Pekk, 23 She/they // Sideblog // Main @pecter-specter
Finally got around to posting and reblogging fics.
Only 18+, Minors DNI, NSFW blog
You can find me on AO3 as SpectralDevotee.
Hiyaaa! Call me Pekk. Welcome to whatever is going on here, hope you enjoy your stay.
This is a multifandom 18+ blog (mainly Arcane, Thunderbolts*, Slashers, and JJK atm) with a pretty inconsistent writer behind. I'm currently working on my college thesis, so updates WILL be slow.
Other than that, keep in mind English is not my first language, so mistakes are bound to happen from time to time, thank you for your patience in that regard tho
Plz don't feel shy! My asks are open for requests, blurbs and ideas, though I may take a while to get to them U w U
Warnings: F/M, F/M/M, M/M (we get two sex scenes in this one, yay)
P in V sex, oral sex, handjobs, blowjobs, creampie, frotting, slight choking kink, kinda fluffy + a little bit of existential dread at the end maybe(?)
A/N: Thank you all for the patience fr fr. I'm even going to try and excuse myself, I'm just bad at organizing fic updates + irl life, sowwy
All replies, likes, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!
Word count: 4.6k
Divider by @ saradika-graphics
“To my knowledge it is the Alpha’s role to provide their mates with gifts,” Viktor paused, looking at the intricate details engraved on his collar “Not the omega’s”.
The metaphorical weight of the collar struck him first, that is if he understood correctly what you were implicitly trying to tell him and Jayce. Any other piece of jewelry could have been passed off as a normal gift, even a ring could have been more subtle.
Then came the realization of the actual physical sensation of golden vines and flowery rivulets under his fingertips. Polished sheets of gold, smoothed out until the division between plaques was indistinguishable, making him ruminate around for the answer to the question you were quietly asking.
Your own silky ‘hmm’ broke the intimate hush previously hanging in the room, a product of Viktor’s acknowledgement.
The summer wind blew not-so-silently outside his residence, emphasizing every movement, every breath taken in the room. Even though the windows encasing the three of you were considerably big, barely any light filtered through the glass panes. Only the few stranding blotches of warm light managed to illuminate anything other than the carpeted floor.
The orange glimmer extended up to the feet of the bed, where Jayce kept fumbling while buckling his own collar, hoping neither you nor Viktor wouldn’t notice how hard it was for him to concentrate as he cast down his lingering gaze on you two.
A pace or two passed before you decided to simply chuckle in response to your Alpha’s comment, once more leaving the question pending in the air as you walked over to the vanity. Each step you took resonated in the room, not quite dissipating the tension, rather relishing in it.
For now, you limited yourself to grabbing a dusty mirror cast away in the far corner of the dressing table, left behind by its owner after one of his many escapades to Viktor’s home. Just like any other piece of paraphernalia in Piltover, the hand mirror too held many intricate engravings. Most of them were left meaningless after time had erased the symbolic connotation of its elements: stars, moons, and letters scattered around the silver handle and frame.
Yet, isn’t that the same reason why objects such as those are all the more valuable? Because its meaning can be lost if there is no one there to interpret it?
At least you thought so, that’s why you could not let any other person in charge of their collars. They were simply too personal to explain. Too precious to let other hands taint the materials.
Too intimate, said simply.
As soon as you brought the mirror over to your own face, you saw it: a blurry reflection of Viktor sitting still behind you, furrowed brows while deep in thought.
Viktor prided himself in saying he was discreet, a level-headed man that knew how to react according to the situation. Jayce and you, on the other hand, questioned if he had ever looked at himself in a mirror. His every thought might as well have been captioned as either his expressions or his body language would often betray the façade.
Then his eyes moved over to you, almost echoing the gears turning in his head.
Now all the nights you had insisted on staying back at the lab late at night made sense to him, along with your sudden disappearances in the middle of the day. If he had to be honest, it was the latter that had him on edge. Viktor tended to prepare for worst-case scenarios before thinking of other possible causes to your absences. Thinking the worst, even if highly unlikely for you to try and distance yourself from either him or Jayce willingly.
A few seconds passed before the pitter patter of your feet announced your presence as you made your way towards Viktor, your hand gracing the side of his face while you walked past his side and crouched right where his peripheral vision failed to see you.
There was a grace –Jayce insisted, even if you denied it– in which you walked around the space, commanding everyone’s attention at your every whim. Your Alpha, especially, loved the way you would pace around the wooden chair he usually sat on; how you held both their hearts in your hands.
You savored the silence still swaying in the room before finally deciding to dignify your mate’s inquiry with words rather than actions “Is it a sin to pamper my mates, now?” The mirror plopped on the palm of his hand, punctuating the cheek in your tone.
His hands were fast to clean the everpresent layer of dust obstructing the view, hoping to gain a better view of the collar currently draped across his neck. Your handiwork depicted a pattern of entwined snapdragon vines accentuated by tiny little pieces of diamond and other crystals he could only guess you had made yourself in the lab.
How much time could you possibly have invested in these pieces of art, he wondered.
Viktor turned his face lightly, letting the shimmering light of the afternoon hit the golden details easily lost to the untrained eye.
The collar that sat perfectly over his neck had obviously been made by expert hands, carefully covering the mating bites that Jayce and, of course, you, had given him just last night.
Every nook and cranny was proof of endless hours of intensive care to detail; even the leather had received special treatment, as noted by the way the edges had been softened so as to not hurt whomever was using the accessory, even with a bite as recently made as his.
Looking even closer, hidden below the golden pieces, were all of your initials written in delicate lettering; framed by various lamium galeobdolon buds, or yellow archangels, as Jayce preferred to call them.
They were the same flowers he had given you and the brown-haired Beta a couple of years back when you officially started courting.
Soft fingers traced the top of Viktor’s collar –slowly, desperately careful– until you reached his throat. Your velvety touch made a familiar heat reach his face, more so when he caught your attentive gaze already looking directly at his eyes through the mirror.
There he saw sin itself; a feline smile etched itself on your lips, just on the verge of it reaching your ears.
Your insistence on him being sat down while he received your gift made sense, too. His back was pressed tightly against your chest, letting him feel your omegan purr as you wrapped your arms around him.
Adding to that the way Jayce’s scent filled the air, Viktor swore he could die in peace right then and there, so long as he got to live in this moment forever and always.
Then your Beta’s scent also reached your nose, clearly just as interested in your attention as Viktor.
Jayce sat on the edge of Viktor’s bed, still trying to hook the metal prong into one of the leathery holes while failing miserably. And how could he not when he had such a view of his mates?
A part of him knew it was natural for packs to form. All denominations had a place in society, something about biology making sure the pups would be well cared for or something. Yet nothing could have possibly prepared him for the pull he felt towards the pair in front of him.
Something in the way you all met –clashing into each other’s lives and changing the entire course of his existence– made him believe in destiny. A force greater than any of you that had to make sure you ended up in the same place, at the same time. It had to be fate.
Only to be set in stone by you when you gifted him, and Viktor, these collars.
A step, then another inched closer and soon your shadow hovered over his entire figure, a caricature of how usually it’d be him towering over you. His hand was engulfed by yours as you, softly, pulled away from your Alpha’s grasp and into your Beta’s arms. You left just enough space for Jayce to be able to lean lightly on his forearm while you worked on fastening the buckle he had long forgotten about.
“I would be very offended if you weren’t as lost in a trance as you are right now” You hushed, playfully poking at his reddened face.
“Why?” He was fast to question, clearly thrown off by your remark.
“Any other packmate would take it as you refusing the bond, don’t you think?” He mumbled, trying to come up with excuses, none of which dared come out of his mouth when your lips were so close to his “You’re lucky I know you well enough to be sure you’re just… too hot and bothered from looking at Viktor and I to finish putting it on on your own”
“Might I present ‘excited’ as a replacement? I find ‘hot and bothered’… lacking” Viktor’s voice loomed from the chair behind you “I believe my suggestion is more faithful to what is happening with our Beta, if my eyes do not deceive me”
Jayce tried to close his legs, suddenly shy at Viktor’s obvious glance to his crotch, but you were fast to stop him with only your knee. “Yes, excited would be more accurate of a term, but it does sound ambiguous, doesn't it?” The audible gulp coming from under you gave you all the information you needed. Your Beta was getting off on your joined teasing.
“I’d rather say…” Your finger rubbed his skin as you hooked it under the collar, barely grazing the bite you put on his skin the night prior. “aroused”
Viktor’s weight was fast to appear beside Jayce, “Or, maybe, lustful?” His hands traversed over Jayce’s back –drawing circles over the tight muscles that kept flexing and contracting under his palm– taking their time to reach the front and undo the various buttons securing the white shirt over his body.
“Definetely lewd” Jayce’s subsequent whimper was like music to your ears.
“Bordering on pornographic, indeed” Viktor’s tongue slid down his neck, catching the droplets of sweat already forming at Jayce’s nape.
You inched even closer, Jayce’s robust shape almost overshadowed by yours in a rare display of submission on your Alpha’s behalf, who sat behind him; content with watching his mates have some fun while he observes. You did not miss the way Jayce’s length strained against your leg, nor the way Viktor kept moving his hand up and down your Beta’s sides, sometimes grazing your own skin all the while.
Jayce’s scent spiked then, an obvious response to your caresses. A pair of callused hands reached out to hug your waist, pulling you to his body. “Can the both of you stop teasing me and get on with it, please?”
You turned your face to meet your other mate’s, admittedly cute, pout of defeat. “Think he’s got enough?”
Viktor sighed playfully, “He did ask nicely”
“Then, I hope you won’t mind me getting him all by myself first”
“So long as you don’t mind a voyeur" Viktor gave a final lick to Jayce’s earlobe, making him shudder beneath you, where he lay tightly straddled between your legs.
Moving aside, Viktor let you push Jayce downwards until his back rested atop the distended comforter. As much as Jayce tried to hide it, he loved it when either of you took control over him. Maybe it was one of the only things he truly enjoyed out of being a Beta. A kindling of desire sparked inside him every opportunity his Omega and his Alpha vied for his attention, almost to the point of madness. At times like those he questioned how he could have ever dared to exist without them.
A kiss, then another fluttered over Jacye’s sensitive skin and some on top of his new acquisition, a thought that made him whine: your collar. Even with his eyes closed he could recognize those lips belonged to you, one of the protagonists of all his intimate fantasies.
The air became heavier, warmer, heavy with his panting. It was only a matter of time until his trousers became much too small for his growing desire.
As if on cue, you hand reached low, lower, and yet lower. Your fingers merely following the happy trail scattered over his lower belly, searching for his aching cock.
At last, your hand reached his heat, rubbing his swollen member over the strained layers of clothing still present between you. “That is no good, Beta. We need to get rid off this,” Your index hooked under the elastic, letting it slip in a silent ‘thack’ that did nothing but entice Jayce, hypnotized by every syllable that came out of your mouth “ –if we want to go further”
Quickly, faster than you had ever seen him act, Jayce elevated his hips –never even minding your own weight atop his lap– while removing the offending garments, almost ripping them off in the process.
