#An off-shoot of Cyberpunk | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vampyrsm · 2 months

Text

𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐒𝐖𝐀𝐏

✽ — PAIRING: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader ✽ — SYNOPSIS: When a job goes south, Bakugou and Kirishima are left dealing with the consequences of saving a life that maybe they shouldn't have. ✽ — WORD COUNT: est. 30.2k ✽ — WARNINGS: Female reader (she/her used), Cyberpunk AU, gun violence, gunshot wounds, descriptions of dead bodies, blood, body modifications, amnesia, death threats, POV changes between Bakugou & Reader, enemies to lovers (?), eventual smut, angst, no beta reader, no second part, there are no happy endings in night city. ✽ — NOTES: It only took me two years but hey, it's here. You don't necessarily need to know anything about cyberpunk to read this, I've tried to explain things as best as I can in the fic itself. But if you have any questions, please feel free to send me an ask! ✽ — EXTRAS: Playlist // AO3

“Shit!”

“The fuck did you do now?!” The blonde rounds the back of the car, a hand clasping the handgun tight in one hand whilst the other runs frantically through his sweat-slicked hair. It was not meant to go like this, this was meant to be an easy job.

That’s what Aizawa said! Easy! The warehouse they were supposed to hit tonight was rumoured to be empty, no one had been seen moving in and out of it for days. There wasn’t meant to be a gunfight and now Bakugou worries about how it’ll come back around to bite him in the ass.

His eyes snap away from the pools of blood and a mixture of chemical fluids. Kirishima is hunched over something in the open trunk of the car, his shoulders are bunched and Bakugou can practically feel the tension rolling off of his best friend in waves. “Oi, what the fuck is—”

Kirishima steps back, and Bakugou’s words die on the tip of his tongue when he stares down at the loot Aizawa had sent them to get. He had said it was just a simple shipment, a bunch of cyberware shit that needed to be shifted from one side of Night City to the other. But this was not just any old sort of cyberware.

Arasaka cyberware.

That meant the crate would most likely be tracked, and inside of it would be goods worth more money than either of the two Mercs had touched in their entire life.

“Oh fuck me–” Bakugou speaks first, eyes locked onto the metallic case. “Ei, we need to drop this shit. We can’t be caught with it, they’ll have our fucking balls.”

“No shit we can’t be caught with it! But what do we do with it now?! We can’t just leave it, what if the Maelstrom comes back and takes whatever’s inside of it?” Kirishima’s the one glaring at Bakugou now, the look making the man of 6’8” seem more of a terrifying monster than anything. “Why did you have to say yes to this job, man? We were fine for a few more weeks–”

“Because it would’ve gotten us both out of the fucking city Eijirou!” Bakugou yells finally, he is shorter than Kirishima but still at his own height of 6’3”, he makes up for his lack of height in comparison with his explosive anger. “I took it so that we could go back fucking home! Don’t you want that?!”

“Of course, I wan–”

Bang!

Instinctively Bakugou and Kirishima drop to the ground, Bakugou pulls his handgun up and is ready to fire whilst Kirishima's skin shifts with the metal plating. The two of them were a two-man team that was inseparable, Kirishima the shield and Bakugou the firepower. Both of their eyes are locked together as they wait to see if there’s another gunshot, Bakugou’s heart feels like it might beat its way out of his chest any minute now. He was certain he had gotten everyone, his optical enhancements had confirmed as much.

The red of his eyes flash to life as he takes a deep breath before peeking over the back of the car, it’s silent for a moment before he hears a dragging noise and sure enough—there’s a body heat signature east of the car, hidden behind some boxes and crates. His arms adjust on the car, holding his gun steady, ready to shoot the second their head peeks over the crate.

…But then the heat signature flickers out, and Bakugou drops his position in confusion before there’s another bang and this time the bullet does collide with the car.

“Fuck, they’ve got some sort of tech that lets them hide from my optics,” Bakugou whispers harshly to Kirishima who has his back plastered to the car, his face stoic despite the possibility of being taken out by someone who was possessing cyberware that’d allow them to appear out of thin air practically.

Kirishima nods once, the body plating along his forearms clicking into place as he readies to use himself as a human shield. Bakugou steels his nerves, eyes flashing back to life before finally saying “Move with me.”

The two of them are up in an instant, Kirishima crossing his arms over his upper half and tensing his muscles to ensure his body mass covers Bakugou entirely whilst the blonde slips his arm just beneath Kirishima’s with the gun poised and ready to shoot. The crimson of his eye gleams in the darkness when he catches the heat signature once again dashing from one crate to another and this time Bakugou doesn’t hesitate. The gun fires in rapid succession, neither of the men flinching. The reaction is immediate when there’s what sounds like something falling to the floor.

“Lost visual again,” Bakugou confirms when the warm red spot vanishes from his vision, leaving just droplets of what must be blood on the floor in their wake. Both mercs wait in silent anticipation, Kirishima moving with each step Bakugou takes as if it were second nature to him—perhaps at this point in life, it was second nature.

Kirishima had come with Bakugou from Tokyo to Night City nearly 15 years ago with the plan that the two of them were simply there for one job. It was going to give them life-changing money, something the two of them desperately needed for themselves and their families back home.

“Ei!” Bakugou yells, Kirishima plants both of his boots against the ground and brings up his arms to defend his face. The bullet buries itself into the metal plating of his arm, pulling a deep grunt from the man.

“Motherfucker–!”

Bakugou again fires the gun, a snarl resting on his face and this time he hears the sound of flesh being hit by the bullet, and then the sound of a body slumping onto the ground. Kirishima finally steps down from being the human shield, pulling his arm up to view the bullet that’s embedded deep into his forearm. No doubt the Doc will be pissed about this when he gets back.

“All good?” Bakugou asks, changing out the mag in his gun before glancing towards the foot he can now see peeking out from behind the boxes. Kirishima grunts a yes whilst pulling the bullet free from his arm, the sound of it hitting the floor loud in the now silent warehouse. “Doc’s gonna kill ya for that.”

“Ya think? She only just upgraded it for me.” Kirishima almost whines, quite the opposite of the man he just was as he watches the black liquid of the synthetic fluids leak from his arm in place of blood. “If I ask her nicely, do you think– Hey, where are you going?” Kirishima watches Bakugou slam shut the trunk of the car before stomping his way over to the body he’d just shot, he had to know if it was enough scumbag from some gang or if Arasaka were already onto them.

Bakugou rounds the crate, readying his gun to fire once more and freezes in place; gun raised just slightly, eyes widened and mouth ajar. “You’ve got to be fuckin’ kidding me—Ei, get here. Now.”

Kirishima walks over when the ash blonde hisses at him to hurry the fuck up, wiping the black liquid free from his arms before looking down at what Bakugou was staring at.

“Ohh.. fuck, dude.” He gapes at the girl lying on the floor, covered head-to-toe in blacked-out clothing. But it wasn’t the fact it was a girl that Bakugou had taken down, but rather it was the fact she had the Militech symbol stitched into the sleeve of her t-shirt. “What the fuck did Militech want with this?”

“I don’t know—maybe to reignite that old corporate war they had years ago with Arasaka? Everyone knows both of them are fucked up.” Bakugou is still frozen, the handgun still aimed to shoot. If he takes out this Militech assassin, it’s most likely going to be tracked back to them and by them; he means the new family he had found in Night City. It was a tightly knit group, all coming from similar backgrounds to his own but ending up in NC for different reasons. He couldn’t do that to them, he couldn’t get them killed because he took a job to run away.

Kirishima squats down next to the body, head tilting as he leans a little closer towards her head. His hand hovers just next to her face, “The fuck you doin’ now? Gettin’ your big ass fingerprints all over the body so they ca—”

“Shush,” Kirishima demands, and Bakugou goes to defy immediately before he’s shushed for a second time whilst Kirishima puts his index finger beneath her nose. It’s a tense moment, but he feels it. “Still breathing, we could still call trauma and—”

“And what? She relays to her boss that she ran into one very identifiable red-haired giant and his angry friend? No. We kill her.”

“Wait! Wait!” Kirishima moves to push the gun away when Bakugou raises it, meeting his scathing glare with his own determined one. “What if we use her for info? Clearly whatever is in that box is worth enough to get both Arasaka and Militech willing to fight.”

Bakugou’s jaw ticks as he clenches it, eyes flicking between his red-haired friend and the girl on the floor. He’s right, Aizawa might know something about this, and if they’re able to pull info from her about Militech then they could probably sell it to Arasaka for a pretty penny.

“Shit.” He huffs, finally pulling the gun back and holstering it. “Fine, but you’re the fucker that’s got to explain why we’re dragging a half-dead Militech asshole through the Docs door.”

“—not keeping—”

“This is your—”

“Guys.”

Everything felt…wrong. Nothing felt like it belonged, and yet it did at the same time. Mechanical parts clicking and groaning, blood pumping in and out, brain whirring to life. Lights that are far too bright for delicate eyes, and all noises submerged in synthetic water.

What was happening?

Where were you?

“Can you hear me?” a voice calls from a distant place to your left, you want to open your eyes or will your lips to move to form the words that are hanging at the end of your tongue. What happened to you? Nothing made sense, you didn’t recognise that voice and you didn’t recognise the coldness of the metal table you were laid on.

“Hey—wait, calm down.” A smooth, cold hand presses itself against your sternum and it was as if a light switch had been flipped in the dark recesses of your mind. You didn’t have to think when your own hand wraps around the offending limb, fingers curling dangerously tight.

“Shit, I knew this was a fucking mistake!” A new voice, distantly familiar. There’s a scrambling of feet, and finally, your eyes are opening. The light is blinding, but you can make out the blurry outlines of figures that are double your size and they’re frantically moving to reach something; guns, you belatedly realise and you don’t miss a beat in hauling yourself off of the metal table.

The two men—you can finally see them now and they’re nothing short of a pair of gigantic cyborgs—have turned to you with guns raised but they haven't made a move yet. Your arm tenses around something until you hear a squeak accompanied by a choking sound. Hesitantly you glance down to see you have a woman with brown hair pinned to your chest with one forearm crushing her throat and the other raised in their direction.

“Now, just hold on.” The one with the red hair speaks, his hands raised to show he’s no threat but you don’t miss the way his skin shifts with the metal plating. Armour. He must be the shield, and the other must be the firepower.

“Lower your weapon.” Weapon? You flick your eyes towards the blonde who most definitely isn’t lowering his weapon. The redhead shifts again, and he’s taken a step forward towards you but his hands are still up in surrender. “Please, lower your weapon.”

He must see the confusion on your face so he points towards your free arm currently not crushing the woman to your body. You hesitate to look where his finger is pointing, but it’s hard to miss when your eyes drift slightly away from the redhead. In place of your arm is what looks like an M-179 precision rifle.

Wait—how do you know what type of weapon that is? You’ve never held a gun in your life before, you–you…–you were just some street rat. The weapon retreats back into your arm, clicking your own metal plates back together until it’s smoothed over as if it had never existed in the first place.

Did these people put these parts into you? Had they found you passed out in some dark alleyway and dragged you here to experiment on you? That’s the only explanation, it’s the only reason you’re in this dingy ripper doctor's office.

“S–Stop. Can’t—breathe.” the woman croaks against your arm, and you realise you’re actually starting to crush her windpipe with your forearm. She stumbles forward with a hard choke, whilst you launch yourself back into the surrounding deskspace. Metal clangs and surgical instruments fall to the floor in a loud clatter, the roaring in your ears is too loud to hear what the people are saying to you.

Another set of hands place themselves against you, your upper arms this time but they’re no longer cold, they’re warm. A shroud of red covers the edges of your vision and all you can focus on is the face directly in front of yours, his lips are moving and it’s impossible to decipher what he’s trying to say.

Why does his face seem so familiar? You had seen this hair somewhere before, and those teeth. You had never run into someone with such sharp teeth and yet your mind couldn’t stop trying to find just where you had seen them before. The red-haired man looks over his shoulder, letting you see the blonde who was frowning in your direction still brandishing the gun that was pointed directly at your head if anything were to go wrong.

“—know man!”

“Move so I can—”

“You.” Both voices silence immediately. Two different sets of red eyes on you and yet they both carry a different feeling; one filled with curious sympathy and the other hardened disgust. “Who are you? I–I think I know you.”

“Uh, well, I’m Kirishima.” There’s a groan of annoyance from what you assume to be the blonde whilst the one named Kirishima keeps his eyes on yours. “What about you, what’s your name?”

Your lips part, tongue moving to accommodate the syllables of your name and yet nothing comes forward. You try again with furrowed eyebrows but it feels like your tongue is too big for your mouth and your throat is restricting around your name. In your oncoming panic, you latch a hand to your throat, widening your eyes when you try again and again to spit your name out.

“Hey! Alright!” A hand comes around your wrist and peels your fingers away from the skin of your throat, and Kirishima takes a deep breath when he looks down at you. “You don’t remember a thing, do you?” your only response is a shake of your head, and you swear the man's shoulders slump as he deflates a little at your admission. Had they known you?

“Fuckin’ brilliant, Ei. Now Aizawa’s gonna have our ass for bringing back a death machine with memory loss and the tendency to lash out!” Death machine? Did he mean you? However you don’t get to answer the question because the blonde stomps out of the room, the slam of the door stunning the room into silence.

Another sigh before Kirishima drops his hands from your upper arms and straightens out to his full height. He is huge, bigger than anyone you have ever seen before. “You should rest before tonight.” He supplies, turning towards the door and you realise the brown-haired woman had also vacated the room at some point.

“Wait. Tonight?” you take a careful step after him and you don’t miss the way his shoulders stiffen, nor the way his forearm plating clicks to ready himself. Was he scared of you? No. That can’t be right, this gigantic man could not be scared of you. You’re certain he could crush you if he wanted with just a single hand.

“Tonight you’re meeting our fixer.” and just like that he was gone, the door closing behind him with an audible click.

They had locked you in.

Looking back around the room, eyes caught on the glint of various medical tools that had been scattered across the white tile floor. There are no windows besides the one at the far back of the room, but even from where you stand you can see it’s barred. You were well and truly trapped.

And so, with nothing else to do, you sat in the desk chair by the bed you had woken up on—and waited.

...

The next time you see Kirishima is when he had come to collect you from your makeshift prison, at some point someone—you assumed it was the Ripper—had shoved clothes in through the small gap of the door, you hadn’t realised you were in a state of undress when you had initially woken up.

Kirishima smiles at you, but you can see it doesn’t meet his eyes as he towers over you. He’s dressed differently too, in a black leather jacket over a red distressed vest and black jeans with some very expensive-looking sneakers. He looked much more like his age like this, you didn’t realise he was more around your age.

“Ready?” Kirishima offers, burying both of his hands into his front pockets and leaning against the frame of the door—While he seemed relaxed, you knew he was blocking off your only escape route.

You look down at yourself, you’re not quite sure how they had managed to get your size somewhat right but the black cargo pants and graphic tee were comfortable. The only thing they hadn’t measured correctly was the heavy orange bomber jacket that dwarfed you immensely.

“Yeah, readier than I’ll ever be anyway.” Kirishima just nods, finally pushing the door open and letting you walk out first before he shuts the door behind you both.

The door immediately opens out onto a street, the floor is wet from the rain and the neon street lights give the dingy alleyway some light. You can’t tell where you are, when you look up there is nothing but a concrete overpass blocking you from seeing the sky. “C’mon, he doesn’t like tardiness.”

“Who?” You jog to keep up with Kirishima’s wide – normal – steps, you barely come up to his shoulder and you have to crane your head up to look at him.

“Aizawa, our fixer. He doesn’t normally meet with new faces, but you’ve piqued his interest.”

“But how? I’ve not done anything, I don’t even know who I am.” You try to explain, the emptiness that sits in your brain is unnerving, to say the least.

Kirishima finally looks down at you, nothing but pity in his eyes. “That’s exactly why he wants to see you.”

The rest of the walk is in silence, not that Kirishima seems to mind much whilst he flicks through his phone. You’re not quite sure who Aizawa was, but you knew what Fixers were. They were smugglers, fencers and they loved to handle information. Is that why he wanted to see you? To get information from you? But you had none to give, and when Fixers often don’t get what they want… they dispose of the useless item.

Sparing a glance towards Kirishima, he was far too engrossed in his phone to realise the thoughts you were currently harbouring. You could make a run for it, he’s much bigger than you, sure, but you’re smaller. Maybe you’re faster. He could lose you easily in a crowd of people, you don’t want to be killed for something that’s not your fault.

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Kirishima says without missing a beat, his eyes not drifting away from his phone and you have to focus on not tripping over your own feet at being caught out. He hadn’t even looked at you, you weren’t that obvious– “If you run then that means I have to admit Bakugou was right and then I have to chase you down.” Finally, he looks at you, raising an eyebrow to see if you’re still going to do it.

“I won’t run.” You say with less conviction than you would’ve liked but Kirishima seems happy enough with it, finally pocketing his phone into his back pocket before nodding his head forward.

“Here we are.” You turn to look at the building you’re both standing in front of. It fronts what looks to be a bar, not quite as modern as some of the others you had passed by. It looked more oriental and authentic. It’s not imposing, it blends in perfectly wedged between two other buildings that look like stores—it’s the perfect place for a Fixer you realise, it stands out enough to those seeking the man known as Aizawa but in an area shoddy enough that it won’t draw in too many people.

Kirishima doesn’t give you more time to inspect the building, guiding you inwards with a hand between your shoulder blades until you’re past the old wooden doors and inside a very well-kept bar. It’s relatively empty, with a few people hanging around by the bar but it’s quiet.

Your eyes rove over the multitude of artwork hanging from the walls, swirling paint strokes and sculptured mythical creatures. Kirishima drops his hand from your back once he’s sure you’re secured in the building, leaving you standing alone whilst he meanders towards the bar to talk to a pretty girl with bouncy curly pink hair.

“Oi,” a gruff voice calls from behind you, your shoulders jump at the closeness of the gruff voice and you spin to see the blonde from earlier. He has a frown on his face the second he meets your eyes before they drag down and latch onto the bomber jacket you’re wearing. He seems to glare somewhat harder, sucking at the back of his teeth. “No fucking around. I won’t hesitate to blow your head off this time.”

“This her?” a deep, almost sleepy voice drawls and you turn to meet the man to whom the voice belongs. He’s got shoulder-length black hair, and tired eyes yet the look he’s giving you is enough to tell you he’s very alert. You can’t help but straighten your spine a little, attention drawn away from the blonde who just huffs and wanders elsewhere. “Doesn’t look like much of a threat to me.”

You’re left blinking at the man, the silence suffocating until you look hesitantly across the room to meet a set of red eyes—but they aren’t Kirishima’s. Bakugou was clearly growing agitated the longer this was drawn out. “I’ve never been a threat.”

“Bakugou and Kirishima seem to think otherwise, even our Ripper Doc had said you have some interesting chrome.” Aizawa continues, settling into one of the seats close by before he regards you again. “But they also said you don’t remember who you are, is that true?”

“I–... Yes, it is.” Interesting chrome? “I don’t know how I got my upgrades, I woke up surrounded and I just acted on instinct.”

There’s a beat of silence, the palms of your hands growing sweaty and you suddenly feel like you’re standing in a pit with lions.

Then Aizawa breathes in deeply, sighing a little on his exhale. “I don’t know why, but I believe you.” There’s a noise of disagreement from Bakugou somewhere to the side but Aizawa continues anyway, “You could be useful to us. I’m sure your memories will come back over time and you’ll be even more valuable to us then. It’d be stupid of me to let you go.”

“Let me go? You want to keep me prisoner?”

“Not a prisoner. We just can’t have you wandering the streets in the state that you are, it’s safer for everyone involved if you stay here.”

It made sense, you supposed. You would be safer staying in one place instead of wandering the streets, especially if you had no idea who you were. Swallowing the lump of anxiety, you nod your head in agreement and Aizawa visibly relaxes in his seat before he casts a glance towards Kirishima and Bakugou.

“On second thoughts… I think it’ll be better for you to stay with those two.”

“What?!” Bakugou all but yells, the beer bottle in his hand smashing onto the floor in haste to get to his feet in disbelief. “I am not a fucking babysitter, and I’m not looking after some corpo—”

“You found her, you look after her. Didn’t I teach you that when I found you?”

Bakugou’s upper lip curls into a snarl, his eyes darting from Aizawa and towards you–it’s like you’ve been pinned to the spot underneath his hateful gaze. His tongue drags along his lips, rolling his bottom lip into his mouth before he leaves without another word. Kirishima is quick to take his place, stepping up close to you to take you back to wherever you had to stay.

“I promise he’s not always this bad—well, most of the time he is but he’s a good guy,” Kirishima says, a hand back on the spot between your shoulder blades to guide you out of the bar and back onto the open street where you finally see Bakugou once again. He’s sitting on a motorbike, an expensive-looking one. “Yo, Bakugou. Are we–”

“You have one fucking chance left. If you pull that shit again that you did at the Docs, I’ll personally rip your head from your shoulders. Got it?” Bakugou points a finger in your direction, which only makes Kirishima huff a sigh of annoyance and drag a hand over his face. “One. Then you’re done.”

He must not expect an answer as he slips the helmet over his head, the sleek black of it reflecting only the neon street lights but you can still feel his glare on you before he revs his engine once, twice—then he’s gone.

You look up at Kirishima finally when Bakugou is gone, and the redhead just smiles awkwardly at you whilst rubbing the nape of his neck. “I did warn ya.”

To say the next few days were painful is an understatement.

You had been confined to an apartment shared between both Kirishima and Bakugou, whilst the redhead was happy to have another roommate—Bakugou was not. He made it his mission to make it hellish for you.

It started with him refusing to cook you food whenever he did for Kirishima and himself (Kirishima had to convince him to at least give you something to eat or you’d die and then Aizawa would be pissed). Then it started with the loud music early in the morning, you had no real bed so you had to sleep on the expensive U-shaped couch and Bakugou took great joy in turning the radio on and making sure it was on full blast.

Kirishima did try to stop Bakugou’s attempts to drive you to a point of anger that would make you act out, which only had Bakugou sneering in your direction before he left to go do whatever the fuck he did all day.

And it was going somewhat well, that same routine every day. Until Bakugou got a call.

Currently, you’re sitting on the couch, your elbows digging into your thighs whilst you lean forward. The room was deathly silent, save for the sound of the passing Trauma Team AV that flew by the window.

Kirishima was staring out of the window, both of his hands pressing against the cool metal window ledge, the lights of the nightlife outside reflecting off of the various strips of chrome covering his jaw and down along his throat.

Opposite you was Bakugou, his knee bouncing in what appeared to be nervousness whilst both of his hands were buried deep in his blonde hair, head tilted back to stare at the ceiling above.

“This cannot be fuckin’ happening.” He groans for the nth time that evening since ending the call. “That old fucking man—the nerve, all of the shit I do for him… and this is how he rewards me?!”

“Dude, Aizawa has never steered us wrong. He obviously thinks we can trust her.” Kirishima says in an odd tone like his voice was devoid of any emotion. You supposed it made sense, he had never been able to trust you either for whatever reason.

“Well, I think we can’t.” Bakugou drops his head back forward, meeting your gaze and a sharp shiver rolls down your spine. “You remember what I told you before I let you come and squat in my apartment?”

“Our apartment.” Kirishima supplies quietly, though Bakugou is undeterred.

“You’ll kill me.”

“Right, I’ll fucking kill you.” Bakugou finally stands, swiping the pulse rifle off of the table between the two of you before fixing it over one of his shoulders. “Now get the fuck up, we’ve got a Tyger Claws cunt to go kill.”

The back of Kirishima’s car was very plush, you couldn’t help but wonder how good at being mercs the two of them were. They seemed to be living in the lap of luxury yet they decided to stay in Night City, but you didn’t dare ask why they were still here. Bakugou would probably take the opportunity to bite your head off.

You sunk into the leather and watched the city pass by, the rain bounced off of the roof of the car and rolled down the windows in thick streaks. It still made no sense as to why Aizawa put you on this mission with them too, they were capable on their own so just what did Aizawa expect from you? You can’t even remember a time when you had used a gun so surely you’d just be deadweight—another reason for Bakugou to be on your ass if you fuck up.

As if somehow sensing your inner anguish, Kirishima turns in his seat enough to meet your eyes.

“Ready for this?” You’re not quite sure why he’s asking, even Bakugou seems to furrow his brows in confusion at why the redhead even gives a fuck about if you’re ready or not. “It should be a pretty simple gig, the Tyger Claws are ruthless but this guy we’re going for? Big junkie, won’t see us coming.” Kirishima grins at the end of his sentence, and you can’t help the small smile that grows on your face.

“Right, yeah, I’m ready.” You say with a small nod.

“Say it with more confidence and I might actually believe you for once.” Bakugou gruffs from his own spot in the driver's seat, with only one hand on the wheel and the other propped up on the door beside the window. He’s chewing at the skin of his thumb; one might think he’s actually a bit anxious. Kirishima only gives you a look you now know is his attempt at apologising on behalf of the antagonising blonde before he sinks back into his seat with a huff.

“Don’t gotta be so rude all the time man, she probably doesn’t want to be here as much as you.” Kirishima all but grumbles to himself, looking away when Bakugou shoots him a scathing glare.

“Yeah? Then maybe she’ll fuck off at the first chance she gets, won’t have to deal with her anymore.” The car falls into an awkward silence at that, not even Kirishima can counter the fact that it would be simpler if you did disappear but you can see the sad frown that’s making him look much more like a kicked puppy than anything. The music on the radio does nothing to squash the tension, instead, it only adds to the palpable dark energy rolling from Bakugou in thick waves.

Soon enough the car is pulled into a darkened alleyway, only the rats and drunkards faintly aware of the presence of the two big mercs who get out of the car in a heartbeat. They seem to move in an organised way; a practised routine you realise. By the time you close the car door behind you, there’s a gun being thrust in your face. “Here, I know it’s not much but—it should do the job,” Kirishima leans a little as if sharing a secret “It’s all Bakugou would agree to give you, think you still scare him.”

You hum, eyeing the handgun in your hand and feeling its weight. It felt lighter than you expected, your fingers moulded perfectly around the hilt and you tilted your head to inspect the barrel. Something feels very familiar with the gun now in your hand, and as you look at both Bakugou and Kirishima to thank them you falter for a moment.

Your vision flickers, the city behind them flashes to an old warehouse before it returns to normal. Kirishima seems to be talking animatedly but Bakugou’s eyes are locked onto your own, an unreadable expression on his face—maybe it’s because there is no real emotion on his face. No scowl, no anything, he looks like a blank slate.

“Anyway, we ready for this? It’ll be over before we know it and then we can go to that ramen noodle bar I mentioned last week!” Kirishima grins, slapping a hand against his hardened stomach.

“Yeah.” Bakugou finally speaks, breaking his eyes away from your own and down to the weapon in his hands. “The plan is Kirishima will be the shield, I’m the firepower, and you just follow us and keep quiet.” He says whilst staring you down, gone is the blank expression and that familiar frown is again creasing his skin. You just nod, and he seems happy enough with that response to turn on his heel and lead the way into the back exit of the building.

The building is rundown, as are all the buildings in Night City outside of the high-end Corporate zones. You traverse over tipped-over vending machines, various boxes and crates that had been ripped apart and ransacked for all their worth. It’s dark and dingy, a low stream of smog flitting through the air from the old vents in the ceiling. The only way you can tell you’re going the correct way is with the help of the flickering dim fluorescent lights overhead, Kirishima and Bakugou are both deadly silent and somehow moving without even making a noise.

The journey up the stairs is quick, without the worry of someone hearing the three of you coming, both men take the steps three at a time—leaving you to hurry after them as quickly as you can.

Both of them freeze once they reach the door that leads to the 6th floor, Bakugou shifting a few steps back and Kirishima takes his spot wordlessly in front of the blonde. The clicking of Kirishima’s skin has you focusing on him, the way the metal plating shifts almost looks like his skin is hardening. Bakugou has his own gun raised, the heavy rifle looks like it weighs nothing in one hand when he taps the other on Kirishima’s shoulder indicating he’s ready to breach.

It all happens in three very quick steps.

First, Kirishima rips open the door to the point where it’s detached from the wall and tumbles down the stairwell—you have to plaster yourself to the wall to avoid being squashed.

Second, breaching. Bakugou has both his hands back on his rifle, his eyes illuminating the chrome strips on his face whilst Kirishima steps forward with purpose.

Third, gunfire. It happens in five quick taps of the rifle's trigger, Bakugou hardly shifting from the recoil as he swivels just his upper half whilst hunching his shoulders slightly to ensure each and every single one of his shots is a direct headshot. The sound of bodies slumping on the floor is your cue to finally enter the room, and a part of you wishes you hadn’t.

The room smells horrific, a stench you for some reason recognise as death. But it wasn’t coming from the fresh bodies, no, it was deeper in the large room. The translucent sheets of plastic that hang from the ceiling obscure most of the room, with multiple splatters of blood staining the material. Bakugou lowers his weapon slowly, Kirishima finally parting ways to do his own investigation of the place.

“Think we got him?” Kirishima asks, using his foot to roll over one of the men Bakugou took out before grimacing at the clean shot between the eyes. Bakugou was a beast with the gun, there’s a reason why he was so sought out by Fixers other than Aizawa.

“Dunno, I didn’t get a clear look at their faces.” Bakugou comments from the other side of the room, squatting down to roll a guy over to inspect his face.

Both men are too occupied with the gig to notice that you’re traversing through the middle of the room, pushing past the thin sheets of plastic to grow closer to the source of the blueish neon lights. With each step, the smell grows stronger, a rotting kind of stench mixed with what smells like fried electronics. A shiver rolls down your spine, a warning to stop yourself from pushing past the final sheet of plastic. Your fingers curl against the material, crinkling it and still, both men are blissfully unaware of what you’re about to unveil—

An empty ice bath.

Your eyebrows furrowed together, multiple thick wires and cords were all scattered around the bath yet there was no one connected to those wires. You take a hesitant step forward, the smell is still so strong—something isn’t right. The ice bath looked fresh, except for the blood staining on either side of the white porcelain, following the streaks upwards until you see a blinking screen displaying vitals.

Ayaka Ichida. Age: 26 Occupation: Arasaka Executive ECG: N/A Blood Pressure: N/A

“Arasaka?” You murmur to yourself, fingers ghosting underneath the word. Why did that name send a painful twinge through your head? Perhaps it was just the notoriety of the corporation. Arasaka were rumoured to be funding the Tyger Claws way back in 2020 but it’s been nearly sixty years since then—

Your eyes lose focus the longer you stare at the screen, no longer looking at the words but rather the reflection of something moving behind you. It’s neither Bakugou nor Kirishima, you would’ve heard them approaching. This is a woman, her skin completely exposed, and dripping wet. Shit.

Her arm raises, the revolver sitting in her hand looks weighty and it’s definitely fully loaded when you catch the barrel of it. You spin on your heel, a hand stretched out ready to yell at Bakugou to move but it’s like you hit an invisible wall. Everything feels fuzzy in your brain, a wave of electricity passing through your body and shooting up and down your spine.

You must’ve shouted something because you can see Kirishima raise his head in worry, Bakugou clambering to his feet but it’s as if everything is moving in slow motion. The barrel spins, the trigger clicks and the flash of the gun is bright in your eyes.

You don’t quite realise you’ve moved until it’s too late, the fuzziness in each of your limbs is all-consuming. It’s as if you’ve been dunked in ice water and your limbs are slowly regaining their warmth—it’s painful. You blink, and suddenly your face is in Bakugou's; his eyes are wide and mouth agape as if he’s at a loss for words. Your entire right arm aches, but your spine hurts something fierce.

Not quite understanding how you had moved from one side of the room to the other, you glance over your shoulder to see the body—it’s more of just a pair of legs at this point, blood sprayed up along the walls and to the ceiling; bits and pieces dripping and dropping with a sickening wet thud. Did you do that?

The ache in your arm brings your eyes back to it, and it’s no surprise to see that the entirety of your arm was replaced with the rifle you had pulled out not too long ago at the Ripperdocs. It doesn’t look like you damaged your arm, the skin easily shifting back into place whilst you turn back to look at Bakugou. There’s a spray of blood on his face too, the blonde of his hair tainted by a dark shade of crimson that almost looked black. Bakugou is looking at you with what you might assume is worry, or some level of it anyway as he still seems to be frowning.

You open your mouth to speak, your throat tightening until you sputter out a thick vicious black liquid. Immediately your hand comes up to your mouth, touching your lips to see the synthetic blood leaking from your lips in thick rivers. “Wha…” you try to speak. Taking a step back from Bakugou, it feels like you’ve been hit by a train, your fingers go to press against the sore spot on your back but instead, you meet—nothing.

Your fingers pass through where your side should’ve been. You can feel the sticky synthetic blood coat your fingers as it continues to pour from your body, you can even feel the outline of the frayed edges of the artificial muscles you didn’t know you had.

“Shit!” There’s a set of hands on your shoulders, your entire world tilting backwards suddenly. “Hold the fuck on!” A voice calls from somewhere, yet you can’t see where it’s coming from. Your senses shut down one by one until you’re left floating in an endless amount of space.

It’s dark here.

Cold.

The vastness of the space around you expands over the horizon, and it feels like something is pricking into your skin. It hurts, everything hurts here. It’s too loud, yet it’s completely silent. Glancing down at your hands, your stomach drops and swoops in anxiety at the sight—you’re not made of human matter, but rather data. Pixels, bunched together to form a non-corporeal form of yourself. You’d heard rumours of this before.

Cyberspace.

It’s an odd feeling, to be existing but also not at the same time. The Net was such a vast expanse of data and network that almost anyone in the world could access but not everyone could take a step into cyberspace in the third dimension. It was jarring without a doubt but the unlimited knowledge one could access whilst inside of it? That’s why there were so many Netrunners, people dedicated to diving into the Net and hacking whatever data they needed.

But this place you were currently in didn’t feel like you were getting an endless stream of data, it was as if you had been cut off. Everything around you is freezing cold, with not a single thread of data to grab onto to understand just where you are.

“Hi?” someone says from your side, your head turned sharply to see someone with both lilac hair and eyes, they had a tired expression on their face but even the surprise on their face was easy to spot.

They hadn’t expected to be put into the Net alongside you. Both of their hands moved up to show they had no weapons, not that an experienced Netrunner would need weapons inside of a place like this.

“Listen, I was told to try and come pull you out. You’ve been in here for two weeks and—”

“Two?” How has it been that long? You had only just woken up, it felt like you had just been in the gunfight and protected both Bakugou and Kirishima; even potentially giving your life up for the blonde. “I–I don’t understand, how has it been that long? Who even are you?”

“My name’s Shinsou. You need to listen to me very carefully if you want me to get you out of here, okay?” He takes a step closer, stretching out a hand in an attempt to touch you—

There’s a pounding on your head, a throbbing pain that spreads behind your eyes and down to the base of your skull. Accompanying the throb is a low hum, more of a thrumming kind of noise that beckons you to turn around. Slowly you do, eyes glancing up from your hands to meet a set of dull blurred verdant eyes. Though these eyes do not seem familiar, they seem deadly, calculating. They glare at you through the opaque screen you hadn’t noticed, you can just about make out their body on the other side.

They have a single hand pressed against the screen, and the other curled into a fist that’s repeatedly beating against the screen. Each time it hits you can feel the pressure on your brain, was this your own consciousness? Who was this person? You move to take a step back but their punches only grow more frantic, more aggressive. It’s getting louder and louder, and the pressure on your brain is unbearable. Why can’t you wake up? The throbbing grows more intense until there’s a shooting pain that brings you down to your knees, curling your fingers into the ground.

You can’t hear the voice of the man named Shinsou anymore, you’re not even sure if he’s still there. All you can focus on is the throbbing pain, the way it chokes you and holds you in place. Demanding your attention.

“Found you.” A static-filled voice speaks from the darkness, and you look up to see the crack in the screen with a much clearer view of almost black-green hair. It sounds like he might be laughing, it sounds almost manic before he calls out a name, a name you can’t ignore—your name. “I’ll see you soon.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, the world around you started to melt away until you were left in complete darkness once again, though this darkness felt somehow different. You could feel something beneath you, smooth and metallic, familiar.

The second time you awake in the Ripperdocs office isn’t quite as jarring as the first, the lights are dimmed and there are no arguing voices. It’s easy to open your eyes, staring up at the overhead lights that have been turned off. The room is silent, the only distant noise is the street just on the other side of the door.

Slowly you rise from the table you had been laid out on, you didn’t need to look around to know you were alone this time. Has it really been two weeks since—you gasp, fingers touching the side where you had been hit but instead you meet the warm flesh of your body? Looking down to confirm that you weren’t imagining it, it looked like you hadn’t even been hit. No scars. Nothing.

There’s a laugh nearby, drawing your attention to the set of double doors you had never set foot through before. You slide from the cold table, your bare feet gently slapping on the cold tile floor. Taking a step forward your body falters, swaying to the side on uneasy legs, the table of surgical instruments clatters when you bump a hip against it and you freeze to see if anyone would be alerted to your presence.

No one comes bursting through the door.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you take another step forward. This time you were careful of where you placed your feet, and with each slow yet steady step you finally regain control over your legs. Soon enough you’re standing in front of the double doors, the voices on the other side muffled but they don’t sound familiar in the slightest. Were you even back with Bakugou and Kirishima? Had you been sold off as Bakugou had wanted? Fear danced up and down your spine, you’d have to fight your way out of here if that was the case.

Steadying your heart, you raised your hand carefully to the door, ready to burst through.

Three… Two… One.

You slam the door open, throwing your body through the now open space and your arm lifts as if on autopilot to readjust the metal plating to reveal the rifle buried deep into your very bones. With a quick scan of the room, you register you’re inside what looks like a common room of some sorts. There was a sofa, a pool table, a kitchen on the east side of the room and a gigantic TV that was broadcasting something.

There’s movement, a heat signature, and your arm automatically moves to point at the two men who are on the sofa. The yellow-haired one is the first to scream, then the one with black hair who scrambles off of the sofa to try and seek safety.

“W-Wait!” The black-haired one yells, throwing his hands up, “Don’t shoot! We’re not the enemy!”

Another door on the other side of the room beside the kitchen bursts open, there’s a scrambling of feet and clambering to all get in the room first. But Bakugou is the first in, his hand firm around the gun in hand as he raises it ready to shoot until he realises he has the barrel of his gun pointed at you. If you weren’t staring at him you might’ve missed the way his shoulders sag in relief. Kirishima is next to come in, eyes darting from both men who were sprawled amongst the mess of chips and used beer cans that had been dashed across the room in their attempt to flee immediate death.

