Maybe we can get some platonic/familial Silverhand+V!Reader where V is his grandkid from a fling when he was alive and it just bites him back in the ass?
— johnny silverhand ft angst angst angst with a dash of family + brief character study
this probably turned out more angsty than you had in mind but mistakes were made and here we are
the moment he realizes it, it’s already seconds too late.
minutes.
hours.
going on days of verbal abuse and mental deterioration set in motion by his own cruel will and abrasive temperament.
how could have known? he hardly knew anything past the barrage of your thoughts and the turmoil of accepting his death and new fate. he’d been torn from his past and set dead straight on derailing your future.
there were just so many memories to untangle, yours and his. faces were a blur and voices even less clear.
those thoughts-reflections- he needed to know had been sealed away the first day of his new life he begun. knock back into the recesses of your mind with each impact of your head against the window of your skyline view.
fuck if he hadn’t jarred your own memories- made it that much easier to forget why his face had been so familiar upon his first appearance.
you were more than the aged fan from his decades old career. the slow trickle of your fingers against that beat up guitar had stopped long ago after he’d berated you for the infantilism his classic hits- tearing the soul from the intended tune with your amateur playing. now he wonders if you’d been playing for yourself at all or was it all feeble attempt reach out to him?
and he just took those offered hands and crushed them to your chest. even from the inside of your head, he had a mirrored view of your face. a front row seat to the transition of emotions from fragility to hardness. that’s really where he should have seen it.
in that low shadow of your brow when your face pinched in annoyance. he was looking at a reflection after all.
minors adjustments and mixed genes all trickling down from an inferno romance that had ended the night he decided to be a true samurai.
he couldn’t blame you for wanting to withhold information when he finally built up the sense to ask. the visor of anger was ripped away now, eradicating any semblance of blindness he could grapple with.
it took days of shifting, adjusting his personality and mannerisms to shed away the abrasive exterior you’d come to know.
to hate.
johnny had never wanted-
hardly imagined having-
but to have you despise him at the end of it?
it wasn’t something he could bare.
your grandmother, you admitted finally, loved to place him on a pedestal. called him a hero for sticking to his beliefs, even if the rippling effect never came in her lifetime.
would come, she still believed, certain that with time the graves he’d rocked would come to life.
if only she could see him now.
johnny figured she was dead. your grandmother. his last physical attraction.
when you finally released those memories, he found those to be the deppest. ones readily swept away without his provocation.
she’d been your rock. the placeholder for your own parents that hadn’t amounted to much as guardians. filled your childhood with promises of warmth and love. and stocked the empty spaces with lyrics and melodies from her heart.
johnny’s songs were never meant to be lullabies for children but they became household nuemonics anyway. songs sang during everyday tasks and hummed against your temple as she tended to scrapped knees and blooming bruises.
without his knowledge, johnny had already been a prominent feature in your life. the envision of him. the determined samurai who’d never stepped down for anything.
had been ripped away by the reality of a nicotine addict with a short fuse and fists to match.
you felt as much as a grandkid as he felt as a grandfather.
two puzzle pieces that seemed misplaced even as they’re forced into a wedge together.
much like the intertwining of two minds.
jonnny only knew how to slap a bandage on gaping wounds. left to watch and see if the two sides fused together or stretched further apart.
he mentioned your old guitar more, reminding you of the carved wood stashed away in the back of your closet like a forgotten memory. most of the time you brushed him off, adding that he should focus on the next job.
each new gig would be one step closer to reversing the effects of the chip malfunction and finally separating you for good.
but what happened then?
if the chip was removed he still didn’t have a body to return to. he’d still be a lost code in the space of a matrix with no source to cling to for resolution.
he’d be alone and so would you.
two lingering souls from a damaged linage with no real future.
if he was meant to go back down in a fiery inferno then he refused to bring you down with him.
refused to leave you with the lingering scorch marks.
so he tried.
kept urging you to close the gape.
he was more helpful than scornful when offering advice. the bitter taste of sarcasm was still a lingering flavor on his tongue but he bit it back.
when he flickered into view, he stood closer. only a touch away as if he could catch you when you finally buckled under the stress.
if you appreciated that changes, you did a hell of a job of not letting it show. every step closer to the ultimate goal only served to steel your focus.
no.
he’d ironed out that hardened flesh and now you were making it your own.
maybe he could have loved your grandmother. he wasn’t really sure.
something like that felt frivolous to him back then a brief euphemism in society. he would have hated to see his kid swallowed up the the jaws of capitalism.
now here you were about to break them.
he was proud.
and he wanted you to know it too.
so he kept trying.
reminding you to eat. to stay hydrated. to take a break after one too many bearings came too close for call.
to take your medicine.
