#Johnny silverhand smut

[gogogodzilla]

day 18, orgasm control

johnny silverhand x reader warnings: nsfw 18+,dirty talk, creampie, fingering, light angst at the end, johnny doesn't have a body but he also does???, reader is referred to as "v" kinktober ☠︎︎ main masterlist ☠︎︎ read on ao3

Johnny Silverhand was a parasite. But, he was your parasite, and as much as you wanted to hate his constant presence, it comforted you in a way. 

You tossed and turned under your thin covers, frustration brewing in your chest. Your mind raced with all the ways you could lull yourself into the unconsciousness you so desperately craved. 

Finally, you landed on an option, and you scanned your apartment, checking for that annoying figment of your imagination. He was nowhere to be found; you couldn’t even feel the slight burn from the smoke of his cigarettes in the back of your throat. 

You cautiously slipped a hand under your sleep shorts, waiting for him to appear in your peripherals. Slowly, you relaxed and began drawing slow circles onto your clit. You bit your lip, your frustration growing when you couldn’t get the right angle. 

You shimmied out of your shorts and underwear and kicked your blanket to the side. A sigh left your lips as you spread your legs, goosebumps covering your body as the nighttime air hit you. You tugged your shirt over your head and threw it to the side, moving a hand up to knead your breast while the other slid through your folds. 

You dipped a finger into your entrance before circling back up to your clit, teasing yourself. It’d been too damn long since you’d had any action, and you were close already. 

You slid a finger inside yourself and pumped it a few times before adding another one, stretching yourself. You extended your thumb to glide across your clit. The sounds of your core squelching with your movements filled the room, and you arched against the mattress. 

Your movements became hurried as your climax rapidly approached. You were so fucking close. 

“Damn, V,” Johnny breathed from the other side of your room, and your legs snapped shut. 

Your eyes darted open and met his, and you scrambled to cover yourself. His arms were crossed as he leaned against your bedroom wall, eyes scanning over your body. 

He shrugged, “Don’t stop on my account. I was enjoying the show.” 

“Fuck off, Johnny,” you snapped, pulling your covers closer. “You ruin everything.” 

He tsked and disappeared for just a moment before his form flashed to the end of your bed. He leaned back onto his hands and turned his head to look at you over his sunglasses. 

“I could tell how close you were, V. It’s a shame I couldn’t watch you cum all over those pretty fingers,” he hummed, and you couldn’t deny how your core ached at his words. 

You huffed and rolled your eyes, your dripping core contrasting your annoyance towards him. 

He disappeared once again and you thought you’d gotten rid of him for the night before he appeared, kneeling in front of your covered legs. His sunglasses were tucked neatly into his vest, allowing you to meet his eyes.

“Lemme help you,” he urged, a corporeal hand sliding up your calf. You knew he wasn’t actually there with you but, damn, it felt real. You still couldn’t wrap your head around how real his touch felt against your skin, but you’d given up trying to figure it out a long time ago. 

You relaxed in his touch and bit your lip. “I was doing just fine without you.” 

“I know,” he replied, breathless as his hand skated across your thigh. His free hand tugged away the covers to reveal your naked form. You instinctively moved to cover yourself with your hands, but he pulled them away. 

He nudged your shoulder so you were lying down, and he took up the space between your thighs. He ran his hands over your thighs, the cool metal of his hand making your muscles twitch under his touch. 

His hand moved to swipe through your folds, collecting your slick onto his fingertips. He circled your clit, and you arched against his touch, whining a little. His metal hand moved up to cup your breast, rolling your nipple between two of his fingers. 

He sunk a finger into your core, pumping it a few times. A breathy whine escaped you as he took his time with you. You’d expected Johnny to be the type of guy to get right to it when it came to fucking you. Clearly, you were wrong. 

His finger was quickly joined by another one, and you let a sigh as he worked you toward your release. 

He palmed himself through his jeans as he watched your greedy pussy swallow his fingers. He extended his thumb to rub against your clit, and a breathy moan left you. 

“You ever think about me while you’re playing with yourself, baby?” he questioned as he jutted his fingers deeper inside you. 

You nodded, reliving all the times your mind drifted to him while you touched yourself, wishing it was him instead. He groaned at your response and curled his fingers inside of you, reaching that spot that had your toes curling. 

Your release was dangerously close, and your walls fluttered against Johnny’s fingers. He panted as he continued to drive his fingers into your seeping core, filling your tiny bedroom with lewd noises. 

You rested a hand on his forearm, desperate to touch him. Just as you were about to teeter off the edge,  he removed his fingers. The whine you let out was borderline pathetic. 

“Johnny,” you mewled, tears of frustration dotting the corners of your eyes. 

He took his fingers into his mouth, groaning at the taste of you. He removed his fingers and popped the button on his jeans. His hand drifted past the waistband of his briefs, and he pulled out his cock. Your breath caught in your throat as you watched him stroke himself a few times. 

“Wanna see you cum all over my cock, baby,” he grunted as he slid his cock through your dripping folds. He plunged inside you without much resistance, and your legs wrapped around his hips. 

You knew this wasn’t really happening. It was just your brain malfunctioning and your neurons sending signals when they shouldn’t, but his cock buried inside you felt as real as anything you’d ever felt. 

His breathing quickened as you clenched around him, getting used to his length. After a few moments, he started moving his hips. Johnny fucked you like he meant it, and you expected no less. Every thrust of his hips was like he was trying to prove a point— like he was trying to prove that he was there. That it was his cock drawing those pretty noises out of you, and no one else’s. 

He leaned down and pressed his lips to yours in a sloppy kiss. You ran your tongue over his bottom lip, and he groaned against you. Johnny’s hand trailed over your thigh and to where you were joined, drawing lazy circles against your clit. 

He pulled away to leave wet kisses against the column of your throat. He nipped at the exposed skin, and you briefly wondered if he’d actually leave a hickey. 

His thrusts became short and rough as you neared your climax, once again. You wrapped your arms around him, bringing him impossibly closer. Your nails dug into the flesh of his back as arousal coursed through you. Johnny pressed his weight against you, hissing as you scratched him. He jutted into you like he was trying to convince you that he was real. That he was here to stay. 

“You feel so good, baby. C’mon, cum for me. Wanna feel you cum,” he pleaded, his words slurring together. 

At his words, you were coming undone, thanking whatever deity out there that he finally let you cum. You moaned out his name as he rutted inside you, chasing his own high while allowing you to ride out your own. His hips faltered and he groaned against you, his release coating your walls. You felt him fill you, and you swore you could feel his cock twitch within you.

He stilled within you as you both caught your breath. You snapped your eyes shut, savoring his touch. Your chest ached at how much you wanted him to be there with you— actually there with you and not just a figment of your imagination. 

He rested his head on your shoulder, pressing a kiss there before pulling out of you. He soothed the whine that left you with his lips against yours. You found yourself suddenly craving a cigarette, his own desires mixing with your own. 

You blinked, and he vanished before reappearing at your side with a cigarette dangling between his lips. His sunglasses were back in their usual spot, and he leaned his head against your headboard.

“Tired now?” he questioned, looking down at you. 

You turned on your side, resting your head on your arm, the ache in your chest growing. “Yeah, thanks.” 

“Don’t mention it.” 

Your throat tightened, and you weren’t sure how much of it was his sadness and how much was your own. You wished you could meet his gaze. You wished you could touch him, and you wished he was yours. You wondered if he felt the same way. 

“Johnny,” you called out, your voice thick with emotion. He hummed in response. You sighed, “I wish we had more time.” 

“Maybe in another lifetime, kid.”

[zombieplaygrounds]

cw: cyberpunk smut, fingering, choking implications, mean! johnny silverhand, reader is not V, afab!f! reader x pre!engram! johnny

"We can't Johnny" Your voice a choked whimper, slurred together with rasped out moans. A tutting finger against your throat while the oh so familiar metallic hand gripped you. So gentle, so rough, practiced perfection and tasteless passion (so he would say).

"Johnny," Yet another pathetic mewl when Johnny finally stopped mouthing at the soft flesh of your collarbones.

"Shut up." Not his best mood, so blatant; if you were smarter, you would take that as your warning. Just in the other room you could still feel the vibrations from the stage speakers, the music so soft when you were away from it all. The gentle lights that helped cast purple colored hues on Johnny's vengeful expression. His aviators tossed somewhere on one of the tables, so careless right now - almost vulnerable.

His other hand, shoved into your underwear, furious rubs against your clit making you stand on the tips of your toes while you hiccupped, cried, fucking begged for his cock. Saliva covering your lips and your vision blurred from the overstimulation. It made Johnny laugh, just a bit, just enough for him to pity you. To kiss away the forming tears against your eyes, licking away the salty liquid.

Just before this, you were arguing, hated each other so badly. But his eyes, those chocolate colored eyes; like a sad dog without his bone - you really pitied this filthy bastard. You were so fucking in love. And Johnny loved sex.

"Haaa.." A sharp inhale for air seeped toward your mouth when he released his loose grip on your throat. Somehow such a delicate touch could be so tortuous, make your cunt ache, drool with the desire to be filled.

"You're thinking again." Johnny grumbled, pressing his forehead against yours while he cornered you against the wall, silver finger tips grazing the flesh of your jaw toward your ear. You shivered, whimpering from the cold sensation. Johnny inhaled, drawing out the scent of your shampoo, murmuring in a growl. "Hate when you do that."

His fingers slid out of your panties, leaving your hips to buck against nothing, begging for the sweet texture of anything. You whined, pathetically, "You're so mean..pleasee.."

There you went again, being so pathetic, so begging.

"Adorable." Johnny laughed against your forehead, enjoying your annoyed squirm. Your hand grabbing at his, the flesh one, the soft one, the one suited to slip inside without making you cry from the cold. His eyes smiled for him despite the stern expression.

"Do it."

And back again you led his hands where they belonged, gathering up your slick on his fingerprints to slip a single finger in. You cried out a gasp, a bit of spit coating your lip that of course Johnny licked at. What a sick pervert, you'd remember this later, maybe tease him about it.

But that was later, and this was now. And now, you were back on the balls for your feet, riding his single finger in your cunt. Crying as he shoved his tongue in your mouth, licking against your teeth and suckling your own tongue. A knot of pleasure formed inside you, your vision so spotted from your desperation; breathless pants spilling out of you, enough to make Johnny pull away and admire his work.

Your back arching as your split away, leaning against the wall. You writhed, whined pathetically as you came on to his hands. So embarrassing and shameless, but the two of you had done worse. All good things came to an end though. Clarity slowly rushing down on you, by now you could feel the heat of your face and the sweat that clung to your body. Johnny's arrogant grin watching as realization hit you. Both hands on either side of your hip.

"Gonna stop bitching at me now, gorgeous?"

"Fuck you, Silverhand."

[buryustogether]

kinktober day 6: car sex - johnny silverhand

When Johnny had said he wanted to take you to Make Out Point, you had made fun of him.

Make Out Point? Come on, you had told him when he suggested it, you weren't in high school anymore. If he wanted to fog the windows up, why not do it in your own home, where it was warm, and you had space to spread out, and there was no chance of a wayward knee or arm knocking the car into another gear.

He'd been insistent, though, so you had gone.

And you had been a fucking gonk to complain in the first place.

"Fuck, sweetheart, that's it," Johnny muttered in your ear as you rocked yourself up and down on his cock in the back seat of his Porsche. "Just like that. Good girl... godammit it."

There weren't any other cars here tonight, just you and him and no one to see the vehicle rocking with your jerky movements as you got closer and closer to your end. Your knees were pressed tight against his sides and your nails were surely leaving indents in the bare skin of his shoulders, but he didn't seem to give much of a fuck as he guided your humping of his lap.

You would never get used to the feeling of Johnny's cock stretching you out, how his tip caressed that particularly sensitive spot inside of you and the way you felt each and every bump and vein along his shaft. It was like being fucked by some kind of god who knew just how much divinity he possessed and how to use it to bring someone to their knees for him.

"Johnny," you whimpered, reaching your hand around his neck slightly so that you could card your fingers through his dark, untamed locks and grab a fistful of them. "Johnny, I'm close."

"Good girl," he practically growled against the shell of your ear as he took over and began to thrust up into you hard enough to make the seat creak. "Good fuckin' girl..."

[nwheregirl]

The last pic 🥵🥵

[sweetcocopowder]

Share Your Toys | SilverV

Synopsis: V buys something new and odd and Johnny doesn't want to participate. All until he needs to show V just how to use.

Word Count: 2.1K

Genre: Smut

Pairing: Johnny Silverhand/Male!V

Warnings: nsfw/anal/dildo/sex toy/masturbation/degrading/slut shaming

Notes: I know I've only done one cyberpunk fic in the past. But I have this one and one more planned to post haha. I'm here for the male!v x johnny enjoyers

Does he feel a little ashamed buying one? No… Maybe. Just a lil. They had peaked his interest when he had spotted one, but he had much more pressing matters on hand.