“Careful, pup” Your Alpha spoke, elevating his already broken state “You don’t want to tear anything, hear me?”
“Yesss, a– Alpha” Jayce slurred his words, “ ‘nything y– you w’nt Alpha” By then his Beta cock had already made contact with your slippery folds, getting smeared in your slick with every involuntary movement made by his own buckling hips.
“In that case,” Viktor made eye contact with you, his golden gaze and crooked smile threatening you with a good time “Why don’t you show your Omega how grateful you are she claimed you as her mate?”
In less than a second you felt him, Jayce’s bulbous member intruding between your lower lips, battling for entrance through your tight ring of muscle. His lips searched for your scent gland, happy to find it swollen and puffy, in need of the attention he was very willing to give it.
“Relax, Omega, let your Beta thank you properly” Your Alpha positioned himself closer to Jayce, trapping him between you as his hands continued roaming his back. Had you not known any better, you’d think Viktor was only trying to ease him from his trance, maybe even helping him guide his cock to finally impale you on it.
Alas, you were able to read his every movement. You knew of the selfishness hidden under uncountable layers of worry for you and Jayce. He wanted to let you in on a fact he learned very well after many years of your companionship: you two were his.
His to please, his to savor, his to own.
That, and the terribly selfish desire to frot against Jayce’s back was enough for you to relax and let Jayce enter you with a brutish thrust powered by his own need for release.
The ‘pap pap pap’ of his sack hitting against your pussy lips engulfed you as your Beta helped you bounce up and down on his cock. The heat incremented with every inch he managed to fit inside you only to bottom out and start all over again. Your mind reeled at how much pleasure he gave you by accidentally hitting your G-spot with the sheer size of him.
Maybe you would have lasted more had Jayce not left your hips and started toying with your tits, softly pinching your nipples between his index and middle fingers. His thumbs, followed by his palms, enthusiastically kneaded your breasts.
You did not miss the way Viktor’s index finger hooked itself to Jayce’s collar, slightly choking him as he left your sweaty gland and turned his face to kiss the Alpha. Truly, there was no respite, not a second where you could breathe anything that wasn’t your joined arousal.
It was hard to pinpoint who came first; while Jayce obviously had the upper hand for a second –as he had the most resistance out of the three of you–, he had forgotten how you, too, were able to counter his onrush of thrusts against your poor G-spot.
“S’ not fair, y– you” He tried to stop you, momentarily separating his mouth from your mate, but you were fast to interrupt him.
“Shush, now, Beta” Your voice, he thought, was elevated by the onslaught of pleasure you kept giving him “If you want to thank me,” You tightened up your pussy, squishing him out of his cum every time he dared to stick his carnous member up to the hilt. “You’ll give me every little drop,” He tried protesting, he really did, but you sank down once more. His thick cock was left defenceless, oversensitive skin rubbing against your warm, wet walls.
“ –and that’s final”
You could feel the blood pumping through your veins, almost being able to sense a whole new heartbeat in the pulsations emanating from your swollen pussy out of pure reflex.
The quiet reigned anew, now accompanied by Viktor’s almost mute ‘shh shh’ in Jayce’s ear. He was just as –if not more– spent as you.
It was your Beta’s warm cum –now overflowing out of your swollen hole– that brought you back to reality. Your arms were now resting on his shoulders, your sweaty body draped atop of him too. Only Viktor was graced with complete rest, merely leaning on Jayce so he did not lose balance while still holding on to you for dear life.
It would not suffice, not yet. You wanted, no, needed to fuck Viktor as he was wearing your collar, too.
“What about you, Alpha?” You croaked, barely riding down your orgasm.
“I will be fine. It is enough seeing you both…” Viktor slowly separated from Jayce’s back, his cock reddened after only humping your Beta’s back for the last half an hour, not even being able to be inside him. “Enjoying yourselves. Pay no mind to me, I can– ”
“Nah” You clicked your tongue, already parting from your other mate.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I meant,” You held on to Jayce, lowering him until his side rested languidly on the sullied mattress, mentally checked out while still savoring your sweet scent in his tongue. “Is that all you can give me after such a generous gift?”
“Ah.” A smirk formed on his mouth “I see, my Omega wants her Alpha to grovel at her feet, too”
“It’s only natural, it is a proposal” Your right hand reached his face, rubbing his cheek before grabbing his collar and bringing him closer with little effort.
Inch by inch, his face neared your own, seemingly glowing with pride as he got pulled by the collar you had fastened around his neck. His breath mingled with yours, noses almost touching “I want to take my claim, Alpha”
“And you will, Omega, but if I may,” His hand reached for the little nub of sensitive skin peeking from beneath your bush, barely visible over Jayce’s soft member. “I would like to take this opportunity to pamper you”
You separated from your Beta, letting his member fall to his thigh, covered in your glistening juices and a few drops of his own cum. Viktor engraved that visual into his mind, even minding the small whimper that Jayce let out as soon as you left his lap. That memory would certainly become one of his recurring fantasies for years to come.
Your arms encased your body, laying freely next to your herculean mate. Jayce allowed himself to trace his fingertips over your naked body while you positioned yourself for your Alpha. Once more he wondered what would have happened if only he had met you and Viktor before, not because it was logically possible, but he liked to question why fate had kept you apart for so long if not for the sole reason of it being an untrustworthy ally.
Shivers kept running through you in the aftershock of your previous climax, leaving you tender under Viktor’s searing gaze. Beneath his tired eyelids lay the glaring eyes of a man committed to being yours, forever and always, as proven by the collar he so graciously ported.
How could you refuse such an offer?
You gave him a nod and his mouth made its way to your wet mound, his nose pushing past your lips as it graced your puffy clit.
Viktor’s hands were fast to tug at your legs, pulling them apart to give him ever more space where he needed it. His fingers dug into your plushy thighs as you buckled beneath his greedy treatment of your quim.
His tongue danced from down upwards, spreading your gulping folds that desperately tried to keep Jayce’s cum inside. A quiet, protestful ‘ghn’ escaped you when some of your Beta’s spend leaked from your abused hole. If you looked down at that moment you would have been able to see Viktor utterly lost admiring the sight before delving his tongue into the viscous mix of slick.
His tongue prodded at your entrance –easily making its way past your overstimulated ring of muscle– when a sudden movement made him leave your quim for an instant. He turned to see you, devastatingly submissive under his treatment of your hole.
If not you, then… He only needed to look down at his crotch, where Jayce’s hand –and him, still lost in a trance– clasped itself over Viktor’s bulbous knot.
“A– alpha’s gotta c’me too,” Jayce emphasized each slurred out word by tugging at Viktor’s cock “y’ can take care of ‘mega while I –ahh– t’ke care ‘f you…” As if on queue, Jayce lowered his head, pushing at Viktor’s hip, rolling him onto his side to give himself easier access.
“Wh– what?” Viktor mustered, in vain, as Jayce’s hot breath fell on his tip.
“Don’t st’p ‘n my b’half, Alpha” Your Beta opened his mouth, tongue dripping saliva over Viktor’s aching cock “C’ntinue with ‘mega, she c’n take it”. And so, Jayce sealed his lips around his mate’s girth.
A tug at Viktor’s collar brought his attention back to you. “Don’t think I’ll let you off without my thanks” Your hand brought his face to your pussy once more. “Will you be a good Alpha for me?”
Viktor’s eyes opened, astonished at the sass his own Omega presented to him. Still, the crooked smile in his mouth had not left him for even an instant. “A– ah– always, for you”
Passion born anew, his mouth went back for seconds. This time around Viktor took more time fondling your pretty clit with his tongue, circling it over and over, until you thought it would end up red. First one, then two fingers entered you, scissoring at your insides.
Both his middle and ring fingers slowly rubbed at your walls, like he didn’t know where your G-spot was –what a lie–, leaving you with no option but to clench at the intrusion. They kept probing and prodding until a small, round bundle of nerves made itself known –pulling sweet mewls out of you– forcing your back on an arch out of pure desperation.
His other hand made its way to the small of your back, just up your plush ass. Grabbing at your skin; ready to sink his nails if you kept fumbling out of his grasp, no matter if it your body was simply reaction to his feverish hunger.
Another finger followed the others –joining in on their effort to render you fucked out of your mind– as Jayce managed to fit more of Viktor into his mouth, his lips finally reaching the top of your Alpha’s knot.
A thought came into your mind, then. What kind of Omega were you to leave your Beta out of your little fuckfest? Your hands tugged at his glistening cock, still coated with your joined juices. “Ack– ‘mega, n’ nghh– st’p. I cn’t– ”
“You can –ah– give me another one” You didn’t even need lube, the cum covering it was enough to let your hand glide up and down his member as it came back to life.
The three of you came in spasms, sight going white. You could do nothing but grab at Viktor’s hair, embracing yourself as your poor clit cried in the form of a squirt. Jayce almost choked with an unexpected thrust from Viktor that forced his cum down the beta’s throat in thick beads of warm liquid.
Out of you, Viktor was the one to be rendered dumbstruck after his climax. He was barely able to pull away from your quim –still unloading drop after drop of saturated cum down the Beta’s throat– but when he managed to form words, and then actual sentences, he began profusely apologising to Jayce.
Not that your behemoth of a mate minded though; had Jayce been able to talk with Viktor’s cock nudged deep in his mouth, he would’ve assured him that was exactly his goal.
You let the excitement die down for a few minutes, letting your mates rest after such a display.
Your mind wandered to a few hours ago, when your Alpha had read your intentions quite brilliantly. You were, in fact, asking one of the most important questions a partner could ask.
Though, you guessed they had already answered the day prior, with them letting you bite their mating glands in a permanent manner, and then biting you too.
That had to account for something, didn’t it?
“Just to be clear,” Jayce started “You are officially… proposing?”
“You could say that, yes”
“Huh…”
“Only a ‘huh’ after all that?” You chuckled “Give me an actual response, will ya?”
You could feel his blush even if you could not meet his face “I– You already know the answer”
“Just wanna hear you say it” There, left in the open, lay the reason behind the many hours of pure artisanal handwork. A gift worth a million words, but only a few, in return, that mattered.
“Yes”
“Of course”
They answered in unison, the only words that mattered to you.
…
Bonus:
“Care to share what has got you quiet all of a sudden, Jayce-y?” Your voice broke him out of the trance he had been simmering in. An ominous mist dissipated from his head.
“N– no, it’s just that…” His eyes shimmered, not quite with tears threatening to cascade down his face, but full of things he had dared not say yet. “I really wish I could have met you sooner”
Viktor and you turned to look at each other. A grin of recognition appeared on his face, like he perfectly registered the unsaid, full of knowledge you didn’t quite catch at that time. “As much as I share your woe –and I do, I truly do– we must come to fathom that our meeting had to be at the right moment. Not a second sooner, nor later”
“Only a perfectly calculated instant could have brought us together? I took you for more of a romantic, Viktor. Always mentioning how we were meant to be–” You could have continued your rant going on about how you thought soulmates would find each other even if fate pulled them apart, however, something in his gaze seemed to tell a tale too complex.
