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shycloudkitty · 10 days ago

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JOHNNYYYYY AHHHHHH

WHY ISN'T HE REALLLL😭😭😭 one chance—

peaches & wine

5.8kish | NSFW minors do not interact 18+

FUCKBOY!JOHN SOAP MCTAVISH X VIRGIN!READER | ALTERNATIVE UNIVERSE

Summary: Fuck boy Johnny fuck you on your demand.

Warnings: Reader is kind of needy and overachiver girl, very cliche you can say. P in the v sex, fingering and eating out, Johnny is a FLITHY man and we like that. Drinking and alcohol. Mention of Simon rejecting reader.

Note: It's finally here and you can see how I gave up in the end, Only because this has a part two with threesome.

IDEA | INTRO

Johnny has seen many men and women alike, fucked ‘em too. He had the privilege to worship bodies and not care about them. He's a filthy god in his human skin— he can care less.

The party is booming with sounds that send low vibrations through his bones, he's nursing a drink and a cigarette. Tonight had been eventful in a low way— women kissing his cheeks and mumbling how they want his numbers, men slowly slipping hands into his back pocket to squeeze his ass.

Tonight was good, the buzz of the drinks getting to his bones. There is this very light flutter in his chest, the headiness of the alcohol catching up to him. Simon must be around somewhere, Gaz had disappeared with his girl long before he even started to order drinks.

Johnny has not been a good man, in his own sense of goodness. He has been something borderlining filth— the cross rests around his neck which he kisses every time he's at the church praying. He prays god would forget what kind of man he is when he dies.

Except Johnny forgets he himself is the man of God when it comes to fucking someone or getting fucked.

He has been eyeing almost everyone, not particularly in the mood to fuck but enough to have some dance with his people or stangers alike. He remembers the first time he had sex, with some man at the soccer club, in the bathroom.

It was something he would always hold onto, fucking the pastor's son.

You have been lingering around for a while, fiddling with the rim of your glass as you give him side eyes. He did notice you, you're very obviously gawking at him, and he takes it as a sign that you must be admiring him. He snorts to himself, puts another cigarette between his lips and searches his pockets for a lighter.

You have been around for the past two years, not really present. Not really absent, just existing somewhere— where people would notice you when they required you and not vice versa. You would be huddled with notebooks, ball point pen ink smeared across your hands and overfilled pages with notes and rough papers with even tougher calculations.

You were from the Computer Science department. Smart in studies, socialising only when others called you and just enough.

You existed, never lived the life you were given. Goal oriented, that's what he called you when you passed by him one day in the hallways. Always good marks, even better reputation between the teachers, some extracurricular activities when required— mostly sketching.

And that brings him to the thought that you shared one hobby same as him.

But it also makes him curious why you are slowly creeping beside him at a snail's pace with the fruit punch with too much soda. You're wearing a khaki shirt, two buttons at the top undone and sowing the swells of your breasts. There is a small tattoo on your sternum that isn't really visible but it's poking out.

Johnny cocks an eyebrow, taking a drag from his cigarette and chugging down what was left of his drink. He doesn't comment how you've crawled up beside him, in a metaphoric sense. Your attention is elsewhere, but it doesn't go out of his observation that you're still sneaking glances at him, again.

Very obviously that too.

You're a squirmy little thing, a bird who has just learnt how to fly. You aren't fitting well with the crowd— a mismatched jigsaw piece. He pities you for the uncomfortable feeling you must be in, an outcasted abandonment.

Earlier when he had seen you enter the club— he had seen you enter with your friends. A rowdy bunch of people from his own batch. They took their seats at the stall— one by one leaving you after asking if you'd be okay on your own, and to his sweet dismay you had said okay each time.

And that was obviously the most wrong thing, the way you were on the verge of tearing up beside him because of the loneliness.

“Ye know ye are really ain't that nonchalant lass” he snickered stealing a glance at you. He observes a few other things about you then, the way you bite your lips absolutely pink and swollen due to being nervous. There is this thought in his head that is clawing— a slow sliver of arousal winding up his spine.

You look up at him with a pout, “Wasn't trying to be nonchalant… wanted you to notice me” your voice is sweet, scared but it's mostly the fear of new interaction. There is a soft tremble in your fingers, now that he turns towards you and you are playing with the glass between your hands.