“Oh, you’re awake.” A voice that’s now familiar to you calls your name, the man with lilac hair sidesteps around the two hulking figures. There’s a lazy smile on his face, “Welcome back to the land of the living.”

Both Kirishima and Bakugou parrot the name Shinsou had given you, eyes drifting from Shinsou and to you, connecting the name to the face they’ve been living with for a while now.

“Yep, that’s the name of our friend here.” Shinsou walks into the room as if there wasn’t just a standoff moments ago, dropping into an unoccupied seat. “We should probably tell you everything that happened whilst you were ‘out’.” He makes quotation marks around the word, both of you missing the way Bakugou has his eyes locked onto you—or more importantly, your side. Shinsou gestures for you to sit down, and you make your way around the couch slowly whilst the two men you had scared scamper to sit elsewhere.

“I’ll be blunt with you. You’ve been out for nearly three weeks in total. We would’ve tried to pull you out faster but… you have some very impressive chrome. It took me two weeks to break your defences and even then you rejected me in a heartbeat.”

Your eyes break away from Shinsou as he explains your ‘absence’ to watch Bakugou as he tentatively perches on the arm of the couch right next to you, both of his arms crossed over his chest. But the things Shinsou is saying make no sense, you hadn’t pushed him out, it was—you scrunch your eyebrows together, the headache still ever present in the back of your mind the harder you think.

The silence stretches out in the room, just the sound of the TV droning on about Militech moving towards renewing partnerships with Lazarus.

Shinsou clears his throat, demanding your attention once again. “Your wounds actually healed by themselves. You have synthetic muscles but they’re something else. No one has ever seen something like that, even Uraraka said it’s not something Rippers can get their hands on.”

“Yeah… you weren’t actually breathing by the time we got you back here… I—We thought you were going to die.” Kirishima supplies from his position behind the couch, both of his hands clamped on the back of it and you can see the worry settled on his face when you look up at him. So you were dead for a portion of time, had all your chrome and cyberware saved your life? If what Shinsou said is true about your muscles repairing themselves then the time locked into your consciousness made sense.

Shinsou seems to notice the shift in the air first, clearing his throat before he stands up. He gives a stern look towards both Kaminari and Sero who are blatantly staring at you as if you were some anomaly. “We should go.”

“But—” the one with the yellow hair and black streak starts, eyes darting back to you with a question that was probably best unasked.

“Nope. Get the fuck up, we’re leaving.” Shinsou commands, already partway out of the door and he knows Sero and Kaminari will follow as he doesn’t bother looking back.

And soon enough, it is just you, Kirishima and Bakugou who looks like he’s about to shit himself with how tense he is next to you. It’s awkward, to say the least. You’re not quite sure what you should say, sorry for the trouble? Sorry for not dying? You’re sure that last one would apply to Bakugou, he had wanted you gone.

“Why?”

It’s Bakugou who breaks the silence, his head held now between his hands as he stares intently down at his shoes; knee bouncing, he’s anxious. You glance at Kirishima but the redhead just shrugs, urging you to look back at Bakugou. “Why what?”

“Why the fuck did you take the hit, huh?” His eyes meet yours, and you can’t miss the white of his eyes partially red, he was on the verge of tears. “Why the fuck would you do that when I mean nothing to you? It makes no fucking sense, no one just jumps in front of a bullet for someone. I wouldn’t have fuckin’ done it for yo–” He stops himself short, chewing on the words on his tongue that are better left unsaid. But the words still sting the same regardless of how true it is: Bakugou would not have taken a bullet for you, he would not have risked his life for you. Why did you care so much?

“I don’t know.” But it’s not the answer Bakugou is searching for, a frown is on his face but it’s not quite the same as the usual one you often saw him wearing. This one looked pained and confused. He diverts his gaze quickly, refusing to look at you once again before running a hand through his hair. “I guess I felt like I owed you for saving my life.”

Bakugou only gives you one last glare before he’s up from his spot and marching back out of the room, leaving an icy chill in his wake that makes Kirishima sigh.

“He means to say thank you, it’s… been a lot for him. We really did think you’d die on us back there, and I think Bakugou didn’t want another death on his conscience that wasn’t done by his own hand.”

Kirishima stands to his full height when you do, both his hands buried into the pockets of his jacket. “Anyway, let’s just go back home, yeah? You probably want to shower.”

“Tellin’ me I smell, Kirishima? You don’t smell of roses yourself big guy.” You grin when he smiles at you, the banter between the two of you is easy. His shoulders sag with relief before he’s strutting out of the room before you.

“Nah, not roses. Just pure manliness.”

“Manliness smells like a Maelstrom cesspit?” Kirishima whirls on you with his mouth agape, a chuckle leaving his mouth.

The city opens up to both of you when you step out of the doors, the difference this time being it’s the middle of the day and the streets are bustling with people going to and fro with their plans for the day. You take a deep breath in, Kirishima still rattling on just next to you about how Maelstrom actually doesn’t smell that bad. You break into an easy smile, a genuine laugh leaving your mouth for the first time in a long time.

A tingle runs up and down your spine, the shard slot on your neck buzzing as if someone was tugging on it, you look in the opposite direction of Kirishima to see if perhaps there was a nearby jammer or Netrunner who tripped on your own network.

But instead, you’re faced with something that makes it feel like you’ve been submerged beneath icy waters, your bones rigid and muscles tightened.

Standing idle amongst the moving crowd is a large man, with broad shoulders but that isn’t what makes him stick out like a sore thumb. It’s not the corporate suit he’s wearing, but rather it’s the mop of green hair on his head accompanied by emerald eyes that are wide with mirth when you meet his gaze over the crowd. You can see his lips move, but it's like his voice is deep in the back of your brain.

‘Soon.’

Kirishima calls your name from your side, drawing your attention back to him for a split second before you glance back towards the crowd. The man was gone. “All good? Do you need more blockers?”

“Huh?” You blink up at him, blockers? Oh. Meds that rippers always pumped you full with whenever you had any amount of cyberware. When was the last time you had taken some anyway? “No, uh, I’m fine, thank you. Think I just need a real sleep.”

“You just woke up from like a month-long nap, you’re telling me you’re still tired?” He grins down at you, guiding you back down the familiar street.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

The door to the apartment slides open with a hiss, revealing the dim lights of the amber overhead lights. Bakugou was home. Kirishima steps in first, shedding the thick jacket he had on to toss it onto one of the hooks. You followed after him easily enough, it hadn’t felt like so much time had passed but looking around the apartment you could see it.

Things had been moved, the plant on the window ledge had blossomed and grown beautiful red leaves. Stepping further into the apartment, you watch Kirishima disappear behind a black glass door that slides open for a split second to reveal Bakugou who was hunched over what looked like one of his rifles before the door slid shut.

You had been forbidden to enter the armoury, it was for Bakugou and Kirishima only. Bakugou had come with that rule, you couldn’t blame him but it wasn’t as if you needed their weapons. The thought of the gun embedded in your arm makes it ache, a tingling sensation that numbs your fingertips momentarily. Sitting down on the couch, you let out a sigh of relief when your muscles finally decompress and relax.

Despite your body relaxing your mind was still running far too fast, too many thoughts bouncing back and forth—you suppose it’s from the fact you were connected to the Net with no blockers, all that information could fry someone's brain and you’re just glad it hadn’t happened to you.

The peace and quiet doesn’t last long however, soon enough the entrance door opens with a whoosh and you turn in time to see a multitude of people walk in. You recognise two by name; Aizawa and Shinsou. You recognise both men with yellow hair and black hair, but there’s a woman with them that you haven’t met before with short dark purple hair.

“What the fuck are you all doin’ in my fucking house?” Bakugou growls from near the armoury, arms crossing over his chest.

“You didn’t think we’d let you walk away with the coolest new member of the gang, right?” The one with yellow hair flops into the seat next to you, long gone is the fear he had shown just earlier that day.

He grins at you when you stare at him, “Denki Kaminari, but you can call me whatever you want.” Kaminari offers with an easy smile, earning him a snort from the black-haired man who smacks him on the back of the head.

“Ignore him. Name’s Sero, it’s nice to meet you without a gun pointed in my face.” You shake his hand when he offers it to you, still wordless at how they’re effortlessly welcoming you into their gang.

“Don’t fucking ignore me!” Bakugou finally yells, but no one flinches at the volume of his voice. “What the fuck are you all doing in my house?!”

“New job.” Aizawa supplies, and immediately the room plummets into silence. “I know it’s only been hours since you woke up, but we really could use your help on this next one.”

Bakugou moves to open his mouth, but Shinsou jumps in. “You’re the only one here who can disappear from someone's optical enhancements. Do you know how rare that is? We wouldn’t be asking you to do this if we didn’t think you’d be able to pull it off without any problems.”

Aizawa continues, “You won’t be doing it alone of course. The whole crew will be going, but you will be the key player in this job, you’ll have to be the one to go in first.”

“When?” is the first thing you ask, and all eyes shift to you.

“In three days. Ideally, we would’ve done it sooner but I figured you might want to rest first. From what I hear, you had quite the trip on the Net.”

Aizawa notices the way your eyebrows furrow, “Shinsou was in there with you, but it was Jirou–” He points over his shoulder at the girl, who raises a hand for a moment. “–who broke through your defences. Apparently, there was some resistance from an outside source. Got anyone who'd be interested in protecting the data in your head?”

You shake your head, the only outside source may have been the man with green hair but even then you weren’t sure if he was real or not. You hadn’t been on blockers, you had been using your chrome carelessly. It could just be exhaustion.

Aizawa just nods his head, turning his attention to both Kirishima and Bakugou before gesturing with his head for them to come to talk to him privately. Kaminari and Sero both dive instantly at the chance to talk to you, gushing over the cyberware you were sporting. Apparently, they had never met someone who lived to tell the tale after having so much changed.

Aizawa sighs when he’s away from the group, slumping against the wall whilst Bakugou and Kirishima stand before him. Kirishima looks tense, and Bakugou is… well, Bakugou.

“You remember the original job?” Both men nod. “The package you were ordered to retrieve is Arasaka’s countermeasure to the new power Militech has come into. Jirou had a look at it and apparently, it’s some sort of advanced AI that can short-circuit everyone in its vicinity and even cause people to spiral into Cyberpsychosis.”

“What the fuck?” Kirishima murmurs, keeping his voice down so as to not alert the others.

“What’ve you done with it?” Bakugou asks, not missing the wince on Aizawa’s face.

“Handed it back to them.” Bakugou’s frown deepens, lip curling to reveal gums and canines but Aizawa jumps back in. “I didn’t have a choice, Bakugou. It was tracked, after you left with the girl they sent some jacked-up chrome head to come and pick it up.”

Bakugou runs a hand through his hair, gripping at the roots. This was bad. Arasaka were pieces of shit when it came to cyberware and if they were going to hit Militech with this then another corporate war would definitely be on the cards. “Shit, fuck. You sure it was an Arasaka guy that came to pick it up, not someone working for D—?”

“No, if I picked up on his chip, I would’ve put a bullet between his eyes myself.”

“Not if I do it first.” Bakugou snarls, earning a nod of approval from Kirishima. “Fucker already ruined our lives enough, we don't need him to get his hands on something that could kill us all.”

“You think they know about her?” Kirishima prompts after a beat of silence, all three men turn their attention to watch you on the couch. You were still static, Kaminari arguing with Sero about something whilst Jirou and Shinsou teased Kaminari about whatever it was. You looked out of place but at the same time, it felt as if you were always meant to be amongst the crew. You smiled easily, even laughing along with the group.

“I don’t doubt it. Jirou said the outside source that was blocking her from hacking into the system was military grade. She has something important to someone very wealthy. With this next job, stick close to her. If Arasaka makes a move, they’ll be trying to take her out first. If Militech makes a move…”

Aizawa shares a look with Bakugou before the blonde nods in understanding. “Good. Good luck on this next one, you’re going to need it when working with those idiots.”

Both men watch Aizawa leave before joining the rest of the gang on the couch, Bakugou sinks into a spot opposite of you and Kirishima slumps himself not too far from everyone, his legs spreading as he fully reclines into the seat. All attention is still on you, and Bakugou can’t help but keep his eyes locked on you.

“We should celebrate!” Kaminari grins, practically bouncing in his seat at the prospect.

“Celebrate what?” Kirishima is the one brave enough to take on Kaminari, effortlessly shifting the attention away from you momentarily.

“The newest member, obviously! I think we should show her a good time.” There’s a series of groans, a squawk of indignation from Kaminari whilst Sero berates him for always making everything an innuendo. Yet Bakugou can’t find it within himself to fight the decision, his eyes watch the way your eyebrows lift in interest before a smile brightens your features.

Maybe he’ll go along with it, just this one.

...

Part of him wishes he had fought Kaminari on some part of it. It was no surprise that the bar hopping eventually led them to visit Jig-Jig Street. It wasn’t the nicest place to be, it was the rundown part of Japantown that people often went to when they were desperate enough to get their dick wet.

Jig-Jig Street was the red light district of Night City, where you could ‘buy love’ by the hour or even get in contact with dealers who would sell you the most exotic of drugs or enhancements that would cost you a pretty penny. It was dangerous too, something that Bakugou often argued about whenever the others tried to drag him here. Too many times he had come home with a nasty black eye or even in the back of a police car from the fights that broke out here.

The crude flashing neon signs had Bakugou hunching in on himself, practically snarling at Denki who dared to poke fun at the gigantic blonde. Thankfully, it’s Kirishima who once again saves the day by shooing Kaminari away with the rest of the gang before he draws Bakugou in by his shoulder.

Bakugou just grunts, crossing his arms over the broadness of his chest before his eyes drift towards the redhead who’s now staring down at him.

“What?” Bakugou barks, modified canines adding to the visage of him being a feral dog.

Kirishima just laughs, “Loosen up man, let Denks have his fun. I have a feeling this next job is going to be a hefty one.”

Bakugou shakes his head, squaring his jaw whilst he mulls over Kirishima’s words. He supposes Kirishima isn’t exactly wrong; this next job feels like there’s a heavy weight resting on them. An expectation of something; something that Bakugou hasn’t quite figured out yet.

His eyes drift over towards you, embedded right in the middle of their little group. You still were a little bit stiff, eyes blinking owlishly whenever Kaminari came on a little too strong—but the alcohol had helped you loosen him, he thinks, you seem to smile a lot more now.

“Whatever, get the fuck off me.” Bakugou snips, shoving Kirishima’s hand off of him and Kirishima knows not to take it to heart. Instead, he steps aside, watching his oldest friend stalk away into the crowd to god knows where.

Bakugou wades through the crowds, dodging the half-naked bodies and the people high out of their minds who attempt to grab at him for his attention. He hated this part of town, it was the worst part of Night City – besides the gang wars and other shit the corpos got up to.

But this was a display of the depravity of the city, a show of just how long people would sink to feel something in this shithole of a city.

Finally, Bakugou breaks out of the crowd into the open street. It was empty, given that it was nearing three in the morning. He lifts his head to stare at the sky, the overcast clouds enough to make him grumpier. The rain always fucked with his chrome, the cold chill that came with it would send it haywire.

Glancing back, he can’t see the group he came with anymore and something in him itches to find you and make sure you didn’t get into any trouble that naturally comes with both Sero and Kaminari.

“Running away?” A voice comes from his side, and it takes the years of experience that comes with being a hired gun to not jump out of his skin. His head snaps down, and a shiver rolls down his spine when he meets your gaze.

“Yeah,” he admits, surprisingly, “Can’t fuckin’ stand this place. And you should split when you can too, you’ll end up getting roped into a threesome or some shit.”

That makes you purse your lips in an attempt to smother laughter before the corner of your lips threatens to break into a smile, there’s an easy air around you. You seem more relaxed, most definitely because of the drinks you had been throwing back when Kirishima challenged you.

“Nah, Kirishima let me leave.” Bakugou arches an eyebrow at that, Kirishima had known you were leaving too? That motherfucker. He knew you’d come following after him, like a moth to a flame. “Figured it’d be safer to walk home with you than try and navigate my way out of here.”

That has Bakugou nodding in agreement, the fuzziness of tonight's drinks softens his need to put his guard up around you. “C’mon, it’s about to piss down and I’m not getting caught in it.”

He’s already walking away, and it doesn’t take long for you to match his stride. Your own hands are buried in the pockets of the orange jacket Kirishima had given you all that time ago – did you know it was his? He bought it with one of his first paychecks, it was in one of his favourite shades of orange but somehow it looked much better on you.

His eyes drift away from the jacket you’re wearing and up to your face, you’re eyeing the signs as you walk by. They’re a range of ads for braindances that plunge you into a full-blown porno and ads for physical enhancements for stamina. It’s no surprise that everything in this part of town was about sex, Japantown practically ran off of it.

But his eyes catch on your bottom lip, how you worry it over with your teeth and squint a little like you’re not really reading everything that goes by.

“Somethin’ on your mind?”

“Huh?” You look up at him finally, and it makes Bakugou’s chest flutter with something unknown. It takes everything in him to push it down, chalking it to the previous train of thought about advertisements.

“What you worrying about? Yer gonna chew through your fuckin’ lip if you keep overthinking whatever it is.”

The way your eyebrows draw together and your face nearly crumples makes him want to backtrack, but instead you wipe your face of whatever emotion you had just felt.

“It’s hard to explain. More of a feeling than anything.”

Something Bakugou isn’t good with, he’s not one to talk about his feelings or whatever the fuck is plaguing his mind. “Just spit it out.”

You follow him up the steps to the large apartment building, and yet you remain silent as you try to mull over the words you want to say. Bakugou expects you to just ignore his request, and he doesn’t blame you. He’d never talk about his feelings even if someone held a gun to his head.

Once inside the apartment, he watches as you sidestep around him to go and stand before the large window. Pressing a button to let the metal shutters roll upwards in quick succession until the district of Japantown is exposed to you. It’s a sea of neon lights, people ebbing and flowing like water as they move around each other without ever looking away from the devices in their hands or implanted in their minds.

“Can I show you?” You speak finally, once he shucks off his jacket and flings it onto the back of the sofa. He eyes you for a moment, show him? Show him what, your feelings? His nose crinkles in thought, but he finds himself relenting. The liquid courage he drank earlier makes itself known when he relaxes on the sofa.

“Sure,” and you’re turning to look at him as if you expected him to shout at you or worse. But you don’t comment about it, scared to lose your chance so you move over to him. Settling into the seat next to him he can’t help but notice you don’t budge him at all, your own weight nothing compared to his own — had you always been this tiny?

“You gonna kiss me or some shit?” He blurts when you turn to face him, your knee pressed into his thigh and he tries to not think about the bareness of your legs. You snort, however, shaking your head.

“No, nothing like that.” And you’re reaching for him despite that, his body grows rigid beneath your touch. Your fingers are gentle as they stroke along the smoothness of his neck before they card up through the short hairs of his undercut at the nape of his neck. You’re so close he can see the intricate thin strips of metal that help with your enhanced eyesight.

He doesn’t find himself moving away, but rather leaning into the gentleness of the touch.

“Hold still,” is all you supply before he feels something slip against the back of his neck, the plating shifting and moving until his body involuntarily jolts. Everything in his body yells at him to move, to stop you from doing whatever the fuck you’re doing but it’s too late. The connection is made and he’s plummeted into darkness.

There’s a blinding light and he blinks it away, only to find himself submerged in what must be the depths of your consciousness. It’s similar to what he’d seen in his short dips into cyberspace when the time called for it, but this is different. He’s standing in the middle of nowhere, screens and flicking images dash around him.

Memories, he realises. Your memories from the moment you woke up and up until the very moment you sat down with him, but it’s not the memories you’re showing. Rather it’s the emotions connected to them, it’s bombarding his senses. He feels the tug at his heart, the fear that races up his spine when you first woke up in an unknown place and then the blissfulness you had felt when he took a bullet for him.

How could you feel at peace when you were going to die? It was too much for him to wrap his mind around, and quickly the emotion was changing. There was a sadness that weighed down on his body this time like his body was being pulled into icy waters when he heard the words he spat at you when you first woke up.

You felt sad? Bakugou didn’t know, it made his heart ache something fierce. He didn’t want you to feel sad because of him – fuck, he just wanted you to know how much it bothered him for you to dive in front of him like that. He wanted you to know just how much time he spent in that shitty docs office, watching your near-lifeless body repair itself before his very eyes.

But he couldn’t tell you that, he couldn’t tell you that Kirishima often was the one to wake him up from his slump across your lap in the mornings when he fell asleep hoping you’d just wake the fuck up and explain yourself.

Another jump in emotions, and he feels happiness – acceptance. You’re sitting among all his friends, and even with him in the picture, you feel like you found a place. Something in the memory makes his eyebrows raise, you glance at him and that feeling spikes. It feels like a thunderous amount of butterflies flutter in his stomach, rising up until they bombard his heart.

He hadn’t even known you were looking at him like that. Yet beneath all that, he could feel the melancholy that came with your circumstance. You don’t feel like you belong, or perhaps it was the reality of your previous life's existence that weighs heavily on you. You had unresolved business, and that’s something Bakugou can relate to fully.

The next time he blinks, he feels the pressure of your forehead against his own. The slipping of the cord from his plating and how your fingers curl a little more into the longer hair further up the back of his head.

“Do you get it now?” You’re the first to break the tension, your question but a whisper above the whirring of the fan above your heads.

And he thinks he does, that feeling that you couldn’t quite describe. You were content yet you were lost, you were happy yet you had a longing for something. You felt something towards him that was so indescribable it made his heart flutter. So he just nods, his own forehead pressing a little harder against yours to get it across that he truly does get it.

His hand cups your jaw, thumb rolling across the fullness of your cheek before it presses into the flesh just a little. Your breath smells sweet; faintly reminding him of the drinks the both of you had earlier in the night. He doesn’t suspect you’re drunk, he definitely isn’t but that soft buzz keeps him from thinking too much.

“It’s so confusing.” You admit, the word is just a breath against his lips and he finds himself wanting to swallow it. “I don’t want to think.”

That’s enough of a sign for him to make a move, his stomach churns with anxious excitement when he leans in. His lips finally press to yours in a tentative touch, your lips are warm and just as soft as they look. It draws him further, and further until his lips are moving against your own in a fluid movement.

You don’t fight him when his hand slips to the back of your neck, pulling you into position so you can’t escape when he pries your mouth open with his tongue. The sweetness is stronger on your tongue, tangy with alcohol yet intoxicatingly enjoyable when he explores you like he might never get the chance again.

It’s like everything explodes at that point, Bakugou grows insatiable; he needs to taste you. He needs to know you inside and out, this hunger pooling low in his stomach and burning a river of fire down to his groin. It makes him groan into the kiss when you offer a reprieve for a quick breath, he nips and bites at your bottom lip to see if he can pull any noises from you.

And he delights in it when he can, your moans are so foreign to him yet it’s a heady feeling. It has him tugging at you until you’re situated over the tops of his thighs, and in a fluid motion, he’s standing. His hands cupped under your ass, squeezing and massaging the flesh that he’s never had the chance to feel before.

It takes him no time at all to cross the space from the living room to his bedroom, the door sliding open and closed with a hiss before the automatic locks click into place. He tosses you from his grip onto the plushness of his bed, the sheets still rumpled from the morning when he didn’t bother to make it.

Bakugou looms over you like a predator, his chest rising and falling with quick breaths – you’re no better than he is, your lips are swollen and wet from his ministrations. Your heavy breathing only accentuates your breasts, drawing his attention down to them to see the rise and fall of your chest. His fingers move automatically, tucking underneath his shirt to tug it over his head.

It’s flung off into some unknown direction, and when he looks up you’re leaning up. Your fingers skate along the sharp edges of his muscles, pressing into the places where the fat resides. Then you trace along scars that are white and some that are pink; you’re transfixed on him. It makes him preen under your gaze, and in your momentary distraction, he undoes the belt on his jeans before they’re pushed down too.

The smile you give him makes his heart pitter-patter in his chest, you’re smiling up at him as if he’s the world to you. But the rational still-sober part of his mind insists that it’s just for the sex – he’s just a one-night stand to you and the feeling is mutual. Right? That is what Bakugou wants out of this, right? The tension in his stomach is unnerving, something akin to nausea at the idea of letting this not blossom into something more.

But he doesn’t get to ruminate on it further, your fingers drift downwards along the deep V on his hips until you’re at the top of his boxers. Automatically his fingers stroke up along your jaw, across your cheek until he’s hooking his fingers to the back of your head when you start to lean in closer.

The feeling of your lips against the hard outline of his cock makes him jolt and melt at the same time, the rumbling moan is deep in his chest. How long had it been since he was last with someone? Fuck, he doesn’t even know but he can’t focus when the tip of your tongue slowly drags up along the thick vein on the underside of his cock.

He must jolt too harshly because you laugh a little to yourself before you take pity on him. Bakugou wants to snap at you, shut you up for even daring to laugh at him but the words die on his tongue the second he even thinks of them. Your hands are undeniably soft when you wrap your hand around his hardness.

There’s a small crease between your eyebrows, an indication of either your concentration or perhaps your trepidation for what’s to come.

“Lie back,” he offers instead, your eyes drifting back up to meet his and you slip free from the hand hooked on the back of your head, the loss of your softness around his length leaves a longing that lingers in the depths of his stomach. This time he takes the time to undress you, sliding you free of the dress Mina had managed to wrangle you into.

It looked far too good on you, something he wouldn’t admit at the start of the night but his inhibitions continue to slip. “Look at you, so beautiful.”

His fingers skim up along the now bare expanse of your hips, brushing past your panties line and mapping their way up your sides. You’re just as scarred as he is, but yours are so different from his. He can see the almost invisible lines where someone has taken a scalpel to you and modified your body. Did you even know who did it?

He swallows the lump down in his throat, forcing his attention up to your breasts once his hands brush along the sides. His thumbs roll up over your nipples beneath your bra, the pebbled skin hard enough–sensitive enough to earn him a shiver of delight. The smile that brightens up his face is nothing short of sinful, it shows the modified canines and displays all his carnal desires without him having to even utter a word.

You lift your body up when he demands it, letting him slip you free of your underwear until you’re as bare as he is. And Holy fuck, you’re fucking gorgeous. His eyes leave no part of you unseen, his gaze roaming over you until you’re practically squirming.

“Please.” You whisper, gasping when his fingers finally find a home in the width of your hips. “Stop staring and do something.”

That has an eyebrow rising in your direction. “Oh? Someone’s demanding when she wants something. You want me to hurry up and fuck you until you’re too dumb to remember your own name?”

“You’re too much.” You all but whine, and he imagines he’d be able to feel the heat in your cheeks if he were to lean in closer.

“You have no idea.” Bakugou grins, a sultry smile that has your hips bucking beneath his iron grip and he’s swooping down.

Lips pressing into yours in a much more hurried fashion compared to earlier; it’s a hunger that can only serve to work someone up until the point of completion. It has his tongue rolling into your mouth, brushing against the back of your teeth and trying to hear you choke on him when he’s bearing his weight down on you.

He’s positively devouring you, and his hands work to spread your legs wide for him on either side of the thickness of his own thighs. Then his fingers make their way down between your legs, brushing against the crease between where your thighs bend. You’re whining, moaning and biting back just as hard when he dares to bite your bottom lip.

He wants to fucking ruin you.

Bakugou draws his head back just enough to peer down at you, the light filtering in through the half-shuttered window highlights parts of you that are otherwise shrouded in the darkness. It illuminates the harsh rise and fall in your lungs, the way your nipples are pebbled in the cool air and the slight glisten on your inner thighs.

Finally, he indulges you. His fingers press between your folds to slide against your clit before they slowly venture downwards. His middle and ring fingers circle against your entrance teasingly slow, his lips parting to breathe in your whines for more.

His eyebrows crumple with your own when you moan at the intrusion of his thick fingers, his head is swimming with how intoxicating it is to be above you like this. To have this level of power over someone who could definitely kill him before he could blink.

The stretch is easy enough with how wet you got so quickly for him, and he groans all low and rumbling in his chest at just how tight you are. You’re so soft and velvety inside, your walls clenching rhythmically with your deep inhales.

For a moment, he just holds his fingers deep inside of you completely still. Relishing in the way you try to shift your hips beneath him despite how he’s pinning you down beneath the weight of his own body. It’s such a stark difference to the nervous wreck he’s seen you as, and so fucking better than the cold-blooded killer he knew you were deep down.

“Fuckin’ look at you.” He whispers into the heated air between the sparse gap between you two, his eyes half-lidded as they meet your own. You’re trying your hardest to glare at him, but you can’t quite fight the euphoric feeling of him curling his fingers just a little to shut you down.

“Who knew all it took to get you nice and compliant was to stuff you full with my fingers?” His tone is a little mean, a little condescending. The tears don’t come for you however, but he can see you slowly dropping into the headspace he wants you to be in.

“Please,” you beg—a plea, a sweet melody that Bakugou thinks he wants to listen to for the rest of his life. But this was just a one-night stand, right?

“Tell me what you want.”

“Just–... Move already, please.” He grins wide at the whimper at the end of your words. A small part of him wants to draw this out, make you suffer just a little but the rational voice in his mind tells him he’ll only get more out of you if he obliges.

So he does. His fingers crook upwards, brushing against the spongy spot that no one but he could reach with the length of his fingers. The reaction is immediate, you moan so sweetly that it has his own eyes threatening to flutter and roll into the back of his head.

You’re practically gushing around his fingers as he fucks them into you, repeatedly crooking his fingers in an attempt to see how quickly he could make you crumble beneath the palm of his hand. Your thighs tense up, squeezing around his own when you try to close your legs to stop the onslaught of his fingers.

Bakugou noses into your cheek when you tilt your head back, your lips parted as you try to breathe in. But he doesn’t give you the chance, he pushes you further into the bed with his weight, shifting his body up just slightly so your hips are forced to bend with him – then suddenly he’s fucking his fingers into you impossibly deeper.

His lips hover just next to your temple, panting heavily against you. It’s a task and a half to stop himself from painting the inside of his boxers that he’s still yet to remove. But he’s a man on a mission, and that mission is to make you cum on his fingers.

He doesn’t stop when he feels your hand clamp down around his forearm, the strength there is enough to stop a moving truck—except you’re distracted, lost in the pleasure that races up and down your spine until it settles in the back of your mind. You’re too lost in your own head to be embarrassed about the sloppy sounds between your thighs, his fingers forcing more and more juices from you until he’s certain his bed will be soaked through.

As much as Bakugou wants to watch your pussy take his fingers so well, he can’t move his gaze away from your face. You look like something they used to paint in cathedrals, an angel. Your head is thrown back into his pillows, eyes scrunched closed and mouth open to let your moans spill free. The light from outside bathes you in neon colours, catching on the metallic strips of your chrome.

Even if it is just a one-night stand, Bakugou doesn’t think he’ll be able to forget the image of you in the throes of pleasure.

Especially not when you finally do reach your climax for him. Your hand at his wrist tightens immediately, your thighs lock up with a tension that would worry him if he wasn’t aware of the intricate materials that you were composed of. Your chest stutters, and your mouth opens wider until he’s gifted with the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard; a series of moans that grow breathier with each pass of his fingers.

“‘S too much.” You protest weakly, the hand that was wrapped around his wrist pushes in an attempt to free your swollen pussy from his long fingers. But he doesn’t pull out yet, only slowing down the roll of his wrist until finally he pulls free. Your entire body relaxes finally, muscles growing lax from where they’re wrapped around his waist.

“It only takes one time and you’re done?” Bakugou questions with a teasing arch of his eyebrow, watching in amusement when your head rolls slightly to glare at him. It’s a hardly-there glare but you still give it to him regardless, it makes him grin down at you. “Nah, you’re not done.”

You’re like putty in his hands with how easily he manoeuvres your body around, tucking both of your legs together before twisting your lower half to the side. A large arm keeps your legs held up and off to the side, whilst his unoccupied hand strokes along the rigid length of his cock. It aches, pearled with pre-cum from just watching you cream all over his hand.

He levels the tip of his drooling cock to your entrance, easily finding the hole that was previously spread so wide around just two of his fingers. The warmth is intoxicating, flooding his senses and clouding his mind. He doesn’t even notice you moving just slightly to slide a hand down over your hip to feel the length of his cock disappearing deeper and deeper inside of you.

The groan Bakugou lets out once his hips fall flush against your own is sinful enough to have you clenching around him, turning that beautiful groan into a hiss through clenched teeth. He snaps his gaze up to you, only to see your own gaze heedy with lust and half-lidded. He can feel every single inch of your velveteen walls, can feel the way you’re still panting and clenching around his cock.

He thinks he could die here, quite happily might he add.

A large hand comes down to your ass, shifting the flesh just enough so he can flit his eyes downwards and see the sticky mess that’s already tacking his pubic hair. That same hand comes back down again to level your ass with a firm spank, and it has you squeezing around him tight enough to stop him from rolling his hips back to start fucking you.

It’s enough to make him forget he’s fucking you raw.

“Squeezin’ me so fuckin’ hard. You like it that much, hm?” Bakugou goads with a bite to his bottom lip when he feels you pulse at the tone he takes with you. With enough willpower, he rolls his hips backwards just enough to pull himself out halfway before fucking his cock back into you. “Tell me how much you like it.”

His stomach tenses when you brush the pads of your fingers against the tensed muscles there, his eyes drift away from where he was connected to you, along your arm until he finds your face. You’re looking him in the eye, eyelids heavy and lips parted when you moan low at the feeling of him rolling his hips smoothly once again.

“Say it,” Bakugou bares his teeth at you, the modified fangs in his mouth gleaming with the passing lights through the window.

“Bak—”

He moves before he can even think, faster than you can react. His hand engulfs the entirety of your lower face, thick fingers digging into the flesh of your cheeks until he can feel the solid metal that was buried in your very muscles. Your eyes are wide, more alert but you don’t fight him surprisingly. Bakugou hunches his body over your own until his forehead connects with yours, forcing you to look directly into his eyes.

The angle he’s at now has your eyebrows crumpling together, mouth opening in a wordless moan—he’s so fucking deep that he’s pretty certain he’s pressed right against your cervix.

“No, use my fuckin’ name.” He growls in your face, hissing his words through clenched teeth. You’re clenching around him so tightly that his head feels like it’s filled with nanites, infiltrating his brain until all he can think about is you, you, you.

A harsh thrust of his hips has you gasping, he can see you fighting the urge to let your eyes roll back and eyelashes flutter closed to bask fully in the pleasure. But you keep his gaze, sturdy and unyielding.

“Katsuki.”

He’s never heard his given name on your tongue before, so breathy and sweet that it has his pace faltering for a split second. His name sounded perfect when you said it like that, as if your very vocal cords were crafted just to moan his name like that—like an angel. Bakugou gives in to the urge to moan in return, jaw falling slack.

Your hand is delicate around his wrist, guiding him to free you from the grip he still had on your jaw to slide it downwards until he finds your throat. His fingers latch around it naturally, digging in just enough to have you gasping against his open and waiting mouth but not enough to hurt you. He can see that you enjoy it—can feel it in the way your pussy drools for him more.

The second his hand locks around your throat, everything empties from his mind. His hips move as if they were designed to fuck you, to feel your skin slap against his and to have your entire body jump with each harsh rut. Your moans vibrate against his palm, a shiver working its way down his spine whenever your moans grow louder, more desperate when he shifts his weight just enough to bully the tip of his cock against your cervix.

The hand around his wrist tightens, the tips of your nails digging into his flesh. It makes him hiss in pain, gritting his teeth to fuck you harder. His entire body glistens with sweat, dripping down along his hairline where strands of his ash blonde hair stick to his dewy skin. It pools in the hollow of his throat and builds along his biceps, which flex and bulge with the effort of keeping up his position hunched over you.

“G’nna—” You gasp, his hand instinctively closing around your throat before relaxing. “‘M g’nna cum.”

And fuck, if he thought you whispering his given name was hot then he’s not sure where that ranks. He’s not sure why he’s never considered just how hot it would be for you to admit you were close to orgasm, to inform him that he’s doing such a good job at fucking you that you’re about to cum.

“Yeah?” He huffs in the effort of his pace, suddenly rearing back and releasing your throat in favour of shifting your position. He throws your legs over his shoulders, large hands grasping at your hips to pull you to the edge of the bed properly. “Then cum.”

With his hands lower down on your body, Bakugou’s able to free one hand from grasping at the meat of your thigh to let his thumb roll over your clit with enough pressure to have your knees turning inwards and back arching off of the bed. The moan that comes you from is angelic, a sound that has his stomach twisting in anticipation and the need to cum—but not yet, he’s going to fuck you as much as he can before he reaches his end.

He can feel you clamping down on him, squeezing the ever-loving fuck out of him to the point where his hips are forced to take shallow thrusts. But his hand doesn’t give up on your clit; he switches to his fingers to pinch and cruelly swipe at your swollen clit. Your toes curl against the back of his head, and Bakugou finds himself leaning into the feeling—needing to feel every single part of you whilst your pleasure crests.

And when you do cum, Bakugou can’t help but groan alongside you.

“Fuuu—... That’s it, good girl.” His tone is a little breathy, his chest rising and falling with the quick breaths he has to take to keep up the pace to fuck you through your orgasm and beyond that. His hand drops away from between your thighs, sliding up to grab at your waist before moving you up along the bed whilst situating himself on top.

He tugs your legs down from his shoulders, wrapping them tightly around his waist—you move easily for him, so pliant and willing to do anything for him after he made you cum on his cock. Your thighs mould easily around the thinner part of his waist, your ankles locking naturally.

His cock remains buried deep inside of you, still savouring the aftershock waves of pleasure that have your walls throbbing around him. Bakugou leans down into your space, with one elbow to the side of your head whilst the other latches itself onto the headboard. You meet his gaze, finally gaining back some clarity.

“Back with me?” He grins, sharp teeth on display when he looks down at you. He wonders if you find him intimidating like this, you’ve shown you were somewhat afraid of him in the past—never stepping on his toes, or overstepping when he ordered you to stay the fuck out of his way. Part of him doesn’t want you to be afraid of him anymore, he wants to make you smile more, laugh more, moan more—

A hand caresses itself along his cheek, drawing him out of his lust-ridden mind until he finds your eyes. Your thumb drags itself along the apple of his cheek, across the corner of his lips until you press your thumb against his lips. He’s not sure what’s enthralled him exactly, maybe it’s just the look in your eye—because you’re not looking up at him like you’re afraid, but rather you’re looking up at him with something scarily close to admiration.

