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rosenclaws · 2 months ago

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Jinx (or 5 times you mess things up in front of Logan and 1 time you don't) || Logan Howlett x Reader

summary: You bring bad luck and have all your life and when you meet Logan you expect him to react the same way everyone has. To your shock he doesn't. That doesn't stop you from making a fool of yourself in front of him though. Many. Many times.

warnings: flirty logan, swearing, reader has mutant fire powers, fighting, logan has ptsd in water, he lashes out bc of it, possible ooc but idc, fighting, injury, comfort, blood, explosions

wc: 5k

a/n: Okay so I fucking LOVE arcane and I thought about a fic where the reader is like Jinx in the sense of she just has really bad luck all the time. She also has fire powers because I think they're cool and after that one drabble I wanted to do more with it. This is my longest fic so I hope you like it!!!

The First meeting

You might be the first mutant with a nickname that is more of an insult than a call sign. It started when you arrived here. Just a teenager looking for a place to call home. The mansion was that home and you loved every second of it. Your fire wielding powers were dangerous but exciting and with the help of the teachers you sort of learned how to train them.

But for some reason you didn't get some cool fire nickname you got stuck with Jinx. It's not your fault that bad things just happen around you. Really. You don't do anything to cause them on purpose but the bad luck seems to just follow you where ever you go.

You got the nickname after you managed to break the fountain. Seriously though how can that be so fragile. All you did was kick a soccer ball and you might have taken its head off.

Bad things just seemed to happen over and over again. You might have set fire to some curtains. Or the carpet. Or smashed a vase or two.

Even when you graduated and became a teacher things just happened. Missing papers, breaking pencils, the ceiling caves in because a family of fat racoons decided to make their home there. Things that were out of your control just happened.

So they called you Jinx. Was it lovingly? Maybe.

No one has kicked you out yet so that's a good sign. They do tend to avoid standing too close to you though. Which honestly is for the best.

It was a commotion in the main lobby that catches your attention today. The sound of a gruff voice peaks your interest. Peering into the room you see Rogue and Storm talking to a man.

"It's good to see you Logan." Oh! Wolverine.

You missed his first stop by the mansion. You were off doing something else for Charles when he was brought here originally and you were supposed to fly back to help as usual. You flight got canceled due to weather. So by the time you came back he had already gone.

You heard Rouge gossiping with the other students about him. She mentioned he was handsome but fuck he was even better than you thought.

You lean forward a little more and end up losing your balance and falling flat on your face. The three of them look at you and you wave, trying to save yourself some embarrassment. You can see Logan looking at you with a raised eyebrow.

"Jinx! Come meet Logan." Rogue calls you over and you stand up. Brushing yourself off as you walk over.

"Nice to meet you Logan." You hold out your hand but he just looks at it.

"Jinx?" He says instead. A smirk on his face as he speaks.

"It's a nickname, don't you have one too Wolverine?" He chuckles and you have hope that you're charming enough. Most of the time something really unlucky happens when you meet someone for the first time.

"Will I see you around Jinx?" If you didn't know better you'd say he was flirting.

He steps closer to you and you stumble back in surprise. He's intimidating with his broad shoulders and animal like grin. You let out a small scream as you trip on your feet and fall backwards. Right into Scott. Scott falls like a domino and you hear a crack.

"Scott! Are you okay?!" You rush to his side but suddenly a beam of energy shoots through his eyes.

You feel someone grab your arm and pull you away from him. Ducking your head as the beam shoots into the door. Scott closes his eyes but the damage is already done. The front doors of the beautiful mansion were destroyed. Everyone waits in silence as Charles appears from his office holding an extra pair of glasses for Scott.

"I'm so so sorry. I didn't mean to bump into you." Apologies tumble out of your mouth as Scott fixes his new glasses.

"Don't worry about it, It was an accident Jinx." He places a hand on your shoulder and smiles but you can tell you fucked up. Again. You smile back but it falls once he leaves.

"I'm sorry about your door Professor." You mumble as you look at the destruction.

"It's alright, we'll get it fixed." You slowly walk off, letting people asses the damage.

You pass by Logan who watches you as you slink back to your room. You had hoped that maybe you could have gotten to know Logan before he found out how you got your nickname.

So much for first impressions.

2. In the kitchen

The next time you encounter Logan is in the kitchen. Despite your inherent unluckiness you still loved to cook. Sure you had cuts and burns from all your attempts but your dishes ended up pretty good. You're making a stew this time. Band aids are already on some of your fingers as you stir the pot.

"Smells good." You let out a scream as you drop the spoon into the soup. The fridge opens up and you see Logan rummaging through the shelves.

"Beer's behind the peas." You mumble as you try and fish out the spoon.

"Ow!" You hiss as you burn yourself again.

The hot metal spoon burned your hand. Logan watches as you put your hand under the sink and put some cold water on it.

"Ironic I know, the mutant with fire powers burns herself when cooking." You mutter catching his amused look.

He walks over and takes your hand, pressing his cold beer to the small burn. You sigh as the cold drink sends relief through your hand. You get a better look at Logan like this.

He's just dressed in jeans and a tank top. His muscles are practically bulging through the already stretchy fabric. He's got this dangerous aura around him that makes you hesitant at first. Not to mention the whispers about him. How violent he could be, the things he’s done. Everything he’s been through. But you didn’t care.

"So is Jinx because your clumsy?" He asks as he checks on your burn.

"Kind of, more like unlucky things just seem to happen to me I guess." Your eyes are focused on where Logan's hand is holding your wrist.

His hands are rough but his touch feels so nice. His grip is firm but not enough to hurt you. The fact that he's even helping you is bizarre. Anyone else would just chalk it up to you and let you deal with it yourself.

"I'm surprised you haven't run for the hills yet. You know, the first day you meet me I end up destroying the door." To your surprise Logan laughs.

"Technically Scott destroyed the door." He counters.

"Yeah well I broke his glasses." You take your hand away from his beer and turn your attention back to the soup.

For some reason Logan doesn't leave. He watches you as you cook and you like the company. You tense as you feel him get closer to you. His chest almost against your back as he peers over your shoulder. He's so close. You take a wooden spoon this time and stir the soup. Lifting a little bit to your lips.

"Can I have a taste?" Logan asks.

You turn your head to find his face incredibly close to yours. Really close. So close that you can barely focus on anything other than his lips. You don't notice the burner getting more intense as all your focus is on Logan.

"Shit!" Logan hisses as the soup practically explodes all over the kitchen. Soup splatters every possible place including your clothes. Making a massive mess.

"Dammit!" You turn down the burner and see if there's anything left you can salvage but there's nothing. You must have caused the burner to go haywire.

"I'm sorry Logan." You say defeatedly as you wipe soup from your forehead. Logan takes his thumb and wipes the soup off your cheek.

"Tasty." He says as he licks his thumb. He doesn’t break eye contact. Enjoying the effect he’s having on you.

You stand with your mouth open as he walks off like he didn't just do that. The flames on the burner get bigger once again and you turn it off. You grab the roll of paper towels and start to clean.

The faint touch of Logan's thumb still on your mind.

3. In the garage

After your kitchen disaster you found yourself wandering the mansion instead. It had been a couple weeks but you decided to avoid the kitchen for now. Now you had too much free time on your hands. That's how you ended up here, in the garage. Except this time it was you who found Logan. He was working on his motorcycle. Shirtless. Okay that's totally normal right? You think to yourself as you sit and watch.

"When did you learn how to ride?" You ask as you watch him screw in something to somewhere, you don't know too much about motorcycles.

"Long time ago." He answers gruffly as he wipes his forehead with a rag.

"Like ten, twenty, a million years ago?" Logan chuckles and stands up. Your eyes trace the veins on his arms as he puts his hands on his hips.

"More like a hundred." He sits on his bike and turns it on. He's double checking everything and notices you looking in awe.

"You ever ridden before?" He asks and you shake your head.

"Alright then come here." He gestures for you to get on and you perk up. He gets off and holds the handle bars, letting you get on. You're extra careful. This bike looked expensive and Logan had just spent hours working on it. The last thing you wanted to do was jinx things. Again.

"Woah." You giggle as you run your hands along the smooth metal.

"So you put one foot here and the other stays on the floor." He guides you gently and you do as he says. You place your hands next to his on the handlebars.

"When I was a kid I this bike. It was purple with a basket in the front." You tell him. You loved that bike. Rode it whenever you could. You had the bruises to prove it from the amount of times you fell off.

"I rode it into a bush once. Got these bumps all over my skin." Logan takes his hands off the bike leaving just you holding it up.

"Well it's no purple bike, but I can take you on a ride one day. There's this diner about twenty minute away if you’re interested.” He offers. You grin and tighten your grip on the handles.

"Sounds like you're asking me on a date." You say boldly.

Before Logan could say anything there's a loud bang. Backfire from something but it scares the hell out of you. Without thinking you heat up the bike and jump off of it. Logan tries to grab it but the handles burn his hand. You watch in horror as it falls on its side. You try to stop it but it only ends up landing on your foot.

"Fuck!" You grab your foot as pain shoots through your body. That thing is heavy. Logan clutches his hand for a second before the burn heals. He picks up the bike and kicks the stand open so it can stay up on its own. Your eyes brim with tears when you see the dirty and scratches that have ruined the newly cleaned shiny metal.

"Logan I'm so sorry." He sighs and walks over to you.

"Your foot okay?" It hurts but it's not broken. You try to set it down but you can't. The pain is too much. You try to hide it but he sees right through you.

"Let's get you to the lab." You try to protest but he doesn't listen. Helping you out of the garage and to the lab. Ignoring the fact that you just caused him even more trouble. As you get patched up he leaves. You hang your head low as you think of a way to make it up to him.

Later that night Logan can't sleep. The nightmares don’t let him. So he makes his way back down to the garage. He needs to start over on fixing his bike anyways. As he approaches the door be notices the lights already on. To his surprise he finds you there. Fast asleep with your head on a chair.

You're body is uncomfortably kneeling on the ground. Your foot is wrapped and there's crutches leaning against the wall. There's rags and wax sitting by your side and his bike looks brand new. He kneels down and shakes you awake.

"Hey there sweetheart." He says as you open your eyes.

You mumble something incoherent and shut your eyes. Logan bends down and picks you up in his arms. He carries you back to your bed laying a blanket over you as you melt into your pillows. He elevates your foot before he leaves. People may call you a Jinx but you've got a heart of gold. He goes back to the garage and cleans up everything, making a mental note to take you on that date when you're foot is better.

4. Ice Skating

It took a month for your foot to finally heal up. Broken no, fractured, yes. It was a pain trying to get around on crutches but Logan ended being your own personal transportation. He would help you get down the stairs, reach the high shelf, drive you to the store. Whatever you needed he was there.

He even took you to that diner. Sharing a milkshake and cheese fries. He looked past your nickname, sure he called you Jinx but when he did it felt sweeter. He had seen your unluckiness first hand and yet he still chooses to be by your side. It was all you ever wanted.

Sure you had friends at the mansion but you could tell they thought of you as a small burden, a nuisance. They were still kind to you but you always saw their faces when something went wrong. With Logan there was none of that. He embraced every part of you. Now with your foot all healed and the winter starting to settle over the mansion you were all clear for winter activities.

Your favorite one being ice skating. A large pond was the perfect place for you and some of the kids to go. Logan had tagged along but only did so because you begged him to go. Pretty please with a cherry on top was enough to get him to chaperone.