So, here he is, with a six-inch dildo in hand.

It’s odd looking. It’s thicker at the tip than it is at the base. Being an ombre from a pink on the bottom to a pastel blue to the tip, it’s almost alien looking. With ridges on the underside that poke out a fair bit, V already knows this is going to be an odd sensation. Something funky to use to get his mind off of current things.

“There’s no way in fuck we’re sticking that thing up your ass,” Johnny snaps from the couch.

V sighs a gruntle noise. He tries to ignore Johnny but the rockstar taps his foot on the ground. He looks up to Johnny finally with a raised brow. He sits on the edge of his bed in only an old t shirt -one that use to be an outdoor shirt but slowly turned into a pj shirt with all the holes and grease stains in it. He sets the dildo on the bed next to him with another sigh.

“We?” V asks.

“Yes, we,” Johnny bites back. “I can feel everything you feel to an extent. And tonight, or any other, I don’t think I’m in the mood to have that thing shoved up my ass,” he says as he points to the dildo with a silver finger.

“You’ve never taken a dick before?” V mocks as he scoots up on his bed.

He makes himself comfortable and brings a bottle of lube with him in hand. Johnny leans back on the couch with his legs crosses over one another. He pushes his aviators up back to cover his eyes. The red glass reflects V on the bed, laid back with his shirt pooled over his crotch and thighs.

“I said I don’t want that,” Johnny grits out.

V rolls his eyes. “Just, leave me alone and I’ll forget you’re ever here. Go to whatever corner of my brain you normally go to when you don’t like something. It’s still my body, so I can do what I want and put whatever the hell I want in it.”

Johnny stares at V for a moment longer and for a split second, the merc feels very exposed. The rocker has seen everything before. Has done stuff to him before. But right now, the look he’s receiving is something different. Then, without a word, Johnny disappears in a glitch of blue and red static.

Good. Now he can continue in peace and use sex for a moment to forget about how shit life is.

-

Getting the first inch in is a struggle. Even with a lot of prep and a lot of lube, the tip is a tad thick. The stretch is a little overwhelming as V opens his legs out a bit further. He works himself little by little, letting the ridges of the fake cock rub up inside of him.

“You’re going to hurt yourself.”

V stops all so that he can glare at the disturbance standing over him at the side of his bed. He’s gotten so use to Johnny popping up randomly that when he does, it doesn’t phase him at all now.

The rocker’s arms are crossed over his chest and he still wears those red aviators. He can see himself in them again. Legs apart, dick half hard between with a large cock spreading him open. And all Johnny does is frown.

V moves the dick, pushing it a little further into himself and watches Johnny’s face. And when the rocker’s face scrunches up into a scowl, soon followed by a shaky, quiet exhale that is a clear indication he’s trying to hide his reaction, V can only smirk.

As cockily as he can say with a cock up his ass, the merc grins, “How should I be doing it then?”

Johnny’s scowl only deepens. Yet, he disappears from where he’s standing and reappears in a wave of glitches and static in front of V. Bent over and looking over him without his aviators. Dark, brown eyes stare him that hold something dangerous.

Without a word, Johnny takes control of V’s spare arm and grabs a pillow behind him. He shoves it under V’s back that has the merc rolling his eyes. The pillow trick? Really?

“I can’t believe you’ve got me doing this,” Johnny grumbles under his breath.

“You’re the one that hopped in yourself, I could have done this on my own,” V interjects.

Johnny covers V’s hand that holds onto the base of the fake cock. “And have a shit time because you’re taking too long? I’d rather not sit back and have to experience that.”

“But you’d rather experience a misshaped dildo up my ass?”

Johnny only frowns at that, his brows furrowing together. Hard enough that it brings creases to his forehead and brings out his crow’s feet.

With a hard push, one that V wouldn’t have deemed himself ready, the cock is pushed halfway in. V throws his head back against the bed. The ridges of the dildo rub up against the part inside of him that makes everything tingle. The painful stretch of the cock has him trying to catch his breath. But it’s a pain that is welcome. Has him buzzing.

The thickness of the first half has him already feeling full. The ridges on the underside of the dildo rub up against all the good parts inside of him that adds to the dizziness in his head. He breathes heavily, soft whines hitching his throat as Johnny moves the cock inside of him before he can get use to the feeling. Slowly pulling out before pushing in where it was before. And God it feels so good. It has him gripping the sheets with his other hand, the other being held down by Johnny.

The rockstar lifts one of V’s legs up and props it over his shoulder so that he can settle in closer. V looks to Johnny through slitted eyes and the look on the rocker’s face only turns him on more.

Johnny’s mouth is parted, and he breathes in sync with V. Each time he pushes the cock inside of V, each time a little deeper, each time hitting his prostate, Johnny shivers and pants. The blue of the cock all but disappears into V’s ass, leaving only the pink half to take down. God he’s quickly enjoying this as much as V is. Who knew the rockstar could have a little fun.

Being trapped on a biochip must do that to someone though. But by whatever God there is, is it hot to see Johnny become a little desperate. He’s so focused on the fake cock that his own hips move in sync faintly.

Johnny growls, -something that V never expected to hear- and pushes the rest of the cock inside of V. It slips in easily, the base being narrower than the first half. And everything feels like it short circuits inside of V, as if his cyberware doesn’t know what’s happening. His back arches as he groans deep within his throat. The cock is so wide and girthy it stretches him greatly. It makes him feel full and has him twitching. Each movement has the ridges grinding up inside of him and each time that happens, a small hiccup of moans are forced from his mouth. He can’t help himself. This feeling is wild and he’s glad that he bought this.

Johnny on the other hand. He’s bent over V trying to catch his own breath. He doesn’t need to breath but it bloody feels like he can’t intake air. Every time V moves and shifts, a wave of pleasure pulses through Johnny that has him shivering and twitching. He can feel himself grow hard in his leather pants. He’s not meant to be into this but by god does it feel great.

He catches his breath before pulling cock out of V to the tip, the sweet sound of moans and groans coming with it. With a forceful push, he shoves the entire six inches back into the merc, the blue disappearing along with the pink. And there it is again, the wave of pleasure and tingles from V that has Johnny shivering and groaning deep in his chest.

He begins slowly pumping the fake cock inside of V, revelling in the raw feelings and sensations that come from the merc’s end. He can feel V’s pain and those friendly pats to his shoulders from strangers. All of those are faint, like passing by a soft blowing vent. But this, this has Johnny’s head spinning and his code glitching.

V other hand comes back down to stroke his hardening dick. He grinds his teeth together at how overstimulating such a simple touch is. God he’s not going to last much longer if Johnny keeps this up. Especially with the pace quickening with every pass of his prostate.

Johnny begins panting loudly as he quickens the pace. Each time it fills V up in the right places and stretches him a little painfully. But that sting is something that feels so good. He matches his stroke on his dick with Johnny, letting him take the full reigns even though he knew he was fucked when the rocker popped back up again to make his comments.

V gets lost in everything, letting his mind go to this moment right now. Forgetting about everything that’s fucked him over in life. Johnny pushes the cock fully in and lets it sit there for a moment. All so he can swat V’s hand off his dick and replace it with his own. The feeling of Johnny’s metal hand on his dick is cold and brings a harsh gasp out of his mouth.

V meets dark brown eyes that stare at him. There’s something different there that the merc can’t quite place. Maybe because he’s having trouble reciting the alphabet or he’s completely forgotten what day it is. His mind is a jumble. But he knows that that dark look within those eyes is something akin to…

“You’re such a slut, you know that?” Johnny quips in between his own panting.

And there it is. Johnny’s comments. Why should V be surprised?

“Yeah and-“ The comeback V was going to make is lost as Johnny moves the dildo inside of him.

He grinds it into him shallowly, letting it rub up against everything inside and makes his entire gut and head to buzz. And in time with the movement, he strokes V’s dick, his thumb flicking and rubbing over the tip each time strokes up.

V grabs onto the blanket again, still letting Johnny guide his other hand on the fake cock. Everything is going crazy. He can’t help but grunt and whine like a two eddie whore.

“Yeah,” Johnny groans out. “You sound like one too.”

V can feel himself coming closer and closer. If Johnny keeps this same pace, he can get there quickly.

“My little slut, how does that sound?” The words are spoken deeply, gravelly.

And it all goes straight to V’s dick. He cums as if a freight train just hit him. His Kiroshi’s become spotty for a second, the black spots disappearing slowly after a while as his eyes recalibrate. He can’t catch his breath for a moment and when he opens his eyes, Johnny is gone.

For a split second, V feels a bit of panic, but as soon as it comes, Johnny appears back again in a storm of glitches and static. He’s hunched over V with a wide expression upon his normally grouchy features. He pants and shakes. He gulps, trying to collect himself. But whatever V felt, Johnny did as well ten fold it seems.

V slips the alien like dildo out of him with a pop and a groan, and throws it aside on his bed. He’s too worn out to worry about anything other than the rockstar leaning over him.

He reaches up and pats Johnny’s face. The simple touch has brown eyes latching onto V.

“Was it worth it?” V asks.

“No.”

“Not even a little?”

Johnny sits up straight, still kneeling in between V’s legs. He runs a hand down his face and lets his gaze run down the merc’s body. His eyes linger on V’s still leaking cock and the cum splattered over his stomach and tattoos. He’d be wrong if didn’t admit this was all a little hot. It’s all in how V pants and shakes from the orgasm still, his chest and stomach rising rapidly with each breath.

Johnny swallows thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing on his throat. “A little then, yeah,” He grumbles.

-

Please do not copy or repost my work. <3

[ccscocoapuffs]

Late Again- Johnny Silverhand Smut (March Madness Winner 2024)

The sun shined bright through the window of my small apartment in night city, mornings like this are the ones I could never take for granted. The view of night city despite this shitty apartment was one I don't think i could bare ever being away from. As I roll over a view I enjoy much more greets me.

"Good morning, Johnny" "....what time is it?" "9:45" "fuck....if it double digits I ain't waking the fuck up yet" "come on sleepy head, rogue has work for us this morning remember? you know how she hates it when we run late" "yeah yeah....five more minutes." "Johnny...come on we gotta go" I picked up and pillow and flopped it down on his head as I giggled at his irritated groan.

"if you're gonna make me get up can I atleast taste that pussy first?" "JOHNNY!" "What?! shits like coffee to me" "you're an idiot" "I didn't hear a no". Johnny quickly grabbed my hips and flipped me underneath him while he kissed down my neck onto my collarbone.

"Johnny we gotta...oh fuck" Johnny always had a way of going directly for that sweet spot on my neck that he knew makes me fall apart. Yet right now he knew exactly what he was doing by making us late. "I gotta deal for ya kid" "What's that?" "give me 20 minutes to fuck you into the mattress then we can still make it in time to go see rogue sense your so concerned about her yelling at us" "Fine but if we are late I'm gonna tell her it was your fault" "Just shut up and let me fuck you already".

Johnny slide his boxers off and started to slowly stroke himself with his precum leaking from his tip. I couldn't help myself from nearly drooling at the mere size of it. Johnny has always been a very big boy down below yet it never fails to surprise me every time I see it. He reaches forward with his right hand and rubs soft circles on my clit while his left hand reaches up to my neck. Damn how i love the cold sting of the metal against my burning skin. "You're fuckin soaked.....that all for me?" "yes.." "yes what?" "yes sir" "good girl..." Johnny leaned down spreading both my legs and place them on my shoulders before shoving his tongue into my soaked hole.

"Fuck! johnny!", Johnny continued to eat my soaked pussy like it was his last meal adding in his fingers in the process was no surprise as he loved to give me a little extra while he got his fix. "Fuck sweetheart you taste like fucking candy..." "mmmm johnny!" "thats it scream my name let the whole fucking building know whose fingers are in your pussy" "FUCK! please...please just fuck me already" "You want this cock princess?" "yes...please" "deal".

Johnny quickly adjusted himself before slamming into me without warning. "OH fuck!" Johnny's thrusts were relentless as usual yet I knew exactly what he was trying to do when he reached down and started to rub fast circles on my aching clit. "you gonna squirt for me, princess? hmm? you gonna soak the fucking sheets for me" "Fuck yes please Johnny Faster!" "yeah you like that? you like being my messy slut?" I felt the strong churning in my stomach as Johnny continuously quickened his pace. "Johnny.... gonna....im gonna!" "cum for me princess"

I most certainly didn't need to be told twice as I felt myself soak the sheets below as my orgasm rushed through my entire body. The overwhelming release almost made me drown out the sounds of Johnny's deep moan as he came inside me. "fuck.....princess so good for me" "Mmm thank you" "no thank you, baby best way to start the morning is with a pussy in your face" "dear god.." Just as Johnny leaned down to kiss my head the phone rang on the bedside table signaling to us both we were indeed once more late again.

"guess we're late huh?" "you're telling her why we are late, mr. i need my morning pussy" "i don't regret shit!". Though we may be late with Rogue again I can't help but hope I can wake Johnny up more often.