Your thumb drops down from his lips and to his chin, and with the slightest of tugs you pull him down into your space. He collapses onto both of his elbows on either side of your head, his breath coming out in warm puffs against your face. He can smell you this close, a mixture of sweat and that sweet perfume Mina had bought for you.

Again, he doesn’t fight it when you pull him that final inch. Your lips are smooth against his own, so gentle and intoxicating. You kiss him like you want to savour this, savour him. And so he lets you, he lets you savour him just as he savours you in return. His mouth pries yours open easily enough, your tongue eager to meet his own in a smooth curl.

His hips begin to move on instinct, both of his thighs spread wide so he can thrust hard and deep. Your skin slaps against his, a wet sound that has the pit of pleasure in his stomach tightening and tightening with each passing second. His balls smack against the roundness of your ass, drawing up with the urge to spill deep inside of you—but he won’t, as much as he’d love to feel your walls milk him for all he’s worth.

You’re the one who breaks the kiss off, head falling back into his pillows whilst he props himself back up over the top of you. With a better view of your body, your tits that bounce with each rut of his hips, he finds himself standing right on the precipice of his climax. His thrusts grow faster, more erratic in their strength and depth—effortlessly fucking you through your next orgasm when you open your mouth in a silent scream.

“Fu-fuck, fuck,” Bakugou pants, his stomach clenches and his balls draw up tight. He pulls back suddenly from your space, away from the intoxicating heat that radiates off of your body to pull from your pussy entirely. His hand wraps around his cock and he fists it aggressively, thumb pressing against his head before he sucks in one deep breath, only to release it in a loud groan.

His cum comes in thick waves, drawing lines up along your stomach and up along your chest. You lay there, with your legs wide open and eyes half-lidded; watching him cum all over your body. Bakugou finds his hips still thrusting with each spurt from his cock, squeezing every last drop before tapping the sticky tip against your belly button where it had mostly gathered.

His entire body relaxes immediately, the weight of his responsibilities disappearing into nothing when he lets his mind bathe completely in that post-nut haze. You seem in the same mind, letting your legs droop at his waist and an arm coming to rest over your eyes, giving you a moment to catch your breath.

Slipping away from you, Bakugou doesn’t bother to pick up the clothes scattered around and instead beelines it for the bathroom attached to his bedroom. He pauses by the door leading out, he can’t hear any noise—hopefully, Kirishima was still out, if not then he’s going to be up Bakugou’s ass about fucking you.

Rummaging through a stack of towels, he finds a light and small one to wipe you down with. But as he’s about to re-enter the bedroom, he turns to see you’re standing up and looking around for your underwear.

“Where you runnin’ off to?” He gruffs, his own voice ruined from the session—he needs a drink of water, he makes a mental note.

You look up at him, quite like the image of a deer in headlights. “Uh, well—I just thought you’d want me to… go.”

Bakugou’s eyebrows furrow together before his eyes flit down to the ropes of cum still on your skin and he wants to ask if you planned on ruining your clothes with his cum. Instead, he shakes his head, stepping back into the dimly lit bedroom.

“Get back in bed, let me clean you up.” He watches as you stare at him for a second more, hesitating or debating on refusing his offer. But clearly your exhaustion wins out, because you turn with a drop of the dress in your hand and climb back in his bed, careful to not drip any of his cum on the sheets.

On the way past, he reaches down to a compartment in his wall to pull out two bottles of water. Placing them on the bedside table, he stands at the foot of the bed looking down at you. He can see you squirming under his gaze, the embarrassment starting to creep up on you but Bakugou can’t find it within himself to be embarrassed about the fact he was still completely naked. It felt good, with you.

You don’t squirm away when he wipes you clean, careful between your legs when he sees how puffy and swollen you look down there. But it still makes you flinch, a quiet gasp leaving your lips and it’s impossible to not smirk up at you before he drops the towel somewhere in the pile of abandoned clothes to be dealt with tomorrow.

Grabbing one water bottle, he offers it to you. “Drink up, and then actually get in bed. ‘M tired as fuck.”

He turns away when you take the bottle from him, still sporting that slightly bewildered look on your face as if you expected him to kick you to the streets—or rather, the sofa. Part of him does question why he’s letting you stay in his bed in the first place, but the idea of you going out to that shitty sofa after sex… it just doesn’t sit well in his chest.

He gives you the time to bury yourself beneath his sheets whilst he kicks the dirty clothes towards the far wall, next to the laundry basket before returning to you. You look tiny in his bed, made especially large to accommodate his height. You’re nearly lost beneath the thick sheets and mountain of pillows, it makes his lips curl into a playful smile before he crawls into bed with you.

You shift out of the way to let him lay down, the room dimming further until you were both plunged into darkness save for the passing lights through the slatted shutters on his window. He can still make you out in the dark, with his optics shut down and eyes naturally enhanced—he can see you’re looking at him over the top of the covers, debating on if you should still make a run for it.

“Fuckin’—...” He huffs a sigh, shifting under the sheets so quickly you don’t have the time to stop him. “Stop actin’ like I’m going to bite you or some shit.”

You curve into his muscle easily enough, moulding into the shape needed to be held close. His chin rests atop your head, thick arms looped around you. It’s odd—Bakugou wasn’t a hugger, definitely not a cuddler but having you in his arms, the smooth feeling of your softer skin beneath his and the warmth that comes from your very being is comforting.

His heart flutters in his chest when he can feel your arms slowly wrapping around him until you’re embracing him fully. You cling to him as if you were expecting him to rip you away at any given moment and ruin the moment. Has he really been that harsh to you? Sure, he’d been a bit of a dick when he first met you but you were choking out their only Ripper whilst holding a gun to their faces that’d eradicate them before they so much as blinked.

And sure, he had a tongue as sharp as a knife… fuck, maybe he was that harsh with you. He blames it lazily on the drink still in his system, despite the pestering fact in the very back of his mind that he worked most of it out of his system fucking you into his bed. It makes his head ache with the sudden rush of conflicting feelings, thoughts that clash over and over—

Forcing his eyes to shut and muscles to relax, he basks in the warmth of your much smaller body wrapped around his own and lets himself fall asleep.

You wake up feeling… warm. Not hot, nor cold. Comfortable too. The softness of the sheets around are some of the best you’ve felt in weeks, the blanket you’d been given to sleep with on the sofa was somewhat scratchy when you’d tuck it under your chin. This one is smoother, doesn’t catch on the thin intricate strips that are near-invisible to the naked eye that line your body.

There’s a weight across your body, a leg wedged between your own and a heavy arm draped over your waist. The warmth is coming from directly behind you, a solid press of muscle that breathes steadily against the back of your head. And if you glance just enough over your shoulder, you find a head of blonde hair that’s softened after a night of sleep.

Bakugou has himself plastered against you, completely. His face is buried into the back of your hair, and with him this close, all you can smell is him. His bed smells strongly of the aftershave he uses, and the man himself smells like your late-night activities—a musk that has your head in the clouds in remembrance.

You’ve never felt anything like that before. Not that you can remember, anyway. Bakugou treated you more than just someone he wanted to fuck, he didn’t toss you around or disregard the fact you had to cum too to enjoy yourself—he made sure you were on the same level as pleasure as he was, if not more. He kissed you like a lover would.

That last thought has your face heating, an odd feeling of butterflies fluttering up into your stomach until they settle in your lungs. It was ridiculous to have such a childish thought flit into your mind, Bakugou certainly wasn’t the type of man to settle down—his lifestyle didn’t fit with it.

You could tell just from the way he lived in his own home, he functioned to serve himself only—with the exception of Kirishima when he forgot breakfast. But outside of the walls of his apartment, his work lifestyle wasn’t fit for a partner in any sense of the word. He was a merc, mercs didn’t lock themselves down with someone because it was dangerous. Simple as.

Having a partner in Night City was the same as putting a target on your back. You became weak and vulnerable—something Bakugou would never let himself be. You knew that just from the weeks of living beside him.

“What’s got you thinkin’ so hard this early?” Bakugou’s voice is deeper, raspier in the mornings… and it’s impossible to not clamp down in longing that he was still buried inside of you.

He shifts behind you, one long deep breath in before he releases it. His muscles ease off of you when he breathes out, the weightlessness of sleep disappearing with each second. Instead, the arm that was slung over your waist grows bold in it’s movement. His large hand guides his fingers delicately over your skin, circling your belly button before meandering off until he finds your hip.

“Hm?” He nudges you with the tip of his nose, prompting you to glance over your shoulder at him. His eyes are smouldering, barely open and yet the red that stares back at you is bright. The long eyelashes you’ve never had the chance to see so clearly bat delicately against his cheekbones.

“Nothing, sorry for waking you.” You whisper back, and his eyes automatically drift down to watch the movement of your lips. The hand at your hip kneads softly at the flesh there before it moves lower, the tips of his fingers skirting up and down along your thigh. It’s enough to draw a harsh shiver up your spine, and in turn, causes Bakugou to let out a raspy chuckle.

“Yeah?” You pick up on the playful tone in his voice, a teasing grin growing on his face. “How ‘bout you make it up to me? Hm?”

You’re drawn to him biting on his bottom lip before his grin grows wider, watching you watch him—a back-and-forth dance to see who snaps first under the surmounting sexual tension in the room. The hand on your thigh slips down, hooking his fingers into your inner thigh to hoist your leg a little higher up on his hip. His cock is hot and hard where it presses between your thighs, the tip tapping against your clit.

Shifting himself up onto one elbow, partially hovering over you from behind, he finds your lips with his own. The kiss starts off softer than he kissed you last night, it’s not as hurried—not yet anyway. Bakugou kisses you like he wants to savour your flavour, to save the taste of you on his tongue. He tilts his head just slightly to delve in deeper, and then prying your mouth open with his.

His tongue is invasive, in the sense that he has to dive as deep as he can into your mouth. His tongue curls against the roof of your mouth, feels along the points of your teeth before he’s back to caressing your tongue with his own. The hand between your thighs spreads you lewdly beneath the blankets, a middle finger finding your clit before he strokes it down along your slit; wet and slippery for him.

Bakugou groans into your open mouth, before greedily going in again after the single breath he takes. This time the kiss is more energetic, more consuming. His cock twitches between your thighs, tapping against your thigh with its sticky tip. You can’t help but roll your hips back into him, push your ass out in invitation—

A loud bang in the living area has you both flinching, lips parting just enough for you to see the scowl starting to form on Bakugou’s face.

“Fuckin’ Ei. Just ignore ‘im.” His voice is harsh with desire, a low whisper that has your stomach tightening. Bakugou swoops back in, devouring your lips with more vigour, desperate to get what he wants now he knows that his roommate is awake—who knows when he’ll get a chance like this again.

He manoeuvres you on the bed, climbing over the top of you until you’re in a similar position as last night; your thighs at his waist and his hands pressed into the sheets on either side of your head. His cock bobs again between the two of you, smearing his pre along the smooth skin of your inner thigh. His lips part from yours once again, this time to chart a path down along your jaw and neck. He bites and kisses in tandem, sucking your skin until you can feel the bruises starting to blossom there.

Bakugou continues to consume you from the outside, pressing his hips down finally to relieve himself of the pressure building in his groin. He groans beautifully against your skin, a sound so intoxicating you can’t stop your eyes from rolling and your hands seeking purchase in his hair. It’s soft to the touch, and it doesn’t go unnoticed when you accidentally tug on it, his hips press harder against your own. Rutting his cock against your pussy.

“Shit, g’nna fuck you—”

“Yo, Bakugou!” The bedroom door opens with a loud hiss, and you can only squeak out in surprise when Bakugou all but presses you into the bed in an attempt to hide you. “I thought you said we had food in, and—... uh–...”

“Get the fuck out!” Bakugou snarls, reaching over to grab the closest thing to him on the bedside table. There’s a shift of his entire body, something flying through the air and the resounding plastic crunch of Kirishima being smacked by the poor water bottle that was launched.

“Sorry!” Kirishima back peddles it out of the room before Bakugou can scramble to find something else to throw, the door hissing to announce that he was well and truly out of the room.

The air is no longer thick with sexual tension, instead, there’s a lingering awkwardness that has Bakugou deflating on top of you. His face is buried into the crook of your neck, and you can feel the heavy sigh that’s pushed out of his body in acceptance that he won’t be fucking you again today.

“He’s such a fuckin’ idiot, can’t trust him to do shit on his own.” He grumbles against you, his lips so close you can feel each word forming on them. He leans up off of you, kneeling between your legs and you try your hardest to not grow embarrassed at your nakedness on display. He looks almost sad, defeated at the fact he knows he has to go deal with the red-haired giant that’s no doubt ripping apart his kitchen looking for food.

“Sorry,” he huffs, leaning down to leave a lingering kiss on your lips before he’s up and out of bed. “You can just sleep in here if you want. I know that eyebags said you need to rest after whatever the fuck happened so—just, rest here.”

You raise an eyebrow before realisation dawns on you; he means Shinsou. You smile at that, tucking the comforter back around you and burying yourself among the pillows. You watch as Bakugou blindly digs through his wardrobe, plucking out various clothes until he finds what he wants.

As if sensing your eyes, he glances over his bare shoulder at you with a wicked smirk on his face before bending down to draw his boxers up his legs. “The showers just in there, feel free to use whatever's in there.” He nods with his head in the direction of the bathroom.

“Okay, thank you.” You smile at him when he turns to look at you, he looks awfully handsome like this. Half dressed, a shirt in one hand and belt loose around his waist where he still has to button up his black cargo pants. He hovers for a second, fingers curling a little tighter around his shirt and you can see his jaw working to help him spit out the words he wants to say.

Except, he’s interrupted again by another bang—one that sounds suspiciously like the microwave door being broken. Bakugou groans in annoyance, running a hand through his hair before giving you one last glance just before he leaves the room.

You’re left in silence, the outside world still asleep despite the sun rising.

“You fucking idiot!” Bakugou yells, muffled but still loud enough that you feel like you’re in the room with him. The rest of the argument fades out into muffled voices, and soon sleep retakes you with the comforting smell of Bakugou still clouding your mind.

It isn’t until a handful of hours later that you emerge from the bedroom. It had quieted down soon after Bakugou had come out to confront Kirishima, and you managed to shower uninterrupted—you found clothes laid out on the bed for you, no doubt from Bakugou who must’ve heard the shower running at some point.

When the door hisses open, you’re met with the smell of beer and the voices of multiple people. People you’ve come to know as Shinsou, Sero and Kaminari. Of course, Bakugou and Kirishima are there too but the former is quiet as he watches the group yap about something he’s uninterested in.

“Nah, man. I’m telling you, she was looking at me.” Kaminari whines, earning him a snort of laughter from Shinsou and a shake of a head from Sero.

“You’re delusional, she’s a doll. They don’t see a thing.” Sero snickers when Kaminari pouts at that, leaning into Kirishima’s side who mockingly consoles him for thinking he had a chance with a doll.

The name is something that most people know, it was a way for people to get away with doing whatever they wanted to another person without the repercussions. Fuck a doll and they have their memory wiped by the end of it, confess murder and they’ll just smile at you. Dolls. You’d seen plenty of advertisements for it last night whilst visiting Jig-Jig Street, the idea of a chip like that existing made you feel sick.

A call of your name has your eyes blinking, snapping out of the trance and looking towards the source. Shinsou. Immediately Sero and Kaminari flinch in realisation that you were standing right behind them on the sofa, an unwanted reminder of when you had nearly blown them to pieces no more than 48 hours ago.

“How’re you feeling?” Shinsou asks, head tilting slightly.

“Fine, better than yesterday.” You smile back a little, eyes making their way automatically towards the ash blonde who sits with his knees apart on the opposite side of the sofa, an arm draped over the back of it and a beer can cradled in the hand on his thigh. “Still tired.”

“Even after you slept all day?” Kirishima asks next, and you make the mistake of glancing at him because he has a very knowing smug grin on his face. “Or maybe it was because you didn’t—”

“Oi, shut the fuck up.” Bakugou grunts before taking a sip of his drink, and you’re thankful for the intervention. You use the momentary distraction created by Bakugou to slip into a seat, finding the only place available between Bakugou and Shinsou—there’s a large enough gap that you know was reinforced by the blonde.

Bakugou only offers you a sideways glance when you settle into the seat next to him, you can feel him watching you; observing to see if you had any regrets from the previous night. But you have none, not a single one. You felt… happy. You didn’t have an overwhelming sense of dread sitting on your chest, instead you felt at ease. You relax into the plushness of the sofa, indirectly sinking into the spot where Bakugou had his arm slung over the back.

The conversation has already moved on, thankfully. All four of the men engaged in the conversation, with Bakugou drinking away at his beer whilst observing the group gathered.

“Do you remember that gig over in Watson?” Sero snorts, earning him a groan from Kirishima and a laugh from Kaminari. Sero flicks his gaze over to you, and you can see the mischief there when he realises he has an audience who haven’t heard the story.

“Hanta, don’t.” Kirishima whines, sinking into the seat with a large hand coming up to cover his face. You’ve never seen him quite like this; embarrassed. It was new, and you can’t help but smile at the idea of hearing something that would cause the giant of a man such emotions.

“But she hasn’t heard the story!” Sero exclaims, grinning from ear to ear as he leans forward to put his beer down on the coffee table. “Alright so, we had this gig over on the Northside, up in the Watson district. It was probably one of the easiest gigs to date, a simple in-and-out steal.”

You can feel Bakugou shift next to you, and out of the corner of your eye you can see him grinning over the lip of his beer can.

“Anyway. It was me, Denki and Ei.” He gestures to each of them in turn. “And for some reason, big Red here wanted to be the guy to do the stealth portion of the mission.”

“Don’t look at me like that, Uraraka just installed some new cyberware. She said I wouldn’t make a sound!” Kirishima huffs when you shoot him an incredulous look. A man who was over 6 ft 7 was definitely not suited for stealth work. If anything, you would’ve picked Sero—lanky, tall, light-footed.

“You’re about as heavy as a bull, you’re heavy footed as fuck Ei.” Bakugou goads, a grin on his face when Kirishima turns the glare his way.

Sero snickers, leaning his elbows on his knees. “We were meant to just steal this van, apparently it was Maelstrom property but we needed what was in it. All Kirishima had to do was sneak in, hotwire the van and get the fuck out of there. Instead, he trips every alarm known to man and has to hightail it out of there in a van with only two wheels.”

Bakugou offers a laugh, a genuine laugh at the memory of Kirishima returning to the hideout with a van hanging on for dear life.

“What about the time we had to eradicate that Daemon on the Net?” Kaminari snickers, which in turn has Shinsou turning his sights on him. “Shinsou popped a boner when his connection was flooded with those sex toy ads.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Shinsou growls, and you watch quietly when he lashes out at Kaminari who dares to laugh in his face. “I told you, the next time you tell someone that shit I’m—”

The conversation fades out slowly, your eyes focused on the spot in the centre of the coffee table. Daemons on the Net. Something about that sounds too familiar, would the man you saw in your own subconscious connected to the Net count as one of those daemons? Has someone injected you with something to cause a break in your cyberware?

You can still hear his voice, calling out your name. You could still feel the shards of glass he shattered in your mind, in your soul. They were lodged so snuggly against your vital organs, pressing yet waiting to be given the order to execute. That happiness you had felt just moments ago is washed away, replaced with the reminder that you were clueless as to who that man was—clueless to who you are.

A nudge to your foot has you blinking rapidly, glancing down to see Bakugou had knocked his foot against your own. You look at the man at your side, only to find his eyes already set on you. His hand is empty of the beer can he was drinking, and he’s staring at you like he was able to see your inner struggle.

“C’mon.” He grunts, standing up suddenly and you have no choice but to follow after him. You follow him towards the front door of the apartment, where he suddenly turns to you with the black and orange bomber jacket you’ve grown attached to. You don’t fight him when he throws it over your shoulders, holding the arms to help you with putting it on.

“Where you goin’?” Kirishima calls from the living area, all of the guys turning their heads to watch you adjusting the jacket on your body whilst Bakugou does the same with his own riding leather jacket.

“Out. Need more beers, figured I’ll take this one with me to save her from you guys being a bunch of freaks.” That earns him a number of groans and insults. “Shuddup, last time you were left with a girl alone, you all had to stiff leg it out of there.”

He doesn’t wait for the next round of insults hurled his way, instead, he pushes you out of the door first before letting it shut with an audible hiss behind him. You can still faintly hear them arguing through the door but Bakugou shows no issue with the fact he probably just left his own apartment to delve into chaos.

Bakugou leads you down the stairwell that leads to the garage, he holds the door open for you once you reach your destination and you’re met with a large parking lot. You’ve never been in here before, all the times you went out it was with Kirishima and he was adamant about walking around Night City instead of driving—he hated traffic just as much as the next person it seemed.

You follow behind Bakugou like a lost puppy, eyes darting from car to car. All of them ranging from heavily modified or straight-up pieces of junk that should be scrapped for a few Eurodollars. When he comes to a stop at the end of the garage, a light flicks on overhead to show the sleek black motorbike you saw when you had been first introduced to Aizawa.

Bakugou steps off to the side, rummaging around through a bio-coded locker which leaves you to investigate his motorbike a little more closely. It’s beautiful, obviously one of the pride and joys of the ash blonde. Your fingers ghost delicately along the smooth leather seat, it looks untouched—or rather, well-loved and cared for.

You tilt your head to look down along the expensive body, eyeing the fact there wasn’t even a single scratch on it. Just how well did he care for this bike? Your eyes spot what you’re looking for; Yaiba.

“It’s a modified Kusanagi CT-3X, if you’re wondering.” Bakugou finds himself next to you, one helmet perched atop his head and forcing the hairs down into his eyes, the other is under an arm.

“A rare Arasaka bike, right?” Bakugou nods at your words, an eyebrow arched as if he’s impressed you even knew that—to be fair, so are you. Your mind buzzes at the information you’re able to pull effortlessly from the bank of information sitting in your mind. “One of the fastest and most expensive bikes out there, how’d you get it?”

“Callin’ me cheap now?” He sneers but there’s no heat to it, he grins when you turn to look at him. He adjusts the helmet under his arm, holding it up to you so he can place it carefully over your head. “It was something I got with my first real paycheck, I always wanted one. Even as a kid when I lived in Tokyo, Yaiba had some of the best bikes out there and I just knew I wanted one.”

You smile up at him when he reveals just a slither of his past. So he wasn’t from here, it made sense. There was something about him that was never truly comfortable about being in Night City, no matter how long you live here—you’re never truly a part of the city as an outsider. Bakugou’s careful in pulling down the helmet, pressing a button on the inside before pushing down his own helmet.

“You hear me alright?” He questions, and you have to stop yourself from flinching at the voice in your ears. You nod at him, and you can hear him snicker quietly over the Bluetooth connection between the two helmets. “Alright, let’s get going before Ei comes and hunts us down.”

He slings a leg over the bike effortlessly, the entire thing bouncing on it’s suspension before he looks over at you through the small lifted gap of his visor. You hesitate for a moment, glancing from him to the seat behind him—if you can even call it that, there’s hardly any room and you’re going to be pressed up right against him. Why does that even matter when you were naked and under him this mor—

“Stop thinking and get the fuck on.” He grumbles, going as far as to reach over to grasp at your forearm to tug you forward. You have no choice but to clamber ontop of the bike behind him, your hands coming to loosely grab at the material of his leather jacket. Bakugou sighs heavily through the comms, using one hand to grasp at each of your hands individually to secure them snugly around his chest. “Hold on, this thing goes fast.”

The bike rumbles to life beneath you, Bakugou no doubt revving it on purpose to make you scoot closer to ensure you weren’t going to slip away when he put his foot down. You cling to him, your arms tucked tightly around his ribcage and head tilted so you’re not poking the front of your helmet into his back.

Soon enough, you’re out on the road, and you’re amazed by just how easily Bakugou moves the bike with his own weight. He makes it seem effortless when he weaves in and out of traffic, how he bends easily forward forcing you to move with him so that he can pick up speed. You can only watch the world blur past, streaks of rain hardly leaving a mark against your visor from just how quickly you’re going.

You cling to Bakugou, hands grasped tightly on his stomach. You can feel each of his muscles under his shirt, they tense and hardened when he rounds corners much too quickly. He sits back up from his leaned position, forcing you backwards and tilting your head to look over his shoulder. You can see from the speedometer that he’s way above the legal speed limit, hitting a solid 150mph.

The wind and rain batter against the exposed strips of skin on your body, and your hands sting like you’ve been pelted with a million little rocks but you can’t complain too much. The rush, the adrenaline, it’s something else. You feel weightless when Bakugou expertly rounds corners or when he picks up speed along a long stretch of road, weaving between cars that beep and no doubt scream at him for being such an idiot.

“Look to your right,” he speaks into the microphone that’s connected directly to your helmet, his voice sounds calm—at peace. This was his peace, his getaway. To speed his way through a city that could kill him in the next moment.

You do as he says, glancing to your right to see… you. It’s a clear reflection along some corporate building, you can see yourself attached to his back holding on for dear life. The city on the other side of you is bright, flickering and flashing despite the downpour of rain. You didn’t notice it when you were in the garage but Bakugou had modified his bike to light up, the inner trim of the wheels is set alight with bright neon orange lights.

In a moment of bravery, or perhaps stupidity. You let go. You can hear Bakugou over the comms shouting at you to grab ahold of him again but you feel free. Weightless. Truly weightless. You can’t hear that man's voice in your head anymore, you can only hear the howling wind and the beat of your own heart. You can’t feel that barrier in your mind, splintered and fractured, irreparable because you’re free.

When your arms extend out at your sides, you can feel a frantic hand grab at the fabric of your jacket. Bakugou holds you in place whilst you let yourself go; to feel free, for the first time. Your heart races in your chest, the feeling like nothing you’ve ever experienced before in your life and you want to cling to this feeling, to this freedom. To the man in front of you, the one who had gifted you that freedom so easily.

The reflection of the two of you disappears quickly, the building left behind and you can’t help but grin when you finally hear Bakugou again over the whistling wind.

“I swear to fuckin’ god, I won’t be scooping your brains off the road. Put your arms back around me!”

You laugh into the helmet, wrapping your arms once again around his body. You can still feel the tension in his back but it melts just slightly when you grasp tighter than before, holding the entirety of your body against his own.

“You got a death wish or somethin’?!” He still growls despite you being reattached to him, and you give him another laugh that makes his shoulders sag just slightly in relaxation. “Fuckin’ idiot—...”

“Thank you for bringing me out tonight.” Your words are met with silence, your head comes to rest against the broadness of his shoulders comfortably as you watch the world pass by. The city eventually bleeds out into green, grass and trees that tower high into the sky. You’ve never been here before.

“Yeah, whatever.” Bakugou grumbles quietly, and if it wasn’t for the connection between your helmets you would’ve missed the bashfulness in his voice. “We’re nearly there so just hold on this time, dumbass.”

You let your body move effortlessly with his, swaying from side to side when he does sharp turns around corners that would have an inexperienced rider thrown off the back of their bike. The rain has started to lessen, only a light drizzle that drenches the back of your jacket and you only squeeze tighter around the single source of warmth.

Bakugou slows the bike down to a complete stop once he reaches the destination in mind, with a glance around you can see you’re in the middle of nowhere. There are a few houses dotted around, if you can call them that, they’re more like massive mansions.

“C’mon, keep that on and keep quiet.” Bakugou taps your thigh to get you to climb off the bike before he follows after you. You watch him manually move his bike to hide in the shadows behind some bushes and you’re furrowing your eyebrows immediately in confusion. Just what exactly was he planning?

He tilts his head in a gesture to get you to follow, taking you off of the road and down a steep hill that leads further into the underbrush. The city is obscured by the number of trees and large shrubs, and you nearly lose sight of Bakugou when he ducks in and out of the shadows—but as you watch him, you realise he knows his way through all of this a little too well.

“You’ve been here before?” You whisper over the link, and you see Bakugou glance over his shoulder at you for a moment before returning his gaze forward.

“Yeah, been comin’ here since I first moved here. It’s the only place with some real grass.” His voice lowered down to a whisper has your stomach set alight with butterflies. You continue to wordlessly follow him until he abruptly stops, throwing a hand back to grab at your forearm before pulling you down into a crouch next to him.

You peek around his shoulder, your eyes silently activating to see what he might be seeing. Immediately you hone in on a large SUV parked up on the ridge of the road, around fifty feet in front of you. There’s four heat signatures, all of them belonging to men who are in thick armour and strapped with multiple weapons.

“Arasaka.” You whisper to Bakugou, who quietly nods his head. He doesn’t move a muscle, holding your wrist tightly in his hand as if he’s waiting for them to just look in your direction and open fire. “They’re not holding their weapons, they’re not looking for anyone.”

“The Arasaka estate is up ahead. They’re still on guard dog duty.” Bakugou supplies, causing your eyes to move away from the group of men to the estate he speaks of. You can see it much more clearly with your augmentations active, you can see the heat signatures within and the overwhelming amount of security measures in place.

There’s an indistinctive shout causing you to dart your eyes back towards the group of people only to see them piling back into the car. Bakugou visibly deflates in relief, his hand around your forearm slips down to your wrist before he’s tugging you after him. You follow lowly just behind him, mindful of each step as you grow closer and closer to the edge of the underbrush. Bakugou exits first, standing to his full height which drags you up next to him.

When you glance around, you’re silenced by the view. It’s beautiful. Night City is in the distance, so wide and yet so tightly compacted into tall skyscrapers and tall flashing neon signs. Bakugou’s hand slips away from your wrist when you take steps towards the cliff edge that looks down on the lower level of residents, you can’t take your eyes away from the city before you.

It looked so… small. So dense and yet you knew the intensity of it all from the very moment your eyes opened in that ripper’s office. Night City was a vicious beast, a machine that chewed you up and spat you back out if you weren’t strong enough to survive—but when you look at it from here, look at how insignificant the people are and how tiny the city is. It’s almost impossible to comprehend.

“I come here when I need to clear my head,” Bakugou speaks clearly next to you, having taken off his helmet and holding it beneath his arm. You follow suit and remove your own, thankful for the fresh breeze and slight drizzle against your face. You glance towards Bakugou only to see his eyes set on the city before you, absorbed in his own thoughts. “Figured you could use it too.”

“It looks so beautiful from out here, but inside… it’s—”

“One of the worst places to live. Yeah, I thought it’d be great moving here all those years ago. But I was a dumb kid with a dumb idea, and now here I am.” Bakugou huffs, running his free hand through his flattened hair to re-fluff it before settling himself down onto the ground.

You take his lead and sit next to him, putting your helmet to the side and being careful to not let it roll off the edge of the small cliff in front of you. Setting your eyes back onto the city, you feel that sense of freedom again. You were free from the city, even for just a moment, you felt like you could breathe for yourself for the first time. Your heart wasn’t pounding, your mind wasn’t racing and your skin wasn’t itching in knowing what lay beneath it all.

“Any reason you spaced out when Dunceface started talking about Shinsou’s gig with the Net?” Bakugou inquires after a moment of silence, you turn your attention to him to find he’s leaning against his propped-up knees, head tilted in your direction. “Don’t gotta tell me shit but—”

“It just reminded me of when I was… healing.” You admit, not missing the way Bakugou visibly winces at the reminder of what put you there in the first place. “When I was in there… Something happened, and hearing Kaminari talk about Daemons—it made me think about why I can’t remember anything.”

“What, like someone’s infected your network or something?” Bakugou shifts slightly, raising his head to look at you properly with a level of concern that looks frankly terrifying on his face. He looks… worried.

“I don’t know, maybe? It’d make sense. I have this empty part of my head that I can’t access, like it’s been cut off from me or something. What if there’s a Daemon in my system? Or worse.”

“Shinsou would’ve picked up on that. Or even Jirou, she’s the one who said you had impressive firewalls inside that head of yours.”

A part of you wants to agree with him, because it does make sense. They would’ve found the source of whatever was wrong with you, but instead, they came out empty-handed and you, empty-headed. But you can’t shake the vision of that man, the blurred green of his eyes and then when you saw him in the street… something just wasn’t right.

“Maybe you’re right. I just—it’s scary, y’know? Not knowing who I am.” You whisper that last part, and Bakugou’s eyes turn from concern to a shade of pity. He shifts himself closer to you, slinging a heavy arm around your shoulders to pull you in close until your head is tucked against his shoulder.

“It doesn’t matter who you were, that’s what I always told myself when I moved here. I’m not the same guy as I was back then, I found myself. I found a new purpose. That’s just what you need, a new purpose, a new life that you created yourself.” His words are mumbled from where he presses his cheek against the top of your head.

A new purpose, a new life. That’s what you wanted. To shed yourself of whoever you may have been before all of this, before you had met Bakugou and Kirishima—before you had been let into their family even with them knowing you were capable of killing them all. Your heart aches but not in agony this time, it aches with joy.

You wanted so much more than what this city had to offer, you wanted to find out what you liked; your favourite foods, your favourite movies, your favourite smells and also the things you hated. You wanted to live.

“I think I’d like that,” you smile, shifting your head against Bakugou’s shoulder to look up at him. He meets your gaze with a soft look on his face, an almost invisible smile on his face. “I want to see the world.”

“Yeah? The world? That’s a lot to see.” His smile grows when you laugh quietly.

“Would you show me the world, Katsuki?”

Bakugou is quiet at your question, his eyes flit down to your lips before they find your eyes again. He looks so beautiful this close, the different shades of red in his eyes are breathtaking. There’s so much captured in them, every emotion he feels and every thought he has flicks behind them before his eyebrows visibly relax, his body holding you closer.

He leans in, lips brushing against your own before he speaks. “I’ll show you it all.”

And when he kisses you, he kisses you softly and gently like you were to be handled with such care. It’s not love but you have a feeling that it might blossom into something like that. One day.

Before you know it, the three days of rest have come and gone. It felt like you had blinked and you were back right where you started before everything had happened in that plastic-wrapped room. But this time you had Shinsou on one side and Kaminari on the other in the back of Bakugou’s car.

Currently, Shinsou was connected to your interface via a cable that slipped free from his wrist and fused itself into the plating on your palm. He had told you it was to relay all information that you’d need to ensure you got in there unnoticed, he loaded you with visuals of maps, layouts of their cameras and their usual patrolling routes.

Kaminari on your other side was fiddling with a hunting knife, the jagged edge was glinting in the passing street lights and every now and again it would buzz with electricity. He told you it was connected to his own chrome, he’s able to absorb electricity and pass it back through objects—something that had earned him plenty of shocks to the system that left him reeling.

Even with the presence of Shinsou in the back of your mind offloading a multitude of data, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from Bakugou who was once again in the driver's seat. He had been different in the three days since that night outside of the city. He was more open to the idea of intimacy, often opening his arms for you at night and holding you in the mornings until he had to inevitably get up.

Kirishima had noticed it too, grinning along with the back-and-forth jokes between you and Bakugou. He thankfully didn’t make a scene out of the gentle touches he absolutely caught the two of you exchanging when you assumed no one was around.

Your chest fills with those pesky butterflies, the smile on your face must look mushy because you can feel the ache in your cheeks. You felt genuinely happy, an emotion that was your own and something you were able to hold onto. You wanted to experience everything with Bakugou at your side, and no doubt Kirishima would tag along too.

After that night out in North Oak, you had returned home to find that it was just Kirishima left and Bakugou had offhandedly said that a trip to Japan was on the table. Kirishima had leapt at the opportunity to talk about his hometown, about the different shops and restaurants there. He spoke about his country with so much love, and Bakugou had a nostalgic look on his face—so you asked if he’d take you there one day. He agreed, of course, stating it’ll be the first stop on your way to conquering the world.

Kirishima, of course, had no idea just what that meant.

“Try to keep your head clear,” Shinsou comments from the side, effectively dragging you free from your thoughts. “It’ll go more smoothly if you’re not actively trying to force me out of that brain of yours.” Your eyes drag along the cable connecting the both of you, something that could open you up in the most vulnerable of ways.

During the three days of rest, you spent more time with Shinsou too. He had been a Netrunner for a long time, even coming from Arasaka’s very own prestigious school with the help of Aizawa funding him through the entirety of it. The rest of the crew hadn’t been so fortunate, coming from no education at all or limited from when they lived in Tokyo.

That was another thing you were curious about. People didn’t just come to Night City for fun, it was a city designed to trap you here until your inevitable death. Apparently, Shinsou had always been in NC, born and raised in Japantown but almost everyone else had tales of the way things were being run back in Japan—long story short, it was being overrun by corporations that had no regard for people who were beneath them. It was either leave or die.

“Done. Should be good to go.” Shinsou says, withdrawing the cable connected to your wrist. The information flickers through your mind rapidly, similar to how someone would graze through a filing cabinet. Everything was here, this would be a simple operation if you pulled it off correctly.

You hadn’t realised the car had drawn to a stop until Bakugou turned his head to look at you, eyebrows furrowing together as if he was trying to figure out something to say. But instead, it’s Kaminari who speaks up, slapping a hand against your thigh before he grins.

“Ready to pull off the coolest fucking job?” You don’t miss the way Bakugou’s eyes lock onto the hand for a second too long before he meets your eyes again. All you can do is nod along, still unable to break your eyes away from Bakugou until he forces himself to look away first.

With a nod of his own head, Kaminari deems that worthy enough of a response and grins at you. His hand squeezes your thigh absentmindedly before he climbs out of the car, yelping with Bakugou grunts a command at him the second he steps out of the car.

Soon enough, you’re out of the car too whilst Kirishima ensures you have your weapon loaded and Shinsou talks over the game plan again. “You need to get to the underground levels. On the first floor, it should be primarily empty, the rest of Maelstrom will be beneath that. All you have to do is get into that room, snag a shard and leave. We’re here for backup.”

“I’ll have to go dark when I’m inside.” You see Bakugou shift on his feet a little at that, the uneasiness of you being unable to communicate with them properly if anything was to go wrong. They all nod in agreement regardless, stepping back when you slip the handgun into its holster on your waist before shrugging off the orange jacket that Kirishima had given you all those weeks ago. Bakugou wordlessly takes it from you.

Looking at the building just across the street, it looks unassuming. A simple warehouse, but even you could see the spray tags on the walls of the Maelstrom, this was a significant base of theirs.

