#can I be condescending? sure. it’s something I’m working on. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cherrynflowergarden · 1 month ago

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જ⁀➴ bitter truths|| dealer!matt x doll!reader

sturniolo masterlist add yourself to the taglist

she was laughing, leaning against her desk as she chatted with noah, a guy from her college. her eyes sparkled as she giggled at something he said, her entire posture relaxed and comfortable in his presence. but matt, standing by the door, could feel something dark twisting in his chest as he watched them. he didn’t get jealous—but he’d seen noah around. he knew the guy. he wasn’t some harmless friend and he surely didn’t have the best intentions. and watching her so openly enjoying his company made matt’s jaw clench.

he cleared his throat loudly, catching her attention. she glanced over, her big smile faltering as she noticed the coldness in his eyes.

“oh! matt,” she said, pulling herself away from noah. “this is noah, from my psych class. he’s been helping me with some notes.”

noah nodded politely, but matt didn’t return the gesture, his arms crossed tightly, eyes narrowing. “right. helping,” he repeated, voice dripping with sarcasm. her expression softened, her brow creasing slightly as she sensed his tension.

“can we talk?” he said, his tone stiff. “alone.” he added, bitterly eyeing noah.

she looked at noah apologetically. she barely had a chance to say goodbye before matt grabbed her by the arm and pulled her out of the room. she could feel the anger radiating off him, heavy, simmering, the kind that made her stomach twist.

she shifted under his gaze, trying to hold her ground, but his intensity made her stomach twist.

“what the hell are you doing, doll?” his voice was cold, almost a snarl. “hanging around with a guy like him?”

she frowned, taken aback by his tone. “he’s just a friend, matt. he’s helping me with some notes—”

“a friend? you don’t get it, do you?” his voice was mocking, filled with a bitterness she hadn’t heard from him before. “people like him don’t want to be friends with someone like you. you’re just easy prey.”

her eyes widened, a hurt expression flashing across her face. “matt, why are you being so—”

“realistic?” he interrupted, eyes narrowing. “because someone has to be. you think everyone’s got some good in them, that everyone’s gonna treat you the way you treat them. but that’s not how the world works, doll. you’re too blind to see it.”

her lip trembled, but she took a shaky breath, trying to stay calm. “you’re wrong, matt. i know what he’s like with me. just because he doesn’t fit into your world doesn’t mean—”

“oh, please,” he cut in, rolling his eyes. “you really think you know what you’re doing? you don’t have a clue. you’re just letting him string you along because he’s nice to you. that’s all it takes, isn’t it?” his words were sharp, condescending. “anyone gives you a bit of attention, and you’re ready to trust them with anything.”

her face flushed, her chest tightening at his words. “i thought… i thought you trusted me, matt. trusted that i could figure things out.”

“trusted you?” he scoffed, shaking his head in frustration. “y/n, i’m just trying to keep you from getting hurt. but you’re too stubborn, too naive to see that half these people only see you as an easy target.”

the word naive cut through her like a knife, each syllable laced with disdain. “so that’s what you think of me?” her voice was barely above a whisper. “some… some helpless girl who can’t take care of herself?”

“isn’t that exactly what you’re proving right now?” he snapped, his patience finally snapping with it. “you’re so desperate for everyone to like you, so willing to see the good in people, that you don’t even realize they’re laughing behind your back. they see you as this silly soft girl they can use and toss aside.” his voice was harsh, each word landing like a blow.

tears pricked at her eyes, but she held them back, swallowing hard. “i… i thought you saw me differently.”

he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “doll, you’re… you’re sweet, alright? you’re too sweet for your own good. ‘t’s gonna ruin you if you don’t learn to see through people like him. and right now, you’re just proving me right. you’re proving you don’t get how people are.”

she flinched, his words making her chest ache. “maybe… maybe i don’t want to see people the way you do, matt. maybe i want to believe in people. i thought you’d get that.”

“get that?” he scoffed, crossing his arms. “’m done trying to understand why you’re so determined to get hurt. you don’t get it, do you? you’re weak and you refuse to see it. you refuse to admit that you need someone to watch out for you.”

the words echoed in her mind, his voice searing into her heart. weak. naive. silly. and what hurt her the most was how he addressed her by her name and not as doll. she felt a tear slip down her cheek and quickly wiped it away, but matt didn’t soften, didn’t reach out to her.

for a moment, she couldn’t even speak, her throat tight with unshed tears. “if that’s really how you see me, then… maybe you don’t know me at all.” her voice was shaky, laced with hurt she couldn’t hide.

he watched her, his expression unreadable, but he didn’t move. he didn’t apologize or reach out to stop her as she turned and walked away, each step heavier than the last. she kept her gaze down, trying to block out his words, but they echoed in her mind, relentless.

days passed. she avoided his texts, his calls, even ignored the harsh banging on her door and every attempt he made to reach her. every time she saw his name flash on her phone, her chest tightened and the hurt bubbled up again. she knew matt was protective, that he cared, but his words had felt like a betrayal, like he didn’t trust her to know what was best for herself.

an; angst bc i'm sad(⁠｡⁠•́⁠︿⁠•̀⁠｡⁠) also tell me do we like this small title font more or the quote font one?

taglist; @mattsdolll @izzylovesmatt

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evansbby · 2 months ago

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𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥'𝐬 𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: stepdad!Ari Levinson x bratty!reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: STEPCEST, daddy kink, dark!Ari, non-con, dub-con, age gap (reader is in college, Ari is in his forties), extremely fucked up Ari, delusional!Ari, spanking, ROUGH spanking, ass eating, ass fingering, he is literally very obsessed with her ass, swearing, misogyny, spitting, manhandling, dirty talk, condescending dirty talk, Ari also babies her A LOT, 18+, minors dni.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You stay out past curfew and your stepdad punishes you.

𝐀/𝐍: Final warning that this is extremely fucked up. Dead dove don't eat and all that. You've been warned. Enjoy.

“Where were you last night?”

Ari’s voice is loud, carrying across his study out into the hallway where you stop with a start. His door is slightly ajar, and you can see him through the crack. Sat behind his desk, his usual half-empty glass of scotch in hand.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, “Out?”

“Out where?”

“I don’t need to tell you that.”

You didn’t. It’s not like Ari was your dad, although he very much tried to act like he was. He was your stepfather; your mother had married him last year. And in that time, Ari had made it clear that he was always going to be in charge. And you wouldn’t have cared if he bossed your mother around, but it was you who his attention fell on most of the time.

You were in college, and it was close enough that you were able to stay at home and commute. Well, stay at Ari’s home, since that’s where your mother had moved the two of you. And you should have realised back then – a man as powerful as Ari Levinson would only ever play by his own rules, and make sure you did too.

“You have an eleven ‘o’ clock curfew. I didn’t see you tucked in at eleven ‘o’ clock. In fact, you weren’t home well past midnight.” He takes a sip of his scotch, looking ever the ruggedly handsome man that every single woman you knew went crazy over. Seriously. Your mom, her friends, your friends. It’s like you were the only one who saw through his act. There was just something about him…

This time you do roll your eyes, “Well firstly, I don’t need to be tucked in like I’m some little schoolgirl. And second, I’m allowed to stay out as long as I like. Mom never had a problem with that, she trusts me.”

Ari’s deep blue eyes regard your carefully, and he sets his glass down before using his finger to beckon you closer. “Come here.”

“What? No, I have to go.”

“You don’t have to go anywhere without my permission, sweetheart. Now I won’t repeat myself.”

There was an edge to his tone, one you knew all too well. Ari Levinson was a dangerous man, but then again weren’t all businessmen dangerous? It’s not like he’d played nice all his life to become the millionaire he was now. But he never shared his work with you or your mom. No, Ari was very rigid in his rules. Work was for the men, and women were to look after the home and mind their business.

He had other rules too. A curfew for you, no swearing, no wearing revealing clothes – and that was just scraping the surface. You’d complained to your mother countless times: “He’s not my father, he can’t make me do any of this!” But your mother was blindly in love with Ari, and wouldn’t listen to a single negative thing about him. “We live under his roof, sweetheart. He pays for everything and we should be so grateful. The least you could do is follow his rules, he only wants what’s best for you!” It was a shame he didn’t love your mother back. You couldn’t imagine a powerful man like Ari Levinson loving anything.

You swallow and step into his office, clutching your coat tighter around your body. It was best not to waste time arguing with him, and the sooner he said whatever he had to say, the sooner you could leave. You had another party to go to tonight, and no one – not even Ari Levinson – was going to stop you.

“Close the door behind you.” Ari orders, leaning back on his leather chair and undoing the top button of his shirt.

“Why?”

“Close it.”

You do. There’s something about the way Ari speaks, the way his tone is so commanding without him even trying to make it seem that way. It compels you to listen, and so you stand there in his office, in front of his desk while he just looks at you. His eyes leisurely trailing up and down your body, so dark as he sips his scotch again.

“Look, Ari, I’m going out whether you like it or not, and–”

“How many times have I told you not to call me that?”

You almost sneer, “I’m not going to call you Dad.”

“Of course not. You’re too spoilt to address your elders with a bit of respect.” He leans forward, his eyes never leaving yours as he sets his scotch down and runs his hand through his unruly brown hair. It’s all glossy and rich, curling at the ends like he’s some kind of romantic movie hero. It was crazy how good looking he was, how charming he looked for someone who was so strict and stuck in his ways.

“You’re literally not my father.” You say, shifting from one heeled foot to the other. You’d had this argument with him almost daily for the past year.

“Oh yeah? Who else lets you live under their roof? Buys you whatever you want and gives you a monthly allowance on top of that?”

You sniff, “Never asked for any of that.”

A smile touches his rosy lips, but it’s a wolfish one. A predatory one. “And yet you have no problem spending my money, do you? On stupid, mindless things like that sorry excuse for a dress you’ve got on under that coat.”

You bite your lip, holding your coat tighter around your body. It was long, but the dress underneath was short. Sinfully short, skintight, red lace. What else were you supposed to wear to the club? Not that Ari had to know that that’s where you were going tonight – one of his rules was no clubs. But how did he know about your dress?

Ari chuckles, “I know all about your slutty little get up, sweetheart. Isn’t that why you had your bedroom door open earlier while you were changing into it?”

Your jaw drops, “You pervert, you–”

“Enough.” He raises his hand to silence you, and you hate that it works. Your heart’s drumming in your chest and you despise how much of an effect your stepfather has on you. How much he intimidates you, how much he scares you despite how hard you try to prove otherwise. “Come here.”

You swallow harshly, “I am here.”

“No. Come over here. Closer to daddy.”

You blanche. That was the thing about Ari. He didn’t even want you to call him Dad. No, he wanted you to call him daddy – like you were some stupid, helpless little girl.

Sometimes, he’d brush past you around the house, make sure to squeeze your hip or rest his hand on your back despite the fact that the hallways were big enough for about ten people. How he’d grab something for you from the top shelf, making sure to touch you in some way as he did it. And he’d whisper – sometimes even with your mother in the same room – “Daddy’s got it, sweetheart,” or, “let daddy help you, honey,” or “how’s daddy’s best girl today?”

And it horrified you that disgust wasn’t the only thing you felt when he said those things.

“I’m fine right where I am.” You hold your ground, trying not to shake or teeter in your sky-high heels. Your bare legs suddenly feel cold, your palms clammy.

Ari blinks, “come here or I’ll get up and drag you here myself. And we both know you don’t want that.”

You mull it over. Ari was a huge man. And huge was an understatement. You didn’t think men could be so big and imposing until you’d met him. He towered over everyone you knew, and he completely dwarfed you. Hell, even in your heels you’d be half the size of him. And he was also absolutely ripped. Shredded like he went to the gym regularly, and you knew he did because he had a gym at home, and he’d often walk around shirtless after a workout. All sweaty and tanned and glistening, and–

“I’m waiting.” His voice is clear and powerful, carrying across the study, ringing in your ears. You think over your limited options, wondering if you could possibly just make a break for it.

You’d tried running away from him only once before. During the early hours of the morning, when Ari had come to pick you up after a house party gone a bit too wild. You were still drunk, high, happy. And then he’d pulled up in his expensive car, a grim look on his face. You’d giggled and ran, but it only took him a few strides to catch up with you. He’d hoisted you over his shoulder like you were a sack of potatoes, like you weighed no more than a feather. And he’d thrown you in the back of his car and forbade you from ever going out again. Told you that if you did, he’d track you down and ground you for life. That there was no point in running, no point in hiding because he’d always track you down. Because he was your daddy and you were his little girl and he owned you.

That was when you’d realised just how insane Ari Levinson was. Insane with money and power and capable of anything with the world at his feet.

Heart beating madly in your ribcage, you take a deep breath and slowly walk over to him. Around his desk and right up in front of him. He turns his chair slightly, looking up at you from under those impossibly long lashes of his, his eyes flashing darkly as he takes you in. He grabs your hip and yanks you closer, and you stumble, almost falling on top of him before his strong arm steadies you, and you end up standing between his legs.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and you feel a strange sensation at the compliment. Almost like a spark within you that you try your best to ignore. His hand is still on your hip, rubbing up and down through the mink of your coat. “Where’s your mommy tonight?”

“Asleep.”

“So you were going to sneak out.”

“It’s hardly sneaking out when you’re an adult in college who doesn’t need permission to go out and see her friends.” You can’t help but quip, although your attention is on his hand as it continues to rub your hip. Why was he doing that?

He acts like he hasn’t heard you, his eyes continuing to drink you in as he strokes your hip, “It’s not good to give your mommy and daddy so much grief, sweetheart. You should stay at home like a good little girl.”

Grief?! As if. You don’t think a man like Ari could ever feel anything as raw and humane as grief. Especially over something as normal as you, a college-aged woman, living her life.

You shrug, trying to act as casual as possible, “I like going out.”

“Mm,” in a flash, he yanks your coat off your body, the slinky fur sliding down till it falls by your feet. The action is so sudden, and yet Ari remains nonchalant, “You like dressing up like a slut too.”

“This is what all the girls are wearing.”

“But you’re my girl.” He toys with the lacy hem of your dress, a frown touching his handsome face at how short it is. Hell, the dress hardly covers your butt, and you’d class it more as lingerie than a going out dress, but that was none of his business. “I can’t have you going out like this, baby. Nobody’s allowed to see you like this.”

“What if they already have?”

The slap comes out of nowhere, sharp, unforgiving and loud, and your ass blooms with pain. You cry out, unable to believe he’s just spanked you.

