it’s the least I can do.”
His jaw clenches, gaze dropping; “twenty-five thousand, I’ll won’t take a dollar more”
“What? That’s not even half?” V blinks incredulously, can see Misty smiling at the exchange.
“Covers the mantis blades; you didn’t ask for the optics or launcher, seems fair to me.”
“Even if I didn’t ask for ‘em, doesn’t mean they didn’t cost you a pretty penny.”
“Not worried ‘bout it, spend the money on yourself.”
“Vik, seriously, there’s no point in me keeping it.”
“Six months is longer than you think, V,” his voices rises, a hint of frustration, “I’m not letting you throw that kind of cash away just because your-”
And he stops himself, before he can says what they all know. Just because she’s dying. Her jaw clenches and she swallows hard. Trying to search for how to respond, how to deal with that.
“I know you wanna pay him back, but Vik’s just trying to look out for you, V. Never hurts to keep some money in your account and besides, you’ve got way more than six months left in your,” Misty says, trying to smooth over everything. Her concern and worry always softer spoken than Vik’s.
“It’s not just because I’m dying, you’ve done a lot for me over the years, want you to have something to show for it.”
“That’s what friends are for, V.”
“Fine, fine, never had to beg someone to take my money,” she jokes, sending a transfer for the twenty-five thousand instead.
“Other than that, how have you been?”
“Already told you, getting through, not much to report.”
V shrugs her shoulders again, wondering why he’d ask the same question twice. And she can the clench in Vik’s jaw, the somber downward pull on Misty’s expression. They don’t believe her. And she can’t blame them for it, because she knows its not true.
“And how are you really feeling?” Misty asks, softly.
“I… is there anyway we could talk about Silverhand and the chip?”
“I’m no expert, but fire away, I’ll see what I can do.” Vik tells her.
“I’m seeing him, I saw him, again. And I hear him, even without my hearing aids, is that? Is that normal, I none of this is fucking normal what am I talking about…” She rakes a hand through her hair, cleaning her jaw.
“Well, that biochip is designed for users to communicate with constructs. It's just doin' its job. As far as hearing goes… Johnny’s in your brain, not your ears. You're deaf because the autoimmune disease destroyed your inner ear, but the Relic bypasses that and stimulates the auditory processing part of your brain like he’s actually there talking to you.”
“So, my brain treats him like he’s real, even though he’s not?”
“I mean, he is real, he’s a person,” Misty softly corrects, “just a person in your brain.”
“He’s data on a chip,” Vik corrects Misty in return, earning an eye roll for his troubles. V can’t say she gives too much of a shit about the philosophical aspect, more just wanting Johnny not to choke her out.
“He… tried to kill me,” V admits, both Vik and Misty’s eyes going wide.
“What!?”
“Oh… V.”
“Tried to put my head through my window. It… he… felt real as anyone else. He wants to kill me, I think, I don’t know what to do.” V can feel her eyes stinging again, tears threatening to escape, as she finally puts her anxiety out into the world.
“Well... long as you don't give him control, can't do too much harm. 'Course that won't necessarily be possible after some time.”
“And… what then?”
“What do you say, we don’t let things get that far? Find a way to get rid of Silverhand and fast.”
“What about his memories, why can I see them?
“You two share a brain now,” Vik says matter of fact and she wants to scream, “he has access to your senses, perceptions, even memories. Likewise, you get a look into his. After a while, won’t even know whose is whose.”
“Right…”
“V…” Misty says the merc’s name in a soft voice, “if you need to talk, we’re here for you. ”
“I need to go,” V signs and shakes her head.
She doesn’t want to deal with this. Hasn’t wanted to deal with it for days and she has no idea where she’s even going or what she’s going to do. But she hurries through the clinic gate and up the stairs, getting ready to cut through the backdoor of Misty’s shop.
“V!” Misty yells out and grabs V’s shoulder, all too reminiscent of the merc’s exchange with Cecelia the night before. Women who’d be better off worrying about someone else, spending their time worried about V.
“I can’t do this right now, Misty, I’m sorry.”
“You can’t run yourself ragged, honey, you’ll kill yourself before the chip does.”
“And is that really such a bad idea?!” She blurts out without truly meaning too, at her ropes end, because she can’t do this anymore.
“You don’t mean that, V.”
“Why not? I can’t fuckin’ live like this! I haven’t slept in three days, I’m fuckin’ terrified that I’m gonna wake up and it’s not gonna be me! That he’s gonna take over and kill me in my sleep or, or, if it’s not him, it’s gonna be his memories, his life, that I’m gonna lose a piece of me and not even know which one! I survived, but maybe… I shouldn’t have… ”
Her voice trails off, becoming choked and pathetic as a dam threatens to burst. Tears collecting in the corners of her eyes, threatening to break lose. But she doesn’t want to break down in front of someone. A few people in the alleyway give her side eyes, looking at her like she’s already lost her last scrap of sanity.
“C’mon, V, we can talk more up on the roof, okay?”
Misty wraps her hand around V’s, gently tugging the merc into the elevator. And V doesn’t have the energy to fight her, holding Misty’s hand in return and following along. The warmth and kindness of the touch sinking into her bones, making her squeeze tighter just to hold on to the small gesture of affection. As the elevator starts to shake and rattle upward, V can feel her limbs getting heavier, her exhaustion pushing her to lean her weight onto Misy.
To the merc’s surprise, Misty doesn’t seem to mind her weight, doesn’t even flinch when V lays her head onto Misty’s shoulder. Instead she lays her own head over V’s for the short moment, short wispy hair tickling the shorter woman’s cheek. Misty’s warmth and affection feels like a lifeboat, rather than the innocuous touch V knows it to be.
The elevator comes to a stop and Misty pulls V up the stairs up to the roof. A place V has visited so many times with Misty, Jackie, and Vik. A cool September breeze rolling through, cooling V’s skin while the sun works to warm it. The two women sit in the little plastic lawn chairs that are put around a table. V feels like she’s sinking into it. She feels heavy and like she’s dragging her own weight. Her emotional outburst just compounding her physical exhaustion.
“I meant what I said, V. That as long as your alive there’s still hope.”
“Misty...I-”
“I can’t imagine how hard this is, I don’t think anyone could. But… I don’t think it has to be this terrible hell, you think it is. Fate doesn’t act without reason and there has to be a reason for this, for all of it. But if you…end it all like that, you’ll never know.”
“You think this is fate…?”
“I do, your soul and Johnny’s were brought together for a reason, I think you owe it to yourself and Johnny to find out why.”
“So, what, everything that happened is fate, I’m supposed to blame fate for all of this, for the heist, for Jackie, for-?”
“Better than blaming yourself, isn’t it?”
The question takes the winds out of her sails for a moment. She’s never put much stock into fate and the idea that things are meant to be, meant to happen. It sounds ridiculous to her. That the fates or some mystical pull in the universe put them in that hotel, an excuse to take blame off her own shoulders, a way to avoid accountability.
“I already had a bad feeling before you and Jackie left, the heist was on the anniversary of the tower going down, and it just happened to be Johnny on the chip. And theres your tarot reading… there’s more to this, V, I know there is. There has to be,” Misty tries to implore her to understand, to accept the idea that this was meant to be. And all at once V is reminded of something she’s wanted to forget.
“I’m sending you something,” V says softly, watching Misty’s brow furrow as she sends her the image of that SID profile, that night her door wouldn’t unlock.
“What is… is that?”
“His SID data.”
“How’d you get it?”
“Night before the heist, I tried to unlock my apartment door. Wouldn’t work, mainteance guy comes down, says my SID chip is reading as someone else’s. Sends me the data, it’s him… How the hell does that happen? We hadn’t gone near Konpeki yet, I… “
And she’s said it, put out that maybe there is a little something to this fate thing, that she doesn’t want to admit, doesn’t want to acknowledge. How cruel can the world be if this was all intended? But, she can’t quite come up with a logical reason for it. It could just be the mother of all coincidences, but that feels like a cheap explanation at best.
“V... “ a small almost incredulous smile comes across her black stained lips, “this was meant to be. You and him, merging, it’s fate. There's something the world wants from you two, just got to figure out what.”
“Its… a hell of a coincidence… “
“A higher power is screaming at you and you’re gonna turn a deaf ear?”
“Only kind I got.”
“Smartass,” Misty teases, “have you talked to him?”
“Who? Takemura?”
“No, Johnny.”
“No,” V blinks in disbelief, has Misty lost her mind, “strangely enough I didn’t feel like striking up a convo while he was trying to kill me.”
“You should.”
“And why the absolute fuck would I do that?”
“Like it or not, V, his fate and yours are one now. This is as much about what the world has planned for him as it does for you.”
“He tried to kill me!”
“And?”
“And!?” V flails her arms out exaggeratedly, the flippant response taking her back, “I didn’t appreciate it!? I…?”
Misty laughs at V’s shocked reaction and the merc can’t help but chuckle too, the entire thing sounding and feeling ridiculous.
“Did you appreciate it when Jackie put a gun to your head?”
“That’s different, Jack was just doing a job.”
“So, it’d have been better if he was being paid to do it?”
“Yes, least Jackie had a reason, dipshit just wanted to hurt me.”
“Is that what you think?” Misty raises an eyebrow and tilts her head softly to the side, halo of blonde hair bouncing with the movement.
“Is there anything else to think?”
“Not saying it makes it okay, but, Johnny woke up fifty years in the future, in the head of a stranger. Feeling your feelings, your memories, and last thing he remembers is whatever the hell Arasaka did to him.”
“And?”
“And maybe, the fear you felt that night, wasn’t all yours.”
V hums, rubbing her hands together, “I’ll think about it. Still kinda think offing myself is the easiest move, though.”
“What would Jackie say if he heard you talking like that?”
“He’d kill me first for even talkin’ like that. Tell me to pull myself together, that it’ll all work out in the end.”
“And it will, don’t know how, but it will. Just need you to want to live long enough to see that happen.’
“Fine, fine,” V sighs, “no blowing my brains out on this fine day, happy?”
“Wanting to live is about more than just not killing yourself, V. You need to sleep, eat, drink something other than energy drinks and booze. Take care of yourself and actually deal with your shit”
“But that sounds hard.”
“Is it harder than running yourself ragged and no sleeping?”
“Maybe.”
“V…”
“I’m just… scared, of seeing his memories, his past. Or, him getting a hold of me in my sleep.”
“I could watch over you, make sure nothing happens.”
“And what if he hurts you?”
“He’s still in your body, V.”
“Doesn’t mean he can’t use it to hurt you, I’m not risking that,” V tells Misty, shaking her head emphatically.
“You could sleep in Vik’s clinic, no offense, but pretty sure Vik could stop your body if Johnny uses it to do anything.”
“Nah, this is my demon, no one else’s. I appreciate the chat, really, I think I need to be going though.”
“V… please.”
“I’ll sleep tonight, in my own bed, alone. Just in case, but I’ll sleep, promise,” V reassures Misty as the merc gets up out of her seat, a few ideas already fluttering around in her head.
“C’mon, I’ll get you set up with something to help you sleep, alright?”
V’s soul feels a little lighter as she follows Misty back into her shop. The older woman getting a little sleeping kit put together for the merc. Lavender oils, tea, and spray. Moonstones meant to relieve emotional tension and help her relax. V can’t help but smile at the kindness of it all, Her money refused for the second time when she offers to pay Misty for it.
“Take care of yourself, please,” Misty begs again, ruffling her hand through V’s hair.
“I’ll give it a shot, thanks again, for everything.”
“Wait,” Misty calls out, stopping V before she can head out, “you mentioned Takemura earlier, did you and him talk?”
“He called me, morning after I got back to my place, wanted me to meet him for a chat.”
“What about?”
“Don’t know, not meeting up with him.”
“V…”
“You know you keep saying my name like that it’s going to start hurting my feelings.”
“Why haven’t you talked to him?”
V shrugs, “He’s a corporate rat, can’t trust him.”
“He saved your life.”
“He also tried to kill me, which I think balances itself out.”
“If he wanted you dead, you wouldn’t be here, V.”
“Corpos are tricky bitches, guy probably has some scheme up his sleeves, kept me alive so the wolves would have fresh meat or some shit.”
“V… “
“My name is starting to feel like an insult.”
“Talk to him, what’s the worse that can happen?”
“You really want me to answer that?”
Misty rolls her eyes and the two part with a quick goodbye, V feeling a little more energized, despite still being sleep deprived. She still has a few things she wants to cover before she goes home and sleep. Misty brought up something important, what Jackie would tell V if he were here to tell it. He’d want her to at least try and she owes him that much.
It's a longshot, she knows, but she pulls out her holo. Evelyn, the client, claimed she knew how to remove the chip. That was before it was damaged and V’s not entirely sure Evelyn knew half as much as she claimed too. But it’s worth a shot, prefers it to anything a corpo suit like Takemura might be offering. She calls Evelyn’s number, but an automated message tells her it’s not avaliable at the moment, V opts to leave a message anyway.
“Hey… this is V. Got the chip, I know the heist had a few… hiccups, but if you could call me back, that’d be cool.”
V huffs as she hangs up, blowing hair out of her face. She still doesn’t want to risk talking to a corpo, so she opts for her next idea. Learning more about Johnny, which feels weird to even think about. She’s not sure she buys the fate angle, not sure she really wants to ever have a chat with the man who bashed her head against a window. But, if nothing else, she wants to know more of who she’s dealing with. And while she gets his memories, she doesn’t have a good grasp on accessing them. She could look him up online and fully intends to. But, she has some other ideas in mind.
Dino is in the rockerboy scene, would know a bit about Samurai and Johnny. And despite what his faceplate looks like, he may actually be old enough to have crossed paths once or twice with the guy. The fixer may not be offering her jobs right now, but he only knows her as a V the merc when she’s wearing her mask. Without it, she’s just the girl he fucked in a bathroom stall once. Not her proudest moment, but hey, means he may entertain a conversation with her.
The trickier one is Rogue, who she knows was close with Johnny, was too close. V grimaces at a few choice memories that stand out to her. But Rogue’s the queen of fixers and has never so much as looked V’s way. It's doubtful the older woman would want some no-name merc asking about her ex from fifty years back. But, that’d be her best source to try to get some solid first hand info of how the beast in her brain operates.
The Afterlife is closer, but Dino is more the sure bet as far as talking to her goes. So, she catches the NCART into City Center. She gets off at the nearest stop, making her way through the crowd as she walks to his bar; Electric Orgasm. Because the man can’t name anything without sex being involved. The humiliation of fucking a bassist who named his band Gloryhole Bandits will truly never leave.
Her boots scuff across the black and white dirty tiles, music blaring in the bar, making her turn her hearing aid volume down. She walks past the arcade and vending machines on her left, the stage with a band playing on her right. Dino is in his usual spot, leaning against the red bar.
The fixer is taller than her by a ways, as most men are, prominent muscled biceps, one plated with bolts in an implant. Chrome in his jaw and along the back of his head, a mohawk of teal dreads and eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. An energy that suddenly seems all too familiar, a rockerboy wearing sunglasses indoors with a smug air, the attitude of a man convinced it’s his world and everyone else is just living in it.
“Hey, you,” Dino greets her with a smirk she’s never seen him without, the drag of his tone telling her he remembers her face. Or maybe he’s just remembering what her throat feels like.
“Hey,” she signs and she can see his brows furrowing, thinking for a moment. ASL and translators aren’t… particularly common. She’s the only person she knows who uses them, but Dino seems less confident in that fact.
“You finally decide you didn’t get enough of ole Dino?”
“Maybe I did, but turns out men speaking in third person makes me dryer than a desert,” she teases, climbing onto the stool next to him.
“Oh, c’mon, girl,” he wraps an arm around her shoulders, leaning in close, “don’t break my heart like that.”
“I don’t think your heart is what you’re most concerned about,” she ends her signing by tapping her finger to his chromed chin, “so any news in the music scene?”
“Nothing too exciting, a few new baby faced wannabes. We’re planning another show here in a few weeks, if you wanna pay me another visit, that is.”
“What, not a fan of the newer crowd, prefer the classics?” She pointedly ignores his invitation, she can’t deny she’s attracted to him, but fucking a bassist in a public bathroom needs to be a one time experience in her life.
“‘Course, new bands ain’t got style or soul, just young pissants hoping a guitar will help them get their dick wet.”
“Because you’re so much better than that,” she rolls her eyes and he smirks, “old school bands, like, I don’t know… Samurai, more your thing I take it?”
“Oh fuck yeah, you wanna talk style, Johnny Silverhand had fuckin’ style.”
“You ever meet him?” She signs, stomach drop at the mention of that name.
“Pssh, c’mon, little young for that. Did hit one of his gigs once.”
“So, not that young, actually,” she taunts him, because she can’t resist.
“Only as old as you feel, but...” he seems to to drift off for a moment, remembering, “that gig was fucked up, remember that much.”
“They play that good?”
“Eh, played normo. But Johnny, ‘parently he had some ‘saka suit tied up backstage. Said if they didn’t get at least three encores, he’d bash the poor bastard’s faceplate in. Like I said, he had style, kid.”
“Firstly, you don’t get to call me kid after your dick has been inside me. Secondly, that all you know about the guy?”
“What? You a Silverhand fangirl?”
“I would actually enjoy killing you for saying that,” she signs and forces a smile to her lips, to make it seem lighthearted. But just the notion of being that man’s fan has left her stomach churning and her skin crawling.
“Hehe, well how about I buy you a drink to make up for it?”
“I actually got to head out now, bye.”
V is out the door before Dino can say another word or stop her. Sex isn’t exactly a prority right now, dying taking precedent. Though she’d be lying if she said a part of her didn’t want to take Dino up on his offer. Her sex drive truly knowing no bounds.
Additionally, the merc tries to limit her amount of repeat partners; Cece and Jake the exceptions because of her own odd logic. Cece and Jake are both in their forties with kids. They’d have to be out of their mind to want anything more out of V, considering a twenty-year old merc isn’t exactly step-mom material, at least not if you give a damn about your kids.Means less worries about them wanting… more.
While less tethered than them, Dino is a grade A fuckboy with the same love them and leave them attitude, so he’s low risk as far as that’s concerned. Maybe another time, when there’s not a bomb in her head.
She takes the NCART back towards Watson, feeling a little silly for pinging back and forth between the areas. But as expected, Dino was ready to spill his limited knowledge on the rockerboy with only a little bit of needling, probably just happy to oogle the merc. Rogue will be her own problem of getting information out of, given the Queen of Fixers is a little over V’s head. Maybe she can pretend she’s looking for work, granted she knows Rogue would never work with her after her reputation tanked. But, could at least get her into Rogue’s booth and a chance to have a convo.
There’s an odd, bittersweet sense of nostalgia as she gets off a stop near the club, slides her mask on, and reaches the little enclosed alleyway that leads there. Stuck in one spot in the alley, remembering the night she met up with Jackie here, half expecting to hear him on the phone with his mother. But there’s only chatter of other mercs. She takes a deep breath and curses beneath her breath when she sees the flashy red and blue poster pinned to the alley wall, graffitied over. But the band is clear, bright red flaming oni face and Samurai underneath it.
Childish as it may be, she scratches her nail up under the corner of the poster and gets a hold of it, ripping it from the wall. An odd little sense of satisfaction at the way it tears half assedly, destroying the logo and oni head. Mild act of vandalism completed, she drops the piece she ripped up and continues on her way.
Turns the corner, through the doorway, down a set of stairs, through a pair of double doors and down another set of stairs. Fellow mercs are scattered in the hallway outside of the main doors, a few stare at her, seem to be whispering. Must be her imagination, flashbacks of the other kids in The Herd mocking her start to flicker in her mind. They’re all adults here, though,way above schoolyard rumors and bullying, right?
The same bodyguard from that night is blocking the entrance to the bar, he looks down at her and scoffs. Her jaw clenches behind her mask and her stomach drops, she really is a fucking laughing stock here now, isn’t she?
“And what do you think you’re doing here?” He mocks her and she hears some snickers, a cold sweat breaking out on her skin.
“Here to drink and talk shop like anyone else,” she signs, hoping he can’t see the nervous twitch in her fingers.
“After the shitshow at Konpeki? Not happening, get lost.”
Her face burns hot with shame behind her mask and it takes every ounce of self control not to kick him. She forces herself to turn around and walk out instead, trying to behave. Trying to ignore the side glances or the soft snickers as people watch her get turned away, mocking the pathetic little merc who thought she could still have a rep after that shitshow. The fuck-up they all blame for the heist gone bad; for Jackie and Bug being gone.
When she reaches the alleyway, alone, she pulls off her mask and puts it into her bag, tugging at her hair. Her feet stomp, anger and shame hot under her skin as she walks. She wanted to prove she was strong, capable, worthy of respect, worthy of something. And all she did was prove she’s as worthless as she always thought, as her supposed clan thought.
“Fuck!” V screams her anger out as she reaches the end of the alley, and slams her fist into the wall, feeling her knuckles split open against the wall. She follows up by kicking it, she needs another boxing match something to get the anger out.
“Need a smoke?” A sly female voice asks and leaning against the wall around the corner is Rogue. V still recognizes the much older woman from when Jackie pointed her out. And her face is still recognizable from Johnny’s memories, just more wrinkled with time. Her teal fluffed up mohawk of hair now traded for long gray hair shaved on one side. Cyberware notches along her cheeks and chrome peeking out over the neckline of her shirt. She’s puffing away on a cigarette, eyebrow raised as she watches the merc like a cat watches a mouse. Rogue is exceptionally tall for a woman and casually even in her older age, V can see the maintained muscle of her abs around a chrome inset.
Dumb luck seems to be on V’s side. Rogue, if she knows V at all, knows her as the masked merc. Which means V may be able to pass as a random civilian. She double checks and casually musses with her hair, making sure her hearing aids are covered. Rubbing at her neck but turning off her choker translator.
“Appreciate the offer, but I don’t smoke,” V tells her, shrugging her shoulders and leans against the wall, hoping her body language is as casual as she intends. Even if her own voice is grinding to the ears.
“Sure looks like you need something to take the edge off.”
“Eh, I’ll survive, always do.” V picks dirt from her bleeding knuckles, “you’re Rogue, right?”
“We know each other?”
“Boss of the Afterlife, everyone knows you,” V opts for stroking the older woman’s ego, on the off chance it makes her lips even a little looser.
“Ugh,” the older woman scoffs, V’s praise not quite hitting how she wished.
“Not all it’s cracked up to be?”
“You don’t know the half of it, but ain’t too keen on that label. ‘Boss’,” she roll her eyes, ''Makes it sound like I've got an army of greasy henchmen.”
“I mean, guy inside didn’t look that greasy.”
“Cute.” A soft sarcastic lilt colors her tone, but the slight hint of an almost smile lets V know she’s at least amused by the merc.
“So, what’d you rather be called?”
“Hmm,” she hums, taking a drag off her cigarettes before breathing out the smoke, “Good question. I'd have to think about that one…”
“Mind if I shoot another question your way?”
“Why not? But ask at your own risk.”
There’s an almost condescending bite to her voice, making it clear if V doesn’t traverse this next question carefully, she may find herself back in the landfill. Something about it… attractive, if the merc is being honest. And she’s not sure if that’s a physical attraction to the much older woman or that Rogue is… what V wanted to be. Exudes the confidence, commands respect, and is a legend in Night City; no one questions her strength or her competence. Rogue truly made it in Night City, something V can only dream of now.
“You use to run with Silverhand back in the day, right? What was he like?”
“Johnny...? Where’d that come from?”
“Seem to be as many rumors about him as there were fifty years ago. And not all of 'em gel together, figured this be one of my few chances to ask someone who actually knew the guy.”
“You a media, now?”
The ‘now’ hits V’s ear the wrong way, maybe just a slip of the older woman’s tongue. But, Rogue doesn’t know V, especially not without her mask, just some random stranger striking up a conversation. For all Rogue knows the stranger could be a media, maybe V’s worrying for nothing.
“Just curious, ain’t got to answer if you don’t wanna, both know I can’t make you do shit.”