“Tryna get my attention lass? That's a sweet things” he chuckles, ordering another drink for him. The ciggy between his lips almost finished as he crushes it on the ashtray beside him, “That so love?” He mutters, leaning a little towards you.

That's when he notices that soft red hue flushed over your cheeks and the pout on your lips, the subtle way you licked them and looked away, muttering something about boys like him always poking their nose in other's business.

“Nah lass it was you who slid beside me now, didn't ye?” He grins, when you look away, flushing deeper and chugging down your soda. A small trail of the drink dripping down your lips. There is an angry frown on your face when you look at him again, eyes a little glazed and he's sure you had a couple of drinks before.

“...won't beat around the bush”

“Never said you were love”

“I need you to fuck me McTavish”

Johnny chokes on the beer he ordered, the bartender giving him a confused look, which said more like you fumbling her? Johnny shot a glare at the bartender and looked back at you, still there in flesh and not a hallucination. You're staring at him with concerned eyes, a hand on his back as you pat his back slowly.

“You— okay?” Your voice this time is ten times sweeter, concern lacing as it turns into a soft murmur. Like one's lover whispers in another's ear.

It sends his head into a frenzy, a hazy state where his brain fucks up and absolute lewd scene in his head and you're the victim of his imagination. He knows he shouldn't, god he knows he won't— but a little imagination has never hurt anyone.

The look in your eyes, the way your lips have turned red now and glossy with your constant licking and biting, your tattoo peeking out of your shirt as you lean a little forward towards him, the small warmth of your hand over his back has his cock chubbing up good in his jeans.

He shifts a little, still sane enough not to wreck his nervous system into shutting down his horniess.

“Aye—? Lass ye joking?”

There is a frown on your face this time, a confused one. Johnny is oh so sure it's the alcohol in your system speaking for you. He makes a mental note that your unconscious thoughts do consist of him fucking you and he rather enjoy that image sometimes later when he wants a wank material.

“I— no… I was serious…” your pouting again, looking here and there and everywhere but at him. Your hands are closed on your lap, there is a small tremble in your lower lips as you bite it again— and god if that doesn't make Johnny's cock strain in his jeans. He shifts again, finding a comfortable position where you can't see the tent in his pants.

“I'm… Sorry— That was so inappropriate—” you're speaking, god's you're stuttering so fucking bad while apologising, a soft tremor in your voice as you trying to articulate whatever the fuck you're saying.

Johnny feels guilty, but he doesn't pay attention to it. He's not listening to half of what you're saying, just glaring very obviously at the dip between your chest and back to your neck, his teeth would look so fucking good on the soft flesh. His eyes go a little up and they are on your lips, trembling and swollen— how fucking soft would they feel against his. How good would it feel to kiss them and roll them between his own teeth, bite them until you're a whimpering mess in his arms.

His eyes now land on your thighs and where your hands settle, the plush fat there bulging against the hem of your denim shorts. They look so soft and pure.

He shakes his head, don't Johnny.

Don't you fucking honey bastard of a man— think about her doing maths– fucking hell that's hot too, nah let's think about Simon— okay hot too— Gaz— fucking hell man nah—

He blinks his eyes and you're already off the stool muttering apologies and leaving. The gears in his head turn as he hops down too, his hands on your shoulder— aye lass, nah don't—

There are tears streaming down your eyes, soft slat clinging to your even softer features, a shallow gasp pushes past your throat, trying to catch your breath. Johnny feels a sick pit in his stomach, what he said wasn't that offending right— man he didn't even reject her, all he did was ask her if she was serious?

He tries to convince himself that it's the alcohol in your system.

A sigh, his hands slide down your shoulder to your waist and he leans over to your ear. Breath hitting the shell of it, lips almost brushing against the baby hairs that are around, “I'll take ye to my home ‘kay?” He murmurs, voice soft, yet raspy. Something sweet yet intoxicating.

That gets you to still, eyes blinking up at him as he pulls away a little, a soft smile on his face. You nodd, lips again between your teeth with a nervous flutter. His hands rests against your waist, the warmth seeping in through the cotton shirt. It warms your face as you look away.