A look too genuine to have spewed those words for the sake of it; like he meant each and every one of them.
Only a perfectly calculated instant could have brought us together.
His eyes were full of the tiredness of a traveller who had navigated through millions of galaxies, jumped over dimensions, overcame impossible feats, and gone over every possible alternative just to be there at that precise moment.
“Hmmm. I will concede just this once, Vitkor. You may be right, but– “ You pressed a kiss to his temple “Not even fate can stop us from finding ways to fall for you”
Warnings: None. Slight angst, but it's like 1% angst vs 99% fluff so...
Obligatory disclaimer: Crawling at a snails pace, but hereeee. Have some Jayce x reader x Viktor fluff
English is not my first language, sorry for any mistakes teehee
Word count: 3.4k
Divider by @ saradika-graphics
…
You met Jayce long before he knew you existed.
His name was written on a board –in cursive writing, elegantly placed right at the center though not exactly more eye-catching than any other name– along with a hundred other last names the day your high school senior class visited the prestigious Academy of Piltover.
‘Talis’
The name resounded in your tongue like you had seen it elsewhere, but hadn’t made the connection yet.
‘Talis’
Like a forgotten lullaby, present somewhere in your mind, just out of reach.
‘Talis’
You kept sounding it out throughout the day, noting how natural it seemed to flow from your teeth.
The Talis weren’t a High House, quite the contrary. You knew the family of blacksmiths just from passing. They made the best mining equipment, or so you had heard from the adults during your time in Zaun while they recalled the days before the revolts started, even before Vander had opened The Last Drop.
His sponsor was Cassandra Kiramman, head of the department of security in Piltover. Her, you did know closely. She was a work colleague of sorts, often using the services your family provided; mainly importing metal, gunpowder and wood. People would consider her a close friend of your family.
That was enough for you to keep your mind on him at the beginning.
You arrived home, going through your list of pending things to tend to: homework, checking up on the exports Salo asked you to look into, councilman Hoskel’s shipment of whiskey… When you remembered the hammer your father used to take with him into the mines.
It had been expensive, you recalled him using up all his savings to get it. The quality was like no other, it may have even saved his life after one of the tunnels collapsed and he was the lone survivor after an accident. There was a gas leak in one of the deeper chambers that went unnoticed far too long; a single spark of a miner’s headlamp was enough to set it ablaze, causing an explosion that collapsed nearby tunnels. Rescue members noted that your father was found tucked thin under his Talis-brand hammer at the far corner of one of the debris-filled caverns.
Months passed after that school trip. You got accepted into the Academy, like it was even a question. You signed up for your classes, some obligatory, others out of pure curiosity.
Then you started seeing the Talis boy in the school hallways.
The first few days at the Academy had been brutal, you were not used to this level of academic standards with most of your days enjoying life –reading books, help out during your job hours at Enzo’s, finding things to do around Zaun, all that jazz– rather than being stuck neck-deep in assignments, models, and blueprints.
And yet, you noticed he shared some of our classes. Not all of them, with you two having different majors, but enough that you came to know him as a person.
A goody-two shoes that always raised his hand to answer the questions the professors asked, even when he didn’t know the answer just so other people felt less scared to participate too. Sometimes he even brought with him extra snacks to share with his friends.
One time, after your last class of the day was over, you saw him sitting on the stair steps. Talis was half hugging a friend who had failed the test, apparently. You paid him no mind as you walked next to the pair, looking for the school library. By the time you had finished up, the sky had faded from light orange to a star filled night. Ready to call it a day, all you needed to do was take the same stairs up and… Talis was still there.
He hadn’t left his friend for even a second, not until you heard said friend assure him they were fine –that they’d try harder next time, look up tutors, join a study group too, maybe– as you passed by them.
Little bits and pieces of his life made their way into your inner circle, Jayce being popular enough to expect to hear of him once or twice a week.
For half a semester he became the main topic of discussion after one of your friends admitted to having a crush on him. They went on a couple of dates, but nothing came of it; she mentioned it bothered her how friendly the fall out was. Like he genuinely cared for her, even if the spark just wasn’t there.
It would take a little more time for you to officially meet him. Only happening after Salo put you in charge of the Science plaza decoration for the Innovator’s Competition, which –as much of a great opportunity it was– heavily impacted the time you could dedicate to the project you were working on to submit at that same event.
The presentation was chaotic at best. By the time you arrived, hastily pulling out the contents of the box you brought with you, you had already accepted the fact that you might get disqualified for your tardiness. That was until Talis arrived at your side, offering help with a charming smile capable of turning night into morning.
It was his inherent drive to make things happen –even when everything else deemed otherwise– that made you consider letting him in, let him get to know you better.
After you started talking it became almost impossible to keep you apart. One conversation led to another, then you exchanged ideas.
Little by little his company became an important part of the day, and before you knew it, not one day passed by without you meeting after classes to discuss various topics; some important, most banal at best. Still, they all left a mark on you. During these conversations you got him to open up about his projects, his life goals, ambitions, whatever was going on in his mind.
He had many ideas on how to change the world.
Sometimes he was too naïve for his own good, other times you wondered how a genius of that caliber could be sitting in front of you, allowing you to listen to his hypothesis about the arcane, how magic could potentially be fused with science.
You asked him, once, why he bothered to give you the time of day, he scoffed "I should be the one asking you that. If anyone’s gonna change the world, it’s you, not me’. After that you started appreciating him even more.
If you had to be honest, maybe that was when you fell for him.
Years had to pass to get to know him deeply, fondly, even with all the barriers he put up. Sometimes his insecurities got the better of him, other times you just felt like giving up.
The time was not right yet. You still had much to do, much to think, much to learn.
The opportunity passed before you could do anything about it. He waited for you outside your class –like he always did– ready to go to the cafeteria, grab a bite or two and do some homework by your side.
You walked over to him, nervously fiddling with your fingers.
With your heat quickly approaching, you were about to ask him to spend it with you; a bold move considering you were just friends at the time. You saw him, casually leaning on the wall, not a care in the world.
You opened your mouth, words ready to spill from your lips, but it was like he had read your mind. Jayce was fast to close the space between you, almost whispering in your ear about a fact he had kept from you for a while now.
He was a Beta.
Like that would’ve changed your mind. You were ready to retort that you didn’t care, that it didn't change what you thought of him, but there was a shadow in his eyes that made you pause: doubt, fear, and worst of all, the genuine belief that you were committing a mistake, that you deserved an alpha.
You knew better than to try to convince Jayce otherwise.
Those fears had been ingrained deep in his mind since long ago, societal expectations that haunted him. The same ones that you ignored on the daily, but he just couldn’t –or just plain, wouldn’t– grasp the idea that you were fine with him not being an alpha.
He had to face the facts on his own, it was just not the right time to do so.
There was nothing you could say or do to sway his mind, so you did the next best thing: you asked for something of his. Just enough to let you hold on to him, to let him know you’d be there when he was ready. The next day he gave you his pillowcase.
Still intimate, just not like you would’ve wanted.
He thought he was fine with that arrangement, leaving you free to pursue a fit partner that could actually give you a mating bite. In his mind that had been his love confession to you: the freedom to choose what he thought was ‘right’.
That arrangement worked for a while, though anybody that knew you could see how paper thin your patience ran when your denominations were brought up.
Then Viktor stumbled into your life or, rather, he stumbled upon Jayce.
It was at the first trial following the explosion, when Jayce tried to defend the possibility of using science to understand –and eventually harness– magic. Admittedly, that first trial was a lost cause, with most of the council members being against the exploration of the arcane from the first place.
But even then, admiration had its limits. What was he willing to do? How far was he willing to go for your, and Jayce’s, vision?
Ever the clinical observer, Viktor made a mental ‘pros’ and ‘cons’ list. The bare minimum, he considered, before taking a decision that could forever alter the course of his dwindling life.
On the one hand, he could continue as usual; forgetting what he saw and leaving them to fend for themselves with dubious equations and rough ideas of a project bigger than themselves, which would have –most likely– led him to live the rest of his days as just another professor in the Academy, until his sickness ran its course and killed him for good.
Or, he could… take some bits and pieces of evidence material from Heimerdinger’s office, and go look at the Talis boy’s workshop. See what all the fuzz is about, maybe try to replicate his experiments. Some may have called that ‘stealing confiscated evidence’, but who were they to judge when they hadn’t seen what he had?
What surprised him the most about himself that night was that he was not one to meddle with Heimerdinger’s administrative affairs… usually, but something about this case entranced him. First he took a look at Jayce’s notebook, detailing his every hypothesis on Hextech and its uses, then he skimmed over your blueprints. He became familiar with your project and, therefore, your goals, aspirations and fears.
Viktor got to know you on a fundamental level before ever seeing your face.
As a student, as an innovator, and as a person.
Every single detail was of importance; from the delicate trace of your pencil on the paper that seemed to speak to him –telling him how dedicated you were to your craft– to the way your obsessive precision in each line drawn in your sketchbook made for some of the most intricate pieces of design he had ever witnessed.
Not for one second did he think he’d be exaggerating by saying your work would be studied for generations to come.
A few days passed before they found each other again, when Jayce was about to jump and Viktor stopped him in the nick of time.
Many years would pass before you got to know anything about what went down the night you, accidentally, broke into Viktor’s home in the Master’s Villa.
And, maybe, in a way that was Viktor’s declaration of love to Jayce. He kept his secret after only knowing him for less than a day.
The story you were told back then was that the Alpha found Jayce in the Kiramman’s workshop, where they would start working on the next step for Hextech.
What you did not know were the exact circumstances of how that happened.
Had it not been for him being at the right place at the right time, maybe Jayce would not be here.
For that you were eternally grateful, but there are times where Viktor wonders what would have happened to Jayce had he not found him at the Kiramman’s workshop.
What if he hadn’t taken a second more to look at the evidence the enforcers had taken?
What if he hadn’t seen that one notebook tucked away on the shelf?
What if he hadn’t decided he needed to know more after Talis’s trial?
The thought makes him shiver both in fear and disgust, yet the uneasiness lingers. Makes him wake up somewhat happy every morning, grateful with the knowledge that he has the both of you there; in his life, alive and well cared for.
A weight is lifted off of his chest whenever he remembers that luck favored him that day, that life had, indeed, led him to where he belonged.
That Jayce’s contagious enthusiasm led him in on a project that could –and would– change the world.
Brings him back to the time he found you, when a strange omega had –accidentally, you keep reminding him– broken into his home. A coincidence far too precise to be considered as such.
What are the odds an Omega in heat suddenly appears tucked in your room, or rather, a compatible possible mate, does? Surprisingly the odds are not zero.
That night both of you had awoken something in him. A part deep inside he thought was broken after years of ignoring it.
Like that could work when destiny is involved.
And he should’ve known it all would change as soon as he smelled your chamomile scent invading his space.
He should’ve known destiny had its sight on him when you crawled over to his aching body, not out of desperation, but out of curiosity.