‘oh, now you’re okay with me shutting you up?’
he could only shrug with a crooked smile. parenting was about ripping your own heart out as an offering right? he’d bled for night city.
he’d snuff out his own flame for you.
he learns about the foods you like and the alcohols you could do without. finds out why you’re so adverse to smoking.
the short answer that it kills so so obvious yet too close to home.
he never offers or requests the taste of nicotine again.
it took sometime but eventually the soft strumming of chords finally made themselves home again in the little apartment.
gone were the crude comments, slating out aggressive pride for constructive criticism.
‘your finger goes here. no, not that one. it will just get in the way. ‘
the songs weren’t a perfect rendition. he later learned that they weren’t meant to be. your grandmother had softened the edges little make them more bite-sized for the mind of a child. and the alterations just stuck with you all these years.
it wasn’t what he envisioned for them, not while lying awake in the back of the tour bus struggling to string together two sentences.
neither was this life; trapped in the skull of his grandchild still scrapping for a chance of survival.
but it was fitting for an old samurai. the wake of tragedy left behind fertile grounds for new beginnings.
and he had a few more things to accomplish before his chapter came to a final close.
making sure you didn’t regret ever knowing him would be his last.
johnny always has a cigarette but do you think he'd every get high and fuck ?
— johnny silverhand ft. recreational drug use
he would have preferred to double the dose of stress relief with the taste of tobacco and carnal desire of sex. but you had a habit of complaining about the smoky dusk that made you feel more like you were going to choke than chase nirvana.
so weed was your alternative. as if that was any less of a cloudy hazy to escape.
johnny hated marijuana. not because of the high—he rather enjoyed that on certain occasions. like after a solid gig. while tumbling down backroads in route to the next city. especially after a long day of wrestling the lyrics in his head.
but watching his fat, yet very un-hard cock fall from your lips for the third time night reminded him very much of why he hated it. cannabis and his libido had a strained relationship, one he’d discovered at a young age after an unfortunate mishap. since he’d been determined to keep it out of his sex life, a task that was rather easy, until he met you.
and now he had a new item on his hate list. near edging the top three amongst capitalism and weed was your smug grin as your long teased the head of his cock. normally the action would leave him twitching with stirrings of stimulation but now simply lay pliant in defiance.
he fucking hated that.
johnny grouched with a visible pout as you batted away his advances yet again. he tried to coax you with sugary words and even sweeter lips that could be making a sloppy mess of you right now. anything to take the attention away from his lack of performance.
you weren’t trying to be an asshole. frankly, you were very content with the spit-slicked shambles you’d made between his thighs. johnny did have an impressive cock, despite how ego-inflated his opinions were. it was nice to be able to handle the entirety of him without his hard hand shoving you down and prickling your eyes with tears.
besides, he was feeling something. the soft flush staining his cheeks wasn’t all directly related to a pot-induced haze. his breathing was an interrupted staccato with occasion huffed groans of appreciation.
it wasn’t the same penetrative, hot and heavy sex that he might have wanted but it was still enjoyable.
your gaze darts up at the soft thump of johnny’s head falling back against against the pillows. settling in the lap of his defeat, you idly stoke him and kiss the underside. every now and again a samurai could use a slow burn.
the fingers that curl into your hair are light and decidly agreeable as he soaks in the taste of arousal.
“fuuuck, you’re such a brat sometimes. alright then, make it good for me.”
eventually the effects would wear off.
until then he would bide his time and enjoy the edge.
Coolio! Ill send in request then! I loved the one where johnny and reader realize they can touch it was so soft!! Maybe one where Reader is getting flirted with at a bar and johnny gets real jealous and it leads to a confession! Protective johnny is O///O imo
— johnny silverhand ft. jealously + possessives
how could you possibly have known? the second occupant in your brain had a window seat to your thoughts and desires. if anything it was johnny who was at fault for not taking initiative sooner.
at the end of the day, you were only human and had your limits. night city drained more than it gave and you were in the need of a refresher. you felt more at ease at lizzie’s than the afterlife. while you were welcome, the overhanging gaze of rogue and other scalpers looking for a sorry so to take on their gigs could get too much.
besides, lizzie’s had mateo and that was frankly all the motivation you needed.
the man was kind, but he had his edges. after accepting that you weren’t a direct threat to the wellbeing of the mox community, he’d become more amicable to your presence— sometimes even teased the boundaries of your growing friendship.
naturally you would accept those advances. despite the additional hardware, you were warm blooded with carvings for companionship. maybe something would come out of it, maybe not. but the idea of talking to something outside of your own head was too appealing for once.
unfortunately, you didn’t realize your attention wasn’t a privilege to give away freely.