You skated along with some of the kids. Others had set up an ice hockey game. It was pure childhood joy. Something that these kids didn't get all the time. Logan was sitting on a bench by the edge of the pond just watching. You skated over and put your hands on your hips.

"Come on Logan, you can't just come to the lake and not skate." You whine. He raises an eyebrow and stays put on that bench.

"I don't do skating sweetheart, or lakes."

"Ten minutes, just ten minutes and I'll leave you alone." You pout and clasp your hands together. He stares at you for a moment before relenting.

"Fine." You let out a happy cheer as he laces up the pair of skates you got for him. You hold out your hands as Logan struggles to balance on the skates.

"See, you're a natural." Logan wobbles and lets out a string of curses as he tries to walk on ice.

"Shut up." He says with no bite in his voice.

Your fingers interlock with his hand as you start slow. This was hell for Logan but seeing your smile made it worth it. You skate around the lake with him, laughing when he glares at the kids who laugh at him. Seeing him so out of his element was funny.

"Okay that's it I'm done." He grunts out as you come to a stop near the middle of the lake.

"Thank you for trying." You know he's not really having fun but it meant a lot he was willing to even get on the ice for you.

"Teacher! Jinx!" A loud cry comes from the kids. You gasp as you notice the ice starting to crack. You made sure the ice was thick enough. You triple checked how could this be happening. You see Logan start to panic so you take action.

"Everyone stay calm!" You yell out.

"If you can make it off now then do it. If you're too far away then I need you to get on your stomach and spread your legs out. Then slowly crawl to the edge. Anyone who is off the lake help pull others to safety." You stay as calm as you can as you make sure everyone is safe. To your relief the ice stays intact as the kids make it off. Now it's just you and Logan. There's fear in his eyes as the cracking gets louder.

"We need to do the same thing Logan. It's going to be okay." The two of you get onto your stomachs and army crawl towards the edge. A student with super speed has already gone to get help thank goodness.

"Fuck." Logan panics as the ice starts to give way. You grab his hand as he starts to freeze.

"It's okay it's okay." You're close to the edge but not close enough.

You yelp as the ice breaks and both of you plunge into the water. You try to keep your grip onto Logan but he's sinking fast. The water is bringing back horrible, horrible memories as he struggles to breathe. Your head barely bobs above the surface as you see familiar faces running towards you.

Water fills your lungs as you scream when Logan's claws nick your arm. He plunges them into the dirt. Trying to pull himself up and out. Your body is becoming numb and every movement hurts. A pair of hands drag you out of the water. You cough violently as you grip onto the frozen grass. Trying to catch your breath. Logan's eyes are wide as he does the same.

"Are you okay?" You reach out to him but he snaps.

"Don't touch me!" He snarls and your heart plummets. His eyes are unfamiliar as his teeth bare like an animal. For the first time since you've met him he's angry with you. Really fucking angry.

"I'm sorry I..."

"I'm sorry Logan, I didn't mean to scratch your bike, I didn't mean to explode the fucking soup. Is that all you can say?!" He shoves off the people trying to help and stands up. His face cold and unforgiving as he looks down on your shivering body.

"You really are a fucking Jinx." You let out a sob as Logan walks away.

A fluffy blanket feels like ice against your skin as you're ushered back to the mansion. You hear Storm trying to talk to you but everything sounds like white noise. Your heart is stomped and crushed right in front of your eyes and you can't even blame him.

You're nothing but bad luck.

5. On a mission

There's no more accidents around the mansion anymore. Probably because you've locked yourself away since the ice skating incident. With the school on a break you didn't need to teach so all you did was stay in your room. Only leaving in the dead of night.

You just couldn't face the mansion anymore. You were embarrassed, upset, and heartbroken. Logan was supposed to be different. You wanted things to be different with him but apparently the universe decided you can have nothing good. It was only a matter of time before he saw the truth. His words repeat in your head over and over.

The anger, the fear. You caused that. Students and teachers alike would stop by your door but no one could get you out of your room. Sometimes you swear you hear the sound of his boots outside of your door. But he just stands there and then he leaves.

You can't cause any more problems if you stay here. Only issues for yourself and that's okay. Professor Xavier would pop into your head every now and then just to check up on you but this time what he needed was urgent.

The moment you walked through his office doors you could feel everyone's eyes on you. Especially a certain someone's who’s brooding in the corner of the room. Even with everyone here he's just overwhelming. You keep yours forward, not sparing a glance to him or to anyone.

"Thank you for joining us." Charles smiles warmly.

Apparently there's a mission and they need your help. Why they would send you out there you don't know. The targets had a fire mutant too and the best way to fight fire is with, well with more fire. The moment you stepped on the jet you could feel the nerves.

Everyone was worried something would go wrong with you around. Keeping your eyes glued to the ground you take a seat as far away from everyone as possible. Counting your fingers over and over as you wait to land. Someone makes there way over to you, their boots are oh so familiar.

"Hey." You look up to see Logan. He's holding onto the seat next to you for dear life.

"Don't worry I'm not gonna touch anything." You mumble as you try and somehow make yourself smaller.

"Listen I just wanted to talk." The plane jolts and Logan slams his fist against the wall. He freezes up again, fear creeping up onto his face. Just like on that frozen lake.

"We're hitting some turbulence. Logan you need to sit down." Scott commands.

Logan's lips turn into a growl but he sits down anyway. His hands clutching the armrests of the chair. Apart of you wants to go and comfort him but you would probably just make things worse. So you close your eyes and wait for it to be over. The turbulence calms and eventually the jet lands with everything and everyone unharmed.

The goal was to shutdown a group of mutant hunters and rescue their victims. The worst part was they had mutants on their side too. Good money you guessed. It shouldn't be too hard of a mission but knowing yourself anything could go wrong. You followed the team in, fighting with everything you had.

Logan had stuck by your side since you got here. Keeping his distance but always watching you. His super senses and metal claws made him their number one target. Suppress the Wolverine. They were no match for him though. But Logan's focus seemed to wane as they sent more people after him. A mutant who could make copies of himself did their best to confuse and take Logan down.

"Watch out!" You shout and Logan dodges another attack.

However you get shoved to the ground before you can say anything else. You send a blast of fire at your attacker but they wave it off. So this is the other mutant. The two of you become locked in combat. Fire meeting fire with no clear winner. It isn't until Jean’s voice shouts through your comms that you find the upper hand. They had found the kids and were bringing them back to the ship. It was a losing battle and you think the hunters were staring to realize that. Calling for a retreat.

You can't let them get away. If they get away then all of this is for nothing. They'll rebuild, they'll hurt more people. You notice a gas tank nearby by their vehicle. You were always good at making things explode. Usually on accident but fuck it, might as well try on purpose now.

"Get to safety and get out of here!" You run past the team as you chase after the retreating foes.

"Where the hell are you going?!" Logan calls as he helps a kid get onto the jet.

You ignore him, running as fast as you can. Just one big blast should get that thing exploding. God this was so stupid but its the only thing you can think of. You fucked up the door, you made a mess of the kitchen, you hurt Logan. All you do is ruin things. You're a Jinx and for once you can try and do something good. Even if it kills you.

As the car starts to drive past you channel all your power and launch it at the gas tank. For a second its like everything is in slow motion. You hear Logan roar, turning back only to see him running towards you. Suddenly everything gets really hot and then.

Nothing.

In the medbay

The first thing you feel when you can finally feel things again was how uncomfortable you were. An itchy blanket, itchy arms. Your back hurt and your head was killing you. When you opened your eyes all you see are the bandages wrapped around your arms and legs.

There were cards and flowers sitting on your bedside table and to your left was Logan. He's got his feet up on your bed and he was squished into a chair. His head bowed and his arms crossed. You try to sit up but start to wheeze. The heart monitor starts to beep wildly and Logan jolts awake.

"Sit back down." He pushes you back onto the bed and you try and breathe. After a little bit your heart rate steadies and Logan seems to calm down.

"What happened?" You ask and Logan clenches his jaw.

"You blew yourself up that's what fucking happened." Your memories were slowly getting pieced together.

"I blew up the gas tank. I wanted to stop them from escaping." You say as you recount what led you to the hospital bed.

"Well you stopped them and then almost killed yourself in the process. You had severe burns, a concussion, you were bleeding everywhere. I picked you up in my arms and you were coated in blood." He growls.

The words I'm sorry almost fall out of your mouth but you remember what Logan said that day on the lake. If you're being honest you aren't sorry either. You did what you thought you had to do.

"I'm a Jinx Logan. You said it yourself. I used my destruction to help this time." Logan winces when you remind him of his harsh words.

He wasn't in the right state of mind when he said them. Flashbacks of drowning, of the pain he went through. Being submerged in water and sinking were usually the scenes of his nightmares and for it to happen in real life. It was awful. But that doesn't change the fact he lashed out, he hurt you.

"I was wrong. I shouldn't have said that." Logan gently brushes the bandages on your arms. The scar from when he cut your arm in the lake peeks out from your bandages. He let his fear get the best of him in the water.

"I've hurt a lot of people, sometimes on purpose. Sometimes on accident.” His eyes never leaving your scar. “You’re not a Jinx. You’re perfect.”

"I still make a mess." Logan cups your face and studies a stitched up wound on your forehead.

God when that gas tank exploded. Even he was blown back by the force. He ran to your still body. Ash and pieces of metal were scattered across the field. You're lucky you didn't get fucking impaled. Your body was limp. Dirt and blood caked your face so much that he couldn't tell where you were hurt.

He carried you back to the jet, your blood staining his suit as he laid you down. He listened for your heartbeat for a second he swore it stopped. The longest second of his life as he waited to hear that soft beating.

"Why are you still here?" You just don't understand. How he can be sitting here after everything you've done. All the problems you caused.

"A little mess isn't gonna scare me sweetheart, I like your mess. I like you." He tilts your chin up and kisses you. You're taken by surprise but it's certainly welcome as your eyes flutter closed.

The heart rate monitor starts to beep faster as Logan leans over you. Your fingers rake through his hair as you pull him closer. Logan's grip tightens on the hospital bed railing. He's too lost in the taste of your lips to notice. You tug on his hair and his claws shoot out, cutting one of your IV wires.

A loud beeping blares through the room as Logan jumps back from you. You cover your mouth and laugh. Not even in your sweetest moments can you catch a break. Logan sheaths his claws and shakes his head in disbelief, joining in your laughter.

Jean rushes in with a panicked look on your face. It morphs into confusion when she sees the two of you laughing as your IV drips to the ground. She quickly fixes your IV and gives both of you a scolding for not letting anyone know you were awake.

"Keep your hands and claws to yourself. I'll be back later Jinx." She eyes Logan who puts his hands up. Smirking at you as she leaves.

"You know we could call you something else." Logan suggests. You think for a while before shaking your head.

"I think I like it." It reminds you of your faults yes but this has something that's followed you for the longest time.

You supposedly bring bad luck but you can try and counteract it every day by doing something nice. Plus maybe with Logan your luck might turn around. Maybe. As long as you steer clear of any lakes.

"Alright, but I think sweetheart has a nice ring to it." He says with a grin.

"Oh you want everyone to call me sweetheart?" You tease. Logan leans over and kisses you again.

"No. Only I get to call you that." Bad luck you may bring but Logan doesn't care.

You're a Jinx but you're his jinx and he loves every part of you. The good and the bad. So what's a little bad luck? If it means he gets to be yours then he'd happily be your lucky charm for the rest of your lives.