Certainly, when his eyes and yours, exchanging astonished glances the following day, he should have at least suspected you would be a special person in his life.
You, the mysterious partner in crime who wanted to do something for Zaun –demolishing every single physical and emotional barrier he put up– came with an overzealous Beta, both of which turned his life upside down.
In the span of only a few days he was suddenly wrapped up with the both of you, defying the rules he had lived by for years on end, about to embark on a revolutionary project that was sure to bring out political conflict in all of Piltover.
The addition of Viktor into your life –and project, too– brought with it a whole new array of challenges. For starters, and unexpectedly for Jayce, you were not much of a team player. At least not before scouting your own teammates. You trusted Jayce’s judgement, but you could also acknowledge he, sometimes, tended to only see the good in people; not the full picture.
Admittedly, you were hard on Viktor the first month of working together, a situation only worsened by his dry –sometimes down-right mean– humor. Yes, his sarcasm was intimidating for many, almost as much as his intellect and his, admittedly, small tolerance for bullshit, but he always had the best intentions in mind.
Even with all the metaphorical distance you put between you at first, you got glimpses of the real Viktor. A fellow Zaunite, there to try and make his life turn for the best, nothing more, nothing less. Someone who had to build himself up from scratch.
Unlike you, he truly had no one else there to help him in case things went awry. No sponsors, no friends, no family.
That same loneliness turned him into one of the toughest, most caring, and determined people you could ever come to meet in your whole life.
Truly, at heart, he was the sweetest Alpha you would ever have the pleasure of meeting.
You yourself took your time to open up to him. You were very distrusting at first, the coincidences were far too many for you to not be suspicious, but then again, how could someone have been able to predict you’d be working along the same man whose house you broke into?
Had you met under any other set of circumstances, you would not have allowed yourself to trust him.
Then again, nothing ever went the usual way with you.
In a way, you declared your love for him only after you got to know his side of the story, after he had to go into emergency care after one of his lungs collapsed one day. When Jayce shouted your name in a way you hoped you’d never have to hear again.
Viktor’s voice came out jarred, like the force of his voice tore at his vocal cords. He had fallen over his desk and your Beta was there just in time to carry him to the school infirmary. There, he was hastily treated before being escorted to the nearest hospital. Urgent care, they’d declared.
‘Only family can come in’, they told you at the reception. The nurse was firm on that, not that she paid you any mind aside from a quick glance as she tended to other people’s emergencies. You were not the only ones there to check up on someone they loved.
Yet, that love felt too much. You did certainly feel something for him, you wouldn’t be there if you didn’t. But love felt heavy in your mouth, like you had betrayed Jayce by feeling the same thing for Viktor as you did for him.
You turned back, ready to walk out, when Jayce spoke “We are his packmates”.
And you saw it, –aside from the tears threatening to spill from his eyes as he saw Viktor, still unconscious on the hospital bed–. Jayce too, felt for him. Unlike you, he wore his heart on his sleeve. Emotions came easier, faster, clearer. It all made sense.
You shared feelings for him.
You admitted to yourself that fact one evening, as you continued working on your duties while keeping an eye on your ‘mate’. The sun hung low, a bright orange that burnt itself into your pupils as you tried making the most out of the dim light while you went through some papers.
“Why are you here?” He asked, like the thought of you being there had never in a million years crossed his mind.
“We assumed you’d like for someone to be there when you woke up” You omitted the part where the doctors told you it was more of an ‘if’ situation.
“I thought only family was allowed in here” He uttered, forcing you to look up from the task at hand. His eyes pierced yours, searching for the punchline. Ready to bark back after you admitted to this being a part of an elaborate joke, or something like that.
“It is” Yet, none of that happened.
“Ah”
You came to a silent understanding; the care was mutual. You no longer doubted him, he held no grudge against you.
A confession of sorts.
From then on, it came all at once.
One might assume Viktor would be a discreet lover, the one to write poems and leave fleeting touches that could rival the yearning seen in the olden paintings of eons ago where maidens and knights had to keep in secret their love affairs.
Another assumption could be that Jayce would be the one to make big displays of love, affection, admiration and anything in between with long winded speech in public places, playing music and attracting attention to him.
You came to learn that those assumptions would be wrong.
Jayce helped Viktor onto the settee, lowering him down until he could sit and unbuckle his mobility enhancer. You closed the door behind you, finally back at Viktor’s place after he was officially discharged at the hospital.
No words were exchanged for none were needed.
You simply fell onto the cushioned piece of furniture, squished between both your mates, and fell asleep to the sound of the tree branches slowly swaying to the rhythm of the autumn winds.
i’m obsessed with you. and john and bob ofc. i offer you this: reader & john playing around and finding bob’s prostate for the first time!!! just spending all night fucking probing it and stroking it until he’s literally crying hehe
alternatively finding john’s for the first time too! bob would go FERAL.
the first time you and john found bob’s prostate was completely accidental.
it hadn’t been planned, wasn't the goal. you and john were just playing, teasing him open slowly, fingers working in tandem as you explored what he could take. one finger each, sliding in and out, curling just slightly, watching the way bob twitched and whimpered under every new sensation.
john didn’t even have his finger all the way in when it happened.
he paused, brow furrowed, and then his breath caught — low and sharp, barely audible. his fingertip had merely brushed against it. curious, he pressed into it again, just a little.
bob reacted instantly.
his back arched off the bed like he’d been struck by lightning, hips jerking upward, a strangled moan tearing out of him. it wasn't loud but deep, almost like a purr pulled straight from his chest. his thighs trembled around you both, muscles locking tight for half a second before melting into something boneless and overwhelmed.
you and john shared a look, one of pure amusement.
john didn’t answer at first. he just leaned in closer, voice thick and teasing, “found your sweet spot, huh sweetheart?”
then he pressed his finger in again, slow and deliberate.
“j-johnny…” bob mewled, the nickname tumbling out of him in a broken breath, his voice pitched high with need. his fists clenched around the sheets, knuckles white, as if holding on to them might somehow anchor him in place while his body trembled beneath you both.
john had taken your hand earlier and guided your finger inside bob once again, slow and careful, until it pressed right against his prostate. the source of that sharp, helpless pleasure bob clearly didn’t know how to handle.
now, both of you were there. fingers poking, pressing, and dragging against that swollen bundle of nerves with cruel precision. there was no rhythm, just teasing, experimentation, and playful cruelty masked as praise.
and bob was wrecked.
his thighs shook with every touch, hips jerking with no control. his cock was leaking steadily now, completely untouched, smearing pre-cum across his stomach with every twitch. he was panting, whining, and making these soft, desperate little sounds that didn’t even sound human anymore.
you leaned upwards, brushing a kiss against his neck, your voice a soft coo against sweat-slick skin.
“doin’ so good, bobby,” you murmured, stroking slow circles over his prostate with your fingertip. “taking it so well. such a good boy for us.”
bob whimpered, his entire body spasming, hips trying to rise and sink at the same time. he didn’t know what to do with himself. his brain was short-circuiting under the intensity of it — too much pressure, too much praise, too much pleasure.
john was grinning like the devil, eyes gleaming with pride and hunger. “he’s close,” he said, almost casually, watching the way bob’s hole fluttered around your fingers.
“that right, baby?” john asked softly, his eyes flicking up to bob with surprising tenderness.
a broken sob tore from bob’s throat as he nodded, quick and shaky. his wide, unfocused eyes darted between the two of you. not searching for comfort, chasing something. his lips parted like he wanted to speak, but all that came out was another sob, and you could see the tears that were running down his face.
you lifted your other hand slowly, not even making contact, and still his hips jerked upward instinctively.
you knew you probably shouldn’t have done it — bob had always been sensitive, unbearably so after moments like this — but curiosity and instinct got the better of you. your fingers barely grazed his cock, and that was all it took. his entire body jolted like a live wire, a broken moan tearing from his throat as he came instantly.
his hips twitched helplessly, eyes wide and unfocused, overwhelmed by the intensity of it. you saw it the moment it became too much; his brows drew together, his mouth parted in a soft, stunned whimper, and his hands clutched at the nearest thing — your wrist, the sheets, anything — to keep from floating too far away.
john let out a low breath beside you, watching with something between amusement and awe.
“told you he’d break,” he muttered, not unkindly, brushing a hand gently down bob’s side to help soothe him through the aftershocks.
and through it all, bob looked up at you, dazed and flushed, eyes glassy with overstimulation and something close to disbelief. his lips were parted, and his chest was still rising and falling in shallow, shaky breaths. there was a flicker of embarrassment there, like he couldn’t decide if he was mortified or just completely wrecked by how quickly he’d fallen apart. but beneath it, clear as day, was need. the kind that lingered even after the high, leaving him vulnerable, strung out, and quietly desperate for your next move.
Haiyaaaa. Sorry I've been gone for so long! My thesis has been kicking my butt lately and, unfortunately, this is reflected in my already dwindling writing schedule. Hopefully I can get back to writing by the end of August (pray for me)
Currently I'm working on:
- Bob Floyd comes back after being gone a while, GF!Reader welcomes him (smut) Touch me
- Sequel to Wicked Game (angst/smut) Wet and dazey
- Sequel to For your eyes only where Reader finally gives Bob his mating bite (smut/fluff) Atomic
Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader!
Summary: Bob can’t keep his hands off you and he doesn’t realize how sexually frustrated it makes you until one day you decide to get back at him when the both of you are left alone by the team.
Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Smut, Fluff, Bob is super clingy to the extreme where he just loves touching the reader and being near the reader (would I say this is like his version of the honeymoon phase? kinda lol), Reader and Bob are in an established relationship, Bob is absolutely obsessed with you.
Smut Warnings: Grinding, Cum Eating, Teasing, Breast/Nipple Play, Drool Involvement, Mentionings of Semi-Public Sexual Touching (happening in common spaces), Dirty Talk, The Desperation™️from Bob is real here, Bob’s got Sub Vibes
Author's Note: Thank you for the request, I took the idea and ran with it so I hope it meets your requirements and that you enjoy! I loved writing this one, it was super duper fun, and I can't resist writing clingy Bob/Obsessed Bob/Desperate Bob…Whiny men are my weakness, what can I say?
Word Count: 4,961
Bob was a touchy person–especially when it came to you. But “touchy” didn’t even begin to cover the vastness of what that truly meant. It wasn’t some little habit or subconscious tick. No, with you, it was a compulsion. It was need, obsession, absolute worship–pure, simmering devotion in the shape of a man who wanted to be attached to you in some type of way. He couldn’t keep his hands off you, not even for a second.
And it didn’t matter what you were doing either.
You could be standing in the kitchen first thing in the morning, half-asleep and stirring your coffee, and suddenly he’d be there. Pressing up behind you like a wall of muscle and pure heat, his arms caging you in with that desperate kind of tenderness–one palm sliding across your stomach while the other vanished beneath your shirt, his hot fingers splaying wide like he wanted to memorize every inch of your skin with his touch. He would hunch over and bury his face in your neck, breathing you in deep like your scent was his version of a pick me up, then he would press open-mouthed kisses to your pulse until you were melting into him, distracting you from the mundane task you were performing.