“It's good you know that,” Rogue smirks, “Johnny was… strong, arrogant, uncompromising. He'd burn down half the city just to prove he was right. And burn the other half just for fun.”
“Sounds like…” V trails off, not completely sure of what she wants to say.
“Like a kid with a box o' matches and a can of CHOOH2.”
“Still stuck by him, though, didn’t you?” V can’t help but ask, more to herself than to Rogue, but the question bugs her. Even back in the day, Rogue was a certifiable badass, hot as all hell to boot. Yet she wasted her time on some greasy manchild?
“And how exactly would you know that?”
“Lucky guess,” V quickly covers her ass, “called him a kid, but way you say it, sounds more fond than mad, ya know?”
“Maybe, doesn’t matter, won’t speak ill of the dead, anymore burning questions or can I get on with my life?”
“I ain’t stopping you,” V says, shrugging her shoulders as she watches Rogue stomp out her cigarette and walk back down the alley towards the club.
V lets out a heavy sigh, she didn’t exactly get a great deal of information. She didn’t expect to get a biopic of the guy’s life. At the very least she got a bit of a better idea of his personality, but it’s done nothing to put her at ease. Anti-corp rockerboy, reckless, unpredictable, and destructive. It doesn’t give her much more of an idea of how to handle the guy. Misty is saying to give the guy a chance to at least talk, but god knows what he’d do if he had half a chance to hurt her again. V shakes her head, she knows Misty means well, but whether it’s fate or shitty luck, being stuck with this asshole can only mean bad news. She’d be better off keeping him under lock and key. It’s not worth the risk.
She makes her way back to her apartment at that, remembering her promise to sleep. She grabs a shower as soon as she gets home, letting the hot water relax her for a moment. Ther merc changes into comfy pajama, throwing on her slightly silly but cute plush golden brown hoodie, with little bear ears. It’s ridiculous and childish, but she loves it. The softness of it making her want to burrow under the sheets and never come up. Already exhausted and ready to sleep by the time she’s placed the moonstone in the shelves at the end of her bed cubby and sprayed lavender mist over the pillows.
Her eyes are already heavy when she lays down, half asleep already, she grabs her holo, deciding to try one more time. Evelyn hasn’t called back at all, so V sends her a quick text message. Right now, the blue haired woman is her only real lead on anything that could help. Other than speaking to Takemura and… that’s a road she’d rather not travel if she doesn’t have to.
V: We need to talk, it’s important!
[Unable to deliver message. Recipient may be temporarily unavailable.]
The merc blinks at her phone screen, yawning as she puts it aside, what on earth is going on with Evelyn? There’s no way Arasaka could have linked the heist to her is there? They wouldn’t have had a chance to track V’s call, Jackie’s phone had no correspondence with Evelyn if they got it, the bot couldn’t be linked back to her. Maybe Evelyn changed numbers and ditched town? V hopes the fuck not, but it would have been the smartest thing to do. But if so, V’s one lead is gone.
Thoughts and worries flicker through her mind, but exhaustion crashes down on her before they can run rampant, slipping into sleep. Darknesss flooding her vision.
A blanket of black then neon begins to bleeds through, brighter and brighter until it blinds.
World around her shifts and she’s no longer her but him.
Bright lights in a dingy club, the cling of sweat on skin, the weight of a guitar. Hands of flesh and chrome strum the strings, vocal chords straining as his voice screams out his lyrics. Kerry not far off to the side, the rest of Samurai behind him as they play through Blistering Love. A decent sized crowd screaming and dancing along to every note they play.
And its a soft thrum at first, the chaos that starts to erupt, but not because of the music. A steady murmur thats something is wrong, then chaos bursting forth as security starts running through the crowd. Trying to push through people, shouting over the music for someone to stop, unable to draw their guns in the sea of bodies without risk of hitting someone else.
Johnny’s gaze looks over to Kerry, confirmation that his friend is seeing this too, that the attention on them is shifting elsewhere. Samurai forced to play second fiddle to the growing commotion and when he looks back to the crowd he sees her, a woman cutting her way through the audience. Sweat stuck to her brow, a split lip with a steady drip of blood, and a wild mused mohawk of teal hair. Bloody lips pulled into a smug sneer as she ducks and dodges through the crowd, away from security.
Then that soft thrum explodes into something more, someone in the crowd throws a punch at a shoving bouncer and they throw one right back. The audience breaks out into a brawl as drunk idiots start attacking the bouncers or each other; blood spraying and teeth knocked clean out. Music stopping as they know the audience is done giving a shit about them.
“Jesus fuckin’ christ,” Kerry curses as a beer bottle smashes at the back wall behind the band, nearly nailing him right in the head.
“We better delta before the pigs get called.”
“Take care of this for me, Ker,” Johnny ignores Nancy’s warning, handing Kerry his guitar. He can see her making her way towards the door, trying to slip out in the commotion with a bouncer still on her heels. He’s not letting her go without making damn sure she knows who he is. An undeniable pull of attraction to her, to the kind of woman who can turn a crowd of drunk club goers into a battle royale.
“The fuck are you doing?”
Kerry questions him, but Johnny’s already jumped off stage and into the fray, shoving and pushing his way through people. He walks surefooted, head held high and no shame as he cuts his way through. Shutting down anyone who gets in his way however he has too; a solid left hook, silver knuckles leaving their nose a cracked mess. Slamming an elbow into someone's jaw and hearing the crack of it over the noise of the crowd. All with his eyes staying focused on her, on the flash of teal hair under neon lights.
She's nearly to the backdoor, Johnny not far behind, when a heavy wraps around her upper arm. One of the bouncers finally gaining ground and trying to wrench her backwards, though he can't manage to drag the amazon of a woman back.
"Think you'd get away with this, bitch!"
Her hand pulls back to throw a punch at the bouncer, but Johnny's hands are faster, stepping in to save the day. He slams his fist onto the bouncer's face, nose cracking and teeth gnashing under the force of the blow. The man is knocked back, the woman's green eyes glaring at Johnny, she looks pissed. Lips bloody and sneering, eyes dark with distrust. Domineering and angry in her demeanor, even while he's playing hero.
He reaches over her to wrench the door open, an excuse to be in her space, taking what advantage he can of the small height difference. She's only around an inch shorter than him, the heels of his boots extending that difference slightly.
"C'mon, no reason to stick around," he says, hand on her back as he pushes her through the door into the alley.
The night air cools his sweat slick skin, the woman quick to move away from his touch as the door shuts behind him. Silence enveloping them with the noise of the club is shut out. Johnny just takes her in for a moment; hot as all hell. Sweat clinging to her skin, freckles across her cheeks, split lip, and dyed hair falling into her face. A face cold and cruel in its expression, contrasted against the flush of exertion on her skin.
"The fuck do you want?" She asks him, glaring. Tone and attitude nasty, making him smirk. Always did like the bitchy types, more fun when someone's got a bite to them.
"Just saved your ass, wouldn't kill you to say thanks," he returns, already thinking of tasting the blood on her split lip and grabbing a handful of her ass.
"Don't need your help, rockerboy." She rolls her eyes at him, if he gets half a chance he could have her eating out of the palm of his hand by daybreak. Or better yet, could find himself between her legs before the sun comes up.
Johnny's not stupid, knows damn well the effect he has. The way he can draw people in, only reason Kerry still hangs around, maybe the only reason Samurai still exists at all.
"How 'bout a drink then?" He offers, smirk on his lips. And she groans, pissed off by the littlest thing.
"Fuck off."
He watches her stomp off, eyes drawn to her ass and the swing of her hips. But he doesn't go after her. Not giving her the satisfaction of seeing him chase after her twice in one night, instead lighting himself a cigarette. He's seen her type before, runs with the Atlantis crowd; no doubt in his mind. They'll run into each other again.
And as he breathes out a cloud of smoke, the world around him obscures. Gray filling his vision, flooding it, choking him on it. Until his throat itches, his stomach churns, pain cracking through her head… her head.
A migraine wakes V up, every single cell in her body on fire, a sharp pang in the back of her skull. Her stomach clenches and twists, tighter and tighter. When she opens her eyes, the world is shifting and glitching, swimming before her, eyes unable to focus. Every muscle in her body winds itself into knots and can’t get a deep enough breath, lungs struggling to take anything in.
Relic Malfunction Detected
The words flash across her optics as she flops out of bed onto her knees, gasping for air and retching to vomit all at once. Body unsure of what to do while everything seems to fall apart at once. She clutches at her chest, claws at her rib cage desperate to feel if her heart is even still beating, begging herself to just breathe, to just breathe.
And it starts to pass, her stomach calming down, her breathing evening out. Her muscles starting to release some of the tension. She’s still dizzy and the world is still wobbly as she wipes spittle from her lips, forces herself to stand up. V needs to do something, speak to Vik, maybe he can give her something. Do something for it, but he’s made it clear he has no idea how to save her.
She trips over herself on the way to her bathroom, grabbing at her sink for some balance. Looking down with her eyes closed as she breathes, steadying herself, waiting for the new fresh wave of nausea to pass before she looks up into her sink mirror.
But it’s not her she sees. Johnny fucking Silverhand reflected back at her, leaning his hands against her sink and staring into her eyes; glare harsh with that barely contained anger he brims with. Always looking a moment away from lashing out. And when she twists her head, his follows, as natural as a reflection. Like she’s really him.
“Jesus fuck!”
She curses and jerks back, falling back onto her ass, not even minding so long as she doesn’t have to see him. V grabs at herself again, feeling that’s her. Soft flesh, not hard muscle, skin where his chrome is. Her blue painted nails, her dumb bear hoodie, her bleached hair, and her smooth face; that’s it her. That she’s still herself. And she is; for now, But for how long?
V can’t keep doing this, can’t just wait until Evelyn answers her calls or texts back, she needs to do something. Anything. Even with popping the blockers like candy, she’s seeing him, living his memories. He’s bleeding into everything and she’ll lose herself to him before long. She can’t hide away, Jackie would want her to save herself, would want her to live. And she if she intends to do that she needs to move.
The merc rises, as she’s had to so many times before. Her reflection is her own again, still woozy from the aftermath of the relic malfunction, but she pushes through to shower and change. Collecting all she needs before she leaves the apartment, marching out of the apartment building with single minded determination towards Tom’s Diner. She’s got a date with a corpo. Maybe it’s a trick and maybe he can’t help, but he’s something. As he put it so elegantly, if she intends to live, she’s got to get back in the ring and she’s been fucking around in the sidelines for too long.
So there’s this asshole; harasser in the cyberpunk fandom
Tw: Homophobic and Ablest slurs
Okay, so I don’t tend to make a lot of non-writing posts on this blog. But it is my writing blog and this pertains to mine and many other’s writing. I woke up this morning to this comment on my one-shot about pegging Johnny;
A truly awful comment, but my first instinct was not be upset but just surprised it took him so long. (He assumes he/him pronouns for everyone else, so I’ll assume them for him.)
This is who I have “lovingly” deemed Sodomy Man. And while its the first time under this particular pseudonym, he has commented on my work before, upset about the vile sodomy in my fic. You can usually tell its him, because he says stuff like “vile sodomy”, hates threesomes, cucking, or pegging. Basically if you portray Cyberpunk characters doing anything more than fucking through a hole in the sheets while making eye contact, he’ll get a wild hair up his ass. Especially if you do it with Johnny, which is hilariously ironic.
But, I digress, Sodomy Man has actually commented on several people’s fics within this fandom. At times just a passing comment and at times he has flat out spammed them, harassed them, spewed slurs at them for days. And has very nearly run people out of this fandom.
He comments under a lot of different guest names and sock puppet accounts. However, I wanna make something clear, because I’ve... looked into him a bit. TheLadyFrost is one of the guest names he likes to use and very easily, you can find there is an author within another fandom, who has that username. They are not him. They are one of the people he harasses. He has spammed comments on their fics and tried to convince people he is them, in order to bring more harassment towards them. Please, do not contact them or try to accuse them of being this person!!!!! He likes to try to cause infighting among authors, name dropping them in comments, or pretending to be them. Do not trust anything he says about other authors or if he tries to pretend to be a certain author.
Now, unfortunately, AO3 while a wonderful site in many ways, is not the best for blocking or stopping harassment, especially from guest accounts. Their advice generally boils down to limit who can comment and delete the comments. So, I wish I had better advice for how to thwart his bullshit, but tools are limited.
Instead, I’ll offer what I can, I don’t know how much it’s worth but I want every writer who may come across this who’s been harassed by this person or ever will potentially be bothered by him to know this; you are not alone and you are not the problem.
This person is, they are the one harassing people, they are the one who can only put negativity out into the world and so they attack anybody who’s capable of more. They’re the one so pathetic, they need to try cause drama and spew bullshit, because they have nothing else going on in their lives.
And if he or any commenter like him, has made you feel alone or unwanted in this fandom. It’s simply not the case. I don’t want to attach the link to this post specifically, because tumblr can be weird with links and I don’t want the server specifically associated with this loser. But there is a Cyberpunk discord server, the Cyberpunks. Which me and many other writers for the fandom are in. The link is pretty easy to find, but you can always message me for the invite, either here or on my personal blog. It’s a lovely community of people, if you hang around the right lairs you may find me rambling about my oc. And you can come chill with all of us and just know you’re truly wanted in this community, this fandom; no matter what some jackass with a sodomy fixation thinks.
Thank you for the SilverV fic, the ASL detail in the end hit just right. Also, the way they talk made me fall for them one more time. Sorry if this is brief, but I really wanted to share
Thanks and enjoy your day <3<3
AHHHHH, thank you so much!!!!! Honestly the second my brain thought of that I was like, I need to include and one of the first signs Johnny would wanna learn for my V is the sign for princess, because *screams about this ship*
I'm so glad you enjoyed it and thank you so much for the kind words, it means so much to me!!!!! Just *screams*
Jesus fuck the pegging fic up and killed me with joy!!!! Everything about it is just magical?? Oh god, just- two dorks in denial. V contemplating potential names and deciding they both suck. Johnny having burn scars on his neck. ALL THE GOOD BANTER!!!!! I can't get enough they just bounce off eachother and it's glorious. im normally not one for long prep scenes, but you just make it work SO WELL, she caresss (and also likes teasing johnny back). I just about died at the height issues and "like a Chihuahua humping a Doberman".
God this is amazingly written and I got so flustered reading it!!! Another story hit out of the park!! I found your cyberpunk writing before the game even came out and it singlehandedly sold me on silverv before I knew anything about the story and ignited a love for it thats continued til now and just thank you so much for sharing your awesome work.
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!
I'm gonna actually combust, this is so sweet!!!!! The second I saw this my face just turned bright red, its so kind, I'm honestly blown away by all the positive feedback on my pegging bullshit, because I was like, this will either be as fun to everyone else as it is to me, or I'll induce cringe coma's in everyone who views it. So it's so nice to know so many folks enjoy it and I'm actually dying, everyone is just too kind and *screms*
Also, I will say, I know objectively my first two porn oneshots were like two of the first in the SilverV fandom/ship; but every time someone tells me that they were some of the first fics they read for the ship or I got them into the ship, I just actually implode! It makes me so happy even if it always takes me back because I'm like, "reading my dumbass V get plowed is a part of the silverv pipeline what??????!!!!!!"
Again, just thank you so much for the kind message anon, I never feel like text quite communicates how much messages like this mean to me, but know like I'm a dork screaming at my computer it makes me so fuckin' happy!
Honey, I Laugh When It Sinks In. (Johnny/Fem!V) NSFW
Note: So, ya girl’s having whore hours. And I wrote Johnny getting his butthole reamed by my fem!V’s strap.
Warnings: peggings, assplay, sex toys, oral sex, cum fixation, dumb jokes
Summary: Johnny's got his body back, that's nice. Both him and V are super alive, doing great things. Those great things do mostly involved fucking each other and denying the fact they love each other; because they're dumbasses. But more importantly, now that Johnny can interact with real life object, V has a chance to fuck him with a strap-on. And doesn't that just sound like a fun time.
The fact that Johnny to some degree likes his ass played with is a secret to absolutely no one. But especially not to V, she’s not sure the two could have secrets from each other after their time being brain roommates. Dreams of his memories haunted her for months and the guy did a lot of fucking. It wasn’t uncommon to fall asleep and find herself in Johnny’s skin being reamed by Rogue’s strap-on or getting fucked after letting Kerry top for a change.
There’s not a lot of mystery left between V and Johnny, to say the least.
But, for some reason, Johnny’s ass has remained uncharted territory for the merc. Well, maybe not for no reason at all. Most of their sex life has been while he’s a digital ghost rattling around in her skull and unable to interact with real life objects. And she never quite had the courage to see if that limitation included strap-ons and butt plugs, though she has a sneaking suspicion it probably did, she doubts Arasaka included a butthole exploit in their tech.
However, the two are no longer dependent on Arasaka’s ass related limits. He’s real, now, out of her skull and back in the flesh. His original flesh even, after they found it in the depths of Arasaka’s bullshit amongst the other bodies the corp had gotten their hands on over the years.
It was a whole thing; but he’s here now and they’re fucking again. Because that’s apparently just what they do. Probably because she’s hopelessly… infatuated with him and knows casual sex is probably all she’ll ever get. Because he clearly still loves Rogue and could never want her beyond sex-
V promptly smacks herself in the head, groaning as her thoughts begin to spiral. She twists in her bed, crushing a pillow to her chest. Trying to hype herself up into asking for a chance to peg Johnny turned into wallowing about her stupid fucking feelings. Because every thought about him turns into wallowing about her stupid fucking feelings.
She hears the shower turn off, having nagged Johnny into taking one as soon as they got home. Which means it’s almost time to ask and she wonders why this is making butterflies swim in her stomach, why she’s so nervous? The merc is no stranger to pegging or taking control in the bedroom.
Maybe because she does lean towards the submissive side of things and Johnny leans towards the dominant, the rockerboy having taken charge in most of their bedroom interactions. Maybe because it’s Johnny and the idea that he may not feel comfortable doing this with her, the idea that there’s a part of him he’d give others but not her, makes a pit form in her gut.
She drops the pillow and lightly smacks herself in the head again; for fucks sake she’s asking to peg the man, not asking for his hand in marriage. Not that she would ever ask for that… That would be weird. Her face is bright red at that thought, feeling like a school girl fantasizing about being Mrs. Silverhand someday. Mrs. Linder?
Both of those sound awful, actually.
There’s the padding of footsteps across her apartment as Johnny leaves the bathroom. The merc moving to sit at the edge of the bed as he comes walking closer. Her favorite geriatric rockerboy, condolences to Kerry, is absolutely shameless and as much as she chides him, she certainly doesn’t mind the show.
Johnny is completely naked, save for a towel casually on his shoulders as he ruffles it through his overgrown dark hair. Damn near every inch of skin and chrome on display to the merc. Her mouth dries as she watches a bead of water run down his stomach, past the inked skin of his ribs. V’s eyes then shift to get a look at his ass, her fixation of the night. He’s on the flatter side, to say the least, broad shoulders and narrow trim hips. But it belongs to him and thats all that matters, pancake ass or otherwise.
“You’re tracking water everywhere,” she scolds him, comfortably using her voice around him. Maybe due to left over remnants of his own brain in hers or just because it’s Johnny.
“Eh, Nibbles will clean it up.”
“What part of ‘don’t let him drink shower water’ do you not understand?”
“The part where you tell me what to do.”
“You’re lucky you’re cute, you know that?”
“Am I?”
He’s suddenly in her face, hands pressed to the mattress on each side of her hips, as he leans into her space. A smirk on his lips, damp hair falling into his eyes, and forehead nearly knocking into her own. She can feel the heat coming off his body, the droplets of water rolling off his skin and onto hers. And before another word can be said they’re kissing, drawn to each other in a way neither can explain, coming together like this as natural as breathing.
It feels like a tingle of electricity under her skin wherever her touches, every cell in her body begging for his tongue. The pure relief of feeling his tongue push into her mouth, to feel the scratch of his beard on her skin. It feels right, every time, as if this is just how they’re meant to be. Like a part of her soul is finally slotting back into place.
She wraps her arms around his neck, tangling her fingers in his wet hair as he kisses her, deep and heavy. The taste of cigarette smoke and mint gum still clinging to his tongue, the latter meant to help suppress the cravings for the former. Different from how his kisses tasted as an engram, but still so distinctly him.
V breaks the lip locks when his hands start to push under her shirt, a soft whimper on her lips, as badly as she wants him anyway she can get him, she can’t lose her nerve in asking for what she wants most tonight. His mouth is on her neck in a second, licking and biting at her pulse point, beard scratching the tender skin as she gasps.
“Johnny, I.. fuck,” she whines as he bites at the skin, “can, uh, fuck, can I… peg you?”
His mouth stops moving on her neck and that pit in her gut comes back, terrified she ruined something. Wanting to tell him to forget it, pretend she never asked, as he pulls away from her pulse point and she misses his touch, only a second apart and she’s starved for his affection. But then he pulls away enough for her to see his face, the grin on his lips, and it's a rush of relief.
“That what got you acting like a basket case all day?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Fuckin’ knew something was up; acted like you were a second away from humping my leg all day, then send me off to shower all by myself.”
“I wasn’t that bad.”
“You seriously spent all day thinking about fuckin’ my ass, didn’t you?”
“Not all day.”
“Jesus christ,” he lets out something between a laugh and a breath, she can’t help but giggle too, “well, then, show me what you got, princess.”
And she surges forward, clumsily wrenching her fingers into his hair as she kisses him, teeth nearly clacking together in her messy excitement. Deep but quick, not wanting to spend much longer in this awkward position, she pulls away with a bite to his lower lip.
“Lay down on the bed, for me?” She asks softly when she breaks away, looking up at him with big eyes and a bat of her eyelashes. And she can see for a moment, the mischievous light in his eyes, the impulse to refuse, to be a brat. But he rolls his eyes and does what she asks, behaving for now.
“You’re lucky you’re cute, you know that?” he mimics her words from earlier as plops back with his hair against the pillows and she giggles, scrambling to straddle him. To have him naked beneath her.
And what a sight that makes. Johnny is unfairly gorgeous, something she’s thought for far longer than she’d care to admit. Long dark hair wetting her pillows, deep brown eyes looking up at her with lust, the messy scruff of his beard, the scar over his lip, and the burn scars that trace up the side of his neck. Beyond the visual, as she settles over him, she can feel his hard cock smearing precum across her skin. Good to know he’s excited.
His hands squeeze her hips, the warmth of flesh and the chill of silver sending sparks up her spine. He squeezes tightly and the hint of a smirk that teases at his lips tells her he’s about to say something stupid.
“Hate to break your heart, V, but, this isn’t exactly what pegging means.”
“I’m not about to just ram a strap-on up your ass dry, Johnny, it’s a process.”
“Oh, I get prep work, damn, didn’t know I was that special.”
“Kiss me before I kill you,” she taunts, leaning over him to capture his lips. She pushes her tongue deep into his mouth, devours that distinct taste of him, getting another fill of it before she forces herself away.
It’s her turn now to latch onto Johnny’s neck, finding a spot to leave a mark not unlike the one he no doubt left her. The taste of his skin beneath her tongue, the heavy sigh of pleasure from his mouth as she sucks, bites and licks. Only when she’s certain, she’s marred his skin, does she pull away with a wet sound. Bruised skin looking back at her. She smiles at her bit of handiwork but can’t admire it for long, wanting to taste him again just as soon as she’s stopped.
V peppers kisses, licks, and bites across his skin. From his shoulder to his jaw, leaving faint little bruises wherever her teeth get involved. He groans and sighs under the touch, just soaking it in, as starved for it as she is. V can feel his cock stiff and leaking against her thigh as she nips his jawline, kisses down and across his throat, to run her tongue along the other side of his neck now. His hands grope and squeeze at her ass as she works him over, feeling the roughness of his scarred skin under her tongue. She gives the same treatment, sucking and biting every inch of flesh she can.