There is a shiver in your form, pressing yourself a little closer to him even if there is this uncomfortable flutter in your stomach. You have never done this before, never have been near a man before— not like this atleast. More like you didn't get time, your head was filled with too much of your achievements to even try to engage with men or anyone for fun.

Because your fun was your work, your goals.

So no. But that backfired. High-school, the nerd, the over achiver with a fucking hell of an reputation around the school and at other competition. Never the one to be let down— just yourself.

At college not that you would join your batch mates, but getting teased by your friends as the innocent one, the sweetheart, a baby— the baby of course the group was the biggest ick you had.

So here you were, standing behind Johnny as he roared up his bike's engine to life and put on his helmet and not forgetting to help you with one too, mindfully putting his jacket around you which ate up your whole frame.

You blinked up at this man, John McTavish. You have heard his name, saw him around the campus, a rowdy man with an unspeakable amount of charisma.

People would think he's a loser, but he's decent in his academics. Almost acing his classes and hobbies. He got that fuckboy charm that attracted everyone, every gender, every fucking age— you had heard your roomates whisper among themselves about getting fucked by him, so fucking good, so fucking amazing, all sorts of compliment.

He's like a sex god.

But he wasn't your type, not really. His pal, that brooding mass of flesh that hovered beside him, always in a balaclava, that non-committal person, Simon Riley. Simon was from the History department. Did great and was as same as Johnny.

No wonder why Johnny and he were friends, except Simon was a lot less talking and more doing.

You had gone to him first, sweet and soft and polite. Asking him about his day, he replied with grunts and sighs. Simon was so quiet you almost missed all his answers. Later on, when you boldly asked if you could come with him to his apartment— god's he gave you a look.

He gave you the look.

That disinterested look, ignorance that wasn't feigned. He had sighed and took a large gulp of his drink before muttering a low, “Don't do innocent bird like you sweet’art” before walking away and not sparing a glance back at you.

Blood had rushed to your head so fucking fast, anger and humiliation burning your face up as his massive frame disappeared in the crowd. You had seen red; anger— something cracking in your with humiliation, so you went to the second best option.

His pal, Johnny.

And Johnny was an absolute sweetheart.

So here you stand, with a pit so deep in your stomach and guilt bubbling in your throat as you wipe your eyes and sniffle a little. He looks at you, mutters a it's okay lass, let's get you my home before his fingers are brushing your cheeks.

You feel warmth, too warm— that kind that makes your heart flutter. You know you shouldn't feel like this, but it's your first time being touched so tenderly by a man, of course your biology will betray you.

You nodd, helping yourself behind him on his bike as he steadies it. Then off you go.

The air is in your hair, your arms wrapped around his shoulder, too afraid to wrap it around his waist. Too nervous would be correct. You can smell his cologne, a soft salty and spicy smell that makes you nerves relaxed mildly, yet you can hear your blood rush to your cheeks. You huddle closer to him,fingers gripping his shoulders tightly as he speeds up.

“Ye holdin’ alright bonnie?”

You blink up at him, he's looking at you through the rear mirror. A slight nod as you avert your eyes again— god's you're shy, so flustered right now. You can feel a weird feeling in your skin and through your stomach. It's warming your body, it makes you think this is what love feels like.

Even if you know for fucks sake that this is far from love, it's just lust.

The bike slows down in front of a building, Johnny is a sweet man to help you get off the bike holding your hands. His fingers are coarser, yet gentle in the way only men who hold respect can be.

“You okay love?” He asks, helping you to take off the helmet, his fingers working on the strap as he lifts your head up a little. You hum, your hands idley hanging beside you as you play with the sleeves of his jacket.

The helmet comes off and you roll your shoulders, “That's a heavy helmet” you mutter, fingers fixing your hair. Johnny chuckles, his fingers coming up to your face to tuck the stray strands of hair away from your face. There is a moment of softness, your eyes on his fingers, then to his face— and god help you he has those baby blue eyes.