Just as you’re about to step forward to begin the job, a hand grabs your elbow and you turn to see Bakugou looking at the building instead of you. “Don’t do anything reckless this time.” His eyes drift down to meet yours, the red flaring to life in his eyes for a second. “Got it, hotshot?”

Your eyebrows raise. “Hotshot?”

“You took a pulse rifle shot—”

“Oh, you’re terrible. Really? Hotshot?” You grin at his words, it was another terrible joke he couldn’t stop himself from making. His lips twitch in a small smirk before it fades, the gravity of the situation settling on him once again. “I’ll be fine, I have you to back me up this time. Right?”

Bakugou stays silent for a moment before he nods. “Right. I’ve got your back.” He looks hesitant when you take a step backwards, his fingers that had been in contact with your elbow twitching at his side before he ultimately decides to pocket them. “Don’t play hero either, you get out of there if you have to.”

“It almost sounds like you care for me Katsuki,” his eyes widened the tiniest amount at the use of his name, no doubt a flurry of memories from just a few nights ago flitting through his mind. “But don’t worry, I’m not going to be taking bullets for anyone today. I have the world to see, remember?”

But before Bakugou could say anything, you fade into nothing right before him. Even when his eyes flash to life, he can’t see you anywhere. His eyebrows draw together in concern, this plan felt rushed—he should be going in with you, you shouldn’t be taking this on alone. What was Aizawa thinking? A hand clapping on his shoulder draws his attention away from where you may have gone.

…Your shoulders drop once Bakugou looks away, you could see the concern on his face, painted as clear as the sky above. You couldn’t remember if you had ever done solo missions like this before—having a partner to help would’ve been nice, but you had no time to dwell on it when you started to walk towards the big warehouse. You note the multiple cameras as you pass by them, the red blinking light flickers for a moment before they’re shut down. Have you always had cyberware that could shut down electronics?

“That was me.” Shinsou’s voice is loud in your head, as if he were speaking directly next to you. “Sorry, should’ve said something.”

“Yeah, no shit.” You murmur back, eyes darting back and forth once you slip through the open warehouse door. There was a big truck in the centre of the room, modified with spikes and reinforced windows. Definitely Maelstrom.

“About twenty feet in front of you, and then to the right there should be a door that will lead to the stairwell. That’s your way in.”

You follow Shinsou’s guidance without hesitation, feet moving silently across the floor whilst your eyes dart back and forth through the dark warehouse. It was odd for it to be so empty, were they all really below ground? Surely there should be a guard— “Stop!” Shinsou all but hisses at you, your entire body freezing at the edge of a rack of crates.

There’s movement, and your eyes dart upwards to see a drone scanning slowly. Drones? Since when did Maelstrom have the money for drones? You don’t say anything as you watch the silent drone pass by, thankfully having not detected you even through your invisibility. This could prove to be a problem if they’re using tech like that, who knows what else they have hidden.

“There are no mentions of drones anywhere. They’re chromeheads, sure, but they always liked doing shit themselves.” Shinsou supplies once you’re moving again. Slipping into the stairwell that Shinsou had directed you to, you notice the difference in temperatures almost immediately. It’s freezing.

“Turning off comms.”

“Wait—” His voice cuts out immediately, something doesn’t feel right down here. It shouldn’t be so cold, it’s like stepping into an industrial freezer. Maelstrom didn’t like the cold, for one simple reason; it fucked with their cyberware.

Freezing temperatures caused it to malfunction, which meant… it’ll fuck yours up too. You need to back out, and report what you think might be down there but—something is stopping you. Aizawa would be pissed if you back out of this with your tail between your legs, he definitely wouldn’t let you come back empty-handed either.

With slow careful steps, you continue to descend into the freezing depths of the basement. Rounding the corner that leads to the final set of steps, you stop in your tracks. The lights are off, save for a slow, long blink of a red light. All the hairs stand up on the back of your neck, something screaming in the back of your mind to back out now. Your hand slips to the handgun on your holster, withdrawing it when you press your back to the cold concrete wall.

You can do this. You can find out what’s in this room, slip by and find the shard. You can do this. You can. Sucking in a harsh breath, you brace your body before whipping around the corner with your gun raised but your blood runs cold, determination falling from your face and morphing into fear. “What—”

...

“What the fuck do you mean you can’t contact her?” Bakugou snarls, glaring at Shinsou who’s hunched over a laptop that was once tracking your whereabouts.

“She said she was turning off comms, but she wasn’t even in the basement yet.” Shinsou frowns, running a hand through his unruly purple hair for a moment. “Fuck, you don’t think she…?”

“No,” Kirishima replies, leaning against the car with his eyes locked on the building in front of them. “She wouldn’t do that, not now.”

“Should we go in?” Kaminari offers, glancing over Shinsou’s shoulder to stare at the blank map.

Shinsou opens his mouth to talk before all heads whip towards the warehouse, their hearts thumping in their chests whilst the sound of the alarms being tripped drowns out any words any of them may have wanted to say.

There are approximately three seconds of calm before the storm hits full force. The Maelstrom weren’t in fact in the building at all, instead hiding in the surrounding smaller buildings dotted around. Yet none of them looks at the group that is sitting staring at the scene unfolding; they’re all descending onto the warehouse.

Onto you.

“It’s a setup,” Bakugou says, words coming out monotone as if he wasn’t quite aware of what he was saying—unaccepting of the ugly truth. “She’s been fucking set up.”

He doesn’t hesitate. His feet move before he fully registers that he’s barreling towards what is most likely certain death, he thinks he can hear Kirishima shouting at him to stop but he can’t. You weren’t going to fucking die now after everything.

His heart hurts from how hard it pounds against his ribcage, the rifle in his hand is light when he raises it to shoot anyone who steps foot into his path. Bakugou barrels through the open warehouse door, following the directions Shinsou had given to you no more than ten minutes ago. It seems a lot of the Maelstrom have made their way below ground, or had been shot on Bakugou’s way in.

His stomach twists uncomfortably at the thought of you being trapped beneath the ground with a gang of twenty or more descending on you with the intention of killing you. His hand itches around the rifle, fingers twitching with the urge to open fire the second he can.

Something like true fear starts to pool into Bakugou’s stomach once he deduces that you must’ve descended the only set of stairs. The freezing fog slowly creeping up the steps is enough to make him shiver, the chrome in his body aches from the slow approaching cold. There’s no way you could be down there and still be alive, you were more metal than human than he was.

And yet still, Bakugou pushes through the veil of fear that washes over him and descends the stairs. The fog swirls and wraps around him like tendrils, tugging him further into the icy depths of the dark basement. His thumb brushes against the side of his gun, flicking it off the safety and soon a red laser helps guide him through the dense fog.

He can’t see anything, or anyone, it does nothing to quell the horrid feeling that’s making a home in his chest. Had they already gotten to you? Kidnapped you? Did they know you were a high-priced target? The Maelstrom were no strangers to wanting to get their hands on money, they’d do anything for it.

In the darkness, Bakugou stumbles as the tip of his boot catches on something. He catches himself quickly enough, gun darting downwards and he’s unsurprised to see the remnants of one of the gang members. They already weren’t people anymore, but seeing them like this was something else. You had certainly been the one to cause such damage, but that just leads to the question – where the fuck are you?

A hand clamps onto his shoulder, jolting the large blonde to move and reposition his gun until it was under the chin of whoever dared to sneak up on him. Just through the thickness of the fog, he’s able to see the illuminated red eyes of Kirishima staring down at him. It only soothes his heart a little, he knows Kirishima will have his back through this and for whatever is to come next.

“You fucking big idiot, who just grabs someone in the dark?” Bakugou hisses regardless of the relief that settles into his rigid bones, his heated breath puffs out to add to the ever-growing fog that surrounds them.

Kirishima smiles a little, albeit sheepishly and lets his hand drop from Bakugou’s shoulder. “I didn’t want to shout, who knows what’s in here.” Kirishima manages to whisper back, his eyes finally darting away from Bakugou to scour the darkness.

Bakugou can only grumble about that, Kirishima did have a point. Neither of them knew what was in there, and Bakugou couldn’t rely on his eye enhancements in the frigid cold. So he just moves, and Kirishima moves naturally along with him.

“Do you think they got to her?” The dreaded question comes tumbling from Kirishima’s mouth.

“I fuckin’..- I don’t know.” Comes Bakugou's blunt reply, but he doesn’t mean for it to be so blunt. There’s just no other way around it, the possibility of you being taken or worse is slowly increasing. Bakugou doesn’t know what to do with the slow-building guilt in his conscience. He should’ve turned this job down for you, you were just blindly following whatever Aizawa demanded of you.

A click has both of the men freezing, Bakugou’s rifle in his hand poised and ready to fire the second the threat shows itself.

…The gun feels like a ten-tonne weight in your hand, it makes the synthetic fibres in your muscles in your body ache. But nothing is quite as heavy as the shard in your hand, it makes your stomach lurch uncomfortably to the point where your breakfast threatens to make a return.

When you rounded the stairs and found the shard in a lone storage slot within an open cabinet, you had never wanted to run more. It wasn’t the fact it was a shard—but rather that it had your name engraved into the delicate metal.

As soon as you had picked it up the red blinking light had turned off, the freezing air spilling from the now empty cabinet and tumbling onto the floor. You were plunged into darkness, and yet you could still see the shard as clear as day in your hand.

However, it wasn’t just any data shard; it belonged to Militech. They were known for their ruthless advances in A.I. and other technological achievements, and the very thing in your hand with your name etched into it—you knew it could only mean trouble, whoever had dropped it off here wanted you to find it. But why? You didn’t understand, with each passing thought that involved Militech and the shard in your hand, it felt like your brain was ripping itself apart trying to recover memories that were locked behind a thick wall.

You had to get rid of it; destroy it or make sure no one ever got their hands on it. This thing could hold countless pieces of information on the inner workings of Militech and its operations.

“Hurry, or they’ll kill you.”

There’s a quick shuffle of footsteps coming down the steps behind you, and your fingers tighten uncomfortably around the chip. If you died here, you’d never be able to get away and ensure this thing never saw the light of day. The Maelstrom must’ve paid a pretty price for this thing, or perhaps they were keeping it safe until Militech came and picked it up. You couldn’t risk any of them getting their hands on it.

You only had one choice.

It’s not a painful procedure, it feels more like a tingle when the chip slides into the slot next to your own data shard on the back of your neck. But then it locks in, and it feels like you’re injected with nanites; they bite and chip away at you until they take root in your brain. They skitter and scamper across your spine, wrapping themselves around every vertebra. You can feel the way it spreads and wraps itself around your frontal lobe, squeezing until it’s too painful to bear.

You squeeze your eyes shut, and your fingers press fruitlessly into the slot to try and pry it out of your body but it won’t release. It feels like your very soul is being warped and pressed into a mould, ripped and torn until you’re no longer a person anymore.

The scream that tears apart your throat doesn’t sound like your own, it’s mangled and distorted—you can feel yourself fragmenting, your very skin splitting apart to rebuild itself in an attempt to save itself from the A.I. that was rapidly infecting your system. Your mind feels like it’s on fire, burning in the deepest depths of hell until finally, you feel nothing.

Everything clicks into place, and the pain vanishes just as quickly as it had latched on. You move automatically when the first wave of Maelstrom approaches you, your handgun tossed to the side in favour of the gun embedded in your arm. It whirs to life, and you can only watch through the tinted glass of your eyes as you make your way through people as if they were nothing more than wet paper.

It all slowly comes to a lull, bodies slumped to the floor and blood sticks to your skin. It should feel cold but you feel like you’ve been locked out of your own body—everything is numb.

It’s all so empty now, the memories you had formed over the last few months of being part of a family flicker and fade from existence. You couldn’t put a name to the faces in your mind, the voices and laughter becoming nothing but static that blinds you to the noise of approaching footsteps.

Not until it’s too late. You hear a shout, your eyes adjusting to the darkness to make out two outlines of gang members. One has a gun raised to you, the other has their hands raised to you as well yet you don’t spy a weapon. The Maelstrom weren’t known for their chrome for nothing, you suspected they had some interesting weaponry just like your own.

Your eyes flicker, the augmentations in your eyes malfunctioning the longer you resist the command to execute all those who pose a threat to you. A warning flashes across your vision, a clear message that if you continue to resist you’re at risk of imminent death.

You raise your gun in response. There’s a presence looming just behind you, out of sight, yet you can hear a low chuckle – the familiarity of it has your blood freezing, and yet you can’t find the strength to stop yourself from acting on command for whoever was in control of the A.I.

“Put it down!” One of them yells, yet it’s muddied by the static in your ears. It sounds like they’re shouting through an old radio. “Lower your fucking weapon!”

“They’ll kill you. Make sure you get there first.” The voice over your shoulder supplies, and you swear you can feel the puff of warm breath against your neck. There’s a soft brush of curls against your cheek when they lean just enough into your peripheral you can see green.

There are more whispers between the two of them, words you can’t make out but their momentary distraction is enough. Your arm tenses, the warning across your vision vanishes and then there’s a blinding light, it illuminates the darkness of the basement enough for you to finally make out the faces of the two men who had approached you.

You can only blink, the familiar red and blonde hair makes your heart lurch. This all seemed so oddly familiar, a strange sense of deja vu washes over you. You expect to see one of them fall to the ground, but instead, it’s you who watches the world tilt and fall away.

You can’t move. Your limbs feel like they’re too heavy for your bones, and the cold finally starts to seep through your bones the second you make contact with the floor.

“FUCK!” The blonde all but screams, and before you know it he’s in your face. Your body moves like a ragdoll until you’re scooped into his lap. You think you can feel the brush of his fingers against your forehead, frantically swiping away the hair that clings to your sweat-ridden skin. You can feel one of his hands move away from your face to press hard against your chest, you watch his face crumple when he realises something.

He’s speaking, rocking just slightly and the static starts to fade away until you hear him. “‘M sorry. ‘M so fucking sorry. I didn’t–I knew I shouldn’t–.” His sentences aren’t complete, broken up by the wet sobs that shake his body. His hand is wet when it comes back to your face, the smell of synthetic blood clogs your nose.

The unnamed blonde continues to press his fingers against your face, squeezing your cheeks in an attempt to get you to respond but you can feel something now; a tug to just let go. You can only watch when the red-haired one squats down next to you as well, his mouth moves but there’s no sound.

You don’t think you have it in you to speak, to tell them something—anything, your world slowly starts to darken around you. But you hope the man cradling you knows he meant something to you; even if you can’t quite grasp the reason why. You just know that perhaps you might’ve come to love him, if you were given the chance to.

“Another disappointment.” The unknown man shrouded in a cloak of darkness watches from over the shoulders of both men who crowd you, but neither of them seems to notice him, too preoccupied with attempting to stop the rapid warmth that is spilling from your chest. The last thing you see is him shaking his head, a flash of green before there’s nothing.

. . . .

There’s a clatter on the sofa, followed by a choked sob. Bakugou rakes his hands through his hair, pushing back the long strands that fell onto his face. He side-eyes the headgear next to him; a braindance.

It wasn’t just any braindance, it was one he had made specifically for him. They called it ‘Soulswap’, it was a walkthrough of your entire time with him, from the moment he had found you in that warehouse and up to the moment he had shot you. How it was made was something that Bakugou fought with for a while, it was morally wrong. To have someone dissect you like some high school science experiment and implant strands of your data—your memories—into something that he could watch.

A ding on the coffee table draws his attention away from the braindance, and he swipes up his phone to see Kirishima has sent him a message.

[22:34] RED: Stop reliving it. You know that isn’t what she wanted.

Bakugou scoffs, what the fuck did Kirishima know about you? What the fuck did he know about the weight in his chest that replaced his once beating heart? He knew nothing. No one listened to him when he said that it wasn’t you at the end, that you weren’t in control.

It was charted down to Cyberpsychosis on your unofficial death certificate.

The uneasiness continued to eat away at Bakugou, even when he chose to ignore the onslaught of text messages from the others. It’d been this way for the last four years and it had only come to fruition now. It was hard to find someone capable enough of creating a braindance that wasn’t just a cheap way to get off or to kill someone without repercussions.

It was a delicate job, and he had finally found the guy to do it.

Yet now he’s unsure if he should’ve gone through with it. Whilst it was all in cyberspace, he could still feel the emotions you had in your final moments. You had felt something for him, just as he had felt something for you—does feel something for you.

Sinking back into the sofa, the world buzzes around him yet it feels like Bakugou is still stuck in that basement all those years ago. It used to take a more violent toll on his body, his modifications often becoming the victim of neglect until Kirishima forced him to keep taking the blockers to ensure he didn't spiral into psychosis.

Bakugou’s head lulls back, staring up at the spinning fan on the ceiling. It won’t be long until Kirishima comes back and lectures him about bad habits or whatever the fuck he wanted to be on his ass for.

“And with the renewed partnership between Militech and Lazarus, I truly believe we’ll be able to bring a stop to crime here in Night City.”

That voice causes Bakugou to snap his head up, glaring at the television that hung from the ceiling in the centre of the room. It wasn’t often he would make TV appearances but it wasn’t unexpected. He watches the camera pan across an array of Militech drones and other tech that he can’t quite understand before it falls back onto the CEO of Militech.

Izuku Midoriya.

Midoriya has a fake smile plastered on his face, hands buried in his deep expensive pockets as he stares at the interviewer just off to the side. His verdant eyes are dull, devoid of anything lifelike. Bakugou isn’t surprised entirely by that, Izuku was… once a friend, but he betrayed him and the rest of them for a chance at fame.

He moved to Militech and quickly overtook the company, plunging them into tech that wasn’t short of war machines.

“Hah, yes. It is true, we have been working on a new AI that we think will definitely be capable of deterring even those inflicted by Cyberpsychosis.”

Bakugou blinks, his attention drawn back to the screen to see Izuku laughing about whatever had been asked, something about that laugh sounds familiar – not just from when he had known Izuku but from recent memory.

And when it slowly dawns on him, it curdles his blood and makes his stomach tense. That laughter. The voice that lacks any emotion. The world fades into nothing around him the longer he stares at Midoriya talking animatedly about something in the interview, his chest tightens more and more until it feels like his heart may just burst.

It wasn’t a case of regular Cyberpsychosis.

Izuku Midoriya was the one who triggered it. He must’ve been the one who had planted that foreign chip, he wouldn’t just hand something like that over to the Maelstrom.

“We’re proud to announce the next line of fully-developed Artificial Intelligence; Akuma. This is just one of our newly created full cyborg—”

Bakugou finds his body locking into place, muscles growing tight and stomach twisting in knots before his heart plummets down into his stomach. His eyes widened. There. Right next to Izuku is… you. But it’s not the you he knew, it’s a duplicate, one of the new cyborgs created to withstand ‘Akuma’.

He can tell from the way you hold yourself, rigid and cold like you were just some lifeless robot. You don’t respond to the stimuli around you, staring blankly ahead. It feels like his heart is being torn apart once again, shredded in a blender until there’s nothing left but an empty void that sits in his chest.

He knows for a fact that it’s not the real you, the one he held, the one who took a bullet for him—the one he was going to take home to meet his parents. He watched you go up in flames at a pyre funeral. It was Aizawa who had suggested it. “To make sure no one gets her.” Looks like that didn’t fucking matter, did it?

…No. Izuku must’ve had your DNA stored from when you worked at Militech. You were just an experiment, all the chrome you were sporting wasn’t just because you were a Militech worker, but rather because you were one of the prototypes for Militech. From the very start, you were destined to fail—another disappointment.

Bakugou doesn’t even register that he’s already moving, swiping up the bomber jacket you wore. The pulse rifle swung over one shoulder and the door slammed shut behind him. It was time to pay his childhood friend a visit.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki x you #katsuki bakugo oneshot #bakugo katsuki imagine #cyberpunk!bakugou #bakugo smut #bakugo katsuki smut

610 notes · View notes

artbyblastweave · 2 years

Text

Recently a post has been doing the rounds about military propaganda in the latest COD, yea yeah, sky’s blue, fork in kitchen, et al et al. This got me thinking about the shooters I actually play, and one thing that strikes me about the multiplayer shooters I play is that a lot of them dodge that same major discourse bullet by expressly grounding themselves in amorality and Kafka-esque dysfunction- a structural fingerwag towards their own content, acting as a paradoxical green-light to enjoy the game with no sense of moral injury. And there’s a big example of one that didn’t do this that kinda winds up with egg on its face as a result.

To start with, I’m thinking about Team Fortress 2. The original Team Fortress, inasmuch as it’s possible for a game where you shoot each other with real firearms to be apolitical, was fairly apolitical. The soldiers had no markers of identity beyond their arbitrary team affiliation; the fighting was over no discernable real-life resource or point of political tension; the environments were decontextualized labs and facilities. It was platonic violence.

Team Fortress 2 rolls around. Now that the general novelty of a 3d multiplayer class shooter has eroded, development stalls out on the following aesthetic problem; you can’t have semi-realistic militaristic character models rocket-jumping themselves across the map in the early 2000s. The cartoonishness is too dissonant when you’ve got similar semi-realistic militaristic characters in much more “grounded” games. Eventually they resolve this by taking the other tack, leaning into the cartoonishness, crafting character models so completely bombastic and over the top that no action taken in gameplay, no matter how absurd, will ever feel dissonant. This philosophy extends into the map design; the environments are farcical. Military instillations built mere yards from each other, with paper-thin pretenses of being civilian facilities despite the constant gun battles occurring inside. It’s self parody. And when the game extends to the point of having lore and worldbuilding, the idiocy becomes diegetic. This is a conflict fought on the behalf of idiots, by idiots, over idiot-goals, in spaces designed by idiots. It’s completely amoral, but it’s also contained amorality, since the fighting doesn’t spill out of these Helleresque Designated Pointless Fight Zones- and that leaves the mercs sympathetic enough that you can play them as protagonists in stories that take place “off-the-clock” without a ton of tonal dissonance. I can’t stress enough that the TF2 protagonists are amoral PMCs who work for callous megacorps. In a vacuum, this is not a well-regarded Kind Of Guy around here. There is some implementation of this broad concept that would invite a shitload of discourse that I’ve never seen materialize!

A lot of hero-or-character-based multiplayer games do this, abandoning any pretense of player heroism or productivity in the conceit in a way that shields them from a lot of moral and logical criticisms. Apex Legends and Monday Night Combat are explicitly in-universe bloodsports. Atlas Reactor and Rogue Company are cyberpunk corp-on-corp warfare. Dirty Bomb is about loosely affiliated mercenaries picking over the remains of an evacuated city. I think that Valorant is PMCs in a resource war (Not completely sure on this one.) The never-released Battlecry was expressly tied to actual nation-states, an alternate history where great powers fight wars via singularly-powerful champions instead of via traditional warfare. And in Battleborn the PCs were a hastily-assembled coalition of smaller hastily-assembled coalitions, which means that it makes perfect sense that any combination of these people might be fighting alongside or against each other, at any given time.

Here we see commonalities. Amoral participants. Larger governing bodies delineating clear fight zones centered on specific, if deliberately silly or petty, goals. Most crucially, PCs that are very loosely affiliated with each other, such that you’d see them in different configurations, fight to fight, day to day, as they’re contracted or shuffled around by the powers that be.

You know a game that doesn’t do any of this? Overwatch.

Overwatch gets 80% of the way to being a superhero universe; it falls short primarily because Blizzard chose not to explicitly market it as such, but it’s got everything short of the purposeful brand designation- powered heroes, super science, codenames, Faceless Hydraesque terrorist groups with shadowy, powered enforcers. There are specific allegiances implied by this; specific policy and interpersonal goals implied by this that aren’t really reflected in six-on-six grudge matches in a smattering of inexplicably depopulated civilian environments. There are roughly half-a-dozen villains associated with Talon, four or five independent villainous mercenaries, and everyone else is a would-be superhero. Why is most of the core roster of the world’s premier superhero team performing some kind of terror attack in London? Why is a woman who murdered a civil rights leader trying to stop them, with the help of two avowed anti-Omnic mercenaries and three Omnics? Why did a cryogenics researcher weaponize her tech and come along for the ride? Why are a dozen envoys from tech conglomerates, grassroots movements, and paramilitary defense forces throwing down over a Gazebo in a charming Greek resort? Fuck if I know. Fuck if the writers know!

So, to round it out, I think that there’s a structural difficulty for multiplayer shooters to stand for something, or advance a philosophy, or whatever. The smart ones embrace this by shielding themselves in ablative nihilism, preemptively deflecting criticism by painting the gameplay as hollow and barbaric, but fun! But Overwatch- Overwatch 2′s tagline is “Get back in the fight.” What Fight? Why? Against Who? Call Of Duty might be a horrific mouthpiece for militarism and imperialism, but when it valorizes the military, it’s at least picking a side! Overwatch is just so strange to me because it’s somehow got the worst of both worlds- it uses these heroic, aspirational language and visuals to hype up a gameplay loop that’s ultimately the exact same kind of cynical, aimless abattoir as the games that are smart enough to explicitly be about amoral paid killers!

#thoughts #meta #I don't think any of this is new #but it occurred to me #video games #media analysis #team fortress 2 #tf2

3K notes · View notes

wincore · 5 months

Text

indelicate | liu yangyang

pairing: yangyang x fem!reader

synopsis: missing the last train out of new shanghai was not on the to-do list. however, your project partner liu yangyang promises fun, dazzling lights, and the warmth of a human connection for this festive weekend. perhaps even in the era of diamond and steel, the human touch means something after all.

genre: oriental cyberpunk, f2l, fluff

warning(s): swearing & several innuendos. also out-of-date jokes sorry guys i wrote this in 2021

words: 11.9k

a/n: this is just a rework of an old fic i posted here with another character! if you find any inconsistencies, it's probably because of that LOL also this is not a wincore revival but i did miss everyone on here !!

i. city plaza

Some idiot, somewhere along in history, decided to renovate a city into something so dazzling that the population shoots up to a hundred and fifty percent of what was before, and the rest of the damage comes along with the people. Promises are made and broken to build this city of extravagance. You have the belief that the more people there are in one place, the more difficult it gets to live there. This dazzling hellscape means colliding into too many people on the streets, too many bright lights outside your dorm room when you’re trying to sleep and the god awful sound of deafening firecrackers at every new year celebration.

Another idiot somehow roped you into his ‘midnight adventure: traditional version’ once he heard you missed the last train ticket out of the city. Liu Yangyang has a terrible way with words—but he has a way.

You were, by some unfortunate gamble of the gods, partners for a project that accounted for sixty percent of the grade. While that affair is over, you still haven't rid yourself of the predicament that is Yangyang. Gorgeous, yes, but too overwhelming. You smack your head against the car window only for him to jump in his seat beside you, hand gently driving over your forehead to check for damage. The neon city lays around you, and festive light projections float across the sky in intricate shapes of the ox and written messages. This is going nowhere. You came to this city sacrificing everything and yet suddenly, everything’s hanging on a string again.

The city lights of New Shanghai are cruel. Everything in this place is cruel.

Which is exactly why you’re in Yangyang’s car, parked by the middle level city plaza on New Year’s Eve. It is, in fact, illegal to hover by the city plaza on New Year’s Eve but Yangyang seems to either not care or simply doesn’t know. You forget the law doesn’t exist for rich kids. Out of all man-made wonders, rules are the most interesting.

“Shall we go?” he asks, voice bubbly as ever. Every morning, he chirps like the alarm birds outside your window. Yes, it has made you want to sleep forever at times.

“It’s just one night. And I’ll be with you, so you don’t have to be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid,” you snap.

“Not afraid of the dark either?”

You pull your jacket closer to you. Here, the cold streets of the techno-jungle make you shiver more often than not. If you dare go out without friends, a city so grand will inevitably drain the life out of you. Your body alone cannot withstand the dazzle. And—you can’t be afraid of the dark after you’ve complained about the lights.

You look at Yangyang and back to the cityscape outside—large conglomerative blocks of buildings, some hosting advertisements with the faces of inhumanly beautiful models and some with the ‘Happy New Year!’ text animation floating about in increasingly complex patterns. You see the revolving top of one of the grandest skyscrapers, a Dior hotel, not the tallest but certainly the most pleasing to look at. It gleams from red to orange like the pulsating heart of a giant metropolitan beast. There are more funky buildings to look at, some not even the shape of austere corporate skyscrapers.

“Do you wanna go there?” Yangyang asks all of a sudden. “I heard the lounge is closed off from eleven. I can call some friends and we can book a room though—”

“No. No way. I’m not going to spend new year’s eve in a Dior suite.”

He grins. “Thank god. It’s so boring there. Only models and businessmen and whatever freak shit they do.”

You sigh. Liu Yangyang is a whole story in itself. He’s rich and popular—a dream of many—but so few are as welcoming as he is. When you’re in that position, you’re bound to have a little metal seep into your heart. Some hidden part of you, however, tells you to loosen up when you’re with him; just let it go and have a good time. There’s no reason why you shouldn't. The economy is on a steep incline, the people are happy and no other city compares to this place. You could learn a thing or two from Yangyang.

He looks at you questioningly, eyes waiting and the curve of his lips still. You notice his platinum blond hair is more styled than usual, you can almost smell the gel on it, and for a moment, you wish you looked as good as he does. A dark leather jacket accentuates his shoulders, the plain T-shirt underneath not of the flashy type. He looks like he’s ready for club-hopping and you, anything but. If you knew earlier that you’d be by the Strip around midnight on New Year’s, you'd have dressed better.

“If you stay any longer in my car, people are going to assume we’re…y’know,” he states, quirking his eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure it’s illegal, though. Like, who thought fu—”

You were wrong. There is absolutely nothing to learn from Liu Yangyang.

“I would get out of this car immediately and fall to my death before I let that happen,” you retort, crossing your arms.

“No, hey. What an inauspicious sentence. Besides, and I’m not bragging but you should know I’m really good at using my assets—”

“Don’t say a word.”

The heat of embarrassment flows into your cheeks at his implication. You look out the window, weighing out the pros and cons. The scenery is so bright that sometimes it hurts to look outside. It’s not midnight yet but the main streets are already getting crowded for the processions; the sound of laughter and conversation ring in the air. It makes you somewhat sad to not be home for this. But as they say, living in a big city can only be done if you sell your soul to it.

You’re directly above the level one city plaza, the people below looking unsettling in the way they’re so small and far away—they don’t even seem human at this distance. You wonder if you look like that to the people above this, to the level three elites who sit on top of the whole city..

You look back to your companion, who’s transfixed on the bakery across the road—either that, or just really, really zoned out. Knowing Yangyang, it could be either. When you tilt your head, waiting, you find that he has pretty features—a shaped nose and round, curious eyes, all in perfect alignment with plump, pink lips. His metallic ring earrings shine when the light hits them right. No wonder you get girls asking how close the two of you are often. Even in a world pushing manufactured love, boys like him make others daydream. You wonder why you’re the one he loves to drag in with him.

Yangyang flinches when he finds you staring at him. You clear your throat, looking away and hoping you can sweep this under the rug.

“Are you- are you by any chance mad at me?” he asks, a nervous smile awkwardly tugging at his lips.

“I- what? No. I’m not mad at you.”

“You look like my mother when I don’t clean my room. Or Ten's cats when I try to kiss them.”

A tiny laugh escapes you before you get back your poised demeanor. “I’m- I’m not mad at you.”

He smiles at you wordlessly and you feel a little conscious. You glance outside when the plaza music starts to get loud and look back at him, debating whether you should just give in.

“So… you’ll let me brighten your life now?” he asks in his regular baritone, grinning wider. “The semester’s over and it’s festival time! I bring good luck, I promise.”

Liu Yangyang is not a happy serendipity. He simply cannot be. However, he does make you laugh more often than you’d admit.

“Whatever. Go ahead. I just don’t want to be hungover on a Friday.”

“You don’t- you don’t have to drink to have a good time.” He laughs. “I would know. I’m sort of a lightweight. I don’t know why I told you that. I’m supposed to be cool.”

You giggle, taking a moment to think.

“Fine then. Show me your magical access key to our beloved Mobius Strip, the mightiest, grandest structure in all of New Shanghai.”

“Well, if you put it that way… I am pretty cool, huh?”

His smile is too harmless for you to roll your eyes. He’s too gentle, you realize all of sudden, to be as awful as all the uni frat boys you’ve had the misfortune of talking to. You watch him as he drives; his arm moves with ease and he tries to make conversation but you can only hum and respond in singular words. The closer you are to the Strip the more nervous you get. It’s like visiting all those dark places that your mother explicitly warned you not to visit as a teenager—but you’re an adult now. No one owns you. No one should be able to own you. The determination builds up slowly over neon lights and hazy street shops.

Nights here are the fun part. Everyone says that. Other than the fact that you can barely make out the colour of the sky under the vivid city lights, there’s something very enticing about the streets, the upper streets that wind around the city.

Yangyang drives the car to a level three street, the behemoth structure of the Strip now so close that all you can see beyond your window are its placid, white walls stretching out to infinity. You can see little gardens and shops, peeking out from between each strip and one of the shopkeepers wave at you the moment you pass. Yangyang says something along the lines of “thanks for the free noodles” to the woman, before gliding higher.

“Grandma makes the best glass noodles here,” he says, excitedly. “I’ll take you sometime. If you like.”

You hum, noting the joy he expresses at the idea of something so simple.

Level three streets are already thousand and a half feet above the ground. You try not to look down; heights aren’t something you’re very fond of even if you love the sky. You note construction work for street levels four and five, shivering at the idea. The winds of change are fucking cold.

Yangyang swerves the car off-road at one point and you clutch his arm by reflex.

“What the fuck? Don’t do that without warning me,” you say, breathing quicker. You do not do well with: sudden movement, jumpscares and boys with pretty smiles.

“Sorry,” he says, looking at you with concern. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You let go of his arm, more embarrassed at yourself than mad at him. Driving the car closer to the Strip, he brakes carefully by the parking lot. The walls are covered in red wallpaper, a few lanterns attached to drones, floating along the path inside. It looks like a rooftop parking lot, though the mysterious dim lighting makes you walk closer to Yangyang.

“I heard this is gonna be a really cool event—they’ve got the latest AI tech hosting and crap but let me tell you the best part.”

He pauses for dramatic effect.

“The food!” He says, spreading his arms and grinning. “The food at private events is the best thing you’ll ever taste.”

You open your mouth but close it again in part horror, part confusion. “You’re… taking me to a private event?”

“Ah, don’t look like that. It’s really fun, promise.”

“I’m not even dressed for it,” you blurt, embarrassed.

Yangyang shakes his head. “Don’t worry about that. It’s for rich kids, you know? If I’m being honest, none of them know how to dress.”

His confident statement gets a giggle out of you and you relax a little. You walk with him, further into the square platform and away from the cars. The sky disappears behind the dark roof and for a moment, you feel like you’ve entered a different dimension. It’s like the architecture models that your professors had on display for the Shanghai History class in your freshman year. Old stuff, that is. Before this place even had the first skyscraper.

You turn to your side and narrow your eyes at Yangyang, suddenly wondering how he finagled his way into bringing you here. Your iron-clad will is not so much iron after all. It’s not even steel, you think, once you catch yourself staring at Yangyang a bit too long.

You step forward to find the entrance to the club; it’s a little lonely to look at in the beginning. Then it clicks that it’s probably the back door. The red pillars encase a black door between them, the overhang of the gateway just a little above Yangyang’s head. You can see the hip-and-gable style roof of the larger building behind, looking like a skyscraper instead of the usual historical buildings you’ve seen on the internet. In glowing red letters, it displays a blinking ‘Club 2’ near the top of the door.

The moment you step on the stairs, a bunch of advertisements pop up on the door, bright bubblegum colours hurting your eyes. Yangyang taps at the little x at the corner of the display till it disappears and finally the door is a regular door. The colour is jet black like any other screening platform.

“I thought the rich were exempted from ads,” you say.

“They’re… more likely to buy things though.”

You make an ‘ah’ sound in contemplation when a whirring makes you jump into him. A little spherical drone flies its way out of an opening in the wall and stops right in front of the two of you.

“Sicheng-ge!” Yangyang says, waving frantically at the camera.

The little drone circles around Yangyang’s head before stopping right in front of his face. It runs a scan before turning sharply and beeping at you.

“My plus one!” Yangyang declares, pulling you by the waist. “Or whatever it’s called.”

Your ears feel warm but you don’t push him off. The camera focuses on your face, likely scanning to identify your age and occupation. When it’s done, a beep resounds and the door slides open to reveal a dimly lit pathway. The main entrance is much brighter, Yangyang promises, but for now it’s just the warm glow of the lanterns, Yangyang’s neon red striped jacket and the mechanical whirring of some sort of device in the darkness.

“What’s that sound?” you whisper and Yangyang stops.

He pauses to think. “Oh, they’re Sicheng-ge’s drones. He’s got like a million of them. I'll introduce you—he’s hosting this club event, by the way.”

He smiles at you reassuringly. If Yangyang’s not bothered by it, you’ll follow his lead. Though, you do take more nimble steps and stay close to him like he’s your lighthouse. (In a way, he is, with all that neon shining on his jacket.)

You’re surprised to find a garden, but then it gets stranger when you see brighter lanterns in the middle area. You see figures and before you can react, Yangyang takes your hand and into the central platform.

ii. orchid club square

Yangyang was right. None of them know how to dress.

The two of you stand in the middle of a crowd, who are in fact dressed either for: a) an impromptu pool party or b) a Sunday morning lecture. You blend in somewhat well given the variety though Yangyang’s painted looks have attracted the attention of quite a few giggling, murmuring onlookers.

You clench your jaw in mild annoyance.

“This is a tour,” Yangyang whispers to you. “I thought… you’d like to know what everything’s about.”

You feel grateful to him for once. Having some sort of knowledge about what you’re getting into makes you feel better about any situation. A set of mechanical clicking fills the air.

A woman—no, an AI bot is the first to greet you. She has pale white metallic skin and her dark strands of hair are in a traditional updo. Her lips are imperial red, shaped in a way that makes her seem as though she’s smiling but also not at the very same time. She holds an extravagant fan by her face at the perfect right angle, the patterns on it painted to imitate an ancient cherry blossom tree.

“Good evening, everyone,” she says, her voice pitched up and enthusiastic. It’s a little funny to imagine metal so lively.

You smell oranges and lavender as soon as she flicks her fan once and precise.

“Welcome to the New Shanghai nightlife!” The bot continues jovially. “The oldest surviving city on planet earth, the birthplace of the human race.”