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #logan howlett angst #logan howlett fluff

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eowynstwin · 14 days ago

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professor price

professor price x reader. age gap. older man/younger woman. pining. pre-relationship. jealousy. angst. guilt. voyeurism. mvp alejandro. lightly explicit. - A Christmas gift to my friend @guyfieriii, centered around her own Professor Price au from all the way back in early 2023. I have linked each fic of hers that I reference in this work—highly recommend you check them out.

The first day of class you’re in the front row—center seat.

Old instincts never really retire even if the body leaves the field; a moment’s evaluation opens you like a book. Pencil pouch on your desk, set parallel to the edge. Syllabus in the middle, creased at the stapled corner but otherwise pristine. Water bottle at the corner, solid blue.

You: hair neat. Wearing clean slacks and a knitted sweater like a uniform, ankles crossed, buckled straps of your Mary-Janes intersecting in an obtuse V. Like a flock of birds in formation, flying southwards for the winter. There’s a curated look to you, a careful arrangement of details meant to declare the essence of who you are and what you’re about.

It’s clear immediately; from only a glance.

You’re a good girl.

The eager-to-please kind. The five A-levels kind. The kind who does her bonus assignments because they’re available, not because she needs them. Prim, polished, ironed at the creases.

Straight from a 90s teen drama, or porn of an equal vintage.

You meet his eyes—

And Price knows how it goes.

Boredom and professional stagnancy are the bane of active men. Men with egos. Men who long to fix things. Men who have reached the heights of every achievement now looking for the next peak to summit.

It’s the curse of middle age’s collision with machismo. How does a man prove his masculinity when there’s no proving left to be done? When the panopticon has finally turned its eyes away, satisfied at his self-regulation enough not to constantly surveil it?

Suddenly the performance can end, if he wants it to. Only, if it ends, how does the actor not disappear, when the role is the only identity he’s ever had?

In academia, the answer is—of course—simple:

Fuck a student.

And oh. It’s right there, in those wide, sweet eyes, looking up at him with the reflexive veneration of a star student.

You’re begging to be fucked.

Fucked right. Fucked by someone who knows what he’s doing. Fucked so good that it upends every clean line of you, like breaking furniture, like smashing crystal. Fucked crying, whimpering, groaning beyond recognizable language, sweaty and gross until it’s impossible to tell whether or not his body and yours have begun to fuse.

Fucked the way no snot-nosed twenty-something twat, the age-appropriate kind that sleeps in the back of his lecture hall and then emails him at the end of every semester begging for extra credit to fix his grade, could possibly fuck you.

He holds your gaze for too long. You smile at him, shyly, and he gives you a brusque nod before distracting himself with the papers on his lectern.

You’re too young for him.

Not that it matters.

Price is all about lines. Stark delineations between will and won’t. Before his untimely retirement, the lines had meant everything. They separated the kind of man he was from the kind of man he did not want to be, and they kept those men separate, even when the distance from one to the other narrowed so sharply that the differences between them were a matter of context rather than consequence.

The important one now is the one that splits his lectern off from the rest of the lecture hall. Students are allowed to cross it, of course, or else he would be neglecting his duty to them as their instructor. But they must inevitably leave, and his feet must remain planted squarely on his side of it.

It’s not even a line he drew himself, although he would have if need be. No—professors, at the beginning of their tenure, are warned. Students will construct feelings of intimacy with their teachers, interpreting their passion for academics as passion for the conduit thereof. Close relationships between mentor and mentee, to be sure, can be deeply beneficial for the young scholar’s development—

But they must remain impersonal. The work must be the lens through which student and teacher look at each other. That barrier must never be lifted.

So it doesn’t matter how old you are or aren’t, or that you’re a second-year grad student, or that every time you walk into the classroom Price wants to drag his desk chair over to yours because you’re the only one who seems like she gives a damn about what he teaches.

He may draw his lines, but he never crosses them.

He’s seen it before. Never done it himself. Phillip Graves has a reputation for it.

Of course, as the Americans like to say, innocent until proven guilty, but it’s hard to argue with the pretty girls Graves always seems to have floating around him every semester. Undergrads, even, though to his credit they seem usually to be the older ones.

Price doesn’t think that even Dean Shepherd’s lapdog could get away with fucking freshly legal coeds—mostly because, if Graves tried to pull something like that, Price might actually take matters into his own hands and kill the bastard himself.

As it is, he can’t actually prove that his colleague is sleeping with anyone he shouldn’t be. He’s not in the army anymore; he has no desire to lose sleep over staking out the man’s house.

The only consolation is that no one besides his students and the Dean seem to like Graves—something the man doesn’t seem concerned to rectify, if he even notices. Though Price can’t imagine that he hasn’t noticed. He’s always sitting alone at staff meetings if Shepherd isn’t present, and if he does try to talk to anyone, it’s usually the adjuncts, young women just beginning their careers in higher academia who know the drill by now and merely humor him.

So it shouldn’t surprise Price when, one day, he catches Graves chatting you up.

“Hey, congrats on the election, kid,” he hears him say to you, referencing your recent appointment as president to the student association of his department. Graves smiles, dimpling, all that American charm amped up to the maximum.

And Price sees red.

“Thank you, Professor Graves,” you say politely. You have your arms crossed over your binder, held to your chest, as if a makeshift shield.

“I’d have voted for you if I could’ve,” the other man says. “And hey, I know you Brits like your formalities, but it’s just Phil with me.”

“Erm…”

“There you are,” Price announces from the other end of the hallway.

You turn, and give look you shoot him is so relieved that, almost immediately, it clears the haze from his eyes, like a cool breeze moving through the hottest part of a summer day. Relief of his own floods him, washing the jealousy he’d barely had time to confront completely away.

“Hello, Professor,” you say, “I was just on my way to your office!”

“Good,” says Price, approaching. “Wanted to talk about your last paper. Had some issues with your secondary sources.”

You blanch, and he immediately feels guilty for the lie.

“Ah, go easy on the kid,” says Graves. “I keep telling you, John, no one likes a hardass.”

For some reason, there are two men in the department that Phillip Graves makes a consistent effort to interact with, and Price has the misfortune of being one of them. He’s not sure why—he thinks he’s made his distaste for the man very clear. It’s probably some dick-measuring contest for him; Price’s standing in the department, even despite Shepherd’s favoritism, is secure.

Whether it’s secure enough to withstand this…thing happening between you and him has yet to be seen.

“I hold my students to a higher standard, Graves,” Price says shortly. Then, to you, “Come along, and we’ll talk about it.”

He turns and leaves, and as he hears you hurry after him, an ugly kind of gratification begins purring behind his sternum. The two of you walk for a ways in silence.

“Was it the interviews?” you finally ask him, sounding genuinely upset. “I thought they would be okay, given that they were original transcriptions…”

“Your sources were fine,” Price soothes, unable to take it. “Just needed to give you a good out, didn’t I?”

You falter beside him, but quickly catch up. “Oh no, was I that obvious?”

He looks to you as he walks, catching the anxious expression on your face, and smiles, amused. “Don’t worry, promise you he couldn’t tell.”

Then you laugh. It enter’s Price’s bloodstream and pumps through his veins, all the way to the arteries in his neck. It fills the lobes of his brain, rapidly bringing the world into sharper focus.

“I’ll hold you to that, professor,” you say, and it’s a tether he welcomes, a sting of pleasure as its hook lodges in his ribs.

Price looks over his shoulder, and finds Graves watching the two of you walk away. He doesn’t like the expression on the other man’s face. It’s…knowing. Understanding, in the way of a man having competed for something and lost to the better opponent.

He catches the Graves’ eye, scowling at him; he means for the expression to be disapproving. For Graves to know that Price knows what he’s about, and has no intention of humoring it.

But he knows how it actually comes across.

Back off. She’s mine.

Price’s colleague and friend Alejandro Vargas is the only other man in the department that Graves cares to know, and, luckily for Price, Alejandro shares his dislike.

“He is too young to be acting the way he does,” he says one evening after work. He and Price share a pint at a pub nearby campus on a regular basis.

“Too young?” Price repeats. “What is he, thirty-five? Forty?”

“Who cares,” Alejandro says. “Anyone chasing after his students the way he does should at least be fifty. That way a midlife crisis can at least be a valid excuse.”

Price’s stomach turns. His forty-sixth birthday has already come and gone.

“So you’re sayin’—”

“Man his age can get his ego boost somewhere else,” Alejandro mutters into his tankard. He has a strange way of looking at things, sometimes; as if he were a much older man himself, and not in his prime at thirty-eight. “Don’t they make apps for that nowadays?”

“No excuse for messing with students,” Price agrees, although he tastes the bitter note of hypocrisy in the back of his throat as he thinks of you, and that rainy afternoon.

Driving you home was a mistake, although he can’t think of anything else he would’ve respected himself for doing. He clings to that excuse like a buoy in the ocean—no matter his feelings for you, leaving you on campus to wait until the storm passed, no umbrella, no coat, would have been unforgivable.

He’d played it off as simply doing a favor for his favorite student. A willingness to go beyond his usual responsibilities to you, since you excel beyond what even his high standards demand of you.

Something the two of you should keep between yourselves, for professionalism’s sake, because he has an obligation to treat every student equally.

I can be discreet, you’d said, the tone of your voice playful and also…not.

The way one says something that they mean, while framing it as a joke, just in case it’s taken the wrong way.

Mitigation.

Something he could’ve brushed off, if your hand hadn’t moved toward his.

Good girl. He’d moved his away. Focused on the line. Accepted your apology with grace, determined not to embarrass you for feelings that are only natural—

That are reciprocated, even though they shouldn’t be.

“That is less the problem to me,” Alejandro muses.

“What?” Price exclaims. “Mate, we have a responsibility to these kids. We can’t go treating classrooms like bloody Love Island.”

“It is about the man,” says his colleague. “If a man shows respect in his relationships, then it is not so important where they happen. Graves, he is not a respectful man.”

“No one his age should be with girls that much younger than him,” Price growls.

Alejandro fixes him with an intense look, a serious expression tightening the sharp lines of his face.

“This is what I mean by respect,” he says evenly. Purposefully. “Knowing who is right and wrong to be with. Girls that young? No. They do not know themselves, and Graves will try to tell them who they are. But not every girl is that young.”

Price shifts uncomfortably on his barstool, remembering one late afternoon—when Alejandro had stopped by his office, to find you sitting on the small couch there, studying, as Price finished grading essays.

Innocent, he’d thought. A mentor and his student, sharing space, making room for scholarship to flow between them.

He realizes now, chagrined, that Alejandro has always been too perceptive to accept what he merely observes.

“Mate,” Price says, measured, “It isn’t like that.”

“No,” Alejandro agrees, “it isn’t. That does not mean it can’t be.”

“Alejandro—”

“You are not your father, hermano,” his colleague says, knowing exactly where to strike. “That is the end of what I will say.”

And he sips his beer while leaving Price to seethe.

You’re seeing one of the twats.

Price convinced himself the first couple of times you walked out with him—Will—that you were taking on a charity case. You’re a student leader, after all. Helping a classmate with their ailing grades falls under your purview. You’ve hosted tutoring sessions before, and the pride of it had nestled glowing in his chest so warmly that he couldn’t help bragging about your academic promise to his colleagues.