“Fuck,” he curses, rocking his head back further into the pillows, instinctively trying to give her more access.
V shifts her lower body, giving herself room to reach between them and touch him. She wants to make him cum before she even gets the strap in, maybe more than once, overwhelm him with pleasure and get him relaxed before she slides inside fully. The merc wraps her hand around him, feeling the heat and weight of his cock, wet with water and precum. He groans at the touch, a rumble she can feel in his throat as she kisses it.
“Might need an anatomy lesson, sweetheart, that’s not quite my ass,” he taunts, earning him a harsh bite to his neck and a tighter grip on his dick.
“Can you be patient for a fuckin’ minute? I’ll get there when I get there.”
“And will that be some time this year or next? Oh fuck, fuck,” he chokes on his words as she begins stroking him in earnest, using his precum to keep him slick as she works.
The merc has plenty of lube in the little drawer area under her bed, along with all her toys, but for now she wants to stick to the basics. It's just the first round for him and barely a precursor of what's to come. She bites and sucks his neck as she strokes him, first slow and languidly, just feeling every inch of him. Feeling the way he twitches in her hand, the way each stroke brings more precum, how he groans a little louder each time she gets to the head of his cock, flushed red and more sensitive than the rest of him.
Then she starts to get quicker, shorter, almost rougher strokes of her hand, working harder and faster to feel him cum beneath her. His breathing getting quicker, more curses beneath his breath, rumbles of them in his throat. He’s getting close, fingers sinking into her hip tighter and tighter, the other gripping the sheets as she builds his pleasure as high as she can with just her hand.
“Fuck!”
Johnny’s body draws tight, a flush across his skin, as he twitches once more in her hand and cums. White shooting quickly across his stomach and chest, cum sticking to his skin and her’s. It’s nothing compared to how much he’s left inside her before, no floodgates broke open, just enough to make a mess. She shamelessly licks and sucks off what he left on her hand, hearing him groan at the sight, the bitter salty taste of it heavy on her tongue. And she knows it should be gross to her, the taste of it, but she loves it.
Once her hand is licked clean, she moves over him to lave her tongue over his chest, catching the cum that landed over his skin. A rumble of a chuckle in his chest as she works her way down; lapping sweat, water, and cum off of him.
“Swear, could bust into a cup and you’d down it like water, wouldn’t ya?”
“Fuck off,” she curses against his skin, already having licked the cum off of his rib tattoo, already chasing down drop of it that’s dripped down his stomach.
“Such a little cum whore.” He lazily rubs his hand through her hair, taunting her as she licks his stomach and hips clean of any cum, her face feeling like it’s on fire.
She pulls away from his skin, once she’s convinced she’s gotten most of the cum off his skin and the head of his cock starts to bump her chin.
“Spread,” she demands, trying to maintain some mask of domme-ness as she taps his thigh. Johnny bends his knee, spreading his legs slightly and hands grabbing at the pillow over his head; a painfully beautiful sight to the merc.
“Fuckin’ finally, about time,” he responds, because he’s still an asshole.
“Again, not going in dry, you’re not getting the strap quite yet.”
“Ugh….”
She pinches his thigh and he just grins, finding her annoyance just oh so entertaining. V takes a moment to peel off her shirt, feeling a bit of relief from the fever on her skin, open air hitting her sweaty flesh. And she can feel his eyes on her when she does so, brown eyes staring at her small breasts, following her pierced stiff nipples. As much as he’s bitched about her being a member of the itty bitty titty committee, he seems to always gawk at them when he has a chance. She likes to think that… means something , but it probably just means he’s a slut.
V considers taking off her panties too, slick and sweat making them stick to her neglected cunt, but that would require far too much maneuvering to make it worth the effort. Especially when tonight isn’t about that. She’s able to balance on her knees to lean over the edge of the bed, rolling out the underneath compartment to get what she needs. And she can feel that stare now hoving on her bent over ass, not that he can even get a decent look at it from where he’s laying. But that won’t stop him from ogling apparently.
“So, when do I get to fuck your ass?” He asks as she’s grabbing lube and a butt plug from her sex toy stash.
“You’ve played with my ass before,” she says, kind of surprised, memories of his fingers and tongue in that specific hole.
“Haven’t fucked it yet, which just seems like a crime, quite frankly.”
“Oh no,” she rolls her eyes, “not a crime, we’ve never done one of those before.”
“Would you let me fuck your ass?”
In a heartbeat, she thinks immediately and is so happy he no longer lives in her skull.
“Hmm, maybe, but it's your ass on the chopping block tonight, I’m ‘fraid.”
“Yours is so much nicer though.”
“Yeah… that’s not saying much, gonna be like fucking a hole in a wooden plank.”
“Or you could just give me a titty fuck, oh wait.”
She grabs the strap-on she intends to use, a big cyan blue one that she’s been waiting entirely too long to try out. And she shakes it in front of him.
“I’m either gonna fuck you or beat you to death with it, I swear to god, Johnny.”
He grins and laughs, she’s laughing too. Unable to help it, their back and forth always bringing a lightness to her chest. It just feels like them, as they should be. Two dumbasses making fun of each other.
V has what she needs except for one other thing, she stretches to reach the night stand and grab her phone, having to lean over Johnny to do so. And she can feel Johnny looking at her funny, brows furrowed for a moment, as he watches her pull up the app she needs.
“Are you checking your fuckin’ email, what is this?”
She laughs, unable to resist a chance to tease; “Oh yeah, just checking my texts, me and River are supposed to do something after this.”
“Haha, that’s so funny,” he says dryly, a bite to his words, as he suddenly grabs her hair and looks into her eyes, “mention the pig’s name in bed again and I’ll fuck you in front of him.”
His tone is on the harsh side, but his pull in her hair is barely rough enough to feel it. The threat and movement only serving to make her face scarlet and her cunt slicker. Johnny has always had some… jealous, possessive tendencies, especially in the bedroom when she pushes him just a bit. And she knew exactly what she was doing by mentioning River’s name specifically, the former cop always an oddly shaped sore spot for Johnny.
She kisses him, soft and quick, before pulling away. His grip not even hard enough to control her movements.
“It's an app that vibrates the butt plug, Johnny,” she explains, smiling as she quells his worries, though something in her still has to wonder why he has them.
And its faint, but she can see a hint of red come across his cheeks, pink behind the scruff on his cheeks.
“Oh, well, carry on then,” he says, letting go of her hair and running his hand down her back.
“All my attention is on you, promise.”
“Fuckin’ better be,” he grumbles under his breath as he falls back against the pillow, she doesn’t see embarassed Johnny often, his lack of shame truly astounding. But, when she can manage to get him flushed, it's adorable.
“You’re such a gonk.”
“Shouldn’t there be a way to sync it with your neuroware or something, I don’t fuckin’ know.”
“I’m not installing buttplug tech in my brain, Johnny, that’s a malware nightmare waiting to happen.”
“Didn’t have to mention that asshole.”
“Stop pouting, only asshole I’m worried about right now is yours,” she jokes, getting back to where she can comfortable play with him, starting to cover her fingers in a healthy dose of lube.
“Ugh,” he groans, “that was so stupid, its a miracle I’m still hard.”
“Being a slut isn’t a miracle, Johnny.”
“Is the way I do it- fuck,” he gasps and curses as she slides a lubed up finger inside of him, “you could fuckin’ warn a guy.”
“You said you wanted me to hurry up, you don’t get to bitch about it now.”
He lets out a quiet groan as she works one finger inside of him, feeling the heat of him around the digit. V has small fingers, one of many drawbacks to her petite stature. One finger doesn’t even stretch him, more so just getting lube into him, so everything that comes next has an easier time sliding in. She leaves him empty for just a moment as she coats a second finger in lube and begins to work both digits inside of him.
Tighter with a second finger added, stretching him a bit more as she shifts and scissors them inside of him. He groans a bit at the added pleasure, but his sounds are still soft, her fingers not thick or long enough to give him exactly what he needs. More lube and she adds a third finger, which makes him curses, cock twitching as she does her best to prepare him.
With her other hand she starts to stroke his dick, earning a deep throaty sound, the combined pleasure making him nosier. V works faster, wanting to wring more of those sounds from him, As she works her fingers inside of him quicker, fucking them into him as deeply and fast as she can, a soft squelching noise starts to ring out combining with the wet slide of her hand on his cock. His hips squirm and writhe, bringing himself down further on her fingers, just to thrust up into her hand.
“Fuck,” he’s reaching up and gripping the pillows again, expression tight as she toys with him, “fuck, fuck, V!”
His cock twitches in her hand she moves to wrap her lips around the head of it, swirling her tongue over his heated skin just as he cums, something between a curse and a growl as he paints the inside of her mouth white. That same salty bitter taste coating her tongue, more of it this time, that she swallows down without shame. She pulls her mouth off of him with a wet pop, her fingers leaving him with another squelching sound.
“Needed it straight from the tap this time?” He tries to sass her, but his voice is a breathy rasp.
“Gon-gonna make you cum one more time before I use the strap, alright?”
Something between a whine and groan leaves his lips, but he spreads his thighs a little wider, pushes his head a bit further back against the pillows. She rolls her eyes, just thankful his stamina is good enough to withstand all the overstimulation. V covers the butt plug in lube, a black silicone one with a flared base, tech inside to make it vibrate. Once it’s covered, slick as it can be, she gently pushes Johnny’s thigh a little big further out and slides it inside, Johnny cussing at the wider stretch of the toy compared to her fingers. There’s not much resistance to the stretch of it inside of him, every fiber of her dying to tease him for being a slut. But she stays nice, instead grabbing her phone with the app open.
Johnny honestly, probably doesn’t need as much prep work as she’s doing, Though, she is mostly doing it because watching him cum his brains out is a fun time. But he clearly is ready for the main attraction of the evening, her strap. So, she won’t drag this one out too long, she decides looking over the vibration settings and hitting the highest.
“Jesus fuck!” He yells out, not expecting the intense vibrations of the plug. His hips grinding and thrusting, squirming from the pleasure of it buzzing against his prostate. The whirr of the toy audible even through his groans and moans.
And she can feel her mouth watering at the sight of him trying not to whimper against the buzz of the toy, hips moving on instinct as it works it’s magic, hard flushed cock twitching with pleasure. V grabs his narrow hips and pins them down against the bed, feeling him squirm under her touch. And she takes his cock back into her mouth, but this time she doesn’t hesitate to swallow him down as deeply as she can, feeling the slide of it on her tongue, the head pressing into her throat.
“God damn it,” he curses and both his hands grab at the back of her head, pressing her down further, “you need more fuckin’ cum?”
She gags a little as he starts fucking her face, no longer able to keep his hips pinned, as he keeps her head in place. V relaxes her throat as best she can, just letting him use it as a fleshlight while the plug vibrates inside of him. His pace is brutal, trying to match the intensity of the vibration as he fucks her throat.
“Such a fuckin’ whore for my cum, two loads not enough, huh, princess? Needed to feel me cum down your fuckin’ throat too?”
She’s unable to respond, too busy being choked on Johnny’s cock, mouth a drooling mess as he fucks her face. But each word, little comment and taunt makes her clit throb, makes her that much wetter. And the thought of reaching down and fingering herself is so tempting, but Johnny isn’t going to last long. Between her throat around his cock and the toy in his ass, if she bothers to touch herself, she’ll only work herself up more.
Sure enough, just a few more messy thrusts, then his cock is throbbing against her tongue and he’s cumming down her throat just like he promised. That familiar taste coating her mouth as she swallows every last drop, even when she catches herself nearly coughing on it.
He pulls his hands from her hair, still whining as the toy vibrates, V having to take a minute to come up for air and catch her breath. Once the lightheaded feeling passes away she grabs her phone and turns off the vibrating, Johnny’s body relaxing as he gets a break from stimulation, though not for long. She gives him a moment to adjust before softly pulling the plug out of him, earning a sound suspiciously close to a whimper. V puts the plug aside and grabs the strap, Johnny catching his breath, still hard and leaking by some miracle, as she secures it over her underwear.
A bright vivid blue strap, thick and long. She slathers it in lube, no such thing as too wet, as she empties the rest of the tube over the toy. The blue silicone shining with the slick gel. Johnny watches her as she lubes it up, she can nearly feel the impatience radiating off of him.
“Any position you prefer for this?” She asks, wanting to make sure he’s as comfortable as possible. Johnny responds by rolling over onto his knees, ass up in the air with his face in the pillow.
“Should be easier like this,” he murmurs into the pillow and then chooses to wiggle his ass at her, like the weirdo he is.
“Don’t exactly have much worth shaking, Johnny,” she taunts, giving him a small sharp smack to the ass.
“Hey, you’re the one who wanted to fuck it so bad.”
She rolls her eyes and prepares to finally peg Johnny. She’s on her knees behind him and would like to line up her toy with his asshole, but… there seems to be a newly discovered logistical issue. She tries to raise herself up higher, but her hips can’t quite align with his ass. She’s well aware that Johnny is over a foot taller than her, but it only becomes a problem at the weirdest of times. She kind of assumed since he can fuck her from behind, she’d have no trouble returning the favor, but… alas.
“Can you get your butt any lower?”
“Are you kidding me?”
“No… “
“This is what I get for fuckin’ a hobbit, I swear.”
“Just lower your ass, please.”
Johnny does his best to bring his ass down as low as he can and with a little finagling and the knowledge that she’ll probably have awful leg cramps for it, she’s able to get the head of the strap aligned with his hole.
She grips his hips and brings him back onto it as she slowly slides it inside as deeply as she can. A long low groan leaves Johnny’s throat, something that sounds like the word ‘finally’ With a bit of effort, she’s able to start slowly thrusting into him, watching it slide in and out of him. Hearing each grunt and curse as she fills him, the squelching of the strap sliding inside his slick hole. Slow direct long pushes into him, her thigh muscles already burning from the effort.
V runs her hand down the expanse of his back, the freckled skin of his shoulders, and she wants to kiss it. To kiss his back and shoulders while she fucks him. And when she does her best to lay further over his back, she can barely kiss his shoulders with entirely too much effort, she must look ridiculous. This is ridiculous, she finds herself giggling, stomach hurting as she laughs.
“Are you- are you laughing?” Johnny asks, voice incredulous and she feels bad to beg him for a chance to do this, but in this position it’s just not working well.
“I’m sorry, I just, I feel like a Chihuahua trying to hump a Doberman, Johnny.” She says through laughter as she pulls the strap-on out of him. And he’s laughing too, chuckling as he rolls back over, staring at her.
And she’s sure she looks ridiculous, red faced and giggling with a blue lubed strap-on around her hips. She buries her face in her hands, unable to stop laughing at how fucking ridiculous it is, she’s too short to peg that way. Then his hands are wrapping around her wrists and he’s pulling them down, back in her space. And there’s a soft smile on his lips, that forms soft wrinkles around his eyes, a gentleness in his gaze. He’s so pretty and she can’t even fuck him right, the world is cruel. Johnny kisses her through her laugher, a soft press of their lips, before he pulls away. He lays back against the pillows, like he was before the not so bright idea of trying doggy style.
“Here,” he spreads his legs, smile still on his lips, “let’s try it like this.”
“Thank you,” she says through a giggle, moving to try this again.
It’s much easier with him laying down on his back, able to raise his hips easily to meet the strap-on. And she can look at his face now, which she definitely considers a plus. She can stay in a comfortable kneeling position as she lines it up perfectly and sinks into him again. His teeth sink into his bottom lip, head shifting back as she fills him again. Comfortably so this time and able to see his cock leaking precum onto his stomach as she fucks him.
Her nails dig into his hips as she begins thrusting into him, listening to the wet sound of it pushing inside of him. She keeps her motions slow and smooth, not wanting to fuck him senseless quite yet, watching for ever sharp intake of air from him. Staring at the flush across his skin, the sheen of sweat across his flesh. The groans, the sighs, and curses he lets out with every thrust of the toy into him.
“Faster, V, fuck, I ain’t gonna break.”
“Know what I’m doing,” she says, just barely speeds up, wanting to tease him, to drag it out.
“That remains to be seen, fuck, c’mon, harder,” he tries to demand, writing his hips to meet each thrust of the strap, trying to change the pace.
“Nothing wrong with me taking my time, patience won’t kill you,” she teases, getting just a little harsher with the thrusts, just enough to hear the slap of her thighs hitting his, the soft pap of skin hitting skin. And he groans, eyes closed for a minute before opening again, a look in them that she’s seen too many times before.
“Nah, fuck this,” he says, then she’s being pushed back, metal and flesh hand shoving her against the bed as the world shifts around her.
“Hey!” She yells out as she’s suddenly on her back, looking up at Johnny who’s now straddling her hips. But she doesn’t have it in her to be mad, not when he’s naked on top of her, with hair falling into his eyes.
The shift in position made the strap-on slide out of him again, but Johnny wastes no time, bringing his ass down onto it, filling himself with the dildo. And she realizes he’s going to ride it cowgirl… cowboy style. He leans puts his hands back on the bed behind him, for leverage as he begins to do just that, bouncing on the silicone cock, hard and fast.
“Won’t fuck me right, gotta do it my goddamn self.”
“Swear to fuck,” she squeezes his hips, watching the way his cock bounces as he fucks himself on her strap, “next time I’m tying you down and gagging you.”
“Look forward to it,” he says, a wicked grin telling her how powerful her threat really is.
Johnny sets a brutal pace, as he’s one to do, his weight coming down on his hips heavy and powerful with every bounce. He barely pulls himself off of it with every movement, lifting himself just an inch off the slick toy before he’s bringing his weight back down. Its desperate, frenetic movements, just fucking himself on the toy. Each movement brings the slap of flesh clapping together, the squelch of the toy pushing into him, and the soft grind of the strap’s harness into her clit through her underwear. Not enough to get her off, but enough to make her whine.
And she tries to meet his pace, to thrust up into him, but Johnny doesn’t give her a chance, every time his weight comes down on her, it pins her hips in place, leaves her to lay there and let him have his fun. Just to watch as he rides it, as it slides in and out of him, barely out as he’s just desperate to grind the toy into the deepest parts of him. Let her mouth water as she watches his flushed red cock drip with precum and bounce along with his body.
“Fuck, you look so good like this, Johnny,” she tells him, just staring and Johnny groans, grinding himself down onto the dildo.
“Yeah,” his voice is breathy, panting through the words, “like watching me ride your cock?”
“Mmhmm, so fuckin’ beautiful…”
Her words trail off vaguely, squeezing his hips, just staring at him. Sweaty tanned skin, the ink that marks his ribs and arm, the rough flesh of his scars, freckles she could map out with her tongue if he let her. Broad shoulders, muscled bicep on one side and solid chrome on the other. Long dark hair with those deep brown eyes. The thick trail of hair that goes down his stomach. The trim narrow hips grinding him down onto the blue toy, his thick cock that really does deserve all the hype he gives it.
“Christ V,” he curses, voice rough and she can see the flush across his cheeks again, “stop fuckin’ looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” She asks, watching him rub a hand over his face, why is he embarrassed? Does he not expect her to look at him when he’s fucking himself on her silicone dick?
“Like, like, fuck!”
V gasps as his body goes tight, cock twitching as cum splashes across chest and chin, hot on her skin. A stray drop hitting her lip, only there for a moment before she licks it off, Johnny goes slack on top of her. Body relaxed and loose as his orgasms works its way through him, cock throbbing as a few more dribbles of cum drip onto her stomach. After a moment, Johnny curses again, blinking as he comes back to earth. Another moment and he starts to pull himself off of the strap.
“Can’t say that went exactly how I planned, but-eep!”
V squeals as he starts ripping off the strap-on harness, throwing it aside without any care before he’s yanking her underwear off, air hitting her slick cunt. He throws her panties across the apartment without another thought.
“Johnny, what are you do- oh fuck!”
Before she can finish the sentence he’s between her thighs, legs thrown over his shoulder as he buries his tongue inside of her. She grabs onto his hair on instinct as he begins to lick up every drop of slick inside of her, painfully wet after all she’d done to him with no relief for herself. Johnny eats pussy like a man starved, making groans and grunts of pleasure against her core as laps at her insides. Like he could really lick away every drop of slick, even as each swipe of his tongue makes her whine and as she just gets wetter.
Then his mouth is at her swollen clit and she’s seeing stars as focuses in on the most sensitive part of her. Never knowing when he’s going to lick patterns against the bundle of nerves or suck on it, his actions are quick and unpredictable, but everything makes her cry out. Her hips squirm and grind against his face, hands unintentionally pushing her into her center at the same time. Johnny’s arms wrap around hips and pin them to the mattress.
“Fuck, I-I’m close, Johnny, I-”
A harsh suck on her clit, the scratch of his beard against her core, and she’s gone. Toes curling and fingers tight in his hair, a keening moan on her tongue as the world goes blank. Pleasure hitting its peak and overcoming every cell in her body, a mess of her wet coating Johnny’s tongue and chin, that he licks up without hesitation.
After another moment he comes up for air, leaving her boneless and panting as she tries to get her bearings back. She didn’t expect for Johnny to touch her like the, meaning for the night to be completely about the pegging, but she really should have known. V’s sure the rockerboy would take it as personal offense if she didn’t cum at least once during sex with him.
The merc is pulled up to the pillows and against Johnny’s chest, the two settling in as they catch their breath. She’s sure the apartment is a wreck right now, things thrown haphazardly, there’s lube in her bedsheets, but can’t find the energy to truly care. V buries her head into his chest, listening to his heartbeat, smelling the musk of his skin, at peace just laying here against him.
“Can’t sleep with your hearing aids in, you know that, V,” Johnny says, skimming his fingers over the shell of her ears, just barely touching the little devices.
“I can sometimes…” She whines, wanting to fully hear his heartbeat and snoring while she sleeps. .
“And you’ll wake up with your ears rubbed raw.”
She glares up at him, pouting as he takes her hearing aids out for her, putting them on the side table. He looks back down at her, then brings his hands as high as he can so she can see them.
“Good night, princess,” he signs and she can’t be upset anymore, the sight of his admittedly sloppy sign language always making her heart melt. A flush of red crawling up her cheeks as she nuzzles her face into his chest, unable to hear his heartbeat, but still feeling the rise and fall of his chest with every breath. Mururing a good night against his skin as she drifts off.
Can You Feel The Sun? (Chapter Eleven): I'll float through death, haunting you
Notes: This chapter had a slight impact on me emotionally, do with that what you will. Please, please listen to the content/trigger warnings. This chapter is essentially being stuck in a severely depressed, traumatized, and suicidal person's head for 16k words. If you are not in a place to handle that right now, come back another time, or give it a skip, or after you read it go frolic with puppies for a few hours. I cannot provide those puppies, but I wish you luck in finding them.
Word Count: 16232
Chapter Warnings: Depression, Trauma, Angst, Blood, Alcohol Use, Violence, Gore, Suicidal Ideation, Suicide Attempt/Aborted Suicide Attempt, Motor Vehicle Accident, Human Trafficking, Implication of Child Abduction/Abuse (possibly overt), I think that's everything.... is that everything....
If you haven’t yet, you can read the previous chapter here!~
V isn’t quite sure how long she lays on the ground, crying out the last of her tears. Then she feels the warmth of sunlight spilling through her window. She needs to get up, needs to move, but for what? The merc wishes so much to just lay down and die, to just let it all go. She’s going to die anyway, isn’t she? She wishes it could at least be a peaceful one, to melt into the earth and never be seen again. But instead this is what she gets; a violent end for a violent life. Years of seeking control over her own existence, of searching for a place in this world; only to be taken over and replaced by another.
Her eyes land on her window, following the warm glow of sunlight, too warm on her skin. And her stomach clenches. Sun shining through the fractured glass, her blood staining it. A physical symbol of him, of what he did, how he hurt her. She doesn’t want to see it; doesn't want to think about it. Her body moves on instinct across the room, closing the shutters. The room feels instantly darker, only the harshness of unnatural light glowing within it. And it feels right, better. To close it all out.