“You are in virtual space,” she informs. “It might look like a courtyard stretching to infinity but it is only an illusion. However, the club is five hundred and sixty one metres wide and six hundred and twelve metres long. It is large enough to hold twenty-one blue whales in a line. That is, if they still existed of course.”

She giggles algorithmically.

“Where you stand right now,” she says, turning her head in a swift mechanical motion to you and you flinch. “This place is called the orchid club square. As you know, only VIP access lets you in.”

You glance at Yangyang worriedly and he shrugs. There’s no way she could know, right? That was oddly specific. But then she moves her head left to right to address the whole crowd in perfect grace. When her movement starts to get a little too eerie to watch any longer, you fix your eyes on the garden instead. You have no way of telling part real flowers from virtual ones and even so—all of them are beautiful. Maybe reality doesn’t make things any prettier.

However, when you look at Yangyang, the thought gets tossed out. You shake your head, in an attempt to get rid of the image of his face. It’s a little too late to be feeling this way. Either that, or the night is taking its toll on you already. The day was exhausting, considering it was the end of the semester.

The AI guide’s chatter fades into something quieter when you move the club square. It’s a rather empty space, fitting for a rave or just housing large crowds. The decorations are for the new year celebrations, banners of the ox in auspicious colours and a few drones projecting the rest. There’s a garden of evermore orchids lining the area in a perfect square and it’s so precise that it’s pleasing to look at. There’s a door at one edge, similar to the one you encountered before entering the club square.

The music that wafts through the air is so gentle, you almost forget there’s a celebration. The beat makes it livelier and even so, the rhythm of your heartbeat matches it in a soothing sort of way. Turning around, you spot the musical ensemble. It’s another AI, peering over a guqin with trained habit.

She looks the same, except she wears an electronic mask over the lower half of her face. It displays a blue musical note made up of noticeable pixels. She has no fan—instead, her fingers strum the guqin rhythmically, programmed with precision and grace. The sound is accompanied by the woodwind notes of a flute, though you’re not sure where that sound emanates from. There’s also a soft drumbeat which seems to come from the guqin bot herself.

You gasp when a few painted goldfish float through the air, almost real to look at if it weren’t for the glitch effect of holograms. One of them swims closer to you, opening and closing its mouth in rhythm and you giggle at its face.

Yangyang laughs, long finger pointing at the critter in amusement. “That’s adorable.”

He looks like a little kid and you giggle at his expression, with wide, delighted eyes and mouth open in focused mirth. He pokes at the goldfish and it makes a bubbling sound, gears shifting in ticking time before suddenly biting at his index finger. Yangyang lets out a low yelp, retracting his hand before clearing his throat in embarrassment.

“You’re like a cartoon,” you tell him, in between laughs. “No way are you real.”

He grins, in that same way he always looks at you and you look away, feeling hot in the face. It’s too enamored a way to look at someone. But of course, that couldn’t be true—he’s Liu Yangyang and you’re you. Parallel lines do not meet, even if they’re headed in the same direction.

“I think you’re unreal,” he mumbles.

iii. club 2

The doors open to a rather spacious arrangement, with several tables one one side and a sort of dance arena on the other where people are trying to out-dance each other. The intensity makes you move further away from it. It seems a little too festive and you can feel the energy slinking away from you. The music is more upbeat but you suppose the DJ tried to make it sound more eastern; the result is pleasing. He wears a smooth black helmet with a neon red beat visualizer on it, with written SFX appearing from time to time. Two pulsing golden horns glow at the sides of his head. You stare at it for longer than you’d like before composing yourself. You’re very impressionable when it comes to parties.

There are two floors to the club, above the bottom floor itself. The other two floors mostly seem to consist of private booths, however, covered with gossamer silk that glow iridescent. A few floating lanterns sway by the upper floors. The ceiling is open to a midnight blue sky and the stars look much larger than you’ve ever seen them—you suspect it’s an AR mesh over the ceiling. A few light shows project little dancing dragons and coins over the sky and you find them too cute to not stare at.

“Wow,” Yangyang says, right after walking in. “Why is Dejun on the table?”

You look where his eyes are focused on, though it’s difficult through the crowd of people, and find Dejun and Kunhang in some sort of old anime transformation pose atop one of the tables. It’s surprising that they’re not the weirdest pair here.

“Now, bear with me, it’s going to be boring as hell till the countdown and the fireworks,” he explains, waving his hands around. “But it’s a good place to have fun and make friends. You know?”

“Friends?” you ask, a little nervous. You’re not very proficient at making friends and it makes you anxious.

“Yeah! Don’t worry. ” He makes a strange gesture, bordering between posing for a beer ad campaign and looking like a motivational speaker for the army, before furrowing his eyebrows. “You just have to be confident! I’m learning too!”

He lets out a sweet laugh and it makes you laugh in turn, hand covering your mouth so you don’t embarrass yourself too much. You don’t believe the words much, but the glow over his cheeks makes you reconsider.

“You look really nice when you laugh,” he comments, a bright glint in his eyes.

“Whatever,” you reply, punching his shoulder lightly.

Just then, you feel a gentle tap on your shoulder to find Lana from your ethical AI class, smiling at you warmly. She looks a little tired, of people more than the time. Like you, she is also a scholarship student—and not a day has gone when she hasn’t soothed your anxiety about your classes. In stark contrast with Yangyang, you would trust her over him for most tasks. Even if you weren’t partners, you’re okay with the outcome. You glance at Yangyang.

“(name)! Oh my god, I didn’t know you were coming here,” she says. “Did Yangyang kidnap you?”

“I mean, sort of.”

“Hey.” Yangyang looks at you with betrayal.

“And how did you even manage to do that cool ass project with him as your partner?” she continues, squinting at him.

“Honestly, I don’t know either. He can be surprisingly helpful though.”

Yangyang looks from Lana to you in exasperation. “I’m literally right here,” he grumbles.

Lana laughs at his expression, patting his shoulder sympathetically.

“I just can’t believe you let him kidnap you and not me,” she says in mock indignance. “I’m a much better chauffeur, you know?”

“Do you even have a driving license?” Yangyang asks, laughing.

“I got mine before you, rat. Anyway, (name), I’m playing the guzheng. Do you wanna come see?”

“No,” Yangyang interrupts, suddenly grabbing your hand. “I… I mean you guys can go, of course. It's just the countdown’s close, so we have to go to the viewpoint.”

“That’s exactly where—ah. I see.”

"We'll join you another time, Lana," he says quietly, a cute grin on his face like a little boy would make to an older sister for more shares of chocolate.

"No, no. I actually remembered I left my friends in the corner. See you!"

She leaves her epiphany unsaid, offering you a smile and taking her leave abruptly.

“I thought you told me to socialize,” you complain to Yangyang.

“Yes, I’m so proud of you for that.”

“Yangyang, I swear if you treat me like a kid—”

“I’m not, I’m not. Sorry,” he says, scratching the back of his head. “I just need to borrow you for tonight. After all, I promised you, didn’t I?”

You sigh. “Fine then, what’s this viewpoint you’re talking about?”

“Oh, we’ll get there.”

Someone’s watching you. You turn around a full three-sixty but find only the same crowd of college-age kids. No one sticks out much, apart from Dejun, Kunhang and Ten, who are at this point performing some sort of strange ritual unbeknownst to any new year tradition, with a hell load of yelling.

“Oh my god, you’re dancing too?” Yangyang says, grinning ear to ear. “I didn’t know I’d have that much of a positive influence. Wow.”

“I’m- I’m not- never mind.”

Yangyang furrows his eyebrows. “What did I tell you? More confidence! See—”

He takes your hands in his, pulling you further onto the dance floor. You feel a rising panic but swallow it. There’s a beat of silence in which the two of you look at each other. Yangyang proceeds to perform the stupidest sequence of movements you have ever seen, certainly too awkward for his body to accept as natural but it doesn’t seem like he cares. He’s having fun.

You find yourself laughing. Taking timid steps, you try to loosen up although the inevitable embarrassment arrives in flushes of heat across your face. There are stars in Yangyang’s eyes when you join him—not the artificial jewels in observatories but the real kind that you used to see in your hometown.

You take a wobbly step back. It’s starting to get disorienting. If it were the real sky above you, you might even have felt better. Perhaps the purpose is to get dizzy.

“I’m a little thirsty,” Yangyang says, motioning to the table with food and drinks at a corner. “I’ll head over and be back.”

Unsure what to do, you follow him like a lost lamb and though it would be embarrassing at any other time, any other place, now and here are not part of that.

The red and golden lights of the neon patterning the walls don’t seem as harsh anymore and you let your eyes rest on the boyish figure of Yangyang. You haven’t figured him out yet. Something tells you he’s more than a shallow image of the party-loving rich kids of Shanghai. In fact, in quiet, personal moments, he looks more out of place than you do—despite all that bright neon. You open your mouth to ask something when you’re interrupted by a dizzy Yangyang spinning into you.

“Sorry, (name),” he says, rubbing the base of his palm against his forehead. “I genuinely thought I was going to win that game.”

You shake your head, letting him get back to whatever spinning game they were at. He smells like wine and something tells you he’s poor at holding his liquor. The stakes must be high for that game, you figure, because you see Yangyang set aside his beloved shoe on the floor. To be the only scholarship student here suddenly feels scary and awkward.

Yangyang once again tugs at your arm, the touch reassuring as though he understands how you feel. But it isn’t true. There’s no way someone like him can understand someone like you.

“Yangyang,” you call. “Do you come here every year?”

“No, no. I do come for drinks though. I’m only here right now because a friend is hosting this.”

You shrug.

“And you,” he adds and you feel a hot flush rise to your face. “New years are the only time this place is PG-13.”

“I’m not a child,” you snap.

“My mom says childish people say that.”

“Then it's very rich coming from you, Liu Yangyang.”

He laughs heartily, leaning away. A creeping thought grows in your head that you missed out on a lot. But then again, you’ll always miss out on things if you’re not rich enough for them.

Yangyang flinches suddenly, almost knocking a plate off the table. He moves quickly, turning so that his side leans against the wall and the other arm cages you between him and the wall. His frame covers your view from whatever, or whoever arrived at the entrance that made him react so obnoxiously.

However, his lips hovering just a little over yours makes your breath hitch in your throat. This is the worst possible position you could've gotten into. The smell of mint interrupts your thoughts and you look at him with as annoyed an expression as you can muster over the heat of your face.

"Yangyang, what the fuck do you think you're doing?"

“I am… admiring the wall. Ooh, it’s got velvet over it, did you notice?”

“You’re going to have your head in it too if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”

"Just… sorry. Let’s stay like this for a few moments."

He flashes you an apologetic smile, his face close enough to make yours grow even hotter. A nervous chuckle erupts from his lips.

"Oh my god, get off. People are going to think we’re making out."

"We could do it for real."

"I'm going to scratch your eyes out."

"Sorry, sorry."

“Who are you even hiding from?”

“I’m not hiding… okay, forget that. Bodyguard-watcher-dude. It’s kind of hard to explain.”

“You have a bodyguard?”

“More like a babysitter.”

You try not to laugh, considering the proximity between your faces. “How come you have a babysitter? Actually, wait, I think I know.”

He huffs over your face and you restrain yourself from landing a swift uppercut to his jaw. Now you know the minty smell comes from mouth freshener.

“He’s a prosecutor. It’s weird that he stalks me in his free time. Even- even if… my parents are paying him.”

“They think you’re doing something illegal?”

“No. I don’t think I am.”

You rest your head back against the wall, rolling your eyes. “Really? That’s your answer? God, your brain cells rotted somewhere along the way, didn’t they? It’s all those parties.”

“I’m starting to feel like my mom hired you too.”

He looks back, and noting the absence of his so-called babysitter, he pulls back from you. You didn’t realize you were holding your breath and you let it out in a shallow effort.

“Your babysitter’s gone?”

“Not a babysit—I regret saying that. Look, I really don’t think they appointed him because they think I’m doing something illegal. I have never done anything illegal. Except that one street race but that’s because Lucas told me it was perfectly legal.”

“The what?”

“Anyway, the point is, let’s look forward to good fortune for this year, hm? Leave all the burdens to last year.”

“Fortune doesn’t favour fools.”

“I’m not stupid,” he complains, spreading his arms to express it further. “Mostly.”

You laugh, turning your attention to the food table.

“Ooh, pineapple tarts,” he exclaims, hand reaching out to grab one when you smack it.

“You’ve had, like, fifteen already.”

“Mhm,” he says, with a few more stuffed in his mouth.

There’s a pause.

“It’s me, isn't it?” you ask quietly. “I’m not supposed to be here.”

He gulps, lips parting and closing. “I brought you here. So you don’t worry about it.”

Rich people suck. You believe that strongly. But sometimes, just sometimes, when you have everything you can ever want, you start to want the same for everyone around you. Some people are special. You find Yangyang genuinely fascinating for being someone who makes friends when he’s supposed to be making more connections. You find him fascinating.

It makes sense for someone like him to be the way he is.

iv. fireworks viewpoint

“That’s the old Shanghai Tower,” Yangyang points to a building in the distance. “It used to be the tallest building once but… well, it looks like the little guy now.”

Lunar New Year’s celebrations are a big, big deal in New Shanghai. It means a break from university, work and every other affair to have as many priorities sorted in anticipation of the new year. And the impact is evident from this height, when you can see the city in its golden glory. It looks warm out there for once—although you’re not very sure if it’s because of the warmth that comes from right beside you. The little wooden boats float by on the river a little far off, various images blooming as holograms above them. You giggle at the large animated fishes swimming above the river with blank expressions and painted button eyes.

The golden clock shines bright in the sky, its holographic hands ticking down to midnight. It looks like something out of a fantasy movie, scattering golden pixels everywhere with each minute passing. The size of it alone reminds you of the scale of this city.

This is an empire. It's owned by the kings and queens who built it over the bones left from sacrifices. It's going to be owned by heirs and heiresses. You feel a looming sense of dread come over you. It's so beautiful and it can never belong to itself. It must always belong to someone. It’s the terms and conditions of human creation.

"Hey." Yangyang taps you on the shoulder and you try not to flinch. "What are you thinking?"

You hum. "Stuff."

"This place is pretty cool, huh?"

That, you can agree with. "It is. It's so amazing that I can't believe I'm here sometimes."

Yangyang laughs slowly. "I hope more people can live here. Not in level one. You know. No one should live in desperation."

You hold back a scoff, though you end up frowning. What does a rich kid know of desperation? He might as well be prince, and princes do not know how to beg. It must be something of a saviour complex. You shrink away from him. The new year music is starting to ring a little too loud in your ears.

"That would be difficult," you mutter.

"Not if you lower the cost of living conditions—ah. Sorry." He pauses and you feel a flicker of surprise in you. “It’s not appropriate to discuss. Or so my parents tell me…”

The expression comes from empathy. You’re sure of it. There’s some sort of passion and not the kind of coloured fire that flames up in parties, but a different one. The kind that says, if you can’t bear the heat then you can’t learn how to forge. You scoff. Which prince has possibly known heat?

“I- I get angry too,” you say quietly. “I think it’s something to be angry about.”

He smiles at you, leaning against the balcony railing.

You’re interrupted by a man in the attire of a waiter and it causes the two of you to jump away from each other. It’s not like you were very close in the first place but the proximity of shared words can play tricks on people. The man offers the two of you a screen and Yangyang’s face lights up almost immediately.

“We can order food with this,” he says. “Or book a table. The top strips are all reserved for members of the club. That’s the big daddy restaurants.”

“That’s… pretty cool,” you say, leaning in to glance over the browsing menu. “But don’t say that phrase to me again.”

“I can. And I will.”

“Ugh. Move on.”

“Okay, so we should drop by the convenience store for some ramen. I heard they taste better in the middle of the night,” Yangyang suggests all of a sudden, leaning in further.

It gets difficult sometimes to not be bothered by him, especially when there is a lack of distance. You look at him, pause and then sigh. “Sure. I guess. Are those free too?”

He opens his mouth in sudden realization and grins sheepishly at you. You roll your eyes.

“Do you have money then?”

“Uh.”

“How do you not have money? It’s the New Year!”

“I… uh—”

“Okay, you don’t have to answer that. But I’m not paying for you,” you complain. “You could always ask your parents for some money. What’s the point of being a party kid?”

‘Party kids’—it makes you laugh in amusement—is the colloquial term given to the children of businesspeople who had a direct hand in the economic progress of New Shanghai. You would sell your kidneys to be one and it still wouldn’t be enough.

His smile wavers at your statement but he shakes his head. “If I call my mom, she’ll start scolding me again about how my apartment room needs to be cleaner. Blah, blah, blah. You know.”

“She’s right- wait, you don’t clean your room?”

“Don’t take her side, (name).”

You bite down a smile and he offers you his biggest one.

“Oh, that place looks new,” Yangyang exclaims, a long index finger pointing to the preview of a sushi restaurant. You glare at him, his face nearer to yours than you would prefer but his eyes are fixed like a child ogling halloween candy.

“Let’s go,” he urges, looking directly at you.

You furrow your eyebrows, shaking your head vehemently. “We don’t have money. Or bit-credits.”

He sighs, deflating as though you just snatched the candy right from his hands. “But… I haven’t been there before.”

“So?” You exhale, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You don’t have to try every food place in the city.”

“I need to eat,” he says as though it’s a very reasonable response. “I’m still growing!”

“Not mentally.”

He drops his smile, looking at you blankly. “You don’t have to get so smart with me, let me tell you.”

You snicker at the ‘offended’ expression on his face.

In the next moment, your attention shifts to the sudden crowd of people rushing to the balcony. Yangyang pulls you closer to avoid getting pushed by them, and you look around confused. It all makes sense when they start chanting the numbers, counting down from ten. You can only stare in awe at the clock and the otherworldly glee in the rhythmic chants. It’s like they don’t feel anything but joy at this moment. You let yourself smile.

The clock strikes twelve. The sound of the bell resounds throughout the city and the firecrackers burst into a thousand shades of red and gold across the sky. There’s moving images of animals, floating text and other animations which make the night sky seem like a screen. The sparks of the fireworks look like golden snow, or even happy little pixels.

You point your finger to the sky excitedly but when you turn, Yangyang’s eyes aren’t on the sky but on your hand outstretched towards it. He faces you, rather hesitantly as though caught red-handed.

“You’re- you’re… so pretty,” he says, softly and shrugging as if answering a question.

You wish he wouldn’t look at you like that. It’s the lonely speaking, right? The euphoria of human connection in this time and age—it can make you believe anything. There’s a myriad of colours blooming in the sky behind you, a city dazzling with diamond and ruby lights, people with much more stories to tell than you do. This city, this city, this city. This city will break your heart.

“It’s kind of crappy,” you mutter, to which Yangyang quirks an ear.

“Wh-what is?”

“This city. It’s got bright lights and fun and all those promises of success. But all I see are people desperately trying to survive. All I see are the same faces at the top and—I’m sorry. I’m getting carried away.”

“No, no.” He makes a vague gesture. “I’m listening.”

“We’re at their mercy,” you whisper. “My life is not my own. That’s crappy.”

Yangyang hums in response. “You're right. What’s the point of living a life that’s not your own?”

Looking at him again, you see the entire figure of his being against the fireworks and all the beautiful creations of the human race. His almost silver hair falls perfectly by his forehead, the contact lenses looking like glazed frost over his eyes. Just as vibrant and excessive as the city itself, Yangyang belongs here. This is his kingdom.

No, that’s not quite right perhaps. Yangyang belongs anywhere because he brings warmth. You're suddenly grateful he's with you because no one you know would possibly go out of their way to make you feel comfortable like this. You know Yangyang loves people and crowds. No one would do that for you at the expense of their own enjoyment. You smile at the prospect of solving the blinding mystery that he is.

"We… should leave," Yangyang says, all of a sudden. He eyes a man at the corner of the balcony, dressed in a business suit and looking blank. He sticks out like a sore thumb. You're not sure why he's in that getup.

"Okay," you say, not sure why you're so agreeable tonight.

Maybe it's the night. Sometimes all you can do is drag your feet over the asphalt and hope it'll be sunnier tomorrow.

v. two-four-seven convenience store

College boys are the most god-awful creatures on earth.

“Hey, do you always reach class on time?” Yangyang asks, eyes curious. He keeps asking a question every five minutes or so, trying to keep up conversation. You've already told him he doesn't have to. However, it makes you strangely comfortable to hear the sound of his voice periodically. You won't tell him that.

You nod, returning your gaze to the window, though the advertisements block your view. You can always try skipping the ad every five goddamn seconds.

It's your first time riding the train that travels through the Mobius Strip, and certainly the first time in a luxury cabin. Since it’s free for members of the new year club, you can heave a sigh of relief. You will never in your life, even if it’s genetically elongated, ever be able to afford a luxury cabin.

"Oh, that looks so good," Yangyang says, large hand smacking against the window to get rid of the colourful advertisements.

"It's a convenience store, Yangyang," you say. "It's got everyday ramen."

"No, look. It's a different brand. And they're giving a burger for free with two ramen cups!"

You furrow your eyebrows at him. "Well, I guess it's cheaper too."

"Oh, we can go to one of the upper restaurants too. They're free, remember?"

"I like convenience stores," you mumble. There's something about the lack of even lighting and crowds that made them a comfort spot for you.

“Quick,” he says, pulling you off the seat when the train stops.

“Yangyang!” you warn. He's so easily excitable that you find it hard to believe he's real sometimes.

However, when he turns around with his big puppy-dog eyes, you curse at yourself before you curse at him. Sighing, you follow him down the steps, his hand tenderly holding yours. Sometimes, you wonder if the human touch means anything at all in this diamond and steel era. Yangyang’s palm is warm against yours.

The ramen tastes awfully delicious on stolen time, and you would complain more if it weren’t for Yangyang looking at you with so serene a look. It annoys you and you try to grab his attention by waving your chopsticks in front of him. When it doesn’t work, you resort to swearing. You’ve never seen anyone respond with a smiling hum after being told to “eat shit”.

“Oh, this tastes so good,” he states, cheeks puffed with food. “I think I’m going to cry.”

“I- I think you’re crying because it’s spicy.”

“Oh.”

As usual, Yangyang pokes and prods at you with questions about your daily life, like you’re the most interesting thing in a city full of blinding lights, world-class robots and cyber-enhanced technology. You don’t understand how he doesn’t just grow tired of asking every single detail about you.

Apart from the fact that Liu Yangyang is most certainly an environmental hazard, some part of you cannot believe that he's truly terrible. There's something innocent about him, but all at once, something quiet and mysterious.

“Why are you always so curious, Yangyang?” you ask finally. “Why are you always running off to different places?”

“Because experiences never come twice,” he answers after some thinking. It seems to be a little difficult for him to articulate, deep contemplation over his features when he continues. “This city… all the lights and clubs and arenas, all of it will be gone someday. Like we don’t have telephones or those big computers anymore.”

You rest your chin on your palm, leaning in.

“This moment, right here with you… I’ll never experience it again,” he tells you. “We can have more midnight convenience store ramen sometime later but… each time will be different. I’d rather live now.”

You smile softly. “That’s a funny thought to live by.”

“Yours isn’t any better,” he says, patting your head. “Also, I’m like hot and young and popular and not a cyborg—how can I miss parties?”

You shake your head, laughing. He’s ridiculous. He’s completely ridiculous. In that moment, when you look at him, Yangyang seems to be smiling in a daze, eyes on your face.

“You look nice when you smile,” he says quietly.

"Thanks," you respond. "I should keep it a secret then, huh?"

"Not from me," he says, smiling.

Somehow, the extra minutes you have at the convenience store turn to a few multiplayer games and then, ditching technology, to an arm wrestling match.

"I feel like this game is kind of unfair," you say after losing almost immediately. He's clearly got stronger muscles. Does he work out? Probably against his will, you bet.

“My right arm’s a lot stronger than my left arm,” he says, before looking a little horrified. “That wasn’t a masturbation joke, by the way. I am so sorry.”

You roll your eyes. "Give me your left hand then- wait. You're right-handed?"

"That's not the- uh." He thinks for a moment, trying to gather words. “That’s not the reason.”

“I, uh, I heavily damaged this arm when I was a kid—don’t look like that, there’s a fun part to this. It’s made of titanium! And some other things. The names are too complicated.”

You drive your fingers over the arm, so warm and real and flushed red, anything but metal and code. You find curiosity blooming in you more than ever before.

“You know why I’m not with family,” you say, straightening. “But why aren’t you celebrating with your family?”

He gets quiet, thinking to himself for a few more moments. You almost regret asking when he answers, a hesitant sound leaving him first.

“None of us, uh… none of our parents can spare more than three hours. They’ll come in the afternoon tomorr—today.”

You can’t exactly respond to that very well.

“So all of us go hang out at the New Year’s Club.”

You frown. "But it's not a celebration without family!"

"We have new year lunches. And… it's the future. Traditions die. Very few grieve them for fear of being stuck in the past."

You feel partly horrified and partly dismal. "I… You could come with me next year, if you like."

You're not sure where the offer comes from but Yangyang lights up at the idea.

"I can? Oh, we'll have so much fun!"

"Slow down. There's a year to go."

Yangyang laughs. It's surprising the way he turned out. He must have gotten tired of waiting by the door. And now you know all the things about him that his parents don’t.

You smile at him, warming up to the idea of you and him as friends before scoffing at it again.

Right in the next moment, Yangyang dips suddenly to the ground, crouching below the table. You look around in surprise and fall to your knees with a yelp at the tug on our wrist from Yangyang.

“What the hell?” you hiss. “You’re starting to act really weird.”

“I- Sorry. It’s an emergency,” he says, but there’s no sign of distress in his voice. He simply smiles at you. Perhaps he’s never heard of the emotion as of yet.

“Your babysitter?”

“I say that once and on accident—yes, it’s my babysitter.”

You chuckle. He’s simply too cute at times.

“We have to be discreet now, okay? It’s like—what’s the movie called? Oh, Mission Impossible.”

“I’ve never seen that.”

“What? How can you not? It’s a classic! It’s got so many cool—ah, I’ll show you another time.”

You hum, staring at Yangyang’s facial features tense up and relax again as he scans the vicinity outside the window of the convenience store. It’s full of people, even at this hour so you can’t possibly know who’s looking at you from there.

Yangyang turns back to you. “Have you ever been to blue moon station?”

“The one with the pretty walls? No. No, I’ve never even gone beyond Strip Two.”

Yangyang smiles at you and right then, you feel like you’re about to resent whatever’s going to happen next. It’s in the ebb and flow of tonight’s itinerary, however, and you relax your shoulders just as he does a roll across the floor, looking back at you with a grin for executing it flawlessly.

“You’re so silly,” you mutter.

“I heard that,” he whisper-shouts back.

You’re not as afraid as before, you realize. The lights are absolutely mesmerizing.

vi. blue moon station

It drops a few degrees in temperature once you step foot onto the platform. You can see a bunch of scattered tourists, cameras hanging around their neck and a look of awe over their faces.

Yangyang takes off his jacket, shivering immediately but offering it to you nonetheless. When you refuse, he places it gingerly over your shoulders.

"Is that a…?"

"A tourist bot, yes."

"Oh my god, it's so cute," you say, crouching by the little red robot, a teal-colored smiley face popping up on its monitor.

"A lot of tourists in this station," you note.

"Yeah. It's very… visually pleasing."

That's true. The walls are screens with three dimensional graphics, immersive enough to catch one's eye. A single tree grows through the middle of the station, evergreen and alive with holographic flora and fauna. The sun shines eternally over the tree. It's so beautiful that you had trouble taking your eyes off it at first.

The walls next to you are currently displaying a walk through a fantasy forest, crafted by a visionary artist, no doubt. A blue butterfly flies past you and you stare at it before zoning out.

Sometimes, the lights are too disorienting. You start to feel dizzy, massaging your forehead when Yangyang brushes the tips of his fingers against your shoulder.

“You good?”

Yangyang crouches beside you with watchful eyes.

You nod, turning your attention to the tourist bot. It displays a plethora of information about the architecture of this place which you're sure no tourist will bother to read beyond the first two lines.

“You can make it do cool tricks too,” Yangyang says. “Watch.”

Yangyang pokes at it with his index finger, drawing a pattern over the screen. The bot proceeds to do an old internet dance, waving about its arms and hips. You laugh at it and Yangyang looks at you with the pride of a third grader with first place on their science project.

The colours on the walls change and you see the animation of a man and a fox, furrowing your eyebrows as you try to recall that image. They seem to be broadcasting fables through the holograms. You can’t deny that they’re pretty—glowing with auspicious colours and as animated as the real world itself. As if by compulsion, you hold Yangyang’s hand. It’s nice to feel the human touch real once in a while, especially in the overwhelming loneliness of city nights.

Yangyang looks at you brightly and right then, you feel less inclined to leave him.

“You know, I could teach you better ways to flirt than just grab my hand,” he says, grinning like an idiot.

“What?”

You move your hand. “I’m not flirting.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean that,” he responds quickly. “Can I please have your hand back?”

You shake your head, laughing. He worries you. Some part of you says you shouldn’t be worried. It’s not like you’re close friends. (Friends, maybe. Close, not yet.)

The night has a different opinion.

—

“Found you,” a voice declares, and the two of you jump into each other with a scream.

The man in the suit looks at you with a fatigued look in his eyes, hair somehow still neat though he breathes like his lungs are on fire.

“Care to tell me why you’ve been skipping my calls?” he asks after catching his breath. “It’s not like I wanted to follow you—you just needed to tell me.”

“I… I was busy?” Yangyang flashes a smile. “Kun-ge, I honestly had no idea you called. I don’t even have my phone.”

The man shakes his head. “Fine. Just head over to Jasmine for the night. And you can bring your date too.”

He gestures at you and you want to deny it as quick as you can. You do not, however. It’s almost like you’ve warmed up to the idea of it rather well.

“Okay,” Yangyang answers quietly.

vii. jasmine private lounge

You enter a lounge with the capacity of around a hundred people. Despite that, there are hardly five present. The walls are black with neon jasmines pulsating from blue to red. A grand piano lies still in all its elegance in the middle of the lounge, played by a plain white AI. It feels like an expensive place to be, and more so, it feels like someplace you’re not supposed to step foot into. There's a bar table at one side, opposite to the entrance which glows a hypnotizing purple. A flat lettering on the wall declares the time to be 3 A.M.

You and Yangyang sit a little too close on the artificially warmed couch, waiting for Kun to return. Yangyang reassures you that you haven't done anything wrong but the illicit outing of yours certainly says otherwise. You contemplate tasting the cocktail Yangyang ordered before finally giving in and find it pleasantly warm to taste. You take another sip.

“It’s a little strong,” Yangyang warns. “Don’t have all of—you had all of it.”

You shrug. Your throat certainly feels better now. This lounge is fucking cold.

"You know, Yangyang," you say with the warmth of confidence on your face. "You're a really nice guy."

He smiles incredulously. "Thanks. You're really nice too."

"And you're pretty decent-looking—"

"I know that."

"—and also popular. So why are you always hanging around me?"

"Uh, that's your question?"

You nod. Placing your cheek against your palm, you try not to sink into the couch.

"Because you're really cool!" He answers before clearing his throat. "I mean. I think you're fun to be around. You make me see things clearer."

"And what exactly are you wanting to see clearer?'

"You."

You blink aside your astoundment, straightening. "What?"

Your question is left unanswered because a man enters and sits across the two of you, a loud huff of annoyance leaving his mouth. It's not just his disposition but the architecture of his face that grabs your attention. He looks like an AI robot so perfectly crafted with coloured lips and flawless skin that you end up staring till Yangyang elbows you.

“He’s not an AI,” Yangyang whispers.

You furrow your brows and notice it is, in fact, true that he's not an AI. There are no ridges over the joints or hollowness in the eyes. He wears the same frost-patterned smart lenses as Yangyang does. However, it doesn't change the fact that the man is beautiful to look at.

“I’m never hosting a new year party again,” he mutters, sinking into the couch.

“It actually sounds kind of fun,” Yangyang interjects. “I can’t wait for my turn.”

“I’m sorry. Good luck standing at Longhua temple for three hours till midnight just to make sure nothing goes wrong. Without dinner.”

Yangyang makes a face at that.

"That's Sicheng-ge," he says, turning to you.

"Ah," you say in response, remembering the name vaguely.

"He let us into Club 2," Yangyang says, noticing your lost expression.

"I think Kun's looking for you," Sicheng says, eyes trained at the back.

His hands fidget with the dim blue buttons at the edge of the table, till a small compartment reveals itself under the glass. An old world-style cigarette is slowly pushed up and Sicheng picks it up. He offers the next one to Yangyang, who accepts it hesitantly. No one smokes tobacco anymore when nicotine is so readily available. Alas, human nature is to want things deadly and out of reach.

“So how’s Cat?” Yangyang asks, fumbling with the plasma lighter he picked from a compartment on the side.

Sicheng smiles a little, the smoke from his cigarette snaking around him as he raises a hand to dissipate it.

“She’s doing fine. Running everything as usual.”

“Of course. Boss lady.” Yangyang does an awkward salute.

“Oh, a new hair color too. As pretty as flower fields in the spring of ‘22.”

Sicheng’s lovesick rambling is interrupted by Yangyang hacking his lungs out. You turn to him and he avoids your gaze, reaching for a crystal blue glass of water one of the helper bots offer. So, he’s not even a smoker? Why did he think you would care?

“Anyway, Kun is glaring daggers at me now. You better get out of here.” Sicheng grimaces.

You turn around to see Kun by the bar table, gesturing towards Yangyang to come. You're not sure why but either of those men make you nervous.

"I'll be right back," Yangyang says, scrambling up and leaving you in a long awkward silence with Sicheng.

“So, uh, I’m assuming you’re oblivious to that lovestruck puppy following you around?” Sicheng asks, raising an eyebrow. “Or is this some game you guys are into? I’m not judging you for that.”

Your face heats up and you fidget with your collar. “The- A what? Game? Uh? I- huh?”

Sicheng tries to press down his smile but it’s evident enough for you to see. Did you say something funny? Did Yangyang say something funny about you? Oh, you’re going to kill him.

“For all that he talks, he’s kind of terrible at pulling together his own love life.”

“I- I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

It still unnerves you to look at him. He certainly looks more android than human when he’s not making any particular expression.

“Don’t mind me,” he says, offering you a reassuring smile. “You should find Yangyang before he lands the two of you in trouble.”

You turn to look at Yangyang through the glass and turn back nodding. Sicheng offers you a parting smile and you hesitantly make your way to the bar table.

"This isn't in my job description," Kun tells Yangyang just before you arrive. "I didn't know being a lawyer included babysitting."

The tips of Yangyang's ears heat up when he notices you.

"It's not babysitting," he murmurs. “Also, you’re not my mom.”

"You, Ten, Kunhang, all of you give me such a hard time," he continues but pauses right when he notices you.

"Oh, hello. (Name), isn't it?" He says, smiling politely. He's quite young and handsome for a lawyer. "Yangyang talks about you a lot."

"Oh," you respond. "Really?"

Yangyang glares at the older man. "You don't have to say everything, Kun-ge."

"You interested in law?" Kun asks, offering you a seat between him and Yangyang.

You make a face. The law is a tool for the rich and powerful. But then again, what isn’t? The world is in your hands when you have billions to spare. However, you still can’t imagine being a rich man's guard dog your whole life.

Kun chuckles. "You kids are interested in tech more, aren't you?"

Yangyang interrupts, "You talk like you're fifty years old."

Kun grimaces, resting his face against his hand. Shooting a glare at Yangyang, he finishes the rest of his wine.

You're not exactly interested in tech or engineering or the big kid jobs either. You just want a way to survive this man-made food chain. Rich eats the world till there’s nothing left on the plate. Then again, you'd rather be a pet than get eaten.

"Anyway," Kun turns to Yangyang. "If you see Ten, give me a call."

Yangyang signals with a thumbs up gesture, watching as Kun’s figure slowly makes its way out of the gate. It’s the two of you again and suddenly, you feel a strange sort of feeling overcome you. Leaning your throbbing forehead against Yangyang’s shoulder, you take some soft breaths and skip the part where you question your actions. It’s pleasant, at the very least. He shifts his chair closer, extending his arm around you so that your head rests against his shoulder more comfortably.

“You must be tired,” he mutters.

“You didn’t answer me,” you say. “Answer in a way I understood, at least.”

“Hm?”

“Why do you hang around me?”

“Do you not… want me to?”

“No. I like your company, actually. I can’t believe I said that out loud.”

Yangyang laughs. “You’re… you’re really perfect. As a person. At least to me, you seem that way.”

You scoff. “You’re a long way off there.”

“No. No, you felt like clockwork,” he continues. “When I first met you. I couldn’t believe you were real.”

You do work like a delirious robot on clockwork steroids. But you’re not very proud of it. You don’t think overworking is a good personality trait to have—even if it’s for survival. However, the faraway look in Yangyang’s eyes suggests that’s not what he means.

“I felt like I understood you,” he continues after a short pause.

You find it unbelievable. That’s the one sentence you could never imagine coming from him to you, much less agree with. But right then, as his warmth seeps into you, you want to agree desperately.

Yangyang feels an unexpected trickle of doubt down his throat. No matter how many times he’s practised in front of the mirror, the words don’t come out right when you’re with him. With everything you do, he feels more drawn in. There’s something familiar and something honest. And if he’s honest himself, he just likes you. What sort of a hypocrite should he be categorized as, to tell his friends to ‘just confess’ to their crushes when he’s a complete idiot when it comes to you? It can’t be that little voice from his childhood that tells him to stay in order.

Yangyang understands that there are rules to this world but he doesn’t get what those have got to do with him. He sighs, the sound somewhat grim when it comes from him.

"I've seen it before," he says, "People come from all over the country with hopes and dreams, and they get their hearts broken by capitalism."

You frown.

"I don't want you to go anywhere," he mumbles. "I hope you'll stay… even if- even if you feel like that, you know? If you're feeling lonely, I could—"

"Yangyang." You smile. "I’m quite comfortable here."

When you bury your nose into the crook of his neck, Yangyang thinks this is it. This is how he ends the sorry excuse of flirting he’s been trying with you and says something he regrets. It was never this difficult with the other crushes he’s had. He’s always left opening his mouth and then promptly closing it like a goldfish out of water every single time he wants to bring up dating with you. He’s always honest. So, what’s the big deal this time? This is so horrendously not cool of him.

You straighten. “We should get back home.”

“Can you- Can you not move so far from me, please?” Yangyang murmurs, hands gripping yours.