“If you were stupid enough to give yourself to one of those idiot college boys you hang out with, trust me, I would know.” Ari says quietly. And it’s not a sneer, nor is there any contempt in his tone. Just cold, hard, nonchalance – which chills you down to the bone.

“Y-You’re crazy,” oh, but you hate the way your voice shakes as you say it!

“I’m just looking out for you, baby girl. That’s what daddies are for. Hell, even your mommy wants me to be your daddy.”

“That’s because she doesn’t know–”

“She wants me to be responsible for you, to discipline you, to take care of you how I see fit. How could you go against what your mommy wants?” His hand meanders lower, stroking your hip bone before gliding over your bare thigh, and then up again but this time under your dress. He cups your ass, and you can’t believe he’s got the balls to do it so casually. And it’s bare, because your lacy little G-string wasn’t covering anything, and you both knew that.

“Ari, you need to stop,” you swallow thickly, “y-you’re going too far this time, you–”

He yanks you into his lap, his motions so precise that you end up perched on his knee before you even know what’s happening. Your dress rides up, exposing your upper thighs and that’s exactly where his eyes zero in. Those intense, navy blue eyes that flash as his tongue swipes over his lips. And that’s when you feel it. Hard. Underneath you.

“This is where you belong,” he says softly. But not in a sweet way. Each word drips with menace. Quiet menace and a hanging threat. “On your daddy’s lap like a good little girl. God, baby girl, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hold you in my lap like this.” He bounces you up and down, watching as your breasts bounce in your tight red dress. “Every day I see you skipping around wearing next to nothing, and that fucking body…” He pauses, inhaling deeply as his arm secures around you even tighter, “…that peachy little ass on full display when you’d go out in your slutty little outfits no matter how much I forbade you from wearing them.”

“M-Mom’s upstairs,” you warn him, pressing your hands against his chest in a bid to get away from him except he’s too strong as he holds you rigidly in place. You can hardly believe what’s coming out of his mouth right now, but you don’t want to stick around to find out more, despite the fact that your thighs seem to be pressing together off their own accord. “Mom’s upstairs and she could come down any second, and–”

“She wants us to be together,” Ari smiles, and again it’s that wicked, menacing smile of his that’s more of a smirk than a smile. “She wants me to be your daddy, to take care of you. She knows how out of hand you’re getting; she knows you need a man like me to put you back in your place.”

“What?!”

“Mm, baby girl. And I let you act like a whore long enough. I was lenient, you see. I was enamoured by you, and so I let you do what you wanted. But now it’s time to put my foot down before you get too out of hand.”

“You’re insane!” You can’t believe what you’re hearing. Firstly, lenient?! In what universe was Ari ever lenient with you? He’d always been strict and up your ass about his dumb rules and traditional values. No going out, no drinking, no smoking, no hanging out with boys, no wearing revealing clothes. If that was him being lenient, then you didn’t want to know what he was capable of now.

“There you go again, talking back to me. It’s clear your mommy didn’t teach you any manners.” Ari fingers the lacy strap of your dress, pushing it down your shoulder and inhaling the perfumed bare skin he’s exposed. You’d lathered yourself in fragranced lotion, one that left glitter all over your body, and it reflects in his eyes as they continue raking over you, looking everywhere as if it’s his right to.

And he’d never gone this far before! Sure, he’d brush against you and hold you and whisper things to you, but he’d always teetered along that line, never crossed it. Now he seemed close to it, hell-bent on doing it. There’s a fire in his eyes that you don’t recognise, a lust that burns so bright it makes you look away lest you catch it and start feeling it too.

“And you know exactly what you’re doing to your daddy,” he continues, brushing your hair off your shoulder to expose the nape of your neck, and his huge hand grabs your throat lightly, almost casually. “You left your door open tonight so I could watch you slip on this slutty lingerie you call a dress. And that fucking peachy baby ass of yours, in those tiny, slutty panties…” Again, he inhales sharply, and you feel him shift subtly underneath you, his boner digging into you from below.

You try to ignore the lump in your throat and the beginnings of a fire in the depths of your stomach. “Nobody asked you to look, Ari. You’re a fucking creep and I’m gonna tell Mom you were spying on me.”

He smiles again, like your threat means nothing to him. And why would it? You’re half his age and at his mercy, the clothes on your body bought with his money, as is the makeup on your face. The furniture in your room, all your college textbooks… Hell, he paid your college fees. You were bound to him. He knew he owned you.

“You just earned yourself five extra smacks, baby girl.”

“Five extra what?”

“And you wanted me to look, sweetheart. You always want me to look,” Ari licks his lips, that predatory glint in his eye increasing tenfold. And he casually tweaks your nipple which is poking stiffly out from under the thin lace of your dress. You convulse, and he grins wolfishly, “That’s why you act like an attention-seeking whore, wear slutty clothes and prance around like you own the place. You’re crying out to be put back in your place, you need it.”

“All I need is for you to back off.” You stick your chin up, trying to be brave. But the older man only looks amused, and he strokes your hard nipple with just his thumb, the action sending sparks down to your core that you try your best to ignore.

“God, you’re fucking adorable,” he almost groans it, and his other hand tightens on your hip, grinding you down on his erection while you sit there frozen, “I can’t wait to fuck you in mine and mommy’s bed…”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” His salacious words act like a bucket of icy cold water, shocking you out of your trance. God, he was truly insane! You try to jump off of him, but his grip tightens around your stomach, pinning you down on him as you struggle.

“She won’t mind,” he whispers, licking the shell of your ear and sending electric currents down your body, “she wants us to bond, sweetheart. And I can’t think of a better daddy and baby girl bonding activity–”

“YOU’RE SICK!”

It’s when you really start struggling, when you bat and punch at his chest that he finally frowns. Not that it hurts him, but he doesn’t like the disrespect. That’s when he pushes down on your back, easily manoeuvring your body till he’s got you slung over his knee, your lacy dress riding up and your ass poking up into his face.

“You’re such a brat,” Ari’s lets his hand rest squarely on your ass, stroking it from on top of the red lace. You feel hot all over, heart beating out of your chest as you try to wrap your head around what exactly is happening right now. “But that’s okay, isn’t it sweetheart? One night with your daddy will set you straight. Then you’ll be the good little girl your mommy and I want you to be.”

“Let me go! Don’t you dare touch me, don’t you– OW!”

Ari’s huge hand cracks down on your ass like lightning, and your cry of pain echoes around his study, bouncing off the walls and ricocheting back into your ringing ears. Pain blooms across your backside, tears welling in your eyes – he’d hit you so hard.

“I knew from the moment I laid eyes on you that you were craving a good spanking,” Ari runs his hand over your ass, stroking the sizzling skin that’s still covered by the flimsy lace of your dress, “that you needed it, and you wanted me to give it to you.” Easily, he pushes the lace up, bunching your dress around your waist. He fingers your G-string, snapping it against your skin and making you cry out again, “You’re such a little slut…”

He rips your panties off, and you hear him inhale sharply, and you know he’s smelling them. And then his hand cracks down on your ass again, and again you cry out in pain because it’s your bare ass and it hurts, but he doesn’t seem to care.

“I watched you stumble into the house last night, well past your curfew,” he speaks so casually, despite his hand raining unforgiving spanks on your ass, “looking like a slutty, drunk little mess, your dress up and that cute bubble butt of yours poking out like you were trying to tease me. God, I wanted to take you over my knee then and there. But I knew you had to be sober for this. It’s the only way you’d learn.”

“Please, stop, it hurts, it–”

“And to think you were going to go out again, break my rules again,” he sneers, giving you a particularly hard smack that has you reeling, the tears streaking down your cheeks. “Stupid little girl, don’t you get it? I give you everything, every material fucking thing in the world you could ask for. And all I ask in return is for you to be a good little girl, a respectful little girl who stays at home and listens to her daddy. Is that so fucking hard?”

All you do is sob, and he yanks your hair, “I said, is that so fucking hard?”

“No!” You cry, wiggling around on his lap in a bid to get away from the unforgiving wrath of his palm, your mind quickly slipping into delirium, to that place where you’ll say anything just to get him to stop. “No, it’s not hard, okay?! PLEASE STOP!”

“No more going out,” smack after smack rains down on your ass, and the skin feels like it’s breaking, like it’s on fire, and he just grows harder, more excited underneath you. “No, baby girl. From now on, you’ll be good, won’t you? You’ll stay at home with me, let me take care of you.”

“Okay, fine! Just stop, just–”

“And daddy’s gonna take such good care of you,” he croons softly, and yet he sounds so fucking evil, “Daddy’s gonna feed you, change you, bathe you. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? So much more than your goddamned parties.”

A strangled sound leaves your throat, white hot pain radiating off your poor ass as he manhandles you, spanking you like you’re some goddamned child being chastised. And you were a grown woman! A grown woman with a sick in the head stepfather who was hellbent on inflicting his torturous, fucked up discipline.

“Say it. Say you want daddy to bathe you. Say you’d like that, because you’re too much of a dumb baby to do it yourself,” he orders, sick pleasure in his tone at his own words. And he gives you the hardest slap yet, like a threat of what’s to come if you didn’t answer how he wanted you to.

“Fine, okay?!” Your voice is shrill with fear, “I-I want you to…” your face screws up, hotness prickling your cheeks, “I want you to bathe me, take care of me...”

SMACK.

“Address me properly.”

“I WANT YOU TO BATHE ME, DADDY!” Shame erupts inside you, but so does relief when the spank you’re expecting never comes, and his hand rests on the curve of your ass instead.

“Of course you do, my helpless little girl.” He croons, switching from menacing to faux-sweet with the drop of a hat. “I always knew you needed me. You made it so obvious.”

“C-Can you please just stop now?” You hang your head, the energy depleting from your body, and all you can focus on is the pain in your ass. That, and the way his boner is poking dangerously close to your core. And you feel this strange urge to hump downwards, but you push it away as soon as it flits your mind.

“You have such a pretty ass, baby,” he ignores you, stroking your ass with that large, warm hand of his. “Sure, daddy just did a number on it, but that’s okay. A cute bubble butt like yours was made to be ruined, wasn’t it? Say it. Say it exactly how I just said it.”

You sniffle, ass on fire and thoughts disorientated enough that you obey without a single protest, “My… My cute bubble butt was made to be ruined.”

You expect him to let you go then, to laugh at you for being reduced to a sniffling mess. To taunt you because you and him both know your mother wouldn’t believe you if you told her what had just happened. He was perfect in her eyes, a knight in shining armour and that was all she ever wanted to see him as. Not the devil incarnate who’d spanked your ass raw for coming home later than the curfew he’d set for you.

Instead, you hear him inhale deeply, squeezing and fondling your ass cheeks, groping them to his heart’s desire, jiggling each cheek like it’s a toy made for his pleasure. And you almost lose yourself to the sensation, because why do you feel that need again? That need to grind down on his knee?

But then his hand moves lower, and his hand cups your cunt before you even realise that he’s crossed that line completely. That line a stepfather should never cross.

“Ari, n-no, don’t…” but why does your voice not even convince your own self?

“I’ll do what I please,” he says calmly, as if he’s conversing with you normally over a pot of coffee in the morning, as if he doesn’t have his big, warm hand cupping your bare pussy. “I own you, it’s only right that I show you what pleasure is. I’m sure you’ve never felt it before, not with those boys you hang around. And you took your punishment well, sweetheart. Daddy’s so proud of you, and I’m not all bad, you know.”

Before you can say another word, his strong arms lift you up and manhandle you till you’re bent over his oak desk, your ass poking up and at his mercy yet again as he stands up to his full height behind you. You yelp when he gives your ass another hard slap, as if he can’t help it.

“You’ve made a mess all over my pants, baby girl,” he pulls your hair, making you look back. And that’s when you see the dark wet spot on his pants. Oh no, no, no. That couldn’t have been you, could it?

And yet, yet you can feel that tell-tale wetness now trailing down your thighs. Were you… leaking? Is that how turned on you were right now? Despite the disgust you feel? And the contempt and hatred too?

“It’s okay, sweetie,” Ari puts on that faux-sweet voice again, and yet he still sounds menacing, predatory as he grips your ass cheeks so hard they hurt. “I know baby girls like you can’t help but have an accident every now and then. It’s a good thing daddy’s here to clean you up.”

Before you can even attempt to decipher what’s happening next, he grabs your hips and hoists your ass up even higher. Then he spreads your ass cheeks apart and your eyes almost bug out of your head when you feel his tongue, stiff and wet, like a stripe up your asshole.

“Oh, oh fuck!” You can’t help but moan. No one had ever, ever even touched you up there. Let alone lick you there, and oh god! Oh god, it felt so insane. Your cunt throbs at the feel of his wet tongue up there. Your stepfather was eating your ass.

“Taste so fucking sweet,” he murmurs, fingers pressing into the soft skin of your butt cheeks as he spreads them even further apart. He spits down on your puckered hole, making you tense up in anticipation. “I’ve been dreaming of eating your sexy little ass since the moment I saw you.”

“This is wrong…” and yet your words sound so faint, so far away. What feels close is his tongue, big and flat as he laps at your hole like a starved man. And you don’t know what possesses you but you know you have to start rocking your hips back into his face, and that’s when you feel him smirk against you.

“I knew you’d come around, baby girl. I knew you’d get off on me eating you back here. I bet none of your little boyfriends ever did this for you, huh?”

“N-No, oh-oh gosh, I-I–”

He cups your cunt again, this time gathering your wetness and bringing it up to your asshole. And fuck, his finger makes you twitch as he rubs your wetness into your puckered hole before lapping it up with his tongue. And the whole time, obscene noises fill up his study, and your mother sleeps soundly upstairs while her husband violates your asshole and both of you are moaning now.

“Fucking sexy baby ass,” Ari mutters, practically tongue-fucking your hole like he hasn’t had a meal in days. And his stiff, wet tongue forces its way into your tight hole and you wail because it feels like nothing you’ve ever felt before. Now you’re grinding back into his face in earnest, and your poor, neglected cunt is dripping juices down on his desk, and–

Ari slaps your ass hard, the sound ringing across the room, and his beard scrapes against your hole, and it feels so sinfully good that you want to cry. How did it get to this? You hate him. You despise him. And yet…

It’s when he forces his thick pointer finger into your poor asshole that you scream in earnest, and all it earns you is another slap to your butt. And this itself makes your pussy clench, like your body is growing accustomed to his rough ways. Like your body is accepting his rough ways, liking his rough ways.

“D-Daddy,” you whimper voluntarily, because your body is betraying you and now so is your voice, “daddy please. Need to, n-need to…”

“Say it.” Ari’s voice drips with power and authority, “Say what you need.”

“Need to – nngh! – need to cum!”