Even outside of the ache for you that sits in his gut every time he sees you, Price could not be prouder. The students’ Historical Society’s fundraiser last month had gone off beautifully thanks to you, and everyone who had attended was still talking about it: from the brilliant idea for a fifties dress code, to the truly impressive array of antiques you’d convinced donors to contribute to the silent auction.

You’d looked so beautiful in your little red dress, too. The sharp lines of your burgundy lipstick had made your smile so bright all evening that he’d fallen asleep thinking about it.

His student. His protege, really. Of course you’d notice someone struggling, and make an effort to help.

Except, Price has never been very good at fooling himself. The truth is too valuable an asset for him to disregard.

The first time you leave with Will, he feels it clench around something in his gut. He has to remind himself he has no right to feel anything about it at all.

The second time, it starts burrowing deeper. Gnawing a hole in his stomach. The look on the twat’s face, as he follows you out like a lost puppy, is too smitten to allow Price his illusions.

Then one day, you take that twat’s hand in yours at the end of class, slotting your fingers between his.

It descends again. That film of red over his eyes. He stares at the two of you as you make your way to the door—and you throw Price a look, Price, aimed straight for his center.

You’re his. His.

And what has he done about it?

The accusation is in your eyes. It’s honed by everything he’s done—and hasn’t. The late-night chips after fundraiser planning. The cigars between classes, and the scotch in his office he pours every time you stop by to discuss your thesis.

The cufflinks he wears for every single class you’re in, and the box you wrapped them in sitting open on his beside table. Like a conduit for bringing the warmth of your touch into his home.

The same warmth, in his weakest moments, that he imagines wrapped around his cock. As his fingers find the soft give of your cleft. As his tongue meets yours, and tastes the liquor he now only drinks in your company.

Imagines, but never pursues.

Why had he believed you wouldn’t search for the same elsewhere?

The anniversary comes up faster than Price would have liked, despite the fact that the calendar isn’t missing any days.

He goes to the cemetery alone. Bouquet of English roses clutched in the vice of one hand. It feels like a day it should be raining, but the sky betrays him, the gray covering of clouds thin enough to let the dyed sunlight through.

He buried his mother in the plot she’d bought for herself and his father, Price the elder, according to her wishes. He’d buried his father beside her against Price the younger’s own.

It had happened within a year of each other. The chemotherapy hadn’t worked, after years of fighting it, and the last months of Mrs. Price’s life happened far sooner than it was fair. She hadn’t left any regrets behind, she promised in her will, but young John Price knew it for a lie.

He remembers sitting with her in the mornings as a boy, flipping through old issues of National Geographic. His mum would ooh and aah over exotic pictures of the American west—the Russian steppe—colorful bird’s eye shots of the Taj Mahal or Burj Khalifa.

“We’re gonna go there someday,”she would enthuse, squeezing him around his toddler-belly with one arm as he perched in her lap.

Even then he’d known it was a dream, and not a goal. All he had to do was look around at the yellow tint of their kitchen with its laminate countertops, the scuffs on the corners of its scratch-and-dent fridge, the mismatch of cookware hanging on a smoke-stained wall. Peeling wallpaper they didn’t have the right to tear off, because they needed their deposit back very badly when they moved out.

His father was a tradesman—they could barely afford to visit Wales.

And his mother, at the elder Price’s insistence, did not work.

It’s in a nice place, the grave. Far back away from the entrance, where it can’t be trivialized by passing cars or dog walkers. Price can stand at the end of it and reckon with death without having to think of life going inexorably on right behind him.

Except, it’s the years to the right of the dash that he stares at, not the left. Even as a boy, he’d always noticed the disparity between his mother and father. How, before the younger even turned fourteen, grey streaked Price the elder’s temples, scars of age furrowing deep from the corners of his nostrils— while the decades his mum still had left to face radiated from her so brightly that sometimes people took her for his father’s eldest, and not the baby she bounced on her hip.

Decades she never even got to see.

Price rounds to his mother’s side and lays the bouquet beneath her epitaph—Loving Wife and Mother. He’s almost as old now as she was, in her last year, and he feels the epicenter of it sit somewhere between his heart and lungs. It burns, furious, indignant.

“Got tenured this year, Mum,” he murmurs to her. “Probably pay off the house next.”

He hears birdsong in the tree line beyond the border fence. Tries to feel her fingers running through his hair in the breeze, and fails. It’s just wind.

His father—who he sees in the mirror too often lately—he does not address.

He makes the mistake all men eventually do—

He calls his ex.

“Hallo?” Ada says, after picking up on the second ring. She’s one of the few people he knows to keep a house phone these days. She’d explained she enjoys the novelty, and the surprise on the rare occasions it actually rings.

“Hi, darlin,’” says Price.

“John, hi! How you doin’?”

“I’m alright. How’s the new place?”

He hears a shift in the background, like she’s thrown herself at a haphazard angle into a chair. She’s always been like that; she moves through any space she occupies unafraid of what she might bump into.

“Tidy!” she enthuses. “Got a view of the sea down the hill. And there’s a market on Saturdays! I got the loveliest Gruyère from one of the stalls, says he ages it himself. Can’t wait to put it in a sauce.”

“Sounds nice,” Price says, meaning it.

“Yeah, it is,” Ada replies. He pictures her twirling the cord between her fingers. “Heard about your promotion, by the way, congratulations—you earned it, John.”

“Thank you,” he says. “Have you settled in okay there? Students giving you trouble?”

“Not at all! Bit touch and go at the start of the semester, but you know me,” she laughs. “That’s how I thrive.”

“I know.”

A pause. Long enough for Price’s regret over dialing her to make itself a part of the conversation.

She sounds good. She sounds better than good—she sounds great. Happy with where she is in life, and where she’s going.

Nothing like she did when she lived with him.

“So…” Ada trails. “I know you didn’t just call to chat, John. Not that I don’t appreciate it.”

“That obvious, am I?”

He can hear the sympathetic smile in her voice when she replies, “I can look at a calendar too.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I just—just wanted to hear your voice. Hope that’s alright.”

“Yeah, it’s alright,” she says. “Didn’t stop caring just because I left, you know.”

He hears the unsaid: just because you didn’t follow.

“I know,” he replies. He leaves the me neither unsaid as well. “Ada, do you—do you regret it, at all?”

“Regret…what?” The tone of her voice edges toward the defensive.

“Being with me.”

“What? John, of course not!” She laughs, tension evaporating. “We had some bad times, sure, but we had some good ones too. I’m grateful for all of them.”

“Even the bad times?” he asks, frowning.

“Yeah, John, even those. They showed me who you were. And I liked that person, a lot. If you had—”

She cuts herself off from the what if John knows had been coming. The speculation about what their relationship might have looked like, if he’d made a different decision. It would only hurt both of them more to think about it.

“If you’d been a worse man I’d have left a lot sooner,” she amends. “But like I said. No regrets. It’s over now, and I’m sad about that. But I’m glad it happened.”

Something happens behind Price’s ribs—something hard, trying to claw its way upward, that he has to draw his lips between his teeth and sniff hard to foil its escape.

“Thanks, darlin,’” he says, hearing the tremor in his own voice, and, for once, not hating himself for it with her listening. “I feel the same way too.”

He catches you with the twat in the library. It doesn’t surprise him—he hadn’t expected anything else. You hadn’t even looked at him this time as you’d pulled Will out of the lecture hall, nor had you noticed him following at a remove behind.

So when he opens the door to the sound of smacking flesh, it doesn’t shock him in the slightest.

You’re on a reading table with your skirt flipped upward, underwear dangling from one ankle as you curl your legs around the twat’s hips. The boy’s arse quivers and clenches as he jackhammers into you with neither art nor precision.

The look on your face is one of concentration. Focus. Like whatever pleasure you could derive from this is something you must actively keep hold of, otherwise you’ll lose it.

Your eyes land on him then, and for a split second—a fraction of a heartbeat—you seem relieved. Pleasure radiates from you, and you begin to roll your hips as you hold him in your gaze—and then, suddenly, horror overtakes it. Your eyes widen. You raise a hand to grab Will—

Price shakes his head.

You freeze. Your chest heaves. (The twat is oblivious.)

He stares you down. Leans against the bookshelf with his hands in his pockets, unblinking.

His.

The thing about lines is that they can be redrawn.

You run your tongue along your parted lips, hands coming up to rest on the twat’s back. Price looks down at the place Will’s body hides yours from his gaze, then back up.

He inclines his head. Go on, then.

And again, you move. Right as his command. Pull the body between your legs closer, brows creasing together, undulating into each thrust as you let Price’s eyes cage yours. You draw up higher and higher, the pitch of your breath thinning as your climax stretches taut inside you—you beg him with your eyes—

He nods.

You seize on the desk, throwing your head back, jaw dropping open. No sound escapes you—he sees the muscles in your throat work to contain it.

What will you sound like when he gets his hands on you?

By the look on the twat’s face next class, you’ve ended it. Price hardly cares. His phone is hot in his pocket, a grenade with its pin nearly out.

In case your memory fails when you find yourself thinking of me.

And, in the center of the photo, the exact thing the twat’s hips had been hiding away.

You’re there, in the front row. Every time his gaze falls on you, you shiver. The same skirt from before leaves the soft expanses of your thighs bare, for him, this time.

His. You know it now, too. It intersects the line, perfect in its perpendicularity.

You have lessons to learn. You’re already a good student; the despondent expression on Will’s face, even now, as he gazes at you like a lovelorn puppy from the back of the hall, proves it.

But you’re not there yet. You’re only just now catching up, after all. And only Price has the duty—the right—to teach you.

You’re too young for him—

Not that it matters.

a/n: If this seems disjointed or missing context, it's because a few things I reference are no longer available on the internet. Ash, I mourn daily what you have withdrawn from us.

Thank you for reading!

#john price #price x reader #price x you #captain price #john price x reader #john price x you #john price x y/n #professor price #does tagging even work anymore or are the tags all just clogged by now #mwritesprice #madi writes #that is in fact a photo of barry

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bixels · 1 year ago

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Portal 2 is still the perfect game to me. I hyperfixated on it like crazy in middle school. Would sing Want You Gone out loud cuz I had ADHD and no social awareness. Would make fan animations and pixel art. Would explain the ending spoilers and fan theories to anyone who'd listen. Would keep up with DeviantArt posts of the cores as humans. Would find and play community-made maps (Gelocity is insanely fun).

I still can't believe this game came out 12 years ago and it looks like THIS.

Like Mirror's Edge, the timeless art style and economic yet atmospheric lighting means this game will never age. The decision not to include any visible humans (ideas of Doug Rattmann showing up or a human co-op partner were cut) is doing so much legroom too. And the idea to use geometric tileset-like level designs is so smart! I sincerely believe that, by design, no game with a "realistic art style" has looked better than Portal 2.

Do you guys remember when Nvidia released Portal with RTX at it looked like dogshit? Just the most airbrushed crap I've ever seen; completely erased the cold, dry, clinical feel of Aperture.

So many breathtakingly pit-in-your-stomach moments I still think about too. And it's such a unique feeling; I'd describe at as... architectural existentialism? Experiencing the sublime under the shadow of manmade structures (Look up Giovanni Battista Piranesi's art if you're curious)? That scene where you're running from GLaDOS with Wheatley on a catwalk over a bottomless pit and––out of rage and desperation––GLaDOS silently begins tearing her facility apart and Wheatley cries 'She's bringing the whole place down!' and ENORMOUS apartment building-sized blocks begin groaning towards you on suspended rails and cement pillars crumble and sparks fly and the metal catwalk strains and bends and snaps under your feet. And when you finally make it to the safety of a work lift, you look back and watch the facility close its jaws behind you as it screams.