You smile, to yourself more to him but that’s one he likes the most.

“You’re a really interesting person, Yangyang.”

“I am?” He clears his throat and repeats the question.

“How are you so nice to people?”

“I think people are nice.”

“Why do you like parties?”

“They’re fun.”

“When the party’s over, who do you go to?” you ask, words mushing into each other.

“Home,” he answers, gulping down what seems like more words. “Like always.”

A hush falls between the two of you. You’re asking quite the questions.

“I’m sweaty,” you mutter. “I hate being sweaty.”

“You look wonderful though,” Yangyang mumbles, more to himself than to you. “Not that being sweaty makes you wonderful. You’re just nice.”

There’s another hush, the notes of the piano playing a faraway, romantic tune. He turns away and looks back at you again, but right in that moment, you lean forward to press your lips against his. It’s so sudden that he almost falls over backwards, his feet planted firmly on the ground the only thing preventing that from happening. The next thing he thinks is that your lips are on fire and it’s the most comfortable feeling he’s ever experienced.

The two of you fit into each other like clockwork, Yangyang thinks. It’s the one thing in his life that feels whole. Not that he isn’t whole by himself—he just loves your warmth. For a moment he feels like he’s on cloud nine and the next, his heart plummets when he feels you go limp in his arms.

It breaks his heart a little but he doesn’t—can’t bring himself to say much. He’s not this bad when he’s drunk, is he? Pulling you up by the waist, he texts Kunhang to bring his car down to the lounge.

This is going to be a long night.

viii. home

You wake up to the sun in your eyes and immediately know you're someplace you shouldn't be. This isn't your bed. The sun doesn't reach your bed in the morning. This isn’t the dormitory. You see a cubical alarm clock, a pixelated smiley face on it as it displays 10 A.M.

You get up and immediately shriek. You’re not wearing any clothes. Pulling the blanket up to your chin, you look around the room. It’s huge; the walls are multicolored with a little section opposite the bed reserved for photographs. There’s a lot of junk all over the floor that you don’t pay mind to when you notice Yangyang.

“Yangyang?!”

He rouses blinking slowly, hair going every which way and his eyes still unfocused. He looks like he’s had a difficult night.

“Why are you on the floor?” you ask, shrinking further into the ridiculously soft bed when he gets up. Massaging the back of his neck, he looks like he's looking at a mirage instead of a real live person. Unfortunately, he’s not wearing a shirt and you look away after a prolonged minute of staring. This is getting ridiculous. What are you doing here?

“Yangyang!”

“Huh? Oh!”

He seems to be finally awake. You should pop the question before it eats you alive.

"Did- Did we…?"

Yangyang blinks at you in confusion before a loud "oh" erupts from his mouth.

"No!" He says in between laughter. "No, we didn't. Oh my god, you’re so funny. You took off your clothes saying it's too hot and smacked me with them. I didn’t look, by the way.”

Your jaw drops. You can’t even form words through the pulsing headache.

“Your clothes are on the chair. And I didn’t touch your underwear. Out of respect."

You avoid eye contact in embarrassment.

“And… well, you did kiss me once. Twice.”

You look up alarmed and he raises his arms in defense.

“You- you were drunk so I had to push you off. You cried a little after that. Sorry.”

“Oh god.” You cover your face with your hands, sitting down on the bed. That has to be the most embarrassing thing you could have done.

“You- Don’t worry about that. You’re a good kisser. I was kind of surprised,” he offers in an attempt to make you feel better but you only grow hotter in the face.

“And- And I liked it,” he adds in a panic. “Wait, I don’t mean it in a creepy way.”

“I’m glad it wasn’t anyone else.”

“What?”

“You. It’s okay if it’s you.”

You give him a weak smile, still not over the embarrassment.

Yangyang laughs. “I… I think I should’ve said this before but… can I take you out on a date?”

“What were we doing last night then?”

“Well, that was- ah. You’re teasing me. Motherfucker.”

You giggle into your palm. When he takes a seat on the bed, you make a distressed sound and he jumps up immediately.

“My clothes,” you hiss. “Get out of the room so I can wear them.”

“Right,” he says, pointing an index finger at you.

He turns around right then. "By the way…"

You shriek, pulling the cover up all the way to your nose.

"Sorry," he says, averting his eyes immediately. "If- if that was a date, did you like it? Do you wanna go on another one?"

You can see him practically sweat bullets and you laugh at the innocuous questions. He’s too cute. You can’t believe you made yourself shake off the thought every time it crossed you. However indelicate his touch is, you welcome it nonetheless.

"Yes. Yes, I'll go on a date with you. You annoying, stupid, bratty idiot."

“Okay, that was mean.”

Watching his figure leave through the door, you relax your shoulders. In the end, people will always be people. No matter what shiny new toy you give them to play with, people will always search for happiness, and they will laugh and cry and fall in love with people and places and things over and over again. It's lovely to be human in an era of diamond and steel.

#yangyang x reader #nct x reader #wayv x reader #yangyang scenarios #nct scenarios #wayv scenarios #yangyang fluff #nct fluff #wayv fluff #yangyang fanfic #nct fanfic #yangyang fic #moonwrites #dawg idk what im doing imma be honest here

276 notes · View notes

jay7543 · 3 months

Text

Professor Riley and the troubled student

18+

M4m

In this, you are a student who always draws attention to himself. A tough guy who always tries his best to seem cool, and tries to hide the fact he’s gay, especially for his professor, Simon Riley. There are so many rumors that go around him, one that he’s gay, another that he has the hots for one of his students, and another that he spends his summers as a S.A.S operator that wears a skull mask and goes by ghost, ha! Yeah right.

Both characters are adults, the reader is collage age, so probably 20s, ghost is a professor so probably late 30s

And just in case you didn’t see, I made a cyberpunk story too (also smut, of course), I’ve been playing a lot lately and made one, I’m really proud of it, so if that sounds interesting, press the link, if not, enjoy this one.

You walk into class, professor Riley shoots you a glare, knowing you’re gonna cause some trouble in class. He’s a really nice teacher, very patient and understanding, albeit a bit quiet, he’s everyone’s favorite, he’s even like that with you, but you just insist on pushing his buttons, every man has his breaking point. You go to your seat and talk to your friends nearby.

Reader-“what bullshit do you think he’s gonna talk about today? I swear he doesn’t shut his mouth”

You and your friends laugh, Riley heard every word, and he’s sick of it. You continue like this throughout the class, ignoring the lecturer and talking to your friends and playing on your phone. Late in the class one of your friends asks you

Friend-“do you think Riley’s hot?”

They smile and gesture towards him. You look over at him, his stature, around 6 foot 5, his dirty blonde hair, his muscles almost bulging out of his button up shirt, his rectangle framed glasses, making his blue eyes more prominent, and the aura of dominance he has at any given moment. You shake your head and push all those thought deep down.

Reader-“gross, fuck no”

You say loudly with a big blush on your face, your breath heavy. Riley heard, this was the last straw. He looks over and shouts, something he rarely does.

Riley-“I’m sick of your attitude, see me after class!”

He and everyone else in the class keep there eyes glued to you, you try to play it cool. You scoff and lean back in your seat, crossing your arms

Reader-“whatever”

You sit there quietly for a few more minutes till the end of class, you think of him the whole time. When the bell rings, everyone starts to shuffle out of the class, except you and professor Riley

Riley-“come here”

He says firmly, sitting behind his desk. You stand with a sigh and walk in front of his desk. He takes off his glasses and glares at you, which makes him even hotter.

Riley-“what’s with your bloody attitude? I do my best to accommodate all my students, even you. Yet you seem to not care, you don’t do your work, you’re failing, and you constantly disrupt my teaching”

He says in a deep gravely tone, serenading you with his accent.

Reader-“I-i don’t give a shit, that’s why”

You pull yourself together and put your bad boy front back on, he stands and points at you

Riley-“you watch your mouth while your in my classroom”

He says angrily, which does scare you a bit, he’s very intimidating, yet still very hot. He sighs and takes a deep breath before sitting back down. He pinches the bridge of his nose out of frustration

Riley-“I don’t know what to do with you. Believe it or not, I don’t want you to fail, but you just don’t care, what’s the issue?”

How are you supposed to answer that, he’s the issue, him! He’s just too hot, damn him for making you feel this way about a man, you’re straight….right?

Reader-“I-i don’t know, I just don’t see the point in trying”

Riley sighs, just barely noticing the small blush appearing on your cheeks. He chuckles softly.

Riley-“I know you wanna look cool in front of your mates, trust me, even I was a collage student once.”

He laughs, genuinely smiling, his anger now completely faded, he sees right through you

Reader-“I don’t know what you’re talking about”

You say defiantly, but he knows better.

Riley-“I get it, can’t drop the cool guy act right? Trying to impress the girls?”

He chuckles, teasing you. You blush even more. Everything he’s saying is making you like him even more, he knows you, almost more than you know you.

Reader-“all-all the girls already love me”

You cross your arms and look away, with what can only be described as a pout on your face. He finds it very cute

Riley-“you know, when you’re not trying to disrupt my class you’re a lot better to talk too. And from what I’ve seen, no girls are swooning over you”

He laughs again, making you a bit angry, though he is right, none of the girls are on you, but, you don’t mind that, you really don’t want them. You want…him

Reader-“I fuck plenty of girls”

You say, trying to convince yourself more than him, you’re still trying to deny the fact you want him, though it’s becoming increasingly difficult to do so. Ghost chuckles again, his laughs sound so manly to your ears now, was it always like that?

Riley-“if I didn’t know any better, I’d say your gay”

He says, trying to probe you for a reaction, and he for sure gets one. You blush even more than before, your act completely breaking as you struggle to defend yourself against this, this lie! No, the truth.

Reader-“I-i-no, I-I’m not gay, of course I’m not”

You say, now breathing heavy, you don’t even believe it at this point, and he knows it

Reader-“professor Riley i-“

He cuts you off

Simon-“Simon, call me Simon”

God, Simon is such a hot name, especially since it’s his. He walks out from behind his desk and sits on the edge of it in front of you.

Simon-“you don’t need to lie to me, this is a safe space”

He says reassuringly, he really is amazing

Reader-“I-I’m gay”

Simon smiles and hug you, comforting you, as he knows how hard that is to do

Simon-“good job, I’m proud you did it. So am I”

He says as he pulls away from the hug with a smile. He’s gay! The rumors were true! Now you actually have a chance.

Reader-“r-really? So the rumors were true?”

He sighs

Simon-“yeah, I haven’t told any students, or staff, but I guess someone had a lucky guess, and everyone believed it”

He shakes his head and chuckles

Reader-“well I uh-I like you, you’re the reason I can’t pay attention in class, I-I’m always looking at you, just not listening”

You say nervously as your face reddens again as you confess. He smiles at you and gets off his desk to take a step closer

Simon-“I know, I figured, I see the glances, and today, when one of your friends asked you if you thought I was hot. You stared at me for a while, then blushed, then yelled gross. I know you were lying”

He says with a bit more of a seductive tone, which turns you on a lot as your cock stiffens in your pants. Simon notices the building bulge and smirks, taking another step closer, now face to face with you (him leaning down of course, since he’s so damn tall)

Simon-“I know I shouldn’t be with a student but… I want you, to be with you, right here. Do you want that too?

Your breath gets caught in your throat as you hear his words. He wants it too! This is it

Reader-“y-yeah, I do”

As soon as you say yes he kisses you. It’s the best you’ve ever been kissed, he clearly has experience with this, and it’s making your head go all fuzzy. He pushes his tongue past your lips and into your mouth, swirling it around yours, mixing your spit into one, delicious concoction. After a few minutes, he pulls away.

Simon-“like it? I sure as hell did love”

He called you love! Oh god, this is the best day ever. You can’t even respond, only incoherent babble domes out, your mind too fuzzy and hazy with lust to even respond, he laughs when he sees

Simon-“I take that as a yes”

He spins you around and gently lays you down into his desk, he grips the hem of your jeans

Simon-“can I?”

You nod as fast as you can, you want this more than anything else you’ve ever wanted. He smiles and pull down your pants, revealing your dark blue boxers, you have a full tent pitched by now, and an obvious wet mark on your boxers from your precum, he chuckles and pull them down and lets your cock spring out, he grips it and strokes it gently, it feels so much different than when you, or any of the girls you’ve been with have done it. His hands are so experienced, so gentle, you can’t help but buck your hips a bit, into his hand. He sighs with content

Simon-“someone’s excited”

He lets go, leaving your cock a twitching, weeping mess, you whine slightly as he pulls away. He smiles when he hears it, he loves that he’s already made you his. He reaches to his own waist and pulls down his pants, he’s not wearing any underwear? His cock springs out and you’re in awe. It’s so big, the only one other than yours you’ve seen in person but still, the biggest

Reader-“w-wow”

You say nervously, he lifts your legs so your ass is hanging off the desk, your asshole perfectly on display.

Simon-“don’t worry, I’ll be gentle, I assume it’s your first time with another guy after all”

He lines up his cock with your hole and prods it a bit, teasing you, before putting his hand up to his mouth and spitting on it a few times, then he moves his spit covered hand down to your hole, wipes it all around, and gently puts a finger inside you.

Reader-“of fuck”

You moan as his finger enters you, you’ve played with yourself before but this is way better, his finger so much thicker than yours.

Simon-“I’ll make you nice and ready”

He says as he prods your insides even more, stirring them up ever so gently as he stretches out your hole for his cock, causing your own cock to twitch even more, the hardest it’s ever been. After a few minutes, he spits on his hand again and this time, wipes it on his cock, then lines it up with your hole

Simon-“it might hurt a bit at first, but I promise it’ll feel really good soon”

Before you can replay he starts shoving his cock into you, making you grunt and squirm, it does hurt a bit, even drawing a few tears, but, it feels more weird than anything.

Reader-“is-is it in?”

You ask, already panting, he leans over you and chuckles

Simon-“half way love”

Half! What the fuck, you already feel so full, how can there be more, yet there is, after slowly moving his hips forward, he finally gets his full length inside you. He nestles his cock deep inside and looks at you

Simon-“I’m gonna start moving now”

He warns, you nod and he starts to pull out, your asshole gripping onto his shaft as tight as it can, and just before it feels like it’s going to pop out, he starts to move forward again, gently, lovingly. This is the most pleasurable experience of your life, you’ve never felt this good. You moan and moan. Ghost groans as he feels your tight hole gripping him, begging him to not leave, ever. He picks up the pace a bit, causing you to gasp.

Reader-“I-i don’t know what I’m feeling, this-this is fucking crazy”

You whimper as you feel your head go fuzzy again. Just as you thought this couldn’t get better, he grabs your cock, that until now has been flopping around as he thrusts in and out, he strokes gently, causing you to moan even louder

Simon-“you fucking love that don’t you”

He says as he runs his thumb over your glans, he’s overstimulating you and you love it so much, you can’t even feel your legs anymore as he speeds up yet again, now moving at a pretty good pace, now dirty talking into your ear

Simon-“you fucking love my cock don’t you, your first one and you’re already addicted right? Your just a butt slut now, my butt slut”

He growls into your ear, he’s a bit forceful and degrading with his dirty talk but you love it so much, it just makes you squirm and leak even more, you agree with everything he says but don’t have the strength to even talk.

Simon-“from now on, you’re mine, my boyfriend, my slut, my fucking boy wife, whatever the fuck you want”

He groans again, you love that idea, you want to be his so bad, you’ve wanted it for a while and now are finally getting it, while he pounds your ass and strokes you cock. All you can do is nod. He laughs and pounds a bit harder, making sure not to go too hard, still not wanting to hurt you.

Simon-“don’t worry about your grades, I’ll make sure you pass, just show up and don’t talk back”

That sounds almost like a command, one you’ll follow for the rest of time(or at least till the end of collage) He stars to grunt more as you can feel him get harder inside you as he says

Simon-“I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna pull out and cum all over your shirt, mark you as mine”

He grunts, you nod, not caring how much he soils your clothes, you feel yourself hitting the edge as well, his constant stroking and pounding doing wonders on you. With a yell from you and a loud grunt from him, you cum, shooting it all over his chest and your stomach. He pulls out of you and takes a step forward, pushing his hips forward as much as possible, before shooting thick, pure white ropes of cum all over your shirt, shot after shot, him grabbing your ass every time. After you both finish, him standing there panting, and you laying on the desk almost passed out, he stares at your gaping asshole and chuckles before pulling your past us back up. Pulling his up as well.

Simon-“here, take this”

He hands you his coat

Simon-“to cover your mess on your shirt till you get home”

You sit up and take the jacket, still panting

Reader-“that was amazing, I-i agree to everything you said by the way, I want all of it”

He smiles

Simon-“I figured, see you tomorrow in class”

You nod and stumble out of the classroom, your asshole feeling really weird, but you’re extremely happy with what’s to come.

#18+ only #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #smut #ghost x reader #m4m #simon riley x reader #gay #ghost x male reader #simon riley smut

118 notes · View notes

thelargefrye · 1 year

Text

OPERATION OUTLAW: BEFORE THE BOOM ... 23:43 (18+)

PREV MEMBER | M.LIST | NEXT MEMBER

pairing : wooyoung x f!reader

genre : cyberpunk-western, ateez biker gang au, smut, hurt / comfort

word count : 4k

warnings : language, wooyoung gets his bike taken by authorities, a lot of like crying and hints of self doubt (?), wooyoung calls yn a lot of petnames (babe, pretty girl, my pretty y/n)

smut warnings : unprotected sex, sex in a van, slight marking

note : a @cultofdionysusnet collab! this is apart of an eight piece story, so in order to get the full picture, it is recommended to read the other members as well.

check out the fic playlist [ here ]

you and wooyoung have been partners since you both joined the gang. but recently things just haven't been the same especially with the recent mission slowly approaching faster and faster.

"hey woo, its your turn to go get the food," san says from the back of the van. he moves to where he's closer to the front seats, where you and wooyoung are sitting.

"what? i went last time," wooyoung says, looking at his friend with an almost disgusted face.

"yeah, but that cute girl is working at yeosang's work tonight," san says and you can tell that for whatever reason, he's trying to get wooyoung out of the van.

"hm? what girl?" you ask curious that this is the first time you're hearing about this.

"ah, don't worry about it," he says before shooting san a dirty look. "is there anything you want?" he asks san, a frown painting his lips.

"the usual," san says with a smirk.

"what do you want?" wooyoung ask, turning to you. you can't help but note that coldness in his tone as he talks to you.

"oh, um, the usual," you tell him and nods before grabbing his phone and wallet before getting out of the van. you watch him through the windshield as he walks down the street and around the corner to where the restaurant yeosang had been working at is.

when wooyoung is out of sight, that's when you suddenly turn around and look at san with sharp eyes. your sudden motion seems to take him by surprise as you note the look of said surprise on his face.

"why did you make him go get food? it was my turn?" you asked with a raised eyebrow. you couldn't help but wonder why san wanted your partner out of the van.

"because i wanted to talk to you," he says moving back to his spot before he's patting the seat next to him, beckoning you to join him.

"talk?" you say as you get out of the van and round the back before joining him. you sit yourself on the makeshift bag that had seemingly been both yours and wooyoung's bed for the past few months– well it had been before recently. wooyoung one night suddenly switching to the other side of the van with san. the two of them squished up on san's own makeshift bed. "what do we need to talk about?"

san lets out a sigh before he's looking at you. "the mission we are going on tomorrow, wooyoung doesn't want you coming along. he asked hongjoong to take you off,” he says and you can only look at him in shock.

wooyoung asked hongjoong to take you off the mission? but the two of you always go on missions together, no matter how dangerous they are.

the news definitely didn't help the unsettling storm of moths flying around in your stomach. it was hard not to notice how wooyoung was slowly distancing himself from you. however, there was only so far he could go when you were both trapped in this small van with one other person.

the two of you have been partners since you joined the resistance. wooyoung taking you under his wing basically and always keeping you close to him. any mission you did, wooyoung went along with you and vice versa. wherever wooyoung was, you weren't too far behind. but recently that hasn't been the case. was he getting tired of you? that's the only thing that could explain when he suddenly leaves on his bike at random times. was he just trying to get away from you?

fuck, you think you're going to be sick. was wooyoung really getting tired of you?

“why?” is all you can ask, looking at your other partner who only shrugs his shoulders.

“i think he’s just worried about something going wrong. he doesn’t want you getting caught or hurt,” san explains but it still doesn’t make you any less hurt by it. does he think you can’t handle yourself? "but that's not the only thing i wanted to talk to you about," he says, gaining your attention before you could go too deep into thought.

"what else did you want to talk about?"

"i think you should tell wooyoung how you feel. i'm tired of seeing you both pinning after each other. there's too much tension between the two of you and not enough space for all three of us and it in this van."

"there's no tension san, and besides, you're one to talk about tension and confessions," you say and san can only huff at your words.

"i'm being serious. you guys are basically married with how you act and live. might as well air your feelings out to each other, don't know when you'll get a more perfect chance than this," he tells you and you know he's right.

"obviously not recently," you begin, "wooyoung has barely spoken to me these past few days and he kept going off to who knows where during the day. that's why the fucking authorities took his bike."

the two of you were so close to each other. you were his cardinal, his pretty girl, babe, his y/n. that's why it was so easy to fall in love with him. but it seemed like you and wooyoung weren't ever going to be anything more than partners in trying to take the government and the android guardians down.

"wooyoung is just being–

he is interrupted by the van doors swinging open. promptly startling you both, but you let out a sigh when you see its only wooyoung back with food.

wooyoung's eyes immediately meet yours and you see his relaxed face turn tense when he notices how upset you look. he then turns to san, sending him a glare before asking, "what did you say to her? why is y/n upset?"

it was crazy how despite wooyoung's recent attitude towards you, he can still tell when you're upset. the fact that he even asked or noticed catches you off guard. maybe he can only tell because that's what you get for spending every waking (and sleeping) moment together.

"i told her about the mission," san says, leaving it at that and avoid mentioning the other thing he brought up.

wooyoung looks like a deer in headlights when san's words settle in. and then you watch him look between you and san before his eyes rest on you and your hurt face. he opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but closes it before he looks away from you, ashamed.

"why did you ask hongjoong to take me off the mission? why didn't you talk to me about it?" you ask, the hurt clearly in your voice as you question him.

"y/n... can we talk about it later," wooyoung says, eyes casted downward as to avoid yours. he comes into the van, closing the door behind him as he hands you your food and san his. you honestly don't think you can sit next to him, so you opt to move beside san.

the three of you ate in silence, tension high and noodles shitty as always. you got about five bites in before you lost your appetite and set your noodles aside before climbing out of the back and returning to your seat in the front.

you can hear wooyoung and san whispering to each other, but you honestly don't care about what they have to say. they're probably talking about the mission, which only makes you not care more, but also upsets you more. if wooyoung really did ask hongjoong to take you off the mission the protect you, then why didn't he say anything? why didn't he talk to you about it instead of going behind your back.

"hey y/n," san's voice brings you out of your thoughts as you look up into the rearview mirror, eyes immediately meeting wooyoung's before they move to meet san's. "have you heard from mingi and koa yet?" he asks and you shake your head.

"no," you say, "probably fucking off somewhere," you add with an annoyed sigh as you turn to move your eyes out the window.

you can't help the unsettling feeling in your stomach as you let your mind wander. san mentioning some girl at the restaurant comes back up and you can't help but wonder why san would bring it up to wooyoung. did san want you to confess to wooyoung, so he could let you down. tell you that he was interested in someone else? you can't help the nauseous wave that washes over you at the thought of having to face wooyoung's rejection and still having to work with you.

unless... no. he wouldn't do that would he? does this also have something to do with wooyoung not wanting you on the mission? did wooyoung not want to be partners anymore? did he not want to see you after rejecting you, knowing that you love him? fuck, you think you're going to be sick. you let your head fall in your hands as you try to will the sudden nausea away.

"babe, are you okay?" wooyoung's voice is full of concern as he moves forwards towards where you are sitting. stuff is blocking him from fully reaching you and you are glad for that, not knowing if you could handle wooyoung being any closer.

"i-i need some air," you say, throwing the door open and practically throwing yourself onto the sidewalk. you squat down next to the van and allowing it to hide you from any prying eyes. you hear some movement in the van before wooyoung is stepping out, face full of worry as he rushes over to you.

"y/n, are you okay? what's wrong?" he asks, squatting down next to you.

"i just... i just need a second," you say, taking a deep breath as wooyoung rubs circles into your back. you wish him trying to comfort you was more soothing, but it wasn't. the two of you stay like this for a few moments and you're grateful how wooyoung doesn't speak. despite the things you were previously thinking, you still love wooyoung and the yearning for him near you was still strong.

it was only when you felt cramps in your legs, them slowly beginning to fall asleep is when you stood up. "where's san?" you ask, realizing the boxer was nowhere to be seen.

"he left a while ago," he says, guiding you to the back of the van and helping you inside. "i asked him to leave, so we could talk."

you choose to stay silent as you sit down where san had previously been sitting while wooyoung sits across from you.

"that bastard... san wasn't supposed to tell you. i wanted to," he starts off immediately and you can't help but feel nervous at how he jumps right into it.

"why?" its weak and soft, but wooyoung still hears it.

"i... i wanted to make sure you were safe. the whole mission is just... it's just too dangerous. i wanted to know you would be safe," he says but you can't help the little voice in the back of your head wanting to argue with him.

"are you sure it's not because of something else?" the little voice wins.

but wooyoung looks at you confused, "why would there be something else, babe?"

"i don't know. we always go on missions together and suddenly you don't. you go behind my back with it, like you were trying to hide it, hide something from me."

"what are you trying to get at?"

"it just seems like you don't want to be partners anymore. first it's this mission and then soon it'll slowly add up before boom... we aren't partners anymore, and you're carrying on with your life and i'm left behind," you don't look at wooyoung. don't want to see the guilty expression on his face knowing that you probably called him out.

but not looking at him makes you realize the tears that were running down your face and dripping onto your hands that laid in your lap.

"no, y/n... that's, fuck– that's crazy," you hear him say before he's moving closer. his hands come up to cup your cheeks, so you have to look at him. "i will never leave you behind. i promised you when you joined that we would stick together. this mission, i don't know what will happen– hey, stop crying pretty girl – i can get caught, it's happened plenty of times already, but if you got caught... that's something i wouldn't be able to handle. i just want you to be safe because i..."

"because what?" you ask, searching his eyes in hopes of seeing the one emotion you want him to feel towards. the same emotion you feel towards him.

"because i love you, isn't that obvious," he says, wiping your tears away before he kisses you. you couldn't help the surprise that took over you before you realized what was going on and hurriedly kissed wooyoung back.

you ran your fingers through his semi-long hair and you can't help but grip it in order to help ground yourself. this didn't feel real, wooyoung confessing his feelings right before kissing you. it felt like a dream.

you broke the kiss, the both of you breathless and wooyoung rests his forehead against yours. his eyes never looking away from yours and you can't help but feel a little nervous from his stare. you slip one of your hands out his hair, the other one resting on the back of his neck, fiddling with the ends of his hair. you always did like playing with his hair.

"this isn't a dream is it?" you ask him and wooyoung cracks a smile at you.

"no babe, its not a dream," he answers back before pressing another kiss to your lips.

"this feels like a lot is happening right now," you confess, your stomach twisting up in a rather ugly feeling. wooyoung furrows his eyebrows as he pulls away a little bit, but he reaches over to hold your hand and gives it a comforting squeeze.

"i understand, babe, i shouldn't have kept this all from you plus with the mission tomorrow... we don't have a lot of time left to talk," he says and you nod your head. "i wasted a lot of time already by not talking to you sooner."

"what are you going to do now?" you ask, feeling an odd sense of confidence rush through you as you look at wooyoung.

"let me make it up to you with another kiss," he says, face coming extremely close to your own, forehead resting against your own.

"i think i'm gonna need more than just a kiss for the emotional hell you put me through, woo," you say, moving your head away from your partner and gently pushing at his forehead to tease him.

wooyoung lets out a small laugh before he's pulling you closer to him and moving you to sit next to him on your makeshift bed.

wooyoung pushes you gently by the shoulders, having you lay down on your shared makeshift bed. wooyoung moves to hover over you before he's kissing you again, his uses one of his hands to keep himself propped up while his other hand roams your body. his free hand then goes to fiddle with the buttons of your shirt and you're surprised by how effortlessly he's unbuttoning your shirt with one hand.

you can't help the moan that escapes you as wooyoung softly gropes and squeezes your breast over your bralette. you feel him smile in your kiss before he's pulling away to look down at you.

"is this what you had in mind?" he asked as he sits up to straddle your hips before he's unbuttoning his own shirt.

"hmm, actually i thinking more of a massage, but i guess this can work too," you tease, allowing your hands to come up and feel wooyoung's chest. he lets out a sigh, head tilting back as he feels your hands roam his chest.

wooyoung the leans down, lips trailing from your jaw, neck, collarbone, and finally down to your chest. you feel him leave small love bites on your skin before he's either pressing a wet kiss to the spot and licking at your skin. either way he's sending a wave of pleasurable goosebumps over your skin.

"woo..." you moan out softly, pushing at his shirt to reveal his shoulders. wooyoung senses you trying to remove his shirt and helps you by effortlessly removing it and tossing it somewhere beside you both.

"my pretty y/n," he says as he kisses down your stomach, stopping at the waistband of your pants. he hums softly before he's undoing the button and zipper of your pants. it takes a moment to get your pants off, the cramped space of the van not doing either of you any favors. but wooyoung is quickly going back to kissing your body, grabbing your ankle and kissing up your calf and thigh before he reaches your underwear.

wooyoung rubs you through your underwear and you let out a moan due to the friction it causes. you can see the grin that overtakes his features before he's pressing a kiss to your cunt. you can't help but want to roll your eyes at how he's teasing you.

"aren't you supposed to be making this up to me? not teasing me?" you question as you run a hand through his hair. wooyoung nuzzles into your hand before moving back up to hover over you.

"who knew you had no patience when it comes to getting dick," he teases before pressing a deep kiss to your lips. "fine, i won't tease," he says before hooking his finger in your underwear and removing them a lot more easily than your pants. he leans back down to your pussy, "next time i'll make sure to kiss you properly," he whispers and you roll your eyes, letting out a small laugh as well.

wooyoung smiles at you before he's removing his pants and underwear, and you also quickly remove your shirt and bralette. once you both are naked, wooyoung is quick to settle between your legs. you can't help but think how unreal this is, almost like its too good to be true. you've loved wooyoung for as long as you can remember and to have him confess and between your legs in the same night. unreal.

"hey, what's wrong, babe?" he asks, calling you that silly yet endearing nickname he's always called you. wooyoung's hand comes up to your face and wipes away your tears that you didn't even know you had. "do you want to stop?"

"no... no, i'm just... i'm just so happy. i love you, wooyoung," you tell him and he smiles at you, leaning down to kiss you. swallowing the moans that leaves you as he pushes his cock inside you.

you immediately wrap your arms around wooyoung, one hand running through his hair the nth time tonight while the other runs down his back. your legs wrap around his waist as he thrusts into you.

"f-fuck, woo! ah!" you moan out, back arching as he continues to thrust inside of you. his cock stretching you out and continuously getting closer to hitting your sweet spot.

"you're so tight, y/n, fuck– it feels really good," he says as he repositions himself, your legs unwrapping around his waist as he grabs your hips in a tight grip.

you could feel wooyoung's thrust start to pick up and along with his hips moving faster, you noticed the van also slowly start to shake. you help but think about how if anyone walked by, they would immediately know what you and wooyoung were doing. the thought makes you clench around your partner who lets out a moan.

"f-fuck babe! you can't clench around me like that, i might not last much longer if you do," wooyoung tells you and you can't help but smile at your lover.

"what are you? some hormonal teenage boy?" you attempt to tease, but your laugh turns into a startled moan when wooyoung hits your sweet spot. the pleasure shoots a chill down your spine and wooyoung takes a moment to laugh at you.

"s-so cute, babe. you're my pretty y/nnie aren't you? this is all just for me," he says as one of his hands come to intertwine with your own.

at this point you can feel the whole van start to shake as your orgasm draws closer and closer. you let out a string of sounds that are a mixture of moans, curses, and wooyoung's name. but honestly, he isn't any better as his thrust start to become sloppy.

"are you close w-woo? you gonna come inside me?" you ask using your free hand to run up and down his chest. you can't help but admire the thin layer of sweat on his skin, you notice a bead of sweat running down his face as he moves one last time to hover over you.

wooyoung smashes his lips to yours in one last heated kiss before the both of you are coming with a call of each other's names. wooyoung's hips still inside you as you feel him paint your walls with his seed. the feeling of him filling you up leaves you breathless for a moment as you lay there while your partner presses open mouth kisses to your sweaty skin.

"i love you," he whispers as the two of you lay there still connected.

"i love you, too," you say back, holding wooyoung close to you.

"y/n..." he trails off but doesn't finish and so you let out a small 'hmm' to encourage him to talk. "y/n," why is he just calling out your name?

"wooyoung," you say back. "wooyoung?"

"y/n! hey, babe!" your eyes snap open at the sound of wooyoung's voice as you feel him gently shove at your shoulder.

"what?" you ask with a groan as you feel the sleep melt away as you wake up.

wait. wake up? fuck... was that– was that all a dream?

"gosh what kind of dream were you having, babe?" he asks as you turn to look at him with shocked eyes. your eyes drift to the van clock to realize its only 11:43, fuck. "you kept calling my name? are you okay?" wooyoung adds looking at you with a raised eyebrow. "also you got some drool on your chin."

you can't help but feel embarrassed by the fact that not only did you have a wet dream about wooyoung, but you also drooled. you wipe away the quickly drying drool before you turn to see san still sitting in the back of the van, also looking at you with worry.

"yeah, i dreamed that you were a giant chicken that was chasing me," you say in an attempt to wipe the growing smirk off his face.

"tsk, brat," he mumbles, looking away from you and back down at his phone. "you'll be smirking and laughing when you're by yourself tomorrow," he adds and that's when you remember the mission him and san are going on tomorrow.

"come on, woo, i know you'll miss me," you tease, the dream you just had giving you confidence boost and wooyoung turns to you with a raised eyebrow.

"did me as a giant chicken chasing you give you a confidence boost or something?" he asks and you shrug your shoulders.

"something like that," you say as you turn to look at him. you both share a rather heated glance at each other. wooyoung turns to send san a knowing look making the boxer let out a sigh.

"yeah, yeah, i'll see you guys later," he says before making his way out of the van. once the doors close and you are left alone with your partner.

"why don't you tell me more about your dream now?"

you let out a small laugh, "sure."

#operation outlaw: before the boom #cultofdionysusnet #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez blurbs #ateez wooyoung x reader #wooyoung smut #wooyoung x reader #ateez smut

421 notes · View notes

thegnomelord · 8 months

Note

Hi, I want to start off by asking how you are doing, and that I loved the monster task force 141 × reader fic and the cyber-punk sagau headcanon’s.

Ok, now into the ask. Can you do a smut fic with Childe where the reader is a sub top and Childe is a dom bottom where Childe whorships cyber-punk readers body running his hands all over readers joints which are bonded so reader can’t touch him while overstimulating and orgasm denying (is reader able to be overstimulated and have orgasm's... if not then forget about those 2 kinks.

Sorry for the long ask.

Kink list to make it clear:

- Body whorship

- Bondage

- Overstimulation?

- Orgasm denial?

Heck yeah my peep, I'm doing better, and it's great that you liked my other stuff, sorry it took this long, med school is a bitch. Hope ya like it:DD

P.S: ya'll are always free to ask me/give me ideas of what to write, i'm gonna be trying to write more from now on.

Pious Worship

CW: NSFW, body worship, bondage, overstimulation, orgasm denial, mild electro play?, SAGAU au! Cyberpunk reader!, Sub Top reader, Dom Bottom Childe, riding, Dom/Sub dynamics, Worshipper Childe, Bondage. NOT proof read lol.

It had taken you a long while to convince him to do this. For all of his devotion he had been... hesitant; To please you was the highest form of reward anyone could dream of receiving, but what you had asked of him felt wrong — the thought of binding you like the heathens who'd fallen for pretty lies made him physically sick, the thought of chaining you, his guide, his light, his Steel Forged God...he couldn't even come up with the proper words to describe the sickening disgust he'd felt in his very bones.

But you are his light, his guide, his merciful creator, so how could he possibly refuse?

Childe is insatiable.

He rides you with wild abandon like a beast in heat, too caught up in the desperate chase for release and the need to please you to care about the strain in his muscles or his burning thighs. He slams his entire body weight down on your cock, moaning and babbling about how perfectly you stretch him out, how you fill him up so perfectly he can feel you in his throat, how happy he is to be the one who pleases you like this.

His heart flutters as you watch him, drawing pleasure from his pleasure rather than from how tightly his body grips you, your arms tied above your head with the finest silk. The corp remade you for warfare, not pleasure. Steel is unfeeling, it can survive more than living flesh, and with your enhancements you barely feel anything besides the hot tightness of his body.

He drinks up the little rumbles of your synthetic voice box he manages to pull when he takes you fully, driving his body to bounce faster on you, racing towards his second release while you are nowhere near your first. He moans whorishly, his fingers dig into your shoulder joints, cock twitching as sperm and electro shoot from his body.

A strangled sound leaves your lips before your body shuts down without notice, voice box giving a mechanical screech as it glitches, every artificial muscle in your frame contracting from the sudden flood of electricity.

"My Grace! Are you- no, no, no, no- please don't be-”

You hear his worried whimpers when your audio receptors finally come back online, your optics shuttering open yet barely able to see anything with the sea of blinking warning screens in your view. You feel his calloused hands on your cheeks, the usually dull sensation now making you shudder as your combatting systems had turned every synthetic sensor up to 11.

“My Grace, please tell me you’re okay, please, I couldn’t have- I didn’t mean to- I-, I-, I-”

He hiccups, and you manage a glitched warble from your frazzled voice box as you assess your internal diagnostics— his electro delusion had shocked you enough to lock your joints in place without damaging the vital life support systems in your core. You should be able to move again when the electricity wears off, your body geared to survive stronger EMP bombs. You tell him such, reaffirming that he hadn't harmed you.

"Oh, my Grace, I am so sorry, please, forgive me!"

He says, tears prickling his eyes as he rises off your cock, pulling a surprised gasp from you when that small sensation nearly makes you cum on the spot, your cock — your whole body — sensitive to the smallest touch.

And Childe gets...giddy.