He smirks, “No one’s stopping you, baby girl. No one’s stopping you from getting off on your stepdaddy eating your tight, sexy ass.”

He pushes you down on his desk, till your stomach is flat against the hard oak. With your ass pinned down against the hard surface, he spreads your cheeks again – as far as they’d go. With renewed vigour, he starts licking up your ass again. And you twitch against his harsh tongue, which probes and licks you like you’re nothing more than his meal. And you gasp and whine and moan like a whore, thrusting back against him, needing to cum, just needing to cum and nothing else.

You squirt hard when he bites down on your ass cheek, bites down on it like a man possessed, like a man hell-bent on marking you as his property. And you’re sure he’s left a mark, you’re sure he’s drawn blood, and he fingers your tight asshole the whole time, milking your orgasm as your untouched cunt convulses and waves of shocking pleasure radiate through your body.

“That’s right, baby girl,” Ari licks at the spot where he’s bit you, sucking at the poor, broken skin to make the bruise even more prominent. “My special little girl, finally giving yourself to daddy. I’m so proud of you, baby. Fuck, so proud of my little girl.”

You’re half lost in your delirium but you snap out of it when you feel something wet and hot splash on your ass. Spurts of it, coating your sore and bruised ass. His cum. You hadn’t even realised he was jacking off. Your stepdad, jacking off and dropping his load all over your sizzling ass after he’d just spanked you and ate you out back there.

Fuck.

“Next time, I’m finishing inside you,” Ari has the audacity to chuckle, despite the air feeling heavy around you as you come down from your high and collapse on his desk, all energy sapped out of your body.

You open your mouth to say something, anything, but all that comes out is a pitiful whimper. You feel a bunch of sensations, but you feel another spark of thrill when his finger swipes over your ass. And then he brings it to your lips, his finger coated with his cum that he’s gathered, and presses it into your mouth.

You don’t have the energy to fight him, and so you suck on his finger, like a good little girl you lap up his cum, swallow it while he smiles at you approvingly, and pats your head like you’re his little pet. Ruined and collapsed on his desk, your panties in his pocket and your poor dress hiked high around your waist. Completely at his mercy.

“I’ll run you a bath,” he says, picking you up and gathering you in his arms. You’re limp, too weak to argue. To fucked out to really register what’s just happened. “See, doesn’t it feel good to be taken care of by your daddy? All that partying isn’t good for you. Only daddy knows what’s good for you. But don’t worry. You’ll learn. Soon.”

A/N: THE END! OKAY WHAT DO WE THINK??? AHHHH this Ari is sooo fucked up omfg. But I'm kinda nervous posting this bc I haven't posted a full length fic in a while??? and idk... this just came to me. BUT WHAT DO WE THINK? Please, please do let me know! Feedback/comments/reblogs would mean the world to me! I JUST WANNA KNOW WHAT YALL THINK??? FAV PART??? ANYTHINGSS anyways byeee love u <3

#ari levinson #ari levinson x reader #steve rogers #chris evans

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roanniom · 1 year ago

Note

I’m in love with everything about you. I’ve read through all of you Eddie master list twice now, and I love everything about it.

And I was wondering if you’d feel comfortable writing something about Eddie making the reader squirt for the first time? I imagine a dom/confident/not virgin Eddie being incredibly smug about it. I also imagine they’d both be surprised by it.

You Are

Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ ONLY, fingering, squirting, dirty talk

“Baby, relax,” Eddie coos. You’re wriggling around against the bed, one of his hands spread over and applying pressure to your lower abdomen while the fingers of the other play you like a fucking fiddle. Your body can’t tell if it wants to lean into the pleasure or escape it, hence the wriggling. His fingers prod repeatedly against that spot deep inside you and you convulse, head thrown back against the pillows.

“Eddie, it’s…it’s too much.”

“I know, sweetheart. I know.” Eddie’s voice is condescending in that way that you hate to admit you love. He leans forward to plant a less than innocent kiss on the swell of your breast. It’s meant to be soothing, but the way he sucks on the plush skin makes you arch your back even deeper.

“If you actually need me to stop, you know what to say,” Eddie adds. He might love to overstimulate you and push your buttons, but there’s nothing but trust and respect beneath the teasing surface. His check in somehow turns you on further and you grip wildly at the wrist between your thighs so he won’t pull away.

“No, don’t stop,” you gasp. Eddie chuckles.

“I thought you said it’s too much.”

“It is,” you maintain, though your grip on his wrist remains a vice as you roll your hips to try and ride his fingers more.

“You’re giving me mixed signals, princess,” Eddie hums. He brings the hand from your abdomen down so he can lightly toy with your clit. You positively sob. “Are you a whore or a cry baby? Which is it?”

“Eddie!” you cry out when he adds more pressure to his circular motion. Your voice cracks on a whine.

“Oh she’s a crybaby,” Eddie says in a less than sympathetic moan.

Out of nowhere the pressure suddenly becomes too much. There’s an urgency causing all of your lower muscles to seize and you arch more fully off the bed with a cry. Unable to vocalize your panic at the way the pressure seems to build beyond the normal level of an orgasm. One of your hands grabs at your breast while the other fists in the sheets, your eyes wide and blind at the ceiling, your mouth dropped open.

“Okay. Maybe more whore–,” Eddie starts to joke at your sudden contortion, but then he’s shocked into silence by the way his thrusting fingers become deluged with liquid. The sound is obscene, as is the smirk that expands over Eddie’s face as he realizes what he’s done.

He’s made your squirt for the first time.

“Oh fucking hell yeah,” Eddie groans. He redoubled his efforts, thrusting his fingers in and out of you harder, his other hand moving rapidly over your clit. The wetness splashes him and you practically scream until finally it ends, your body dropping limp to the bed, your chest heaving with pants.

You’re pretty sure you black out for a second, because when you finally get your bearings again Eddie is leaning over you, kissing your face all over.

“My beautiful, beautiful girl,” he says quietly into your ear before kissing you soundly on the lips. You’re still pretty out of it so you blink slowly after he pulls away.

“I thought I was your crybaby whore,” you say weakly. Eddie roars with laughter, kissing the path of your fallen tears on your temple before gathering you in his arms. Despite how sticky you are, he holds you close and you have neither the energy nor the wherewithal to be bothered.

“You are, baby. You are.”

~*~

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Thanks for your kind words about my work!! I hope you enjoyed this ♥️

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson x you #eddie munson thots

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anakinsdove · 8 months ago

Note

Sub sam monroe x fem friends hot older sister ❔

𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 | 𝐬𝐚𝐦 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐫𝐨𝐞

pairing: sam monroe x older!fem!reader

summary: it’s been like what? 6 years since you saw sammy, he’s still as weird as he used to be, only prettier. After seeing him again you notice there some tension that wasn’t there before.

c/w: nsfw, loser Sammy, blowjob

discord - twitter: anakinsdove. -PART 2-

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧! ｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ｡ﾟ。Love you

𝘄/𝗰 - 1,352

“What’s that for?” You ask your little rat of a brother why he’s suddenly carrying enough snacks to throw a party.

“Sam is coming over, he’s going to spend the night here” Your brother says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “Who?” “Sam” he rolls his eyes “Oh! Sammy, blonde, walks weird?” “Yes…” he’s slightly confused at your description then he realizes you haven’t seen Sam in a while…. A long while?

“He dyed his hair” your brother ads “Seriously?” You say sarcastically clearly faking interest trying to find something worth watching on tv “And he walks normally” “I’m sure he does”

“Anyways aren’t you a little bit too old for sleepovers?” Your condescending tone is very annoying to your brother but that’s what sisters do. “Aren’t you too old for Halloween?” “Huh?” Your brother smirks pointing at your makeup, you respond by throwing the pillow on the couch with enough force it feels like a brick, he runs upstairs

“coward” you mutter to yourself and suddenly someone’s knocking on the door

Someone’s knocking extremely loud

You decide to ignore it as you keep painting your nails but the knocking is very persistent and it gets louder somehow accidentally painting your toe “fucking loser” you curse under your breathe and stand up walking furiously towards the door.

“What!?” Your tone is harsh and the boy takes a step back, Sam looks stupid as he makes sure he’s in the right house “I-is James here?”

“Sam?” You ask softly this time, your anger quickly dissipating from your features, eyeing him up and down… wow.

“Hi Y/N”

You open the door for him to come in as he awkwardly goes through the door, he tries to keep his hips as far he can from yours while walking in, you sigh at the awkward silence

“How have you been-“ “You look very different-“ both of you say at the same time “You look the same” he says “I looks twelve?” God you’re making fun of him

Hes about to answer when your brother comes down running from the stairs “Sorry dude I was taking a shit!” He greets him as you stand aside

“Don’t talk to her Sam” your brother says smirking “Shut up man” they run upstairs and you shrug trying to shake the awkwardness away

You keep trying to distract yourself with tv but it isn’t fucking working

Sam Monroe….

He looked so different from what you remembered, he’s taller, there’s a lot of piercings stuff on his face and you’re pretty sure he was wearing eyeshadow.. his hair now it’s black… funny because you remembered him being blonde and looking like a puppet, you giggle at the thought… Oh! and his clothes, he was wearing a Metallica t shirt, Vintage….

You moan and you realize you been rubbing your clit through your panties this whole time then gasping in embarrassment and closing your legs

What a slut… what if someone saw you rubbing your cloth on your living room, that would be a reason to kill yourself, what if Sam saw you like that?… that however doesn’t sound as bad

Control yourself Y/n

A few hours later the sun has set… you succeeded distracting yourself and as soon as Sam leaves you won’t have to see him again you’ll forget this awkward chapter in your life where you masturbated to the thought of your younger brother’s friend until… “Why me man!?” “Cause I’m about to win this level” “Youre shit at the game” “Shut up!” you hear the boys arguing upstairs “It’s just fucking popcorn Sam” your brother mocks him as Sam sighs coming down the stairs

You can’t help but look up at him “Hey” Sam stops midway “Hey” he tries to sound and look relaxed, but when did your boobs get so big?

“Pop corn?” You asks pointing at the box he’s holding in his hand “I’ll burn them” he says

“It’ll be my brothers fault” you laugh and Sam smiles “C’mon” you guide him to the kitchen and put the popcorn in the stove “You look very different too” he responds to your earlier conversation, you smirk at the opportunity of teasing “Really? I thought I looked twelve” “Fuck no” he suppresses a laugh and you nod playfully “Well, maybe a little” “Fuck off” you push him playfully and his back makes contact with the counter “You still have your dimples when you smile” your heart actually softens at his comment “You don’t look like a puppet anymore” he rolled his eyes “I meant that in some ways you look the same but in other- other ways you look very different” he stares at you collarbone

“Sam?” You take a step forward “It’s mean to look at girls boobs when they’re talking” he freezes “I was not-“ you grab his bicep “I always knew you liked me” Sam is really about to die or kill himself, whatever is option is quicker… instead he grabs your waits and pulls you to him then freezes again “You want to kiss me Sammy?” His gaze switches from your eyes to your lips, to your boobs that look so good in that thank top, then your lips again, his lips hesitantly meet you in a clumsy kiss… but then you find out he’s so hungry for this, teeth clatter and he hums into your mouth, his hands shaking as he holds your waist…. You pull away teasingly as he tries to chase your lips but you have other plans like kissing his neck

“Fuck” he moans, his little sound has you clenching your thighs, you need this boy asap…as you nibble and suck his neck then pulling away again “Sam” “What?” He says breathlessly

“Can I suck you off?” WHAT THE FUCK he nodds shakily and you get on your knees “J-James?” Sam’s says as he watches you unbuckle his belt “Don’t talk about my fucking brother when I’m going to give you a blowjob” “Sorry..” “He’s playing, he wont find out.” You try to reassure this poor boy as he nods shakily “I promise” you unzip his pants and take his boxers down urgently, it’s too much, you hear the popcorn popping, heavy breathe, the waves crashing distantly… his cock slapped against his stomach… Sam looks down at you in awe

You start stroking him, watching the angry red tip leaking already, “w-wait wait I’m gonna c-cum” Sam warns virgins you think to yourself and force yourself to stop stroking him, if he’s gonna fucking cum he’s cumming down your throath tonight “fine” you say angrily and take him down your throat “Fuck!” Sam moans as his shaky hand tangles in your hair pushing you down further “I can’t I can’t I’m sorry” his eyes roll back and his back arches, your wet lips wrapping around his thick cock…. Sucking him sloppy it’s just so much

He doesn’t know why god is on his side tonight but he’s not complaining, he beats himself mentally, he seeing stars, fireworks exploding behind his eyes and all that cringy shit he once heard, now he knows it’s real, he feels your tongue massaging the underside of his cock and you make something with your tongue where it licks at his balls slightly and-

“Fuck!” He yells as he cums…. Thick ropes of cum hit the back of your throath, he tastes salty…

Your doe eyes look up at him seductively as you keep licking his tip, his legs tremble as he spasms, he has to push you away so he doesn’t pass out

You finally release his cock from your mouth “breathe Sammy….” “Fuck sorry I-“ his breathe is heavy “Shhh….” You kiss his lips softly so he tastes his own cum…..

“You’re sleeping here right?” He nodds

“Come to my room at 2:00 AM” he nodds again and you know this boy is completely at your mercy

“Oh and Sammy….. your popcorn” you point to the stove and evident smoke “Shit!” Sam runs and trips over his pants, pulling them up quickly and trying to not burn your damn house.

dividers - @i92-93

(Im very sorry for the absence! I been pretty much busy and a little unmotivated to write but I’ll try to post another fic this week, this was a little bit rushed but I hope you like it)

@anakinsbbgirl

#sam monroe x reader #sam monroe x you #sam monroe smut #sam monroe imagine #sam monroe hayden christensen #sam monroe life as a house #hayden christensen smut #hayden christensen characters #hayden christensen fluff #hayden christensen

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 7 months ago

Text

A Little From You | Yandere Mori Ogai

The tug at your pants had you looking down at a younger girl—blonde and wearing a bright red dress. With wide blue eyes and a small pout on her face, she actively ignored the others around you who were looking concerned.

“Will you help me find my father?”

You took a glance at your coworkers who were between watching in awe or had the decency to quickly look away as if they weren’t staring at you both. Retaining a sigh, you send a smile to her before scooping her up. Resting her on your waist you keep your attention on her while you answer.

“Of course, I will! Where did you last see your Papa?”

The crowd was dissipating and your team was hard at work. Recently you piloted a new organization in Yokohama. Not nearly as infamous as the Armed Detective Agency or the Port Mafia; your nameless group sought to clean up and save as many during the times they were completely enraptured with battle. While you were grateful for the Agency’s tendency to send one of their own to help, you were sure it’d be better to delegate this menial task to a smaller group like yours.

