#you bet your ass i put the johnny + v together forever tattoo in this fic yeehaw

[vampireloverz]

you're not a ghost, you're in my head

pairing: johnny silverhand x fem! reader

words: 3.8k

cw/tw: reader is technically v but is not referred to as “v”, reader has a specific canon tattoo and pubic hair, canon typical slang, canon typical cigarette use by johnny, fingering with a metal hand (f → receiving), unprotected sex, light scent/armpit kink, light angst, cyberpunk 2077 spoilers

— “Johnny, the fuck do you think y—“

“Relax, kid,” his voice comes out in a gritty rumble by your ear as his fingers come down to replace yours on your clit, “You and I are just gonna have a little fun.” —

"Pleasure doin’ biz with you,” you shake hands with your client as they deposit eddies into your account, a nice little bonus on top of your usual fee for a job well done.

“Get us the fuck outta here,” Johnny says as you check your phone for Wakako’s message, you can feel his impatience tug at your brain, “I’ve had enough running around for today.”

If you’re tired imagine how I feel, asshole, you think, and he just gives a single dry chuckle in response. 

As you walk the blocks back to your apartment, you think about the past months since your life has turned upside down and, as hard as you fight it, you think about Johnny.

Being alone is a luxury you used to take for granted, something you used to actively run from, but now you haven’t been alone in a long while. Never really, truly by yourself. At first, it left you irritable, quick to anger, but now you’re left trying to pinpoint exactly when frustration turned to camaraderie. And, from there, into genuine friendship. For now, Johnny’s really all you have. 

You don't want to rely on other people too heavily— your clock is ticking and you’d rather not hurt anyone if you have to go down. Misty and Vik being involved already weighs on your conscience. It’s easier to push everyone else away, keeping them at arm’s length to shield them, that’s what you keep telling yourself. But Johnny… you can’t do that with him. You’re on death’s row together, hand in silver hand.

That doesn’t mean you don’t get lonely or wish you had someone to hold you and warm your bed every once in a while, and you’re beginning to feel the effects. Your shots are getting sloppy, joytoys are starting to catch your eye every now and again— especially when they have dark hair and sunglasses— and it’s infuriating. Sure, you could buy some company for the night, scratch the itch, but it’s the same issue as getting yourself off— having Johnny be your peeping Tom.

Johnny has to be onto you, you know he sees everything through your eyes, he feels everything you feel. It would be easier to hide how you feel from your own damn self. It’s Johnny, Johnny, Johnny on an endless loop. His opinions on anything, everything, and, despite your best efforts, you’ve grown fond of him. The attraction has always been there, but now there’s… an ache, too. More than just the urge to fuck him. You’re doing your best to ignore it.

“Hey, baby,” a pretty joytoy calls out to you as you walk past. You notice Johnny’s choice brand of cigarette dangling precariously from between their fingers, then you hate yourself for noticing, “You look like you could use a massage, relax a little.”

You shake your head and ignore the urge to say yes, please. What comes out instead is: “No, thanks.”

The joytoy shrugs, a tempting smile on their lips as they knock ash from their cigarette, “Your loss.”

The sun is setting, the streets become bathed in pools of warm, natural sunlight and blinding neon signs blinking on for the night. You shove your hands in your jacket pockets, painfully aware that it’s Johnny’s jacket. It’s not his, not really, but the replica is good quality, it even had him fooled for a minute. Each time you put it on, your brain reminds you of that old school movie where a college girl wears her boyfriend’s varsity jacket, this morning had been no different. You just hope Johnny hasn’t seen that.

You know he doesn’t peek around every single corner of your brain, since becoming friends he allows you some privacy, as much as he can. But if your thoughts get loud enough you can’t hold them back. And lately, they have been loud. Half of this sexual frustration is because you haven’t gotten off in a while, sure, but the other half is your brain and body yearning for the one thing you can’t have. 

You can feel yourself scowling, still in disbelief that you’re craving a digital construct while simultaneously uncaring that he’s quite literally all in your head, so you actively make the effort to relax your face and body as you reach your megabuilding’s elevator. Once you’re in your apartment, it's easy to distract yourself with a simple routine for the night; lukewarm shower, hastily thrown together dinner, and you’re tucked into your bed in no time.

You leave your blinds open since you like to observe the way Night City wakes up as you’re about to sleep. The traffic, the nonstop chatter from neighbors and people on the street, lights from garish, oversized billboards— you’d be lying if you said you wouldn’t miss it. You shut your eyes and listen, focusing on taking deep, even breaths. A minute passes. Then two, then ten, then you lose count, slipping into sleep. 