A/N: super simple Johnny smut for the March Madness poll #3 winner lemme know if yall wanna see more of Johnny in the future K BYEEEEEEE

[winniethewife]

Being with you, makes the flame burn good.

(Johnny Silverhand x Fem!V!reader)

Prompt: Smoking Kink

Warnings: What do you even call this? Mutual Masturbation? Self-voyeurism? Dildo use for sure, dirty talk, Johnny Silverhand Should be a warning in himself, a real time JOI audio but with the guy in your head,

A/n: This is like, a reader insert but not? V is reader, but V is also V. Interpret it as you wish. For my Event Nine weeks in hell, and Kinktober

Words: 1368

V Didn’t smoke, she didn’t see the appeal. At first she resented Johnny for getting her into the habit, his need for nicotine was annoying. He was annoying. But as time passes, she got less pissed every time that she lit up, just like she had noticed her life and his blurring together, these bad habits started to feel less like something imposed on her and more like something she had always done. What she didn’t notice was how Johnny looked at her when she did this, how he gazes at her in that way.

Like he was right now. Johnny was perched on the couch watching as she sat only wearing a tank top and her underwear, cigarette dangling from her lips, her eyes gazing out on the sky line of the city. He couldn’t tear his eyes from her. In his own life time he thought if he saw her in the crowd of one of his concerts he probably would have made an attempt to sleep with her, knowing V she would have probably rejected him, knowing himself he would’ve brushed it off and moved on to some groupie. But this wasn’t his life, this was hers. Sometimes it pissed him off, other times it was just painful.

“What are you looking at Johnny?” She asked as she exhaled a plume of smoke, she didn’t even look over at him, but she could feel his eyes on her, it was odd to feel watched from inside your own mind. Johnny shrugs.

“You, I guess.” He answers, pulling himself up to walk over to her side, not that it fully worked like that, he was already by her side by the time he had taken a step, leaning on the wall next to her bed. Watching as she takes another drag off the cigarette, feeling the nicotine rushing thorough him a moment later then it should, but he was used to that now.

“Figured you’d get sick of that by now.” She chuckled, tapping out the ash into the “I <3 NC” mug she had started using as an ashtray. “I look the same as the day you got injected into my head.” She said off handedly, but she was wrong, in so many ways she had changed, physically the jobs she had been taking, and the ticking clock of her life span had given her reason to upgrade her chrome more quickly, which no matter how good Vik was meant that her appearance was some what altered. However that wasn’t really what Johnny was thinking of when he thought of how she had changed. V was the first person in his life (or death), that he had ever let in, not by choice, but it still changed how he saw her, this was a woman who actually knew him, and he actually knew her. He felt the urge to touch her, itching in his fingertips. She looked at him, her eyes gently glow in the low light, a typical sight in this world, but it was enchanting none the less.

“Do you know how hard it is to not be able to touch you right now? Like actually touch you. For fucks sake V, I’m in your head can’t you feel how bad I need you, the way you look right now…Fucking hell.” Johnny’s voice getting more and more agitated as he spoke, V looked at him, looking like he was about to blow a fuse. Sure she had seen him mad, she had seen him go on and on about the state of the world and all that jazz, but this was different.

“I donno, I figured it was…something else, It’s hard to tell the difference between our thoughts these days.” She lays back on the bed sighing deeply. It wasn’t that she didn’t feel the same, it was just that it felt pointless. Johnny positioned himself above her and looked down at her, splayed beneath him, his eyes filled with hunger. She looked back at him and felt a twitch in her lower abdomen and the feeling of slick building up in between her thighs. Johnny feels it too, his eyes light up and with his typical smirk on his face he settles next to her, his fingers ghosting over her arm, no sensation comes but the intention is clear. V rolls over onto her side putting out her cigarette. “What do you want Johnny?”

“I want you, I want to fill you, feel you, I want to hold you on top of me while you flick ash off that cancer stick and ride my cock like it’s your god damn job. I want you V, As dumb as it sounds.” His voice getting huskier as he spoke, his phantom touch lingering on her skin. V reaches to touch his face, and despite there being no sensation at all, it brought her comfort to see his smile widen when she does so.

“You’ve said a lot of dumb shit, this isn’t dumb.” She replied. That’s when she got an idea. She reaches over to the shelf above her bed and grabbed the dildo that she had up there and she raised an eyebrow at him as she held it in her hand. Johnny grinned and propped himself up on his elbow as he pointed at the toy.

"That plastic thing is nowhere near as impressive as my cock, but it’ll do.” He said, despite the sweet moment before he was still a self-serving asshole most of the time. V rolled her eyes at his comment.

“Of course, no plastic dick could ever compare to your magnificent cock I’m sure.” She teased. Johnny huffed playfully, watching with a greedy gaze as she takes off her underwear, running her hand down her body, her other hand lining up the dildo with her aching cunt, sliding the tip of it along her folds, her legs spread wide, Johnny watching eagerly as she slides the dildo into herself, leaning her head back with a moan. Johnny felt a similar pleasure through himself, the urge to pull out his cock and fuck her senseless right there was maddening but this form rendered him almost useless in this regard. So instead he positions himself closer to her and gets to work on the one thing he can do, talking.

“Just imagine that’s my cock inside you that I’m the one making you feel like that. You fuck me how you want. Look at how well you take me…” He groans softly in her ear as he feels her reaction to his words, the way her cunt tightens at his words and the slow rhythm of her hand pushing the dildo in and out of her.

“Fuck Johnny…You feel so good, sound so good, fucking hell.” She moans, her head thrown back against the pillow as she works herself up, imagining that is was Johnny over her, thrusting deep inside her, her breath coming out in pants, lifting her hips ever so slightly grinding on air.  

“Use that cock, use my cock, fuck. God damn, V, make that pussy feel good on my cock.” Johnny continued to babble as he watched her fuck herself, he had managed to convince some part of him that he was the one fucking her, that she was grinding up on him, he could feel her around him, as her rhythmic movements start to go off tempo, as she…as He brings her to the edge. He hovers over her as her eyes open again, seeing his dark eyes looking down at her as she felt pleasure pooling in her stomach. “I wanna feel you cum on my cock. I wanna touch you, fuck this, engram bullshit, I need to feel you.” He growls. As her eyes met his and saw the desire glowing in his eyes her body reacted, her climax crashing over her body like an attack on her senses, her mind rebooting as she felt herself come undone.

“Fuckin…hell.” She groans, basking in the afterglow. She reaches for her cigarettes, she places one between her lips, lights it and inhales deeply.

“You look good when you smoke...thats what I was tryin to say"

~

Masterlist

Taglist: : @silvernight-m @queerponcho @boredzillenial

[seraphimcollections]

fading part. i

pairing: johnny silverhand x reader

summary: mortal enemies from birth. the devil and the angel, good versus evil. you, the prodigy netrunner and hidden child of the Arasaka global empire. him, rebellious outcast and infamous rockstar of Night City. Sworn enemies with the odds stacked against them, but fate is fickle thing.

warnings: gun violence, murder, blood, kidnapping, grooming (not by johnny), rockstar behavior, angst angst angst! sexual implications, eventual smut, slowburn, secret enemies to lovers, fluff.

a.n: hey everyone! thx for the love and for your patience. luv ya!

word count: 2.8

masterlist

//…memory shard detected…[uploading]]]///…[year 2010]]..//..memory upload [complete.]///

The days started like any other. The gentle pinging of the alarm clock summoned the curtains to slowly pull away from each other, letting in the sunlight. You groaned at the sudden intrusion of the warmth of the sun, burrowing deeper into the 1000 count sheets that clung to your frame. You tried your best to hide from the beginning of the day, but you knew your AI companion wouldn’t allow it. Tomie materialized first as a disembodied voice.

“Good morning, Hina-san,” she said cheerfully.

You sighed as you rolled onto your back, finally letting your eyes crack open. Your long dark hair pooled underneath you as you laid there, sleep still creeping at the back of your eyelids. The rest of the room came to life, the gentle LED lights illuminating the marble floors.

“Morning, Tomie,” you sighed, a hand running over your face.

“The weather is superb today in beautiful Osaka, temperatures sitting at 23 celsius. The itinerary for the day includes breakfast, grilled mackerel, pickled vegetables and steamed rice. After breakfast, Sanada-san will pick up where you left off…”

Your mind wondered as Tomie listed off the rest of your day like she did every day. There wasn’t much divergence from your daily schedules which usually consisted of sustenance, hours upon hours of lessons ranging from history, homemaking, advanced quantum mechanics but your favorite, netrunning. This came all too easy for you and it was almost an escape from your mundane life. It came to you like walking, something that your uncle was impressed by, but he’d never show it. By the age of 12 you had already cemented yourself as one of the best, something that even your stoic uncle could find pride in. A nameless prodigy. All because of this namesake. A name that every person on this godforsaken planet knew of, either fondly or with despair, but a name they knew all the same. Arasaka.

It was a name that held great power, a name tied to a megacorp that had it’s hands in practically everything. From what you knew from your uncle Saburo, the corporation dealt in corporate security, manufacturing and banking -- and that’s all he would explain. Saburo practically raised you after your mother passed in complications with an unknown sickness that befell her days after your birth. It was a tragedy that brought mourning looks directed toward you whenever you dared ask about your mother. But just like everything else, that’s all you knew. Even when you tried to pry answers from your servant staff, it was always the same:

“Ah, Hina-san, unfortunately that isn’t for me to say…”

Perhaps a few years ago you would have swallowed these empty answers and carried on with your day but now, as the days rolled helplessly into the next, you could feel yourself getting restless. It was hard enough that you hardly ever got to leave the giant yet empty penthouse you’ve called your home for as long as you could remember, bad enough that you couldn’t do anything without being supervised. Again, in the beginning, having servants follow and fulfill your every whim didn’t bother you, but just as these unanswered questions began to eat at you, so did these instances.

You sighed as you swung your feet over the edge of the bed, letting them hit the chilled white marble. You raised your arms above you, letting out another groan.

“Tomie, start the shower please,” you said tiredly.

“Yes, Hina-san.”

You could hear the shower start from the connected bathroom as you settled onto your feet. You sighed as you stared over the city of Osaka, the tall skyscrapers aflame with giant advertisements. You stared down to the street, squinting to see if you could spot the people, only to find small specks. How could it be that every little speck down there had their own lives, their own hopes and dreams? Their own freedom to make decisions? You sighed as you looked back over the glittering skyline. There’s so much world out there, and yet it all seems…far.

“Hina-san, the water is at the temperature you prefer,” Tomie snapped you out of your thoughts.

You turned and walked into the connected bathroom, steam misting up the shower glass and vanity mirror. You stripped yourself of your cotton pajamas, leaving them in the hamper before stepping under the water. The warmth coaxed a groan from you as the water poured over you. You stood under the waterfall, letting your mind wander. Your mind felt somehow heavy, clouded.

“Tomie, run a diagnostic, please,” you ran your hands through your locks, before stopping to stare at the palms of your hands.

“Are you feeling unwell, Hina-san?” Tomie said, programmed to sound concerned.

You shook your head, “no, I don’t think so? Can you run it please?”

“As you wish.”

You let out a heavy breath as Tomie scanned your biometrics, their data scattering over your vision. It was over in seconds.

“There is not anything I could sense to be the matter,” Tomie said. “Can you describe the symptoms?”

You rocked your head back with a sigh, “overwhelming loneliness and hunger, but not for food. For…anything, I suppose.”

“Hm, I see,” Tomie said, “it appears you are suffering from another depressive episode. Should I call your guru?”

You shook your head as you shut off the water to the shower, “no, just cancel all of my lessons for the day.”

“Are you sure? You canceled them yesterday,” said Tomie as you began to towel dry yourself.

“Just do it, please,” you said gently, wrapping your hair up into the towel.

You stepped over to the cup of real water sitting neatly next to a small dish containing one blue pill. You grimaced as you picked up the pill, examining it once more. Something else key to your daily routine, your medication. You had begun taking it regularly when you first told Saburo how restless you were becoming. Your restlessness manifested mostly in your dreams. These dreams felt so real but it was like you were living in someone else’s body. It scared you, deeply. Once you brought it up to your uncle during one of his rare visits, it was then did you see another type of emotion besides stoicness. He was actually concerned, something that frazzled you even more back then. He quickly referred you to the guru and got you on the most expensive of drugs, and like magic, the dreams went away but not so much the anxiety. With a sigh, you swallowed the lone pill and chased it down with water.

You walked out in your wardrobe picking the same pressed and virgin white loungewear. Once dressed you finally stepped back into your room, collapsing back onto your bed. You let your mind go into autopilot as your hands brushed through your damp locks.

“Would you like your food brought to you, Hina-san?” Tomie said.

You shook your head as you set the towel beside you, “not hungry. I’ll be in my chair.”