“This your first time love?” He asked, fingers curling around your cheek, brushing the skin under your eye. Isn't this far too— soft and romantic— you nod, pulling away a little before another flush of heat creeps up your neck. He chuckles, “Mhm, ‘kay”

You're in his apartment, shared with Simon. Simon isn't here of course, he won't be here tonight— he'd be here the next morning. The guilt again starts to make your tongue bitter as Johnny helps you with your bag, keeping it on the couch. You look around, a decent apartment that smells like grass and cheese.

Johnny disappears in the kitchen, “Ye need anything love? Water?” he asks, poking his head from the doorway. You frown, fingers fiddling with your own hands, “No, Thank you”

That should do it.

You're confused, really confused. Aren't you supposed to get into fucking immediately? Like your friends described? Kissing in the elevator, lifting you up in the staircase— aren't one night stands like such?

You blink hard, trying to erase the cloud of confusion from your own head as your fingers fiddle with the buttons of your shirt— slowly unbuttoning them as the cold air leaves a trail of goose flesh after. Hands skittish as your fingers fold your shirt and keep it neatly beside your bag on the couch.

Your thoughts drift to Simon's for once, even if you may have been avoidant towards boys and men alike— didn't mean you never fantasised their touch on your skin.

Some nights when overwhelmed with studies and emotions, laying on your bed— your thoughts would drift to Simon, wantingly. It was a silly crush when you first saw him, with Johnny, hell you didn't even pay attention to Johnny until he came up to the sketching club and sat next to you.

This silly crush developed into something more lustful. Never intimate, just lustful— with your fingers trailing down your waistbands, back arching as you rolled your sensitive bud between them. Most of your thoughts would contain Simon touching you, his hands grabbing you by your waist, arching your back as his lips trailed along your ears.

Another hand on your nipple, twirling it— a low moan.

Just imagination.

Just imagine.

Your bra was off by now, as you flinged it across the armrest.

You look up only to find Johnny gaping at the doorway, maybe salivating with the way he licked his lips and gulped. There were two popsicles in his hands, melting off now. You don't know how long he had been standing there— you don't really.

Too lost in your own head to notice the man. Hands instinctively coming over your chest to save you some dignity as a small squeal left your throat.

“I— Aye lass ye were serious?”

You take a look at Johnny, skittish on your feet. He had changed into a loose vest, shorts on and just relaxed, but the very visible growing tent through those shorts had you swallowing air. You blink innocently (you are innocent) and look up at him— flushed all red and sighing.

“John McTavish, Fuck me”

That sent all the blood rushing south, the almost hard cock now straining against his shorts as he groaned. He looked, held back— eyes glassy as he let out a long breathe, throwing away the two very molten popsicles into the bin and licking his hands clean as he strode towards you.

“Aye— as you command mam”

Johnny's paln was to send you home. Johnny's plan was to make you drink water, sober you up, give you a popsicle and talk about silly things and talk you out of getting fucked by him— because clearly the alcohol in your system was making you talk.

So god, he never expected you to stand half undressed in his living room under the low moon light looking so damn soft and pretty. He didn't fucking think that the sight of your already flushed and shy face would make his semi hardened cock rock hard.

Hell, there was this soft floral smell of your body mist waiting around the air— even on his shirt because of the bike ride which had made it all even more difficult.

Johnny was good at having control over his hormones.

He wasn't good at controlling what his hormones did when someone else controlled him.

In this case you.

He kissed you, lips licking with yours in that aggressive way that he loves. It made you gasp, fingers curling around his vest as he pulled you closer— it was so clear that you had never done this, so painfully obvious by the way you were squeamish and trying to push him away when his tongue forced its way into your mouth.

A low whine, more like approval vibrated in your throat and he grinned on your lips, pulling you on the couch.

Lips moving slowly, yet some aggressive intensity he possessed— he pulled away, letting you breathe.

And god you looked like a rose in full bloom, cheeks reddened and eyes having those hazy lustful look. You licked your lips, hands now curling around his neck as you part your lips again for a kiss and he complies, lips on yours— this time slower, taking your lower lips between his teeth that earns him a squirm and a yelp.

Your eyes hooded as you look at him, and fuck he finds it's hot— so fucking hit he can feel his precum staining his shorts.

His hands wrapped around your naked waist, skin so soft— and god the tattoo on your sternum. It's a small cross, ink curling under your skin and ending just where the swell of your breasts start. Johnny pulls away again, letting you breath— but you're painting, blinking and trying to clear the haze.