You wake with a start at the sound of people laughing outside your door and realize your sheets are tangled and damp with sweat between your legs. You were dreaming— a warm mouth on your cunt, your orgasm so close you could almost taste it— but the dream and its pleasure fade from you quickly only to leave you sleepless and frustrated all over again. You squeeze your thighs together and roll onto your side, staring at the empty couch across the room.

A fraying end of your sheet catches your eye, you make a mental note to patch it up as you fiddle with it. The border of the sheet only gets worse but you keep curling threads around your finger before unraveling it again and again. It doesn’t help you find sleep or alleviate the ache between your legs so you decide to give the poor fabric a rest and give in to what you need.

 Your voice is thick and raspy with sleep, “Johnny, you there?”

A familiar glitching sound fills your ears as he appears across the room, lounging on your couch with one leg on your coffee table, “As if I got anywhere else to be.”

You can’t tell if he’s actually looking at you behind his sunglasses, “Do me a favor. Can you leave for a bit?”

Johnny doesn’t answer, his fingers just tap rhythmically beside his leg.

“Come on,” you groan, just about one step away from begging, “I don’t wanna have to take those pills. Just give me thirty minutes. An hour, maybe.”

He raises one brow and pulls a cigarette from his pocket, “You got plans tonight?” he asks as he lights it. The fire glints off his silver hand for a brief moment before he takes a drag, holding it for a moment before breathing out.

Your clit throbs as you see a flash of his tongue, “Listen, a girl just wants her me time. Just delta the fuck outta here for a while. Hang out in my memories or something.”

Another deep drag off his cigarette, you can almost hear him roll his eyes but he disappears without any protest.

“Preem,” you sigh, voice shaking slightly as you roll onto your back. 

You wait a minute or two before you get to work, trying your hardest to remember your pleasant dream as you trail your hands over your body. You slip your hands under your sleep shirt and palm your tits, squeezing them once and idly wondering what Johnny’s metal would feel like on your skin. The thought alone makes your pussy clench, you can feel how soaked you are against your pajama shorts before you reach down and touch yourself.

Once your hand is past the waistband of your shorts, you waste no time in gathering your wetness on your fingers and circling your clit, hasty and impatient. The minutes roll by and you can’t seem to pass over the plateau, each second without orgasm only makes your frustration grow. You roll onto your side, curling one arm under your pillow to support your head as you try to keep your fantasies away from appearing as Johnny, but nothing seems good enough.

“Damn it,” you groan into your pillow, your voice bleeds into a long, wordless whine.

Your body trembles with frustration as you try and decide whether or not to keep going, if it’s even worth it if you’re going to be left unsatisfied. Right as you’re contemplating firing up a BD, you feel weight pressed against your back— Johnny. You almost jump out of your skin and a wash of heat crawls up your neck and into your cheeks, embarrassment prickling at your skin.

“Johnny, the fuck do you think y—“

His hand curls over yours between your legs— the sensation of him touching you is still trippy but you’ve given up trying to figure out how you can feel him touch you long ago— and you bite your tongue to hold back a pleased sound.

“Relax, kid,” his voice comes out in a gritty rumble by your ear as his fingers come down to replace yours on your clit, “You and I are just gonna have a little fun.”

Your brain short circuits as Johnny starts to draw slow, lazy circles around your clit. His whole body is pressed to yours, leaving no space untouched. All you can think to do is grab his forearm and let out a sigh, trying to hold back a full body shiver, “T–Thought I told you to fuck off.”

Johnny chuckles and trails his touch down to where you’re slick and aching, “Something tells me you’re not too upset.”

Your hips roll forward unbidden, chasing the pleasure you’ve been craving for so long. It feels much better to have Johnny’s fingers on you instead of yours, you can feel the immediate effect he has on your body.

“Fuck, you’re wet,” his words are almost a laugh of surprise as he suddenly rocks his hips forward. 

“Oh,” you groan, pushing your ass back into him, trying to feel how hard he is for you.

You know this isn’t really happening, it’s some trick your brain has cooked up trying to let two simultaneous desires play out. Synapses misfiring, neurons receiving signals that aren't really there. You know Johnny isn’t actually pressed beside you but you don’t care. You can feel him, in your mind and on your body. The cool metal of his fingers is warming against your tits, the quiet hum of his thoughts and desires is buzzing around your head and he’s realer than anything you’ve felt before.

“Get these off,” Johnny impatiently tugs at your pajama shorts until you kick them off. He wastes no time in getting his hands all over you, palming your ass before pulling you against him.

You twist back as much as you can without straining yourself, “Kiss me.”

He scoffs with a touch of humor, “Needy,” but indulges you. 