“I don’t know but I just can’t see him anywhere,” the girl cried into your neck holding you tight. Rubbing at her back there were so many panicked people, panicked parents searching for their little ones. It’d be chaos-inducing to mindlessly call out for a father without a name. Holding her close you lightly stepped forward, making yourself float above the crowd to stand on top of a street light. Giving a comforting squeeze you encouraged her to look at the crowd below.

“Do any of them look familiar to you, little one?”

Her sky-blue gaze lazily darts around—boredly searching within the crowd. You turned to the girl, your intuition steering you.

“Do you…not want to find him?”

The side-eye the girl gives you speaks loud enough as she scoffs and mirthlessly chuckle into her hand. So much like an adult. She turns to you with a crooked smile and condescending tone,” So observant.”

You’ve dealt with sassy kids before and you had a feeling her disdain wasn’t necessarily towards you.

“Thank you! It’s very helpful for my job.”

She stares blankly as you smile at her. She turns her head away, a blush lightly blooming on her face as she continues to look over the crowd. Speaking of the crowd, it had begun to dissipate now. Dispersing more calmly than before. Which made it much easier to spot the man in a lab coat waving frantically at the two of you.

“Elise-chan! Elise-chan! Elise-chan!”

The groan from the girl confirms what you suspected and you send a pitied smile at the girl who returned to wrapping her arms around your neck. Securing her to your side you swiftly step down, letting your footsteps float as you take your time to reach the ground in front of the crying man.

“Oh, my Elise-chan! I was so worried.”

He reaches for her only for the blonde to look disgusted as she tightly keeps herself attached to you.

“I’m not going with you! I’m going to stay with (Y/n) who actually knows how to take care of me!”

“C’mon Elise-chan! I didn’t mean to lose you, I promise.”

Looking between the two, there seemed to be a stalemate. Stifling your own sigh you shifted the little girl on your waist to look at you, “Elise, what can he do to make it up to you?”

The girl looks exasperated at you, urging her to answer she rolls her eyes before smiling at you.

“A whole bakery’s worth of desserts and that designer dress and matching tea set I’ve been wanting!”

You heard a groan from the scruffy-looking man with black hair. Turning to him with a smile of your own, “Can you do that, Papa?”

The man went still at that. Perhaps it was the name. Elise didn’t seem like the type to say such an endearing term and it might have reminded him of something.

“Yes! Anything for you, my Elise.”

You release the girl, watching as she dodges his attempts at a hug to walk in the direction of the bakery she was referring to her father following behind. It warmed your heart to see the two reunited again. That’s what made your job worth it.

“Stay safe you two. It was nice meeting you both!”

Your call out had Elise stopping in her tracks, before running into your stomach violently as children often do. Wrapping her arms around your waist, you see her sky-blue eyes filled with tears, “How will we see each other again!?”

The tears caught you off-guard as you reached for your handkerchief, dabbing at her tears. You gave a few more comforting pats before coming up with a solution. Reaching into your coat pocket you pulled out your business card reaching over her to hand it to her father.

“Here we are! I’ll give your Papa, my business card so you can call me if you like.”

“Yay!”

Reaching for the card from her father-who seemed hesitant to hand it over-she snatches it the second he gets in range. She sends another wave to you before skipping on her original path, not even waiting for her father to follow. Speaking of, the man turns to you grasping both your hands in his as he seems to fight unshed tears.

“Thank you! Thank you for protecting my precious Elise-chan!”

You shuffled in your jacket hoping to release the heat that came with your embarrassment.

“U-u-h no problem! C-c-call me if you need me!”

He nods and stays in his position, still holding your hands in his. His tears aren’t there anymore and his lips are wobbling as though they’d like to say something more.

“Oi the bakery you promised me is right over there!” Elise a good bit away from him but her shouts making him wince. He releases his hold on your hands to nervously rub at the back of his neck before running after his daughter screaming,” Elise-chan! Wait for me!”

Chuckling at the duo you float back to the crowd and your team is prepared to help the next batch of troubled people.

It was always nice to help and it warmed your heart when you thought of the memories that would be made today. Thanks to your help.

“Commander!”

“Coming! Coming!”

_____________________________________________________________

Mori couldn’t stop looking at his hands. As though it would help him burn the memory of those soft and calloused hands in his. He smiled wider if that was possible as he brought his hands to his face relishing in the memory being transferred to his face.

“You creep.” The blonde girl sneered at the older man from over her shoulder.

He doesn’t respond, too busy regulating his breath. Finally claiming control once again the doctor donned his typical white gloves; opening and closing his hands. Elise scoffed again, “Those gloves aren’t going to keep their germs on you, Stupid Rintarou.”

Mori stifled a groan holding his gloves close to his chest.

“But I can pretend can’t I?”

“You’re disgusting.”

They walked around the fifth corner before stepping into the black car already waiting for them. Settling into the leather seats surrounded by gift boxes and patisserie packaging they let the sound of the empty street fill the silence.

“Elise…”

“What?”

“Where’s the card?”

“Why?”

“...Elise…give me the card please.”

The blonde turned away from him unfurling her fist to look at the little card. Rubbing her gloved fingers over the paper that etched your name.

“They gave it to me.”

“Excuse me?”

Elise turned her around to him glaring with a violent intensity,” No! They gave it to me! You can’t take this from me!”

Mori didn’t speak. Staring blankly at the girl as she glowed pink. He ultimately shrugged, exasperatingly leaning against the seat as he looked out the tinted windows.

“Can I…at least have the handkerchief?”

“No!”

“Awww c’mon Elise-chan!”

He sulked and whined the whole way home.

#yandere x reader #yandere x you #lovelyyandereaddictionpoint #yanderexrea #yandere #yanderes #yandere bungou stray dogs #yandere bungo stray dogs x reader #yandere mori x reader #yandere mori ogai #yandere mori #yandere bsd #yandere port mafia #yandere mori oguai

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unboundprompts · 1 month ago

Note

Hello! I’ve never really used this ask thing before— so I’m sorry if I do this wrong. I love your prompts and other works and was wondering if you could help me figure out how to write and describe accents? My characters have very specific accents (Australian accents, British accents, etc.) and I’m having trouble figuring out how to show that. This is a fantasy setting so I couldn’t just describe their accents as an Australian accent and such y’know? I’m so sorry if this doesn’t make sense. Would you be able to help?

How to Write a Character with an Accent

-> How to Write Character Accents

-> How to Convey Accents in Fiction Writing

Make sure your character’s speech isn’t distracting

When writing dialect or a particular accent, it can be tempting to write a character’s dialogue using phonetic spellings. However, this use of dialect can distract your reader. If your character is French and is constantly saying “ze” instead of “the,” the reader will be focusing more on decoding the line of dialogue than they will on plot or character development. When writing fiction, your reader’s attention should always be on the story, and anything that distracts from that probably isn’t worth including.

Slang and Colloquialisms

Incorporate regional slang, colloquialisms, or idioms that reflect the accent. Each accent has its own unique phrases that can suggest the character's background.

Include Snippets of their Native Language

If you’re writing a character who speaks a foreign language, one way to communicate their accent is to simply include snippets of their native tongue in their lines of dialogue. This will demonstrate the character’s native language and implied accent without resorting to the distracting eyesore of phonetic spelling.

Don't Stereotype

Writing different dialects indelicately can make you appear condescending towards non-native English speakers or people who use the English language differently than you do. One of the most common offenders is the use of “eye dialect,” which refers to using misspellings or nonstandard spellings in order to depict a character’s accent (for instance, writing “fixin’” with an apostrophe instead of “fixing” in order to demonstrate Appalachian or Southern accents). By focusing on the “otherness” of regional dialects and non-native speakers, a writer may give the impression that they are making fun of the way people speak. When writing different accents, keep eye dialect to a minimum.

Rhythm and Intonation

Accents often have distinctive rhythms and intonations. Pay attention to how the accent changes the flow of speech. For instance, British accents might have a more clipped and precise quality, while Australian accents can sound more relaxed and drawn out.

You might describe this in your narrative, saying something like, "Her words rolled out with a casual lilt, the vowels stretching like lazy waves."

Character Reactions and Context

Show how other characters react to the accent. If a character speaks in a heavy accent, others might lean in to listen, nod in confusion, or make a comment. This helps highlight the uniqueness of the speech.

Physical Description

Consider linking the accent to physical traits or background details. Describe the character’s upbringing or location, giving hints about their accent through their surroundings or lifestyle.

Example: “Raised in the bustling markets of Evermere, his accent was a musical blend of the old tongue, softening the hard edges of his words.”

Subtlety in Dialogue Tags

Instead of writing out the accent in every piece of dialogue, you can subtly hint at it through the dialogue tags. For example, “he said, his voice dripping with the easy lilt of the southern coast” can convey the accent without explicit phonetic spelling.

#writing prompts #creative writing #writeblr #dialogue prompt #prompt list #ask box prompts #how to write #how to write accents #how to write a character with an accent #accent writing #how to write characters #writing tips #writing help #writing advice #writing tools

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antoncore · 1 month ago

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mean!professor eunseok wc: 906

you regretted taking professor song eunseok’s management accounting class, wondering why you’d even chosen it. what was supposed to be easy became a nightmare, with his strict demeanor making every class suffocating. you’d sit at the back, trying to avoid his attention, but the more you hid, the more he seemed to single you out.

you were now sat in the packed tutorial, weighed down by a sense of dread as he began, the ticking of the clock only heightening your anxiety. his sharp gaze swept the room, and despite your attempts to focus on your notes, you couldn’t shake the fear of being called on. your palms started to sweat, and just when you thought you might be able to slip by unnoticed, he paused and turned towards you. “what do you think about financial performance measurement?” he asked, his gaze unrelenting.

the whole class turned to look at you, waiting for an answer you weren’t prepared to give. “i think, u-um-” you stuttered, in fear of how he may react to your lack of confidence. he furrowed his eyebrows at your hesitation, clearly displeased.“speak clearly…” he paused, looking at the attendance sheet to find your name. “y/n, we don’t have time for stuttering. i expect you to understand the content by now,” he said in a condescending tone as he stepped closer to your desk, towering over you. the rest of the class held their breath, sensing the tension. “perhaps you need a refresher, hm? let me ask you again, slowly this time so you can comprehend what i’m trying to ask you.” the way he spoke to you made you feel as if you were unintelligent, incapable and unworthy of being in his class.

“so, what’s used to evaluate a company's financial stability?" he crossed his arms, awaiting your response. “not very sure, sir,” you replied, knowing he’d be disappointed. he scoffed, shaking his head. “not sure? you’re falling behind. keep up.” he glared at you sternly before turning to address the class again. as he ordered them to discuss, his eyes quickly flicked back to you, his expression cold. “see me after class,” he demanded and you nodded, looking down. a hint of a smirk played on his lips, noticing the change in your demeanour.

after 20 more minutes of group discussion, the bell rang and eunseok promptly dismissed the class, everyone rushing to leave the room as you approached his desk. “so,” he said, his voice low and commanding as his hand went on yours. “we’re gonna need to do something about your lack of preparation.” you got all embarrassed, cheeks bright red at the slightest touch from him. “aw,” he says, a hint of amusement in his voice, “being alone with me gets you all worked up, hm?” he leans in closer, his face inches from yours. “well, come sit on the desk.”

you obeyed him in an instant as he stepped between your legs, looking down at the wet patch that formed in your panties. “such a slut, aren’t you? all wet because of me?” you nodded again as he smirked, reaching down and pulling your thighs apart roughly. he slapped your clothed cunt, making your body jolt. “stop fucking slacking!” you moaned in response, loving how both the slap and his words had you. he yanked your panties down impatiently, tracing a finger along your slit. “mm, such a pretty cunt for such a pretty whore,” he purred. “almost like you’ve been waiting for this.”

he didn’t even bother waiting for your response before slapping your now bare cunt, making you flinch from the sudden contact. “sir!” you whimpered as he laughed, the sound echoing through the classroom, “sound so cute when you call me sir.” he brought his hand down hard against your wet folds again, slapping it as you squirmed under his touch. he grinned as he watched your reactions, enjoying the sight of you looking up at him. “you’re gonna answer the question from earlier now. i’ll reward you later,” eunseok said, his eyes focused intently on you.

“yes sir,” you replied, ready to do whatever he asked of you. he smacked your pussy again, earning another flinch from you. “good girl. now tell me, what do you use to analyse a company’s financial performance?” he waited for your answer, his fingers tracing circles around your clit teasingly. “revenue?” you replied, unsure if you were correct. eunseok went harder on your cunt this time as he cooed, “that’s right, revenue. keep going.” you tried to think, trying to keep the notes you’d written earlier that day in mind. “net income, earnings, return on investment and return on equity?”

eunseok nodded approvingly, laughing to himself as he took his hand away from your cunt. “yes, that’s correct. not as dumb as i thought, are you?” you whined in frustration at the fact he didn’t give you what you wanted. you’d been good, hadn’t you? he crossed his arms, a cruel smile forming at the corners of his mouth. “you really thought i was gonna give you a reward? come see me in my office tomorrow. i’ll make sure you learn the content properly, then you’ll get what you want.” his tone was so firm, so mean and it had you in his grip. he stepped back, leaving you sat on the desk, on the verge of tears from how frustrated and desperate you were.

#riize smut #riize x reader #riize hard hours #riize hard thoughts #eunseok smut #eunseok x reader #eunseok hard hours #eunseok hard thoughts #cee s.es #cee’s thoughts 𓈒∘☁︎

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0bticeo · 2 months ago

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lay your hands on me | dabi x reader

summary.

he holds up his hand before your face, fingers spread wide, big enough to encompass your whole face.

he could kill you. burn you to ashes. you should be a little concerned with how unpredictable he proves himself to be at times.

you’re not. if anything, you’re watching, enraptured, as his hand looms closer to your face.

what he does next nearly kills you.