V scrambles to think of what to do next, her brain still mush. She scratches at the back of her neck, touching her chipslot where that monster hides and immediately shuts out the thought, if she thinks, she’ll cry. She knows it. She’ll climb into a pit and never climb out. Spend all her six months crying in a dark apartment.
Her hair is greasy with blood still sticking to pieces of it, though her skin feels cleaner. The idea that Vik and Misty had to bathe her while she was out of it flickers through her mind, making her want to die. A shower may help, clean herself up something proper and feel human again, at any rate. Its something she can actually deal with, something she can take care of when everything else is out of her control.
The merc goes to her bathroom and sets to taking off the bandages that cover her upper half. Vik knows well enough not to send her home in bandages and expect them to last. If they were still holding her together, she’d still be sitting in his clinic. She unties all the bandages, leaving blood smeared gauze across her bathroom sink. Nothing falls apart or starts gushing crimson, so she’ll take it as a win.
There’s a fresh scar running down her right forearm. She tests her fingers and hand, spelling star names to see if her fingers move without pain. The nerves seem fine, muscles a little weak, but she can still sign easily and should still be able to wield a gun or a knife. Much more may prove difficult, maybe she can work on rebuilding the strength in it. Not that it will matter much… in the long run…
She shakes her head, trying to displace the somber thoughts, trying to just focus on getting from A to B. And while it’s not a grand goal, right now B is just the shower. Ther merc notices some more new scars across her chest and stomach, but focuses instead on pulling off the sweatpants.
V runs the hottest water she can stand and sits on her shower floor, pressing her back to the wall and holding her knees for a moment. Hot water pouring down on her and flushing her skin pink. Her throat tightens and her eyes sting, the desire to cry again, but she stops herself, holds it in. This isn’t what she wants, six months of crying and choking back pills.
She rubs at her eyes, trying to focus on cleaning herself. Feeling her scalp as she washes her hair, there’s a faint trace of scars underneath the strands, but nothing she thinks would be noticeable to the naked eye. Vik’s worked his magic, yet again, or perhaps that’s just the magic of modern medicine. Her hair was left untouched, no bald spots, or places that had to be shaved down. The average person would never know she was shot in the head and died.
When she touches her forehead blood clings to her finger tips, where Johnny bashed her head into the window. Not far from the cut is a scar on her temple, where the bullet entered. She finishes up her shower, standing and shutting the water off. V dries off and out of admittedly laziness, she pulls on the same sweatpants Vik sent her home in, they’re still mostly clean and she doesn’t want to throw on real ones.
The reflection in her mirror pulls up and she’s just as lucky as she thought. V as she knows herself is staring back; bleached hair and gray eyes. But they’re not her eyes now, are they?
The one thing given to her by her father that she didn’t completely hate, they shared the same gray eyes. Yet somehow his always reminded her more of gunmetal, colder. She’s never seen the same chill in her own eye, despite the shared color. Not the prettiest or most interesting color, as a kid she’d pout that she didn’t have the same green eyes as her mother and sister, but she learned to appreciate them. And now they’re gone. The eyes looking back at her are not her own, corp made and manufactured. Kiroshi tech created in a plant. Not the eyes she was born with, not the eyes that last looked at her mother, not the eyes that’d squint under the Badlands sun as a child.
She stares deep into the color, they automatically match to the user’s natural eye color, unless chosen otherwise. It may just be psychological but she finds herself scrutinizing it, a part of her thinking the color may be off. They’re the same gray, she knows it logically. But a part of her screams they’re darker, or lighter, have more blue to them. That something is off. But maybe the only thing off is that they’re not her’s.
They’re top of the line too. She’s lucky… really, getting high end tech she didn’t want, never has to fear her autoimmune disease will blind her. Anyone else would feel blessed, this is just a part of life in Night City. Kids begging for optics as soon as they hit eighteen, some trying to convince their parents to install it before. Not that long ago, some story broke of a kid gouging their own eyes out just to get optics before they turned eighteen.
She’s lucky, so lucky, she reminds herself as she presses at her eyelids and feels the metal beneath the flesh. Lucky she survived a shot to the head, that’s lucky, right? Lucky that skin grafts and synth flesh tech means she looks like herself after. Lucky that when Johnny pummeled her head in, he didn’t do any serious damage or reopen a wound. Lucky she doesn’t even have bruises on her throat from his choking. Lucky that she’s somehow the only person who walked out of this shit show.
So fucking lucky, that she came back from the dead to die again, to go from dead to dying, to be nothing but a walking corpse with the one person who gave a shit about her dead… So lucky…
She’s trying not to cry again. Because of course she is. She slams her hands on her bathroom counter, kicking it with a bare foot, and screams into her hands. Deep breathes as she tries to gather herself again, she needs a new B. Something to focus on, something to do.
Close the blinds. Take a shower, what now? She needs something, anything that isn’t thinking. The pills are still scattered across her apartment floor, her chest cold without a shirt. So, those become her new B’s, for just a moment. Her focus solely on picking up pills and pressing them back into the blue bottle, popping another, just in case. Then she’s rummaging through her closet, finding a shirt. Her eyes land on Ava’s old shirt, Samurai, that fucker’s band. She crams it in the furthest corner of her closet, not wanting to think of him, but her attachment to Ava keeps her from throwing the whole thing out. V throws on a plain black top and then she needs another B, another goal, no matter how small.
V plops herself down on the floor in front of her bed, tapping her foot to the vibrations in her apartment. The radio must be on, a rhythm and beat bouncing through the apartment. Barry is probably annoyed at her, again, It's not the loudest she’s ever had it, but she’s learned quickly that for her to feel the thrum of it, the music ends up loud. Sometimes she’s been able to swear she feels her whole apartment shaking.
She shoves her hands in her sweatpants pockets, as she wracks her brain for something to do, anything to keep her mind off her grief. A wrapper in her pocket crinkles, these aren’t her actual pants, ones from Vik’s clinic for patients trapped there for a long recovery. They don’t even fit her properly, too long fabric pooling around her feet. She tugs it out and smiles, her first since she woke up in the clinic.
A little sucker, synthetic honey flavored, shaped like a little bear. Candy for being a good patient, slipped into her pocket, she wouldn’t know when. She tears the wrapper off and pops it into her mouth, soft sweet taste clinging to her tongue. What she did to deserve Vik is a mystery, how he could ever deem her worthy of his kindness is… mind boggling. Fixed her up a billion times, pieced her skull back together. Top tier Kiroshi’s, mantis blades, and a projectile arm launcher. All thousands upon thousands of dollars. Given to her for nothing. She owes him, majorly. If she’s going to die, at the very least she can settle her debts, Vik deserves at least that much.
She’s got a new B and as expensive as cyberware is, this one may take her longer than five minutes. V needs to figure out exactly how much she owes him, Vik would lowball it and let her off cheap, and then she needs to get herself working again. And god, does she like the idea of that. To be doing something, a slice of normalcy, even if she’s solo now.
V is on her feet and turns off her radio, tucks in her hearing aids, and then goes rummaging through her things. Her choker translator from the box of her clothes from before the heist, she goes ahead and throws it on, then gets her holophone from the bag of her stuff Vik sent with her. There are notifications across her phone; emails, texts, and missed calls. An email from her building administration catches her eye, checking it first.
‘Dear Sir/Madam,
Our records show we have not received this month’s rent payment for your unit in Megabuilding H10. In accordance with the tenancy agreement VD-233015722/2077, any subsequent payment delay will result in forced eviction from the property.’
She checks the date, it's September. Nearly two weeks into it, she must have been unconscious for a while, a few weeks at least. She starts sorting through texts and calls. Jake messaging about Jackie, asking her to call him, asking where she is and if she’s okay. A few missed calls from him. Cece wondering why V is ghosting her after weeks of no replies. Fixers texting her about cars. Misty and Vik missed calls from before she showed up in the clinic, a few texts. Her fingers hover a text Misty had sent, the last one, sent while V was laying in a dumpster.
Misty: v?! konpeki is on the news. is something wrong? jackie won’t answer my calls…
Misty: he’s gone… isn’t he?
There’s a shake in V’s hand as she moves on from it, not letting herself linger, not letting herself explore the grief and pain. She needs to get a job, she quickly links her phone with her new optics, not letting herself think of how much she hates that. That finished she goes to call Regina, the local fixer, but before she can tap the contact her holo begins to buzz in her hand, light flashing as a call comes through.
Takemura the contact tells her, the little red avatar shows a familiar face, Saburo Arasaka’s former body guard. The long haired man who pulled her from a landfill. She’s still not sure what exactly his deal is; how he went from dragging her to Yorinobu to taking her to Vik’s clinic. Or why he’d be calling her. But she answers, with a heavy feeling in her stomach.
“Takemura here,” he says, facing showing up in her optic and on her phone, “we must meet. Come to Tom’s Diner.”
The immediate demand takes her off guard and she doesn’t want to do that. He may have taken her to Vik’s clinic, but he also slapped and choked her. She doesn’t know how he got from one point to the other, but she knows she doesn’t trust an Arasaka corpo. He could have a billion different hidden agendas.
“No can do, surprising as it may be, I’m not in a great place right now,” she signs in return, not directly telling him her paranoia.
“You may recall I saved your life. I need you to return the favor.”
“I’m serious, I haven’t managed to get my head straight yet, its all been a lot… ”
“That will not happen anytime soon and so what? If you intend to live, you must reenter the ring. The bell has already tolled. Tom’s Diner. I’m waiting.”
“Look, I-” he hangs up, “fucker.”
He can wait until the cow come home, she’s not interested in whatever bullshit he’s going to try and sell her. She remembers the assasin who attacked them, reading his lips. He called Takemura a traitor. But why would a man so highly regarded by Arasaka, enough to be Saburo’s bodyguard, suddenly turn on them? At best, this is some scheme to get her to do something, acting like he can potentially help her just to use her for something or pull some shit. He’s using it as a carrot on a stick and probably plans on beating her with the stick when he gets the chance.
Instead, she calls Regina, a few rings before the eyepatched fixer answers. But looking at the little avatar of her face, she doesn’t seem too thrilled to hear from V, which is… odd.
“V…”
“Hey, know it’s been a while, but rent’s due and I’m swimming in debt. So, what you got for me?”
“For you, V? Nothing.”
Regina always has jobs, hell every fixer does, Night City is a festering cesspool of crime and bullshit. And V has been one of Regina’s top mercs ever since she moved into Watson. The eyepatched fixer has only ever had praise for the young mercenary.
“My hearing aids busted? No jobs on the table, seriously?”
“Not for you.”
“The hell is that supposed to mean? I’ve been you go to merc for fucking months, you use to have me doing five or more jobs a day. What’s the problem?”
“Look, V, everyone’s heard what went down at Konpeki. You can’t botch a job like that and people not talk.”
“I didn’t botch shit!” Her lips move as she signs but she stops herself from yelling. Everything went to shit because of Yorinobu, right? Sure, she could have done more to save Jackie and Bug, sure she should have just not taken the job. But she didn’t fuck this up, just wrong place, wrong time.
“Maybe you didn’t okay. But when you’re the only one who walks away; it doesn’t look good. Everyone’s saying you're the kiss of death, no ‘runner, merc, or fixer wants to end like Bug, Jackie, and Dex.”
“You seriously think I’d betray you? You trust me that little, think I’d get you or anyone else killed on purpose?”
Her throat tightens, eyes sting. Does Regina really think that little of V? Is that what the world thinks of her now? Just the merc that fucked up Konpeki and got her entire crew killed? Six months of consistent and quality merc work, thrown away because of one bungled job?
“Of course not, V. You’re a solid merc, but what am I supposed to do? Any client finds out I put you on their job, they’ll think I lost my mind. Can’t put you on a crew, either.”
“Client’s don’t have to know it’s me, I-”
“They’ll know, V. Can’t do it.”
“So, what the hell am I supposed to do!?” V signs and kicks her couch, starting to pull at her hair, the sting of her scalp reminding her of him.
“Look, earn some rep back, show everyone Konpeki was a one off, a bad day. And then we can talk about getting you some jobs.”
“And how am I supposed to earn rep back without jobs?”
“Fucks sake V, want me to do your job for you?! NCPD always has scanner gigs and subcon work.”
“So what, I’m supposed to earn a rep back by working with pigs!”
“The streets talk, show you can do the jobs and do them well, remind people what you’re capable of. Then we can start talking about some jobs.”
“I don’t… I don’t want to do jobs for the cops.”
“Then don’t. Starve, go broke and lose your apartment, not my problem, V. Earn your rep back and we’ll talk gigs, until then, forget it.”
And with that Regina hangs up and V groans, kicking her wall, its bullshit. Konpeki blew up spectacularly so and she gets that. But, she didn’t tell Yorinobu to kill his dad. She didn’t give the corpo brat daddy issues. And she doesn’t want to lower herself to police sub-contract jobs. Doing the cop’s job for them is the bottom of the fucking barrel, helping out pigs that are half the reason this fucking city is such a mess.
Padre, she decides, he gave her a job when she just came to the city. He’s always had a soft spot for her, took a chance on her when she first got here. But, a voice in the back of her mind nags, the only thing worse than no reputation is a bad one. She hasn’t just gone back to square one, she’s in the negatives. The merc doesn’t let herself think about it for too long, calling the Heywood fixer’s number.
His age spotted face pops up in her optics and she can feel a little dash of hope rooting itself in her chest. Surely he has work for her. Even if it’s something small, there’s got to be something.
"V… it's been a while, my child. How have you been?"
"I, I'm here… More importantly, I could use some work."
"V…you ask me for work, to damage my own reputation for your sake, and so soon after Jackie’s passing? Have you no respect for me, yourself, or Jackie?"
The question feels like a punch in the gut. Padre knew Jackie since birth, knew Senora Welles while she was pregnant with him. He’s seen Jackie grow up and ultimately even brought the two mercs together. She knows he must be grieving, mourning, and here V is...trying to move on so soon after, trying to shut it all out. And she knows it must look bad, knows she may look heartless. But if she lets herself settle into that pit, she’ll never climb back out.
“Padre I-”
“Have you even spoken with his mother?”
“No, I just-”
“You should. Avoiding grief is bad for the soul, yours and hers. As far as work goes, I cannot sully my hands to help you, not this time.”
“I understand…”
“May God be with you, V.”
He hangs up and V’s sure he must be sick of her shit, not that she can’t blame him. She knows he’s right. That she’s shutting everything out. But between Jackie’s death and her own; she doesn’t know what the fuck else to do. And facing his mom… there’s a tightness in V’s chest at the thought, looking her in eyes and knowing V couldn’t save him. Why would Mama Welles even want to see V after this?
Maybe it's not the right or best way to deal with this, but it's all she has right now. V pulls up Dino’s contact next. He’s an alright guy, seems not to mind V at the very least. Though, he may just be trying to imagine what’s under her clothes each time they meet, probably not aware he’s already seen it. But hey, if it earns her a job, she’ll take it. She calls him.
She gets his voicemail, hangs up without leaving a message and shoots him a text instead. Hoping he’ll read it when he gets a chance and sends some jobs her way. She tries Wakako next, the phone answers then hangs up before V can get a word out; making the Westbrook fixer’s stance clear. El Capitan the mulleted fixer of Santo Domingo sends her straight to voicemail, not even letting it finish ringing. She’s given Mr. Hand’s voicemail as well. After all the calls, she checks to see if Dino has responded to her text, groaning when she sees she’s been left on seen. Dino seeing the text but not responding. Not a single fixer is willing to work with her after Konpeki.
V clenches her hands around her holophone, device threatening to crack under her grasp. Regina’s advice of NCPD jobs coming to mind. It’s no secret that the cops suck at doing their job, corrupted and incompetent. So much so that they’ll pay merc for intervening and taking down crime, shooting down gangers before they can shoot civilians. But it’s never something she’s wanted to do. Aligning herself with cops feels scummy. But her rent is due and when she adds together the prices of top shelf kiroshi optics, mantis blades, and projectile arm launcher… she owes Vik around seventy-thousand eurodollars. Savings can cover her rent with some left over, but not nearly enough to pay back Vik.
She calls the NCPD and asks about getting set up for sub contract work, half swallowed pride in her throat as she forces herself through the conversation. The rather bored sounding officer getting her set up to do the work, fairly simple. Listen to police scanners, find crimes to intervene in, drop any evidence off at a drop box, and get paid. Evidence is a lose term, they’re most interested in anything with proof of who was involved, shards or docs. And while the officer doesn’t say she can keep any loot or stolen stuff she wants, the implication is clear that they won’t stop her. Most interested in getting violent gangers put down.
V quickly throws on some clothes, throwing a baggy black hoodie over it all, then grabbing her mask. In rifling through the bag of her things taken from Vik, the sight of her blood stained Konpeki clothes makes her stomach churn but she finds the little beaded bracelet that Misty gave her before the heist. The blue beads now carry little flecks of blood, lapis lazuli meant for spiritual protection. She slides it on over her leather cuffed bracelet, she needs all the help she can get. With that she puts the bag aside, not wanting to ruminate on the blood soaked clothes for any longer.
She finds the bullet pendant still under the pillow, another good luck charm, to hear Misty. There’s something morbid in wearing the bullet that killed her. But, she likes it, and if Misty’s right… Again, she desperately needs as much luck as she can gather. The merc pulls it on. She keeps her mask in her usual bag, throwing the pill bottles from last night in there too, pops her regular med, makes sure she has her weapons, and leaves her apartment.
It feels surreal, walking through the halls of her apartment complex again. Moving through people and seeing the lights around her. Feeling like a zombie walking amongst them. To hear the chatter again, hundreds of people in this building, moving along with their lives. While she’s stuck with a terrorist in her skull. While she’s come back from the dead. While she’s lost the most important person to her. While she can still feels his hands on her throat, though her left her with no bruises. Only the mark on her forehead and the crack in her window are a reminder of his existence.
“Hey, V!” A voice calls out, stopping her in her tracks as she turns to see Wilson outside the Second Amendment store.
“Hey,” she signs in turn, walking up to meet him.
“Haven’t seen you in a good one, two… few weeks, heheh. Figured you’d skipped town.”
“Just trouble… the usual,” she signs, hoping her face won’t give away her unease.
“A-ha, got just the thing for you, then.”
“I don’t know about that, I got rent to pay and debts to clean up, don’t need to be spending my money on a new toy.”
“C’mon, V, got a beauty that practically has your name on her.”
And despite her better judgement she finds herself following Wilson into the gun shop, she can cover rent, so maybe spending what’s left over on a gun isn’t so bad. Wilson hefts up a case and undoes it, V’s breath catches in her throat because Wilson really has her number. A beauty of a sniper rifle in a brilliant metallic blue, not too bright to keep some stealth, but still within her favorite cyan hues. It's already outfitted with a silencer and what looks to be a digital scope.
Her desert eagle is her go to when it comes to guns, but the powerful little .50 caliber can’t fit a silencer, at least not without a lot of tricky fucking around. Her knife is silent, but distance is a struggle, her knife throwing skills only making up so much for it. The launcher is far from silent. A sniper rifle might be the perfect addition. Her father taught her how to fire them as a kid, looking down the sight, feeling the recoil as the butt slammed into her shoulder. She had decent aim, but it’s been years since she touched one.
“.50 BMG, bolt action sniper rifle. Your color, your caliber, what more could you want?”
“You really do know me too well, don’t you?”
“Told ya, got your name on it.”
“Mind if I try her out first?”
“C’mon”
Wilson lets her pick up the rifle, feeling the weight of it in her hands as she trails after him into the shooting range. Its a heavy made rifle, which is good, since that will help keep recoil from hitting as hard. V’s a small thing, so the bigger caliber guns she loves can kick back like a pissed off mule. Even her favorite handgun has a heavy kickback, the Desert Eagle not a gun to fuss with, but she’s learned to take the recoil over the years, shooting guns since she was a kid.
Memories of another gun, even more powerful than her own go to, the Malorian withe Last True Friend scratched into its barrel. Wielded in silver fingers, the force of it would have shattered anyone else's arm, and would have destroyed her own.
She shakes those memories from her head; they don’t belong to her after all. V plays with the sniper rifle in Wilson’s gun range, liking the feel of it in her hands. The accuracy of the scope. She ends up leaving with it on a holster on her back alongside her bag, paying Wilson for the new gun and some extra ammo.
In the elevator she tunes her hearing aids to a police scanner frequency, picking up the nearest potential jobs first. And in moments she hears the chatter of Tyger Claws attacking a ripperdoc clinic, not one she knows, but they’re not far from her apartment. She takes her mask from her bag and slides it on as she leaves the megabuilding.
She calls her car through her phone. And receives a notification that it was towed and can’t be dropped off for another day. So, she’s walking, until she finds something to steal. At least the first job isn’t far. Wandering through the Night City streets and through a tunnel, she drops a few stray Eurodollars in a man’s cup and lets him know he may want to scram. He gets the message and gets some distance from the area.
The tunnel opens to a square yard and she can see the gangers just from the edge of it, unaware of her. V crouches and pulls her rifle from her back, taking aim at the Tyger Claws over a cement staircase. One dead with a headshot as soon as she lines up the scope and pulls a trigger. Others yell out, run to investigate, walking right into her sights. Three more dead in a moment. A fifth runs behind a green and red car for cover, she fires her first round through her projectile launcher, blowing the car to ash and dust, killing the ganger. And they’re all dead, not a shot fired off at the merc. Picks through bloody corpses, pocketing what she can. She finds the doc dead in his clinic, shard saying the Claws attacked because he was pulling chrome from dead Claws. She drops it off at a drop box and gets eight hundred eddies sent to her account.
The scanner picks up another job, crime filled Night City streets always having something to offer. There’s a Kusanagi motorcycle, bright red with stickers across, belonging to one of the gangers. She grabs it and makes her way back through the streets.
Four Tyger Claws on the rooftop of a building, less clean. She nearly catches a grenade, barely dodging it as memories of gunpowder and Mexico heat flash through her mind, a phantom pain in her arm and the weight of fallen friend on her back. But at the end of it, she’s the only one standing. Some fuss about an antenna and she’s another eight hundred dollars richer.
Larger job at the corner of Drake and Cartwright, at least twelve Claws having taken over a market space. The merc takes advantage of her new rifle and the concrete jungle landscape, climbing up steps and perching herself on an air conditioner unit, shooting around the corner of the building. With time and patience, five Tygers dead from sniper bullets, brains splattered on the market stalls they were robbing. The rest won’t enter her sight line, ther merc slinking down to meet them, picking them off with her sidearm and knife, chasing them through the lantern strewn market. A slightly surreal feeling to it, walking through blood stained market stall, corpses thrown across it, brains leaking into cracks of the cement while she grabs a Nicola and a bike with more gas in it.
And that's what she does, not letting herself stop to think, just moving from job to job. Three Maelstrommers in a fire fight with cops after trying to klep some shit and setting off an alarm. There’s a gross feeling in her chest when the cops thank her, wondering how many skeletons hang in the officer’s closet. But her bank account is fatter and that’s all she can focus on in the moment.
She rides past a tv screen in a building showing the news, talking about Saburo Arasaka’s death and races through traffic before she can hear anything more. That night still haunting her like a ghost, its been weeks, can’t the story be over. Can’t it be enough…
Sniped Maelstrommers from the ledge of a building, peeking around the corner into the alley to a warehouse, finding an extra three thousand tucked away in it. Three Tyger Claws shot down after killing a snitch. It's all instinct, all muscle memory, ending lives as easily as she breathes. It’s not pretty or good work, but she’s a natural at it.
She has to park across the street from Lizzie’s for the next one, a group of Claws, one of the main gangs in Watson. Her stomach churns and biles burn thinking of the prep work, thinking of the warning signs, thinking of why she should have turned around and left. Pushing it aside she kills a handful of Tyger Claws, before moving to the next job further up the road.
Animals shaking someone down in an alleyway, she hands behind the table of an abandoned vendor’s table, piled high with goods. She throws a knife over it, watching the blade sink into one ganger before sniping the rest. Her stomach drops when she raises and sees the records that cover the abandoned table.