The first press of your lips together is a little rough. The angle is not quite right, his beard scrapes your cheeks and chin, but it’s still him, so you enjoy it all the same. You press your tongue to his bottom lip, still half expecting to touch air and not Johnny, and he reciprocates in kind. His mouth is warm and wet against you, more real and perfect than anything you’ve felt before, he groans into your pliant mouth and the sound goes right to your clit— it’s a damn good kiss.

The hand that isn’t between your legs comes up to curl around your throat, using the lightest of force to keep you in place, close to him. Another pass of his tongue on yours and he’s pulling back, a drawn out groan falls from his lips when he ruts against your ass.

“Fuck,” he sighs against your lips before he moves, turning you over onto your back as he takes up the space between your legs.

Johnny’s back on you again in a instant, his hand returning to rest heavy and grounding on your neck, his thumb rubbing up and down against your jaw as he presses his lips to yours again. You reach your hands up to tangle in his hair and tug, smiling against Johnny’s lips when he makes a gruff, pleased noise in response.

You pull him back by his hair and tug at the collar of his bulletproof vest, cursing when it doesn’t budge, “Take this stupid thing off.”

Johnny lets out a little laugh and pulls back, resting on his knees between your legs, “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

You roll your eyes and take off your shirt, tossing it to the side without a care. By the time you have your eyes back on Johnny, he’s naked too. He gives you a little smile and you take the opportunity to flip positions, pulling him down to the bed before you straddle him. He raises his eyebrows when you take his wrists in your hand. You don’t explain yourself as you push his arms above his head and into the pillows.

“Keep ‘em there,” you order, giving him a little smile before you let his wrists go.

You sit back, ignoring his cock pressing hot and insistent between your legs as you take him in, your hands greedily groping his chest. He makes a noise of approval when you start to trail your lips along his tattoos, kissing every so often until you reach his armpit. You trail your thumb through the dark hair there before you keep kissing downward, undeterred. You feel his breath hitch as you breathe in, cigarettes and the deep scent of sweat. It’s intoxicating enough to make you want to press your luck a little more. You close your eyes, kissing the underside of his arm again before you let your tongue peek out and touch skin, daring to take a lick of him. Johnny twitches and lets out an exhale through his nose, his arm almost shaking with the effort to keep still.

You hum, amused, “Ticklish?”

“Alright,” Johnny grumbles, moving to grab you by the waist, “You’ve had your fun.”

He flips you back to how you were originally, tossing you back onto your back hard enough to make you laugh and bounce once on the bed. He curls over you, his hands flex on your sides as he kisses you.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, his flesh hand soft as it moves to span over your stomach.

The comment sets you squirming, turning your face to the side with a harsh little sound bubbling up from your chest. You shut your eyes and feel embarrassment prickle up your spine.

“No,” he takes your face in his hand, grips your jaw with purpose and turns to face him, “Look at me so I know you heard me.”

You blink them open, a hint of a scowl on your face as you prepare to tell him to knock it off but his cocky smile stops you. You swallow thickly, a heat crawls its way up your neck onto your face.

“See? Fuckin’ beautiful.”

You try to turn away, your cheeks now hot with embarrassment, but his hand keeps you in place. His eyes flick down to your lips as you laugh, “Shut the fuck up, Johnny.”

He makes a noise, low and deep in his chest, and finally relents, letting your face go with a quiet little tut. Johnny pulls back slightly, just enough space to trail his metal fingers down, pausing a moment to feel the hair between your legs. He turns his wrist to let his thumb part your folds and find your clit.

“Careful with that thing,” you say, your voice touched with nervous, excited laughter.

“Always am.”

Johnny pushes two fingers into your pussy, pumping them a few times until you relax, your slick makes the metal shine. He leans forward, pressing a kiss between your tits before he takes one of your nipples into his mouth. He sucks for a moment then breaks away, kissing a trail over your chest to your other nipple, biting it gently this time.

Soon enough, he stops, pulls back. You watch him take his cock in hand, your arousal glinting along metal as he spreads it over himself. He thumbs the head of his cock, the sight of him mixing his precum with you makes you dizzy, before he grips himself at the base, his silver hand accented by dark curls. Johnny angles himself downward, teasing you with just the tip again and again until you whine.

“Gonna let me fuck you?” he hums, using his human hand to hold himself above you.

“Y-Yea— fuck, yes,” your hands curl around his biceps, impatience makes you dig your nails in.

“Fuck,” Johnny’s voice trembles ever so slightly as he says your name, “C’mere then.”

He presses his cock into you and, after a moment, pushes inside steadily with a groan. You only make a noise of complaint when he stops, hips pressed flush against yours and his cock knocking something tender inside you.