“open wide for me.”

wc. 2.9k

tw. reader is an oblivious idiot, spoilers for the overhaul arc, slight canon divergence bc fuck you the league gets to keep the bar in kamino, hand fetish, finger sucking, finger fucking, alley sex, kissing, somehow very soft (they were supposed to fuck nasty i don't get it.)

being a UA dropout isn’t all bad. neither is kamino district. no, really. you just have to know the right spots.

and you had time to do so ever since eraserhead’s wonderful decision of kicking you out of the damn school. something about how vigilantism wasn’t tolerated. something about how you, as a third year, should have known better.

you were close. so close to graduation. then it happened. it. your one true heroic act.

no cameras, no shiny deals, no public appreciation, no nothing. just you, a creep following a seven year old, and dark, dark streets.

you acted out of sheer instinct, the ink on your forearms springing to life, twin tattooed snakes sinking their fangs into that bastard’s skin.

the girl was fine. blissfully unaware. the creep, not so much, sprawled in a dark alley near your favorite conbini. you’re not too sure about the inner workings of venom. not the the one given life to by your quirk.

somehow, you have a feeling it hurts like hell.

having principal nezu sit you down and kindly explain that you would no longer be attending classes at UA, mouse-head split in a wide grin, hurt more.

“what are you sanctioning me for, exactly?” you ask, knuckles turning white with how tight you’re holding your tea cup.

he smiles at you. you feel every condescendent edge of his rodent teeth.

“vigilantism is illegal, as i’m sure you well know.”

"you-”

“aizawa-san already filled me in on the details.”

a sharp inhale. of course. of course, just because there aren’t any cameras doesn’t mean there aren’t witnesses. it’s not like the girl could testify. you made sure to be quiet. you made sure the creep was quiet.

you set your teacup back on its saucer, the rim silent as it meets the porcelain. nezu watches you, his eyes dark and empty. intelligent. inhumane. he sighs.

“such a shame to lose a student of your caliber. but the law is the law. no exceptions can be made,” he says, quietly sipping his tea.

you smile. it doesn’t reach your eyes. you think your palms might be bleeding with how hard your nails are digging in the skin. it’s fine. the deep green of your skirt is dark enough for the nature of the stain to be unidentifiable.

“please. i have nowhere to go.”

the law is the law. nevermind that attending UA is expensive. in the promotion material, they mention the entrance exam (not that you can get yourself killed in it), the heroes (celebrities!) serving as professors, the facilities.

now, the government might be funding a part of the infrastructure - those killer robots they have at the entrance exam aren’t going to finance themselves - but the rest? the tuition fees are expensive enough for the students to enter the hero life in debt.

it’s fine. those from UA are pretty much destined to make it big. it’s not the best hero school in the country for nothing.

the law is law.

you’re kicked out of school three weeks away from graduation without a backup plan. the only thing you have to yourself is a dingy studio in kamino district.

(aizawa had crossed paths with you on your way out of nezu’s office. he’s watched your eyes turn cold, and for a split-second, wondered if the law was fair.)

back on track. cut to four years of fruitless job hunting because nobody wants an UA dropout in their agencies. doesn’t matter if you were the top of your class, if endeavor himself wanted you to work under him at some point.

all they see is the black mark on your resume and the ink spreading and spreading over your skin, wrapping along your arms.

they smile and deny you the job you oh so need.

bye, bye morale, hello shoplifting. you’re quick on your feet and nimble-handed. get in, get out, you don’t get caught.

until you steal from the wrong person. until a hand wraps around your wrist, all five fingers digging in your flesh with the intention to kill.

meeting shigaraki tomura was… an interesting experience. so was your skin not decaying. maybe a side-effect from your quirk. your arms are more ink than skin these days. more tattoos, more power.

maybe your wrist being still intact landed you here. maybe it was the hero killer stain, his blade digging in the roots of a corrupted system and twisting. heroes are rotten, you know. true heroism is punished.

maybe you were angry, too.

so now you spend your nights sitting in the league of villains’ base. a bar. it’s classier than expected for a ragtag team of villains. you highly suspect kurogiri’s distinguished demeanor is the sole reason for the said classiness.

shigaraki’s ranting again, chipped nails scratching his neck hard enough to bleed.

you’re barely listening, sprawled as you are on the counter. there’s a scrap of paper in front of you and a pen in your hand. on you doodle, hand cradling your cheek, occasionally humming to show you’re still listening.

everybody’s here for a change.

twice, being his usual versatile self, one minute praising shigaraki’s genius planning, the next tearing it to shreds with a few well placed curses. troubled little fellow, really sweet. once lent you his lighter, so he’s high up in your good graces.

next to you, toga kicks her feet, golden eyes glinting mischievously in the low lighting. there’s a wide grin tugging at her face, revealing sharp canines. she’s eager to get back in the fray. something about seeing a certain izuku.

compress is fiddling with his gloves. shimmering orbs flash between his skilled fingers, twirling between them before disappearing wherever. a magician never reveals his secrets. how he managed to gain back such skill after losing his arm is beyond you.

spinner is watching on seriously. bless him.

(magne’s dead. your grip on your pen tightens.)

and dabi…

dabi’s leaning on the counter to your left, elbows nonchalantly propped up against its wooden surface, the sleeves of his jacket baring a hint of his bicep.

you watch, eyes half-lidded, the curl of his wrist, the way his fingers drum against the lapel of his jacket, flexing, flexing.

you shift in your seat, crossing your legs.

three strokes of your pen. the shape of his hands come to life.

broad and warm, the skin of his palms pulled taut by the staples holding him together, little flashes of silver.

the fingers, next. clever. long. deft. curled in a way that has the fine lines of his knuckles jutting out and your cheeks warming. still, not quite right.

you glance at his hand again and find it wrapped around a glass of whiskey, the heat of them fogging up the glass. there it is, again. that slow drumming, index finger tap, tap, tapping away on the glass. the staples on the back of his hand dig in his skin, right under the bone.

you bite back a groan.

hands are hard to draw.

you don’t know what it is about his fingers, but you can’t get them right. doesn’t matter if your muse is right there, a barstool away from you, sitting pretty with those damned fingers of his, you can’t seem to will your pen to mimic them.

you risk another glance and meet blue, blue eyes. something like amusement flashes in them, his lips quirking up by a fraction. heat creeps up your neck. you twirl your pen and advert your eyes.

“irezumi-chan.”

leave it to shigaraki to give you dumb nicknames.

you tilt your head.

“yes?”

“are you listening?”

turns out you’re needed for a job involving, out of all things, your tagging skills. and why the hell not. if the boss man wants you to sneak around in shady neighborhood near the shie hassaikai’s quarters in the dead of night, who are you to say no. (they’ll pay for what they did to magne.)

surprisingly, dabi’s drawled out a “count me in”, before downing his whiskey. (you’ve watched with bated breath his adam apple bob up and down as he swallowed his liquor.)

so dabi’s tagging along, hands regrettably shoved deep in the confines of his pockets.

you’re not disappointed. absolutely not.

just worrying about your safety. understand, your quirk makes it so that you practically have to be half-naked for maximum efficiency. skin revealing tops and all, because you’re tired of your clothes being rippef to shreds whenever your tattoos come to life. so dabi’s hands in his pockets? they’re limiting his ability to defend you both if needed be.

nevermind the speed with which he fights, spread hand igniting from palm to fingertips, fire flashing bluer than his eyes as he burns it all. nevermind your own skills. it’s just that these yakuza bastards are lethal, more so than the league.

yeah, right. and tattooing your back piece yourself was an easy ordeal.

you let out a sigh and stop dead in your tracks, eyeing a wall. covered in graffiti, the whole surface of it a mess of superposed designs.

“this should do.”

dabi leans back on the opposite wall, crossing his arms over his chest.

“do your thing.”

you crack your knuckles, your wrists, grab the spray paint and get to work. here’s the great thing about your quirk. whatever you draw can come to life, as long as you’ve seen it beforehand. call yourself yoshihide and your quirk hellscreen with how good you are.

the medium doesn’t matter - the drawing comes to life if you will it so. and sure, it might disappear after an hour’s worth of use, but given your drawing skills, it’s versatile enough to give you the advantage in a fight.

the smell of spray paint fills the air, black micro droplets dusting your fingertips, your wrist. you kneel, leaning back ever so slightly to assess your handiwork.

you cannot afford to mess this up. not if you want shigaraki’s admittedly funky plan to succeed - and given you know UA is going to involve itself with that bastard overhaul… oh well. you don’t mind giving the students an explosive hand. as a thank you gift.

smoke curls in front of you. nicotine.

you groan, rising to your feet and brushing the dust off your cargo pants.

“really dabi?”

you don’t need to turn around to know he’s grinning.

that grin.

the one that has him baring just a sliver of teeth, stitches pulling at the corner of his eyes with the mischievous glint flashing in them. a menace.

“what?” he drawls. “can’t handle a little smoke?”

you shake your can of spray paint with a grumble.

“i’m trying to quit.”

a low chuckle.

“poor you.”

a lick of warmth at your back. you stop drawing that grenade. no need to mess it up. you feel the lean heat of him before he presses against you, fingers trailing up, up your arm, from your wrist to your collarbone- he’s tracing your tattoos.

“you know, you get real cute when you’re flustered.”

his nail presses down on the detail of one of your pieces - a dragon’s scale, its great maw gaping open in a blast of heat stretching over your shoulder. you shudder. his hair brushes against your cheek.

“i’m not flustered,” you mumble, weakly.

he chuckles, low and warm and just a little mean. you feel the vibration of it on your back, spreading deep in your ribcage. you think you’re forgetting to breathe.

“no?”

his fingers come to view, joints stretching the skin taut. they’re big, thumb massaging your forearm, digging in the coils of the leviathan snaking around your wrist.

“i see the way you look at me when i fight. at the bar…”

your mouth goes a little dry. you lick your lips and feel dabi’s breath on your cheek, his nose brushing your ear. he could take a bite out of you with how close his mouth is to your neck.

“hands are hard to draw.”

you don’t see his grin. you don’t see the white flash of teeth you’ve grown to love, the way his lips split wide, stitches pulling and pulling at the seams of his mouth.

“hands?” he lifts one of them, the one that isn’t lighting a fucking inferno at your hip with how maddening his touch is, his index slowly tracing your waistband. “you like my hands, huh?”

you whine. actually fucking whine at that, low and needy and desperate, hips pressing back against his.

and fuck, if the way he laughs at that doesn’t turn you to putty in his hands, you don’t know what does.

he holds up his hand before your face, fingers spread wide, big enough to encompass your whole face.

he could kill you. burn you to ashes. you should be a little concerned with how unpredictable he proves himself to be at times.

you’re not. if anything, you’re watching, enraptured, as his hand looms closer to your face. what he does next nearly kills you.

“open wide for me.”

his fingers curl, index and middle held before your mouth, pressing down on your lower lip, teasing it before they slip in you, resting on your tongue.

you taste him - something salty and distinctly him that makes your head spin.

his fingers are warm, the entirety of him is, and you’re panting against him, your own fingers clenching your can of spray paint like a vice.

his free hand snakes under your shirt, splaying over your chest, burying itself between the plushness of your breasts. he feels your heartbeat, wild, erratic little thing against his palm.

“that’s it… now suck.”

a metallic clang rings somewhere in the distance. you wouldn’t know where, with the sharp ringing in your ears, the way the world has narrowed down to dabi’s heavenly touch.

tiny pinpricks of cold brush your chin, lightning flashes of pleasure as his staples make contact with your skin, as his nails drag against your nipple, pleasure-pain at its finest.

he’s dragging his fingers, pushing down on your tongue as you eagerly suck on them. he mouths at your neck, the press of teeth against your skin having you keening around his fingers.

you think you’re burning, little inferno of desire wasting away in his arms, your hips grinding against his, eager, eager…

he pulls his fingers out of your mouth, thin threads of saliva linking them to your parted lips, and you whine at the loss.

then his fingers find your slit and drag, and his touch is scorching against your core and you’re begging. wet little sounds fill the alleyway, and it’s loud, the only thing you can hear. and fuck, the way his thumb circles your clit just right-

and that fucker takes his hand out of your pants and brings it to his face with a low chuckle, thin threads of your slick coating his fingers from the tip to the knuckle. your eyes widen, the sight embedded in your retina.

he grins against your cheek.

“i’ve barely touched you…”

there’s a hint of awe in his voice, you think, hazily. then again, you’re not sure. not really. you’re impeccably warm like this, all pressed up against dabi’s lithe body, head lolled back on his shoulder.

“dabi, please…”

he spins you around, all but slamming you against the wall behind you. you groan, because fuck, every single nerve ending in your system is begging for release, and the acrid scent of spray paint is filling your senses, and you’re pretty sure it’s smudging against your back-

you meet his gaze and your breath catches in your throat.

he’s watching you, blue, blue eyes swallowed up by his pupils. he’s panting, you realize, lips bloody with how hard he’s bitten them. you’ve never seen anything more beautiful than him, looming over you in the flickering glow of a streetlamp, the golden light swallowing him whole.

“let me draw you,” you blurt out, cheeks heating up immediately.

he laughs, a low, raspy little thing of a chuckle as his fingers find your core again and you gasp at his touch.

“you already do, don’t you?”

you feel you might spontaneously combust and die, your head tilting to the side, trying not to meet his stare. you don’t see his smile, inexplicably fond.

“c’mon, look at me. i wanna see your pretty face when i make you cum on my fingers.”

his forehead presses against yours, his fingers digging in your hips, in the meat of your thigh. your breath mingles with his in sharp little gasps as he resumes unraveling you, a shit-eating grin on his face.

it’s unfair, the effect he has on you, how good he is with these blasted fingers of his. you fist at his clothes, hands burrowing in the strands of hair at his nape, tugging hard enough to make him groan, low and heavy in your ear. his fingers curl. you keen, falling apart as you choke around his name.

his lips press against your neck, a soft, almost chaste peck.

“you did so good for me, pretty.”

you’re about to gently push him away from you. you have a job to do, a revenge to take, and the clock’s ticking-

then his lips are on you. he’s kissing you, his lower lip a stark contrast with his upper lip, the perfect blend of soft roughness. you close your eyes, melting against him.

he’s kissing you, and the job can wait for a little while.

#dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi x y/n #mha x reader #mha x you #mha x y/n #bnha x reader #bnha x you #bnha x y/n #touya todoroki x y/n #touya todoroki x you #touya todoroki x reader #obticeo writes #dabi smut #touya todoroki #dabi #mha #bnha

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dreamwritesimagines · 5 months ago

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The Eye of the Hurricane [29] - Enticing

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback, you made my day! ❤️I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think! ❤️

Summary: It’s important to have a plan in mind before certain meetings.

Word Count: 2200

Pairing: MobBoss!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Warnings: Violence, guns, crime, blood, explicit language, dysfunctional relationship, mentions of sex. This is an AU, friendly reminder that I don’t condone any of the actions depicted on this story and please read with care.

Series Masterlist

Fine, maybe Bucky did have a point.

You were two seconds away from jumping his bones and to annoy you even more, he was so busy with work that you could barely see him.