Black and red labels; Samurai and Silverhand etched across the graphics in white. His records amongst the oldies. Its like the world is mocking her, haunting her with that man, with that night. She throws them off the table, crushing them underfoot as she goes to collect her knife and finish the job.
The radio announcer hypes up the Arasaka health insurance plan on her way to next job and she shuts her hearing aids off for a moment, just the sound of the corps name making her want to scream. She changes the radio when she climbs off and flicks them back on before she clears a gang of Scavenger out from under an overpass.
Five Malestrommers get killed near the Med Center, gangsters managing a deal to steal chrome off of comatose patients. She can feel the bruise her new rifle has caused, still some recoil to it, but the ache doesn’t stop her. The ache she gets just helps to keep her mind away from other things. Somehow it’s nearly four pm and she doesn’t know when that happened.
Near Goldsmith street she’s tasked with taking out another Scavenger nest. A large messy one, armed with illegal shit stolen from Trauma Team. Spotted weaving through them, a full gun fight across the rooftops. Dodging and chasing Scavs through it, dodging behind crates and transformers. And she can nearly hear Jackie, can hear him laugh, can hear him yelling, because this is the kind of shit they did. But she knows it's just a memory; she’s alone with adrenaline in her veins, sweat on her skin, and a timebomb in her head.
She drops the last Scav, breathing labored, a few new injuries bleeding steadily. An hour spent battling the vultures, blood heavy under her fingernails, and she picks up on the scanner another job nearby. The merc already moving to get to it, not let her body rest for a minute, because as long as it’s moving her brain slow down just a little.
Clears out Tyger Claws from a construction site in the Northside of Watson. The sun setting just as she drives up and shoots down a cluster of Maelstrommers doing business behind a diner, having killed a drug dealer who stopped supplying. Another group of the chromed out gang taken down for attacking a shipment yard who they felt wasn’t cutting them a good enough discount.
Cleaning up another nest of them in a shipyard full of crates, picking through Maelstrom corpses and cop bodies there before she arrived shows a commissioner sent his boys in blue to die, for poking around where he didn’t want them to, for doing their job. She can’t even pretend to be surprised.
Northside is mostly Maelstrom territory, so it’s no shock it’s another group of the mini borgs she’s taking down as she pulls up to Offshore Street, an ad across the way promising to knock the devil out of her, she’s not sure what the ad is even for, but the message reminds her of her passenger. The proverbial devil she’d love to have knocked out. The gangoons are in a trainyard, stealing running gear from a convoy they jacked. There’s a high enough building for her to perch and take care of them easy, before dropping back in amongst their corpses to pick through for what she needs. Same thing she’s done time and time again.
Samurai written across the back of a now dead gang member's shirt, because of course. She kicks his corpse, as if she were striking the monster in her head. Shoots an already dead body twice, tears threatening to rush out, a scream on the tip of her tongue. And she swallows it back down.
Two more clusters of Tyger Claws are taken care of, the thanks of a plant worker held at gun point by a bridge makes her smile, even if just a little. Knowing she did manage to hopefully help someone, they were trying to klep chemical to make their newest drug; Glitter. At least he didn’t have to die for something so stupid.
Her holophone buzzes in her pocket, missed calls and text messages across it. The first text from Bartmoss Collective, which seems to be some strange spam, talking to her about capitalism. The missed calls and other text from Senora Welles. V scratches at her face, checking the message.
Mama Welles: V?
Mama Welles: V, we need to talk, please pick up
V chews on her lip, stomach twisted in knots. What the hell does she say, what the hell can she say? How can she even look Mama Welles in the fucking eye after this? Her fingers shake over the keys as she types the only thing she can think to send.
V: I’m sorry.
Sorry for Jackie, sorry for evading her, sorry for being such a coward. Sorry is all she can think to be…
Two more jobs, both Maelstom again and she decides to head home for the night. Her body is exhausted, mind fuzzy as she drives the stolen bike down the city streets. It's nearly midnight, all she’s ran on the entire time is a honey sucker and stolen Nicola. But, that means she’s tired, worn out and may be able to find sleep easily.
She steps into the elevator; eyes already threatening to drift shut. V pushes her mask up off her face and thumps her head back against the wall; immediately regretting it, the gesture too similar to Johnny's, the thunking of his head against her wall. She hates this, all she wants is to shut it all out, to forget it all if only for a day and just focus on work. But it’s haunting her.
“Night City is still in a state of mourning,” a newscaster prattles off, “following the death of Arasaka CEO, Saburo Arasaka. Flag on all city buildings are lowered to half mast and all major public events have been postponed until further notice. Daughter and heriress Hanako Arasaka arrived in the city, in the wake of the tragedy.”
“Fuck you!”
She screams at the screen, nearly frothing at the mouth as she puts a voice to her anger, feeling eyes on her as soon as she has. The elevator has come to a stop, someone just trying to enter it, staring at her wide eyed at having seen and heard the outburst. She pushes past them, tugging at her hair and ready to explode or cry or scream or something. Because its bullshit, it’s all bullshit and she fucking hates it.
The world is mourning Saburo; fuck Saburo! He was a piece of shit, a corpo sleaze who’d do anything to make a dollar, to get more power. Yet the world is meant to mourn him, meant to mourn a man who did everything he could to fuck it up. A man so awful his own child would strangle him just to be free of the monster.
Good people died that night, actually good fucking people, Bug and Jackie. And the world moves on without them. No flags fly half mast for them. No one has even contacted or spoke to her about Bug. Even she can’t bring herself to actually mourn, to take the time to feel her feelings. The world barely remembers them as soon as they’re gone.
And she doesn’t consider herself a good person, not like them. She’s nowhere as kind or welcoming as Jackie nor as talented as Bug. But damn it, she died too. And no one cares. The world just keeps on moving. And it hurts.
She screams when she closes her door, just screams and lets it out for a moment. V doesn’t want to cry again, is sick of crying. So, she just screams and punches her fist back against her wall. Her radio is playing music again, she notices as she starts to calm down, body leaning against the door as exhaustion settles back in her bones. She swore she turned it off, the shitty little thing must be acting up. She doesn’t have the energy to care. She haphazardly throws some of her clothes off, dropping her bag and weapons as she marches to her bed. She’ll sleep through it, sleep through the wellspring of anger and pain that’s started to burst out.
V puts her hearing aids on the side table and lays back against her pillows, feeling the plush of it welcoming her. She closes her eyes and takes deep breaths, trying to relax her body. Trying to find some calm, trying to find that serenity she’d had in silence for so long. Letting the exhaustion of her day send the world away.
Then she feels something pressing into the mattress beside her. The warmth of a presence looming over her, the smell of cigarettes and musk. And she’s shooting up in her bed, breath choking and clawing in her throat; heart trying to escape her rib cage. She expects him, expects to see him, is waiting for Johnny to be there with harsh hands and a sharp tongue.
But she’s alone.
She sits on the edge of her bed and just breathes, running her fingers through her hair, she has no idea how this all works. No one does. At least no one she can speak to. What if he comes back in the night? He got control of her last time, what if he finds a way to do it again? What if he takes over in her sleep? God only knows what he could or would do… She doesn’t even know how long the pills suppress him, he can flicker and control how he shows up, he could be active right now and just hiding… waiting for a moment to lash out. Waiting for her guard to fall.
And if it’s not him, it will be his memories.
V can’t sleep, she decides all at once, not now. Maybe never again. And she has no idea how long she’ll make it like this, but she knows she can’t give him that chance. Can’t live his memories again. Can’t deal with this. She grabs her hearing aids tucking them back in, rock music still drifting through her apartment, as she goes to her bathroom. V needs to get back out there, back to work. It's the only thing keeping her somewhat sane, though that thread gets close to snapping every second.
She washes dirt and blood from her hands, then splashes cold water into her face, trying to wake herself up. The cold shock of it disrupts some of the exhaustion, as she looks back up at herself. Still a little dirt on her face, bags already starting to form beneath her gray eyes. She grips the edge of the sink looking at herself, steadying her breaths, water dripping down her nose.
A blind man lost, in the streets
A pattern here I need to see
Keep returning, keep trying to leave
Got a bad feeling that I need to feel
Her knuckles whiten fingers digging into the sink, blood going cold and air catching in her throat. His voice, that fucking voice, playing through a radio. A song she’d never think anything of most days, maybe she’s heard it before and wrote it off. But now her heart hammers at the sound. She’d never even know who it was, but she now knows that voice like she knows her own name.
A black dog runs at my side
Down a road, no end in sight
The city sleeps but in my mind
Got a knot that won't unwind
She runs from her bathroom, tripping over herself as she rushes through the apartment. Her nails digging into the plastic as she frantically shuts off the music. Shutting out that damn voice for a moment, as she tries to get her bearings. She throws it down on the floor, a spike of satisfaction in the sound of it bouncing off the linoleum.
“Fuck!” V curses out loud, her head throbbing with the pain of it all. She holds her head in her hands for a moment before she’s moving again.
The merc is grabbing up a thermos, gifted to her by Misty and meant for relaxing teas, V fills the bottom half with a mix of Spunky Monkey and Chromanticore. Then brews a bot of coffee in the little maker she has stacked on her microwave. There’s a nearly caustic smell as she dumps black hot coffee in with the cold energy drinks; filling the thermos with a cocktail of energy that will either keep her awake or kill her. Either way she’ll be thrilled. It all burns like acid in her throat, a cloying tar taste stuck to her tongue, but after three swigs she can feel her energy picking up. She swallows another omega blocker with the fourth one.
Then she’s yanking her pants back on, getting all she needs to get back to work, marching back out her front door with her concoction in hand. She’s drinking it, cringing at the taste as she comes back down the stairs.
“NCPD open up!” A loud male voice yells out and she see two police officers outside of Barry’s door, her downstairs neighbor is a cop himself.
“Barry! We know you’re in there, we’re here to help!” The female officer yells
“You don’t got no fucking warrant!”
“Cut the bullshit! Just open up!”
“We came here as colleagues- nothin’ else. Haven’t heard from you in a while, we’re worried!”
“Noted. Now leave me alone!”
“Congrats, Mendez,” the female officer looks at her coworker, “way to be a prick.”
“Oh what? So I’m the bad guy? I’m not the one holed up playing the attention whore!”
“He lost a friend, can you blame him?”
“He’s not the first or the last. It’s called life.”
The two police officers leave Barry’s door and go to lean against the railing of the hallway, talking amongst themselves. V and Barry have made small talk a few times, he’s an alright guy, despite his job. And judging by the way his coworkers are talking, he’s been having a rough go of it. Losing a friend… she can certainly relate. She takes another swig of concoction and heads over, double checking her choker is on, mask still in her bag for now.
“Is something wrong? I live upstairs,” she signs to the police officers, indulging her curiosity.
“So keep on livin’ and stop minding other people’s biz.” The burly officer huffs, annoyed that the merc has dared bother them.
“Hold on, it’s his neighbor.”
“Any way I could help?”
“Maybe, you know Barry at all?”
“We’ve talked a handful of times.”
“He’s a friend from the precinct. Left the force not long ago. He broke down after his best friend died. We’re worried he’ll do something stupid. “
“Relax, Petrova,” Mendez scoffs, “Barry’s got nerves of steel- he’s just a spiteful old bastard”
“Mendez, I-,” she rolls her eyes, looks back to V, “could you check in on him when he’s chilled down?”
“Sure, not exactly far away.”
“Thanks, just be patient. Cops fallen on rough times can be… touchy.”
“I got you,” V signs with a nod, deciding to go ahead and test the waters. There’s something about getting herself caught up in someone else's troubles, it’s easier to worry about someone else. It’s a nice distraction.
She knocks against his door, knuckles scrapping the metal. No response, she knocks again. Nothing, so she knocks again.
“Hey, you home?”
No response again, he seemed heated when he was yelling at his coworkers and he probably likes them more than he likes the stranger from upstairs. She decides to let it go for now, she’ll check back in on him later. Another drink fo her death cocktail, her head ache growing worse and her heart rate picking up, but she feels wired enough to take on the world. Mask down as she leaves the building, she tunes to the scanner.
And each job bleeds into each other; Tyger Claws, Maelstrommers, Scavengers, Animals, and just petty criminals all blend together. All just bodies, sheep to her slaughter as she works her way through this, refusing to stop or breathe.
Bullets sniping through the air between swigs of her concoction. Blade thrown and retrieved, an abandoned energy drink guzzled. A gangoon gutted, a half drunk coffee stolen by grubby merc hands. Omega blockers swallowed down with caffeine every couple hours, as the night bleeds into the next morning. But the sun rises above her only to fall again, unable to keep track of the seconds, minutes, hours; all just a blur. Pick up a scanner job, get there, clear it, drink something with caffeine, drop off evidence, grab a vehicle and get to the next job. Then do it again, do it again, again, again, again….
New bruises on her skin with every job; new cuts, new scrapes, new aches. The migraine is constant, head pounding in tune with her racing caffeine soaked heart. But she welcomes it all, the bite of physical pain to keep her mind off the emotional.
The sun is just setting on a day other than the one she left her apartment. Maybe it’s been two, three, or more days of mindless grunt work across the city. Just stacking up her bank account and maybe, she hopes, earning a rep back across the streets. Though, what could is a rep to a dead woman walking? She can’t but wonder as she pulls up near Charter Street for the next scanner. Tyger Claws again, seen spending too much time near a shipyard behind the old buildings.
She walks swiftly through an abandoned parking lot, seeing the standard signs of the shipyard. Stacks and stacks of shipping containers, some rusted and broken open, others sealed tight. Pallets of concrete and building supplies, she doesn’t see signs of the gangoons yet. She walks crouched through a shipping container opened on both ends, moving closer to get a scope of the area. Peeking around the edge of it, she sees the first signs of life.
A Tyger Claw leaning against a car, mottled red and green. She’s far away and can’t get a clear picture through the crates of who else is with him. The merc moves up, slinking into another open rusted crate. She can see more bodies, more vehicles. But the glitch of a Scavenger mask catches her eye. Claws and Scavengers together…
With the cars around them, she opts to use her launcher, the smart aiming better than her sniping could ever be when it comes to getting around obstacles. The rocket launcher emerges from her forearm, locking onto her target, she fires off the incendiary round. It curves but can’t quite hit dead on at the angle, bursting into flames and barely catching a flame on the ganger. She curses as the boom of it gives her away.
Scavs and Claws scream, come running towards the crate she’s in. She readies her launcher again back up in the container, as a member of each gang run before her, catching a look at the merc just before she fires, It connects easily, both dying on impact, corpses going on in flames as V continues to back up through the crate and out of it, getting distance between herself and the swarming gang members. Another shot fired at the car, setting off a boom, that kills two more.
“This is bad, bad, bad!” A gang members yells, one of three still rushing her across the lot. He dies from another incendiary round a moment later, screaming as he’s engulfed in flames, another gang member dying with him.
One Scavenger woman is still running forwards towards V as she walks backwards, grabbing her knife from it’s holster. And V throws it, the final gang member unable to stop in time, running right into the thrown blade. It sinks into her throat, blood spurting forward as the woman collapses. V pulls the knife back out, wiping it across already stained jeans as she marches forth to survey the area without threat.
Tyger Claws and Scavenger now lie in burnt remains, the smell of melting flesh hot in the air. But other than cars and gangoons, nothing else is severely burned. The benefit of the smart targeting and rounds, the perfect amount of controlled chaos. She steps over corpses, collecting what she wants off of them as she moves to the hub of stacked shipping containers. The black remains of the car are still sputtering flames.
Its a little maze of containers as she picks up anything she wants, then she hears a steady thump, something banging against the metal. She twists her head around, searching for the source. It gets more frantic, the echo to the sound telling her it’s coming from one of the dozen or more crates.
“Is someone there?” She signs, mask translating as she tries to get an idea of which container it may be.
“Help, please, help!” A heavily accented and muffled voice yells out. And V finds the crate, unlocking it.
An awful stench pours out of it as the blue rusted door slide open, a huddled crowd of five or so people. Mostly women but a few men, skin caked in filth, bruises heavy on their skin. The one at the front of the container, who was beating on the door freezes, a woman with what looks like a broken nose stares at V wide eyed for a moment. The merc realizes why, quickly sliding the mask up to the top of her head.
“I’m not with them,” her choker translates and she can see the relief that flood the people, “lets get you all out of here.”
The people slowly leave the container, on shaky legs and V’s stomach lurches. There’s blood and filth, human waste, across the container. No telling how long these people were locked in here. But that’s only partly why the stench is so foul, she realizes, when a body at the back of the cargo crate doesn’t move. V walks through the crate turned prison, taking a closer look, hoping she’s wrong.
She isn’t.
A girl of maybe sixteen, the mottled bruises on her skin not just injury but validity, blood no longer pumping but instead stagnant. Her corpse just on the verge of decomposition, leopard spotted jeans stained with blood and her own waste. V tentatively searches through the young girls pockets, searching for something to help ID her, finding a holophone with the teenager’s final message sent.
Tracy: mom, i need help.
Tracy: i think ive been kidnapped
Tracy: mom please help
And V can’t read the rest, bile churning in her gut, but candy and caffeine is all she could hope to puke up. A young girl on her way to a party, snatched up and shipped off to Night City. Final typed out words, a desperate plea for her mother to help.
V leaves the crate before she gets sick, still five bruised and filthy people shivering in the open air. The orange glow of the burning car and setting sun settles over it all. She digs around the things the gangers left behind, finding a shard between Peter and Jotaro Shobo.
Jotaro Shobo, a well known piece of shit in Night City, a high ranking member of the Tyger Claws who scrolls X-BD’s of himself torturing people. The Scavs were bringing in people for the slaughter, judging from the message, Peter telling Jotaro they had just arrived in the city. These folks aren’t from the area.
“None of you are from Night City, are you?” She signs to ask, nods confirming the suspicion. And that wasn’t the only shipping container, many still around them. She hasn’t heard anymore thumping or yelling, but she still needs to check.
“What’s going to happen to us…?” A woman asks in a broken voice, the sound a scratch in her throat. And chews her lip, she can’t get these people back home. That’s a job for the NCPD, but will they do their job is the question. She surely can’t abandon them like this.
“I’m going to check the rest of the crates, see if there’s anyone else, and call the NCPD. Hopefully, we can get you all sorted and back home.”
She gives the best comforting squeeze that she can to their shoulder, feeling the skin and bone beneath her hand. V is suddenly so much more thankful that the fire from her launcher didn’t get out of hand, if so she could have cooked these people alive in the crates.
And who would have known or care?
There’s a pang in her heart as she starts opening crates, some filled with nothing but corpses. Others with drugs and supplies for the Claws’ X-BDs. She pulls two more people from a crate, just as bloody and beaten as the others. V can’t help but think of it, that young girl just gone, dead to the world. A mother left in terror, not knowing what’d happen to her baby. People thrown out and taken from the world. And if they all were gone, the world would just keep going.
Just like with her. Just like Jackie and Bug. And fuck, just like the people she’s killed in the past however many days. All just bodies to the rest of the world. A city that doesn’t care, that’ll forget them as soon as they’re gone. People who never really mattered to the world or had a place in it to begin with.
She opens the last of the shipping containers, heavy metal doors creaking and amongst corpses, she sees one moving body. A young girl, maybe eight, face fleck in blood and wide eyes looking at V. Sick fucks, grabbing whatever and whoever they could.
“Don’t worry, sweetie, you’re safe now.” V speaks, hoping the sound of a human voice will bring more comfort than her translator, even if the noise is rough. But the little girl comes walking slowly out. Her eyes welling with tears, choked half understood sobs as she asks where she is, where her mom is.
V scoops the girl up, doing her best to comfort the child as she brings her back to the group, out of all the bodies around ten are still alive altogether. Lost and now just sitting around as they wait for what comes next. The shard between Peter and Jotaro said they’ve been here for weeks. V sits against a shipping container, child still crying into her chest as she calls the NCPD, debating for a moment, before deciding to put her translator back on.
“Night City Police Department, how can I assist you?” A bored voice answers the line.
“My name is V, I’m a merc who does sub contract work for the department.”
“You forget how to shoot people?” The dispatch scoffs, like she’s wasting their time.
“No, asshole, I’m sitting here in a shipyard near Charter Street, Scavengers were trying to traffick in fresh bodies. Got ten or more folks from overseas, been crated up for weeks, no idea where they are or how to get home. So, I thought maybe, you’d all like to come down here and do your job.”
“Uh-understood, we’ll be dispatching someone to you right away.”
And with that the call ends, now all V can do is wait. Her momentum stopped in it’s tracks to take care of the strangers, One of them, a woman with dyed blue hair and overgrown black roots, looks to V.
“So, we’ll be getting out of here soon?”
“I’d like to say yes, but I’m afraid when the NCPD says ‘right away’ they mean give them three hours, so might as well settle in.”
“You’re… not… gonna leave, right?”
“Don’t worry, Night City isn’t the safest of beasts even if you’re in good shape. Wouldn’t leave you all out here alone.”
“Thank you… I… thank you.”
“Also,” V starts to speak as an idea pops in her head, feeling how thin the girl feels in her arms, “I know this probably sounds absolutely ridiculous, but I can order like, I don’t know, pizza or something?”
Something about it feels so strange and weird, after being kidnapped and taken abroad, a merc offering to buy you cheap pizza. But, it’s all she can think to offer in the time they’re waiting. She can’t help them get any cleaner; can’t hose them down or take them all back to her apartment for a shower. She can’t house them all, certainly. She can’t take them back home, or undo all they’ve been through. But… she can buy some pizza, help them fill their bellies after so long of going without.
“Please…”
And she does just that, ordering on an app through her phone, Buck-A-Slice is the cheapest and quickest option. Plus, the franchise now delivers their orders with drones, cheaper than having to pay human beings, which means she doesn’t have to explain literally any of this. A thousand times quicker than the NCPD, a drone drops off a stack of boxes with greasy cheap shitty pizza. But they tear into it like it's a feast and she finds herself eating too, not even realizing how hungry she was. Has she eaten since she started doing her little job bender?
Time ticks by as the people try to talk between eating, trying to fill the quiet night air with chatter. The little girl has fallen asleep in V’s lap, one of the merc’s hands rubbing circles on her back, the other fiddling with the bullet pendant that hangs around her neck. Stillness forced upon her, her mind starts to roam again.
Bug fried in a chair. Jackie bleeding out in the backseat of a Delamain. And V’s brains blown out over a hotel floor. All gone, though technically she’s still here, but she doesn’t feel like it. She feels like she’s already gone and she might as well be. Thrown away into a landfill and the world still spins. Still spins after all that’s happened. The only dead man mourned in the wake of Konpeki is Saburo, the only one rich or powerful enough for the world to give a shit.
And she’s dying again, this time, there won’t even be a body to burn. It will be like she was never here, overwritten like an unwanted file. Just a painful fade from existence as she loses herself, loses control, and is taken over.
There’s a rumble of car wheels across the lot. Flashes of lights, a few police NCPD cars as well as two unmarked vehicles, a car and a truck. There’s a handful of uniformed cops getting out of their cars. And two men outside of uniform, detectives, she thinks.
“We’re over here!” One of the women yells out, drawing the attention of the officers.
“Christ that smell,” one of the men out of uniform comments, an older man with gray hair.
But V’s eyes are drawn to the other plain-clothed man, if the clothes can really be called that. He himself stands out, around six foot five and muscular, his jacket a dark brown leather with fur across the collar. A shaved head of dark hair, one brown eye and a metal telescopic implant in place of the other. He’s attractive, a shallow little part of her notes.
“Detective Ward,” the mountain of a man introduces himself to V, “heard a merc called, something about a group of people locked in shipping crates. We’re gonna get you home safe, but first, can you tell me what happened?”
V has to try not to laugh. She honestly doesn’t blame him for assuming she was among the kidnapped folks. Her work has left her beaten, bruised; blood and grime on her skin. V’s clothes are still slightly damp from scanner jobs that made chase after evidence in a submerged van. She smells like sweat, murky water, and blood.