“Missed you,” He would murmur, voice hoarse from sleep, breath hot against your skin, “You weren’t in bed this morning…I was sa-sad.” And just like that, he’d grind his hips forward–slow and subtle but intentional–and you would feel the sharp outline of his erection against your lower back, showing his true desires that burned beneath the surface.
If you were watching TV? You would have to have the luck of a thousand four leaf clovers to be able to make it through a full episode of anything. Because he would be curled up with his head on your lap, and his big muscular body stretched out across the couch like he belonged there. You would play with his hair, carding your fingers through those thick, soft brown curls, and he’d hum in response, eyes fluttering shut like he was going to start purring like Alpine.
But then he’d shift. It would be a lazy move at first, nuzzling into your stomach, the tip of his nose pressing into the softness…Then, without warning, he’d twist up and slip his head under your shirt, pressing hot, open mouthed kisses down from just beneath your breasts to the waistband of your shorts.
”You’re so warm here,” He’d whisper, voice dipped in something dark and sultry. Something heavy with longing, “Want to ha-have a taste.”
During training? He was a menace. You could be mid-rep, focused, sweat dripping down the curve of your neck, and Bob would stroll by like a lazy storefront–gravitational, all slow steps and calculating eyes. He would trail his fingers down the center of your spine, it would be featherlight and barely there. And when you’d gasp in surprise and nearly drop the weight, he’d lean in close and murmur something filthy into your ear.
“Careful, Y/N…If you keep making those noises, I might end up bending you ov-over this bench…”
You knew that most of the time when he had these surges of dirty talk and teasing there was always hints of Sentry throughout every interaction. He was like a golden retriever with a god complex. All sunshine and sinew and the impossible, and unnatural heat that ever waned. It pulsed off him like solar radiation. And when he kissed you, it was with the intensity of a dying star. When he touched you, it was like he ached to be let in deeper–beneath your skin, inside your bones, tethered to your soul. He didn’t just crave contact. He craved you. The whole of you. The salt of your sweat. The tremble of your breath, and the flutter of your pulse when he got too close.
Every part of him–from his kiss-bruised mouth to the restless twitch of his fingers–seemed built for worship. Engineered to leave you shivering, soaked, and desperate. But even when that was the case–when his touches turned to gropes, and his gropes turned to grinding, and his grinding turned to growled promises he never quite fulfilled–he always made sure to keep you on the edge. Perpetually suspended in a state of desperate, aching want. Teased into oblivion, strung out on the heat of his breath and the trail of his fingers and the weight of that cocky little smirk he wore when he knew exactly what he was doing to you.
It was like a game to him. An all-day foreplay marathon designed by a celestial being with a one-track mind and a worship kink the size of the sun. You’d be soaked before breakfast, ruined by lunch, and trembling by the time dinner rolled around–only to be told, with a sweet kiss to the corner of your mouth, that “Later, Y/N. Go-Gotta make it last.”
He liked to watch you squirm. To see the fire build in your eyes every time he whispered something sinful and then walked away, that cocky, lazy swagger in his step like he hadn’t just made your knees buckle.
And you let him do it.
You let him string you along for hours.
One day though, you decided enough was enough. Because if Bob could play this game, stringing you along until you ached with want and your nerves buzzed from hours of denied pleasure, all the way until the evening time–then so could you.
And the perfect opportunity came up.
The rest of the team had left early that morning for a furniture store run in the city–they had mentioned something about renovations and redecorating the Watchtower to make it a little more comfortable and lived in–and they had practically thrown the day’s itinerary in your face to prove that they would be gone all day long. Which would leave you and Bob in the compound, alone for the first time in weeks, and this time you weren’t going to let him win.
You followed your usual morning routine to the letter–just to throw him off. You trained, stretched, showered. You even hummed while making breakfast like everything was perfectly normal. Like you hadn’t spent the night plotting your revenge down to the way you would move around him.
And right on cue, Bob appeared.
You didn’t need super-senses to know when he entered the room–his presence always shifted the very air around you. The temperature ticked up, and gravity accommodated him. Then–there it was. The feeling of heat behind you, his clean minty scent surrounding your senses. His chest brushing your back. His arms curling around your waist like they belonged there, like it was instinct. His nose pressed into your hair, lips brushing the shell of your ear, voice still gravel-rough from sleep.
“Mmm…You smell like a dr-dream.” He mumbled kissing your neck, breath dragging warm and slowly down your skin. His hands slid across your stomach, fingers curling just beneath the hem of your tank top, and you didn’t even flinch.
”Making breakfast, Bob,” You said sweetly, like you hadn’t noticed the hardness already pressing into your back. You slipped out of his arms like smoke, grabbed a spatula, and flipped the eggs without a glance back.
He stilled.
You felt him behind you, watching–processing. His fingers flexed, frustrated and twitchy. He tried again a second later, one hand grazing your hip. “Just wanna hold you, Y/N…” His fingers teased the waistband of your shorts slipping beneath the elastic with practiced ease, but before he could reach where he wanted to you caught his wrist mid-movement. Your grip was gentle but firm, and when you turned your head to meet his eyes, there was a flash of mischief in your smile.
“Bob…Hun. I’m busy cooking breakfast.” His brows furrowed, confused, eyes flicking down to where your hand was still wrapped around his wrist. He looked like you had given him the worst news of his life–flushed, pouty, completely caught off guard.
”But…You always let me hold you wh-when you’re cooking breakfast though…” You sighed, slow and dramatic, biting your bottom lip just to really drive the dagger in.
“Well…There’s a ground rule for today,” You started, your voice honey-sweet and cruel in the way he always was with you on days where he’d tease, “You can look, but you can’t touch.” You felt his breath hitch. Actually you heard it–the little inhale that stuttered in his throat like his entire operating system had just crashed.
“Y/N…” He murmured, blinking like he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. “I’ll go insane…You ca-can’t do that to me.” You finally turned to face him, one hip leaned into the counter and spatula still in hand like this was just another normal morning. But your smile said otherwise.
“You tease me all day long, Bob. Every day. You think that doesn’t make me go insane?” He opened his mouth, closed it. Let out a huff of laughter like he was half-impressed, half-panicked.
“So that’s what this is ab-about?” He asked, voice low and shaky. “You wanna get back at me?”
“Mhm.” You stirred the eggs without looking, like you hadn’t just shattered every rule of engagement between the two of you. “And I intend on succeeding in that.” Bob sighed–this long, ragged, pitiful sound from deep in his chest.
“Well…” He stepped closer again, voice dropping into that pleading register that always made your legs feel weak. “What if I apologized… on my hands and kn-knees?” You raised your eyebrows, lips twitching at the visual.
“I’m not going to give in that easily,” You said, voice breathy and playful, “even though that would be super hot.” The sound that escaped him was almost a whimper.
“Y/N…Pl–Please…” You shimmied the finished eggs off the pan and into a plate with a smirk, before adding another square of butter onto the sizzling metal.
”You’re already begging? Wow,” You teased, cracking another egg into the pan, the bubbling noises sharp and loud against the thick tension curling between the both of you, “Didn’t take long.”
”You don’t understand what you’re do-doing to me,” He murmured behind you, like he couldn’t keep his words in, “I’ve been aching since I woke up…” You hummed thoughtfully.
”Sounds like a you problem.”
“Y/N…” He pressed his forehead to your shoulder like he was in mourning, breathing deep against the curve of your arm. You didn’t stop him–technically, he wasn’t breaking your rule. He hadn’t touched you. Yet. But the moment you stepped away to grab another plate, he groaned and stumbled after you like gravity had shifted again, like he couldn’t physically bear the distance.
“So what are the parameters of this punishment?” He asked, sounding breathless, his hands hovering like he wanted so badly to just grab you and pin you to the nearest surface. “No touching at all? Or just not until you say so?”
“Not until I say so,” You confirmed, sliding his plate across the counter with a proud little flourish. “And if you behave…Maybe I’ll let you earn a few privileges back.”
His jaw clenched. “You’re cruel.”
“You love it.”
And oh, did he ever. The look on his face said it all–flushed and needy and completely fucked out with zero contact. You had barely touched him all morning and he already looked like he was going to combust. His hands were balled into fists at his sides, and his eyes kept flicking to your mouth like he was trying to memorize it.
“I don’t know how long I’m go-gonna last,” He said hoarsely.
You smirked and leaned in close–just close enough that he could feel your breath ghosting over his jaw.
“Guess you’ll have to try real hard, then…Won’t you?”
Then you pulled back, just before his lips could catch yours, and turned on your heel to go sit at the table–leaving him standing there, hard and helpless, staring after you like he might drop to his knees right then and there. But he controlled himself as much as possible, wanting to play into your little game just to see if he could possibly flip it over onto you…Though it wasn’t looking promising in that department.
———————
By the time lunch rolled around, Bob had completely lost the ability to function.
He was melted into the sofa like overcooked taffy, arms slack at his sides, legs spread in an unconscious sprawl as he tried–really tried–not to look at you. You, perched delicately beside him with one leg tucked beneath the other, your body angled just enough to toy absentmindedly with the hem of your shorts while your eyes remained glued to the television.
It was cruel. Evil, even.
You had intentionally put on one of those chaotic, high-intensity competitive cooking shows–Chopped, maybe, or Iron Chef–thinking it would distract him. But it didn’t. Not even close. Not when your thigh kept brushing his every time you shifted, not when you stretched so sweetly beside him, the dip of your waist just in his peripheral vision.
He wanted so badly to lie down with his head in your lap like he always did. It was his favorite place. His comfort zone. His throne.
But you hadn’t told him he could.
So he sat there, twitchy and aching and pent-up beyond belief, hands clenched in his lap like he was going to snap and tear through the cushion. He was flushed all the way up to his ears. His cock was half-hard again–no, scratch that, still hard, because the damn thing hadn’t gone down since this morning. You’d stolen his touch, and now you were parading around in those tiny shorts like you didn’t know exactly what that would do to him.
And the worst part?
Your plan was working.
Too well, in fact.
Because now you were suffering, too.
At first, denying him had been fun. Watching him squirm, listening to his broken little pleas, catching the way his hands hovered just shy of your skin–it had made you feel powerful, smug, victorious. But now?
Now you were starving.
You missed the way his hands would roam without restraint. Missed the way his lips would suck dark bruises into your skin. Missed his mouth everywhere–his chest against yours, his forehead pressed to yours while he murmured sweet, filthy things you were too wrecked to even comprehend. And you knew that if you even glanced at the hardness in his shorts or heard one more ragged little gasp from those kiss-swollen lips of his, you were going to fold.
The tension between you was thick. Nearly unbearable. Static buzzing through the air, vibrating in your spine.
You chewed your bottom lip, pretending to focus on the TV, but your fingers were restless–fidgeting with the fabric of your shorts, skimming across the bare skin of your thigh like you needed somewhere else to put your frustration.
Bob groaned beside you–barely audible, but felt more than heard. His head tipped back against the cushion, eyes squeezing shut like he was in physical pain.