You walked out of your room, entering the towering hallway that led to the other connected room and eventually the living parlor (never once used as intended) that led onto the remotely operated elevator. The first servant stood at her post directly beside your door. She bowed deeply, greeting your softly. Her uniform was simple and reminiscent of a traditional style. You bowed your head out of respect.

“Thank you, I’ll be in my den,” you said.

The young woman stood to her height, her expression concerned. You were beginning to get tired of this look.

“Will you not be enjoying your breakfast, Hina-san?” she asked.

You smiled gently, trying to ease the young woman’s worry. You couldn’t blame the difficult job that was handed. Getting to this position was not an easy feat. Saburo was a fickle man who craved nothing but perfection, something that wasn’t lost on the personnel he hired.

“Yumi-san, please don’t worry about it,” you smiled.

Yumi smiled childishly and nodded. You headed down the steps until your reached the below level. You stepped through the automatic clear door into a netrunning den. The walls were lined with countless state of the art servers, the wires stemming like tentacles from them only for them to meet in the center of the room where you chair lie. You sighed, an invisible weight lifting off your shoulders as you stepped deeper into your den. Your hand glided across the white leather of your chair before climbing on. You settled into the leather with a sigh, grabbing the large port that would be your entrance into the net. You move your hair over your shoulder before plugging in, your optics lighting up like a Christmas tree. You relaxed back into the chair, eyes flickering over the data flooding your brain. Perhaps at one time the amount of sheer data held by the entirety of The Net, worldwide, would have been too much to handle -- but you weren’t any normal run of the netrunner. You were the best.

“Ok, see you on the other side, Tomie,” you sighed, eyes falling closed.

“Enjoy your trip, Hina-san.”

Your vision bloomed into pure white, blinding you. For a moment, it felt as if you were falling through cool water, the feeling completely enveloping your being. For a moment, it felt like you would be falling forever before the feeling stopped abruptly. The hum of the net vibrated against you as you finally opened your eyes. Before laid a field of darkness gently illuminated by grids of blue and white light. You looked over your virtual avatar materialized in your space, finding the only difference being your white netrunning jumper. The silence was threatened by the hum of the never ceasing net, which you were well aware was the voices of millions of people scattered across the globe. In the beginning, having access to such a delicate and ruthless place as the net was thrilling. For a while you found pleasure hacking into rival corporations like Millitech or Biotechica, but even this became too easy. Too boring. Not even slithering past the NUSA’s best netrunners brought suspense. It was all too easy.

“Tomie, where are you?” Your voice glitched and echoed in the endless chamber.

In a blink, Tomie’s digital body materializes beside you, her tall frame donning a traditional yukata with her hair tied neatly in a bun.

“I’m here, Hina-san,” she smiles politely.

You smile back at her before waving your hand, selecting a direct strand of the net, its glow illuminating the space around. Your fingers tinkered with, threading through the threads of light and combing out any discrepancies and viruses with ease.

“And how is the Arasaka estate doing today?” Tomie asked, peering over your shoulder.

“Well…” You spread your arms apart, the column of light growing to surround you both comfortably.

Your finger dreamed against your lip as you peered over the collected abstracts that held all secrets and deals of Arasaka. Everything that was Arasaka lied right in front of you, your duty to protect it at all costs.

“Hm, same old things,” you sigh, crossing your arms, “Millitech rearing its head again -- honestly, what could they possibly wish to achieve.”

“Possibly another Corp War for them to benefit from?” Tomie answered.

You sighed, your eyes narrowing in a red speck of flickering light. You curled your fingers toward yourself, the red speck instantly falling in front of your eye.

“How interesting,” you murmur as you inspect the little virus closer.

“What is it?”

“It seems that NetWatch has thrown a little interest toward Arasaka,” your brow furrowed. “It looks like a simple recon virus, I want to believe that they wish to keep Arasaka in check.”

“Hm, how arrogant,” Tomie frowned. “Will we retaliate?”

You took the small speck between your fingers before crushing it between them.

“There’s no use, report this to my uncle’s assistants,” you said with a sigh, restricting the Arasaka database back to a single strand of light. “Tomie, I think I’ll be here for a moment, I’ll call for you later.”

“Yes, but I should inform you about-”

“No appointments or lessons today, remember?” You smile gently urging the AI to simply nod and disappear into the nether.

Once you knew you were alone, you let out a sigh as you looked out into the endless chamber. Your mind settled into your usual routine, preparing to do a thorough sweep of all of Arasaka’s servers and protected data, when you heard something that shouldn’t have been. A voice. Your brow furrowed and you came to stop. Your tuned your ears to listen, only to find the same familiar silence. You shook your head.

“Maybe a rogue AI hiding somewhere, I-”

But there it was again. But this time it wasn’t a whisper, it was a shout. It ripped through cyberspace, shaking you. You gasped as you looked around to see that the space around you rippled and shook from the sound.

“What is this?” You wondered.

Your eyes squinted as you peered into the depths of the Net, hearing the static humming begin to get louder and louder. Scanning the disturbance, you detected the noise was coming from within the Arasaka security servers. Typically such servers were quiet, something that the other netrunners were mainly in charge of since it was typically more local problems that were easily snuffed out. But this was different.

Your eyes narrowed as the endless space began to move past you, speeding through the Net and hurtling toward the noise. The noise became louder and louder the closer you came until finally the shouting and buzzing was deafening. You stopped with a gasp before a glowing red strand that pulsated in rage. It looked almost…alive. That’s not possible, you thought. The noise was almost overwhelming, completely taking over the space around you. Hesitantly you reach out for the strand, flinching at the moment your fingertips brushed against the digital cord, media burst out from it. Your eyes widened in shock as numerous screens appeared around you, the source of the noise becoming clear.

You twirled around, looking at all the screens in bewilderment.

“What’s going on?” You spoke to yourself.

Your gaze stopped on a particular screen. Quickly scanning it, you deciphered it as security footage of an angry mob of people congregating in front of a barricade held up by Arasaka men. The mob had destroyed the front of the building, small fires littered across the crowd.

“Death to Corps!”

“Arasaka is the real terrorists!”

Your heart dropped. They were angry - no, they were vengeful.

“Tomie?” You shouted over the video.

“Yes, Hina-san?”

“Where is this?” You said, your eyes never leaving the screen.

“This is Arasaka Tower, located in Night City of Pacific Coast, North America.”

You swiped away the screen, bringing up another. You listened to their chants, all calling for the end of corporations, but Arasaka specifically.

“Why the anger?” You wondered cluelessly. “I don’t understand, Uncle said that because of our position there, Night City has been able to remain free from the NUSA. So why?”

“There is no use in ever understanding the human condition, especially its relationship with anger and vengeance,” Tomie bodiless voice said.

You shook your head. You couldn’t understand why Tomie was being so cryptic all of sudden. Of course you knew that Arasaka had its enemies, clear by the daily nuisances of the other corps, but you never knew there was this much…hatred. But there was a voice that was the loudest amongst the crowd. Just one. You scanned and searched for who the voice belonged to until you finally found them. Your eyes widened in wonder when you looked over the man. Because that’s all he was, a man. His hair long and shaggy and his eyes obscured by gold rimmed aviators. He wore a bullet proof vest and held a guitar strapped to his back. A guitar?

“Yes, it seems to be of the older variety,” Tomie said.

The man shouted into a megaphone, the crowd echoing his chants. For all extensive purposes, it seemed that this single man had rallied all of these people for this cause. A cause you still were struggling to wrap your head around. You found yourself studying the man closer, partially listening to his hurtful chants. As you watched you couldn’t help but wonder who this man was.

“Tomie-”

A searing white light obliterated everything around you as you were pulled out from the Net. Your bio eyes snapped open in shock, beads of sweat rolling down your brow. As your optics flickered back into frame your den became clear. There was a figure stood over you, blocking out the harsh fluorescent lights. Your chest heaved as the all too familiar voice reminded you just where you were.

“Were you not expecting me, my dear?”

You gulped as you saw your reflection in his glasses.

“Uncle…”

///Memory shard complete…awaiting/transmission…///[ERROR] - MEMORY LOST///

TAG LIST: @moldonfruit @0moonjelly0

(Please let me know if the tags worked, thank u!)

[furrythatluvskeanu]

making smut/fluff of johnny silverhand x readers

if anyone interested ask away!!

will do almost anything you’d like just ask :)

[bishicat]

"V placed her chin on the side of the tub, looking over at him. He could’ve leaned forward and kissed her if he wanted."

...so I wanted to illustrate the chapter 2 bathtub scene from silkspecter's fanfic, just like honey (the first fanfic that got me feral for this ship). And since the author left V's appearance pretty ambiguous, I drew my V instead :)

Edit: the author is the wonderful @t-virusvaccine 💖

[helloporcelain]

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.”

[gogogodzilla]

✧ 𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝟚𝟜: 𝐹𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝐷𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 ✧ 

【 𝐼 𝐷𝑖𝑑 𝑆𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝐵𝑎𝑑 】

╰› 〖 𝑆𝑦𝑛𝑜𝑝𝑠𝑖𝑠 〗: Johnny relies on a pretty pop star and a miracle to fix his reputation

╰› 〖 𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 〗: nsfw 18+, semi-public sex, creampie, dirty talk, unprotected sex, johnny calls reader 'princess', soft!johnny

✧ 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑘𝑡𝑜𝑏𝑒𝑟 𝑚.𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ✧ 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑜𝑛 𝑎𝑜3 ✧ 𝑤𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑝𝑎𝑑 ✧

“This is fucking stupid.” 

The phrase often left Johnny’s lips throughout the several months of your staged relationship. He wasn’t always talking about whatever you had going on between you. You often heard him say it before the two of you walked the red carpet. He never liked wearing a suit, and you hated to admit it but he cleaned up very nicely. 

The press had fallen right into your whirlwind romance, which seemed more like a fairytale than the publicity stunt it actually was. You’d agreed to end it with the same amount of drama, and the sky above was gray and cloudy, almost as if it was orchestrated to set the scene. However, as you strolled alongside Johnny, you couldn’t ignore the tell-tale flutter in your chest— or the warmth of his hand in yours. 

Johnny squeezed your hand, and you glanced over and found him looking at you, a rare softness in his eyes that he reserved solely for you.  He was supposed to let go first— make it obvious that he was breaking your heart in front of the carefully planted paparazzi hiding throughout the park. But, he didn’t let go, and you realized you’d been quiet for too long. 

“We have to make it seem like we were arguing,” you began, forcing yourself to look away from him. “Make it dramatic, but don’t overdo it.” 

“Always straight to business with you, huh?” Johnny chuckled dryly, stopping in his tracks. 

You turned to face him, “I’d rather not drag it out.” 

His thumb brushes absentmindedly over the back of your hand. 

He sighs, “You were always the pragmatic one.” 

You met his gaze for the final time, and the performance began. The next few minutes were filled with feigned tears and shouts of betrayal as you and Johnny went through your carefully crafted break-up that had been months in the making. You gave Johnny one last mournful glance over your shoulder as you stormed off, ignoring the furious clicks of the paparazzi's cameras. 

Weeks go by without any word from Johnny, and you watch your phone and the news obsessively. Johnny was a contracted distraction and without the days felt too quiet, too normal. At first, you brush off the ache in your chest to an attachment to the excitement that seems to follow him, but as the days slip by, you can’t help but realize that maybe it’s something more. 

You push thoughts of Johnny to the back of your mind as you sit in the hair and makeup chair, getting ready for one of the biggest award shows of the season. Your heart flutters in your chest as you step into your dress. The idea of seeing Johnny again fills you with excitement and nervousness similar to the kind you feel every time you step onto stage. You focus on the way your assistant flits around you, fixing your hair, checking the time, and ordering people around. 

As soon as your heel hits the plush red carpet, it erupts into a buzz of energy. The flashing cameras, waves of fans pushing at the barricades, and the deafening roar of photographers vying for your attention brought you back to Earth. This was what you lived for— something you and Johnny had in common. 

The carpet was a frenzy of movement, but you navigated through it with practiced ease. Everyone is desperate to catch a glimpse of you post-breakup, and the flash of the cameras is nearly blinding. An all-to-familiar name graces your ears over the cacophony of photographers, and you straighten. 

Johnny. 

You risk a glance in his direction and watch as he talks to the press, looking every bit the rebellious rockstar you've dreamed about for weeks now. He dons his usual sunglasses and lackadaisical attitude, and you wonder if the thought of you crossed his mind. You force yourself to tear your gaze away before he can catch you staring, but the sharp pang of missing him surged again, like a hot poker in your chest.

As you make your way to the reception, the crowd thickens. You turn to look behind you, and your assistant is nowhere to be found. The flashes of various cameras close in, and you can feel the press of people surrounding you and the calls of questions you didn’t want to answer. You can barely hear yourself think, and for a second, panic takes hold. 

“Give ‘em some space!” Johnny’s unmistakable growl cuts through the crowd. 