“I’m the merc who called, actually,” V signs and sees the realization dawn on the detective’s face.
“Sorry, I-”
“No worries, I get it, not exactly in my Sunday best.”
“What exactly happened here… ?” He prompts her to introduce herself.
“V. I was doing scanner jobs, cleared out some Claws and Scavengers, found myself some refugees, called you all, and ordered some pizza. But, I think this tells the story pretty well,” she explains then hands Detective Ward the shard between Peter and Jotaro.
He gives her a skeptical look for a moment, eye narrowed at the shard. But he seems to ultimately decide that the deaf five foot merc with a child in her lap isn’t that big of a threat. Taking it from her fingertips with metal fingers, a silver hand… And she hates how that little acknowledgement makes a cold sweat form at her hairline.
Detective Ward pushes the shard into his chip slot, his eye glowing blue for a moment as he reads it. His expression shifts a somber and cold look across his features.
“Jotaro fuckin’ Shobo.”
“Yep.”
“Appreciate the help, we’ll take it from here.”
“What’s going to happen to them?” V asks, looking down at the girl in her lap, NCPD isn’t known for going the extra mile. Who’s to say they won’t just throw these people onto the streets without any help or put them in a detention center to avoid dealing with it?
“Not your concern, merc,” the other detective, cuts in, looking down his nose at V.
“Excuse the fuck out of me for not trusting NCPD’s finest.”
“We’ll take care of them,” Detective Ward smooths it over, “figure out where they’re from and get ‘em back home.”
And maybe she’s naïve, maybe she’s exhausted, or maybe she’s a sucker for a pretty face. But, when he says that she believes him. His expression earnest and soft, Regardless, she knows the NCPD can help them more she can, more resources and pull. Just a matter of if they actually choose to use them. V gently shifts the child off her lap, who looks up at her with wide sleepy eyes.
“I gotta go now, honey, but the detectives are gonna help get you home now, okay?”
The little girl nods, still a hint of fear in her eyes as V stands up, as much as she’d love to stay with and protect her. V’s no guardian and can’t get the girl home safe. She watches as Detective Ward stoops down to a knee, getting as close as eye level with the girl as he can, though still nowhere close.
“Hey, kiddo, my name’s River, what’s yours?”
“Stephanie…”
V leaves on that, hearing the soft way the detective speaks to the child, the sound of it bringing the merc a bit of comfort. There’s another Kusanagi motorcycle, that clearly belongs to one of the now dead Tyger Claws, it has a full tank and she climbs on top of it. An old rock station blaring on it as she pulls away from the scene.
The wind whips around her as she rides through the Night City roads, there are more scanner jobs, always are. But she doesn’t take it, thoughts pinging around her skull. Shipping containers filled with corpses, all forgotten names and people, who the world will never mourn or stop for. Mercs drop like flies everyday, her and Jackie just a part of the numbers. But life moves on without them, will move on without her.
She guns the engine faster and faster.
A monster in her head, a psychopath who tried to put her head through a window. A timebob with a face and name. And one day, if she doesn’t stop it, she’ll be him. V… Aidan… will be nothing but a fading memory. A name that use to belong to the new body Johnny makes his fifty year comeback in. And he’ll do whatever he wants, hurt whoever he wants, because as much as Vik and Misty tell V she survived… she didn’t. Johnny survived. because short of a bullet in her brain, he’ll actually get a second chance. She won’t. All V did was get a time extension, a chance to postpone her date with death.
She pushes the bike to go faster, heavy on the throttle.
And she wishes she’d just met her end. Being dead is easier than dying. She wants it done, to just be gone, to not be afraid. To not be in terror of the ghost wreaking havoc in her skull. To not spend six months questioning if a headache is caffeine induced or her memories being erased. To not be stuck in this limbo of knowing she’s going to be gone and forgotten, to just be there by now.
She barely manages to take a curve in time, but doesn’t slow down.
Dead people don’t have to deal with their feelings. Don’t have to grieve. Don’t have to face the family left behind after their best friend dies. Don’t have to carry this pain. Don’t have to-
We lost everything
We had to pay the price
Yeah we lost everything
We had to pay the price
And his voice is like a bomb going off in her head, all at once trying to stop and turn, but she’s going too fast. Gnashing metal and crushing pain, she tastes blood as she’s sent flying forward. A thud of impact as her body hits the road; gravel and asphalt grinding across her skin as momentum carries her across the ground.
The world stops for a moment. V doesn’t know if she’s in the road, on a sidewalk. If she’ll be ran over. She doesn’t care. The merc lays there, bruised lungs aching with each breath, skin road rashed. Blood pours from her nose, iron clinging to her tongue. Her nose may be broken. She just stares up at the sky, the towering neon lights of the city buildings. And if she strains her exhaustion blurred vision, she thinks she can see a star or two pricking through the dark of night.
‘We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.'
It’s an old quote from someone she can’t remember and she’s not even sure where she ever heard it, is she even the one who heard it? How deep are his memories embedded in her own at this point?
She can hear traffic driving by, so she’s probably landed off the road, no one concerned for her. No one stopping or checking on her, just another corpse on the streets of Night City. A forgotten nobody, all she’ll ever be and all she ever was.
I see your eyes, i know you see me
You're like a ghost how you're everywhere
I am your demon never leaving
V groans, catching the sound of the stolen broken motorcycle still croaking out that asshole’s music. The lyrics of it taunting her; like over fifty years ago Johnny wrote those lyrics just as a fuck you to her right now. But something lurks in the back of her mind, the knowledge that that’s by no means true. Murky memories of a freckled blonde netrunner flickering through the merc’s mind.
She clambers back up on her feet, taking in the lights and vending machines around her. Blood still clinging to her lips and chin as she looks around her. On the street, a Kiroshi ad shining blue light on her, some blue haired model showing off her new optics. Across the road painted across the side of an old clothing store in red and blue; the Samurai band logo. The flaming oni demon with skin ripped off to show chrome beneath; just there, mocking her. She flips off the graffiti.
V’s out of her weird brewed concoction, even after so many times of topping it off. No more coffee or energy drinks on her. And she’s not sure she wants that anymore. Wants something stronger, that doesn’t keep her going, but just clouds her mind. The merc stumbles her way into the nearest liquor store and buys herself a bottle of bourbon. She barely catches the look of concern on the cashier’s face before she leaves with the booze in hand.
She takes heavy swigs of it as she meanders down the city streets, swallowing the burn of it and welcoming the fuzziness it puts in her mind. Avoiding it all and throwing herself into jobs has gotten her nowhere but exhausted, so she drowns the feelings in alcohol, the taste of blood and bourbon heavy on her tongue. She wanders down neon lit streets, not even sure where she’s going or why, steadily draining the bottle as she goes.
The lights become blurrier, a pleasant warmth buzzing under her skin as she walks, worries unable to find her through the cloud of alcohol. And she’s not sure how far she goes or where she’s ended up, stumbling down a street, bottle half drunk.
“V?!”
She turns, nearly tripping over her own feet, when someone calls her name. And through the blur of booze and lights dancing around her vision, she sees Cece. The older woman looking at her with something between horror and concern, wide brown eyes and furrowed brows.
“Holy shit, are you okay?”
Cece rushes towards the bloody drunk merc. A tender hand reaches out to cup V’s face, but she stops it, wrapping her fingers around the older woman’s wrist. She doesn’t want it, the gentle comforting touch. A kind gesture better suited for someone else, not meant for someone soaked in blood with alcohol and crimson on her tongue.
“Mmm...I, I’m fine,” V slurs her words, unable to sign with one hand on Cece and the other wrapped around her bottle.
The older woman pulls her hand from V’s grasp, the merc not missing the traces of blood she’s left on Cece’s skin. If she cares, if she minds the filthy touch, Cece says nothing about it just looking at V for a moment, like she’s looking at a wounded animal.
“You went quiet for a while, there’s some suit who keeps coming to the diner, asking about you, V… Did something happened? Ar-are you drunk?” She sputters for a moment when she notices the bottle in V’s hand, maybe catches a whiff of bourbon on the merc’s breath.
“No..not your concern,” V signs now, hands slow and messy, struggling to make the words she needs.
V turns to leave, this whole mess isn’t Cece’s problem. Cece and her barely even know each other outside of sex. The last thing V needs to do is dump trauma or bullshit on her, let alone drag her into the angry hornets nest that is Arasaka. V had only just thought of that, if Arasaka comes looking for her. She takes another swig of bourbon as she staggers across the grimey sidewalk, hoping to drown her newest anxiety.
“V, please,” Cece turns V around, grabbing the mercs arms and forcing eye contact, “I don’t know what’s going on but you can talk to me, I wanna help.”
Glassy gray eyes stare into gold, V just looking up at Cece for a moment. A distraction, that’s all V wants, all she’ll accept in the moment. Work, drinking, hell even helping Barry is all a grab for a distraction; anything to numb her and take her away from her pain. And maybe, her booze blurred brain suggests, Cecelia can distract V the way she always has before. Anything to not think.
V pushes forward, standing on her toes to meet Cece’s lips. She presses in, tries to shove her clumsy tongue into the older woman’s mouth. The once honeyed tongue now tastes of bourbon and blood. V is shoved back, nearly falling over in her drunken state, Cece pushing her away to break the kiss before it could truly begin.
The merc blinks, staring at the older woman. Cecelia’s face scrunched up in a grimace, V’s blood now on her lips, cringing at the cling of iron on her skin. The younger woman looks down, unable to meet Cecelia’s gaze now, ashamed to be so disgusting. To have left her filth and grime on another’s tongue.
V turns away and begins to rush off again, face hot with a drunken flush and embarrassment. What the fuck is wrong with her? Why did she do that? Despite it, she can hear the click of footsteps chasing after her. Cecelia would be better off leaving the merc alone, would be better off if V had never stumbled into her life, even if only for sex. Everyone would have been better off before V stepped into their lives, the thought makes her throat tighten.
“V, please, at least let me help you home, you can’t just stumble around drunk!”
“Why the fuck not!?” V turns around and screams, blood coated spit flying from her mouth. Why can’t Cecelia just walk away?
The two are left staring at each other for another moment. Cece’s eyes wide as she tries to work through her brain for a response, something to say.
“Tonight we return with breaking news, as more information is released in regards to the death of Arasaka CEO, Saburo Arasaka.”
A newscast catches the merc’s attention, tv screens facing out towards the street through a store front window. That stupid corporate sack of shit’s name drawing her in, a news anchor shuffles through his papers.
“Yorinobu Arasaka has come forward with more information regarding his father’s death at Konepki Plaza. The identities of two suspected perpetrators have been confirmed to be that of mercenary Jackie Welles and a netrunner known only as T-Bug.”
V’s breath is knocked from her lungs as the faces of her friends are flashed across the screen. Bug’s a crisp clear image of her face, expression stoic. Jackie’s is a mugshot where he has a bruised face and is grinning at the camera. The two exactly as she remembers them, her now gone crew shown on tv screen across the city, blamed for Saburo’s death.
“The two edgerunners are believed to have been hired by a corporation to carry out the assassination, but Yorinobu has yet to disclose or point any figures regarding which of Arasaka’s enemies may have carried out this plot. Both Welles and T-Bug were confirmed dead. But, there is an unidentified third accomplice believed to have been on the scene when Saburo Arasaka was assassinated. Yorinobu has yet to release this individual's identity or footage from Konpeki, choosing for Arasaka to handle the incident internally for the time being.”
A hand squeezes V’s shoulder, her own grip tightening around the bourbon bottle.
“That’s… your friend, Jackie, isn’t it?”
And she throws the bottle against the window. Unable to smash through the bulletproof glass, the bottle breaks first fragments scattering and bourbon streaking down the window. Cece instinctively jumps back, releasing V from her grasp.
“Jesus christ, what the fuck, V?!”
But the merc is already running down the street, slower than she’d be sober, but still faster than most. And she runs and she runs and she runs. She doesn’t know what for and to what, but she just needs to move, to go, to do something. V runs until her heart is hammering in her chest, pressing tight against her rib cage. Already bruised lungs struggling to take in steady breaths. Her feet ache, blisters forming in her boots as she finally slows down.
And when she catches her second wind, limb still heavy with both ache and booze, she looks around. On the side of the roadway, a main stretch through The Glen, something she knows from the column of red and pink lights across from her. She knows where she is, where she wanted to go, whether she even fully knew. Where it began six months ago.
She looks over the edge of the road way where the guard rail breaks off, overlooking the grimy little alley to Ember’s parking lot. The dumpster closed below, just like it was for her first job, stealing the high class car. V swings herself over, none too gracefully, hitting the dumpster and sliding off of it onto her back. She curses beneath her breath, blaming the alcohol, before she finally gets back up to her feet.
A man waiting under an awning barely looks up from his phone as she stumbles past him, world still shifting around her. She walks around and to that elevator, hitting the button then stepping inside before it begins to rumble. And it’s stupid, she knows. It won’t change anything, won’t get anything back. But she just wants to be there, to stand in the place she first met him, the moment that changed so much for her.
And the doors open before her and even after all this time, she knows the path by heart, walking down the halls to the double doors. The parking lot is empty tonight, only the glow of vending machines and the VIP parking spots.
Her footfalls echo through the closed parking garage, making her way to the neon spot where that car was parked. And she lays down there, bathed in blue light, cold of cement biting at her skin through her clothes.
The place where they met, where he put a gun to her head and they were forced down on the ground by police, where they broke away and took the car back to Padre. And he invited her back to his home, took her in like a stray, no concern or worry as he offered her food and shelter.
Maybe if he hadn’t, he’d still be here. Maybe if he’d just gone ahead and blown her brains out that night, they’d all be better off. Dex wouldn’t have shelled out the job to them, Jackie would still be minor leagues but he’d be alive. Mama Welles would have her son, Misty her soulmate, and Vik his friend. Everyone happier without the merc mucking up their lives. And she wouldn’t be here either, wouldn’t be dealing with it.
V takes out her phone, instinctively pulling up his number. She wants to talk to him, just one more time, she just wants to talk to him. It rings and rings and rings, she knows he won’t answer, knows he can’t. But… there’s no harm in wishful thinking, is there?
“Hey, this is Jackie.”
Her breath catches in her throat, his voice a shock to her system, a sound caught in her throat. Say something, say something.
“Can’t come to the holo right now, leave me a message and I’ll catch ya later.”
And the machine beeps, giving her the chance to leave a voicemail, because he’s gone. She knows that, she does, but she just…
“Jackie….I… this.. Is so stupid,” she chides herself and hangs up.
She’s half drunk in an abandoned parking lot, trying to talk to ghosts. Practically one herself. She sits for a few more moments, trying slowly to piece her mind back together, if only for a moment. It’s obviously not working, so she just gives up and stands back up. Already knowing where she plans to go back, tracing back pieces of their history, if only to find peace for a moment.
V stumbles her way back to the alley way, though her movements are a little steadier than before. Rather than dragging her aching feet all the way to Kabuki, she finds the nearest NCART station stop, thankful for the twenty-four hour transit.
The train car is mostly empty, a few people shooting her odd looks as she sits down, staring at the ground. Her eyelids heavy after days of constant activity and caffeine. The soft rumble of the transit starting to feel like she’s being rocked in a cradle, lulled into sleep.
A familiar click of boots make her eyes snap open, not even realizing they closed. Brown boots shuffling in front of her vision, glitching like an old tape. She digs her nails into the back of her head, refusing to look up as the figure sits down in the seat across from her. Legs spreading wide and shamelessly as he takes up as much space as he pleases. Both in the subway train and her head.
Heart pounding and breaths getting shorter, she tries to think through it, that the pills can’t be wearing off. When did she last take one? Might be seeing things, could be someone else, could be her mind playing tricks on her.
“If only you were so lucky, Samurai,” her head shoots up at the sound of his voice, looking at him finally, “drunk and bloody on a train, wondering if you lost your mind, be funny if you weren’t so damn pathetic.”
“No, no, no, no, no, fuck!”
People are staring as she tears through her pockets, hands shaking, the words garbled in her throat. Can’t breathe, she can’t even fucking breathe as she rips the bottle of pills from her pockets. Her heart is going to explode in her chest, her lungs going to shrivel up without a strong enough breath of air, her body on fire. Shaky hands rip the cap from the bottle.
“Wait a fuckin’ min-”
His yell is cut off as she chokes the pill down dry, jumping up from her seat, the train rolling to its next stop and she runs out, tripping down the last of the steps. She nearly pukes as she hits her knees, but forces herself to swallow the bile, she can’t afford to puke the blockers back up. She stays there on the ground, holding herself, reminding herself to breathe, sucking in the cold city air. It's filthy with smog but at the moment it feels godsent.
Eventually her breathing is better, her body feels cooler, the air chilling her sweaty skin, heart rate evening out. She slowly stands up, gravel and dirt still stuck in already blood stained hands. The merc finds her way to where she was going, the rockerboy in her head not ruining her goal. She needs to see it.
She reaches the Kabuki Central stop and sucks in a breath of air when she sees the bright red neon sight, lighting the street way around the door. The No-Tell Motel, the place where they died. Or maybe she didn’t die until she hit the landfill, but she thinks it was here, when Dex blew her brains out across the carpet. Where Jackie bled out in the back of a Delamain.
V goes around to the back gateway, where the Delamain pulled in. She sits at the top of the stairs for a moment, just looking at where the taxi had been parked. Where she lost him, next to the defaced Night City logo. All his dreams of reaching the major leagues, of having the money and street cred to keep his family safe, to be a success story who made it out of Heywood. Broken. Sent spiraling down when he got too close to the sun and the wax around his feathers melted, Icarus sent plummeting down to his end.
And she wishes so much she could have convinced him not to do it, could have kept him from getting to this point. But a part of her knows she probably couldn’t have. A part of her knows that if he were in her shoes, sent plummeting down but somehow still able to stand, he would have climbed back on his feet and tried it all over again. But she’s not as strong as him…
V gets back on her feet, ready to move on to the next part, where she died. Needs to see it, needs to face it. She slips into the motel and up the stairs, memories of that night flickering in her mind. Staggering through these neon lit halls and red stairs in bloody Jinguji clothes, face still wet with tears and rain, convinced she’d see her payday and live the major league life if only for Jackie.
She walks down that long stretch of hallway and reaches the room, 204, where Dex Deshawn shot her. It’s vacant, but she hasn’t paid for the room. Remembering even just bits of what Bug taught her, V’s able to hack the door, watching it slide open. Half expecting Dex’s bodyguard to be waiting behind the beaded curtain. Of course, he isn’t.
The room is just as she remembered, the standard sleazy No-Tell Motel room. Neon red light over a grimy bed, a dirty blanket thrown on a stained leather couch. And near the bed and bathroom, she sees it. Red now rusted and stained to a crusty brown, her blood. Where she was shot. Where she died, they haven’t even bothered to clean her blood from the floor. And that’s all she would have been. Another stain in a carpet. Another life snuffed out in Night City with no one to mourn her.
She opens the bathroom door and doesn’t even have to step in to see the mess she left is still there. Brown formerly crimson blood stained across the broken mirror, sink marked in rusted red brown handprints. V sits down on the bed, her blood stains in view, she holds her head and she cries again. She cries for Jackie, for Bug, for herself. She sobs and she lets out just a bit more of her pain. And the sobs die down, as they always do at some point. The tears run dry and the sob become more choked.
There’s one more place she needs to see, she decides, standing from the bed. It’s a longer way out, but she needs to see where she was left. Where her body would have rotted away with no one giving it a second thought. She leaves the hotel, no even bothering to shut the motel door behind her.
V doesn’t bother with the NCART again, as far away as the landfill is and scared of seeing him again. She knows the train didn’t trigger it, but she just, doesn’t want it. She’s sobered up, a fair amount, maybe still a bit tipsy. Its dumb, a bad move ayway, but she busts the window out of a parked MaiMai, little blue box of a car. Clears the glass off the driver’s seat and breaks into it.
The keys in it, she drives it and drives, careening through the traffic of Night City. Watching as the neon lights start to fade away as she hits the outskirts. Glowing billboards advertising become scarcer and scarcer, noise filtering away. Until there’s nothing but craggy rocks and stretches of desert land.
And the distance hills become made of trash as she comes closer and closer to her destination, driving past a little gas station. She parks where the little dirt pathways through the landfill meet the road. V climbs out of the driver’s seat and starts walking, boots sloshing through the mud puddles and crushing grass underfoot as she walks through mountains of trash.
An orange glow catches her eye as she starts to near a clearing, a trashcan fire still burning in the night. And as she reaches the clearing, she sees his body, Dex’s corpse still laid out where she shot him. Through the moonlight and the light of the fire, she can see bullet wound in his head, the purple in his skin where blood has settled.
No one’s come to find him. No one’s collected him. He blew her brains out and left her to rot in a landfill, now here he is. Karma or something, she thinks. One of the best fixers in Night City, major leagues, rich as hell and meant to be their ticket to success. But he was thrown out and forgotten just like anyone else.
She gently kicks his body, not even angry anymore, she’s not sure she has the energy to be. And what good would it do her, she already took the man’s life, what more can she do. He’s suffered the very fate he tried to damn her too, not even knowing what he did to her in the end. Dex was desperate, scared of what would happen if he was connected to her and the heist. He had no way of knowing the chip would do this.
His body shifts under the push of her boot, limp and useless. But she sees a glint, his gun. A gaudy little thing of black and gold, his name emblazoned across it. She picks it up, seeing the blood on it’s barrel and wonders if her brains splattered on Dex when he shot her.
She takes it with her as she goes to sit on a nearby rusty fridge, holding it in her hand, feeling the weight of it. V touches the bullet pendant around her neck, a bullet fired from this very gun. She wipes the crusted blood off it’s barrel, chipping it off with her fingernail. Maybe it was all fate, people aren’t meant to come back like that, not like this.
Her mind returns to what she told Misty, about blowing her brains out. The older woman telling her she’d kill two souls, if aimed right, it’d kill Johnny too. And maybe that’s not a bad thing… He showed his colors, when he attacked her. If that’s who he is, who he chooses to be. She’s killed people for less.
And isn’t it better than suffering? No dragging it out, no slowly losing control, no watching herself turn into him. She’d go out on her own terms, no one else's. No Arasaka’s, not Johnny’s, not her dad’s; her’s.
A quick shot, a jolt of pain, then she’d be gone like that. Her and Johnny. She wraps her lips around the barrel of the gun, the taste of metal and dirt on her tongue. Feels the weight of it in her mouth and clacks her teeth against it, biting down on it. Her finger on the trigger, one twitch of movement away from it all ending. From slipping away into the end and never dealing with this.
Do it.
Her finger doesn’t move.
Do it.
Nothing.
Do it.
And she’s crying, because it’s all she does, unable to make the final move. Unable to pull the trigger, she pulls the gun from her lips. And she holds her face as she cries again, she’s sick of this, sick of feeling this way. Sick of hurting, of being a nothing, of knowing she’s going to fade away and be forgotten like so many others. Of knowing she doesn’t matter and never will. That she’s going to become someone else, that she doesn’t and never will have place in this world, maybe was never meant to.
Only when the sun rises so does she, a notification on her optics that another payment from the NCPD has come in. Still a few grand short of paying off Vik without cutting her own throat in terms of cash, maybe she’d be better off killing herself that way, she wonders… But a part of her would prefer Dex’s gun, gone the way she was meant to, meeting her fate head on.
Head aching, foggy with exhaustion, but no longer buzzed with alcohol. She has a text about the fight in Kabuki and she still needs to get money from Wakako for the Dorsett gig; her last one with Jackie before the heist. She wipes the tears from her face and tucks Dex’s gun in her waistband, for later, meet her fate another day, she decides leaving the landfill.
Death will wait for her, it’s done just that for years, albeit not always patiently. They got a date set, according to Vik, six months out. She’ll jump to meet the end sooner, she thinks, find it on her own terms. But for now, she’s not quite ready.