Not like a child with a new toy, but like Dottore when an experiment is successful.

Childe hung on every sound leaving you, eyes growing wide; Had you thought of this? Had you prepared just for this to happen? For his electro to make it easier to feel, to make it easier for him to worship you? Yes, that must be it!

“My Grace, you are beautiful like this. Thank you, thank you, thank you-”

His voice was a hoarse whisper as he slunk down your body, carefully holding up your leg with steady calloused hands. His lips are dry as he places reverent kisses the metal surrounding your exposed ankle joint. Your metal parts taste no different than the tips of his arrows, like blood and war, but the soft sounds you make from the odd sensation has him wanting to give more.

He doesn't even notice when he cuts his lip on a sharp edge, but aren't you proud of him? Who else would bleed for you like him? His tongue delves into tight little cracks between your pistons and wires where only the smallest of ripperdock tools had ever come. His tongue isn't as small, nor as precise, but the sheer eagerness in his movement has him touching and pressing on the sensitive sensors all the same.

You jolt, or you would if you could, overcome with sensations your body isn't built to process. More warning screens flash in your sight, static pleasure/pain buzzing along faux synapses. His heart all but leaps from his chest as he listens to the sounds you make.

So he redoubles his effort, clever little tongue licking at sensitive sensor arrays, mouthing and sucking on cables until soft frazzled sounds leave your glitched voice box. He can taste coolant on his tongue, his lips tingling with electricity, blood and spit mixing together in his mouth and making your metal parts glisten in the light. He polishes your ankle joint until it shines, before moving up towards your knee, tracing the edge where metal plates meet faux skin.

You're internal cooling system has started at this point, body shaking as best it can. Your sensors don't know how to interpret the sensations, corp augs having been geared for warfare and not worship, so the processors don't even try to categorize the new sensations into neat boxes. Instead you're hit with the full force of it, the feelings flooding your mind, zapping through every neural cell and artificial link.

He's at your hips now, eagerly sucking you off as his clever fingers busy themselves worming and rubbing delicate hardware and artificial ligaments beneath inside your hip joints. You feel like you're on the edge, your release so close you can feel it burning at the base of your cock.

But something is wrong, like a knot or a rock inside your stomach, something that's keeping you from cumming, forcing you to experience these overwhelming sensations. You sob, barely able to think, and his heart soars at making you feel this way, making you feel this pleasure.

He's quick to finish polishing your cock and even quicker to climb up and sink down again. But that only makes the maddening heat burning in your loins worse, every nerve in your augmented body feeling like it's on fire with no sight of release. You can barely see him through the cracks between different warning screens, sensor arrays screaming at you with information your body can't interpret any other way than pure sensation.

"Please, let me do this your Grace."

You watch — you can do nothing but watch — as he takes one of your limp arms. His muscles bulge beneath his skin as he has to work hard to move your arm now that your motors and pistons are momentarily inactive. He smiles at you, mouth opening wide before he puts your fingers in his mouth. Little jolts of sensation run through your body every time his tongue flicks between different joints, teeth scraping along faux skin and metal plates.

He continues to bounce on your cock, unaware of what blissful Hell he's making for you when he pulls your spit shined fingers from his mouth, urgently but carefully pawing at the plates which cover your hidden weaponry in your forearms.

"Your Grace, I'm a fool to demand this of you, but please, let me see them, let me worship you like you're supposed to be worshiped."

He says, eyes wide and pleading, laying desperate kisses at your wrist joint, lips almost burning from how hot your metal parts are becoming. He needs to worship you, all of you, especially the part you usually keep reserved for the battle field and nowhere else.

Your voice box is back online to the point where you can talk, and you know that if you told him, he would happily continue bouncing on your dick until you were finally able to cum, with all notions of his own need forgotten.

But you don't.

For as much as your systems may be screaming at you. For as much as your cooling systems struggle to keep you from overheating. For as much as you desire to cum... you want to please him — the first character you ever wished for, the first you ever mained, your favorite.

The look on his face when you manage to get your weaponry unlocked melts your heart despite the lustful heat in your chest. Your combat systems are blissfully unaware of your true intentions as they power on the pistons and gears in your weapons, making them extend to their proper configuration.

"Thank you, thank you your Grace!"

He breathes, immediately reaching out to trace the sharp points of your weapons with his tongue before he latches on the first joint that connects your weapon with your arm. It makes sensation, neither pain nor pleasure but pure feeling, rush from your arms right down to your dick still balls deep inside him.

Your vocal box glitches a second time, your head moving just an inch as you're subjected to his torturous worship again, and you can only pray that your body is able to move again before you loose your mind to the pure sensations.

#centerpieces of the hoard #x reader #male reader #top reader #dom genshin x sub reader #sub reader #dom Childe #Dom tartaglia #genshin impact smut #cyberpunk sagau #genshin cult au #top male reader #childe tartagalia #bottom childe #genshin impact x reader #answering asks

278 notes · View notes

helloporcelain · 10 months

Text

Hot Blood

fandom: cyberpunk 2077 pairing: johnny silverhand/fem! v rating: explicit (18+) tags: pwp, piv, thigh riding, light choking, happy ending au where johnny has his body/v is not dying summary: car sex on an extremely hot summer day in a cramped car before a gig to shoot up some wraiths? bad idea, probably. ∘°∘♡∘°∘ READ ON AO3 ∘°∘♡∘°∘

based off a prompt from @seeingstarks

The heat was relentless out in the Badlands when September rolled around.

The temperature easily pushed over 103°, and sun rays were beating down aggressively on top of Johnny and V through the top of his car. A Porsche wasn’t made to be driven around such rough, uneven terrain, but Johnny had insisted on it. He loved his retro car as if it was a long lost daughter he finally had been reunited with. A little whirring, mechanical child on wheels from 50 years past.

V typically vetoed no to the Porsche for gigs, but it had been a while since Johnny had driven them both and the job didn’t seem like it would be too driving heavy, so she relented and let him take the wheels. He really wasn’t the best behind the steering wheel, at least not since he had gotten used to an actual body (not that Johnny would ever admit it) and V preferred that Johnny got some practice out in open land and not run over innocent jaywalkers in the city.

It was, however, definitely not V’s car of preference.

For one thing, it was a small car. V wasn’t a large woman, so why did she feel suffocated in it, especially if she was packing heat? It felt as if there was barely room for her to stretch her legs out, nevermind hauling a bunch of gear, guns and grenades around in there without setting something off and blowing them both to sorry bits.

But Johnny didn’t seem to mind – it was one of the few times the muscles in his shoulders relaxed, which made the decision to let him drive it worth it in the end for V. Johnny had carried around a tenseness in his body ever since he came back, always on edge. He did his best to hide it, and if V hadn’t shared a brain with him, she might not have noticed. Johnny hadn’t fully believed he was worthy of a second chance, but V had believed nothing else more intensely.

Still, she regretfully contemplated the decision as sweat dripped down her forehead, onto her bare lashes. He rolled the front windows down to get some kind of breeze because the AC was weak. V had been bugging him to get it fixed for weeks but Johnny had stubbornly snapped that he didn’t “want some fucking Night City idiot fucking around with his car.”

V wiped her damp forehead with the back of her palm and let out an annoyed huff, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. She had picked out some denim shorts that day, yet it was still too hot and now she had to experience the displeasure of her thighs sticking slick to the leather material.

“Toughest solo in Night City,” Johnny drawled, looking at her over his sunglasses. “But she can’t handle a little heat.” V pulled a loose bra strap back up on her right shoulder and raised an eyebrow at him.

“I get that you’re already going to hell Johnny and okay with this heat hellscape, but some of us would like to not be slowly cooked to death.” She paused, reading something on her holo and continued, “I already messaged Claire and she’s going to fix it and you’re going to let her do it without complaints.”

Johnny grunted in disapproval but didn’t put up much of a fight. Instead, he looked out the window and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel in rhythm to an old rock song she was not too familiar with. Everything that mattered to Johnny was rooted in nostalgia, and V was included in that now.

He pulled up to an abandoned gas station just outside of Rocky Ridge and parked the car behind the building just slightly so that they would still have a view of any cars coming down the road. The gig would have Johnny and V wait around 30 minutes before the targets – Wraiths – rolled in as sundown approached.

Kill them all and make out with some equipment that Saul needed. Simple gig.

V groaned, tossed her seatbelt off and reached towards the dashboard of the car to tinker with the AC settings – with no luck. The little bursts of air coming through felt like pathetic little hiccups, and her entire body was dripping in sweat. Johnny leaned back and watched as V jabbed her fingers at the console for a solution.

“You wouldn’t have survived a day in Texas, princess,” he muses, shifting his seat back. “Get used to it, we’re going to be cooking here for a minute till those motherfuckers roll in.”

V gave him a cranky scowl. “Your obsession with this car is concerning on a fundamental level.”

Johnny opened up all the windows and pulled out a cigarette to light up, and V took a deep breath in preparation for the smoke that was about to cloud her senses. After a deep drag he let his left arm hang out over the door and she continued on her rant.

“You have the most advanced cars in the world at your fingertips, and yet you prefer…” her arms flung wildly around the little space available. “…this stupid broken car!”

V caught a glimpse of how she looked in the mirror and she definitely looked a little crazed. Her cheeks were flush with pink and her usually pin straight hair was turning frizzy. Johnny was right, she wouldn’t have lasted even an hour in the humid Southern summers. She looked back at him and took in his appearance. Sure, Johnny was sweating too, but he looked unbothered. He had chosen to wear his leather pants regardless of the weather that day and he didn’t even look like he was struggling with them.

At that exact moment, she resented how good he looked.

“I take offense to that V. I’ll have you know…” Johnny took another puff of his cigarette before offering it over to V. “This was a fucking chick magnet.” She accepted it and begrudgingly started to smoke. He wasn’t a part of her anymore, but the cravings still hit her if she saw Johnny smoke first. It was exactly what she needed, and she felt herself relax slightly after the first exhale.

“Oh boy, here we go. Gonna regale me with stories of your drug addled sexcapades?” She took another long hit, quickly put it out, then tossed it out the window on her side of the car. “I know they were desperate for some rockstar dick, but I highly doubt they actually enjoyed the cramped experience. Only teenagers fuck in cars.”

Johnny gave a crooked smirk. “Au contraire, V. Au fuckin’ contraire.” His hands went to the sign of his seat to pull it down, taking up more of what little space was left in the backseat. He leaned back and put his arms above his head, and closed his eyes in a show of shush, I’m daydreaming now.

“Fucking preem experience having a chick bounce up and down on me in here. Such a compact space means you’re forced to fit all up against each other, and it’s tight. Doesn’t get old.”

V fiddled around with her rifle, making sure the bullets were all loaded. She rolled her eyes at him, but her curiosity was piqued slightly. It was an automatic reaction, something she couldn’t control even when her mind signaled: not now ! The second Johnny started being suggestive at all – V couldn’t help it – her body would react without her brain’s explicit permission.

They had already fucked twice that morning; sleepy, leisurely sex in bed, then he had come up behind her in the bathroom while she was drying her hair and had bent her over the sink. Not that V was complaining. Johnny had been insatiable ever since they had settled into “normal life”, but she never entertained anything during a job. She was a professional, after all.

“Sure,” she said, giving her gun a wipe down. “I bet they loved bumping their heads and getting thigh cramps.”

Johnny responded by taking the rifle out of her hands and pulling it out of her reach. She made a noise of surprise and tried to rustle it out of his arms but no luck, her arms were short and he was leaning back with it. “You won’t get it back from there,” he commented.

“Not funny Johnny,” she scolded. “The Wraiths could be here any second. Give it back.”

“We know when they’re coming, V. Saul has their routes down to a fucking T.”

His eyebrows wiggled annoyingly in the direction of his lap, signaling for V to climb on top of him to retrieve her gun. Her lips went flat in disapproval for a beat, before she twisted her body around, scaled over the drink holder and gingerly into his lap. “You’re so pea-brained,” she said.

The space was cramped, though it did help that his seat was leaned back a bit. She could feel the heat against the thick material of his pants permeating against her legs. Her brain paused on the sensation against her, before reminding her why she was on him in the first place and she leaned forward to grab her gun. V failed to grab it – Johnny quickly tossed it behind the back of his chair, too out of the way for her to retrieve it in the current position.

“Dick,” she grumbled. V tried to move over him to reach behind, but his hands found their way to her hips and he squeezed down firmly, keeping her pressed against his right thigh.

“I think I might love summer,” he said. She squirmed against his hold but he just held her down tighter. Johnny’s cock hardened and strained against his pants. “Know why? Because you wear these hot little shorts like the fucking cocktease you are.”

V’s eyes glazed over briefly as she checked the clock out of nerves – they still had 20 minutes before any of the Raffen Shivs were due to show up, but she wouldn’t apologize for being too sure. She snapped out of the thought as Johnny groped at her tits, rolling his thumb over a hard nipple through her white tank top. “One hell of an outfit to wear to a possible shootout, V.”

He leaned forward to kiss her mouth, before trailing down to her jaw and neck. She looked down at him, her heart rate increasing quickly at the thought of fucking him. It would be stupid. It would be reckless.

“I didn’t wear this to get your dick hard idiot,” she breathlessly replied in between his wet kisses. “Earth to Johnny. Normal humans dress appropriately for the weather.”

“Then take it off,” he shrugged, tugging at the cotton material. V let him pull the top off over her head, tossing it over to her seat. Johnny didn’t have her take off her bra, instead opting to pull it down so that her tits popped out over the cups. He leaned forward to take a nipple in his mouth, sucking and twirling the nub in his mouth, all the while palming his cock through his pants.

If V was pink earlier, she was full on lobster red now between the heat of the car and the flush of the grind against his leather pants. She had opted out of underwear that morning, mostly due to having put off laundry for so long that she ran out of panties. And now that decision had come back to haunt her as every twitch against him ran a shock through her clit, begging her to roll against him harder.

Johnny let go of one breast and moved onto the neglected side, biting down on the nipple. She let out a whining sound of pleasure as she held her arms against his headrest and rocked against him faster. “Fuck. God damn it, Johnny.” Her clit was growing swollen against the denim fabric of her shorts and the clumsy pace of her fucking his thigh.

He pulled away from her chest and a hand moved up to finger his old dogtags that she wore, which were now jingling in rhythm with her grinding. “That’s my girl.”

His fingers wrapped around her throat and gently squeezed. “Yeah, that’s right, baby. Use me. Make yourself feel good.” She let out a choked moan when her clit passed over some kind of raised, ridged material in his pants.

She rolled her hips against him, angling to make sure her clit continued to hit the same spot again and again. Johnny wanted to fuck her, badly, but wanted to watch her come apart like this even more. V’s body was slick with sweat, and he knew she would find it annoying in the aftermath, but Johnny loved how completely natural of a state she was in.

Something organic, something real, and something only his to witness.

“So fucking sexy baby. Should see yourself right now. Making a mess on me. Could cum just looking at you V.”

“Idiot,” she gasped. V worked herself at a frantic and shameless pace, and he pulled her face closer to his so he could kiss her. She could feel the pressure building in her soaked cunt, letting out moans that were muffled by Johnny’s mouth. The kiss was messy as he sucked on her tongue and their saliva dribbled down her chin.

V lurched forward when her orgasm came crashing down like a lightning bolt, her climax shaking throughout her whole body. V’s hips bucked against his leg as she rode out the rest of the wave, completely engulfed in the embrace of his arms, face buried into the crook of his neck. Johnny was drenched in sweat too, smelling vaguely of soap, but mostly smoke.

After a few seconds, Johnny chuckled and brushed V’s damp hair away from her forehead. She was distinctly aware of the painful erection he still had straining against his pants. “My stupid broken car still has women creaming their panties 50 years later.” She nipped at his neck and shifted her body up against him to press on his hardon.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Johnny. I’m not wearing any panties.”

Johnny let out a groan and his hands squeezed her shoulders, pushing her back down on him. One of his arms shot to her shorts and pulled at the zipper ungracefully. “Get these off,” he growled. V leaned back and looked beyond the car towards the road. Still empty, but her brain issued a huge red flag at the thought of rogue nomads popping up behind them and popping one in their heads…

She could picture the tombstone – RIP V, she died doing what she loved most: Johnny Silverhand.

Ugh. Bad idea, V chided herself silently.

Then she said it out loud too, still not entirely used to him not being able to hear everything she thought. “Bad idea, Johnny. We don’t have time.”

Johnny went to work on his zipper, tugging his cock free from the restraints of his oppressive pants. He started slowly stroking and she couldn’t see his eyes through the lenses of his dark glasses. “V, you can either ride my cock now or I’ll jerk off and you can walk back to camp with cum on your shorts. Your choice.” He stroked faster and his eyebrow furrowed as she considered the decision with 15 minutes left on the clock in her head.

It was awkward to lift herself up from him to take her shorts off but she managed to peel them off and fling them to her seat. She wasn’t confident it was very sexy to watch her do this, but Johnny was still intently watching her as he masturbated, and she suddenly was very aware of the hot air on her naked lower half.

V tried to look down between them as she lined his cock up with her entrance, letting the tip slide between her folds. Johnny was already leaking precum, and before V got the chance to lower herself, he grabbed her waist and yanked her down to sit on his cock. Her eyes popped wide as he sat her down all the way, no space, not an inch in between them.

“Johnny,” she gasped.

“Ride my cock V, need to feel every fucking inch of your pussy.”

One of Johnny’s arms curled around her waist, the other one landed on her thigh as he slammed her down onto his dick. V readjusted the angle so her legs weren’t caught in any tight crevices, and when she was finally comfortable she started to move quickly against him. Johnny groaned when he felt the fullness of her weight, the tightness of her cunt fully engulfing him.

“Love how needy you are for my cock V, fuckin anywhere, anytime, my fucking girl.”

Johnny was barely holding it together. His glasses were rocking about, threatening to fly off with each violent slam that V pushed down on. Her wetness was soaking through everywhere, mixing with their sweat, making the car smell like a hotbox of pure sex.

“Fuck, Johnny, you know I can’t say no to you,” V panted, holding herself steady. “You’re– so fucking deep.” She spread her thighs a bit wider, as much as the space allowed, Johnny clutched her tight as he continued his rocking pace against her, so profoundly deep inside she thought she may have felt it in her stomach.

His hands were digging into her so hard it was going to leave a bruise after. V was so tight, Johnny groaned like a man who was in the process of losing his mind. “Fucking made for my cock. My fucking perfect cocksleeve.”

V leaned in to capture his lips, biting down on them to make them bleed. She had to admit: no matter how many times they fucked, she still got the same butterflies that lurched in her body with how they fit perfectly. As if it was proof that there was a God somewhere and he did actually craft their bodies with the intention of them finding each other, somehow, half a century apart.

She held him against her as she began to rock her body, her clit rubbing against his body with every roll of her hips. Johnny groaned as they kissed, and V knew he was close to coming. His hands wandered down to grip her ass tightly, impaling her down on him with more force than she could hope to do on her own. “Johnny,” she gasped. “Need your fucking cum in me.”

Sweat rolled down their bodies like droplets of rain. The combined body heat was making it hard to breathe, but she let her hands wander to his throat anyway. V didn’t do the choking too often, but thought herself a giver sometimes. Johnny was close, his fingers were digging a death grip into her and his pace was becoming erratic. She closed both her hands around his throat and squeezed, holding her gaze on his face. “What’s taking so long, you want them to see me riding your cock babe?”

A grunt of approval resounded deep in Johnny’s chest. V’s toes curled as she felt him impale into her once more, a sudden and violent rope of cum shooting into her core. She choked Johnny a bit harder as she slowly rocked against him, taking in the feeling of her pussy milking his cock for every drop. One hand left his neck and wandered down to feverishly rub at her very swollen clit, her orgasm crashing down quickly in sparks. Johnny and V clung to each other, skin sticking to skin; neither one wanted to be the first one to get up from the mess they’ve left. “Eight minutes,” she finally said, breaking the silence.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you were constantly checking the clock the whole time, because I did, you little control freak.” Johnny replied, fidgeting with his glasses. She leaned back to put her tank top on and laughed.

“One of us has to try and keep us alive,” she smiled. They both looked at each other with soft eyes until a loud sound in the distance caused them to stiffen up. “What the fuck was that?” They both whipped their heads around and craned their necks to see a gaggle of trucks looming back in the gas station. A couple of heads were pointed their way, some shouting and pulling out their guns. Johnny sheepishly watched as V frantically hopped over to her seat to pull on her shorts.

“Fuuuck me. What did I say, Johnny? What did I say!? Any second!”

V was in a fit of panic, and all Johnny could offer up was a shrug. "Saul was wrong."

She slapped his forehead (to which he simply responded: ow) and haphazardly threw out a grenade in the distance, hoping it would buy them another few seconds.

“Pass me my rifle. Now.”

#cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk 2077 fanfic #cyberpunk fanfic #johnny silverhand #johnny silverhand/v #johnny/v #v cyberpunk 2077 #cp 2077 #cyberpunk 2077 fanfiction #cyberpunk 2077 smut #johnny silverhand x v #silverv #johnny x v #porcelainfic #female v #v cyberpunk #cyb

205 notes · View notes

cinnaminyoons · 1 year

Text

!! jungkook

[ event masterlist ]

(no pairing situation)

zombie apocalypse

“hi! you need to leave. right now.”

! wc: 11.5k

! tags: half of this isn’t actually the zombie part, tlou!apocalypse, best friends to lovers, cursing, guts/gore/illness (mild)/injury (burn scarring; reader), death, guns + usa setting (am. spelling for “mom” but aus. variants elsewhere), tae speaks spanish (mex. to the best of my knowledge, sorry in advance) for no other reason except i miss my cyberpunk boy jackie welles. tae vaguely third-wheels

the day he lost you, he lost himself. the only difference was that he still walked.

"yn-hyung's eomma!" he shouts. "hello!"

it is a fine day outside. blue skies, fluffy white clouds, green lawns sprinkled with yellow daisies. there are two cars in the driveway of a two-storey house, and jungkook races upstairs, too small to reach the bannister. he holds onto the wooden bars and picks his way up the steps as fast as he can.

the woman is on the balcony. swiftly, she stamps out a cigarette and moves inside. "hello, jungkook! what are you doing here?"

he huffs as he manages to make it to the top, his parents following close behind. "i... i... brought games for hyung! to make him feel better!"

he lifts them up to show her. she smiles and giggles, stroking his hair. "that's very sweet of you, jungkook. he's in his bedroom – he's awake, but just in case, you should be quiet, okay?"

"okay, yn-hyung's eomma! bye!" he races off down the hall.

"your son is a sweetheart," she says affectionately, watching him reach up on his tip-toes to pull the door handle. jungkook's parents laugh and they move into the living space. "it's lovely to see you again. would you like some tea?"

"we'd love some," jungkook's mother says. "sorry for barging in like this. he wouldn't stop pestering us to visit so that he can 'make his friend happy'."

"oh, it's no problem at all. it's good to see our sons together. you know how my boy is." she smiles and shakes her head, pouring three cups of hot tea. "rebellious, that one. i hope yours can teach him some good things."

creeping into his hyung's dark bedroom, jungkook drops onto flat feet and pushes the door closed gently. he squints into the darkness and whispers, "hyung?"

movement; ruffling sheets; a sleepy voice. "jung... jungkook? what's going on?"

"i came to see you." he sets the game cards on your bedside table and clamber onto the bed with a huff, crawling up to you. "are you getting better?"

"i think so." you sigh. you sit up slowly. "i'm dizzy and tingly at the same time."

jungkook's little face falls. "oh." he shoots forward and his expression pinches in fright. "are you gonna die? please don't die! you're my best friend!"

you laugh, a little painfully, and clear your throat. "i'm okay. i'm not gonna die."

"oh. good." jungkook tucks his feet under himself. "can i hug you?"

"yeah. it's just a headache. it's not contagious."

jungkook darts forward and squeezes you tight. he squishes his soft cheek into your chest and snuggles into you, listening to the quick beat of your heart. "geez... you're really cold."

your arms close around his small shoulders. you bury your face into his hair. "sorry."

his huge brown eyes peek up at you and he kicks his legs with a soft sigh. "i don't like it when you're sick."

"sorry," you repeat.

after a while, he says quietly, "i brought you games. to keep you company."

"thanks, jungkook." your arms tighten around him. "i love you."

"i love you, too," he giggles. abruptly, he sits up with bright eyes. "i've got it! i'll marry you, hyung!"

"huh? why?" you ask cluelessly, watching him bounce on your bed. he lifts his fists.

"so we can be together forever! i'll protect you from everything that makes you sick. eomma says that other people made you sick, so i'll protect you from them! they will eat my fists," he says in a deep voice, puffing out his chest to mimic his action heroes.

you can't help but laugh, even though it makes your head ache. "kookie, you can't hurt other people. that's not what a good person does."

"okay," he breathes, agreeing so easily – his chest swells with the sound of your laughter. it makes frogs bounce around inside his tummy. "but i can still marry you, right?"

you roll your eyes. "no, silly. we're not grown-ups yet. we can't get married."

"yes, we can," he insists, sweet brown eyes growing wide. "i watched my parents do it! we just have to write our names, then boom, we're married! wait here, i'll get the paper."

he scrambles off of the bed, running to your bookshelf and grabbing your drawing pad. he nearly forgets the pencil, but turns back for it abruptly.

he jumps onto the bed and you hastily grab the pencil before he can hurt himself on it. he sets the pad down on your legs, grinning up at you with a smile so bright that you swear it emits sunlight.

"write your name. write it, write it," he says eagerly.

you do, slow and steady. there's a wobble in the middle from the dip between your knees, but otherwise, you're satisfied. jungkook snatches the pencil and you giggle at him.

his tongue sticks out of the corner of his mouth and a frown creases his brow. his handwriting is dark and shaky, and his last name is spelt wrong. still, he manages it, and you're so very proud of him – he's still in kindergarten, after all, and you know kids in your class who still use velcro shoes. jungkook, your best friend, knows how to tie his shoelaces every time.

he gestures for you to tear the page out. you oblige, pressing your hand flat against the spine of the pad, and manage to do it with minimal accidents. a few creases shade the torn edge from your grip, but it's otherwise perfect.

jungkook stares at it with big eyes, his lips parted to reveal the two white nubs of his front teeth. he takes it from your hands carefully, as if he's holding the declaration of independence, and smooths it flat on the bed. lightly, he traces a large, wonky heart around both of your names.

he lifts it triumphantly, his eyes shining. "now i can protect you forever, hyung! i won't let anything hurt you, okay? i'll be like a superhero, lasering down everything that gets in our way."

you laugh softly, eyes crinkling, and let him fall back in your arms, squeezing him tight. he's so small, with soft, tiny hands and a tiny button nose. you like to poke it to see him scrunch it up in surprise.

"thanks, kookie," you say quietly, and he hums into your shirt. "i'll protect you, too – my superhero."

—

"loser says what?"

he startles. "what?"

you laugh, loud and obnoxious, and grab him by the shoulders, peering over to see what he's got in his hands. "gotcha, stupid. what're you reading?" you slip it easily from between his fingers. "what is it? anime?"

he scowls, reaching up for it. "it's manga, and give it back, you jerk! i was just getting to the good bit."

you wave it around, dodging his grabbing hands, and flick through it backwards. "whoa! how does she even walk around with those things?"

several sets of eyes swivel around and jungkook burns under their attention, tripping out of his seat and jumping for the book. you're older than him and therefore taller, and it's not hard to keep it out of his reach. "wow, jungkook... they're huge! i didn't know you had this kind of book."

"stop being such a bully!" he hops awkwardly, stretching for the book with a quiet grunt. "people are looking, butt-wipe!"

"what's this language i'm hearing?"

both of you whip around, gazing up at a familiar face: your homeroom teacher. her brow lifts in expectation as she places her hands on her hips. she's young and pretty, and you know a few boys with weird crushes on her, but she's a lovely teacher and doesn't even mind your whiteboard pranks.

"hi, miss williams," you greet with an innocent smile, and jungkook shuffles behind you, gripping your sleeve. discreetly, you try handing the book back. "what language are you talking about?"

she lifts an open hand, expectant. "give me the book, boys."

jungkook sighs and thumps his head against your shoulder as you sheepishly hand it over. "it wasn't anything bad, miss williams. promise."

"i'll see, yn. which page were you looking at?"

you flip a couple and point. on the page is a girl, around your age, in a uniform. she carries a massive gatling gun in her hands and a barrett .50 cal is strapped to her back, taller than she is. her face is twisted in rage as she extinguishes whole waves of evil vampires.

"don’t you agree, miss williams?" you ask helpfully. "those guns are massive. i don't get how she isn't falling over."

she closes the book and returns it with an exasperated sigh. she pats your head and you scrunch up your nose, fixing your hair. she smiles. "alright, you little rascal. you win this time. just keep it down, okay? other people might be reading, too."

"yes, miss williams."

"and you, jungkook."

after a second, he peeks around your arm, glancing briefly at you before meeting her eyes. his knuckles whiten.

she smiles again, this time gentler, and bows down to be level with him. "don't let him call all of the shots. maybe you should steal his book from time to time, too."

"miss!"

jungkook nods mutely, grabbing his book back while you stare at your teacher's retreating back, betrayed and flabbergasted. you notice the emptiness in your hands and turn around. jungkook is already sitting down again, searching for his lost page. you step over the bench and watch over his shoulder. your knee and shoulder touch his.

"so," you say, a lot quieter, "what's happening in the story?"

he brightens and grins at you, flipping back to the front to show you important scenes. "so there's this really shy girl, yumiko, who was adopted after her dad died when she was a baby, and she's actually the last living carrier of a special gene that makes her tougher, faster, and stronger than normal humans! after a bunch of monsters attack the city, she finds the journal he gave her and learns all the ways to kill them, and – oh, and she knows judo and how to box because her family owns a dojo... hey, why are you looking at me like that?"

you shake your head with a sweet grin, knocking your temple against his. "no reason. if we got attacked by a bunch of monsters, would you be my hero in shining armour?"

"of course!" he says, affronted that you'd think otherwise. "i might not have a machine gun, but i'll always protect you. we're best friends, and best friends should always stick together."

—

"oi, jungkook... jungkook, are you awake?"

he cracks his eyes open blearily at the whisper of his name. "no."

"good, okay. so, i had a thought – like, what if we go to homecoming together?"

"aren't you going with hailey? helen. helena...? whatever her name is."

"hanna. and not officially." you turn over, tucking your hand under your cheek. jungkook gazes back with one sleepy eye, most of his face squished into his pillow. "we haven't asked each other, yet."

he hums tiredly. "mm. then whassername... abigail. audrey. yeah. then audrey will want you to ask her. jay will want you to ask, too. um... erika and kat – from cheer, they said. yoojin from the boys' hockey team. y'know they're going to nationals? go kingfishers."

you wiggle closer, and jungkook bats your cheek to discourage you from getting any nearer. you do it anyway with a cheeky grin, visible even in the darkness, and jungkook hugs his pillow in defeat.

"don't wanna go with them." he gives you a pointed look, and you sigh. "look, i'm sure they're all nice people. i just... don't want to go with them. i want to go with you."

"why? yoojin's kinda cute."

you huff. "he only wants to go with me so he doesn't have to speak english all the time." you narrow your eyes. "wait, he's 'kinda' cute? do you have a crush on him, jungkook? ooh... jungkookie's got a big ol' crush...!"

he snorts, pushing your face away when you start making kissy sounds. "ew, gross. i spoke to him one time."

"people have developed crushes on less," you point out smugly. "you've developed crushes on less."

he burns red and he hushes you quickly, slapping his hand over your mouth to muffle your laughter. "shut up! you'll wake my dad! i was young, okay? it didn't count."

"he had a nice smile, though. and a cute laugh. plus, he was even shorter than you – i bet that gave you a bit of an ego, didn't it?"

"i'm not short," he hisses, pouting furiously. "you're two years older than me – of course you're taller! go stuff yourself. i'm going back to sleep."

grumpily, he turns over, tugging the blankets up around his chin. you stick your cold feet directly onto his legs and giggle as he jerks and whips around, sitting up so quickly his head spins. you poke his cheek with your index finger repeatedly, still giggling like an idiot at the extent of his reaction. it felt like the entire bed shook.

"i'll bite your fingers off," he threatens, dodging blindly in the darkness. "they're like carrots. i can bite through carrots."

"yeah, you can. with those big-ass front teeth, you'd like carrots, wouldn't you?"

he lunges at you. you grunt at the impact and tackle him to the bed, locking your arms around his middle and tucking your head under his arm – just like gym class. he writhes like a snake – or, more accurately, he flails like a trapped bird, all limbs and indignant squawks.

"you're heavy," he complains, pushing your shoulders down. when that doesn't work, he reaches back for your hands, prying your fingers off of him. "get off, hyung! i need to – ugh – make you regret what you said! i'm not a freaking rabbit!"

you keep him down easily. sports is your jam, and jungkook is built like a twig. a very bony twig, but a twig nonetheless. "you know that you can swear around me, right? it's not like i'm gonna tell anyone. you know what the word 'fuck' is. you're fourteen – every fourteen-year-old knows 'shit', 'fuck', and 'damn', at the very least. the last one's only for bible-study kids, but whatever, it counts."

he hushes you, glancing instinctively at his bedroom door. "he’s gonna hear you. shut up."

"he’s miles away. he’s not gonna hear me." you grin, letting him out. he grumbles, dusting himself off and crawling back under the covers. "actually, you never answered me. do you want to go to homecoming with me, or nah?"

"no. you're just gonna run off to your friends and leave me alone by the punch table like a dumbass."

you nudge him. "hey, look at you. that's the closest you've gotten to swearing. i'm proud of you." you sit back, leaning against his headboard and gazing around his dark bedroom at the shape of familiar furniture. "and i wouldn't do that. you're way more important than those fuckers with rich parents. they only tolerate my presence because i'm irrefutably good on the team and they'd never make it off of school grounds if i left."

"bringing out the big-boy words. you're so dreamy."

"which one? 'fuckers' or 'irrefutably'?"

"the second one. your parents must be so proud. d'you think they'd be mad if i duct-taped your lips shut and then hit you in the mouth?"

you scoff, affronted. "only if you'll hit me in the mouth first, then tape it. if i end up with blood in my mouth, i'd rather not swallow it."

"eugh."

"exactly my point."

you lean back, tipping your head backwards until it touches the wall. a scattering of glow-in-the-dark stars seem to swirl and move when you stare at a certain spot for too long. "so... you wouldn't want to go to the homecoming dance with me?"

"i didn't say that," he replies.

"you did. you even said 'no'."

he tuns his face away. "well, i was obviously joking..."

your gaze snaps to his dark silhouette. "so you would? go with me, i mean?"

"duh, hyung. i want to steal all of the expensive chocolate. you promised you'd sneak me in."

you sigh, dragging a hand over your face. "i don't mean it like that, jungkook. i mean it as in... would you go to the dance with me as my date?"

he turns over his shoulder, his face drawn and sleepy. "but we're both boys."

"you didn't seem to have much of an issue about it when you said yoojin wanted to go with me. you've also exclusively had crushes on guys, jungkook. it's kinda gay, dude."

he harrumphs, turning back around and shuffling deeper into the covers. "yeah, but i thought you're supposed to go with a girl. to match your tie to her dress, or whatever. like, how would we even do the, uh... the little flowers?"

"corsages? well, we could match them to the colour of our suits," you suggest, "or get the same flowers and match that way."

"complementary colours," jungkook murmurs. "same flowers, same design, just different colours. i think that'd look nice."

you smile to yourself, shifting down until you're snuggled deep in the soft, thick linens. "yeah, i think it would."

comforting silence falls in jungkook's bedroom for a while. his breaths are soft and even, and you wonder if he's fallen back asleep. he might not even remember this conversation tomorrow morning – you'll have to ask him again.

"hyung?" he whispers, a gentle exhalation of breath. he sounds almost... nervous. nervous, yet curious. "you awake?"

"yeah."

"can you ask me again?"

"ask you what?"

he sighs and flips around to face you, pushing his messy hair back from his forehead. his eyes shine in the darkness, and the edge of his face is rimmed by yellow light from the hallway, seeping in through the bottom of his door. "ask me to the dance. like, properly."

you turn your head. his eyes are trained on you expectantly. "oh. uh, i didn't plan anything fancy..."

he shrugs. "it's okay. i don't mind. just ask me."

you hum, grinning at his insistence. "alright. will you, jeon jungkook, go to the homecoming dance with me as my date?"

he smiles, too. it's smaller than yours, and he's glad that it's dark in the room – his warm cheeks would do nothing to aid him. you already tease him enough as it is. "yes, hyung. i'll go to the dance with you."

he tucks his face into the crook of his elbow, shivering slightly and tightening his grip on his pillow. you notice and shuffle closer. he leans into you, resting his face against your neck, and folds his arms around your waist. you throw an arm over his shoulders and tangle your legs together, squeezing him tightly as you bury your nose into his soft hair.

he smells like his shampoo – berry, because he said the scent made him hungry and it would encourage him to eat more and therefore grow more. you only grinned, patted his head, and told him to keep dreaming. he nearly threw the bottle at you in the store.

bang!

you both jump, bolting upright. it sounded very close – just outside.

"what was that?" jungkook's voice wavers.

"i – i don't know. did an owl hit the window?" you say uncertainly.

"big freaking owl," he whispers. he glances at you. "should we check it out? what if it's hurt?"

you nod, frowning. "you first, then, hero." you reach down for the duffel bag near the dresser and pull out a jacket, throwing it on. after a moment, jungkook follows, waiting for you by the bedroom door. you join him, and he cracks it open.

the hallway outside is lit by a single tall lamp at the end. jungkook steps out, peering into his parents' room. he glances back and shakes his head.

"dad's gone."

"maybe he went to investigate, too," you suggest, but it's weak. you heard no footsteps outside the door, and the floorboards by jungkook's room are notoriously creaky.

his hand searches for yours as you shuffle through the dark house. all of the curtains are closed, and the only light that illuminates the house are the pale lines of grey moonlight curving past the edges of blinds and the nightlights near the bathroom and kitchen. the shadows are tinged an eerie blue.

"what do we do if it's actually an animal?" jungkook murmurs. "do we call someone?"

"i guess... we'll find your dad after this."

you move towards the back of the house, where the noise came from. you push back the curtains.

an empty green backyard. the rotary clothesline spins slowly, creaking on an angle. the neighbour's dog begins to bark madly.