He shoves the paparazzi out of the way and steps in front of you, throwing a protective arm around your shoulders as he leads you effortlessly through the crowd. His grip tightens around you, and his arm around you is a casual yet possessive gesture that causes the photographers to go wild. He guides you into the venue and the roar of the crowd softens as you make your way deeper inside. 

Johnny brings you to a secluded corner away from any prying eyes, and it feels like you can finally breathe. You let out a shaky breath, relief flooding over you as you look up to find Johnny’s intense gaze fixed on you, his shades pushed up onto his head. For a moment, silence stretches between you, thick with the words you hadn’t dared say out loud. 

One of his hands slides gently down your form to rest comfortably on its usual spot on your waist while the other one cups your face. His thumb brushes against your cheek. 

“Miss me, princess?” he asked, a smirk gracing his features. 

You laugh, more at ease than you’d been in weeks. You reach up a hand to lay overtop his on your cheek. “More than you know,” you murmur, glancing up to meet his gaze. 

Your breath catches in your throat as he leans in, hesitating for only a moment before his lips meet yours. The world falls away, and suddenly all you care about is his lips against yours. The kiss is slow, brimming with everything you didn’t say, and it feels real— so real you forget about your promise not to fall for him. 

His grip on your waist tightens as he pulls you closer. You wrap your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. You rake your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging lightly at the strands. Johnny groans against your mouth and slides his tongue across your bottom lip. A shudder of pleasure runs through you as his hands wander across your form, and he reaches down to squeeze your ass. 

He pulls away, leaving you panting as you look up at him. He pushes you against a nearby wall before pressing light kisses against the side of your neck as he reaches down to pull up your dress, just enough to slot one of his thighs between your legs. 

“You’re playing a dangerous game, princess,” he breathes against your neck between kisses. 

You grin, “Where’s the fun in playing it safe?”

Johnny chuckles before nipping at the space where your shoulder meets your neck. You rock your hips against his thigh, chasing after the burning pleasure humming under your skin. 

You reached a hand between the two of you and pawed at Johnny’s belt, your fingers clumsy from his teasing. He tugs at the fabric of your skirts, pulling it up enough for him to slide his hands up the bare skin of your thighs. His touch lit a fire within you, and every longing stare and lingering touch behind closed doors led to this moment. 

You force yourself to focus long enough to undo his belt buckle and pop the button of his jeans, finally revealing what you’d been yearning for. You dip your hand under the waistband of his briefs, your fingertips brushing against his cock. Johnny groans against the crook of your neck once you finally touch him, wrapping your hand gingerly around his cock. 

You stroke him slowly, twisting your wrist with each pass of your hand over his cock. You swipe your thumb over his weeping tip, collecting the precum and spreading it across his length. 

“You’re killin’ me, princess,” he growls against your ear, rutting his hips against your hand. 

He grips your jaw and pulls you into a sloppy kiss as he frees his cock from his jeans. His fingers dig into your thigh as he lifts your leg and hooks it around his waist, opening yourself up to him. He groans against your lips as he drags his cock through your dripping folds. 

“No underwear?” he breathes as the tip of his cock dips down to tease your entrance.

You shake your head, panting, “Can’t with this dress.”

“Fuck,” he grunts, “remind me to thank your stylist.” 

He angles the tip of his cock against your entrance and pushes inside of you, forcing a high-pitched whine to tumble out of your lips. Slowly, he inches his way inside of you, and you claw at his back, your nails digging into the smooth leather of his jacket. 

You suck in a breath as he bottoms out, not quite used to his length. He pressed soothing open-mouthed kisses against your neck. A few moments pass, and you move your hips against his, silently begging him to move. 

He gives a tentative roll of his hips, and you bite your lip, attempting to stifle the moans that threaten to spill. “Been dreaming about this pussy,” he murmurs against your shoulder, slowly increasing his pace. 

With each thrust of his hips, he pulls out a little further until only the tip of his cock remains inside of you before he ruts back into you. Your head lolls to the side, and you gasp for air as you whine his name. He snakes a hand down to where you were joined, and his index finger draws circles around your clit. 

The familiar coil tightens in your belly, and your walls flutter around Johnny as he hits that sensitive spot inside you. He presses a hand across your mouth after a particularly desperate moan leaves you. 

“Geez, princess,” he pants as his hips stutter against your own, “it’s like you want to get caught.” 

You clasp a hand around his bicep, looking up at him as your release rapidly approaches. You aren’t sure if it’s a final roll of his hips or his fingers working expertly against your clit, but the coil inside you snaps. You cry out as you cum hard around his cock, and you clench around him as tremors wrack throughout your body. 

Johnny’s hips snap against yours as he rides through the aftershocks of your orgasm, desperately chasing after his own high. After one and then two rolls of his hips, he convulsed inside you as his orgasm washed over him. 

His release paints your walls, hot and steady like the rest of him. He removes his hand and his lips meet yours once again. This kiss is sweeter than the feverish ones you shared just moments earlier. 

Johnny slowly pulls out of you and watches as his cum drips out of your core and over your thighs. He gently sets down your leg, and you grip his arms, attempting to stop the quaking of your legs. 

He smooths your dress as you cling to him. You can’t help but laugh, “So much for a breakup, huh?” 

He chuckles, resting a hand on your hip, “I was never good at doing what I was told.” 

“That makes two of us.” 

[alderaanplacesss]

“Listen,” Viktor pulled off his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “I don’t want you to think I’m some kinda fool. For not taking my chance.”

V rested the gun on her shelf, listening as clearly as she could above her pounding pulse.

“Your chance?”

She’d never seen his eyes like this, in the warm glow of anything. For the first time, she could tell they were a hazy gray.

He cleared his throat.

“With you.”

—————

Taking place in the early stages of Act 2, V and her ripperdoc finally have an honest conversation.

Fix You

(Link to Ao3^)

[buryustogether]

-> THE SHADOWS OF STARS

johnny silverhand x reader (not v)

word count: 8.5k

summary: despite being the newest groupie for samurai, you work hard to pull more than your weight and ensure gigs run smoothly. after a run in with a crazed fan goes awry, johnny silverhand offers you a bit of comfort.

warnings/tags: pre-relic johnny, reader is not v, violence, blood, age gap romance, non-penetrative sex, first kiss, first time, virgin!reader, mention of arranged marriage and running away, smut, swearing, alcohol consumption

author’s note: he may be a bit ooc but he’s my dreamboat so

If you’d have known how the night would have ended, you would have done things differently. You would have said more, said less, perhaps. Stepped further left, taken two more paces back. Anything and everything, you would have done differently.

Anything and everything would have been for nought - because the end of the night transported you to the stars invisible above your head, and beyond the crescent moon hanging from a weathered thread. You hadn’t known you could go that high - and you owed the jump to none other than Johnny fucking Silverhand.

It started with a woman - of course, that’s what all the old-world love stories say. But this woman wasn’t a princess waiting for a king to come down from his tower and save her and make her his; she was a plastered drunk with ugly-as-all-hell bangs on her forehead and a tank top so thin and skimpy her tits would have hung out even if she tried to keep them covered.

You had been watching her from the corner of your eye the entire show from your little perch beside the stage, headphones clasped over your ears and a tablet with the set list in hand. From the shadows, because that’s all you were, really in comparison to them, you had tracked her as she downed drink after drink and got closer and closer to the edge of the stage. Of course she was decked out in their merch - hell, everyone here was, but there were hearts inked onto the Samurai logo across her chest. Just what this gig needed - a crazy-ass fan hammered out of her mind.

It was when she’d disappeared to get herself another shot when you’d allowed yourself a glance up to the stage on your right. Christ above, they were so fucking cool. You didn’t care if that made you sound like an awestruck teenager; they were the only words you could conjure up at the moment. You’d never been one for poetics.

A band of rough and rowdy outcasts, torn at the edges in all the right places and ragged at the ends, they stuck out in a city like this. Especially the guitarist; god, you’d had a massive schoolgirl crush on Johnny Silverhand since you were sixteen and had first discovered their music. He was everything you found enticing; attractive, but without the superficial glamour Night City was held under; charismatic, charming, confident; maybe a bit full of himself, which you had discovered after being pulled into their crew as the newest groupie, but it didn’t phase you as much as you thought it would.

Your younger self would have fainted if she knew you were a groupie for Samurai these days. You were new - the youngest by far they’d ever taken on, but god above knew you pulled more weight than the older assistants who’d gotten used to the feeling of trailing in the shadows of stars. You stayed late into the night and early into the morning to clean up and pack after gigs, set up arrangements for desirable venues, arrived early to prepare so they only had to get up there and sing. Hell, you even cleaned their instruments when you had the time; you’d restrung Silverhand’s prized guitar enough times to have the same calluses on your fingers as his.

Of course, it had taken a snapped string, a sweat-inducing dash to the nearest music store, and an approaching meeting with a business partner for him to give it up to be repaired by someone else than him. Eurodyne had certainly had a hand in convincing him to part with the damned thing; he’d given you an appreciative nod and a charming wink when Silverhand had left his case at your little station.

Back in the present, you found your gaze pulled from your set list to watch as Silverhand kicked up a foot on a speaker to twist out a solo that left goosebumps trailing along your skin. Below him, fans hollered and screamed their approval; his lips quirked up in that Cheshire grin of his, the crinkle of his eyes hidden behind his aviators. You swallowed thick. Despite working for Samurai for nearly a month now, you’d never spoken to Silverhand once. He’d never even glanced in your direction, too caught up in his own business or too distracted by fans to pay you much mind.

You wondered what his voice would have sounded like feet from you, soft and gentle, instead of strained with his cries as he appeased his crowds.

Your spine straightening, your eyes at once flicked back to the woman you’d been watching as she reappeared at the front of the crowd. She was barely able to keep herself on her platform heels, eyelids drooped and movements sluggish. Your lips twisted themselves into a frown; some hangover she was going to have in the morning. You glanced back down at your tablet for a moment, then back to the chick. At once, your chest thundered.

She was leaning against the wall of the stage, hand outstretched in an attempt to touch Silverhand’s pant leg. He kept his cool - surprisingly - and continued the song as he took a step back so that he stood just out of her reach.

You cast a quick glance around the dim venue. Where the hell was security? The bodyguards you’d hired to keep a perimeter at the stage? You found them; they were both slumped at the bar. Perfect; this night was throwing in all kinds of elements that made for a perfect bomb. The question was - when was it all going to blow?

The rest of the gig, you kept your eye on the rowdy fan, never letting her stray too far from your vision. She paced back and forth about the stage, trying to touch even the boot or pants hem of one of the players. It raised the hair on your neck at end as a hot, lava-like sensation filled your stomach.

Were you… jealous?

God, no, you told yourself as the last song of the set came to a close. You didn’t get jealous of blackout drunks practically sobbing over a couple of rockstars who probably didn’t even know your name. And yet… every time she cried out Silverhand’s name, every time she blew him a kiss, that sensation worsened. It coiled like a serpent in your belly, forcing your jaw to clench and your blood to boil.

Shit. You needed to get a serious grip.

Slowly, as the bar began to clear out and final tabs were paid at the bar, you found yourself in conversation with the owner of the place. You sat at a table and watched as she did the math for the band’s share of the profits of the night, cradling an iced concoction you’d been dying for since you got here. Up on the stage, Silverhand and Eurodyne were speaking in hushed tones, motioning back and forth.

“You know,” said the owner as she tallied up her data, “you seem pretty young to be a manager for those fellas.”

You forced yourself to smile and chuckle softly. “Oh,” you said, “I’m not their manager. I’m actually a groupie. I just, you know, move their things back and forth and hook up their systems for them.”

“You seem to do a lot more than that.” With a flick of her hand, she deposited the eddies into your account; a moment later, they showed up on your vision screen. When you got the chance later tonight, you would divide up the earnings between the band, the hired muscle, and yourself. You didn’t think those meatheads had done anything to earn the scrap, but you were terrified to be the one to tell them so.

“I guess someone has to,” you murmured quietly.

“I mean it,” she said. She gave you a gentle, motherly smile, one that made your heart and ache and pang for home. “You’re playing practically every role in this little game of theirs. Movement, tech, cash flow. And I’d bet they don’t even know your name, do they?”

You felt yourself blanch a little. Casting a glance over toward the rockers, your stomach flipped slightly as Silverhand threw his head back and barked out an echoed laugh. “They do,” you lied.

“Sure, kid.” The woman patted your arm before hopping off her stool and taking your empty glass. “If you’re going to survive a life like that, at least make sure to claim the respect you deserve. You’re not a doormat, girl. Don’t act like one.”

With that she left you to your own clouded thoughts, mind a hell scape of troubles and conflicting wants and needs and desires. You pursed your lips and stared down at your lap. Maybe she was right; maybe you should talk to them. Ask for better pay. Throw in a couple set ideas you’d been saving for the past weeks. Yet as much as you wanted to, the queasy feeling in your belly kept you from advancing too far.

You’d always been an anxious kid; too scared to voice your opinions. Your parents said you were well-behaved. You thought ball of nerves was a better way to phrase it.