“Johnny, ‘m good,” you gasp, thinking he’s stopped for your sake. He doesn’t move so you tilt your head to the side to bite at his wrist. It’s not enough to hurt him for real, but you soothe it with a kiss anyway, “C’mon, fuck me.”

He nods and only holds still for a moment longer, moving his arms to rest on his elbows on either side of your head. Johnny fucks exactly like you thought he would. Steady and hard, like he means it— he fucks you like he’s proving a point. Every thrust has his balls slap heavy against your ass, a firm, staccato rhythm that has you close to keening. He can feel exactly what you need, no guesswork or faking it when he’s in your head, and you can tell he’s loving it. 

You wrap your arms around him, needing to feel him close since you’re not sure how long this’ll last. Johnny presses more of his weight into you when he senses what you’re feeling and your legs almost ache with how far they’re pushed apart, one of his hands comes to cup your cheek, turning your face to his. Even with your eyes shut it’s easy to find his lips, soft amidst the bristle of his beard as he keeps up his pace. He lays into you like he means it, like he’s trying to convince you he’s real and here to stay. Like he’s trying to convince himself.

“You feel good, baby,” Johnny moans, his lips still close enough to brush against yours, “So fuckin’ good. I wanna feel you cum, need to feel it.”

You whimper, taking one arm down to tap his side and pant, “Here— let me just—” Johnny nods and moves, giving you room to snake your hand down to rub your clit in frantic, rough little circles, desperate to cum.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” Johnny murmurs encouragingly, “That’s it.”

“Johnny,” you sigh, your voice warbling as you feel yourself getting close, climbing and climbing until you’re pushed over the edge. You cum holding your breath, your fingers still working your clit until the sensation is too much and you have to pull away and give in to the pleasure. You let out a shuddering groan as you feel your cunt clench around Johnny’s cock, pulsing enough to make your whole body twitch.

His rhythm falters, hips stilling as he presses himself can as close to you as possible, as deep as possible. You feel him fill you, and really, truly, you would swear on your life that it genuinely happened. You moan at the heat of him inside you before you catch yourself muttering praise into his ear, his lips pressing uncoordinated kisses to any part of you he can reach.

Johnny’s head falls to your shoulder as you both catch your breath, neither of you making any moves to pull apart from each other. It’s almost frightening how real this feels, as if he’s actually in your arms now, weighing you down into your mattress. You ignore how much you wish that were true and curl a lock of his hair around your finger before you tuck it behind his ear, trailing your touch down the back of his head. He makes an appreciative sound when you scratch gently at his scalp, so you keep doing so, soothing both him and yourself with the motions.

“There’s somethin’ I wanted to tell you,” he says after a while of laying together, nudging the hinge of your jaw with his nose.

“Yea?”

“I like seeing you in my clothes,” Johnny’s breath is hot against your skin as he chuckles, “Almost as much as you like wearin’ ‘em.”

“Shut up, Johnny,” you try to hide the laugh that shakes your voice by tugging on his hair, smiling when he gently bites you in retaliation. 

He takes your arm, holding you steady as he kisses the tattooed heart that holds his and your names. Johnny pulls away first and you make an involuntary, upset little noise as he pulls out of you, but he quickly kisses you quiet. The urge to smoke sneaks up on you, now a familiar feeling that comes from Johnny’s influence on you. You blink and he has one in hand, pulled out from whatever digitized place he gets them from.

“Get some sleep, kid,” Johnny murmurs around a cigarette, laying back and lighting it as your eyelids droop.

You let out a little hum, already half asleep, “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

You hope you get more of these opportunities, to feel him, be felt by him. Tears suddenly prick hot at your eyes, your throat tightens and you wonder how much of the grief you feel is you, how much is him, if the lines are too blurred now to even be able to tell. The hope, you think, might be both of you. It sits heavy with you, heavier than God as you theorize a way that you and Johnny may survive the separation.

“Hey, Johnny,” your voice no more than a whisper, “I wish we could’ve met some other way.”

Johnny takes a deep drag of his cigarette and you feel the ghost of the synth-tobacco burn in your throat. His gaze strays from the posters hung across the room, dark brown eyes trailing over the curve of your cheek and brows until he finds the courage to look you in the eye. His free hand reaches down to find your warm thigh and squeeze it, “Yea.” 

You hold back another sentimental thought, too intimate to be said aloud where it can become real, and eventually fall asleep watching the way the neon lights dance through glitching cigarette smoke. You don’t have to say it, Johnny can hear it anyway. He knows, and you know it too.

thank you so so much to @shibaraki for beta reading for me! youre the best 🤍🤍🤍

title is from forever by charli xcx