Can You Feel The Sun? (Chapter Ten): Aint It A Gentle Sound, The Rolling In The Graves
Notes: Cyberpunk had consumed my brain, it is official, so have more fic. This and the next chapter are both uhhh heavy, the next chapter moreso in my opinion. So, please heed the warnings carefully.
If you haven’t yet, you can read the previous chapter here!~
She heard him.
Doesn’t hear the breaths that rattle and shake her chest. Didn’t hear her own cries, her own curses. Couldn’t hear the thumping of trash as she climbed from the pit.
But she heard him.
“What?” It's but a whisper on her lips, staring at the man with blurry halved vision, and she can’t hear it.
Bile rushes up her throat, stomach churning as it tries to empty its contents. V rolls over to her hands and knees, retching into the mud and filth. Puke and blood heavy on her tongue, more blood than anything else. She spits the last of it out, pushing already blood matter hair from her face on instinct.
Then she moves her hand back further, to her ear, nothing in it, but she feels for a hearing aid. There has to be a logical explanation, why she heard him but not her own gagging. Why she heard him but not the wind whipping through the trash, why does she hear him.
No hearing aid, not even a broken remnant of it lodged in her ear, the other side the same. And her touching, she feels something else… The hole in her skull, part of her head open to the world. She feels the edge of bone, gore clinging to her digits and she doesn’t know what she touches beyond it, prodding at her flesh with filthy fingers. When she pulls her fingers away, she looks at the tissue, the fragment of bone, all sticking to her hand. How the hell is she alive?
And the man, she knows him, the memories and cyberspace. He should be dead too, Arasaka killed him…
“John...ny?”
She tests his name on her tongue, can feel the reverberation of it in her chest, but not hear it. V waits for a response, waits to hear him, to know she can again. But nothing. Maybe it was a fluke, maybe, an auditory hallucination. She twists to face him again.
“What the- what the fuck?”
He’s gone, was he ever there? Bullet to the brain, maybe he’s all a hallucination. Maybe the memories and cyberspace just long form hallucinations? That happens, right, why some people claim to see heaven? The brain hallucinates when deprived of oxygen...or maybe when a bullet goes through it, touching parts that shouldn’t be touched?
That’s it. That’s all it is. Hallucinations of a damaged brain. She needs a doctor, needs Vik. She gathers her strength, attempting to push herself back up on her feet, legs giving out as she hits her knees into the mud, digging her fingers into it.
Just stand up, just stand up and walk damn it. She screams at herself, then she sees something, a flash of movement in her blurry vision. At first just a shadowy figure standing amidst the trash. Focusing harder so she can make out who it is.
Dex starts to wander into the landfill, boots crushing through mud, towards her. Adrenaline spikes, anger in her center as she glares at his fuzzy figure. The man who killed her blew her brains out and threw her away like trash. She still has Yorinobu’s gun tucked into her belt.
V grabs the gun and suddenly she gets on her feet real fucking easy.
Maybe it’s adrenaline. Maybe it’s spite. But it makes her steadier and she knows if it’s the last thing she fucking does, she’s taking Dex down with her. She makes it halfway through the passageway through the trash and takes aim.
Dex’s eyes go wide, looking over her, she has no idea what she looks like. But she’s sure it’s horrifying, a walking corpse.
“H...fuck!?” her contact struggles to read his lips, but she tries to fill in the blanks, practically laughing.
“What’s wrong Dex, you come to see if you can get it right this time? Think you can manage to not fuck it up this time?”
“How...fuck...alive?”
“Bad news, apparently one of us has shit aim, Good news is it ain’t me.”
And she pulls the trigger, directly through the center of Dex’s head. Brains and blood spraying as he hits the ground, dead at her feet. And she expects to feel better, for her, for Jackie, for Bug. The man who set this shit show up is gone, the man who blew her brains out, would have Jackie’s too if he had the chance, is gone. But she just feels empty, body still a mangled mess and standing in a landfill.
Then she sees a flash of black fabric, a person. Before she can raise the gun or do anything, there’s a hand of flesh and chrome grabbing her wrist. Arm twisted and she’s yanked over, losing her balance, crying out as the gun falls from her fingers. The hand over where her blade would come out, when she tries to let it out it won’t budge under the grasp. She’s pulled back and towards them, back knocking to her chest as she struggles to fight a grip strong enough to crack bone if she let it. Their other hand is on her throat in a moment, tight and crushing as she’s pulled flush to their chest.
V gasps as the hand tightens, already damaged vision blurring further as she gasps for air. Calloused fingers and chrome digging into her windpipe, tears stinging her eyes. She scratches and claws with her bad hand, but can seem to get a grip on him. Held tight to their chest, she cranes her neck, fighting the hold on it and looking up with darkening vision to see him. The bodyguard from Konpeki, brown silver ringed eyes and long graying hair pulled back off his face. Metal etched face like stone as he strangles the merc.
What bit of strength and consciousness she regained is sapped quickly under his heavy hand, body starting to go limp as she starts to pass out. Then she’s thrown to the ground, on her hands and knees as she tries to break the fall; gasping desperately for air. She feels even weaker now, adrenaline fading, pain hitting her again. Why is an Arasaka fucker here? Who the hell sent him? Did Dex drag him here?
She twists to sit down, leaning against a rusted fridge as she touches her bruised throat. The guard stalks closer, shiny shoes walking through muck before he crouches down in front of her. Her contact subtitles start in Japanese before trying to translate what bits they catch from his lips.
“Arasaka-sama….found….father’s killer,” his eyes staring her down, “...her….no...doubt. Yes. Expect… hour.”
He’s going to drag her in, throw her to the non-existent mercy of Arasaka. Flashes of those memories, Johnny’s death, if it’s even real and not just a story from her damaged brain. But she remembers his death, the pain of what they did, every neuron on fire. Is that what they’ll do to her?
“Go fuck yourself!”
She gathers all the spit and blood in her mouth, she hopes traces of puke too out of spite. And she spits on him, right in his face, all she can muster. Spittle coats his bearded face and she feels a moment of sick satisfaction, no matter how small.
“Quiet!”
He backhands her, a sharp slap that forces her head to move. Then he wipes her spit off on his sleeve. Her vision blurs, consciousness threatening to slip away as she feels his hands lifting her up. The world going dark for a moment as she’s carried away by the bodyguard.
When the world returns for a brief moment, she’s in a passenger side seat, laying against the leather. The driver side door opens and she watches as he sits behind the wheel, for a moment his eyes linger on her. His nose wrinkles in disgust as they start to drive out of the landfill.
“...smell...shit.”
She wants to cuss him out, but she can no longer summon the energy. Blood loss catching up with her. If she’s lucky, she’ll die before she ever sees the inside of an Arasaka interrogation room. They can play with her corpse to their heart’s content, as long as they don’t get anything from her. Her eyelids are heavy, the world going dark again.
It’s a sharp pain that brings her back, a choking gasp for air as her entire body convulses, pulling at raw nerves and muscles. The UI in her contact blinks system malfunction, blurring distorting, glitching already damaged vision. Every part of her seizing, she has to remind herself to breathe, tell her heart to beat.
Chrome etched fingers push an airhypo into her hand, the guard is twisted up behind the wheel, holding at his stomach. He’s hurt, but how? Why is he giving her first aid? It could be a trick, but she takes that risk, knowing she’ll die without something anyway. She wraps bloodied twitching fingers around the airhypo and punches it directly into her chest, a needle of medication plunged into her system. A brief booster of relief. Her lungs able to breathe, pain numbing for a moment, muscles relaxing.
The wind is whipping as he drives. An orange sky around them, car driving down a a highway, the sun just starting to come up. Beautiful for a moment.
tHE she goes to toss the hypo container out of the convertible, throwing it right into the face of a man driving a motorcycle up along side of them. His eyes an intense red, optic glow. Dressed in Arasaka uniform, his eyes on her. Friends of the bodyguard? The motorcycle accelerates, moves in front of them, then the man pulls a gun. Another motorcyclist races past the drivers side. Glass shatters as bullets blast the windshield. A third one weaving into the fray. The long haired guard punches the gas, ramming into the back of one of the bikes. It sparks and flames, sending it’s rider flying before the motorcycle rolls off the windshield over their head.
The hell is going on? Why is he fighting his own men? Why are they fighting him? A black and red gun is pushed into her hand, the intention clear without words. Half blind, half dead, but hopped up on a booster; she takes aim.
Its not her best work, firing at the cyclists. She focuses on the one lingering towards her side, closer to them. She aims for tires first, bullets sparking and pinging off the bike, but not quite make the impact she needs. V tries hard, tries to focus harder on his head, trying to land a headshot as the pair continue to shoot at the car. The movement of which does nothing to help.
His motorcycle starts to flame up, streaks of red flickering as he rides. When it stalls in the middle of the highway, the long haired guard hits the gas harder, catching the front of it and destroys it, sending him across the road.
They get neck and neck to the other rider, cold red eyes glaring at them before drifting off to another lane, picking up speed before he guns it back towards them, slamming the bike into the side of the vehicle. Knocking the car off course, they slam into oncoming traffic, head on into someone else's car. But the long haired man doesn’t slow down, swerving pack into their lane, too quick, as he ends up half on the curb. The side of the car scratches an NCART stop as the guard turns them around; driving in reverse to face the motorcyclist. He drives head on towards them and V starts shooting again, trying to get clear aim.
One lucky shot hits where she needs, bike combusting and rider flying. As breathing gets harder for her, her muscles start to tighter, pain in her...everything starting to come back. The boost of adrenaline from the hypo is fading. And another motorcycle comes speeding at them, riding through the dust and smoke of the former. How many are there?
The bodyguard starts to turn the car back around, a vehicle merging clips against them, sending the civilian car right into the path of the motorcycle. He hits the hood of it, motorcycle sparking and man sent flying, but he leans into the launch of it, mantis blades extending from his arms as he lands on the back of their car.
And the flames weren’t just from his bike, he’s more metal than flesh. Charred remains of skin giving way of the metal bones beneath. He sweeps his blades back and forth, the rock of the car and the heat of fire on his skin making his aim messy, just missing their heads. He flips to the front, clinging to the grill of the car as the bodyguard drives.
Mantis blades sink into the hood as the man starts trying to climb his way up and to them, a flaming metal skeleton with half melted skin. She desperately tries to shoot him off as he pulls himself forward, a turn pushing him back, but the grip of his blades through the metal stays. He just nearly reaches, swiping a blade out but a swerve of the car makes him miss. A blade hooks into the dashboard in front of her and he punches out the other, stabbing between them.
“Traitor!”
Her contact reads the words on the man’s lips, clear as day. The long haired guard, Saburo's own bodyguard; a traitor?
The car smashes into the bottom of a billboard, cracking and buckling. Her head slams against the dashboard, darkness swimming through her vision, consciousness fading, she’s not sure how much more she can handle. She blinks, but maybe it was more than a blink, the long hair guard gone.
Then her door opens, hands hook beneath her arms and she’s dragged out of the car, across the road. Taking in the crash. Pinned between the car and a pole, the flaming metal exoskeleton of a man convulses, mouth opened in what looks like a scream, maybe he still has nerve endings. His body is crushed, his bladed arms swinging out.
Hands leave her body, the guard crouching in front of her, his movements slow. He’s injured too, clutching at a bullet wound. She tries to focus on his lips.
“Do not pass...again.”
“No promises…” She croaks out.
“...eyes...open…”
Her eyes drift to whats left of the other man, still struggling, still pinned. She levels the gun with his head as best she can, pulling the trigger and putting him out of any pain he may be in. Or may she’s simply saving her own ass by killing a witness. She’s not entirely sure. The bodyguard takes the gun from her hand, looking at her like he’s caught a child misbehaving. She lets out a soft laugh.
Bleeding out on the highway, skull caved in, a mangled corpse. And she laughs. Maybe her and Jackie aren’t that different, maybe he’d be proud of her…maybe.
“He’s behind Misty’s Esoterica in Watson, you’ll get there faster without me… I’m...not...gonna…”
“Make the call.”
He speaks slow and clear enough, the contact translating perfectly. He’s got no reason to want to save her, she doesn’t know what his game is. But, she sends a call through her holo, to Delamain. She doesn’t know why that’s the first thing to come to mind, maybe the cab will tell them to fuck off, the ride paid for by Dex after all. But the taxi service is the first thing that comes to mind. The avatar comes up in her contact.
“Greetings, my scanner indicates you are outside the service area.” The contact reads him clearly, maybe the holo feeding subtitles better.
“Pick me up, please… I have to get to Vik’s clinic, behind Misty’s Esoterica,” she tells him, her eyelids starting to grow heavy again.
“Of course,” he agrees with no hesitance, “a vehicle en route. It should arrive in less than twenty minutes.”
And her eyes close, blinking and eyes going dark again. It feels like only a moment.
But when she opens her eyes again, she’s in a Delamain, stretched across the backseat with her head in the guard’s lap. He’s leaning over her, able to see through blurry vision, the heavy gray around his temples and the blood splattered across him. His hands are pushing through her hair.
“Please proceed to insert the jack below the ear, though not too deep. There should be auxiliary neurosockets between her lymph nodes, beneath the SCM muscle.”
The subtitles filter across her contact, Delamain by the choice of words, but she’s not reading his lips. Unable to look directly at his AI avatar, she's not sure how, but doesn't have the energy to question it. The guard holds a jack between his fingers, brows furrowing for a moment.
“...hit vein...mistake...die.”
“As she will if you do nothing.”
“I think I have the socket…”
“Now proceed to connect.”
The world goes dark again, V barely able to stay conscious for more than a moment. This is it, she’s really dying. So much for laughing in the face of it and making Jackie proud.
And when she opens them again she’s being pulled from the back of the car, the guard’s hands hold her. His grip is slipping, barely able to lift even her small frame, he’s hurt badly. Familiar hands interrupt, stronger in this moment, a ripperdoc glove on one hand. Vik pulls her from the cab easily lifting and holding her. He starts to walk away with her, the Arasaka bodyguard starting to follow, but his steps are staggering.
“Can’t..”
Then he’s falling, hitting the ground of Vik’s garage, his back leaning against the Delamain cab as he clutches at his bleeding arm, his face starting to go gray. V can feel the reverb in Vik’s chest, cracked open skull leaning against it as he calls out.
And it feels like a blink. Just a moment, a bit of darkness, but the world has shifted again. A bright bright white light glows over head, she’s on Vik’s operating table, the ripper doc standing over her.
“It’s neurogenic shock, she’s dying,” Delamain’s subtitles come across her contact.
Tears burn at her eyes. This is it, she’s really dying, after all this trouble. She’ll bleed out in Vik’s chair. Vik’s lips move, but the contact reads nothing, only a blip. He twists and turns her face where he needs her.
“There is risk of-”
Vik cuts the taxi cab AI off, but she doesn’t know what he says, light too bright to see anything else. Only able to catch the movement of it. And she’s been expecting this, each moment since Dex shot her feeling like her last. But this has to be it the end, heart slowing again, eyelids heavy again. Her skull has been cracked open, brain exposed to trash and air for the past several hours. She’s been bleeding out for god knows how long. She was never going to make it out of this, was never meant to.
A billion thoughts dance in her head, of Jackie, of all that’s happened. She reaches out and grabs Vik’s shirt, bloody fingers twisting into the blue of his shirt. Her grasp is weak, but Vik stops when he feels the feeble little pull on his clothes, looking down on her. And he looks so scared, green eyes wide as he stares down at her.
“I’m sorry…”
Its all she can think to say, she’s sorry. She’s sorry about Jackie. She’s sorry she didn’t listen to Vik. She’s sorry she took the job. She’s sorry she couldn’t save him. She’s just sorry.. And she hopes Misty hears it, hopes it gets back to Mama Welles. Hopes they know she’s sorry, hopes they know she tried…
And it all goes dark again, that void that welcomes her time and time again. She doesn’t expect to come out of it, truly she doesn’t. Stuck in the dark for who knows how long.
For a moment the world comes back, mind fuzzy, she can see Misty checking something. Wants to reach out and touch her, say something. But her body won’t move, her mouth dryer than the desert. That Arasaka guard is in Vik’s other chair, Vik working on him. And she blinks again.
Vik is at his work bench, watching a boxing match. Her clothes are changed, her skin cleaner than it was before, her vision glitching but no longer halved. Does she still have contacts in? The question is foggy in her brain, barely formed before she’s falling into darkness again.
The guard and Vik are standing before where she lays. How much time has passed? The long haired bodyguard looks healthier now, healed up, dressed in white. Not a trace of blood on him, no more gray in his face.
“How is she?” Subtitles form across her vision, clearer than usual, able to pick it up at a further distance.
“Slower on the mend than you, but lookin' better every day.”
Day… has it been days? Her eyes are drifting shut again, unable to keep them open for long. But the void doesn’t greet her this time, instead fuzzy dreams...memories. Being on a stage, being at a nomad camp. Sometimes she’s her. Other times….
Her eyes open again. And this time the Arasaka guard is closer, hands fussing with something. Touching her shoulder, her skin. He pulls away after a moment, then taps her shoulder, a heavy pap against her flesh. Then she’s gone again.
Dreams and memories drift into each other.
Drinking in some shitty bar with Misty and Jackie, capping the night off with booze as they talk let loose after a week of shitty jobs and annoying customers, She throws back her favorite bourbon and cherry coke, but it turns to tequila in her mouth. Shot glass hitting the table, Misty and Jackie replaced with Kerry and Rogue, snickering as she grabs another shot.
Vik repairing a knife wound in her gut, teasing her nose for trouble, but when he goes to turn he becomes Milt, a man she knows, though she doesn’t know why. He’s replacing her liver for the third time that month, tells her she needs to cool it on the booze.
Entangled in the sheets with Sabrina, a short lived flame. But when they twist to roll over, its not Sabrina looking up at her. A blonde with freckles across her nose and soft green eyes instead of the dark haired woman V thought she could love.
She’s on stage, screaming lyrics into a mic and the noise doesn’t bug her, she screams her rage, her message. But fingers meet guitar strings and the world shifts, electric axe becoming acoustic. A dirty club becomes a tent and instead of playing to a crowd she’s in her mother’s lap, mom humming Rhiannon as she teaches the young nomad to play.
Busting through the doors to Arasaka tower, nuke on her back, but the doors open to Yorinobu’s suite, Jackie shushing her to stay quiet. As if she’s ever struggled to be quiet.
She’s got a blade in the side of Konpeki Plaza, grabbing Jackie, but the moment her hand wraps around his wrist she’s the one dangling, holding onto Rogue as she dangles above Arasaka Tower.
Sometimes who’s in what memory switches, changes. Sometimes it’s her setting off the nuke in Arasaka, painted nails clicking against the bomb. Sometimes it’s tattooed and silver hands softly correcting Jackie’s sign language.
It all blurs and blurs and blurs until she’s not sure who did what. Who’s the deaf merc and who’s the rocker who nuked a tower? And her head aches to keep track, to know who she is, the pain building and building which each twist of it, each change in those dreams that muddy the waters of who she is and who he is. Until the pain is overwhelming.
“Argh ahh, fuck!” She gasps and screams out, waking up in agony. She grabs and clutches at her head, trying to soothe it.
Hands come and touch her face, looking up at Vik, eyes kind as he slides a spare pair of hearing aids on her. Able to hear her own panicked breathing as Vik soothes his hands across her jaw.
“V? You in there?” he asks her, his wording strange, who else would she be?
“Vik..” she speaks and signs, hands trembling and voice rough, her vision still glitching and distorting. Her torso is wrapped in bandages, a pair of pajama pants on her for modesty. There’s more bandages wrapped around her head, down her forearm. There’s no markings of the mantis blades on her right arm.
“How you feeling?”
“Everything hurts...visions...do I have contacts in?”
“Yeah… lots to discuss, kid,” he says, swallowing hard and crossing his arms, “had to install optics on you…”
“What?” Her eyes are gone, replaced with tech, just that easily. The eyes she sees through no longer the ones genetics or her father gave her, but corp created metal.
“Bullet damaged the optic nerve, I had no choice, I-”
“I know,” she says, arm and hand too sore to sign, Vik would never install them if it wasn’t necessary, she trusts that.
“On a brighter note, switched you to the projectile launcher.”
“Huh?” She checks her left arm, indentations of chrome, similar but slightly different from the mantis blades.
“The blades work best together, I would have just repaired the right and spruced up the left, but… when the blade ripped out, the muscle was damaged beneath it. It can’t support anymore cyberware, to install a new blade in it, I’d have to remove the full arm. Figured, be better to give you the tech you wanted more, anway.”
“I owe you, a lot, seriously. May...take longer to pay you back than I thought.”
“That’s, uh, that’s not the most important thing right now. V, what do you remember?”
“Dex… shot me and then I started seeing things…” She explains, sitting up a little straighter and pulling her knees closer, body aching at the movement.
“These...hallucinations, describe ‘em to me.”
“There’s a lot, it’s like, I’m someone else, but still me. Seeing someone else’s life. I’m on stage in some grimey little club, bright lights. I start playing, screaming into the mic, letting out my hatred...screaming out a message. Got something to say, desperate for anyone to listen. Then I finish the set and… head my ass to Arasaka Tower, nuke the whole damn place… I don’t know if it was a dream or. I know it sound’s ridiculous.”
“Not ridiculous at all, kid,” Vik tells her, nodding along and sitting down, fiddling with his glasses, a nervous tic she’s rarely seen.
“Night City looked different, older and I hated it. Then… they killed me, Arasaka scorched me with something, every nerve frying. It felt real, so- so fucking real, I knew it wasn’t me but it felt like it. Never had a dream like that…”
“You weren't dreaming, V. Those were memories. There's a personality construct on that shard, Dreams you had were from his past.”
She blinks, processing the words for a moment. That makes sense, when she thinks about it. Commercials for the relic advertised it as a storage for a person’s engram, something akin to an imaginary friend. It didn’t cross her mind in the moment, but logically Jackie and her should have seen someone with the chip slotted in… Right? But either way, she had a chip with someone’s intel, she got fucked up and maybe the chip activated, triggered, and showed her whoever was on it. Johnny… who gives a fuck.
“Okay, so, it was just the chip… Where you put it?” It may be too hopeful, but if the chip is in good enough shape, Vik is savvy enough, he may have had a container that would work. If so, she may be able to get in contact with Evelyn. Close the deal, for Jackie.
“V… I…”
“Did it get destroyed?” She reaches up to her chip slot, without thinking, touching her fingers against it.
“Don’t touch it,” Vik yells out, calloused fingers wrapping around her wrist just as she feels the edge of something in her chipslot. He didn’t pull it, which is odd enough, but why is he so worried of her doing it?
“Why? Something wrong, if the chip is fucking with me, I can just pull it out, right? No harm, no foul.”
“It’s not that simple, V.”
“What do you mean, it’s not that simple? Its just a shard, a chip like anything else.”
“Not quite, you two're connected in a way I can't make head or tail of.”
“Connect- what do you mean, me and who?”
“Johnny Silverhand. A terrorist - real talk o' the town back in my day,” he lets out a heavy sigh, leaning forward , “ Anyway, that's not what's important right now….”
And there’s something in the way his body language changes, the shift in expression. She’s seen him worried to death, seen him nag her time and time again. Tell her in a thousand different ways she had to stop knocking on death’s door or it’d start knocking back. But he barely meets his eyes now, face drained of color, like he’s the one who took a bullet. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think he was about to cry.
“So, new eyes, new chrome, and reliving a terrorist’s life; none of that's important. So, what exactly is?”
“You, uh, don't got a lot of time left, kid,” he tells her, voice cracking in a way she’s never heard.
“Wha-what do you mean?” She’s hurting sure, that’s to be expected, but she doesn’t feel like she’s on death’s door, not anymore. She should be out of the woods now.