Or the horror of knowing you're already miles underground, and then Wheatley smashes you down an elevator shaft and you realize it goes deeper. That there's a hell under hell, and it's much, much older.

Or how about the moment when you finally claw your way out of Old Aperture, reaching the peak of this underground mountain, only to look up and discover an endless stone ceiling built above you. There's a service door connected to some stairs ahead, but surrounding you is this array of giant, building-sized springs that hold the entire facility up. They stretch on into the fog. You keep climbing.

I love that the facility itself is treated like an android zooid too, a colony of nano-machines and service cores and sentient panel arms and security cameras and more. And now, after thousands of years of neglect, the facility is festering with decomposition and microbes; deer, raccoons, birds. There are ghosts too. You're never alone, even when it's quiet. I wonder what you'd hear if you put your ear up against a test chamber's walls and listened. (I say that all contemplatively, but that's literally an easter egg in the game. You hear a voice.)

Also, a reminder that GLaDOS and Chell are not related and their relationship is meant to be psychosexual. There was a cut bit where GLaDOS would role-play as Chell's jealous housewife and accuse her of seeing other cores in between chambers. And their shared struggle for freedom and control? GLaDOS realizing, after remembering her past life, that she's become the abuser and deciding that she has the power to stop? That even if she can't be free, she can let Chell go because she hates her. And she loves her. Most people interpret GLaDOS "deleting Caroline in her brain" as an ominous sign, that she's forgetting her human roots and becoming "fully robot." But to me, it's a sign of hope for GLaDOS. She's relieving herself of the baggage that has defined her very existence, she's letting Caroline finally rest, and she's allowing herself to grow beyond what Cave and Aperture and the scientists defined her to be. The fact that GLaDOS still lets you go after deleting Caroline proves this. She doesn't double-back or change her mind like Wheatley did, she sticks to her word because she knows who she is. No one and nothing can influence her because she's in control. GLaDOS proves she's capable of empathy and mercy and change, human or not.

That's my retrospective, I love this game to bits. I wish I could experience it for the first time again.

#ramblings #long post #not art #personal #also i know “did glados actually delete caroline” is debated cuz the credits song disputes this #but i like to think she did #it's not sad. caroline died a long time ago #it's a goodbye

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evie-sturns · 1 year ago

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𝙧𝙤𝙖𝙙𝙩𝙧𝙞𝙥 - 𝘾𝙝𝙧𝙞𝙨 𝙎𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙤𝙡𝙤

summary: you, the sturniolos, madi and nate are all going on a roadtrip down to new jersey. execpt theres one problem, there's not enough space in the car. you're forced to sit on chris's lap for the 5 hour car ride, you just can't seem to get comfortable though.

contains: smut, teasing, dom!chris, swearing, fluff.

-----------------------°°••....••°°--------------———

the sturniolos have been my closest friends for a while, especially chris, with who ive have grown closer then ever to over the past few years. today is the day that my friend group travel down to new jersey for the summer break.

12:36pm

"y/n get your ass down here!" chris calls out from the driveway, i stumble over, clutching my baby pink suitcase with one hand as i swing open the door of chris's bedroom, which i've slept in last night.

i sprint downstairs, my suitcase smashing into walls behind me while i lock eyes with madi. i run up to her and a loud laugh escapes her mouth "oh my god your suitcase is basically bursting at the seams."

"shut up, im a chronic over-packer." i joke, walking downstairs into the driveway. matt, nick and nathan are watching chris strategically stack suitcases in the trunk. chris's tounge is slightly peaking out of his mouth as he concentrates.

"can we fit one more?" i say chirpily, walking over to the group of boys while dragging my suitcase behind me. chris takes it off me, sliding into its designated spot between the various bags.

"okay tetris king" nick scoffs, jumping in the passenger seat of the car.

before i know it, everyones piled into the car. matt in the drivers seat, nick in the passenger, madi in the far-right backseat, nathan in the middle and chris on the left backseat.

i open the door to the car, theres no more seats.

"oh fuck me." i mumble, folding my arms and waiting for someone to speak up.

"she could go ontop of the car, grip onto the windshield." matt suggests with a smirk on his face, earning a elbow to the bicep from nathan, who leans foward.

after a few more seconds of silence, i break it. "i could try fit in the trunk, theres a little room ontop of the suitcases.."

"y/n no. thats not safe, i dont care you can sit on my lap." chris says nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders.

i nod, pursing my lips as i crawl in the car, planting myself down on chris's lap. my cheeks instantly flush.

i've never thought about chris romantically, hes always been a platonic best friend. i know he doesn't like me, he doesn't really like many girls in general.

"chris.. im gonna be too heavy." i mumble, purposley putting a small amount of my weight on his lap.

"don't be an idiot." chris chuckles, grabbing my hips and pressing me down, forcing all my weight on his lap. i clear my throat, "are you sure i don't want to squash you."

"hey, i said don't be an idiot." chris says, sitting back in the seat comfortably.

3:21pm

we've been driving for almost three hours, i've been just laying back on chris's chest, resting my head back on his shoulder with my eyes shut. nate, madi and nick have been in a debate for an hour if hot or cold pizza is better.

its been entertaining to say the least.

after nick and nate draw the debate to a close a new conversation sparks up from madi.

"have you guys ever fell off the waterslide platform?" she says, a silence fills the car.

"you know how you have to climb up stairs to get up to the waterslide, and you wait on the little platform to wait your turn to go down?" madi questions, we all nod slowly.

"yeah have you guys fell off?" madi continues.

"madi..." matt says from the front in a low voice, i can hear the smile on his face.

i errupt into giggles, my body vibrates on chris's lap as i lean foward, taking my back off of chris's chest.

everyone else in the car laughs, including chris. his lap lightly bounces up and down with each noise that comes out of his mouth, causing me to shift out of place.

i shimmy my ass back into a comfortable position on chris, an audible groan escapes his mouth, my eyebrows furrow and my head snaps back to look at chris, his cheeks are flushed, as soon as we lock eyes he looks out the window, squeezing his eyes shut out of sheer embarrassment.

"chris," i whisper, looking over my shoulder at him. "whats wrong am i too heavy.."

just then i feel something poke my upper thigh. my eyes pratically bulge out of my head as i stare at chris. everyone else in the car is too engulfed in their own conversation to notice me and him.

"im really sorry." chris squeezes out, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"its just your shifting on my lap, i can ask matt to pull into a gas station and ill fix it in the bathrooms-" he rambles quietly into my ear.

"don't worry about it chris!" i say smiling, shifting side to side on his crotch while maintaining eye contact with him.

"stop that." chris mumbles, the tent in his sweatpants growing by the second.

"you like it christopher."

chris's breathing picks up, "fuck."

i press more of my weight down onto chris's bulge with a smirk, i turn back around to face the back of matt's seat, continuously grinding into chris.

i suddenly hear chris’s voice from behind me

“how much longer do you guys reckon we have left?” he asks, his voice wobbling slightly.

“honestly like 20 seconds, we’re pulling into the street now” matt awnsers from the front, him and nicks eyes still concentrated on the road ahead as madi and nate cackle with each other

i continue rubbing chris with my ass, i feel two large hands grip my hips, holding me still harshly.

i pout as i look over my shoulder at chris, his response sends chills down my back.

“i will take away your ability to walk as soon as we’re alone.” he whispers into my hair from behind me.

we swing a left into the long driveway of the beach house we’re staying at, it’s two stories and looks modern to say the least.

as soon as the car stops chris throws me off him out of the door of the vehicle, speed walking up to the front door and unlocking with the key he just retrieved from the mailbox.

i watch as he disappears inside “where the fuck is chris?” i hear nick say while pushing up the trunk door. “he had to pee really bad.” i lie, knowing he ran to the bathroom to help himself out instead.

matt hands me my suitcase with a smile, and i walk up to the front door, which is already half open from chris. i walk upstairs to the room chris and i already decided we would share, long before the road trip ever started.

im met with a double bed, along with a window with a clear view of the beach. i get changed into the sluttiest skirt i can find and a long tank top before walking downstairs, i pull my phone out of my bag to check the time.

6:13

all of my friends are playing cards around the wooden dining table, but chris is sitting on the couch alone, scrolling on his phone. a loud cheer comes from nick as he slams down his card onto the table.

i flop down next to chris, my skirt flapping up slightly. “whatcha up to?” i ask innocently, acting like i wasn’t dry humping him a hour ago.

“nothing just instagram.” he replies placing his phone down on the armrest before looking over at me, locking eyes with chris sends butterflies through my body.

chris quickly stands up, taking my hand and pulling me upstairs, he slams the door to the bedroom shut behind us

“what were you doing in the car hm?” chris taunts, grabbing my wrists and pushing me down onto the bed.

“grinding up on me, giving me a painful erection around all my friends?”

“mmhm..” i groan backwards as chris grabs my chin, forcing me to look up at him as my back lays steadily on the bed.

“did i ask you to do that.” he says, staring into my eyes “or did you just wanna be fucked so badly that you couldn’t wait.”

i was in a state of shock, the good kind of shock though. my bestfriend of mutiple years has me pinned to the bed.

“gonna act like a slut, gonna be treated like one. got it?” chris mumbles, practically tearing my skirt off of my body. he yanks my panties down to my ankles in one motion.

chris pulls my body to the edge of the bed, my legs are wrapped around his waist as my heat presses lightly against his crotch. suddenly he bends down between my legs and blows cool air directly onto my sensitive clit, earning a groan of pleasure and desperation from me.

"more.." i manage to squeeze out, "you're gonna get more." chris says, standing up from between my legs and yanking down his sweatpants to his knees. "be quiet for me yeah?" he groans, rubbing his throbbing tip through my folds.

"i will stop if you get too loud okay?"

i nod frantically, spreading my legs open as far as they can go, revealing myself to chris.

his breathing picks up "ready..?" he stammers, his words incoherent.

"please.." i sigh out shakily, gripping the bedsheets in my fists so tight my knuckles grow white.

with full force chris slams inside of me, bruising my cervix. a loud yelp escapes my mouth as chris looks down at me, some-what checking if i'm okay.

i feel myself stretch around his length, the burning sensation still present. chris grips my hand, intertwining our fingers before thrusting in and out.

i feel each vein of his cock press against my insides. his thrusts grow sloppy and unhinged. strings of moans escape my mouth, chris slams his free hand over my mouth, shoving a finger inside in the process.

i clench around chris, before the knot in my stomach snaps he pulls out, "chris!" i yell in frustration, feeling empty. "shh sh." he shushes me, flipping me over onto all fours,

"quit making noises gorgeous, or none of this will happen again."

he pushes back inside of me, a familiar feeling. i let out a hum of pleasure as chris pushes on my mid back, arching my back. the sound of skin slapping fills the room as i bury my head in the pillow to muffle my sounds.

"good girl.." chris's voice his croaky, his dick twitches inside of me, signalling he's close.

i clench around him for the second time this evening, the pit in my stomach releases with a scream of his name.

chris pulls out, painting my back white "fuuckk..."

he collapses down beside me, pulling me onto his chest with a long hug. "you okay?" he whispers into my hair, his voice breathy.

i nod against his neck, he taps my hip "should we get you changed?"

i hum in response, chris sits up, holding me in a bridal position and walking over to the heaped pile of clothes on the floor, he sets me down on my feet my legs are numb and weak causing me to stumble over.