And that was when something in you snapped.
With a soft sigh, you reached down and slowly–very slowly–hooked your fingers under the waistband of your shorts. You dragged them down inch by inch, over your thighs, your knees, until they dropped to the floor with a whisper.
Now you were sitting next to him in nothing but that little black lace pair he loved–the one he’d once told you made you look like you were meant to be worshipped.
You didn’t even look at him. You just tucked your leg back under you, calm as ever.
Bob choked.
“Fuck–”
His whole body went rigid. You heard the sharp inhale, the wet click of his throat as he swallowed hard. He gripped the edge of the couch like he was about to lift it and hurl it across the room.
You smirked to yourself.
“What?” You asked innocently, eyes still on the TV. “It’s hot in here.” He turned his head to stare at you, lips parted, chest heaving like he’d just finished a sprint.
“You…Y/N–”
“You can still look,” You reminded him sweetly.
“That’s the problem,” He gasped, voice tight and cracking. “You’re ki-killing me.”
You turned your gaze toward him finally, slow and lazy like you had all the time in the world. His eyes dragged down your body and then shot up to your face again like he was afraid of getting caught–like he hadn’t already memorized the exact cut of those panties down to the thread count.
His knuckles were white on the couch.
Your heart pounded with wicked glee.
And then, just to see if you could break him further, you leaned back and let one hand skim down your stomach, tracing idle circles near the edge of your underwear–not quite slipping beneath, but so close Bob visibly shuddered. He turned away with a tortured sound, gripping the hem of his shirt and burying his face in it. You hummed innocently–like you weren’t burning from the inside out just as much as he was.
“I think you need a better view, actually,” You stated, voice syrup-sweet and venom-laced, designed to ruin him from the inside.
Bob didn’t even get a chance to process what that meant before you shifted–slow, deliberate, and sinfully smooth. You turned toward him and climbed into his lap, straddling his thighs like you’d done a hundred times before, except this time…This time there was no pretense. No teasing little giggle. No playful grind or featherlight kiss.
You sat down. Fully.
Right on top of him.
Right where he was aching most.
Your soaked, lace-covered core pressed against the thick, throbbing outline of his cock beneath his shorts, and the sound he let out was less a moan and more a prayer of mercy.
“Oh Jesus fucking Ch–Christ–” He gasped, head dropping back against the cushion with a thud. His whole body shuddered like it had taken every molecule of control not to rut up into you, not to grab you by the hips and fuck up into the heat he’d been starving for all day.
But he didn’t touch you. Not even a fingertip. His hands hovered, twitching like he was holding himself at gunpoint. Because you hadn’t told him he could.
You planted your hands on his chest, palms splayed wide, and dragged your fingers slowly over his pecs–feeling the firm muscle twitch beneath your touch, the tight rise and fall of his breath as you raked your nails lightly down over the warm swell of his abdomen.
His skin burned under your touch. His jaw was clenched so tight it trembled.
“God, baby,” You whispered, leaning in close, your lips brushing the edge of his ear. “You feel how wet I am?”
He let out the most broken little whimper–high-pitched, soft, strangled–and you felt his cock jerk beneath you.
“Ye-Yes,” He choked out, voice wrecked, “I feel it…” You rocked your hips once. Barely.
His thighs tensed beneath you, and his fingers dug into the couch cushion like he was going to tear it apart. His head rolled side to side on the backrest like he was fighting demons.
“Fuck, Y/N, fuck, please, please–” You leaned back just enough to watch him–how his dark blue eyes were fluttering half-shut and shimmering with gold, lashes trembling, throat working over a hard swallow as you moved against him again. The friction was too much and not enough, and you could feel the heat of his cock pulsing desperately beneath the thin cotton of his shorts.
”Such a good boy,” You purred, dragging your nails lightly across his stomach. “So obedient for me, even now. You want to touch me, don’t you?”
“Yes.” He didn’t even hesitate. “Please…Pl-Please let me.” You leaned in again, lips brushing his jaw as you ground yourself down, slowly, hips rocking in a tight circle that had him bucking up beneath you–just barely.
“Fine…” You whispered against his skin, “You can touch me.” Bob gasped–like air had finally returned to his lungs. “But you can’t move me,” You continued, voice like silk over steel, firm but sensual, “I get to be in control of this… Okay?” He nodded so fast you barely caught the blur of motion, his eyes wide and glassy, lips parted and trembling.
“Okay. O-Okay, yes, yes please…” His hands rose instantly, reverent and trembling as they found your hips, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your tank top like they’d been dying to do all morning. He gripped your skin with aching tenderness, like he needed to anchor himself to reality–thumbs brushing back and forth over your warm flesh absorbing it with a little sigh.
“Fuck, you feel so good…” He whispered, his voice so wrecked it barely sounded like him anymore–just raw breath and longing shaped into sound. You hummed and leaned back slightly, your fingers reaching down with slow precision. You undid the ties of the waistband of his shorts with a little flick, then eased them down his thighs just enough to expose the clinging stretch of his grey boxer briefs. The fabric was dark and damp at the center, stained with the obscene wet patch of pre-cum you’d spent the last hour grinding out of him. Bob moaned helplessly at the exposure, face flushed crimson, head thrown back as he gripped your hips tighter–but still didn’t move you.
“God, look at you,” You breathed, eyes locked onto the aching bulge pressing against the soaked cotton, “You’re so turned on…” You reached beneath his waistband with careful fingers and adjusted him, curling your hand around the base of his cock and adjusting it gently so it laid against his stomach. The head slipped free, flushed and glistening with arousal, twitching at the sudden exposure.
Bob whimpered–high and broken–as you slid his shirt up, baring his stomach to the cool air, warm skin gleaming with a sheen of sweat. You propped yourself against him again, your lace panties dragging over the slick crown of his cock as you rocked slowly, deliberately, smearing him with your arousal.
“Oh my fucking god–” He breathed, voice ragged and urgent, hips jerking just slightly before locking still again. “You’re…Oh god, Y/N–” You reached down, and rested your hands against his stomach.
“You just sit there and feel how good I make you feel… Can you do that for me, Bob?” He nodded, completely at your mercy, eyes half-lidded and shimmering gold. And then his hand moved–just one, slowly rising. His fingers curled at the collar of your tank top, his lips already parting in anticipation.
”Can I…” He swallowed, “Can I suck on them…?” His voice cracked, wrecked and needed and adorable in its desperation as he stared at the mounds of your breasts.
Your mouth parted in a breathy laugh and you nodded immediately. “Yes. God, yes, Bob.” That was all it took.
He tugged the tank down in one swift, clumsy pull–ripping the neckline wide and exposing your breasts to the humid air between you. He didn’t hesitate. He surged forward like a man starved and latched onto one of your nipples, mouth hot and wet and messy, drool instantly dripping down his chin and across your skin.
You gasped at the feeling, your head falling back as you ground down harder on him, the drag of his cock against your soaked lace sending electric shocks up your spine.
Bob moaned into your chest, breathless and slurred, suckling your nipple like it was oxygen, tongue swirling messily before moving to the other with the same reverence. He mouthed at you, open and uncoordinated and desperate, letting out these pathetic little whimpers against your skin every time your hips rocked forward.
”Fuck…Fuckfuckfuck…I love you,” He gasped against your breast, pulling off with a slick sound just to nuzzle the warm weight of it, licking a stripe up to your collarbone before returning to your nipple again. “So perfect…So fu-fucking perfect…” You ground down even harder on him, chasing the friction now–your breath catching in your throat as the head of his cock dragged hot and swollen against the drenched center of your lace. It was barely any fabric between you. A whisper of a barrier. And it was soaked straight through, sticky with your arousal and his.
Bob whimpered against your chest, his tongue flicking fast and erratic over your nipple before latching back on like it was the only thing keeping him alive. He sucked harder, sloppier–his drool mixing with sweat and the heat of your skin. And then he nibbled. Just a light graze of his teeth over the hardened bud.
You gasped–sharp and breathless–and your hips jerked against him involuntarily. Your thighs twitched, fluttering with that unmistakable warning sign.
“Oh my god,” You moaned, your hands flying to his hair, twisting into the soft stands as you held him to you. “Fuck, Bob…Just like that–don’t stop–“ He let out a noise somewhere between a whine and a sob, and when he pulled off your nipple to look at you, you saw it–those gorgeous dark blue eyes rimmed with wet, shimmering with little orange flecks that glowed, his lashes clumped and trembling, tears threatening to spill from the sheer desperation on his face.
“Y/N–” He whimpered, “You’re shaking…I can feel it–are you close? Pl-Please come for me–please, I need to feel it–” You were so close, the world had narrowed to nothing but heat and friction and Bob’s broken voice stuttering out praises like prayer. Your thighs locked tight around his hips, your head dropped forward, and your breath hitched on a sharp gasp as the orgasm ripped through you.
“Fu-Fuck–Bob–!”
Your panties were completely soaked as you came, the rush of it soaking over his cock, making a mess of the lace and the line of his boxers and the firm planes of his stomach beneath. Your body trembled hard, grinding through every wave of release, and Bob just held you–tight and reverent, his face pressed against your chest, his mouth mouthing soft kisses over your skin like he needed to anchor you through it.
And then–
Then he broke.
“Oh god…Oh my god–Y/N–”
He came with a shattered groan, arms tightening around your waist as his hips jolted once–just once–his control slipping at last. You felt the warmth spill out of him, thick and hot between your bodies, coating his abs in wave after wave as he cried out, burying his face in your chest like he didn’t want you to see the wreckage.
“I’m sorry…I co-couldn’t…Fuck–I couldn’t hold it–” You stroked his curls gently as he trembled beneath you, as his chest heaved with aftershocks, as you felt his cock twitch and pulse and go still beneath the soaked cotton of his briefs.
It took a minute before either of you could speak again. Your skin was still buzzing, sticky and slick with sweat and need and the shared, messy evidence of what you’d done. You finally sat back on his thighs, breathing slow, dazed. Bob looked up at you, lips kiss-swollen, eyes glassy, cheeks blotched red and wet from the tears that had actually spilled.
And then, still holding his gaze, you reached down.
Gathered a thick stripe of his cum from his stomach with two fingers.
And slid them between your lips.
You moaned at the salty taste–soft and satisfied, eyes fluttering shut for a beat before licking your fingers clean with slow, teasing strokes of your tongue.
Bob just stared–shaking, wrecked, adoring.
”God…You’re so ho-hot when you do that.” You smiled lazily, dragging your finger down your bottom lip.
“Well, I can’t resist…You taste so good.” He let out a little huff of a laugh, before leaning forward and giving you a gentle kiss, before you pulled back.
“Now…” You said sweetly, tilting your head. “Have we learned not to tease me anymore?”
He nodded immediately. Fast. Like he’d do anything to prove it.
“I’m so…So sorry for doing that,” He whispered, voice hoarse and broken. “It’ll never happen again, I swear.”