But thankfully, you had a solution for that.

“Take these home please,” you told your driver as you stepped out of the car, motioning at the multiple bags of lingerie sets on the backseat. “Thank you.”

“Of course ma’am,” he said and you closed the door, then made your way to the building. You took the elevator, then approached Bucky’s office and smiled at his assistant.

“Is he inside?”

“Yes Mrs. Barnes,” she said. “With his father.”

You raised your brows, then heaved a sigh and knocked on the door before opening it. George looked over his shoulder from where he was sitting on the couch and a smile pulled at Bucky’s lips as soon as his gaze fell on you.

“Hey there, am I interrupting anything?”

“Not at all, come in!” Bucky said as he walked to you and pressed a kiss on top of your head, making your heart skip a beat. George smiled at you and stood up as well as you approached him.

“Hi honey.”

“George,” you greeted him back and let him kiss your cheek, then sat down next to him on the couch.

“I was thinking we could have lunch?” you asked and he made a face.

“I gotta meet Nat in half an hour sweetheart. Sorry.”

“About the raid issue?”

George raised his brows, looking between you as if he was surprised that you knew about it, but neither you nor Bucky commented on it.

“Well she also lost half a million,” Bucky said. “Needless to say, she’s furious.”

“Everyone is,” George said. “That cousin of yours is an idiot, Y/N. I mean there’s a difference between being new and being an amateur.”

“Stark called for an emergency meeting,” Bucky said with a smirk. “So did Clint, and I’m guessing so will Nat.”

You tried to keep your expression serene and heaved a sigh. “They will eat him alive.”

“Business talk can wait,” George told you. “How is your day going sweetheart?”

Not retorting to the condescending tone he thought he could hide was rather challenging, but you managed to control yourself. There was a time for everything, and you had to make sure not to look not as interested in just how Ian had screwed up, at least in front of George. You exchanged glances with Bucky who rolled his eyes, then turned to George.

“It’s going good,” you said. “I had coffee with Becca, then went shopping.”

“Oh what did you buy?”

All the lingerie sets you bought flashed in your mind and you bit back a smile as you stole a look at Bucky, then shrugged your shoulders.

“Jewelry,” you said, holding up your wrist to show your bracelet. “And yours, George?”

“Enjoying the retirement,” he said. “Something your father can’t do anytime soon, as it seems.”

You scoffed a small laugh. “He likes the job too much.”

“That’s not the only reason,” he muttered and you shot a look at Bucky who smirked.

“Yeah well, bad choice in heirs.”

“Has he talked to you?” George asked and you pulled your brows together, feigning confusion.

“About?”

“About what he’s going to do now that Ian screwed up in front of people that badly?”

“He doesn’t talk to me about the job,” you said. “But I’d say he made his choice. Now he just needs to train Ian.”

“That training was supposed to have started decades ago.”

You hummed. “And yet here we are.”

“If I remember right, your prenup said your second child would have claim on the territory, no?” George asked with a laugh. “Maybe you two should hurry up, Arthur does desperately need an heir it seems.”

The joke made your jaw clench. Of course he didn’t even consider you just like your father didn’t, but he was more than ready to accept your hypothetical child as the heir.

Anyone but you, apparently.

“Father…” Bucky muttered and George held up his hands.

“Just saying.”

“And that’s my cue,” you said, pushing yourself off the couch and George chuckled.

“Y/N, I was joking.”

“Oh I know, I just think it’s a good idea to see if my dad is alright now that you mentioned him,” you said, shooting him a fake smile before walking to Bucky to peck him on the cheek. “See you at home?”

“Absolutely,” he said and you walked out of the office, anger still poisoning your system.

Your father’s assistant told you that he was home today, so you went straight there without dropping by the company. As usual, the foyer and the rest of the house were full of your father’s or Ian’s bodyguards and his assistant was by the study door. You waved at her but before you could approach her, you heard your aunt’s voice echoing in the foyer.

“Y/N, hello!”

You tried not to grimace, then turned to smile at her.

“Auntie.”

She came closer to kiss your cheek. “Arthur is taking a call, let’s catch up in the meantime.”

“I’m actually in a hurry, I just wanted to check whether he’s alright—”

“He is,” your aunt assured you as she gently steered you to the living room. “Albeit a bit tense but you know, it happens.”

“Does it though?” you muttered as you sat down on the couch. She waved a dismissive hand in the air.

“I’m sure you’ve heard about Ian’s tiny little mistake?”

“I haven’t,” you said. “I have heard about the million dollar mistake though.”

She pressed her lips together.

“He is under tremendous amount of pressure,” she told you solemnly. “Running around everywhere.”

You tried not to roll your eyes. “Is that right?”

“And I told your father the same thing, I think he’s being too harsh with him lately.”

“Well, a lot of bosses want his head on a spike,” you pointed out. “I’d say he is being quite nice to him, actually.”

Your aunt shot you a glare but you only smiled, making her heave a sigh and clasp her hands in her lap.

“Arthur says people are pushing for a sit down,” she said. “And that Ian must be there for some reason. I don’t know why he insists on it—”

“Because if he didn’t attend it’d make him look even worse,” you said. “No one would take him seriously after that.”

“He’s not the boss!”

“He’s the heir,” you forced yourself to say. “Bosses can take heirs with them to the meetings. Father has a point, he can’t coddle him especially in a situation like this.”

“Everyone makes mistakes,” she insisted. “I’m sure Bucky has made them too.”

“He hasn’t,” you said, aware of the proud tone in your voice. “He was raised for this shit, so he actually pays attention. Unlike Ian.”

She clicked her tongue.

“Well you must talk to him,” she said and you pulled your brows together.

“To Bucky? Why?”

“Ian needs someone in that room that will have his back.”

You tried to stop the laughter threatening to spill from your lips.

“And you think Bucky will do it?”

“He will if you ask him to.”

“Why on earth would I ask him to?” you asked with a scoff and she threw her hands up.

“Because we’re family!” she said. “Ian would do the same for you.”

“Ian would throw me to the wolves if the roles were reversed,” you pointed out with a chuckle. “You know it as well as I do. They’d eat me alive during that meeting and he wouldn’t lift a finger, he’d encourage it.”

“You’re being very unfair to him, Y/N.”

“Maybe you just forgot what your son’s personality is like because you barely spend any time with him,” you said calmly and she narrowed her eyes.

“Careful.”

You dragged the tip of your tongue and held up your hands, gesturing surrender.

“Bucky wouldn’t help Ian even if I asked him to,” you said. “He doesn’t take him seriously.”

“And why is that?”

You shrugged your shoulders. “I’m gonna go on a limb and assume it’s because Ian makes mistakes that cost my father and the other bosses millions of dollars.”

“What’s a couple of millions in this business?” she asked with a small laugh. “Nothing.”

You heaved a sigh. “It gives a message, auntie.”

She crossed her legs, sticking her nose in the air.

“Either way, talk to Bucky,” she said. “Everyone says he listens to what you say, so it might be a good idea to put in some good word for Ian before that meeting.”

You arched a brow, but before you could comment on it, your father’s assistant entered the room.

“Y/N, he says he can see you now.”

“Oh thank you,” you said and got up from the couch. “Auntie. Always a pleasure.”

She just shot you a smile and you shook your head slightly, then followed your father’s assistant to his study.

When you got back home, Bucky still wasn’t back so you had enough time to put your plan into action. The set you had chosen for tonight was black; the lacy corset matching the garter belts holding your stockings. You were just done with fixing your hair when you heard Bucky opening the front door, so you threw yourself on the bed and grabbed the book on your nightstand to open it.

“Charm?”

“Upstairs!” you called out, turning on your stomach and swinging your legs back and forth lazily, trying to bite back your smirk as Bucky walked into the room, reading something on his phone.

“I have so much to tell you about the meeting today,” he said without taking his eyes off of the screen and went to place his gun on the small coffee table and you hummed.

“What?”

“Nat is furious, and she and Clint actually—” he stopped talking as soon as he raised his eyes from the phone and you looked over your shoulder to see him frozen in his spot.

“She and Clint?” you asked him as if there was nothing out of the ordinary and he blinked a couple of times in complete silence, staring at you.

“Bucky?” you said and he swallowed thickly.

“What the fuck—am I dreaming?”

“Why would you be dreaming?” you asked and rolled over to lean back on your palms, crossing your legs. “We should talk by the way.”

“Oh we’re not talking,” he said, pulling you by the ankle to the edge of the bed and you let out a squeal that turned into a giggle before you pushed at him and got up from the bed. He let out a groan.

“Charm…”

“What?”

“Is this a new way for you to torture me?”

“No, I just think we should talk.”

“I can’t contribute anything to the conversation because I don’t have any blood in my brain right now, it’s all rushing south.”

You rolled your eyes at him and leaned on your hip. “Can you focus?”

“No.”

“Bucky!”

“You’re in a corset and garter belts and you want me to focus?” he asked, taking a step towards you but you took a step back, smirking.

“Calm down.”

“Come here.”

“No because we need to talk first.”

“If this is about who breaks first,” he said. “I broke first, you won, now come here.”

“I’m glad you agree but that’s not it,” you said. “About the sit down, is there a date yet?”

“A lot of people would start with dirty talk—”

“Business talk is my dirty talk,” you stated. “So?”

“Next week,” he said, pulling at one of the ribbons on the corset and you swatted his hand away.

“Ian is going to be there so—”

“Take it off.”

“Good lingerie is wasted on men I swear to God…” you muttered, trying to ignore the way your stomach did a happy flip. “So if Ian is there, I need to be there.”

“Done.”

“The only way—” you batted his hand away again. “The only way for me to be there is if others believe I’m your heir in case of an emergency, because—”

“Done.”

You let out a laugh. “That easily?”

“Sweetheart you could ask me for all my possessions including the company right now and the answer would still be yes,” he said, making you let out a laugh as he wrapped his vibrainum arm around you and easily lifted you up. He carried you to the bed to drop you there and got rid of his shirt, letting you see his muscular before he got on top of you, his lips finding yours. Your eyes fluttered close and a happy sigh left your lips when he pulled back to look down at you.

“You’re gorgeous, you know that?”

You could feel the fire warming your cheeks and a giggle escaped from you before you pushed at him slightly so that you could straddle him. He quickly pulled at the ribbons holding the corset together and you tilted your head.

“So I win?” you asked again and he nodded, grinning.

“You win babe.”

You smirked, then let him pull the corset off of you to throw it somewhere in the room and leaned down to kiss him again.

Chapter 30

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bratscave · 4 months ago

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this blog got me feeling some typa way babesssss

dreaming about a young professor reader who thinks logan is constantly condescending to her when he asks about her lesson plans or curriculum… but he just doesn’t know how to start a conversation with her.

so when she has a bad day and snaps at him about his constant ‘patronizing’ he’s obviously very amused. because he’s honestly been looking for an excuse to chat with the hot, way too young for him piece of ass in a pencil skirt.

bonus points if he bends her over her desk and fucks her like a whore on it. and bonus bonus points if she thinks about it when she comes to her classroom the next day for class to find him leaning on it.

gotta feed the monsters in us i guess

ugh i need to write some logan smut to post already

I LOVE YOUR BLOG ITS SO- *animal noises*

- visionsofcarnality 🤭🫶

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ — a lil' help !

The past few days have been hell, actual fucking hell. You had never imagined that the kids would be so... unnerving. It turned out that they cared a lot less about genetic mutation biology then you would've thought. All you needed was a cigarette and a calm, quiet office for god's sake — no interruptions, especially not logan. “Got your curriculum figured out for next week?” his voice, low and rough, cut through the silence as he leaned against your doorway. You stiffened, feeling that familiar sting of irritation. It was the fifth time this month he’d asked you something like that, and every time, it grated on your nerves. You knew you were younger than most of the faculty, barely in your mid-twenties, but did he have to rub it in with his constant questioning? As if you didn’t know what you were doing. “Yes, Logan,” you replied, barely masking the edge in your voice. “I have it under control.” You didn't like how your words had absolutly no affect on him, he didn't move, didn't budge, didn't back down. It was like he was waiting or searching for something, “You sure about that? You look like you could use some help.” “I don’t need your help, Logan. I don’t need you constantly questioning me about my lesson plans, my missions or my fucking curriculum. I’ve been doing this for years, and I don’t need some — some condescending jackass acting like I’m not capable.” His mouth parted in surprise yet his lips twitched in amusement, "Really? Is that what you think I’ve been doin’? Condescending to you?” You shake your head, looking through the papers for tommorow, you couldn't deal with this today, "Yes, that's what I think." Logan pushed himself of the door frame, his fingers instantly moving to your shoulders like he was trying to reassure you, "You're young. You're new and you're trying your best, but you're feeling a bit...overwhelmed." You took another puff, finally looking up to his face. "I appreciate," the tone you use sounds almost sarcastic, "your concern but I'm getting by just fine." Yet you feel his finger absentmindedly trace over the skin of your neck as you lean back ever so slightly, almost on auto pilot. “Logan,” you said, trying to inject some authority into your voice whilst putting out the cig in a close ash tray but it came out breathier than you intended- His proximity was doing things to you, things you didn’t want to acknowledge, let alone act on. But Logan, perceptive as always, didn’t miss a beat. He didn't decide to comment on the little faltter in your voice, just brushes one of your hair strands behind your ear, the action feels intimate, a bit to much so. His hands work on gently pushing you down onto the desk, your face pressed against the cold surface, his rough fingers work on riding up your skirt. If you're not mistaken you can hear the fabric of your panties ripping as you scoff, "Y'know you could've just taken them off." It sounds more like a statement then a question, not that you'd really be intrested in one when all you could think bout was his dick. "That's no fun," you could faintly make out, the dull sound of his belt hitting the floor also, "You don't even understand how much i've been imagining you, like this — you, and your damn skirts." Your hands clench into fists on the desk, your knuckles turning white as you try to keep some semblance of control as he thrusts into you. He leans over you, his chest pressing against your back as he pounds into you, his breath hot against your ear. “This what you needed, darlin’?” he growls, his voice rough and strained with his own pleasure. “Needed someone to fuck that stress right outta you?” He’s fucking you like an animal, hard and fast, and it’s exactly what you needed. The desk creaks beneath the force of his thrusts, with this pace you could perfectly forget about all those kids that make you lose more and more brain on the daily. That's exactly what you think about when you see logan leaning against your desk the next day, all innoccently yet gazing u you like he was about to eat you alive, in front of countless of children.

You could certaintly use his help every now and then — not on the curriculum of course.