"careful there." chris laughs, holding me up. "okay, just step through.." he says, pulling my panties up my legs. the rest of my clothes follow, he steps back proudly before pulling up his sweatpants and throwing a shirt on.

"you look cute" chris smiles stupidly, nudging my elbow.

we both walk back downstairs, the rest of the group are scattered in a circle on the floor, playing monopoly. we go sit down and join our friends, the whole time chris is staring at me like he wasnt inside of me 4 minutes ago.

(2 weeks later)

it's the last day of our holiday, me and chris have had a few makeout sessions on the beach, alone. we haven't hooked up again, both realising it's too risky to do in a beach house with 4 other people in the small house.

I'm sat on the grass next to the driveway, observing as chris loads up the car strategically. before i can open my mouth to make a snarky comment about chris's concentration, matt, nick, madi and nate swing open the front door, all their bags in hand.

they all pile into the car again, chris follows, slamming the trunk door shut and jumping in, a small smirk tugs at my lips as chris pats his lap for me to sit down.

i sit down on his lap, nostalgia washes over me, remembering the outcome of last time i sat on his lap in this exact spot.

matt pulls out of the driveway,

its not even been 5 minutes and i'm already grinding on chris through his shorts.

-----------------------°°••....••°°--------------———

omfg i really hope yall liked this, i think one of my best so far, also dont come for me if new jersey isnt a beachy type state, i have NO idea about states my bad, js pretend it is.

@lovingchrissposts @lolasturniolo @ilovedasturniolos

#nick sturniolo #sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo #chris x reader #christianity #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo smut

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the-thing-withfeathers · 5 months ago

Text

i’ll do anything

requested

a/n: tysm to the anon who sent this request. i’ve been so keen to write it. i love a super menacing reader, i think its so funny to write them.

pairing: sabrina carpenter x reader

warnings: smut!!!, physical violence (not to either of the main characters), public sex, cursing, thigh grinding, finger riding, nipple play.

•*¨*•.¸¸♪

you & sabrina decided to go out for dinner somewhere close to your apartment. you both had busy days and had no time or energy to cook.

you two were the it-couple of the century but you didn’t show yourselves much, valuing the privacy of your own home since you two were in the limelight so much.

due to this circumstance, you had your fair share of paparazzi follow you around when you did show your face.

when you two left the restaurant, there was a flood of paparazzi snapping photos of the two of you.

you were annoyed, you had a long day and you didn’t need any more of this. she was pouting, she clearly had just as shitty of a day as you. you gripped her hand and pulled her towards your car, trying to make a clear path for the two of you. you didn’t have security, it was just the two of you.

you snapped when you saw one of them shove sabrina, trying to get a picture. that was your girl, he had no right. in a fit of rage, you grabbed his camera and smashed it to bits. you followed by throwing a punch at him, your fist colliding with his face in no time.

sabrina jumped, shocked by your actions. she wasn’t afraid of you, she knew you were just protecting her. however, that protectiveness you were displaying, the furrow of your eyebrow, the hardening of your jaw… it was doing something to her.

“fuck off! or i’ll snap you in half!” you turned and told off a different man who was snapping photos of you breaking the camera.

the anger in your voice, the gritting of your teeth, it was beginning to get all too much for her. her thighs started to rub together as a last minute effort to contain the wetness pooling at her core.

you tugged her towards the car, opening the passenger seat for her. despite your anger, you were still polite, and that spurred her on even further. she was looking at you with bedroom eyes that were incredibly hard to miss. you leaned down to the seat and buckled her seatbelt for her, kissing her cheek in the process. she almost moaned just from that.

“glad you’re okay, baby.” you mumbled. you pulled away and shut the door, making your way to the driver’s seat.

you hopped in and buckled your seatbelt. you started the car and waited a couple of seconds.

“thank you for sticking up for me.” she said as you put the car into gear. she knew she couldn’t wait. she put the car back in park just as you were about to go. “now i need you to fuck me.”

you turned to her with wide eyes as you both undid your seatbelts. you had no idea you would get this reaction out of her. you reclined your seat, trying to move over to the back but she took that opportunity to straddle you in the driver’s seat.

“oh… you’re needy, needy.” you said, smiling as you felt her wetness on your stomach. you sat up and your fingers met her panties, circling the fabric. “sooo wet. did i really make you feel like this?” you asked, curiosity peaking.

the thought of the two of you getting caught was turning you on even further. the crowd of paparazzi just dispersed not even five minutes ago, you were sure some of them were lurking.

she nodded and bit down on her lip, her eyes fluttering shut as your fingers worked their magic. “mmhm… so hot seeing you angry…” she mumbled as you pulled her hips down to meet your thigh. she gasped, flinching a little bit. you loved getting a rise out of her.

“who’s my pretty girl?” you asked her, slowly moving her hips to grind on your thigh at a dreadfully slow pace.

“me… i’m your pretty girl.” she said, whimpering at how slow you were going. “stop teasinggg…” she said, prolonging her consonants.

“i’m not teasing, darling. you’re just so fucking needy.”

you grabbed her jaw in your hand, making her turn to look outside the car.

“look, you couldn’t even wait to get back home before needing me to fuck you dumb.” you said, growling under your breath. “such a good little slut for me.”

“yeah… yeah…” she said, under her breath, her eyes shut. “i’m your little slut. i love being your slut.” you could tell she was already sensitive, perhaps the overwhelming amount of arousal from earlier pushed her along further than you thought.

you raised your calf so your thigh pressed even harder against her core. you saw the wet patch start to form as she got herself off on the fabric of your pants. she gripped your shoulders, her acrylics digging into your shirt.

“mmph, fuck.” she said, leaning down to bury her face into your neck. “wanna cum, wanna cum for you.” she said, muffled.

“you cum when i tell you.” you said, yanking her hair back so she was sitting back up again. but you pulled her closer, placing your forehead against hers. “how bad do you want it?”

“so bad… so so bad… need to cum all over you.” she said, forcing her eyes open to make eye contact with you.

“you want me to let you cum?”

“please, pretty please. i’ll do anything.” she said, nodding.

you lifted the front of her skirt, pressing your thumb down on her clit every time she grinded towards you. she grunted softly as her clit hit your thumb every single time.

“you can cum, princess.” you nodded at her.

her breath started to hitch as her moans started to increase in pitch and frequency. she jolted as she finished all over your thigh, crying out a high pitched moan, her eyes squeezed shut.

you sighed, smiling at your work.

you fell back into the seat but pulled her along with you, capturing her lips in a forceful kiss. you pulled her upwards a little bit, lifting the skirt she was wearing so her entire ass was on display to the world.

“this is what you get. the world is gonna see just how desperate you are for me.” you laughed at the state of her. she was on your chest, her hands at your shoulders, her arousal dripping onto your bare stomach. you were suddenly pushing her panties down until they were at her knees.

you wrapped your arm around the back of her thigh, running a finger along her slit while nursing her cheek, pressing kisses to it as her eyes fluttered shut again.

her breath quivered as she tried to speak. “you’re just so hot… wanna ride your fingers.”

you figured you could do that.

“okay, baby. i’ll give you that.” you cooed. “but just you know.” you gripped her cheeks again. “it’s only cause i’m letting you have it.”

she nodded out of desperation.

you moved your hand to sit between the two of you, pushing her panties to the side once more. her mouth dropped open when you inserted a finger into her, quickly following up with a second one.

she moved her hips up and down, riding her fingers like her life depended on it. her hips bounced, raising up then slamming down on your lap.

you reached up to grope one of her tits, pulling her shirt down as you did. you toyed with the nipple, twisting it in between her fingers. you saw goosebumps travel across her chest along with a red blush.

you sat back up and took her other boob into your mouth, biting down on the nipple while you continued to play with the other one.

sabrina put her hands on the back of your head, pushing your face further into the soft pillow of her breast. you groaned softly, feeling the warmth of her chest.

she continued to get herself off on your fingers. you noticed her pace got sloppy when she started to fall back down harder after lifting herself up, you decided to help her out by pumping your fingers in and out of her.

“yes… yes. just like that.” she eventually had to stop lifting herself up, her legs starting to get tired. you continued to finger her, curling your fingers inside of her which got her thighs shaking.

you pulled your mouth away from her tit with a ‘pop!’ noise.

“you gonna cum again for me?” you asked, flashing her a cheeky and toothy smile.

“yes… keep going, i’m gonna… gonna cu—“ she couldn’t even finish her sentence before she reached her climax and was leaking all over your fingers. she cried your name out, pushing her body into yours.

she fell into your chest, you wrapped your arm around her back to hug her. your face softened a little bit when you saw her flushed and fucked out.

“good girl, that’s my good girl.” you comforted her. she whined softly, kissing you weakly.

“you need to stop getting angry, it makes me horny.” she coughed out, her throat was dry from her mouth hanging open so much.

“you understand that i will keep getting angry if it means we get to do this more?”

“please please please, don’t.”

•*¨*•.¸¸♪

the next day when you two woke up. both your phones had blown up overnight.

you woke sabrina up after checking the reason why.

a photo of sabrina flushed out against your chest, panting while her skirt rode up enough to see her panties, had gone viral.

she covered her face in embarrassment as you laughed at her.

“fuckin’ paparazzi.”

#Spotify #sabrina carpenter x reader #sabrina carpenter smut #sabrina carpenter #sabrina carpenter x female reader #sabrina carpenter x f!reader

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pedge-page · 11 months ago

Text

Joel Dealing with Preggo Wife # 8- Drama Queen

Joel Miller x F!Reader

Can be read with others in series or alone

Warnings: allusions to sex, mostly fluff and comedy

- - - -

Its been a pretty quiet evening, and with you home, thats saying something. Joel's minding his business watching Tv when you come plopping down next to him on the couch. He doesn't acknowledge you.

So you scoot over and sigh heavily. Still No reaction from the male.

You feint a yawn and snuggle your head on his shoulder. He smiles a little, but doesn't look at you. You rub affectionately like a kitten.

Nothing.

Take the hint, you stupid hunk.

Your pretty manicured hand creeps on his thigh, stroking up and down senually with delicate fingertips.

He knows where this is going, but he won't entertain you. He coughs a little, bored, and continues scrolling channels. Wants to see how far you'll go to get what you want.

As if on cue, you persist. Wrapping your arm over his broad shoulders, hitching your knee awkwardly on his thigh despite the baby in your belly squirming at the uncomfortable angle. You playfully boop his nose, giggling like a flirt. He purses his lips, but nothing else.

You stare at his profile, that unique Joel Miller look of concentration. Handsome and stoic—that little shithead.

You're teasingly rubbing your fingers through his scruff, twisting gently as a massage.

You bring your lips and kiss him kindly on the cheek. Something sweet. Innocent. Then again, but a little longer. Then some more, peppered down his jaw, along his pulse. Heated and wetter. Growing more needy and nipping his ear, making little happy moans as your hand continues to wander over his legs, tip toeing to his crotch.

Joel sighs, finally looking at you. "There a reason you're trying to get me turned on, ma'am?"

"Mmm," you hum, biting your lip and staring his plump ones. You crawl closer, breasts smashed against his bicep as you lick your lips, tongue peaking out with lusty eyes trying to put him under your best charm. Yesyesyes give it to me, Fucker!

