Not me vividly hallucinating about a certain scot eating me out until I cry
What you wish for
Pairing| John “Soap The Munch (tm)” MacTavish x F!Reader Rating| E Word Count| ~500 Kinks/Content/Warnings| Cunnilingus, squirting, mentions of safe word, Johnny is A Munch(tm), the author is an American still trying to dial in a Scottish accent
Date a munch, they said.
It would be fun, they said.
And it is, for the most part- you can admit that with no hardship.
It’s just that occasionally (like now), it becomes obvious that Johnny is eating you out for his pleasure and your own is just a happy by-product.
“Shit, ah! Johnny! I’m gonna- hgn- Johnny I’m gonna cum,” you pant in warning as the Scot buried between your thighs goes to town on you like a man starved.
Every time this man drops to his knees in front of you, it is a guarantee you’re going to see stars.
This time he’s got you pinned on your back on the bed. You seem to be wiggling too much for his taste as he’s banded one forearm across your waist and the other hand grips one thigh to keep your legs spread for him.
No matter how much you cry and moan and buck and cant your hips, he just leans his weight on you to keep you still.
He alternates between broad swipes with the flat of his tongue or more pointedly circling your clit or lapping at the inside of you.
While he’s yet to disappoint, he really seems into it (re: you) today. Like teetering on has-something-to-prove into it.
With that sort of dedication and attention, it’s no wonder he’s got you squirting and squealing in record time as he slips two fingers inside and abuses that spot that has you seeing stars.
Johnny works you through your high, lapping up every drop of it like it’s his last meal. Your legs twitch weakly in his hold as he continues on.
You think that maybe he’s working himself down, that he’ll leave you be in a minute.
He doesn’t.
Less attention is paid directly to your clit, but he’s still honed in between your legs even as you squirm. “Johnny,” his voice is a whine in your throat. “Johnny I came- I already came,” like there was any possibility that he is unaware of that- given how you squirted all over his face.
He pulls off momentarily, eying you with a skeptical look. “The fuck’s that got to do with me, bonnie? Cum or don’t, I'm finished when I'm finished.”
Your brain needs a system reboot at that- you stare at the ceiling dumbly as he gets back to business.
He’s trying to kill you- there’s no other explanation for it.
(Distantly you remember how your ex never went down you- still expected head on a routine basis, of course!- and you swore that the next guy you dated would have to be okay with reciprocation. You certainly got your wish in spades, hadn’t you? Almost like the universe was apologizing in the most mind-melting way possible)
It’s all you can do to lay there and breathe. If it actually gets to be too much- well, that’s what safewords are for. But Jesus fucking Christ the man doesn’t do anything in halves.
It’s only after he’s wrenched your second orgasm from you that he lets up, crawling up the bed to collapse to the side of you.
“Soon as my legs quit twitching, I’m returning the favor,” it takes you a couple tries to stammer out the words. Johnny looks every bit like the cat that caught the canary.
“Oh I’m no done with that sweet cunt o’ yours- ye just looked like ye were gonna pass oot. We’ll give ye a break an then back tae it, hm?”
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