#.🎀⋆ logan! thoughts #THIS ASK AJSJSJSK #also thank u thank u thank u #logan howlett #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine smut #logan howlett smut #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #logan howlett fanfiction #hugh jackman #logan howlett imagine

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3rdgymbros · 2 months ago

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━ 𝐁𝐥𝐮𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐬 (𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐌𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐀 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠) !

— pairing; michael kaiser x reader

— summary; he gives you a hairclip to match his tattoo ! set in the blue lock manager au.

— notes; BOOM BABY, GUESS WHO'S BACK !

❋ Even before Blue Lock, your parents have always been deeply involved in the world of professional football. Even when you were little, your weekends would be spent at gyms and stadiums, watching matches, and mingling with famous players and staff.

❋ Despite your young age, you’ve already been actively assisting your parents behind the scenes, taking on various roles like helping with administrative tasks, arranging transportation, and even fetching coffee for the coaching staff.

❋ The Bastard München football team is no stranger to you, considering their close connections to your parents. Over the years, you've seen players come and go, but one player stands out in particular ─ Michael Kaiser. Sure, he’s got a boatload of talent, but he really needs to work on that attitude of his.

❋ And, well. You’d thought he was hot for all of one second. Then he’d opened his damn mouth, and you’d been overcome with the urge to staple it shut.

❋ Your relationship with Kaiser is anything but pleasant. Kaiser's condescending attitude rubs you the wrong way, and Noel Noa and your parents often have to intervene before the two of you come to blows.

❋ You’re relieved when the football season in Germany comes to an end. This means returning home to Japan, and it means freedom from Kaiser's constant presence.

❋ As you're saying your goodbyes to the team, Kaiser approaches you with a small, delicate blue rose hairclip, mirroring the intricate blue rose tattoo stamped on his neck.

( “What is this.” “It’s a gift, of course.” “I can see that, I’m just wondering what the catch is. There’s always something up with you.” “Just think of me when you wear it, won’t you?” “Bold of you to assume I’m ever gonna wear it.” )

❋ At first, you’re taken aback by the unexpected gift. Your initial reaction is to reject it, given your tumultuous history with Kaiser. But in the end, you blow out a resigned sigh and accept his gift, unwilling to make a scene on your final day.

❋ And for all your complaints, you grudgingly have to admit that it is pretty. More than that, it’s actually useful in helping to keep your hair out of your face on particularly windy days.

❋ When Kaiser and the rest of Bastard München arrive at the Blue Lock facility for the Neo Egoist League, his smug grin is impossible to miss the moment he catches sight of that familiar bright blue glimmer in your hair. It's a moment of mortification on your part, but you absolutely refuse to let Kaiser see how much it bothers you.

( “I see you liked the gift.” “. . .” “What happened to you not wearing it, [ NAME ]?” “Oh, shut up!” )

❋ Your only regret is how your complicated relationship with Kaiser now takes center stage amidst the Neo Egoist League. What with all the hidden cameras and the way that the Blue Lock players are staring at you, you’re fairly certain that you know what the gossip topic of the week will be.

#michael kaiser x reader #michael kaiser x you #blue lock imagines #blue lock headcanons #bllk imagines #bllk x reader #bllk headcanons #michael kaiser headcanons #michael kaiser x y/n #blue lock reader insert

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sweet-as-an-angel · 1 year ago

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Yandere Kencanons

Warnings: Kidnapping, Abduction, Major Spoilers for The Barbie Movie, Unhinged Post, Possessive Ken, Ken Just Wants to be Loved, Petnames, Ken Being Condescending, Post-Patriarchy Ken, No Pronouns Used for Reader Except 'You'.

Simply put, you’d charmed Ken. Made his non-existent heart flutter and a feeling he always associated with Barbie to overtake him. Been in the wrong place at the right time. Hence, less than a few hours after your meeting with Kenneth, you were in Barbieland. Sorry - Kendom Land.

You’d made the mistake of asking him for the time, in a rush to make it to work. And, with a twinkle in his eye and a seeming newfound sense of purpose, he proclaimed that “You respect me!”

Dazed and with little else you could say, you shrugged. “I mean…I guess…?”

And that was enough for him.

“I must go – get back to Barbieland – spread the news about patriarchy!”

You'd humoured him, more for the promise of your own safety than actual agreement, and he tipped his hat to you, billowing away in the direction of Venice Beach in a haze of his own world.

You managed to dodge him initially, untangling yourself from his vacant stare and making it to work unscathed.

On your way to lunch a few hours after, however, you were accosted again.

Of course, by none other than Ken Carson.

Who, having put all he’d learnt from his books on horses, the Wild West, and patriarchy, literally lassoed you and threw you onto his shoulder.

“We’ve gotta get you back to Barbieland – the Kens are not gonna believe this !”

On your journey back to this mysterious place, Ken explained to you how Barbies usually rule everything while the Kens are left with nothing.

“But, with you at my side, I’m sure we can make it right!”

You genuinely chalked this guy up to be insane, if at most, an escaped patient.

However, as you traversed 2D landscapes, you were more inclined to believe him. That this fabled Babrietopia did in fact exist.

And, once you get there, you become Patriarchy Ken’s personal servant.

He tells you to “Brewski Beer” him, all the while talking about how his initial conception of patriarchy had been that it was “Horses who ran the world, but it’s actually men — and horses are men extenders.”

He calls you his “bride-wife” or “groom-husband”, which, compared to the other Kens’ long-term distance low-commitment casual partners, seems oddly…endearing. Dangerously permanent.

With no idea how to get back to the Real world, you’re stuck with Ken and his entourage of fellow Kens, the Barbies either indoctrinated into their way of thinking or in hiding.

Speaking of, you are basically Ken’s property.

And he treats you as such whenever one of the other Kens tries to accost your service.

His tone is low, eyes sharp. “(Y/N) is my long-term distance low-commitment partner, not yours, Ken.”

And, to show as much, you get to sit on the floor next to Ken as he watches the Godfather with his Kentourage, talking through the whole thing, commenting on its ingenuity and nuance.

He also makes you stay nearby whenever he changes outfits - which is just him changing into another faux mink coat, pants and headband.

Despite being this new, independent, untethered Ken, he asks your opinion on things which seem largely inconsequential. Still, you sense something unstable. Insecurity, perhaps.

"What about...this coat?"

"Isn't that the same as the last one you showed me?"

Ken looks at your glass reflection in the wardrobe doors. His smile glitches, falters. He replaces it.

"Yeah, course - I was just testing you, seein' if you were paying attention."

Whenever you get a moment alone, away from the madness of the Kens, it’s short-lived. For Ken is never far behind, seeming to materialise in the doorway of whatever room of the Dreamhouse you’ve adopted as your refuge.

“What’s wrong, tiny baby?” He says, sauntering over to you, snake-like.

“I want to go home, Ken,” You tell him, voice racked with sobs, tears in your eyes.

He just gives you a narrowed, confused look, adopting an almost incredulous posture as if to say ‘Why?’

“First of all, I don’t like your tone, Doll,”

He steps towards you. You step back.

“Second of all, why in Kendom Land would you wanna leave ?" Another step forward. Another step back. "This is the dream of any patriarch’s partner to be where you are now; it should feel just like home !” Another step forward, another step ba-

Your legs hit the edge of the bed.

It doesn’t matter how hurt - or frightened - you look. Ken doesn’t listen.

“And besides, do you know how many Barbies would kill to be where you are now ? I know Weird Barbie would.” And he smiles – smirks – as if he’s triumphed you in some way only he is aware of, hands on his waist. The image of power.

Ken tends to test his boundaries when it comes to physical affection.

Seeing as he received none with Barbie, he seems to want to try his luck with you.

And yes, this does include him puckering his lips and staying stood in front of you until one of you caves.

Usually, it’s him, causing him to retract and act as if nothing happened. Which it didn’t.

But when he really wants a kiss, he can persist for hours.

You timed him. Two hours and three minutes until you relented and pecked him.

“Wow,” he says, every time, as if it’s the first time, his eyes clouded with dreams and what you could only pen as whimsy.

He’s incredibly touch-starved. Show him an ounce of willing and he’ll be overjoyed in his own, new, macho way. Though, he does have a hard time containing a squeal whenever you touch skin.

Secretly, he's entranced by how...human you are. how different you feel and talk to the other dolls in his Kendom.

He's developed an obsession interest with your hands, holding them in his, telling you how small and soft your hands are compared to his.

He squeezes them whenever he gets the chance, commenting on how "Squishy" your fingers are, despite you having a skeleton beneath your skin - a concept that blows Ken away every time you explain it to him.

He also adores hugs. Though, he only hugs you/lets you hug him when out of view of other Kens. He needs to protect his image as the stoic leader, after all.

Loves a cuddle; goes stupid crazy for them.

He favours holding you to his chest and resting his chin atop your head. He finds your warmth a foreign comfort. While you find his lack of a heart – and a beat – a discomfort.

“S’nice and warm,” he says, eyes closed, the image of laxity. "Being here with you."

He mumbles that last part. You know not to inquire further. The Kens consider any form of genuine affection to be a weakness.

It’s in your best interest to just let him stay there and talk about whatever it is he’s fascinated himself with, lest you wish to incur a temper tantrum or the cold shoulder.

Aside from being a fan of hand-holding, he's also a partaker in wrist-holding.

If you ever do something to aggravate him, he tends to grip your wrist hard enough to make you wince, his jaw clenched, eyes narrowed.

“Something wrong, Babe?” He’ll say, tone deep with simmering wrath.

You know not to push it with Ken.

Despite how platinum and perfect he is, he does harbour a resentment which, whether caused by you or not, he seems to target you with.

Talked to a Ken for too long, or in a way he didn’t like?

He’s going to embarrass you in front of him. Make you seem undesirable to all who are not himself.

He knows he can’t make you disappear, given the fact that you’re mortal. But he knows he can make other Kens disappear; an idea that, the first time it appeared to him, frightened him, made him confront a darker half he’d repressed. But, as time went on, he’s learnt to harness it in ways you’d never have suspected from a Ken.

Not that you’d know it from the way he treats you, but he does actually care for you.

Perhaps…as much as, even more so, than he does — did — for Barbie.

He doesn’t feel like he’s tethered to any one job or image when he’s with you; his identity is not an extension of yours. But, he does try to treat yours as if it is an extension of his.

“Babe, hurry up with those beers — the game’s about to start !”

He knows you’re impervious to the effects of his brainwashing, given that you’re from the Real World, so he feels that you’re the most genuine person in Kendom Land. Hence he tends to treat you with equal harshness and care.

This also often leads to Ken asking you things about your world. Things he doesn’t yet have the answers for.

His favourite pastime is to lay his head on your thighs while you sit against the headboard of his bed, asking you any and all questions that come to mind.

“What’s your favourite colour?”, “Where does the sun go when it’s night time?”, “What did you do at your job?”

Personal ones like that last one often cause you to tense, and Ken can tell. He tends to refrain from asking you such questions now, seeing as any reminder of your life prior to this cause you to, what he has learnt to call it, cry.

Despite how tone-deaf Kenneth can be, he is actually rather intuitive. Or, rather, considerate.

When you’d told him your favourite colour, he’d painted his bedroom walls in it. Albeit a slap-dash job of it, given how interior design is not in his box description like Interior Design Ken, but he tried !

Despite his small acts of kindness being his attempts to imitate comfort, they do little to calm you. For everything he says, does, discussing a future with you in Kendom Land, changing aspects of his world to cater to your preferences, feel as if you are to take up unwilling, permanent residence here.

And, while you wait and plot for a way to escape, you exist as a perpetual puppet for Ken to mither and berate and order around.

In the real world, a doll has started appearing on shelves – a new range of ‘Misery Barbie/Ken’ dominating the toy aisles of every supermarket and toy store, your visage wrapped tightly in every box.

Tears, an outfit demeaning enough to make a grandmother faint, and the unwavering expression of the need for freedom.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterpost Masterlist

Yandere Masterlist Juicy Original Content <3

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charmandabear · 1 year ago

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Office Hours - Chapter One

Summary:

Your colleague Dr. Ancunin is a smug condescending bastard and you can't stand him. But you also can't get him out of your head.

Pairing: Astarion/F!Reader Rating: E Word Count: 5.2k Tags/Warnings: unprotected p in v sex, creampie, no breeding kink, masturbation, vaginal fingering, vampire bites, modern au, college/university au, urban fantasy, enemies to lovers, like the briefest mention of suicide while talking about Hamlet

This would not exist without @zipzoomzaria's gorgeous glasses screenshots because PROFESSOR, PLS. Go follow her bc her edits are out of this world. The masturbation scene is also heavily inspired by @astarionfreak's "Are You Satisfied, Darling?" If you haven't read it what are you doing???

Read on AO3 ~ Masterlist

There’s something about him that rubs you the wrong way. It could be his arrogance, or the condescending way he peers over his glasses at you and your other colleagues. It might be the overpriced cashmere turtlenecks that hug his figure perfectly or the stupid silver earrings adorning his stupid elf ears. But every time he opens his pretty little mouth you feel a snarl growing deep in your throat.

This is the first university you’ve worked at where the theatre and English departments shared an office. Theatre and music, sure, even theatre and dance. But theatre and English? It feels insulting, honestly. English PhDs are some of the snobbiest people you’ve ever met, and they always speak to you like a child. Is it because they’re unimpressed by your MFA, like it made you less deserving of your position? Who knows. But Astarion Ancunin is no different.

“Grace, would you mind making twelve copies of pages 219-254 when you get a chance?” You hand the administrative assistant the heavy book. “You can leave them in my mailbox, I’ll pick them up later.” Grace opens the book to the instructed page.

“Oh, Much Ado About Nothing! I love that one!” she squeals with delight. “That Beatrice and Benedick,” she sighs, stroking the Complete Works lovingly. You smile at her cordially.

“They’re great, they’re basically the non-problematic version of Kate and Petruchio,” you respond in agreement.

“How tragic that Taming’s writing is better.”

You whirl around to see Ancunin walking in looking at something on his phone. He doesn’t even look up as he inserts himself into your conversation. You glare at his interruption. He looks up at Grace, bypassing you completely.

“Good morning, Grace darling, how are you today?” He sweeps over to her and takes her hand in his, planting a kiss on her knuckles. Gods he’s fucking insufferable. Not to mention unprofessional. Grace, however, blushes and giggles like a schoolgirl.

“I’m doing well, Dr. Ancunin, and yourself?” The tiefling’s voice jumps up about three pitches and her tail starts swishing excitedly.

“Leagues better now that I’ve been blessed with your presence,” he coos at her, voice positively saccharine. It takes every ounce of your patience to keep from rolling your eyes. He casts his gaze to you, and even you need to turn away from those piercing red eyes.