"I want a Big—" you kiss his nose "—Messy—" teeth nip at his lower lip "—Hot—" you peck him teasingly, sucking his flesh in your mouth so he knows you mean business. Then you stare down at him with your serious eyes, foreheads pressing,

"—Fudge Cookie Dough Chocolate Gooey Fantasy Milkshake with extra Rainbow Sprinkles from Clyde's Creamery."

Yeah. He knew exactly this is where this was going.

He cracks a warm smile, cupping your jaw and parting your lips with his thumb. You suck it into your mouth, hoping to please him. Just as hes about to kiss you, he leans in and says, "No. Its 11pm. Bedtime."

You get off his lap with a cold shoulder and a scoff, proceeding to ignore him for the rest of the night.

Hes evens surprised when you go to bed still silent, facing away from him without a kiss goodnight when you turn off your lamp.

Until it's 2am when he's startled awake by the sound of the the front door opening. He's storming downstairs trying not to trip, and haphazardly throwing a shirt on backwards while in his boxers, only to see you with a packed bag, hand dramatically caressing your bump with fake ass tears down your cheek going outside to the car.

"Where the FUCK are you going??" He asks, rubbing his eyes. Aggravation and rough exhaustion evident in his tone.

"You said you didn't love me, so I'm leaving," you huff. There's no hint of a joke in your words. Genuine pain. Hurt. Quiet and walking away. You dont wait to see his reaction and without another word, you turn to leave.

Hes so whiplashed, wracking his brain trying to remember any time he even remotely could have said something like that and you interpret it—

"I SAID YOU COULDN'T HAVE A HOT FUDGE COOKIE DOUGH CHOCOLATE GOOEY FANTASY MILKSHAKE because it was FUCKING 11PM AND CLOSED! Now get your fat beautiful ass and our baby back in here and dont ever pull this stupid stunt again!"

You scowl at him, preventing any physical reaction of your internal swooning he thinks my ass is pretty. You hold your ground and refuse to move from your position, defiant, in flip flops and a long nightgown on the front porch at 2am.

Joel furrows his brows and closes his eyes, soothing over the wrinkles you've caused to grow on his forehead. "Fuck. I'll get you one tomorrow morning for breakfast. Okay?"

You smile giddily and skip back inside "Okie!" You step past him drop your shit on the couch, kissing him on the cheek. "Dont forget the extra rainbow sprinkles."

He grunts, glad that it's dark enough in the house you can't see how exhausted and annoyed he is.

"Oh and close the door, Joel! You'll wake the neighbors with your unnecessary shouting bit. Dramatic much?" You scoff, and waddle up the stairs and right to bed like nothing happened.

Tommy also has access to your ring camera notifications and sees Joel and you out there and the whole conversation, and he's laughing so hard when he watches the playback. He teases grumpy exhausted Joel the next morning, conveniently with a to-go milkshake in his hand at 8am.

"Softy for your girl?"

"Shut up."

"And when you have the baby, then there's gonna be two of her!" Tommy wheezes.

Joel's saggy and wrinkled eyes manage to open wider than ever as that particular horror sets over him.

- - - -

Permanent Taglist

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrs-oharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96

#pedro pascal smut #joel miller fan fiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #last of us fanfiction #last of us smut #joel miller fic #joel miller #joel miller fluff #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #tlou fluff #the last of us #last of us fic #joel dealing with preggo wife

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shysuccubusstuff · 2 months ago

Text

day 25: Hate fucking + Deepthroat + Agoraphilia + Dacryphilia + Gaming + Degradation + (slight) Mindbreak + (slight) DubCon? - Streamer! Kinich

Summary: The streamer company you work for decided to throw a huge party in order to congratulate the great revenue of this year, inviting only the greatest. That included you, as well as that mysterious streamer called Pixel Dragon.

Content: Kinich has this kind of alter ego (Ajaw's personality) when he streams, that is the reason why he's extra mean!! + Non proof-reader, as always.

Word count: 4,5K

Note: I've been trying to end this for so many days but I always ended up burning out so it took me so much time... I didn't even realise that I had written 4K words... Sorry for taking so long, I hope all of you enjoyed this little Kinktober!! I'm already working on some other stuff for different fandoms ♡♡ Stay tuned!

It was November, finally the time in which the great parties for streamers took place. You had been invited, of course, after all, you had been able to remain the top creator during over five months, tightly followed by that gaming streamer, PixelDragon.

The name was a bit cringy, but he had been able to quickly rise to the high rankings thanks to his great skills on many of the different games he had tried, ranging from FPS to soul-like games.

When you finally arrived, you were greeted by the smiling sponsors, taking your hand and guiding you to the darkened room, the place being lightened by the dim red lights. You took a sit close to a masked man, the man moved to the side, allowing you to sit close to him while he checked his phone. You were barely able to imagine the face underneath, his lips shinning under the red lights.

“Are you going to drill my face the whole evening?” The man kept his gaze fixated on his screen, his fingers scrolling down mindlessly.

“How did you even---? Sorry, I was just curious about what you truly looked like under the mask.”

“Well, you are not definitely getting any glimpse if you keep it like this.” He turned off his phone, putting it on his pocket and looking into your eyes, his green orbs glistening as the spotlight moved towards where you were. Outraged, you decided to get up, rapidly taking your stuff before fleeting the scene.

By the time you were back to your usual self, the party had already reached its’ highest peak, with the music booming all over the place and the floor feeling sticky form all the drinks that had been spilled. You threw yourself against one of the many sofas that were laying around the place, suddenly hitting your head against something extremely hard. You turned around annoyed, only to find a red-faced man, his hazed green eyes shinning under the red lights of the club. “Are you ok?” Your words were a bit dragged, your whole mouth feeling a bit funny as you tried to talk as normal. “Do you hear me?” You screamed to his hear, perhaps he wasn’t answering because of the loud music. The man moved to the side, his face looking slightly annoyed.

“I can hear you perfectly, no need to scream.” He furrowed his eyebrows, moving a few strands of hair that were bothering him.

“Who are you? I didn’t see you before during the dinner.” You took out your phone, scanning through the many names of people that had been invited to the party. “I suppose you’re not the one called PixelDragon, am I right? God, that dude seems like such a prick, he’s always flexing about his skills during the collabs, even when we are supposed to be friendly about them, plus, he has been keeping his identity hidden even to his own workmates, I get that he wants to avoid leaks, but it’s not like the rest of us would be such losers, even I, who kind of hates his guts wouldn’t do something so fucking low. He always acts as if he’s far too good for the rest of us and it gets me so pissed off, though, I do have to say that he does have some good points, like his great abilities, or his deep voice, and yeah, his hands may look kind of sexy while smashing the buttons but that’s all, you know?” The alcohol was definitely getting the best of you, as you wouldn’t be able to stop your yapping even if you tried. “Are you listening to me, mister?”

“Yeah, I am. I hate to say it, but this might be a skill issue, like straight up.” The man laughed out-loud, his hand moving a few strands of his hair out of his face.

“Nice one, jackass, real funny. Anyways, how come I missed such a hot dude in the diner? You were def one of the masked ones, right? Promise I won’t leak anything, not like it would benefit me, you know?” You laid your head on one of his shoulders, turning around so you could touch the small part of his chest that was exposed because of his unbuttoned shirt. “Are you trynna get someone to accompany you tonight? You will def get a good one with me, handsome…” You smiled, enjoying how he started to react to your touch.

“You sure get comfortable with some random man, what if I’m some weird sicko that is planning on kidnapping you?” His right hand moved towards your hip, caressing it as his gaze started to darken.

“Then you wouldn’t be here, this place is exclusive for those working for our company, it’s ok, I can find some other dude, don’t wanna pressure you or anything, let’s see each other later, yeah? Next time you should tell me the name of your channel, we could make a collab or something!” You got up, leaving him with his words still in his mouth.

By the time you finally opened your eyes again, you were being taken by the arms of some random man, you quickly struggled, trying to get him to let you go, “Hey, don’t know who the fuck are you, but you’re def not someone I---”, the man put his hand on your mouth, turning on the flashlight on his phone so you could see his face, it was the hot dude at the party.

“Sorry, I saw some weird due trying to take you home, I know I can also be considered a weirdo, but hey, at least we talked, I guess, let me take you to your room, I won’t try anything weird, ok?” Your body relaxed, allowing him to carry your limp body to his room, finally allowing you to lay down on his king size bed.

“Thanks, hot stuff, promise I will compensate you tomorrow…” Just as you were about to drift to sleep, a known voice resonated from the man’s phone, it was that damn PixelDragon. Annoyed, you quickly got up, the nauseas getting to you, forcing you to stop for a second before speaking.

“Why are you listening to that jackass? He thinks he is some kind of big shot just cause the president started to pay more attention to him than to those who have been more time in the company. He may have nice hands and all, together with a real hot voice, but that is all that he has, he ain’t even that good, I mean---”

“You talk too much about him for you to simply hate him, aren’t you like lowkey wishing you knew how he looked? All your yapping about how he isn’t that huge of a streamer makes you seem even more of a fan than those crazy ones that send him his panties and stuff. Bet you want him to finger you with his slender fingers real bad, uh?” Your face flushed, feeling your head even more warm than before.

“You’re def projecting, I don’t want to fuck him or anything like that, why would I want that asshole’s fingers inside me—”

“Oh yeah? Then you will have no issue with that same asshole touching your whole body, uh? I’m sure that you have already imagined it so many fucking times. Tell me, are you really that naïve that you didn’t think eve for a moment that the man with the dragon-like mask was actually PixelDragon? It’s not like the mask that the president gave me was that mysterious, but I suppose that you can’t expect nothing great from an airhead like you, right?” The guy smiled as he started to change his clothes, leaving his jacket, gloves, and his necktie on top of the small desk that was within the room. “How about we do that collab that you wanted so much? Bet you would love to gain some more attention from my viewers, right? I can do a special live, just for you, what do you think?” You stopped for a moment, I mean, you were actually just a masked youtuber, and you were only focused on mature audiences, so, there should be no issue, right? You could probably use the mask he had used during the party. You nodded, crawling out of the bed and getting closer to the setup that he had already built for the duration of the event. “Oh, I forgot, can you plug in the cable under the table? I forgot to do it, but I have to keep on preparing the stream.” Once again, you were simply able to nod, getting on all fours and going under the table.

“Hey, there’s no plug missing or something like that, are you sure---?” You covered your mouth as soon as you heard the sound that marked the beginning of the live. You hit his leg, trying to remind him that you were still under the table, he lowered his gaze, trying to avoid making it much obvious. He smiled wickedly, moving one of his hands towards his trousers, carefully pulling down the zipper of his pants together with his underwear, the tip of his cock being left dangerously close to your mouth.