“ The biochip… It's basically a bomb, fuse lit already. You don't have much time left, much… life. A few, maybe six months tops. Silverhand's construct is overwriting your consciousness - gradually taking over your body until one day you'll just be… gone”
He can only meet her eyes for a few words at a time, blinking and looking away each time his eyes start to look watery. V’s breath catches in her throat, Vik’s words pinging around her skull. She believes him, no reason not to, he’d never lie about something like this. Hell, she doubts he’d ever lie at all. Death has teased her relentlessly all her life, but never so much as it has in this past...day, weeks? Since Dex shot her, moment after moment of thinking she’d met her end. Each time convinced it was the end, that she’d bleed out in a motel, thrown away in landfill, die in Vik’s chair.
But this… this isn’t what she imagined. A bullet, a knife wound, a quick hack, someone’s chrome; all things she could see taking her. Bleeding out in an alley, in a car, shot point blank dying before she hits the ground. Those are merc deaths, the kind of death that’s been awaiting her. Culled at the hands of her family, a quick clean captive bolt shot to the skull.
Becoming someone else, mind twisted and warped, a terrorist taking her place. Her brain and being carved away to let someone else take root. Is it even a death? Or just ceasing to be? Rewritten, reworked, turned into someone new. A terrorist, a rockerboy; taking her place, wearing her like a cheap suit.
Vik rubs at his forehead, refusing for another moment to make eye contact, giving her a moment. Letting this settle in or maybe he’s just trying to collect himself, after another beat of silence he meets her eyes again.
“V. It's important you get all this,” he tells her, but, Vik can help her. He’s the best, pulled miracles out of nowhere, for fucks sake, he pieced her head back together. The fact she’s here right now means…
“That’s okay, you’ll fix me up. Right, Vik?”
And his face falls, a quiver in his jaw, “If I could, I would, V, believe me. But this is… Way beyond what I know how to do.”
“You're the best of the best, Vik,” her voice is higher than she wants, shakier than she’d like, as he puts his head in his hands again, “Why can't you help me?”
“Want the long story or the short?” He sits up straighter, takes in a deep breath, trying to pull himself together.
“I want- I need to know everything, Vik, what’s happening to me?”
“OK. There was, is, a construct, a psyche on the chip. That of Johnny Silverhand. You jacked it in your chipslot. Nothing happened, right? Until you died.”
“Shot point blank by Dex Deshawn...how…”
“Low caliber - you lucked out. Not least thanks to another poor decision by Mr. DeShawn. The nannites off the chip started fixing the damage. Biochip revived and... short-circ'd you. Started uploading data into your head. As far as it was concerned, your brain was an empty vessel that needed to be filled by the engram it was carrying.”
“But-but, I’m here, this is me. I’m me, I-”
And he nearly breaks, she can see it in him, A grown man, old enough to be her dad, looking down like a kicked dog. Like he’s about to break down in tears and when did she start crying? Her eyes stinging, tears running hot down her cheeks, she doesn’t know when the dam bursted, when her voice started sounding so pathetic. But...this is her, she’s here, she doesn’t want to become someone else…
“The shard doesn't read, it writes. Headache of yours? It's the biochip rewiring your neural pathways, building new neural structures, doing away with the old. From the biochip's perspective, your brain cells are a tumor that needs to be scooped out, while your body's an empty shell to hold the construct. You’re….just a cancer, an intruder.”
An intruder, a cancer in her own fucking body. It’s almost poetic, if it wasn’t so infuriating. Her body trying to destroy itself for years and now this chip is joining the fight, like her body was never meant to be her’s. But it is, this is her. Years under someone else's thumb; she fought for the right to herself, her body, her life. And now some wannabe rockstar is out to ruin that?
“So, that’s it? Johnny What’s His Fuck is out to kill me? Booting me out of my own damn body and taking my place?”
She tries to turn it into anger, blaming him, because who else does she blame? Anger is easier, safer, she can work with anger better than the anguish in her chest, the tears soaking her face.
“It's not willful on his part. It's automatic, inevitable. And neither of you can stop it.”
The finality makes her choke. Nothing to do. Nothing to stop it. This is happening. All she can do is wait to rot inside her own body, wait for the moment where Johnny claims it as his own. She’ll be gone, wiped, the world forgetting she was ever part of it. Just a weak little merc killed by her own body, never truly meant to be here in the first place.
“Ca-can’t we just take it out? Turn it off-I, something?!”
“Either way's out of the question. You'd die, immediately.”
“What do you mean?”
“Chip saved you… it’s killing you, but, it’s also the only thing keeping you alive. Without it keeping your brain going… life support and a death sentence, all in one. “
“Vik, you’ve always come through for me, there’s nothing you can’t do. If-if you can’t help...what-what the hell do I do? Please… I,” Vik stands up, looks at her like she’s already gone, arms crossed over his chest, “Vik?”
“I wish I knew, kid.” And he turns his back to her, walking away.
“Vik?”
“Misty!” He calls the woman’s name half in a yell and half in a sob, breaking down.
For a moment she’s left alone, wiping tears from her eyes. The look on Vik’s face trapped in her mind, looking at her like she’s already dead and this is her funeral. Looking at her like a wounded dog. Like her mother and sister did when she lost her hearing. Pity, despair, mourning what’s been taken. And she cries into her hands, because this time it’s not her hearing. It's her everything. Years of trying to feel like she had an ounce of fucking control, just for it to be taken. Years of searching for a place in this world, for the world to tell her one never existed. Her own brain reworking itself to be anyone else, even a terrorist.
There’s a creak of wheels against the floor, a wheelchair being pushed into her peripheral vision. Misty’s pushing it towards her, V doesn’t lift her head to make eye contact, just watching the chair wheels spin.
“You're askin' too much from an old-timer like Vik,” Misty speaks softly, touching V’s hand and the merc finally meets her gaze, “C'mon, V, let's get you home.”
Misty helps V into the wheelchair, the merc’s legs shakier than she expected, and she curses under her breath. She hates it, needing the help, needing Misty’s hands to steady her. Feeling weak. But Misty helps her happily, wheeling her out the garage of Vik’s clinic to a car. Misty tucking her into the passenger seat and helping buckle her seat belt when the merc’s hands are too clumsy.
V watches the world go by as Misty drives, looking at the city that passes by. A world, a city, she wanted a place in. That she wanted to respect her, to know her. A world she wanted to matter in, to prove she was strong, to feel like she meant something. And now she’ll just vanish from it, with no one caring. A world that will never miss her, because it never knew her to begin with.
And a part of her wants to climb across the console and into Misty’s lap, to throw her arm around the older woman and sink there. To hug someone who to some extent, if only because of Jackie, cares about her, who maybe, just maybe she matters to. But for a billion reasons, ranging from the fact Misty’s driving to the fact she can’t imagine why Misty would ever want to hug her. While kind, V can’t imagine anyone wanting to curl up with the person who got their boyfriend killed. V promised to keep him safe and couldn’t.
“You wanna talk, V, about what happened?”
V doesn’t respond right away, unsure of what to say, there’s so much swimming in her head. So many words that just die on her tongue. Does she talk about Jackie, does she apologize? Does she act selfishly, talk about what’s happening to her? It’s all a mess. Then they’re pulling into the parking garage of V’s building. Misty gets the folded up wheelchair out of the back of her car, holding a bag with V’s belongings in it, bringing them to the passenger side. The older blonde opens V’s door and helps her into the chair, wheeling her to the elevator.
The doors to the elevator close, ads playing across the screens, V fiddles with the fabric of the sweatpants that Vik put her in. She tries to speak, words don’t come out. She tries to sign, her fingers clench but don’t move beyond it. The elevator shaking as it takes them up to V’s floor.
“Its-it’s all so hard to make sense of…” she finally says, just being honest, as the doors open and Misty wheels her down those dirty halls.
“I know it is, sweetie, you’ve been through so much.”
“We were just stealing the chip and then everything… went to shit…. And, and, then he died and I thought I was gonna die too with him in my sleep...if that’s what it was, like I was dreaming but...not.”
“Sleep's a… Small hint of death, the inevitable,” Misty tells her as they reach V’s door, the older woman scooping up a box by the door as the merc unlocks it.
Memories of her door fucking up flicker around her head, Robert Linder… No… that’s not possible. They hadn’t even touched Konpeki yet, but she swears she knows that name. That it’s him, his birth name. Robbie, Robert, before finally settling on Johnny. Her throat feels tight, chest constricting, how is that possible. Then Misty is pushing her through the doors.
“I-I can't actually tell if I'm awake now, right now. Nothing feels real, I mean, I could be dead already, right?”
“Not something to think about right now, V,” Misty tells her, stopping the chair by her bed, before coming to stand in front of her, “Here, got some meds for you.”
There’s two pill bottles in Misty’s hands, blue and orange. She crouches down in front of V, meeting the merc’s eyes without looking down at her. Misty rattles the blue pill bottle.
“Omega blockers - taken regularly, they'll keep things from progressing too quickly. Also, they should keep that guest of yours calm, quiet.”
Quiet. Because she’s going to see him, going to hear him, already has. The memory of hearing his voice, seeing him above her in the landfill. She’s not alone in her own head and putting him in a chemical straight jacket is all she can do. She takes the blue bottle from Misty, shaking the pills around inside, her only hope of squeezing out even six more months of life… before she becomes someone else.
“Pseudoendotrizine's from me,” Misty shakes the orange bottle, “Effect'll be opposite. It'll speed things up, free the demon, so to speak.”
V takes the second bottle from Misty, shaking them around, as the older woman stands. Suicide pills… Misty is giving her a way to kill herself, only instead of getting to go to sleep and never wake up, it will speed him up. Rewrite and rework her. Death without the dignity of a true end, one day she just won’t be her. She’d rather bleed out, rather have been left to rot in that landfill. At least then she would have died as herself. Least she wouldn’t have to watch and feel as she becomes someone else, as she loses everything that makes her, her. And Misty wants to speed it up… wants to watch her die quicker…
“Giving me a pill to kill myself… so I can die faster…” V’s broken little voice comes out and she see’s Misty’s eyes go big for a moment, soft and looking at V like a dying animal. Just a sad little thing to be pitied.
“Listen, you're likely to be fine for a while. But some time down the road. It could turn into pure agony. I'm givin' you options, honey.”
“I have painkillers...I-”
“Your psyche's gonna die, V. You'll feel… your old self slipping away. At some point, you won't recognize yourself. It'll be terrifying. It'll be painful. But it doesn't have to be.”
V nearly cries, but forces it back, thinking of the road ahead of her. The finality in Misty’s voice echoing Vik’s. So, why is she here, six months of suffering? If she’s lucky. She should have been left to die, least then it’d be a quicker one. A real one, instead of just becoming a stranger in her own body, instead of being rewritten, replaced.
“Might as well just blow my brains out, be easier.”
Misty shakes her head, “Well, that way you'd kill two souls. Is that what you want?”
And maybe she does. Maybe she doesn’t. V isn't quite sure of the answer, herself. She just doesn’t want to hurt like this, doesn’t want to be here in this moment. Doesn’t want this. A clean death is easier, instead Vik pieced her back together just so she could suffer. She thinks of laying down in the landfill, before she saw him, and wishes it back. To lay down in the muck, a bleeding mess, and never get back up.
“I think...I need to lie down,” she says, her bed never looking so tempting. V pulls herself from the wheel chair and sits down on her bed, legs over the edge as she just feels herself sink into her mattress for a moment. After a moment, she feels Misty sitting down next to her.
“Here,” Misty holds something in her hands, soft green eyes looking at V, “got one more thing for ya. Vik pulled this outta your skull.’
Misty gently pulls on V’s wrist, touch gentle as she makes the merc roll her hand over and presses a necklace into her palm. A circular pendant on a chain, wires suspending a bullet in the center of it. The merc rubs her fingers over the metal, the bullet that killed her.
“Wha-?”
“A lucky charm?”
“Haven’t you heard, I got a terminal case of bad luck.”
“Don't be silly. As long as you're alive, there's hope. And don't let anyone tell you otherwise.”
Misty says that and a part of V believes she believes it. But she said not moments okay, with that same confidence that V is going to die. And the merc can’t help but wonder if Misty even knows which one she believes more. How could V possibly stop this? Vik doesn’t even know what he’s looking at, how the hell could she? Her brain is destroying itself, turning itself into someone new. How do you stop that?
“Really think I can survive this?” V asks, just wanting to know how Misty really feels, if there’s any hope in this situation.
“'Course you can. I mean, you did already die and come back once, didn't ya?”
“Technically...I guess.”
“Promise you'll try to get some sleep?” Misty pats her thigh and starts to get up.
“Misty, wait, um I, about Jackie...” She tangles her fingers in Misty’s sweater, voice catching, she can’t let her go without saying something about him. Misty sits back down.
“Yeah?”
“I’m, I’m...I’m so fuckin’ sorry, I…”
“V… “
“I can’t believe he’s gone… It doesn’t feel real…” Tears burn at V’s eyes, falling down her cheeks with a blink.
“Jackie… was special. Really spiritually rich. He touched so many people with his love. Don't worry, he'll be around. I don’t think… we ever truly lose the people who meant something to us, a part of them always stays with us, ya know?”
“Maybe… he… talked about yout lots, you know that? He loved you to pieces.”
A soft smile starts to pull at Misty’s black painted lips, before it falls again, fingers messing with her hair as she weighs what V’s said.
“We got into a fight right before he went off to do this job.”
“He wasn’t mad at you. I hope you know that, loved you more than anything.”
“I know. I just… wish our last moments together could have been… different.”
“Sure you'll be okay?”
Misty is too good for all of this, truly, she deserved so much better. And V just wishes she could have brought Jackie home to her. Misty chews her lip and after a moment she nods, looking up to V.
“Life is so beautifully powerful, so much more powerful than death, so yeah, I’ll be fine. Not today and probably not tomorrow, but I’ll get there. And so will you.”
“Maybe…”
“But right now,” Misty squeezes V’s shoulder, “you need rest. So sleep, please sleep.”
With that desperate plea, Misty stands up, pushing the wheelchair out through V’s apartment. She only stops once, casting a final somber look at V, as if checking to see if the merc has moved at all. Then she leaves. And V is left alone with her thoughts, with her worries, with her guilt, and fear.
Body and mind heavy with the weight of it all, she takes out the loaner hearing aids that Vik gave her and pushes herself back into bed. She lays down, feeling the soft of the mattress sink underneath her. V takes another look at the bullet pendant, holding it over her head as she stares at the thing that killed her. Pried from her head and now in her hand, it seems surreal. Everything feels that way lately.
She lays her head down on her pillow, holding the pendant close as she lets herself just relax for a moment. To just let this all go if only for a few hours, to let her mind and body rest, to figure out what she’s going to do when the morning comes. Her eyelids grow heavy, slipping into sleep.
There’s an odd, almost electric sound that starts to gently stir her from sleep, like a tv glitching. Followed by a soft thunk, thunk, of something hitting something else. Her heavy eyelid slowly pull open. A man against the wall between her bed and window. Overgrown dark hair, aviators hiding brown eyes, dressed in a bullet proof vest and leather pants. He thumps his head back against the wall, a pent up energy drawing every muscle in his body tight, like a tiger about to pounce.
“Gotta get out of here, understand? And I kill anyone who gets in my way.”
And he’s on top of her, in a flicker, a flash, he’s suddenly crouching over her body, staring down at her. Close enough to smell cigarette smoke and a hint of sweat, close enough to see the dirt that clings to his skin, scratches in his flesh. His silver hand presses against the mattress beside her head,
“You included.”
She flinches and kicks out at his warning, the gravel of his voice promising to end her if he has to. And he’s gone, just as easily as he arrived. A dream? Her heart hammers in her chest, breaths shallow as she tries to calm down.
Her mind is still foggy as she starts to sit up in her bed, then she hears the glitching sound again, the thumping noise of a head hitting the wall. V swallows a lump in her throat, blinking at the man who’s back against the wall, thumping his head.
“Need a smoke,” he demands, seemingly annoyed he has to say it, “where’d you stash yours?”
A stranger in her apartment, in her mind, trying to bum cigarettes. Her hearing aids still tucked away, yet she hears him clear as day. It’s all surreal. She can’t bring herself to answer immediately, still half out of it, her vision seeming to glitch as she moves. A cyan fuzz to the world as she slowly sits up on the edge of the bed and brings herself to stand up, looking at him. He’s not real, she has to remind herself, even though he looks and smells like it. Just a figment in her head, threatening her life and demanding nicotine.
“D-don’t smoke.” Is all she can think to say, as stupid as it is, thankful for a moment she can’t hear herself say it, can’t truly take in her own idiocy. As if that’s the most concerning part of this whole mess.
“Then go out and get some! Just need one last one!” He screams at her, making her flinch, head hurting already.
“Jesus christ, man, calm the fuck down.”
“The fuck kinda joytoy are you s'posed to be?” He sneers at her, looks down his nose at her. Heat and anger rush through her, face warm, asshole. Snide, fucking prick. Not worth it, though, just some asshole rattling around her skull.
“No, I- I’m not dealing with this.”
She shakes her head and turns to go to her closet; grab some clothes, pop the pills, take a shower, and figure out what to do from there. Then he’s in front of her, before she’s even made it past her desk, hands slamming into her chest as he pushes her back. She cries out as she hits the ground, pain shooting through her already injured body. He stands over her, right hand pulled back, ready to strike and his left in front of him.
“Who you work for? Start talkin'!”
He points a chrome finger at her and her left finger points back him, moving without her consent, world glitching with cyan fuzz around her. She tries to clench it, to pull it back, to control her own body. But nothing and behind his eyes, she sees him looking. Testing it, he unclenches his hand and her own mirrors the motion. He twists his hand around and hers does the same in turn, in perfect sync, like she’s just a puppet. She tries to pull her hand down, but nothing.
His right arm moves and her own follows the motion, no matter how much tries to pull it back, as muscles aching from her rebellion. Her body listens to him, not her. This can’t be happening, he can’t control her, he can’t make her do things. Vik said six months, it's barely been hours and she already can’t move her own body.
“Fuck…” The man above her curses, turning his palms to his face, her hands doing the same.
For a moment, she considers begging him to release whatever control he has on her, if he even knows how to do it but stops herself before the broken plea can be heard, nothing but a soft noise dying on her lips. Disgusted she would ever have to beg to have control over her own body, cursing herself as his right hand pushes back into his hair. Her hand does the same, pushing through her hair to rub over her chip-slot.
“Fucking chip,” her fingers pry at the biochip without her permision and she’s reminded of Vik’s warning, “Rip the thing out myself!
Let him, let the dumb bastard kill them both; she decides just before he tries to rip the chip out. Fingers prying at the damage tech left in her skull, And she screams, like a shock to her brain, a bolt through every nerve as her vision glitches. Her body tenses, seizes, and somewhere she hears him yell too. World going dark for just a moment.
Then red dances across her vision, world and sense slowly returning, she’s somehow twisted to face her window. Not sure how she ended up there, if she had a seizure, if he dragged her. But it looks like he gave up on prying the chip out, because shes’ alive, she thinks. There’s that blue fuzz and static floating around her vision again as she starts trying to get up.
Before she can get both feet under her, there’s a hand wrenching into her hair, twisting the strands around his fingers and yanking. She cries out as she’s pulled up to her feet by her hair, freshly stitched together scalp being pulled on. V presses her hands to the window sill and glass, trying to get her bearings as she’s pulled back back by the hair. Her reflection stares back at her, her pitiful face wincing in pain, Johnny behind her pulling her around like a ragdoll.
“I’ll take control!”
It’s a snarled yell into her ear, his breath on her neck as he slams her head against the window, the a heavy sound of flesh cracking against glass.
“I’ll find a way!”
He reels her head back and does it again, glass starting to splinter and break apart under the force. Then he pulls her back, twists her around to face him, moving fast. Hands quick and harsh, tearing at her skin as he wraps both around her throat. Flesh and metal cutting off her air as he slams her against the window, head bouncing against it as she claws at his hands. Finally in control of her limbs, but unable to do anything as he cuts off her air, leaning close enough for her to smell the smoke on his breath.
“You hear me?!”
He screams in her face, brown eyes glaring over his aviators, harsh and burning into her skin. She can feel the hatred, the anger, all coming off of him in waves. It swims in her head and chest, pressing against her own fear as he strangles her, a snarled look on his face. He wants to kill her, to see her go limp and die under his hands right then and there. She knows that, can feel and read him, knows it as well as she knows her own name.
Just as darkness pinpricks her vision, she feels the air return, rushing into her… just a moment before he lets go, letting her slide down the window onto the ground. She’s in no place to question it, sucking in deep grateful breathes, lungs burning for it as she watches him pace.
Haphazardly, she pulls herself to her body, sitting on the edge of it; putting more distance between herself and the window he seems so fond of. She digs through her pockets, finding the omega blockers Misty had given her. V needs him gone like yesterday, to vanish like a bad fucking dream.
“Not like that!” He yells and smacks the pill bottle from her hand, metal fingers stinging her skin and sending the medication across the room.
“Fuc-ah!” V yelps as his right hand wraps tightly into her hair, again, yanking at the roots as he forces her to look directly at him, unable to see his eyes through his aviators.
“Stick some iron in your mouth and pull the trigger!”
He lets her hair go to reel back his hand, it cracks across her cheek in a heavy smack that sends the merc reeling to the ground. Sharp pain pinkening her cheek as she braces her hands against the floor, everything hurts. Her scalp torn at, her cheek struck, and her throat bruised. She feels it all, a brutal assault as real as anything she’s ever felt.
“I can feel it,” he talks as he walks across the room, glitching with her vision, “our minds… touching…”
Across the room, she sees it, beneath his pacing feet is the bottle of pills knocked down. Every muscle seizing, legs refusing to work as her body seems determined to shut down on her. But if she can just get to the pill she can shut him out.
“I'm like mold on fruit… creepin' into you… Nothing I can do about it,” he rambles to himself, voice tight and angry as she drags herself across the floor, trying to reach the blockers.
“You hear me!?” He yells, crouching to one knee just over them, taunting her before he flickers across the room again, “I'd puke if I fuckin' could!”
She focuses on the pills, he’s irrelevant, not even real. Even if he feels like it, even if every strike and yank has left her hurting, he’s not real. V is nearly there, stomach rubbed raw at the drag of her body over the floor. She just needs him gone, far far away, put into whatever corner of his mind she can lock him away in.
“It's just a copy of the engram - I'm out there somewhere, gotta be…” He keeps talking, keeps rambling, won’t shut the fuck up.
“Just leave me the fuck alone! Get the fuck out, just go!”
“Lead to the head is the only thing that’ll fix it,” he points his fingers like a gun at her head, before dropping to a knee in front of her sneering, “hear me bitch!? A bullet to the fuckin’ brain!”
She grabs a pill from the floor, cramming it in her mouth and swallowing it try, rolling over onto her back as she begs for it to work. And he flickers into view, standing over her, looking down at her like she’s less than filth. Before he glitches out in a mess of static, cyan fuzz erasing him.
And there’s a moment of relief, left in silence, safe from his hands. Safe from a touch too real for a brain supposedly only in her mind. Him being gone brings a moment, a glimmer of hope, the merc able to breath. To know for however long the pill lasts, she won’t be struck, or taunted. Won’t be plagued with his voice, the rough boom of it still ringing in ears that shouldn’t have heard it.
This whole thing, the chip, her inevitable death… Vik said Johnny couldn’t help that, had no choice. And she knows from his memories he was put in the chip against his will.
But this was a choice. The hair yanking, the choking, the screaming, the threats, all of that was his choice. And he made it clear, if it was up to him she’d just die faster. If it was up to him, he’d get the satisfaction of killing her with his hands rather than the chip. A stranger in her body, in her mind, able to control her and he wants her dead, he wants to hurt her.
She cries, because what else can she do? Tears rushing out anew, it seems to be all she can do lately. V has no idea how to handle this, no idea how to stop it, how to keep him from getting control back. She doesn’t even know how long the pills will last, no clear dosage or instructions, just ‘regularly’. It feels pathetic, crying and weeping with no idea of how to fix it. But she allows herself that much, laying on the floor surrounded by pills, a new intruder in her body; she cries and curls into herself, hugging herself like a child.