"i swore it came from here," you mutter. you turn. "jungkook?"

he steps out of the laundry room at the end of the hall. "i'm here. dad's not, though." he raises his voice. "dad? dad!"

in the distance, something booms, low and rumbling. you jump and jungkook runs back to you, grabbing your hand and pulling you towards a window. amongst the lights of the city, a pillar of fire billows into the night.

"oh, god," jungkook whispers. "i hope no one was hurt..."

"i'm sure they're alright," you reply hoarsely, struck by the colour of the flames. against the darkness, the licking flames almost look like warped, tensed hands, scratching and scrabbling for the heavens. "dad – your dad. maybe he went for your mom."

another boom rattles the windows, far closer than the last. you yank jungkook away from the window, hugging his shoulders to your chest, but the shockwave passes, and the glass steadies. slowly, you straighten, watching the fire spread to nearby buildings.

"that one's way too close for comfort," you laugh nervously, your pronounced adam's apple bobbing. "i'm gonna call my mom."

he nods rapidly. the landline sits between the kitchen and the living room, and you dial your home. your fingers drum against the table as the line rings and rings.

the line clatters. "hello?"

your heart drops back into your chest. you grip the phone. "mom! did you hear those explosions? are you okay? they're really close to jungkook's house and his dad's vanished. what's going on?"

"baby, just stay calm, okay? i need you to take care of jungkook. stay away from the windows and don't go outside. there's some sort of sickness going around and everyone's – they're not alright. wait for david and listen to him. he'll get you out of the city and we'll meet up, okay? i love you, baby – protect ju—"

the phone beeps in distress. it's dead.

the dog stops barking.

"mom?" you try, anyway. she doesn't reply. you lower the phone and your eyes flicker back to jungkook – he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, rubbing his arms.

"so?" he ventures. "what did she say?"

"i have to stay with you and your dad. we're gonna meet up when we get out of the city – she said that people are getting sick. badly."

police cars' sirens wail past the windows, and the flashing lights veer across the room's walls past the curtains.

jungkook gulps, his knuckles turning white. "sick? what kind of sick? are we sick?"

"no – no, we're not. we're okay." you squeeze his hand reassuringly. "let's go pack our stuff – mom said we have to leave the city and that your dad'll take us."

"o-okay, hyung."

in the backyard, a figure lumbers towards the siding doors behind you. jungkook squints, confused – are they hurt? do they need help?

they slam their fists against the glass with a cracked scream.

you flinch and jungkook stumbles away with a gasp. it's a young man – a familiar one, with shaggy brown hair and a bloody blue shirt.

"daniel?" jungkook stammers. he flinches as fists beat against the glass, bitten-off fingers leaving trails of wet black blood. "h-he needs help...!"

you grab his wrist and pull him away from the doors. "don't! mom said to stay inside. he might be sick!"

he screeches on the other side of the doors. he's not wearing any shoes, and his ankle is crushed and broken, twisted at an unnatural angle. he doesn't seem to care.

"what kind of sickness does that?" jungkook whispers, clutching your shirt. "rabies?"

he throws his shoulder at the glass with his arm raised by his side. his fingers point towards the glass and snap backwards against his knuckles with a sickening crack.

"leave, jungkook, we have to leave!"

"leave to where? dad's still missing!"

"i don't care where. we'll just – hide and close all the doors!"

at that moment, the side door flies open. jungkook's dad stands in the doorway, haggard and fully dressed. he staggers in, slamming the door behind him as daniel screeches – jungkook races up to him.

"dad! are you okay? you're bleeding!"

"it's not mine," he pants, grabbing jungkook by the arm and you by the shoulder. "c'mon – your mom's still in the city. we'll pick her up on the way out."

jungkook's eyes widen in realisation as david scans the porch and the street outside – dark and empty. a woman wails somewhere a few houses over. the car sits in the driveway, and david snatches the keys off of the buffet table beside the front door.

you pull open the door for jungkook and he slips in. you follow, and the engine revs and rumbles as david kicks it into motion. from around the house, daniel limps after the car with an outstretched hand, pale and black-veined. his face is contorted with empty, consuming hunger, snarling like a feral animal. he treads on the bloody stump of his broken ankle, dragging it at a right angle to his leg.

you tumble as the car pulls out of the driveway, crunching onto the loose gravel in the gutters, and fumble with the seatbelt, crossing it over jungkook's chest. his wide eyes and stiff shoulders are a clear precursor to his anxiety attacks.

you lean over, offering your hand. jungkook takes it with both of his and places it in his lap, crushing it tightly. you grip his fingers slowly, then release, over and over. his breathing steadies as he copies the rhythm.

"w-what... what if mom catches it?" he asks shakily. "she's gonna be close to everyone who's sick. will she become... like that? like daniel?"

"no," replies david, and you hear the waver in his voice as he ignores the road signs and takes the road into the city. "she won't. she's a good doctor – she'll know how to keep a patient sedated."

"he didn't have a foot but he was still chasing us, dad! i don't know if sedation will work for that kind of sickness," jungkook says in a small voice. "do you know where it came from?"

the car crests over a hill. david's blood-spattered hands shift around the wheel. "they're saying only people from the city are at risk. we're okay. how are you, yn? you holding up alright?"

"i'm fine." you glance at jungkook. "i managed to call my mom before the line went dead. she says you're going to meet up with her outside of the city. is it better outside? or is it everywhere?"

"i don't know," he sighs, pressing himself back in the seat. his crumpled dress shirt has the red imprint of a smudged hand on the shoulder. "there's no cell service and no signal anymore. before that, the alert said that there's a lockdown on the city. i think the, uh, illness is local, but i can't be certain. i just need to make sure you get to your family safely."

you nod with a swallow, sitting back. watching that man slam himself into the door... it was as if he didn't care for his body, and the way he lurched was as if he was pulled on strings. like a puppet.

the city streets burn with fires the size of buildings. the stench of rot and fear seeps into your pores. cars billow with smoke, wrapped around telephone poles. a flurry of action and reaction – people scream as pale, sickly hands tear at flesh and muscle, open maws snapping and snarling. a man begs for help, and you turn jungkook's face into your shoulder as three mouths gnaw at the stumps of his arms and leg. he screams, high and piercing, as their blunt fingers punch into his stomach, curling and pulling.

bright headlights. your eyes widen. "look out—!"

"jungkook, it's time to wake up."

pale light. the weight of a hand on his shoulder.

his eyes flutter open.

taehyung's lips tick up, a sympathetic shimmer in his eyes. "good morning. sun's out. you, um, talk in your sleep."

jungkook sits up. rolls his neck. it cracks and he winces. "so i've heard. did i annoy you?"

taehyung shakes his head, retreating as jungkook reaches for his jacket, which he'd folded beneath his head for the night. "no. i generally don't get much rest." he takes a seat on the edge of the busted couch, faded grey with age. springs poke up out of the yellow stuffing. he watches jungkook pack up his backpack and check his ammo, sliding the handgun into the back of his jeans.

"who's yn?"

jungkook's eyes flick up sharply.

taehyung folds his hands and nods, diverting his gaze. "sorry."

jungkook finishes packing up in silence. he feels it like the present – your hands on his, the uncertainty of your eyes but your reassuring smile. sometimes he still wakes up and expects to see you next to him, snoring away while his father flips pancakes in the kitchen.

"i think we should hit the mall," taehyung suggests eventually. "there might be something of value there that we can keep."

"and risk getting overrun by infected? fat chance."

taehyung flips his knife idly. "órale. but it's called risk and reward for a reason. if everyone thinks like you, the place could be a treasure trove."

jungkook shrugs on his backpack. he nods. "fine. we need medicine, anyway, and i think i saw a pharmacy in there. if i'm bitten, don't use it on me. i'll head off my own way."

taehyung's brow twitches into a frown. "okay."

ten minutes later, they find themselves in the pharmacy jungkook spotted earlier. it was full of painkillers and antibiotics, bandages and anaesthetics. it was like heaven. the security shutters had been pulled down, but the rusted locks were easy to break – the darkness inside smells stale and dry and there is no sign of the infected or their spores, which is a nice reprieve from the groaning and clicking echoing in the mall outside.

jungkook holds his breath as the twitching shadow of a clicker passes dangerously close to the entrance. the characteristic spine-tingling vocalisations freeze taehyung in place, daring not even to shift the bottle of pills halfway to his backpack.

the shadow pauses right by the shutters. it screeches. jungkook can imagine the soundwaves rippling off of the environment, bouncing back to the awful bony protrusions bursting out of the front of their skulls.

it shuffles away, clicking with each step. a bottle smashes.

a runner screams, alert, the sound shocking through the mall. the sound of a hundred infected stumbling towards the source stampedes past the pharmacy, and jungkook's eyes widen as the agile shadows flit by under the security door.

at the other end of the mall, where they entered, a man yells out – in pain or fear, jungkook doesn't know. multiple gunshots fire at once, and different voices call out in a blind panic: who made the noise? where are they coming from? they're surrounded!

then, all at once, the shouting stops. no bullets fly.

taehyung creeps towards the security door. he lowers himself to his stomach, peeking beneath the sheets of steel.

he lifts his head, meeting jungkook's gaze. he shakes his head.

jungkook releases a silent breath. fuck. they'll have to find another way out.

on the bright side, most of the infected should now be concentrated around the main entrance. the only problem? according to the deteriorating map, the mall only has two exits: one blocked by the swarm of infected, and the other below ground in the parking lot. said parking lot was flooded, and the nearest entry into it was through a massive, gaping hole in the middle of the tiled floor, where years of rainfall through the broken glass ceiling had worn away the ground into a sinkhole.

after triple-checking the store and soundproofing their bags, they slip under the shutters one at a time, taking it in turns to lift the shutters just enough to get their shoulders through. a clicker lurches out of a fashion boutique – or what was once a fashion boutique. the mannequins in the window are still dressed in stylish dresses, and the poster of a thin blonde curls off of the wall.

before the clicker can force a searching screech through its ruined vocal chords, taehyung slams his knife into the centre of its blooming fungal growth, twisting the blade until its bony fingers stop pulling at his clothes.

runners bleed. clickers do not. jungkook used to fear runners the most, hearing them sob and whimper with intact voices. he used to wonder who was crying – the fungus, or a human?

he does not wonder such things anymore.

taehyung descends into the hole in the floor, his gun in hand. his torch swivels over the dark interior, and the water is clear and has no bad scent, meaning that it could be coming from somewhere else – like an exit.

taehyung beckons jungkook down. jungkook clicks on the torch slipped into the strap of his backpack and drops over the ledge, his fingers slipping on the wet tiles. he wipes his palms on his jeans, reaching for his handgun.

his eyes flicker over the looming shadows. the reflection of their torchlight in the water keeps prying at his attention, too much like the flash of bioluminescence to ignore.

tentatively, jungkook steps into the water from the collapsed section of the mall, his gun aloft. he takes another step, and another, until the ground flattens out. the water laps around his calves, and the slushing of every movement is far too loud.

something skitters.

both flashlights whirl in its direction. near a submerged car, visible only from the top of the rusted hood upwards, the water ripples.

the parking lot must spiral down into several floors, given the height of the water on the car. there might be a way out deeper down – maybe the water comes from the nearby river.

they can't investigate. not when they're not alone.

jungkook turns over his shoulder and jerks his head towards the shadows. taehyung nods, shifting his hand on the grip of his gun, and steps into the water behind jungkook.

there are so many pillars, and a significant number of cars and corners. they move through the darkness with their weapons up. jungkook's heartbeat thuds in his veins.

in the far corner is a rusty rolling door, wide enough to fit two cars. the ground begins to incline, and jungkook prays to whatever god there may be that past the door is daylight. he turns, his boots leaving prints on the dry concrete, and scans the garage. nothing moves.

he slips his gun into his belt and crouches, leveraging his fingers under the edge of the door. taehyung glances over his shoulder as jungkook grunts softly, straining. "need help?" he mutters.

jungkook tries again, pulling until his arms begin to tremble, and huffs as he leans back, lifting his torch and scanning the top of the door. the gears are rusted shut – worse than the door itself. old fungal growth crunches in the corner and the body collapsed in the corner is a jumble of bone, far past any danger of infection.

"we're not getting out this way," he replies quietly, rising to his feet and grabbing his gun. "we need to find another exit."

"what other exit?" taehyung asks. "the map gave us two, and neither is viable."

"yeah, hold on..." jungkook wracks his brain. the cold, damp, wet silence of the lot isn't helping, and he keeps spotting movement in the corner of his eyes that vanishes when he looks over. rippling water and the flash of eyes smooth out once he squints in its direction. he worries his lower lip between his teeth.

his eyes widen. "maintenance. there might be a maintenance tunnel we could use, or some sort of back entry for stock and shipments. it wouldn't be on the map but there’s bound to be one around."

"ah, por supuesto. we'd just have to head back up for that, get lucky and find a 'staff only' door that isn't locked up, actually leads to something, and not get swarmed by those damn runners while doing it all,” he states with a sarcastic edge, his jaw taut. something slinks past his shoulder and he whips around, aiming down the sights at disturbed water. his torchlight catches the flash of a desiccated hand and the edge of a blossoming fungal flower around the corner of a pillar. a single vein of bioluminescence reflects in the water, then vanishes.

he inches back towards jungkook, his boots splashing with every shift. his eyes dart around. his grip tightens on his gun. “¡madres! i don’t think these fuckers are gonna leave us alone for much longer. they’re doing the creepy fucking thing with their heads. i‘m gonna have to start shooting soon and i don’t wanna see how many there really are.”

"we either go up, or..." jungkook's gaze swings over back the way they came, towards the submerged car. "i think i saw a door there. open. how much to bet that it's our maintenance tunnel?"

taehyung's eyes follow his. his shoulders slump. "we're gonna have to swim...?"

shrugging, jungkook steps in front of him and licks his lips. he reaches up, pulling his dark curls to the back of his head. "you'd rather deal with clickers, runners, and hunters – or stalkers?"

taehyung's lips tighten. after a beat, he trails after jungkook. "i fucking hate this..."

swimming is the easy part, even when the water exceeds the height of the doors. the hard part becomes evident once they find solid ground.

the stench assaults jungkook's senses. his eyes water from the stink of decay, like overripe fruit and something far worse. he covers his nose and mouth, but nothing blocks the foul odour of cadaverine in a hallway of fresh, rotting bodies.

there are no flies – most of the damage seems to have come from the rats that squeak and disappear into nooks and crannies the moment that torchlight shines on their fat little bodies. behind him, taehyung retches, coughing and leaning heavily against the damp wall.

jungkook inspects the bodies. some lay face-down as if they'd fallen while running. others sit up against the walls, a variety of rifles, machetes, and bats scattered near their hands. the grey skin seems to have sunken closer to the bone as if the muscles beneath had been sucked out. several chests have been torn open to reveal half-eaten innards.

jeans, jackets, hats. civilians. hunters, most likely, based on the size of the group.

without a word, jungkook grabs taehyung's arm and pulls him through the bodies lining the curving hallway. they begin to thin out once jungkook makes a few twists and turns, and the maze-like tunnels all look the same. jungkook only stops once he can open his mouth without gagging.

taehyung looks ill. his face is pale under the beam of the torch.

"that was a massacre," jungkook says. "it wasn't starvation – or thirst."

taehyung nods unsteadily. "there were so many... so many bodies."

"they were hunters, taehyung. they were bad people."

taehyung glances back the way they came. "i guess so..."

jungkook takes his arm again, leading the way as he searches for something to tell him where they are. the walls are slick with algae, and some tunnels have collapsed with the weight of the water. jungkook knows they're getting somewhere when the sound of trickling water begins to fade.

at last, after several inclines, a set of steps, and several ducks through broken walls, the walls begin to dry, and the air smells fresher. hope sparks in his chest and taehyung feels it, too, hurrying forward in front of jungkook.

they turn a corner. the tunnel opens up into a dead end.

jungkook sighs, turning back to retrace their steps and try another route. but taehyung, ever the optimist, surges forward and inspects the walls closely, pressing his hands to the cold concrete. he squints upwards, following a series of rusted copper pipes.

"hey, jungkook."

he pauses. "what?"

"i think there's an opening up here, but i can't reach it. can you boost me?"

"an opening?" he doubles back. "where?"

taehyung points. over a shallow ledge, a darker section of shadow retreats into the wall. "boost me up, brother."

jungkook laces his fingers together and braces against the wall. taehyung isn't heavy, but he's still soaked thoroughly, and the wet slide of denim makes jungkook grimace. taehyung feels it, cursing in spanish as he shuffles along the narrow ledge.

he slides off his backpack. "hey, hold my bag. i need the space. be careful with that – it’s my baby."

“damn, i’ll catch it, alright? no need to get your knickers in a twist.”

“será mejor que sí,” taehyung mutters to himself. his hand vanishes into the hole but stops abruptly, sliding along what seems like a wall – until he gives a hard shove, and the wall creaks and gives way.

taehyung's face scrunches as he presses both hands against it, managing to shove his arms around the corner. he pulls, and it slides with a scrape.

pale light sneaks through the gap.

"hey, we're getting somewhere," taehyung pants, shaking out his hands as he draws them back through the hole. "catch me if i fall, okay? this pretty face deserves to live."

he grips the edge of the ledge and drops his body over it, then swings his legs up on his other side. he sits up, hooking his hands around the edges of the hole he'd cleared, and pushes his weight against his feet, planted firmly on the blockage. slowly but surely, it gives, and with a final grunt of effort, taehyung creates a gap large enough to squeeze through.

"et voilà, or whatever," he laughs breathlessly. "gimme my bag. my gun's in it."

he snatches it out of the air, hugging it to his chest and sighing in relief. "thank god, you're safe. my precious baby. if anyone steals you, i’ll unleash hell on ‘em."

he stuffs it through the gap and follows it, slipping most of his body through but turning onto his stomach halfway through. he lowers a hand. "i hope you're not as heavy as you look, ese. otherwise, i might have to leave you behind."

"like hell you will," jungkook scoffs, stepping back for a run-up and catching his hand. "get out of the way and shove that thing a little more."

"yeah, yeah." he disappears, and now that jungkook's close, he can tell that it's wood – some sort of cupboard or drawer. "ugh, heavy piece of shit... can you fit your ass through that?"

"i think so."

for once in his life, he's right. he blinks, his eyes adjusting to the light, and notices he's in an apartment: old, stained, but dry and clean. the kitchen is full of food supplies, plus a camping stove – jungkook pulls out his gun.

"check the bathroom. i'll take the bedroom," taehyung mutters, following jungkook's lead.

the bathroom has been modified, jungkook notices. a tank of water rests on a few sturdy planks, its tap facing down into the shower, and an empty bucket sits under it. the mirror above the sink is cracked and dirty at the seams, but wiped down enough to see his reflection for the first time in a week.

dirt, mud, and old blood stain his clothes. his skin, golden-brown, looks surprisingly clean – that dip in the parking garage did wonders. the only thing he has to worry about now is the potential for worms that eat his eyeballs.

he exits the bathroom at the same time taehyung returns with a fresh outfit, rubbing down his hair furiously with a t-shirt. the clothes are too large – his raised arms reveal his thin hips and the tight belt he has to use on the jeans. he'd been skin and bones when they first crossed each other's paths, and jungkook didn't want to ask why.

"there're enough for you, too," he says when he spots jungkook, "in the wardrobe. i took dibs on the leather jacket; i hope you don't mind."

"it better not smell like corpses," jungkook replies wryly, peeking into the bedroom. it's small, with a bed and a cabinet. the cabinet has the distinctive shape of the bottom of a television printed into its wood from the sun.

he opens the wardrobe, not expecting much. it's hard to find practical clothes that fit, and every year, it's even harder – not just the search, either. he remembers finding tiny onesies displayed at a memorial altar in a dirty, peach-coloured bedroom, with a faded mobile swinging above a crib. the candles were long dead, and the shattered photo frame of a woman and a little, pink-faced newborn sat central to it all.

he shakes his head, pulling on his still-damp boots. no time to think about that kind of thing.

"we're close to a q-z, did you know?" taehyung comments when jungkook emerges, dressed in a hoodie and a thick flannel jacket. he gazes out of the window, one leg swinging absently. "right there. you can see the lights."

"you can head there if you like. no idea if they won't just kill you on sight, but once you're in, the soldiers will do all the shooting for you."

"and fight over stupid ration cards?" taehyung clicks his tongue. "bullies and assholes, all of 'em. i'd rather get into a knife fight with a moose."

"you'd never win. do you know how fucking huge moose are?"

"no, man, it's easy. you just grab their antlers and hang on while you stick 'em in the eyes and go right for the brain."

jungkook scoffs, though it almost sounds like a laugh. taehyung quirks a smile, turning towards the quarantine zone once more. his face slackens, and he leans back against the window sill. "can we just... stay here for a while? i'm really tired, ese."

jungkook sighs. "we can't. especially not here. someone lives here, and i'm sure they won't take kindly to our presence. we'll be goldilocks, and based on the size of these clothes and how much food they have, i don't doubt that this person could take on a bear and win."

"imagine," taehyung chuckles, "you saying that, and then it is a tiny child you could punt like a football."

"yeah, there're no kids here."

they whip around, reaching for their weapons, but the man in front of them tilts his head, as if in challenge. in his hands, held low at his hip, is a military-standard twelve-gauge shotgun. he steps forward, blocking taehyung's backpack on the bench. "hi," he says without a smile. "you need to leave. right now."

"hey, carnal! ¿qué se te ofrece?" taehyung chuckles mirthlessly, eyeing his bag behind the stranger's heels. he raises his open hands. "i've got medicine. if you'll give me my shit, i'll give you a bottle of penicillin, and we'll be on our way."

jungkook tenses at taehyung's casual, almost threatening tone. the fucker has a shotgun out – it would rip through them like wet paper.

his gaze flickers between them. a shiny scar crosses the side of his face, trailing down into the collar of his jacket. "don't need it. why are you wearing my clothes?"

jungkook's heart drops like a stone. fuck! fuck fuck fuckity fuck! "let's just all relax." he lifts his hands slowly. "we're sorry for barging in. we got lost and this was the only exit we could find."

taehyung's eyes flit to the hole in the wall. he points, as if snitching on a misbehaving classmate. "did you know you had a hole there?"

the man moves the shotgun in his grasp, shifting into a more casual stance, almost friendly. jungkook closes his eyes.

they're going to die.

"i know," he says. "leads to the q-z. helps me smuggle shit in and out. you'd be amazed at the gold they'll give me for a pack of cigs."

"i would kill for a cigarette," taehyung sighs wistfully. "you wouldn't have one on hand, would you?"

the man glances between them, his tongue sliding over his front teeth. his lips twitch, nearly a smirk, and he kicks taehyung's bag back towards the bench in the kitchen. "come sit, you two. been a while since i had guests."

taehyung nudges jungkook when he moves past, keeping his hands in sight as he pulls out a chair in the kitchen. he places his palms on the table, widening his eyes emphatically at jungkook.

with a slow exhale, he obliges, taking the seat nearest to the stranger. he copies taehyung, clasping his hands loosely in front of him.

the man swings his bag off of his shoulder onto the bench, unzipping it. he sets his shotgun beside him, not taking his eyes off of them. "so, you're q-z people wanting out? still doesn't explain why you've stolen my clothes."

"we're not," jungkook replies. the man picks up a square white packet, plucking a single stick from it, and lights it with a steel lighter from the pocket of his jeans. the tip flares to life, burning bright orange, and he places it between his lips. "we're from out of town. didn't mean to get anywhere near here."

he pulls the cigarette away, exhaling a curling bloom of grey smoke. "and where did you mean to go? i'm pretty good at getting places i ain't supposed to be. i could help you."

he steps closer, extending the cigarette to taehyung. he eyes it and licks his lips nervously, but accepts it, placing it between his lips under the stranger's watchful eye. he nods, leaning back, and taehyung allows the bitterness of a fresh, proper cigarette to warm his lungs.

"just to the shopping centre nearby," jungkook explains. "we were looking for supplies, but a horde of infected cut us off. we found a tunnel and eventually ended up here."

his head tilts, and he crosses his arms. jungkook manages to retain eye contact despite his head shouting at him to submit and defer.

"you didn't happen across some hunters who were torn to pieces by a pack of clickers, did you?"

they glance at each other in alarm. jungkook's hands itch for that cigarette. "we... did. we heard it happen from the pharmacy."

the man hums. "you're not here to join the q-z, you're not here to escape the q-z, and you're not about to try to kill me for my shoes. i've made worse acquaintances. either of you fancy a can of bacon for dinner?"

"i might kill you for your shoes," taehyung butts in, taking another drag from the cigarette. "we could be hunters."

the man chuckles, and it's a surprisingly nice sound. it's melodic and warm. "hunters don't come in twos, and they certainly don't try to bargain as a first plan of action. now – bacon?"

they swap a glance, and jungkook notices the hesitance in taehyung's expression. hesitance means doubt, and doubt means that some part of him wants that bacon.

jungkook responds eventually: "sure. we'll take it." his eyes flicker again to taehyung, and he cracks his knuckles one by one to soothe his nerves. "you wouldn't be able to spare a drink, would you? my, uh, companion – he could use some water."

if he blinked, he'd have missed the slight shine in the man's eyes as he turns away. "yes, of course. here."

he tosses a water bottle taehyung's way, who catches it with the cigarette between his lips. hastily, he passes it to jungkook, barely getting all of the smoke out of his lungs before he chugs the water, sculling half of it in one breath. he pants softly, closing his eyes.

"you too, ponytail." a mug slides towards jungkook. "i don't have another bottle, but the water's safe."

he doesn't even stop to think. his paranoia lies silent at the sight of water, and it flows down his gullet before another thought passes through his mind.

it's been days since he last tasted clean water. it's the best thing in the world – better than cigarettes, better than bacon – and he feels its effects immediately, clearing his mind and making it easier to formulate his thoughts. it no longer feels like an effort to string together a sentence.

it's almost like a drug. when he comes to, he notices the man staring at him with an unreadable expression.

he reaches out. jungkook's body doesn't flinch, as if it knows, intimately and intrinsically, that he means no harm.

his callused thumb brushes a trail of water from his chin. his touch lingers, as if trying to figure him out – trying to find familiarity in the unknown.

he pulls away. "sorry. you... look like someone i knew."

it's a while before jungkook finds his voice. "oh," he whispers. he clears his throat, sitting up. "it's fine. we've all lost people we loved." he lifts his gaze, finding the stranger already looking back at him.

he seems to snap out of it, pushing himself off of the bench. he opens the cupboard and takes down a couple of cans of food, placing them on the table. "take these with you. if there's nothing else you need, you should take the north exit. patrols don't take that path and i cleared it out a few days ago, so you shouldn't encounter much for the first few miles. keep north and you should be out of the city before nightfall."

"thank you," taehyung says after a moment, glancing at jungkook when he doesn't say a word. he's staring at the man as if he's seen a ghost. "thanks for the food and water. and the cigarette." jungkook is still holding it. "we'll get out of your hair. ahem. you coming?"

his gaze snaps to taehyung's. he hurries out of the seat. "uh, right. yeah."

he extends the cigarette. the stranger takes it with a dip of his chin. he places it between his teeth, and the end burns brightly in the thin afternoon light.

as they take the front door, something buried deep and unmoveable in jungkook's psyche tugs at his will. he pauses. he turns, watching as the man puffs a perfect smoky ring into the air. it twists and curls before dissipating.

his lips part.

it slips past his teeth, your name. your name, like candied cherries – like round ice cubes, like sugary fruit jellies, a bittersweet novelty he dreams of each night.

you gaze at him with eyes of glass: eyes of stained glass, the towering panes of martyrs and patron saints – shattered, cracked with neglect and smothered by cold, grim nights.

but, when morning inevitably rises, the remnants of colour paint the pews with the glow of the sun, and jungkook is struck by every poetic, shallow, beautiful thing you have ever made him feel.

your eyes narrow, and the ashes from the butt of the cigarette flutter down to rest on the stone countertop as you stand straighter. "what'd you say?"

"jungkook," taehyung hisses through his teeth. "what are you doing?"

"that's your name," jungkook says quietly, stepping closer, "isn't it... hyung?"

your eyes flicker over his face – his eyelids, his nose, his jawline, the crease at the corner of his mouth and the soft upward tilt of the corners of his lips.

your thumb strokes the outline of his jaw, and he feels the tremble against his skin. he closes his eyes, pressing your palm to his cheek. the soft sound of your sharp inhale tugs at his heart.

"you're alive," you whisper hoarsely, raking your gaze over him, again and again, to carve his image into the back of your eyelids. the pale scar on his cheek is still there. "all this time, i – i thought—"

"it's okay, hyung," he sniffles, his eyes stinging. he throws his arms around you and you crash into each other, fingers digging painfully into each other's shoulders – flesh and bone, warm and beating. "you made it, too. we both made it. i'm so proud of us."

you close your eyes, burying your nose into his neck. he smells like sweat and effort, and his damp hair is full of grit. but he's warm and real, trembling in your arms as if you're ten years old all over again.

"my jungkook, my little jungkook," you murmur, chanting his name like a prayer, your lips pressed against his skin. you chuckle, and your eyes are damp. "not so little anymore, huh?"

he giggles wetly, his smile wobbling, and shakes his head. "'m always your kookie, hyung. 'm always your protector – i promised, didn't i?"

"you did," you exhale shakily, learning the new shape of him, where his shoulders align and where his face best fits against your neck. "my fierce little hero... i'm so glad you're home."

—

jungkook stares down at you, watching the even rise and fall of your chest with soft eyes. he cups your cheek in his palm, his lips twitching up as you lean into it unconsciously. his smile fades as he traces the outline of the burns trailing up your neck and lower jaw, ending just shy of the corner of your eye. the skin is soft and shiny, stretched with the years gone by.

he should have fought harder to stay with you.

in the corner of the room, sitting up between two cabinets, taehyung quietly refills his clips, sorting out the ammo they managed to come across. you had shared your stocks with them, and they'd been amazed at how much was stacked up in your wardrobe – apparently, trading for bullets was one of your main systems of barter.

"you should be sleeping," taehyung says, snapping the filled magazine into his handgun. he reaches for his bolt-action rifle, emptying the chamber. "i said that i'd take first watch."

"i don't feel tired," jungkook murmurs, brushing your hair from your lashes. "you can rest, if you want. i just..." he draws in a shaky breath, reaching down for your hand. he grips it, the slender tendons in his hand tensing and shifting. "i want to make sure he's alright."

taehyung speaks up: "how do you know each other? was this before... before everything went to shit?" he lifts his eyes above the rifle. “he your boyfriend?”

jungkook strokes shapes into the soft skin between your thumb and forefinger. "i've known him since before i could talk. i always loved him – but puberty makes everything weird, you know?" he chuckles to himself. "we weren't dating. not really. i was fourteen and scared of my own shadow, and i trusted the wrong people. they took me away from him and forbade i ever try to see him again, 'cause he wasn't one of us. they said they'd kill him if i tried. i thought i'd gained a family, but all i did was lose the only person i had left."

absently, he plays with your hair. touching you, feeling the warmth of your breath and the solid weight of your body, is the only way he can prove to himself that he isn't haunted by dreams of you.

"he's my everything," he whispers, his lips barely moving. his smile trembles and he lowers his head, pressing the backs of your knuckles against his lips and forehead. "my everything..."

your fingers squeeze his – gently, firmly. "don't blame yourself, hero. you did what you thought was right."

"i thought i could protect you," he sniffles. "i saw how they treated you, hyung. if – if i had a gun, if i had friends, i could get you out of there. but you were – you were hurt, i wasn't strong enough to carry you, i had no idea how to care for you... so i just... i just..."

out of the corner of your eye, the shadow of a man moves quietly out of the room. the door is no more – he moves into the kitchen, as far away from the bedroom as possible.

you hush him gently, sitting up. your knees cage his, and he feels small – tiny, young. as if everything bad will disappear if he hugs you hard enough. your lips nudge his cheek, warm and softer than he'd imagine. the scar shifts when you smile, so familiar that it aches like a bullet, but you no longer wince, no longer buckle under the pain.

he turns his face towards you like a flower to the sun. he slips his fingers around your nape, guiding your lips to his.

he's never kissed anyone before. it's never been a priority, what with all the infected chasing his guts. but, god, how he's thankful you are his first.

he's messy, awkward, bumping noses and clicking teeth. you tilt your head and pull him into you, his ear bordered by your thumb and forefinger. the lobe still has the tiny pockmark of an earring long gone – he'd been so excited, beaming with pride at the fact that he could now partake in his mother's morning ritual of choosing what silver matches which shirt.

you part, panting softly against each other's lips. the faint pale light filling the room illuminates him like a ghost – a memory, blurred around the edges.

you chuckle softly, stroking his cheek. the pad of your thumb swipes gently over his lower lip. "you really stink."

he laughs, giving your wrists a brief squeeze. "sorry. swam through shit to get here."

you lift a brow. "actual shit?"

"i fucking hope not."

you grin, taking the point of his chin between your fingers and bringing him to your lips once more. he sighs into it, fingers curling tightly in your thin grey shirt. your jacket is heavy around his shoulders, and feels kinder, warmer, than what he chose out of your wardrobe. he doesn't know why – you've certainly worn that jacket before, and he knew it belonged to you. he doesn't know why stealing things off of your back makes him feel more loved than stealing things off of your shelf.

"do you remember?" he whispers. "when we were little?"

"what about it?"

he bathes in your presence, your warmth. your hands are rough and callused, covered in scar tissue, but so are his. both of you have been through hell and back to stand where you are now. but where that is? it's together, standing in the same building, the same room, breathing the same fucked-up air that likes to carry extinction on its back.

"we promised we'd protect each other, forever and ever," he hums, linking his fingers with yours. he compares hand sizes with a soft smile. "well, i promised, at least. you might've just said it to stop me from throwing a tantrum. i'd like to keep that promise... if you'd let me."

"jungkook..."

"i know, i know," he interrupts hastily, "you don't want me to get hurt. but it's the end of the fucking world – if we're all gonna die, i'd rather die beside you than with that idiot outside. i don't even know spanish. i don't think he knows that."

"you took two years of french, you can guess," you snicker good-naturedly. "but, if you need it, i am here. here is an offer – why don't you ask the kid outside to join me and you? you seem to trust him and he's got balls of steel, talking like that to someone pointing a shotgun at their chest. i could, well, teach you my ways."

"your ways?" he tilts his head. "smuggling, you mean?"

you shrug. "it's definitely better than being a scav and surviving on moss and tree bark. if you really wanna leave – well, i won't stop you. but i'm not letting you out of my damn sight. might run off on me again."

"i won't run," he promises, placing a kiss on the curve of your throat. "and i'll only tell taehyung your offer if you can get him to stop talking like he does. he says the same phrases in spanish all the time, and i'm never closer to understanding what they mean."

you nudge his shoulder. "you call me 'hyung' all the time, hero. bit hypocritical, don't you think?"

he lets out a dismissive noise. "yeah, okay..."

"that's what i thought. now be a dear and go offer him a place to stay. you'll be in danger of getting shot at a little more, but the payoff's pretty good. i haven't had to worry about running out of ammo since i began, and quite a number of people are willing to trade their rations."

he smacks your shoulder as he stands. "so that's how you haven't yet been whittled down to a stick. you promise people the impossible."

"not impossible." you rise to your feet, following him. "i say i'll get them out of the city and i do. their survival beyond that is none of my concern."

he giggles softly, lacing your fingers together. "hard-ass. i like that in a man."

"yeah? i like a man who—"

an emphasised cough.

both of you turn. sitting on the windowsill, his boots rocking a chair back and forth on its hind legs, is taehyung. he lifts his hand to the cigarette between his lips. the end flares brightly in the dim room.

"so," he puffs through a cloud of smoke, "i take it that you've made up. or made out. both, probably." he turns towards jungkook. "you got a plan, brother? it's getting dark out."

briefly, jungkook goes over it with him. his eyes widen further with every sentence.

"smuggling? you want me to be discreet?" he asks. "that's like asking a fish to climb a tree. i don't think i can – i'm sorry. i'd just put both of you at risk."

"once upon a time, jungkook couldn't sleep without a nightlight, but now you tell me he's the one storming into flooded parking lots festering with stalkers. i'm sure i can get you to shut your mouth for an hour or two while we go trade with a couple of my people."

"we?" jungkook glances at you.

you cross your arms, lifting a shoulder. "you wanted to learn. just so happens that i have a deal lined up for later tonight with a few guys inside the q-z. it's easy," you tell them when they share a dubious glance. "i'm heading out at first light to deliver the package. consider tonight a taste of tomorrow – if you decide you want in."

"i'm with you until the end of time," jungkook murmurs, resting his head against your shoulder. "gross poetry coming from me, i know. but it's true."

you kiss his temple. he smiles into your shirt.

"ah, for fuck's sake, nos van a meter al bote," taehyung mutters. he flicks the short stump of the cigarette, drained as far as he dares, into the ashtray, stamping out the flame. "do they even arrest people anymore? or is it just a small-calibre to the head?"

you reach forward, catching the chair before it slips and falls. you right it, pushing it under the table. "i wouldn't know. i've never been arrested."

"but you've been in there, right?" taehyung gestures to the quarantine zone. "surely you've seen someone get cuffed, and not in a sexy way."

"the last time i was in one of them, i was a teenager," you say simply, "and confined to medical. you can trust me, taehyung – i've been doing this since forever. besides, would you rather die from a bullet to the brain or be torn apart by a pack of clickers?"

he mutters begrudgingly, "the former." he jumps to his feet, stretching high above his head until his back pops. "very well. you've got me. i'll be your third wheel, but promise me that any and all displays of affection will be kept private – or at least in a corner that i am not in. ¿queda claro?"

"yes, it's clear," you say, amused. "alrighty, then – grab only what you'd need to protect yourself in case we're cornered. the rest you can leave behind, and i promise that it'll be here when we return."

while taehyung empties his backpack, swapping his rifle for a fine-looking machete he'd found in your room, you take jungkook by the hands, pressing your forehead against his. he hums softly, closing his eyes.

"i've missed you like hell," he whispers, stroking the delicate skin of your inner elbow. "i feel like i can do anything, now."

"careful, hero," you chuckle, pressing your lips to his to relish in his beating, tangible solidness. "you might just burn the world to keep us warm."

#jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook x male reader #jeon jungkook x male reader #jungkook x reader #bts x male reader #bts x reader #kpop x male reader #x male reader #male reader #m!reader #1k event

172 notes · View notes