You leaned forward and kissed him again—soft but smug, licking at his bottom lip before pulling away. “Good…”
You traced your fingers lightly along the mess still coating his stomach, giggling a little at the way his abs twitched beneath your touch. “Now…Let’s get cleaned up, hmm?” Bob let out a tiny breath of a laugh and nodded, still trembling, still dazed, still entirely at your mercy.
”Anything that’ll allow me to be cl-close to you again…I’ll do.” And the both of you shared a small smile.
here's a little johnny storm drabble... smut at the end ;)
thinking about being the fantastic four's live-in personal assistant/agent. and of course, johnny’s into you. how could he not be? a pretty 20-something that he sees everyday? it’s like asking the birthday boy not to blow out his candles.
i'm thinking like... behind-the-scenes fifth member sort of thing, like you're not a fighter but you're just as essential to their continued success as the rest of them.
it was reed that hired you—as the group became more famous, he realized they needed someone to handle the publicity affairs stuff, so he could put his focus on all his important cosmic research and whatnot. you were some random celebrity's personal assistant when he found you—late 20s, impressive resumé, and an academic background in science.
you had the potential for a bright future, but it was stunted by having been stuck in the same position for too long, with no promotions available. so reed contacted you, brought you in for an interview, and determined you were the right candidate for the team.
when you meet the rest of them for the first time you're terrified. you'd met many celebrities before, but none with superpowers, and not to mention that they're basically the most famous people on the planet.
but they're all so nice to you. especially johnny.
when johnny first lays eyes on you and your cute little outfit—the way your fingers shake a little, how your eyes keep darting around the room, and that adorable nervous smile—he can't help the giddy feeling he gets. it's been a while since he's been around someone so pretty; life had been stressful lately, leaving him little time to go out and do anything that was really fun.
but now you—such a lovely little thing—would be in the tower, all the time. what reason is there for him to leave?
you have your own room and office, both happening to be quite close to johnny's quarters, which he had thanked reed for so much the man had threatened to move you. don't flirt with her, reed demanded, and johnny could tell he'd meant it.
unfortunately, johnny definitely hadn't meant it when he promised he wouldn't. you're just too cute; when you huff at him for lingering in your office too long, bouncing around your space with a teasing grin you grow to really hate; when you chastise him for being so public with his frequent 'escapades' and think he won't notice the jealous quirk in your brow. it's bad for your image, you argue, and johnny arguesmthe opposite; that's kind of my whole thing, sweetheart.
"well, it's antiquated," you quip, turning back to your computer with an irritated look on your face. "and don't call me that. it's patronizing and very unprofessional."
but you like it. johnny knows you do. you love his attention, and you're bad at hiding it—the best part is, he knows you aren't doing it on purpose, and that you probably think you're doing a good job at concealing your tells.
sometimes, he's an insufferable tease, doing his absolute best to work you up and make you lose your temper. he's heavy-handed with the flirtation then; getting a bit too close to you when he passes by in the hall, winking at you in meetings, flustering you in your office to the point that you raise your voice, then get embarrassed at your outburst.
other times, he's subtle, innocent, not really trying to tick you off. he surprises himself with how genuine he can be then; to be fair, it's a rare occurrence.
you're watching the afternoon news, taking a coffee break, while johnny lounges on the couch. the reporter is talking about your latest publicist achievement with the team, some story about thing, and johnny turns to look at you over his shoulder, smiling.
"you're good at your job, you know?" he says, and you can't help but be a little shocked at how sincere he sounds. he sees that, and laughs, turning back to the screen so he can toss a marshmellow into his mouth.
"no need to look so appreciative. i know you love my compliments."
sorry. he just can't help it.
regardless of how much joy johnny gets out of making you squirm, he can't deny that there are, unfortunately, real feelings behind his semi-obsession with you. this is quite the unwelcome realization, because johnny hadn't had real feelings for anyone in a long, long time. the experience is not one he particularly likes and much preferred to keep things detached, and to the point. it's a lot easier that way.
but johnny can not stay away from you, no matter how he tries. the harder he does try, the worse it becomes.
one night johnny thinks he'll sit on the other side of the dinner table—he always sits next to you, first to tease you, and then because he wanted to. johnny finds you're the most agreeable to his annoyances at dinner, laughing at him instead of scowling. maybe it's the food.
but, in attempts to try putting distance between you, johnny sits on the other side, next to ben, leaving you to sit closest to reed. you're confused, especially because johnny keeps glancing at you, meeting your gaze for a second, and promptly looking away. you're also hurt, even though you try to fight that, because it's dumb. you shouldn't care, anyway.
but you do. you care so much that when you're doing the dishes that night, and johnny creeps into the kitchen, you scoff, ignoring him in a way that can only be purposeful.
"you okay?" johnny asks, even though he's already smiling that insufferable smirk, which you know is there, despite your back being to him.
"why wouldn't i be?" you hate how pathetically irritated you sound. you scrub a little harder at the plate and try to focus on the shine of the foamy bubbles.
johnny circles you, keeping a distance that's on the brink of being too close. "beats me. you just seem a little upset, is all."
you want to scream, but you feel yourself falling into the trap, despite everything. "i'm not upset. that would be silly."
he laughs, and you see him in your peripheral vision, leaning against the counter beside you. watching you.
"whatever you say. careful with that, it's my favorite." like he has a favorite plate.
he sits next to you again the next night, and neither of you say anything, but he swears he sees you smile when he pulls out the chair.
NSFW BELOW! mdni!
most of johnny's tormenting is innocent. he likes to see you a little uncomfortable, likes it making you nervous. but there are other times, where he admires you a little too long, eyes tracing the curves of your body, and he starts picturing things. like how you might look on your knees, staring up at him with your pretty eyes. how you might look with him staring up at you, between your thighs, your plush lips parted while you watched him. that's his favorite.
he wants you, painfully. it gets to the point where he can only think about you when he wants some release; touching himself in the shower like a pre-pubescent teenager, embarrassingly worked up by the filthy things his own mind is conjuring.
four months into your hiring and you're driving him crazy. johnny can barely look at you now without thinking about kissing you, touching you, tasting you; it's ridiculous, and he's beginning to get a little embarrassed about it. he still teases you, but now all his comments have an air of desire to them—something that had kind of always been present, controllable enough for him to bury it in smug smiles, taunting laughs. but johnny can't control it now, can't mask how you effect him.
his only saving grace is that you seem not to notice. not really, at least. you return his yearning gazes with this adorably frustrating, confused expression, furrowing your brows as if to ask him what his problem is. you are my problem, he wants to say, and then he wants to kiss you breathless, take you to his bed, and make you feel so good you take back every snide comment you've ever made about him.
but instead he always smirks at you, turns away. tries to calm his mind before he pops a semi in his pants that always seem just a little too tight.
one night johnny’s sitting in the living room, popping handfuls of cereal into his mouth straight from the box; typical thursday. you walk in, and he turns, but is caught off guard by how good you look—you’re dressed up, a considerable amount of skin showing (at least, more than you do when you’re on the job). he swallows hard and tries to keep his eyes on your face but it proves difficult.
“and where are you headed, missy? it’s almost ten.” his head swivels to follow you as you walk through the living room, into the kitchen, opening the fridge.
“i don’t see how that’s any of your business,” you say, but there’s no real bite behind your words. you search for something in the refrigerator, can’t find it, and close it with a sigh, turning to face him. “johnny, did you drink my cranberry juice?
the frustrated look on your face is sort of cute but it (thankfully) distracts him from studying the way your hips look in your outfit; soft, plush, and very grabbable. well, maybe it’s not really distracting him that much.
he rolls his eyes and turns back to the television.
“no. isn’t that for ladies, anyway? i heard it makes you taste better. that and pineapple juice.” he says it with a laugh, but it’s not nearly as smug as usual. he regrets it immediately, mostly because all he can think of now is getting the chance to taste you, and how sweet he knows you’d be. and warm. fuck. he can see your flustered face in his head even though he isn’t looking.
“ugh, whatever. you’re buying me more.” there's an extra bite in your tone, but he can't figure out what, and you're gone before he can ask any more questions.
johnny's left him with a sinking feeling in his gut—are you going on a date? it’s a little late in the evening but that barely means anything. you could be going out with your girlfriends, but that scenario isn’t great for him either. there are tons of guys that would give anything to get in your pants, and at a club they’re more liable to try it. he can only hope you wouldn’t let them.
johnny’s usually a late sleeper anyway, but he makes it a point to stay up till you’ve returned, keeping himself entertained with dumb tv shows and another box of cereal. the rest of the team are sound asleep when you finally stumble inside, clearly doing your best to be quiet.
it's around 1am, so you're not expecting anyone to be awake—you should've known better.
"past midnight, huh? on a thursday?"
you jump, and you almost let out an exasperated groan at his familiar, grating voice. johnny's sitting almost exactly where you left him, but he gets up when you make eye contact, leaning against the wall as he watches you. he's checking you out again, quite obviously—you're annoyed at the fluttering in your stomach, made worse by the wine you'd consumed at dinner. you may have had a bit too much, but you'd needed it to get through the date; the guy was a total jackass. first and last time you let your friend set you up.
"ugh. have you just been sitting there this whole time?" you huff, slipping your shoes from your aching feet. he doesn't move, just watching you with those infuriating blue eyes, shadowed by the lack of light in the room. "you have a conference tomorrow at noon, johnny. you should be sleeping." today at noon is more accurate, you think, but semantics lose their importance past midnight.
"well, you shouldn't be wasting your time on dates with idiot guys," he says, voice a little hushed, something hidden behind the words that would be simple coming from anyone else. you sigh despite the way your cheeks warm. your lack of a response is a mistake, because johnny's eyes light up and he pushes himself off the wall, circling you.
"so it was a date, then? where'd he take you?"
his interest in your date is off-putting but you can't deny how easy it is to play into it. the remnants of alcohol in your blood make you feel more open, and you decide you don't have the energy to play a game with johnny right now. you tell him the truth.
"doesn't matter. it was horrible. he talked about himself for, like, the whole thing. and he wasn't even that cute."
johnny's brows shoot up at your genuine answer, and he laughs, intrigued by this rare, honest mood of yours. you move past him to the kitchen to pour yourself a glass of water.
he follows you, taking slow, deliberate steps, standing a little too near. "that sucks. shame you wasted such a pretty outfit on a guy like that."
you scoff, but your ears are hot. "thanks? i think."
johnny is silent for a second, observing you with a glint in his eyes that you read as slightly dangerous and very, very attractive. he looks especially good in this lighting; biceps bulging just slightly as he crosses his arm, slick smile almost calling out to you. you want to wipe it off his face. you want to put him on his back and shut him up. the thought surprises you, but not as much as the visuals that come with it. you look away, embarrassed, like he can see inside your head.
"well, the night's still young," he finally says, with a crooked smile that makes you ill. "you shouldn't go to bed upset, you know. it's bad for you."
you take a sip of water, looking back at him with narrowed eyes. "what are you suggesting?"
that's how you end up sitting in criss-cross-applesauce on the floor in johnny's room, nursing a beer like you're in college. he's in front of you, some inches away, face a little flushed from the alcohol, and a big, bright grin that just won't go away. johnny is insufferable not just because he's devastatingly handsome, but because he knows he is—it makes you hate yourself, and how you can't help but swoon when he laughs.