You had just begun to kick off your stool and begin the tedious task of packing up the equipment when a flash of movement caught your eye. That woman - the one who had tried to touch the band on the stage - was jittering across the floor toward Silverhand and Eurodyne as they made their way to the backstage entrance. Her tits swayed as she bounced in their direction, feet dragging in her drunken state.

Fuck - some people just didn’t know when to quit, did they?

Feeling that simmering boil arise in your chest again, you quickly stride across the floor to intercept her aim toward the men. She was just behind them when you reached her, her arm outstretched and palm open to grab a handful of Silverhand’s ass. The serpent in your belly flared.

“Hey.” You grabbed the woman’s wrist in an iron-fisted grip, stopping her fingers just inches from their prize. Her head drunkenly lolled over to glare daggers at you. “No touching, you got it?”

“Get the fuck off me, you fucking kid.” She ripped her hand from your grip, and the numerous rings slid along her fingers scratched along your skin. You refused to flinch at the pain, instead pulling yourself to your full height and clenching your fists. “What the hell’s your problem?”

Your eyes flickered to the door backstage. The men had disappeared, and you felt a short little something burst inside of you. Disappointment? Surely you weren’t thinking they would come to your aid? That Silverhand would tell this bitch to scram and then say, ‘Damn, kid, thanks a lot. Want to come backstage and sign to become our mascot?’ God, you were a fucking idiot.

“Go home before someone knocks you on your ass,” you said, trying to mimic some of things you’d heard street kids say in back alleys. “I’d hate for your lipgloss to smear any further.”

“And who the fuck do you think you are?” Now she was angry. Getting up in your face. And you were alone - the venue owner had vanished, and the band was backstage. You suddenly wished you knew how to mind your own business. “You know where you are? This is fucking Heywood. Lose an eye for saying something like that.” She sniffed and looked you up and down. God, those bangs were ugly as all hell. “What are you, sixteen? You better run home to mommy before you get smacked.”

To your dismay, and fury, and horrified embarrassment, you felt tears beginning to pool in your eyes. You could count on your fingers the number of times someone had yelled at you like this, and each and every one still made your heart thunder like a drum. You weren’t cut out for this kind of shit; you should have taken her advice and run home, begged your parents’ forgiveness.

But suddenly the owner’s words were resurfacing in your mind.

You’re not a doormat, girl. Don’t act like one.

Gathering what little courage hadn’t dwindled away, you squared your jaw and said, “Get out and don’t come back, or I’ll call the pol-“

You weren’t able to get anything else out before suddenly a fierce, solid fist connected with the side of your face. You went sprawling, sending a table a a stool clattering into their sides, your hands clutching at your nose. Hot, tangy copper flooded down from your nostril, dripping onto your shirt and staining your palms. Holy fuck - she’d just punched you. You’d never been struck before - is this what it actually felt like? Your nose throbbing, your eye aching in its socket, your lips open as you gasped for breath?

Vaguely, through the blood pumping in your ears, you felt the woman kick your foot and scoff before the door swung shut behind her. You were left in silence, still in place where you lay propped on your elbow on the floor, with nothing but the scarlet falling from your nose and a painful watering eye.

With a coarse gasp, you sat up. Your head pounded like someone had delivered a bullet to your temple and it had come out through your jaw. Now that they weren’t being held back, tears cascaded down your cheeks freely and fell from your chin. You touched your nose, the skin around your eye, and let out a small sob as the pain flared through your skull.

Your attention was pulled from your attack to the backstage door, where a peel of laughter reached your ears. The band - you could ask them for help. Explain what happened. They could clean you up, take you to a ripper doc to make sure everything was still intact.

“Fuck, no,” you whispered to yourself. You’d eat lead before you let them see you like this; before they realized that, shit, you may have had your nineteenth birthday a few months ago, but goddamit, you still were just a snotty-nosed kid who needed her hand held when things got rough on the playground. They couldn’t know that. No one could.

You felt yourself rising, using the bottom of your shirt to gingerly wipe off the excess blood on your face. You needed to pack up. Load the equipment into the truck. Call the venue for tomorrow’s gig and make sure the show was still on.

Then you would wander, see if any rippers were still open. And if there wasn’t, well… you’d just have to deal with it.

Your mother’s words rang in your ears, still as sharp as a razor as they were when you left home. “No one’s going to take care of you out there,” she had said. “No one will help you. No one will care about you. No one will love you. You’re going to be all by yourself.”

Fuck it - you didn’t need any help. You didn’t need anyone to take care of you, to love you. You’d do it all yourself.

The pain was too much to acknowledge that was a lie.

It wasn’t but a half hour later that you were winding up speaker cords and wrapping them in their protective cases, gritting your teeth against the panging ache blossoming from your face. You were nearly done with the front half of the stage, a small tower of equipment stacked behind you and waiting to be dragged to the truck out back. You were already sweating your ass off, not to mention that the scab in your nose kept breaking and bleeding. You were sure you weren’t looking like much of a model.

You exhaled a long, exhausted breath and took a seat on the edge of the stage. Your toes barely touched the ground. Head bowed, you fisted the material of your blood-stained shirt and bit your lip to keep a fresh wave of tears at bay. You failed; they escaped, trailing down your cheeks like twin rivers.

What the hell were you doing? You were miles from home, miles from anything you knew. You’d had a life, a future planned out for you. Money. Comfort. Everything you didn’t have now. And you’d run away from it all.

“Hey, kid,” said a voice from further down the stage. “You seen my pick around here? Dropped the fucker after the show.”

Oh, holy fuck. Johnny Silverhand was speaking to you - and you were sitting here crying about being smacked around once or twice.

You cleared your throat once, twice, that the same time turning away quickly and pawing away the tears clinging to your cheeks. “Uhm, yeah.” Keeping your face turned from him, because frankly, you couldn’t take one more thing going wrong tonight, you fished out the obsidian-colored guitar pick you’d found on the stage while packing up. You had planned on leaving it beside his case when he and the others went out for a drink like they always did; it had been burning a hole in your pocket since you’d stuck it there, knowing it was the very pick he often stuck between his teeth after songs.

You held it out in his direction, refusing to let him see your tear-streaked face. He took it from your outstretched palm with his cybernetic hand, the metal fingers clicking together as he accepted it. You began to pull your hand back before suddenly those metal fingers were wrapped around your wrist, keeping your palm turned upward.

“You cut yourself or something?” he asked. He was looking at the blood you’d wiped off with your hand; fuck. Couldn’t you do anything?

Sniffling again, you pulled your hand away a little more forcefully than you meant to and cradled it in your stomach. “Yeah,” you murmured quietly, but you knew he heard you. Your voice echoed here in the empty building. “I’m fine. Sorry for worrying you, Mister Silverhand.”

To your surprise, he released a mumble from the back of his throat as he came closer and settled himself on the edge of the stage beside you. You immediately stiffened, your wide eyes trained like a magnet to an empty spot in the corner. “Christ, kid, I’m not that old. Johnny’s fine, as long as my hair’s not grey and I can still piss on my own.”

You listened as he lit up a cigarette, the lip of his lighter clasping shut before he tucked it back into his pocket. Was this actually happening? Was Johnny fucking Silverhand actually sitting down with you? Maybe that chick had knocked you clean out after all.

“You’re the new one, aren’t you?” Johnny asked as he took a drag of his smoke. He said your name, and your heart sprang like a bird screaming to be free of its cage. He did know your name. “What do you think of this shitshow? Not exactly what you expected, right?”

You reached up to wipe your nose - and quickly hid your hand when you brushed off a fresh swatch of blood. “I don’t think it’s a shitshow,” you admitted in a shy voice. You sniffed. “I think it’s great. I think you all are.”

From the corner of your eye, you saw him tilt his wrist - he was offering you a drag of his smoke. You stared at it for a moment before gingerly taking it and holding it like a joint; you felt his gaze on you, you could see the edge of his faint smirk. Obviously you weren’t holding it right. Nevertheless, you hesitantly brought it to your lips. How bad could one drag be?

As soon as the smoke tumbled down your throat and into your lungs, you pitched forward and hacked out a number of dry coughs. It felt like ash was steamrolling down your spine, tasted like a bad dream you couldn’t wake from. You felt like you were going to be sick.

Beside you, his feet crossed at the ankles, Johnny gave that deep, drawling laugh you’d heard time and time again - and had practically fallen for - and took back his cigarette. “First smoke, kid?” You heard the smile in his voice as he placed it back between his lips. “When you throw up, just don’t do it here.”

You raised your hand to cover your mouth, your bleeding nose, but you were too late. You bent your head and coughed into your lap - with enough force to send a spattering few droplets across the tops of your thighs. Your hands scrabbled to wipe them away, but the man beside you was quicker.

“Jesus,” he said, all traces of amusement wiped like a slate from his voice. “Didn’t think it’d kill you.”

“Sorry,” you gasped.

There came a short, yet stifling moment of stillness, of silence. It felt as if the world had gone still, had come to a stop on its axel or the spinner or whatever the hell it rotated on. If it even did anymore.

But then it all came back full force, like a slap to the face, like a bullet to the chest. Johnny reached his hand out and grabbed your chin - gently, but commanding; forcefully, but gingerly - and forced you to turn your head and look at him. It was the first time you’d met his eyes since he’d walked into the stage - his aviators were pushed up on his head, his smoke dangling from his lips, his oak-colored eyes hard and steely and rough to disguise the shock lying beneath them.

“Fuck me.” He tilted your head slightly, his gaze traveling over your face. “Someone do this to you, kid?”

You felt as though you couldn’t speak. Even if you wanted to, you just couldn’t. His artificial fingers were cool against your flushed skin, his grip harsh but forgiving all at once. Fireworks were exploding across your face where he touched you, rendering you speechless. Did he… actually care? Give a shit you’d taken a clock to the skull?

When you didn’t answer, his fingers tightened slightly on your jaw. Your eyes found his again, lips parted and heart skipping beats. “Hey,” he said more firmly, then pulled his cigarette from his lips with his free hand. “Who did this shit to you, huh?”

Ignoring the thrumming and singing and screaming of your heart, you swallowed thick and averted your gaze. “No one,” you replied. When his grip didn’t let up, you finally caved. “Just… just a fan, a little bit ago. She was, uh…” You hesitated. “She was trying to catch a grope of you, so I stopped her. Guess I caught it instead.”

Your small, forceful chuckle wasn’t met with the kind of response you were hoping for; maybe a laugh, or at least a tug at the corner of the lips. But it did not happen. Instead, you were met with a stony glare. A hard gaze. A deeply-set frown that bordered on a scowl.

You became suddenly and deeply intimated of Johnny Silverhand, aware now of the tight grip he had on your jaw and how close he was to your face. You bowed your head to the side, and he at last let you go. “Sorry to ruin the after party,” you murmured, then swallowed thick and hopped off the stage. “I’m fine, really. I just need to finish packing up and I’ll get out of here.”

Attempting to hide the flush in your cheeks and the hammering of your heart in your chest, you bent over to gather up a speaker in your arms. When you stood straight again, you found Johnny standing just feet before you, his aviators clutched tight in his grip at his side.

“I’m not fuckin’ with you here, kid,” he said, bringing his face close again. You felt your knuckles paling around the speaker, clutching it tight to your chest. His hair framed his face in a darkened curtain, the stubble on his cheek pronounced in the dim lightning. “Nobody fucks with my band without feeling it later. You know what this bitch looks like?”

“There really isn’t a need for more violence.” Eyes down, head bowed, you shifted the speaker’s weight in your arms. You tried not to dwell on the sensation that arose in the pit of your belly over being included in his band. “I just want it to be over with.”

Johnny watched as you set down your load, reaching up to wipe at your bloody nostril. As he crossed his arms, his foot began to tap gently - a sign of agitation you’d come to recognize. “Fuck all, kid,” he rumbled, then pulled the bandanna from his back pocket and tossed it to you. Raising the cloth to you nose, you tried not to inhale deeply as his scent overpowered you. “If you’re not going down that road, you at least got liquor at your place to soften the blow that shiner’s going to give you tomorrow?”

You clenched your jaw, wrapped your free tightly over your chest. The blood from your nose was stained into the fabric of the bandana; your grip tightened around it. You murmured a soft reply.

Johnny cocked his head, hands planted on his hips. “Speak up, kid. Use that voice of yours like it’s meant to be used.”

“I live in my car,” you said again, louder, then immediately cleared your throat and began to drag a box toward the door. “Listen, uhm… Johnny, I appreciate it, but I really need to finish packing -“

“Fuck packing.” Johnny crossed the small distance you’d put between the pair of you, stopping so close you felt his breath fanning across your face. “Let those other dickwipes pull their weight for once.”

Your gaze tried to avert itself again, but something within the hallows of your chest forced your eyes to stay trained on his. Were those flecks of hazel in the brown of his irises? You blinked a few times; you’d never been this close to him before. Hell - you’d never been this close to a man before at all.