He's reverent, lips under your chin, then down your throat and down below— biting your collars that make you mewl. It's making you feel hot, Johnny can feel the way you're trying to rub your legs together to feel something kind of relief. He grins, as his lips trails slobbering kisses over your neck and up to your ears, biting the shell.

You gasp, nails digging into his shoulder.

His one hand now rests over your breasts, rolling your nipple between them, his other hand slowly trailing down your stomach down to your shorts. The overwhelming sensation causes you to throw your head back and whine, trying to lift your hips up and find some kind of contact between him and yours.

And gods he would have fucked you raw— but it's you, it's your hands wrapped around his wrists with those wide eyes that clearly scream I have never done this please please please help— and he pauses. Leans back a little, hands slowly retreating to your waist.

“I— I’m sorry I haven't really done this before—”

He knows, the softness under you skin, the innocence in your voice, the soft tremble in your body as you let him kiss you, god he knows you have no clue what you're going at— so he smiles, his voice syrupy but so husky, “‘Is alright, wannae take it slow?”

Your gaze fixes on him, a little less nervous, the tension in your limbs melted away the moment he kissed you— so you take a leap and nodded at him, lips parting to let out a soft Yeah… yeah thank you.

So Johnny's lips get back to your stomach, fingers gripping your waist and squishing the fat there. He lets out a heavy breath, teeth latching with the button of your shorts.

You give him a confused look, eyes wide and lips parted in confusion. More like awe, “Hey— McTavish what—”

Click

He teeth bite onto the fabric of your denim shorts, pulling it away slowly and that's when you relaise why the fuck is this man called a fuckboy. He got those tricks up his sleeves.

His teeth grip the zip of your zipper, pulling it down and making you feel so damn hot. You feel yourself panting, naked chest heaving as you try to look away but his hand is already holding your jaw, “Look at me love” and god you know you died on the spot.

He helps you out of your shorts, tautly pulling down your cotton knickers down with them, making you gasp and cross your legs in shame. “McTavish!?”

“It’s Johnny babe” he murmurs, parting your legs with ease as he settles between them and stares at your glistening sex. “Fuckin’ hell love, look at ye all dripping f’me?” he murmurs, his mouth already over your clit, giving it a soft kiss. You hiss at the sensation, hands automatically in his hair as a ragged breath passed through your mouth, “G-gently—”

There is this big grin on his face as he rests his head over your mound, stubble scratching the small trail there, you sigh at the weight, “Don't worry lass— lemme just—” he flicks his tongue out, a soft lick over your folds. You gasped sharply, fingers digging into his hair, “I— Sorry Johnny I didn't mean to—”

But god he looked so blissed out when you pulled on his hair, groaning into your cunt mumbling thank you god.

His mouth worked wonders, tongues lapping at the slobbering hole— and god he was messy, slurping up your essence like so ancient elixir. A low moan escapes your throat, brows furrowed in utmost pleasure, toes curling and nails digging into his hair.

He was filthy, making out with your folds whilst he muttered absolutely nonsense— so fucking sweet now aren't ye girl? getting so fucking wet for me? yeah? such a pretty thing.

It wasn't even a good few minutes in that you started to feel your orgasm wind up your core, stomach clenching as a soft cry escaped your lips— all red and glossy with your drool. The slow coil in your stomach tightened with each suck— lazy yet so fucking good it had you cumming within few seconds.

Back arching as you pulled on his hair, and Johnny being the good fucking dog he is— licked up every drop of your release until you started to whine and push at him, your heels in his thighs crying as he overstimulated your sensitive spot.

“Aye gimme one more bonnie” he grinned, lips on your bud, rolling it between his teeth and pushing his middle and ring finger in. You gasp, his fingers curling at the sweet spot making you cry aloud— “Just like that, good girl” he purred into your pussy.

Pumping his fingers in and out while rolling his thumb over your clit— Johnny takes a moment to admire you're fucked out expression— and he swears by the cross he wears around his neck, he'd tattoo this moment under his eyelids. Eyes rolled back, fingers in your hair grabbing them by roots while you try to push away, which is really trying to pull him closer.