‘seriously, this choom? wasn’t he sizing you up last time?’
the thrum of alcohol in your veins could feel like a double-edge sword—lowering your inhibitions and loosening the hold you had on your cybernetic roommate. you were barely managing one conversation after your third drink was hard enough without extra voices bouncing off your skull.
“alright there?”
mateo had taken to lingering near you when he wasn’t needed, a collection of glasses stacked neatly to your right as he dried them without spots. it was the warm of concern in his voice that had you shoving johnny back a few paces.
“of course, you’re here.”
maybe you were laying it on a little thick tonight, but the bartender hadn’t curbed any of your advances thus far. even now, his mouth cuts into a sharp smirk as he leans forward onto his elbows. if your unfurled your fingers, you could brush them along his forearm.
‘what is this sappy shit? gonna ask him to make love to you next?’
johnny was back; taking a comfortable seat on your prefrontal cortex. his own thoughts echoed back, letting you see exactly what he felt about lizzie’s favorite bartender. but there was something else there. a simmering spark of emotions you weren’t able to decipher.
his scoff scratched against your consciousness.
‘jesus, i can’t believe i have to share this compartment of a brain with a fucking idiot.’
perhaps it was his tone or maybe it was your libido—either way it fueled your confidence as your hand dared to curl around mateo’s wrist. the touch wasn’t immediately admonished which was a positive sign.
“when are we going to stop dancing and play for real?”
you weren’t ready for the catalyst your words set into motion.
‘oh fuck this.’
the pang was like a punch in the gut, but targeted lower. the aftershocks made you grateful that you were seated as the tremors shook your thighs. the overwhelms wave of lust that flooded your synapses was too much to only be your own.
but the only other source—
johnny flicked into existence in front of you, thighs spread around your lounged form as he took throne against the bar. his existence swallowed your attention, completely blocking out mateo from view.
uncaring of your pact to maintain a semblance of sanity, rough hands grip your cheeks and draw you into a hardy kiss. it was so like johnny, demanding, unrelenting and wholly intoxicating.
‘you want to get fucked? you go to the guy who knows you inside and out.’
—jackie welles ft. riding + soft!dom + mentions of alcohol
the only real dominate feature within jackie is his strength and breadth. he’s a very difficult man to overturn and take control, but the reins aren’t out of your reach. he’s a capable puppy willing to roll on to his belly when called.
but when this man fucks, he just has a way of putting his whole body behind his thrusts. with lips that taste of tequila and fumbling hands that can’t decide what they want to conquer. eventually in his dazed state, somewhere lost under the surface of alcohol and in a daze of lust, he decides that you should ride him instead.
its almost cruel for you to pull him off his cock, the drag of him exiting as delicious as it is torturous. eventually, your combined efforts bring you to a straddled kneel over his hips. oh but fuck if it isn’t worth it to see the way his lips part in a big O as you settle on your throne. every part of you craves him at any given moment and he fills with the same intensity as when he was pounding you into the mattress.
he was a goner the day you met you and tonight is no different.
— johnny silverhand ft. soft mornings + possibility of physical touch
even in the dark recesses of your mind, johnny is still not a morning person. gone is the chivarly of taking the spot nearest to the door, this man with curl in on himself near the wall just to escape fingertips of sunshine. i said before that this man liked to remember what it felt like to feel the sun, but that was fresh out of the chip johnny. the one still separated from reality. now he’s aging back into his old habits, some worse than others.
at first you find it kind of annoying. the man had a natural way of invading your space. first your mind and now your bed. his limbs stretched out, claiming territory without negotiation. more often than not, you were pinned to the bed without any form of escape. johnny wasn’t necessarily a cuddler—more of a latcher in the most uncomfortable of ways.
smacking, nudging, kicking sometimes even biting which was effective but got you fucked and late twice over. much like in other situation, you learned that johnny needed a gentler touch.
sleepy kisses are what brought his conscious swimming to the surface. on the horizon of drowiness, he’d tread there through your warm smooches and sneaky nibbles. johnny likes to pretend to be resistive, as if he’s not seeking out your affections. he almost fools you while trying to hide his face in the pillows.
it takes some work but eventually you're able to guide him to the shores. just enough to loosen his hold and allow you to slip from bed. if you’re feeling risky, you might try leave a lingering kiss before you start the day—and suffer the consequence as you’re dragged back in for repentance.
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