“I…” You hesitated, gripping the bandana so tightly you were sure you were about to tear it in two. “I didn’t think you cared so much.”

“I told you, kid,” he said, then reached up to grab your shoulder. Explosions; fireworks; detonations where he touched you. “I take care of my band.”

And that was how you found yourself holding an ice pack to your face in Johnny Silverhand’s apartment in Pacifica, with the night sky and the stars taking up the space between peering in on you from the windows across the room.

You brought a small glass of liquor to your lips as you took in the living space; it was quaint, but not a shitty little hole in the wall either. You knew he didn’t care for aesthetics or shows; he was a man of practicality. Whatever served him well - pretty or not - he kept around.

Maybe that was why you’d lasted this long so far tailing the band as their little runt groupie.

You shifted slightly in your seat on the couch, pulling the pack slowly from your face. A television was set against the far wall, where the news station spewed some commercial for the latest body mod people were just ‘dying for!’ Clothes lay discarded around the bed set in the alcove in the corner, and a trio of electric guitars stood by dutifully in the corner amongst a mountain of expensive speakers and stereoes. Mounted on the wall were half a dozen framed magazine covers that featured Samurai - and a few were only his face occupied the page. Photoshoots, interviews, covers… he had it all done and displayed.

The star himself stood at the miniature bar pouring himself a few fingers of vodka, hair tied up in a half knot at the crown of his head. He set the bottle down and crossed the room to take a seat on the opposite side of the couch, then kicked up his feet on the coffee table and crossed them at the ankle.

“So tell me,” said Johnny and sipped at his liquor. He extended an arm across the back of the couch, his fingers just a few inches from your head. “How’s a kid like you end up in this shit city? You certainly aren’t built to be a street kid, so you didn’t grow up here.”

Consciously, you reached up to touch the area around your eye. You’d used the bathroom when you first arrived here to clean the blood off your face, but the black eye steadily blossoming across your skin wasn’t going to wash away as easily. As if you didn’t already feel bad enough; you were sitting on fucking Johnny Silverhand’s couch in a bloodstained shirt and the confession off your lips that you lived in your damn car.

When he tilted his head to look at you expectantly, you felt your throat run dry. You knew how he - hell, how most of the street kids in Night City - felt about where you came from. Surely you didn’t have to tell him the entire truth. Besides - even if you lied, you were expecting him to come to his senses any time now and tell you, his month-new groupie, to get out of his house and scram.

“Well,” you said and gingerly placed the ice pack on the side table, “I guess you’re sort of right. My family was pretty… well-to-do. I grew up on the top floors of the snottiest buildings -“

“You used to be a corpo kid.”

Your blood ran cold in your veins. Fuck; this was it. Your run with Samurai was over. With any band, really. Surely word would spread you were a corpo brat trying to slum it as a street kid.

Johnny shrugged a shoulder and brought up his glass to take another sip. “You don’t hide it well, kid,” he told you bluntly. “The way you talk, walk, hold yourself. You reek of that high-brow lifestyle, no offense.” The corner of his lips quirked slightly. “But surely mom and dad didn’t drop their precious little darling on the street, now, did they?”

You couldn’t stop the zipping, electric sensation that pinged off the walls of your chest. “Not exactly.” You finished off your drink and set it aside, eyes focused on the corner of the television. You had no idea what the anchor was talking about; you didn’t really want to know. “My parents are oil investors. Old money types - they both came from countryside mansions and absent fathers - heh.” You smiled slightly to yourself. “They always told me I was a, as they called it, ‘soft soul.’ In their native tongue, that means weak. Not able to make those cutthroat decisions, you know? I don’t think they ever planned on including the stocks and the oil fields in their inheritance, so they went off and found the son of another tycoon who they could give it to.”

“Holy fuck,” said Johnny and lifted a stunned brow. “You’re telling me they arranged a marriage for you and this asshole?”

“They tried, I guess.” You hesitated, hand fidgeting with a stray loose end on your shirt. “I told them I’d rather splatter my brains on the wall - and they told me I could either do it their way, or leave and not come back at all.” You turned your head and gave him a wry, tight-lipped smile. “So I haven’t gone back.”

Johnny hissed out a breath through his teeth and tossed back the rest of his vodka. “You’ve got balls, kid, I’ll give you that,” he said and set aside his glass. “NC’s sure one hell of a place to hit the ground running.”

“Mm.” Maybe it was the liquor in your systems talking; or maybe it was the fact that slowly, as the evening went on, you were becoming more and more comfortable around him. “When I was younger, I heard your music for the first time and I just couldn’t get enough of it. My parents fucking hated it - tried to take away my vinyls, block the streaming websites, but I always found a way to keep listening. I guess… it was the only way I felt I could rebel.

“I got dragged to parties to be seen and not heard; I was given piano lessons at five, and when those didn’t stick, they put me in sports. They always wanted me to be some, I don’t know, incredible prodigy. Like I needed to be amazing to call myself their daughter. And I guess when they realized I wasn’t anything to be proud of, they just gave up.”

As soon as you shut your mouth, you regretted what you had said. When you’d left home, you had vowed to leave your past in the past. What the hell were you doing?

But then Johnny was barking out one of those laughs of his as he rolled his head back against the couch cushion. “Oh, come on,” he said and eyed you incredulously. “Nothing? You can handle your way around eddie negotiations - you sure they didn’t try to shape you into a corpo biz manager?”

“Believe me,” you said, finding yourself snickering along with him. “They tried everything. Nothing I ever did was good enough for them.” A loosened giggle escaped your lips as you gestured vaguely around the apartment. “Hell, I think they’d keel over and kick it if they knew I was at Johnny Silverhand’s place - the most infamous rockstar in Night City.”

He smirked coyly. “What?” he said and scratched at his throat. His eyes stayed trained on yours as you watched his tattoos move with his ministrations. “Your old man doesn’t like bad boys and tech fuckers?”

“Especially.”

There was another one of those still, silent moments between the pair of you, like the string attached to your fingers had pulled taunt. The television played quietly across the room. Car horns blared and wailed outside. Your gazes were locked together, unable to pull apart even if you wanted to.

Then he was moving. Pulling his feet off the table, standing to his full height. Stepping closer - resting a silver hand on the couch arm beside you and the other on the back near your head. Your breath hitched in your throat as he leaned over you, enveloping you against him and his ow shadow.

“Listen, kid,” he said, and you realized his voice had dropped a baritone. In the pit of your belly there came a fluttering, one that traveled further, lower, straight to your core. “I might be getting some off vibes here, but I’m not going to be a pussy and say I wouldn’t be disappointed if I was.” You felt your breath slam from your lungs as he leaned closer, closer, and dragged his tongue along the short expanse of your cheekbone; you swore your heart stopped. “Tell me if I’m wrong, but I think there’s a thanks in order for saving my ass earlier.”

Ice - your blood had frozen and turned to ice beneath your skin. Did he know you were holding your breath? Did he know you’d never been this close to anyone like this? Did he know you’d never kissed before, never fucked or gotten fucked or known what real, true devotion felt like?

After what seemed an eternity - a forever of him staring at you from inches away, awaiting your green light to advance - you at last found your voice. “I didn’t do it in exchange for this.”

“Yeah,” he said, “but let me spoil you, sweetheart.”

Then his lips were melded to yours, and your mind, your senses, your body - they all burst red and green and purple and every color across the spectrum you didn’t even know existed. His knees came to rest on either side of your legs and he bent down, so that he hovered over you and you stretched up in order to keep your mouths connected. His kiss was rough and demanding, the reins held tight in his hands, and he took up every last gasp of breath you had left in your lungs.

He pulled back for a quick inhale, leaving you shell shocked, but only for a moment before he was pushing his lips back against yours. “Fuck, honey,” he slurred between deep, passionate kisses, “you taste even fucking better than I thought.”

When his mouth moved down to the column of your throat, his touch anchoring your hips down beneath him, you realized this wasn’t supposed to be a one-man show. Your movements felt foreign, unknown, as you brought one hand to thread through his hair and the other to cradle the back of his neck. His tresses slipped through your fingers like feathers or silk or some other poetic shit - you didn’t care enough to think of the right metaphor.

Johnny found a spot on your skin where your neck met your shoulder, his hand moving your shirt collar out of the way, and attached his mouth to that area. He sucked and pulled at your vulnerable throat, using his sharp teeth to gently bite at the skin. You gasped aloud, your grip in his hair tightening, as he licked at the place he’d bitten, almost like apologizing or making up for the pleasurable pain.

And fuck, was it pleasurable. With every moment that ticked by with his mouth lavishing your neck, with his touch roaming across the planes of your body, you felt yourself growing wetter. Your belly was flip-flopping with nerves and excitement, your core suddenly aching from the attention you were receiving. And, if you shifted your hips just right, you felt the growing erection in his pants pressing against your thigh. You gave a hesitant, experimental buck of your hips against his - and your heart leaped when he pulled off your throat to groan low and gravelly into your collarbone.

“Oh, fuck, sweetheart,” Johnny growled as he sat up. He peered down at you with blown pupils and an almost animalistic gaze, his hands working the clasps and buckles of his bulletproof vest. “Keep playing games like that and you might get your prize sooner than you expect it.” At last, he lifted the vest over his head - and you didn’t stop yourself from staring. His stomach was a flat plane of muscle, riddled near the hip and the pec with a few puckered scars. His dog tags clinked against his chest, hanging like ornaments over the line of hair that began at his belly button and became thicker as it disappeared beneath his waistband.

“Impressed?” he crooned, drawing your eyes back up to his.

You felt yourself smiling, albeit a bit nervously, and slowly reaching out to touch his abdomen. “Maybe,” you murmured. Your fingers trailed over his chest, his nipples, his belly. His muscles flexed under your touch, and every few moments he let his head fall back and released a low-throated moans. They sent shivers up your spine and an ache down to your core, clenching around nothing.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Johnny said, coming to his senses and hooking his fingers beneath the hem of your shirt. “I can’t exactly do this the right way if I’m the only one playing skins.”

Your nerves jumped wildly as he began to pull up your shirt; you partially lifted yourself to aid him, but as the fabric began to clear your breasts, you felt your blood spiking. “Wait!” You grabbed his wrist, halting him in place. “Wait, Johnny, wait.”

Obediently, he paused where he was. He peered down at you questioningly, searching for a sign of whatever he’d done wrong. “Don’t get cold feet on me now, kid,” he drawled gently.

“No,” you said quickly, and you panicked because he looked like he was going to pull away, so you surged forward and kissed him hungrily. He gave a muffled grunt of surprise, but returned it nonetheless. When you finally leaned back again, you knew your face was flushed; how attractive you must have looked, with a violent blush and a black eye coming in. “I want to, Johnny, I really do. More than…” You shook your head slightly. “More than I think I’ve ever wanted anything?”

“More than you want to tell those fucking parents of yours where to shove it?”

A nervous, wobbly smile wound over your lips. “Yeah,” you replied. “More than that. But…” You swallowed thick and averted your gaze, letting your eyes fixate instead on his dog tags. “I, uhm… I haven’t exactly… done this before. At all.”

“Hmm.” It was all he said for a long, quiet moment. You could tell he was staring at you, but you didn’t want to know if his gaze was full of reproach or unease - or the wild, suddenly feral look some men got around virgins. He shifted his weight atop you slightly. He spoke again. “You’ve at least cum before, haven’t you? Used one of those toys you women like so much?”

For a fraction of a second, you realized the gravity of it all - you were lying beneath Johnny Silverhand, talking about your previous use of sex toys. But before you could begin to register the situation, you said, “I mean, I’ve used vibrators before. I didn’t ever… didn’t ever orgasm on those. It just wasn’t enough. And my mom always said I didn’t want to lose my virginity to a piece of silicone. So…” You gently tightened the grip you had on his wrist. “No. I haven’t. I didn’t… I hadn’t even kissed anyone before this.”

“Fuck me, kid.”

You waited for him to roll off you, to tell you that you were a nice kid, but he suddenly wasn’t feeling well. It seemed forever. Then, that feeling - that sensation that was growing familiar - of his metal fingers on your chin drew your attention back up to his face. He was gazing down at you with a look so understanding, yet so teasing and coy it seemed as though the painter who had sculpted his features changed his mind half way through.

“If I’d known that was your first,” he rumbled to you, “I’d have made sure to bite.”

With that he dipped down to recapture your lips, his artificial hand coming up to cradle your cheek affectionately. A tidal wave of relief flooded through your systems as you reached up to tangle your hands in his hair again, your body beginning to act on its own accord. Your leg twisted around his to pull his hips closer to yours, and you felt his erection bump against the apex of your thighs. You both groaned into one another’s mouths, sharing breaths and panting into throats.

“Hang on,” he ordered you, and once you had locked your legs around his waist, he braced you against him and hauled you up into his arms as if you weighed nothing. He continued to bite at your lips and shove his tongue into your mouth as he carried you toward the bed.