Your second orgasm pulls closer as he hits that spot over and over again— and the coil underneath your belly snaps, making you spray all your release over him. He hums in approval, pulling back as he flicks his thumb continuously over your bud riding out your orgasm, “Aye look at her lass, so fucking beautiful”

You're spent, barely being able to open your eyes as Johnny pulls down his shorts. If you were a little more conscious, you would have noticed the white cum patch over his shorts dripping down his thighs, but you don't. Johnny sighs, pulling his vest off— the cross dangling from his neck.

He looks into your eyes, a pleased sigh leaving your lips as you try to catch your breath, fingers trying to find purchase around his neck to pull him for a kiss. There is this sudden glee flowing through your veins as you kiss him, tasting yourself on him, an approving hum.

Just as he pulls back, you stare at him.

He looks so fucking happy, the grin on his face damn beautiful and that breaks your heart.

The guilt that had left your body coils up again as your muscles tense up— a nervous flare in your bones as you bite your lips to keep yourself from crying. But all the overwhelming sensation and emotions got the best of you, and tears fell down the apples of your cheeks.

Johnny looked so fucking confused, that happy smile wiped out at an instant— hands wrapping around your cheeks as he wiped them, “Hey, Lass? Ye okay? I didn't hurt ye did I?” He's concerned, borderlining anxiety in his own form. You shake your head, “No— I'm sorry Johnny–”

And the guilt is out of the box as you wrap your arms around his neck and sob, muttering apologies that has him confused. Johnny's wondering what the fuck went wrong as he holds you, getting you on his lap and rocking you mumbling hey lass it's okay.

“It's not!” You pull away, with a particular choking sob, “It's not, I used you—”

He's staring at you now, with a look that says, come again? yet you're having an emotional meltdown on his lap, naked, both of you.

Such a good first time fuck.

“Aye lass, breath— breath love, now tell me what is goin’ on in ye head—”

You blink, sobs still wrecking but slowly shimmering into snuffles as you wipe your face, “I— Johnny… I Simon…”

“Simon?”

“Simon didn't want to fuck me so…”

“You're telling me you came to me because Simon didn't fuck you?”

“...Yes,"

You take a pause

"I'm sorry”

“Lass ye better believe that I can fuck ye better than that skull head”

You blink your tears away again, eyes burning now as your hands hastily wipe them. Johnny's grinning, holding you up a little, “This yer first time yeah?” You nodd softly, “No tears bonnie, no fuckin tears– only if I fuck you good”

And then slowly rubbing his cock up and down your folds, easing up to you while you stutter straddling his lap. A low gasp leaves your mouth as he pushes in, rocking your hips slowly. “This hurt sweet’art?” he asks with a kiss on your lips and then to your cheek.

“Not— r-really–” you fumble, walls fluttering around his girth as he bottoms out. He groans, throwing his head back as you adjust to him, “J-Johnny— this—” you stutter again, lips opening apart as he slowly thrushes in at a slow pace letting you adjust.

You're gasping, hands pawing at his chest, mewling and whining. Johnny's keeps his eyes locked on your, lips pressing soft kisses on your collar bones and down your chest— it distracts your attention from the slight pain down there, but god the way Johnny is pacing up is making your head spin.

“F-faster Johnny—” you mutter, hands grabbing the back of his neck as you push your mouth against his, whining as he increases his pace making you gasp loudly, which he swallows. Your walls clenching around him as he moves, “Fucking hell Lass made for me now didn't ye?”

You answer with a moan, nodding your head as he hits that one spot again, cock so fucking thick and stuffing that it has your guts twisting. You can feel your abdomen coil again, the sweet release in your guts wrapping around your spine as he pushes in and out again and again.

Your release washes over you, slow like waves as Johnny lets you ride it out, helping you while he chases his own release. His cock feeling impossibly thick— and then he cums, hard with a groan on your shoulder. Your head falls back as he holds your waist on his lap, pressing kisses over your neck and shoulder.

“S’ good f’me lass”

He can feel himself leak out of you, pooling on his hips as he pulls out. He'll worry about the plan b later, surely get you one before he cleans you up and gets you to bed all coddling.

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