“So, yeah, we had a small gathering for the company, not that important, now it’s time to finally get back to what truly matters, am I right?” He read some of the comments that were already pilling up, answering with snarky comments to some, while he simply laughed to others. How was he even able to act as if he wasn’t with his cock out? A wicked idea crossed your mind, you could suddenly get out of there, making sure that the viewers were able to see you run out of frame, thus stealing his spotlight even further. That sounded like a great idea, of course, that changed until you realised that this little plan would lead to the boss yelling to both of you. Just as you were about to try and get out, his legs trapped you, causing you to end up almost hitting your face against the raging erection. “Oh guys, wait a sec, I gotta check that everything is in order.” He stopped the live for a second, making sure to disconnect the camera and mic. “Didn’t you want to make a collab?” Your face flushed, you weren’t really sure if it was because of how you felt your blood boiling, or maybe it had much more to do with the fact that his cock looked delicious, his tip flushed with a slight red tint. “If it’s too much for you, you can simply leave, I swear I won’t say anything to no one from the company, not like it would benefit me, right?” He moved to the side, allowing you to leave if you truly wanted to. You were about to do so, but then you realised something. Wasn’t that like admitting defeat against him? He would get the upper hand, making you feel as if you had to be grateful for his “mercy”! Not on your watch, oh no, so you swallowed all the embarrassment that you had been feeling, starting to leave small kisses all over his length. “I supposed so, oh wait, let me help you with a little something.” He got up from his chair, rummaging in his suitcase and then sitting back again, he made a sign for you to turn around, so you did, your ass facing his way. Suddenly, his slender fingers were moving your underwear to the side, a small object being inserted inside your cunt. “There, I hope this can keep my precious slut in place while I work, wait for me.” He waited for you to move back to your place, his eyes filled with a certain sense of superiority.

“Shut up, you’re just making it more difficult for me, keep your mouth shut for a while.” You nagged, trying your best not to stutter as you started to feel the small device starting to move. Just then, you heard how the live started back again.

“I’m back, missed me?” He went back to reading the comments with a playful smile. “Oh, shut up, not like I spent more than a few minutes. K, now let’s try to see who will be able to join the game….” He waited for a few minutes until the results of the online roulette popped up. “Well, congrats, I’ll send you the link to the VC, hope you all are ready.” You listened to him; it was quite impressive how he was able to keep his voice stable despite having your lips wrapped around the tip of his cock. “Dude, it must be real sad to see me play almost everyday and most of you are still hard-stucks, sucks to be you, uh?” His snarky comment caused the viewers to get wild, some were praising his skills, while others had gotten truly angered by his remarks, the sound of the flow of comments filled the room. You were just about to smirk at how even his own fan hated him, but your moment of bliss was suddenly stopped as soon as you started to feel how the small vibrator had suddenly moved much more rapidly than before. You clenched the fabric of his shirt, glaring at his extremely satisfied grin. “Anyways, get ready for it, promise me not to cry in the chat, I don’t want my mods to get tired from deleting your comments.” As the game started, you could perfectly hear how he was clearly cleaning the floor with his viewers, this was of course the perfect time to mess him up, right? So you did.

You started to move your tongue, slowly licking on his tip, while sometimes wrapping it over his length, making sure to let out a few noises in case that would actually rile him up, your eyes completely fixed on his face, not noticing even a single frow. If he wanted to play hard to get, then you would simply raise the stakes. You introduced his tip into your mouth, sucking on it as you used one of your hands to masturbate what was still left outside. It was then when one of his eyebrows furrowed, his lips forming a straight line as he tried to keep his mouth closed as best as he could, you were already celebrating your victory over him when you heard the sound that marked the end of his first victory, your head suddenly being pushed further down.

“GGs, next time send someone who is at least as good as me while playing with a stirring wheel. Let’s for the next game, yeah? No need for a break.” The players were once again chosen at random, quickly preparing the next game as one of his hands kept pushing your head, only releasing it when the game finally started. Your eyes were already watering a bit from the difficulty to breath, so you decided to step your little game even more, starting to take his whole length (or at least as much as you were able to manage without feeling as if you were about to throw up. His face quickly flushed, the grip on the mouse starting to strengthen, his jaw clenching and his eyes starting to darken. Despite his clear reaction to you, he was shameless enough to start to buck his hips, forcing his length further inside your mouth, not stopping even as you hit his lower stomach, trying to get him to either slow down his rhythm, or to simply give you a small break. Sadly, none of the choices were given to you, forcing your poor mouth open, his hand sometimes lowering just to carefully caress your hair.

Once again, you were soon able to hear the chat being flooded by comments after the great crushing he had done to his helpless viewers. “I gotta go now, remember to keep on playing so you all can at least hit me with a single bullet next time. See ya.” He quickly turned off the stream, his hands quickly gripping your hair. “Bet you had fun, uh? Sucking my cock while you heard my chat blowing up, pretty sure you must have been wishing they heard you under my desk sucking my cock. You must be fucking dripping, uh? Show me just how much you’re craving it.” He lend you his hand to get up, your legs almost giving up on you as you tried to stand up, his lean arms stopping you from falling. “Oh, I was sure that you were supposed to hate me, didn’t expect you to be the type to fall head over heels, but I mean, who wouldn’t fall in love with someone as hot---” His sentence was cut short as soon as you hit him on the stomach with your elbow.

“What the heck is that attitude? You kept on pushing my head against you, next time I will just bite your fucking dick off, bet that would give you more action that you have ever had.” You wiped down your tears, together with the saliva that had been running down your chin. “Why the heck would you even have something so--.” You stopped before ending the sentence, wondering just what would happen if his ego got even bigger.

“So… what? Finish the sentence.” He playfully touched your hair, his big hands petting you as if you were something precious. The heat was starting to rise to your cheeks, so you hit his hand, your gaze moving towards his temporary set.

“What is the code for this mic, pretty sure it’s one of the most expensive ones, right? Bet you must be blowing up your checks uh?” You got close, tinkering a bit with his stuff, moving all that was lying on top of his desk and looking around in case you were able to find a single tip on how was he able to keep his skills on point, “Man you’re really—”

“Look, I’ve been trying to just act as if nothing is going on, but come on, you’re so bad at acting it’s almost embarrassing. You always walk around with that huge smile on your lips, shaking your hips as if you were trying as hard as possible for all the people around you to lick you from head to toe… You enjoy the attention, right? It gets you so high to feel as if you are better than the rest. Never had anyone show you where you truly belong, guess it’s my duty to do it then.” He took you by the arm, throwing you to the bed with just enough strength for you not to damage yourself. He quickly got on top of you, his body pressing against you as his hands started to get rid of all your clothes, your blouse and your skirt being thrown to the floor, soon followed by your bra and your underwear. “Since you want to behave like a brat, might as well and treat you like one.” He suddenly kissed you, his kiss being filled with hunger, rather than love or lust, he was planning on eating you whole.

“Come on, you’re just saying that to scare me, right? There’s no need for that, just, just let me go for now, I can, I can talk to the boss, you’re just being like this because you’re trying so hard to scare me, I get it, no need to keep this any further, just---” You put your hands on his chest, trying your best to avoid his eyes as they scanned you up and down.

“Open your mouth.” Your sentence was once again cut off, the room being filled with the sound of his clothes falling to the ground close to yours. He crawled, swiftly making his way to your face, his hardened dick facing you. “Do you expect it to suck itself? Open.” He grabbed his cock with one of his hands, the tip of his cock rubbing against your soft lips. You silently opened your mouth, unable to think about anything smart to say because of the current situation. “That’s right, open wide.” He carefully inserted the tip of his cock in your mouth, a deep breath leaving his mouth from the pleasure. “God, you should really consider becoming my own if you decide to leave the YouTube thing… you have such a pretty face and your body is just perfect, I will treat you as a queen, how about it?” His voice kept resonating inside your head, almost sounding a bit too good to pass on it, well the vibrator that was still inside you was definitely not helping you to stay sane. You sank your nails into the palms of your hands, trying to keep your own mind together while he kept on thrusting your mouth. “Just like that, you’re doing so good for me…” Tears once again swelled your eyes, your nails now digging on his abdomen as you tried to get him to let you rest even if it was or a second. “Oh, it seems you’re still able to put up a fight, let’s just change this then.” He finally let you breath, coughing as you were finally able to breath, this didn’t last much more, as you were suddenly lifted by him, then letting you sit on his lap, both of you facing the big mirror that was hanging on the wall. “You just need to realise what position are you on.” He lifted your body for a moment, taking off the vibrator, slowly inserting himself into you.

“Wait! I need a second to…to adjust, it’s difficult to do this without like, actually preparing.” You let him slowly make his way inside of you, finally bottoming out. “Fuck, just what do you even--- Shit…”

“Guess I was finally able to shut that reckless mouth of you, shouldn’t you thank me?” Of course, he just refused to give you even a single moment of peace, always running his mouth even as you were clearly able to feel his cock throbbing.

“Sure, like your dick isn’t barely holding on, you talk so much shit for someone who is balls deep inside me, I may not be able to kill you in the game, but I’m damn sure I will last much longer than your sorry excuse of a dic—” Your words were cut off as soon as he lifted you abruptly, your air leaving your lungs as his tip hit your cervix.

“You really don’t have any fucking clue about when to keep your mouth shut, uh? Always answering back even when I have the upper hand… Fuck.” His hips kept on bucking against you, not stopping even as the veins on his neck pumped up from his effort of not cumming. “This is no use, fuck…” He got up, not before taking the vibrator that had been inside you, his arms still holding you from under your thigs, walking until you were quite close to the mirror. “Look at your fucking face as I make you cum, yeah? Just fucking watch.” His hips started to move again, the position making it impossible for you to grip at anything in fear of him letting you fall, still, you tried to cover your mouth with both of your hands, denying him the possibility of hearing those sweet moans that were leaving your lips. “Cat got your tongue? You’re surprisingly quiet for someone as chatty as you, let’s see if I can fix that.” The rhythm of his thrusts sped up, forcing your eyes to roll to your skull as your insides got rearranged without you being able to do anything about it. Just as you were about to cry from the overstimulation, he suddenly let you stand on your two feet, well, if not because you almost fell face first to the floor, his hands gripped your hips with strength, his fingertips leaving marks on your skin. He took out the egg vibrator he had used previously, rubbing it a bit around your entrance before carefully inserting it inside you, he then decided to play with you a little by gliding his dick up and down, his tip constantly grinding against your clit. Before you were able to say anything, he entered you at once, the stretch making you squeal as your nails once again dug into his skin.

“Sure…Sure talk a lot of crap when you have still been unable to make me cum even once, your dick is so lame—” …Well, you surely had it coming this time, maybe the previous one as well, and well, maybe more times than just the last ones. But you never learnt, apparently.

“Fucking brat, just learn your position!” His last straw had been lost as soon as he saw on one of her streams you had been non-stop laughing at his supposedly small cock and your lack of bitches. He tightened his grip on your hips even further, lifting you from the floor and slamming his hips against your tender ass, your lips parting as those lewd sounds were once again filling the room.

“St-stop! My mind is turning really weird… Give me a second please!” You once again tried to hit him as an attempt to ease the unyielding rhythm he had established. He lowered one of his hands, suddenly levelling up the small roulette that controlled the vibrations, his fingers then moving on to start rubbing your clit, a degenerated smile appearing on his face as he saw your cunt dripping and some of the juices leaving your poor hole each time he slammed himself against you. Your vision was already starting to blurry a bit by the time you felt as if he was giving you even a tiny break, even the, it didn’t seem to have any plan of stopping, not even as you could faintly hear someone’s voice and hits on the wall from the close-by rooms.

You could clearly tell that he was about to cum, his lips bucking from time to time as he tried to keep that relentless rhythm. Just as you thought he was about to cum, he rapidly pulled out, his sperm staining your cheeks and part of your lower back. “You don’t even deserve my cum inside of you, next time you’ll learn how to keep your mouth shut, brat.” He let you down on top of the bed, walking towards one of the small doors that still concealed the rest of the room. Suddenly, he was back, a warm towel being passed around your whole body, his eyes showing a slight sign of concert. “…Name’s Kinich, I forgot to say it, I’m sorry.” …Was that brat really blushing? Fuck, even you were now flushed because of his teasing… Right?

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