When your back hit the mattress, he pulled you further up toward the pillows and crawled over your form. “I’ve got an idea,” he drawled, nipping at your throat. When you made a noise of acknowledgement, he slowly began to undo the button of your trousers. “We’ll save the fucking for the next time. Tonight we’ll stick with basics - swear it’ll feel just as fucking good.”

You felt your heart rate pick up like a methodical tick. Your grip on his shoulders tightened, nails digging into his bare skin. “The next time?” you murmured, dammit, hopefully. You knew Johnny Silverhand was a womanizer, that a different girl fell into his arms every other night. A part of you felt stupid for hoping this would be different; now you weren’t feeling quite as foolish.

Johnny smirked down at you, his hair curtaining you both. “What?” he said. “Thinking this was going to be a one-time thing?”

“Well…”

“Let me tell you something, sweetheart.” He pressed his forehead to yours, his human hand trailing down to the space between your thighs. A small squeak escaped your lips, one that melted into a moan, when he pressed his thumb down on your trousers right above your clit. “I’d be fucking stupid to find a little thing like you and let you go.”

You hitched out a gasp. “Let me go?”

“Oh, yeah, baby.” He inched down until he was level with your exposed belly, then licked a stripe up to where your shirt was bunched just below your breasts. “You’re all mine now.”

Your world was flipped on its head, like you were watching the scene play out from above instead of from your own eyes. Johnny helped you pull off your shirt, and then your bra, and you finally let yourself moan unabashedly when he pulled the peaks of each breast into his mouth. Then he removed your pants, and your panties, and then he had practically picked you up and pulled you into a position that had your core aching like never before.

Johnny sat his back to the headboard with you seated between his legs so that your shoulder blades laid flat against his bare chest. He’d hooked his ankles around yours when your legs spread, keeping them apart and open for his touch that was slowly, torturously making its way down your body.

“Johnny,” you moaned as his metal hand cupped your breast, alternating between kneading and pinching the nipple. His warm, human hand was dragging his fingers over the tops of your naked thighs, occasionally dipping between them, but never where you needed him the most. “Johnny, please…”

“Ooh, my poor thing sounds so good when she cries for me,” he chuckled in your ear from behind. His voice was low and came from deep in his chest, sending goosebumps over your flesh. “I bet she’d sound even prettier singing.”

Without warning, his hand dipped toward your center and dragged a finger through your wet folds. In reply, as if obeying his command, you released a garbled cry and leaned your head back against his shoulder. Fuck, this was so goddamn good. You’d never known letting someone else touch you like this could feel so fucking amazing.

“That’s right,” growled Johnny, then found your clit and began to rub circles around it. “Cry for me, sweetheart.”

You squeezed your eyes shut in pleasure as he played with the bundle of nerves, your hands gripping onto his thighs for support. Your legs instinctively tried to snap closed, alleviate the heightened need for friction, but his ankles locked around yours kept you from doing so. Feeling your pull against his legs, he quickened the speed of his circles, increased the pressure ever so slightly.

“Oh, fuck!” you whimpered. Your pussy was clenching around nothing, your slick smearing across your thighs. “Oh, shit, Johnny. Oh, my god, please don’t stop.” Quickly becoming overwhelmed by the amount of pleasure and sensation, your body began to react on its own. You squirmed in his grasp, hips attempting to buck and feet kicking. There was a sort of coiling feeling building in your abdomen, like a pressure from within, and your body was chasing after it like it was the sun it had never seen.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” With every buck of your hips, his own chased yours, practically humping up into you from behind.

You couldn’t reply, only whimpered and whined and buried your face into the musky-smelling crook of his neck.

Johnny applied just the smallest bit of more pressure, his free arm wrapped securely around your middle to keep you anchored to him. “Come on, kid,” he whispered against the shell of your ear. “Give it to me. Give me this first one.”

Whatever kind of effect his words had on your systems, it was immediate. That coil in your belly snapped, wound too tight, and your vision tore white as you threw your head back against him. “Oh, god, Johnny! Johnny, fuck!” Your words melted into hoarse cries and moans and gasps. You felt a warmth pooling from your entrance and his fingers gingerly gathering it up; if you had been able to open your eyes, you would have seen him suck your release off his own fingers and smirk to himself in satisfaction.

For a long, quiet few minutes, you simply sat there between his legs, feeling your chest rise and cave as you tried to regain your breath. Behind you, Johnny craned his neck to press open-mouthed kisses to the back of your neck, your shoulders, the jut of your spine. He unhooked his legs from yours, allowing you to draw them together and to your chest as you gripped his thigh with a grip that refused to let go.

“You with me still, kid?” Johnny shifted his weight a bit, then wrangled you until you were sat sideways in his lap and he cradled you against his front.

Your head rested against his bare pec, fingers unconsciously gripping onto the dog tags around his neck. “Mm,” you hummed, because you felt as though you couldn’t form words anymore even if you wanted to. A sudden and powerful tide of exhaustion had washed over you, leaving you feeling hollow and full all at the same time.

“Use that pretty voice of yours,” he insisted and flicked a piece of stray hair from your sweaty forehead. “Tell me you’re alight. That I didn’t go too hard.”

So - because you would do anything for him, after he just did everything for you - you scraped together what was left of your vocal cords and said, “I’m alright.” You skimmed your fingers along his chest, and again, his muscles flexed beneath your touch. “Johnny.”

“Yeah, kid.”

“You won’t…” The next words caught in your throat. You thought of your parents, who had tried to sell you off because they believed you were nothing. You thought of that woman who had clicked you like it was a second nature to her. You thought of your own doubts and fears that taunted you like bad dreams that wouldn’t go away even after you woke up. “You won’t leave me… will you?”

Johnny’s grip around you tightened, and he pet your hair soothingly. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he said, and there was something about his tone that made you believe this wasn’t just a promise to you, but to himself, as well. As if he’d loved and lost before; as if he refused to let this crash and burn, even if it killed him in the end. “I’m never letting you go.”

[nwheregirl]

Hey y’all! Today’s my husband’s birthday! 🖤🖤

[sweetcocopowder]

Would "You blush so beautifully" be okay for a cyberpunk story. I can imagine johnny saying something cheeky that gets v all flustered and he cant help by blush. Congratulations on 100 followers btw.

Prompt 2 | SilverV

Synopsis: Johnny has come to a realization that he likes how the merc blushes more than he thought.

Word Count: 1.3K

Pairing: Johnny Silverhand / Male!V

Warnings: Hand job. Choking. Praise. Thigh riding.

Notes: Thank you so much for your request! You're the only person that requested Cyberpunk and I love that I got this one. I did change up the way the prompt was said a bit just to make it fit a bit better. Hope you still enjoy :)

V groans to himself as he throws his bomber jacket onto the ground where it’ll stay. All until he remembers about it. Nibbles meows from the bed but doesn’t make any effort to stand up and greet him. He curls up even tighter in the messed up sheets and blankets, too comfy to do anything else. Not wanting to disturb the cat, V flops down on the couch instead.

“Well, that was very intense.”

V moves his head up so he can spy Johnny sitting on the other end of the lounge. He mumbles something that has the rocker’s eyebrows furrowing and his lit cigarette pausing near his mouth. When the merc doesn’t go on further to repeat himself, Johnny rolls his eyes and takes a long draw of his cig. He blows out a thick cloud of smoke that disappears into nothing.

The odd little gig that Regina had given V was just that. Odd. It included getting a doll out of Night City and across of the border. It was going all smoothly until he offered to pay in sex rather than eddies. Something that V had become very flustered over and denied it, saying it wasn’t necessary. The next thing that happened had V all flustered and going as red as a tomato.

He had patted V’s cheek with a sweet smile and said, “You’re a good boy, you know that? Don’t change that sweet lil’ heart of yours. Regina picked the right merc.”

“Intense?” Johnny quips. “All he did was offer you a good bang.”

V awkwardly looks up from where he is on the couch at the rocker boy. He pulls smoke on his cigarette and blows it out in V’s way. The digital smoke curls around him and for a second, he can almost smell the cheap tobacco.

“Yeah whatever. You try keeping your cool while six border guards stare at you,” V bites back as he sits up in the couch.

“And to think you robbed Arasaka of their most prized possession,” Johnny mumbles.

“Fuck you, too,” the merc quips, flipping the bird to the engram.

He runs a hand down his face and when he opens his eyes his heart jumps from his chest. Johnny stands over him, his smoking cigarette held out to the side. He watches a speck of ash fall off the end and onto the carpet where it disappears instantly. All digital.

“The fuck you want,” V snaps.

Without a word, Johnny kicks V’s foot to part his legs. The merc raises a brow, eyeing him down. He doesn’t move his legs back together though, all too curious on where the rocker is going with this.

“So, because sex was involved you want to finish what I didn’t start? Funny,” V says unimpressed.

Johnny shakes his head. “No. By God, you’re thick sometimes,” he says as he flicks his smoke into V’s face.

The merc flinches, having felt it hit his skin before disappearing. Johnny bends over a little and grabs V’s face with his silver hand, squishing his cheeks. He looks at the merc over the top of his aviators, almost inspecting him. Dark eyes hover over his lips.

“I like the way your face goes as red as a fucking tomato when someone compliments you. You know that shit happens to you right?” Johnny comments. And he can only smirk as V’s cheek blush a beautiful colour.

V doesn’t move though. He should swat Johnny off, tell him to fuck off. Especially when the hand slips down to wrap around his throat, squeezing ever so slightly. He grabs onto the rocker’s wrist, but doesn’t pull him away. Instinct more than anything.

With Johnny’s other hand, he cups V’s growing bulge in his pants and kneads it a little too painfully. V hisses and tries to sit up but Johnny pushes him back down by his throat. This only turns V on further and he grips Johnny’s hand tighter. He can feel the warmth of the cyberware against his skin. Too real to think it’s fake.

“Now, now. Don’t wanna go against the whore’s words and be a bad-“

“Don’t you finish that sentence, you prick,” V snaps but he can feel his face growing hot.

Johnny chuckles lightly. “For a merc, you have a beautiful blush.”

Hearing those words from his mouth, it only makes V’s face all the redder. A stifled groan escapes his throat as Johnny works him through his pants. If the rocker doesn’t touch him proper soon, he’s going to throw him off. So instead of waiting, with his free hand he unbuckles his belt and pulls down his pants just enough for his hard cock to free itself.

Johnny grips V’s cock firmly and begins a steady yet edging pace. All while squeezing even harder around his throat that has the merc gripping onto Johnny harder. Breathing becomes a little hard as his hold is firm and tight, making V’s head light. But he isn’t complaining.

“Did you know your ears go red as well?” Johnny asks, more to mock than anything else.

V grinds his teeth, his gut coiling as pleasure and warmth shoot through him. This even pace that Johnny is doing is agonizing and painful.

“Shut up,” V spits, even though he’s enjoying this a little too much.

Johnny knocks his legs part a tad more before sliding his leather clad knee up against V’s balls. A shiver runs down his spine at the contact and he tries his best to grind back down onto Johnny. He grips the couch with his free hand, trying to reach his high as quickly as he can because he knows how much Johnny likes to watch him squirm. His gut coils at each stroke and he can feel his balls tense.

“Faster,” V groans out.

His breathing becomes short and shallow as Johnny continues the pace on his weeping cock. He’s fully hard and precum leaks from his tip that the rocker collects with his thumb before gliding it down the base and repeating. He isn’t going to change his pace. Each stroke has V shaking and groaning from deep in his throat. They become louder as a thumb is dug deeper into the soft skin underneath V’s jaw, another shiver running down his back. He can barely breath but he’s also so close. He can feel his balls tightening against Johnny’s leg.

“All red in the face from just a hand job,” Johnny grins into his words, enjoying the view a bit too much. “I wonder what you’d look like if someone actually fucked you good and proper.” He speaks the word almost so blandly but it still strikes like a punch to the gut to V’s dick in a way that has spots coming to his vision.

The thought of Johnny taking him, fucking into him rough and hard. Watching V squirm and moan over his cock is enough to have the merc reaching his climax. Hot cum weeps from his cock and onto his toros. His whole body goes stick and ridged and V feels like he can’t breathe for a moment. He can feel Johnny’s eyes on him, eating him up. He keeps stroking V through his orgasm, pumping every last bit of cum out of him until he’s a shaking mess on the couch. Until it’s a sticky mess all over himself.

He lets go of V but keeps near, his knee still positioned between V’s legs. V pants and swallows thickly, trying to collect himself the best he can with the rocker hovering over him still. He tries his best to sit up straight but doesn’t go far.

“Heh,” Johnny chuffs before he smokes on a cigarette he’s pulled from thin air. “I think I finally understand why everyone is so eager to get in your pants.”

“Go eat a dick,” V snaps through his short inhales and exhales.

The rocker only smiles around his cigarette. “Looking like that, don’t tempt me V,” he mocks.