"honestly, you should've known by the time of day that the date was gonna be shit," johnny blurts, after finishing his third beer. you roll your eyes.
"i'm serious," he continues, and shifts so that he's leaning back on his hand, one knee bent to rest his elbow on. "any guy takes you out past nine, he's not looking to really romance you, if you get my drift."
you scoff, bringing your knees up to your chest, shielding yourself from his disarming gaze. "did you ever consider that maybe i wasn't looking to be romanced? you never heard that song? girls need love too, storm."
you're smiling teasingly at him, but johnny's eyes flash a little dark, and a pit forms in your gut. you wish you didn't say it, but it's already out, and now you've given him an excuse to take the conversation in a direction you very much want to avoid.
"you're really desperate enough to fuck some random guy? must be a bad dry spell, then."
johnny says it because he knows it will piss you off. and you know that, but you let it piss you off anyway.
"i know you're not calling me desperate. you'd fuck anything with two legs and tits." it comes out a little meaner than you intend, but johnny likes it, you can see it in the way he laughs. your stomach twists and you curse the little ache that starts between your legs. it really has been a very long, very bad dry spell.
"i'm just saying, it doesn't have to be that way." his tone of voice is dangerously low and you wish you weren't sitting so close to him. "there are a lot of guys who would kill for the chance to give you 'some love'. and i promise you, you'd be leaving them much happier than you did this other guy."
you exhale a little breath, forcing yourself to make eye contact. he feels much, much nearer, even though you know neither of you has moved. his blue eyes have darkened to a navy—or is it that his pupils have swallowed up all the color? you shift, hoping he doesn't notice the way your thighs involuntarily clench at the movement. god, you're folding pathetically, you think, but you say it anyway.
"and why would that be?" you prod, voice soft and hesitant. johnny's smile falls into something predatory. he's got you right where he wants you.
"well," he starts, moving just an inch closer, under the guise of changing his position. "you're pretty, sweet, put together. and... you know. some guy might think it's hot to watch you fall apart. so, he'd take his time with you. give you everything you deserve."
your breath hitches, but you swallow it down. is he saying what you think he is? the ache in your core is starting to throb dully now, making your cheeks feel even hotter than they already did, your eyelids falling just the slightest bit as you watch him.
god, you're a tease, johnny thinks, even though he knows you're not even trying to be. your reactions spur him on and he continues before he can really think about it.
"he'd probably kiss you first, lay you down, make sure you were comfortable," his voice is thick, like molasses, smile all but gone. he's barely even looking at you; his own words are shaping a scene in his head, and he can't help but get lost in it. "then, he'd touch you, your stomach, under your tits. your inner thighs. careful, controlled. just enough to make you want more."
you're enamored. your throat feels dry, the room so quiet around you the silence presses on your ears. "... and then?"
johnny's eyes dart to you, and he takes in that slightly dazed look on your face, and the way your legs twitch almost imperceptibly. he's already getting hard, just looking at you, thinking about what he'd do to you. he hopes you don't notice, but he can't be bothered to hide it now.
"and then," he draws it out, tongue poking out to wet his bottom lip. "i think... he would want to keep teasing you, just to see that cute look on your face, but... he wouldn't be able to stop himself." he inhales sharply, like the room is running out of air. "so, he'd compromise and kneel between your legs, kiss you over your panties, till you were squirming, begging him to take them off."
johnny is entranced by the way you react to that. he's never pegged you for a prude, but you seem almost mortified at the image, your eyes going a little wide. he lets out a strained laugh, because he's definitely hard now, and can't stop imagining what kind of panties you're wearing.
"what's wrong? don't act all innocent now, you're the one who asked."
your answer almost makes him gasp. "well, it's just—i've never, you know. i've never had a guy go down on me. is that embarrassing?"
johnny's done for. and you are too.
he's got you laid out on your back just minutes later, propped up on your elbows as you watch him between your trembling thighs. he's face to face with your cute little lace panties, one hand wrapped around your thigh, the other pressing down gently on your lower stomach, a toothy grin spread across his face. you're embarrassed by how hard he's staring, eyes locked on the wet spot right in the center of the thin fabric.
"johnny," you start, but before you can continue, he's rubbing torturously soft over your clit, and you're amazed at how good it feels even through the cotton. "quit teasing."
he chuckles breathily, glancing up at you before he focuses on the treasure in front of him. "sweetheart, i'm gonna make you feel so good, you have no clue." he kisses your inner thigh—he can't resist nipping the skin just a little before he pulls away. "i like when you say my name. keep doing that."
you want to argue, but his mouth is suddenly on you, and you forget the words.
johnny kisses you over your panties, just like he said he would, his hand moving to hold your hips down when you twitch into his mouth. soon it's like he's making out with your clothed pussy, tongue hot against you, humming softly at the soft gasps you let out—against your will, because you don't want him to know how good it feels, but you can't help it.
"johnny," you moan, a little humiliated by how desperate you already sound, "just take them off, please."
he doesn't lift his head immediately, but when he does there's a shit-eating grin on his face that makes your stomach twist. his lips are shiny, eyes dark and a little lidded.
"told you i'd make you beg for it."
johnny takes mercy on you, and hooks his pointer under the hem of your now-soaked underwear, pulling it aside far too slowly. you're wet, wetter than you think you've ever been; nobody's ever taken their time with you like this, and you fight with yourself not to mistake it for care. it's just johnny's insatiable desire to see you vulnerable, you tell yourself, even as he stares at your exposed cunt like it's been given to him by the gods.
"fuck. can't believe you were keeping this from me," he mutters, throat bobbing. he makes you lift your hips so he can shimmy your panties off completely. then, he slips his thumb through your folds, like he's studying you, taking samples for further experimentation.
you gasp softly when he brings his thumb to his mouth. jesus christ.
"so sweet. guess that cranberry juice really does work."
you want to slap him, but before you can protest his poor sense of humor, he finally looks back at up to meet your eyes—and he looks possessed. you're throbbing in anticipation, fighting the urge to push your hips up toward his chin.
"mm. you look beautiful like this, sweetheart. all spread out for me." he elbows your legs open a little further to punctuate his words, lifting your thighs onto his shoulders with little effort. you wish you could say something, but you don't trust your own voice.
johnny wants to tease your silence, but he can't wait any longer.
you cry out softly when his tongue lays flat against your pussy, hand coming instinctively to grab at his hair. you sink your fingers into his scalp when he shakes his head gently from side to side, rubbing his hot mouth shamelessly against you. god, does it feel this good every time? you fear he might be spoiling you for any other guy, but push the thought away to focus on the pleasure.
he moans into you when you tug on his hair, lips finding your clit, sucking voraciously for just a second before giving it little kitten licks.
"shit, johnny—feels so good," you breathe, hips squirming against his strong hold. he doesn't come up to taunt you, to show you his smug smirk; he just groans at your words, the vibrations making your back arch into his mouth. when you manage to look down at him you see his ice blue eyes relentlessly staring up at you and you swear he's smiling.
johnny pulls away just a moment, his face gliimmering with your wetness—he turns his face into your thigh, biting, licking, kissing, making you arch into him. then, he's looking back to you; you can feel his hot panting against your pussy.
"should've done this a long time ago," he mutters, mostly to himself. then, his voice goes low, a little raspy.
"i want you to cum on my face, sweetheart. can you do that for me?"
you nod frantically, despite the way heat rushes directly to your face at his request—anything for him to put his mouth back on you.
"you gotta say it, honey. use your words."
you swallow and fight to regain your voice. "i wanna cum, johnny. please, make me cum."
what a pretty voice you have when you're begging. one of johnny's hands stretches up, slipping under your top to play with your tits, pinching through your lace bra. were you wearing a matching set? johnny suppresses a groan, feeling his cock ache at the idea. then, he remembers you wore it for someone else, and is overcome with a possessiveness that makes him look away from your watery, pleading eyes.
he ducks back into your warm cunt instead. you keen into his mouth, and his eyes flutter shut, hot tongue slipping inside you. he can feel you throbbing around him, and his hips twitch against the carpet of their own volition.
your thighs try to clench around his head but he forces them apart, pressing you down with his palm flat on your tummy. you're embarrassingly close to cumming but you feel like you'll die if he stops. his nose bumps your clit every time his tongue fucks into you and it's making your head swim. you're trying to be quiet, but you've never had such trouble doing so.
"i think i'm gonna cum," you whisper, sounding more desperate than you've ever heard yourself. both hands are in johnny's hair now, drawing him closer, using him as leverage to grind against his touch, even if he's making sure you can't move very much. johnny hums, making you yelp, and then the rough pad of his tongue flattens against your clit, and you're gone.
your panting goes a little high-pitched, and johnny knows he's got you. he groans ragged into your cunt and you let out a punctured whine, thighs shaking as you still—you writhe in his arms while his tongue fucks you through it.
johnny regards himself as a good man, but he wonders what specific deed he's done to deserve such a blessing. it must've been a big one.
"oh—johnny, johnny, wait" you cry, despite how your fingers tug on his hair, forcing himself deeper. "it's too—ah—too much—!"
he wants to tell you it's not enough, that he could kneel between your legs and worship you like a goddess for hours, make you cum so many times you forget everything but his name, but he knows that's too far. at least, for right now.
"sorry, sweetie. couldn't help myself," he says, so casually, like he wasn't just making out with your pussy. he pulls away, wipes his mouth on the back of his hand.
johnny eases your shaky legs from his shoulders, and kneels in front of you, chest heaving. his pupils are blown and you can't help but notice that he's incredibly hard, so much so that you think it must be painful. he notices you looking but doesn't say anything, just smiles insufferably. you're too blissed out to get annoyed.
"so? see what you've been missing?" he's still a little breathless, running his hands up and down your thighs as if to calm you down. it's deceptively sweet and makes you smile softly at him.
"i can definitely see the appeal," you decide to say, and johnny presses a little kiss to your knee. you think he's about to ask if you can return the favor, considering you can blatantly see he needs it, but he just keeps smiling down at you.
"good."
he grabs for your panties and helps you slip them back on, sitting you up, fixing your hair.
then, johnny's walking you to your room—across the hall—and right before you get to the door, he tugs you close to him, lips brushing against yours when he speaks.
"you should really let me do that more often. to... make up for all the time you've gone without it."
you say nothing, but the moment you get inside your room, you're already imagining what it will be like the next time.
Jake explains when Bob is at his most lowest/darkest whoever touches him will most likely get transferred into the void.
"And then again it's this idea because Bob just came near death and is angry at Walker, that puts him into this Void space where it's not just anytime you touch Bob, you go into a Void, but it's when he's at his darkest, and you connect to that."
Would you write about some of Lewis Pullman's other characters?
Sure, I can try! Though I'm not much of a series girly. I'd prefer movie characters like Bob Floyd or Rocco so I can actually watch the material beforehand U w U
(I can make an exception for Rhett Abbott tho, he's fine as hell)