“Good morning, professor. Starting Much Ado with your students, I take it?” he asks with a light smile that makes you bristle.

“Yes, it’s a great way for them to practice switching between verse and prose,” you respond coolly, more than a little defensive.

“Of course, one of his best.” He glances down at the volume still in Grace’s hands and his eyebrows raise, peering over the top of his round glasses. “Going with the Bevington, hmm? Interesting. I’m more of a Norton man, myself.” He runs a slender finger along the binding as you grit your teeth. Is he really patronizing you over your choice of edition of Shakespeare’s Complete Works? Of course, he’s an English scholar.

“The Norton is a great tool dramaturgically, but the Bevington is a much better resource for actors, so, yes.” Your voice is steady but there’s an undeniable venom in it. Can he tell how much he’s bothering you? Probably, he’s almost certainly getting enjoyment out of riling you up. His little smirk would seem to suggest it, at least.

“Well certainly, and who knows acting resources better than our resident classical acting expert?” he intones, voice still dripping with honey. You narrow your eyes at him, unsure if he’s taking another jab at your degree.

“Well, as much as I enjoy standing around and debating the merit of various editions of the Complete Works, I’m about to be late for a meeting. Grace, thank you so much, I’ll be back later to pick up those copies. Dr. Ancunin,” you turn to his smug face and he looks back at you innocently. “A pleasure, as always.” You grab your papers and leave the office, feeling the heat of his gaze boring into the back of your head as you leave.

***

“Yes, Thaniel, come on in, have a seat,” you call out to the freshman loitering in the hallway outside your office. He comes in and drops his overfull backpack next to the teal club chair across from your desk. You close your laptop and smile at him warmly.

“So, Hamlet, that’s ambitious! I think it’s a good choice for you, but it’ll be a lot of work,” you say, glancing at your own copy of the monologue.

“Yeah, that’s why I’m here,” Thaniel says nervously. “I’m fine with the scansion and stuff, that I get, but I still don’t get the actual words. And I know you said how important that is.”

“For sure, I can guarantee all of the bad Shakespeare you’ve seen has been because the actors had no idea what they were saying. Have you used the Lexicon?” Thaniel looks off to the side, embarrassed.

“No, I don’t really get how that works either,” he says, an air of chagrin creeping into his voice.

“No worries, it takes practice. Here, we’ll do a few lines together. So first off, to be or not to be, that’s fairly obvious, right?”

“Yeah, he’s talking about suicide, right?”

“Sure, but what is he actually saying about it? To take arms against a sea of troubles/And by opposing, end them. What’s ‘them’ referring to?”

“The sea of troubles?”

“Right, the aforementioned slings and arrows. So even though you might know what those words mean individually, look them up in the Lexicon to see if they have a different context here. But you’re right, he’s trying to figure out if it’s better to suffer through the shittiness of existence or to take your fate into your own hands and, well, end them.” You highlight the line and lean over your desk to show Thaniel. A voice pipes up from the doorway.

“That’s not exactly what he’s saying, you know.”

The paper crumples in your hand slightly as your fist instinctively tightens. You plaster a strained smile on your face and look up at him.

“Dr. Ancunin, thank you for gracing us with your presence. Care to elaborate?”

He’s leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, face in shadows. Your office is unusually dark because of the storm outside, and so the bright fluorescents in the hallway give him an almost ethereal halo effect

“It’s a common misconception that Hamlet is contemplating suicide here. Life and death, sure, but ‘to take arms’ isn’t metaphorical, it’s literal. He’s contemplating dying as a result of killing Claudius, not taking his own life,” he says, almost sounding bored. You stand abruptly, your office chair skidding backwards.

“How can that possibly be true? He says ‘to take arms against a sea of troubles.’ He’s using the active voice, deciding whether or not to continue his life or end it. To be or not to be. It’s the first line in the monologue. He’s not talking about the consequences of killing Claudius.” You try to keep your voice from shaking. You know that you don't sound nearly as eloquent as him, and it’s pissing you off. He shrugs nonchalantly.

“You’re oversimplifying it, it’s exceedingly more complicated than that. The whole soliloquy is filled with war imagery. He’s at war with himself, the part of him that wants to kill Claudius and the part of him that is afraid to die.” He pushes himself off the door frame and steps back into the hallway. “But apologies, please don’t let me interrupt your instruction.” And like that he was off, leaving you to stew in silence. Thaniel looks up at you and looks back at the doorway where he stood.

“Should I…” he starts, but you cut him off with a wave of your hand.

“Dr. Ancunin comes at this from a very different angle as an English academic. He’s more interested in the words on the page, rather than how they translate to the stage. But,” you sigh, loathe to give him any credit, “it’s a valid interpretation. We can go down that route, if you want, or we can look at it through this lens.” Thaniel chews his lip while he considers his options.

“I think what you said makes more sense, the suicide bit,” he finally decides. You nod and pull out your copies of the Shakespeare Lexicon.

“Great, let’s go over how to use the Lexicon again,” you say as you flip through the book, looking for the entry for ‘slings.’

***

You drop off your bag and toss your keys into a bowl on the counter. Fucking exhausting day. You unzip your boots and kick them vaguely in the direction of the shoe rack, stretching and curling your toes for relief. You hang up your wet coat and shake rain from your hair. Your eyes dart between the refrigerator, wherein resides a bottle of white wine, and the bathroom door, contemplating how good a hot bath would feel. Both? Both is good.

You pour yourself a generous glass of Riesling and strip your clothes on your way to the bathroom. One of the perks of living alone. Sitting naked on the edge of the tub, you sip your wine as the bath fills.

Fucking Ancunin.

You’re a little shocked at how much he got under your skin today. Normally you don’t think twice about him, excepting the few times you have the misfortune of passing him in the hallway. But today the fates decided to throw you together and your schedules aligned. Well, in your defense, you didn’t seek him out that second time, he was the one who decided to crash your office hours.

You don’t even like Hamlet that much. You certainly don’t care about alternative interpretations of “To be or not to be.” But you’re mostly annoyed because he had a fair point. His read makes Hamlet a more interesting character rather than a cowardly incel romanticizing suicide.

You slide into the bath, hissing slightly as the hot water flows over your chilled skin. Without prompting, Ancunin worms his way back into your thoughts. Hmmph. You take a gulp of wine to try to wash away the taste of the unpleasant image.

Well… not entirely unpleasant. He’s a good looking man, you’d be a fool to deny it. But gods he’s so smug. And interrupting your meeting with Thaniel was wildly inappropriate. Leaning your head against the edge of the tub, you try to focus your thoughts elsewhere. You’re not about to let him interrupt you again, and when he’s not even present, no less.

But there he is, in your mind, crimson eyes looking over the top of those metal frame glasses that you’re, like, 99% sure he doesn’t actually need to see. You take another swig of wine to drown his stupid face. With his stupid cheekbones. And his dumb fucking earrings that you want to bite.

Nine hells, what is happening? You’ve been drinking your wine quickly and aren’t thinking straight. You grab your phone and open Spotify, letting your daily mix play through the bluetooth speaker on the counter.

Now Playing: Hatefuck by The Bravery.

If I put my hands around your wrists, would you fight them?

If I put my fingers in your mouth, would you bite them?

By Mystra’s fucking grace, seriously? You growl at the growing heat between your legs. Between putting off dinner and chugging your wine, your head is swimming. You might be better off getting it out of your system.

The wine glass hits the tub edge with a clank as you angrily put it down and sink into the water up to your chin. You are satiating a purely physical need, nothing else.

You still shiver as you slip your hand between your legs, lightly running your finger up your slit. You can see his face, looking down on you through those glasses - those infuriating glasses - and your lips flutter. What does he look like under those sweaters? He’s so thin, but his clothes fit incredibly well. It’s not hard to imagine a sculpted body beneath. You spread your legs further and let the warm water tickle your folds.

His silvery curls would look so good between your legs, slender fingers wrapped around your thighs while he laps you up. At least then he’d shut up. A gentle moan escapes your lips as you run your finger along your inner lips, pretending it’s him. You could grab hold of those perfect locks, yanking on them to control where he can go, fucking his face.

You move your other hand up to your breast and start teasing your nipple, feeling his lips around it. You give it a little tug and groan, just like if he nipped at it.

You imagine sitting on his pretty face, pointed ears flushed and hair a mess. Your hips buck into your hand as they might on top of him and your toes curl. You make gentle circles around your clit, thinking of all the other uses for his silver tongue. You whine and squirm at the sensations of heat radiating through your body. You slip a finger inside and hiss as you can see his pale digits entering you in your mind’s eye. You curl it upwards and gasp, his imaginary eyes looking up at you through those long lashes and a smirk playing across his imaginary lips.

“Are you ready for more of me, darling?” You can hear him murmur into your ear.

“Yes, gods yes,” you reply breathlessly into the cold bathroom air. You slide another finger in and feel that delicious stretch. The ghost of him moans, coming undone at the sight of you. You could leave him speechless, for once.

You reach over the edge of the tub and grab the box of waterproof toys. You frantically sift through your collection of dildos, trying to find the right one. Here. It’s long and svelte like the rest of him, but bright shimmery purple. You suction it to the bottom of the tub and hover above it on your knees. It sways lightly in the water, tip of it teasing your pussy just like you’d love to do to him.

Gods, to see him beg for your cunt. To see him reduced to a babbling mess, pleading to let him inside you. Your breath quickens at the mental image of him pulling on his own hair waiting for you to satisfy him. You sink down onto the dildo and your groan of pleasure mirrors what you’d like to hear from him.

You start sliding yourself on the purple dick, feeling its ridges glide against the walls of your cunt as you continue to finger your clit. You imagine your hand splayed across his chest, your black nails standing in contrast against his pale skin. You claw at the bottom of the tub as you increase your pace, desperate to see the pink raised skin that your nails leave behind. The fingers on your clit speed up as well, and you can feel yourself getting close.

“Oh gods, Astarion, don’t stop,” the words tumble from your mouth unbidden. You will absolutely hate yourself for that later, but right now all that matters is your ecstasy. You bounce atop the dildo, disregarding the water that splashes over the side of the tub as you chase your finish. Your moans increase in pitch and fervor as the various images of him in all sorts of positions flash through your mind. Between your thighs, sitting on his face, riding his dick, even fucking pegging him from behind because why the hell not?

“Astarion!” You cry out his name as you crash over the edge, legs shaking and pussy pulsing. Your orgasm reverberates throughout your whole body as you ride it out. Eventually, your movement slows and the water gently sways around you. You look down at your hand, milky juices swirling in the now tepid tub water.

Shit.

***

The next day at work, you avoid him like the plague. You keep your office door closed, usually an unthinkable act but entirely necessary right now. You double check the hallway before leaving to go teach, and then after class you immediately duck back into your office and close the door again. You even avoid the main office for fear of running into him there.

You can’t look at his face right now. You can’t possibly look him in the eye.

When 5:00 rolls around, you glance out into the hallway. Most of the other professors are leaving. To play it safe, you decide to work until 6 so that you can be sure that he’s gone when you leave. You absentmindedly grade performance responses. After you’ve read one paragraph about Miss Julie maybe a half dozen times, you realize that it’s probably time to go.

You slowly open the door and glance out into the hallway. You can’t tell from this angle if his door is open or not. You grab your bag and coat, take a deep breath, and make a beeline for the stairs. As you approach his office you realize it’s open.

Fuck.

It’s fine. You’ll just walk past it and get to the parking lot and then you won’t need to worry about it. He might not even be in there. Or if he is, he probably has his head down and won’t notice you walk by. It’s fine. You’ve got this.

“Oh, professor, a word?” His voice floats into the hallway right as you’re passing his door. Are you fucking kidding? You turn to see him sitting at his desk, head down, writing something. He doesn’t even look up at you. Prick.

“Yes?” you ask, not budging from your spot in the hall. He glances up at you over his glasses. Those fucking glasses. You want to rip them off his face and throw them out the window.

“Do you have a moment? I think we need to talk.” His voice is low and cool. Does he fucking know? There’s no way he can know.

Right?

You tentatively take a step into his office. It’s surprisingly cluttered for a man who always looks so put together, but it’s still warm and inviting. You can barely see the walls for being covered corner to corner in bookshelves full to bursting. He’s got a big mahogany desk in the middle of the room - significantly nicer than the university-issued one. It’s covered in stacks of papers, books, weird little knick knacks; it’s amazing how he’s able to get anything done on it. There are two chairs facing his desk, much like yours, but a rich plush velvet instead of a scratchy cotton weave. He’s got a scent diffuser somewhere, giving the room an aroma like an earthy spiced tea.

“Have a seat,” he says, gesturing to the cushy red chairs across from him. You stand there, clutching your bag, staring at him like a deer in the headlights. When he realizes you’re not going to sit, he gets up and crosses over to the door.

“Do you mind if I close this? It’s… a bit embarrassing,” he asks with a crooked smile. You can feel the heat in your cheeks rising. Your mouth goes dry and you try to swallow the lump forming in your throat.

There’s no way he knows.

Right?

But something compels you to nod, so he closes the door and walks back to his desk, but rather than sitting behind it, he leans back casually on the front of it. He’s taken off the blazer he usually wears and is down to just the turtleneck, sleeves pushed up just below his elbows. He crosses his arms in front of his chest as you stare, waiting.

“I wanted to… apologize. For yesterday.”

You blink at him, the conversation not going in the direction you expected. You had been so focused on yourself, that it took you a moment to realize what he was referring to.

“It was inappropriate to barge in on your meeting with your student. You were mid-instruction, and I needn’t have inserted myself into your conversation.” He leaned back on his hands, stretching out his lean figure to impossible proportions. The grip on your bag slackened and you couldn’t help but drag your gaze over the length of his body. He looks at you quizzically.

“I get the sense that you don’t very much like me,” he muses.

Now it’s his turn to give you the once-over, and you feel practically naked before him the way he looks at you. “Then again,” he adds, and pushes himself off his desk. He slowly advances toward you, though whether like someone approaching a vicious beast or a predator stalking its prey, it’s unclear. You retreat while holding his gaze until your back is flush against the door.

No escape now.

He gets precariously close to you and takes an unsettling whiff. When he speaks again, his voice is a husky growl.

“I think it’s entirely possible you like me… quite a bit.” He’s got at least a half foot on you, and he looks down on you with heavy-lidded eyes. The heat in your face has fully reached the tips of your ears now, and your breath comes out ragged.

“I’m sure I-” you start, but it comes out thick and raspy. You clear your throat and try again. “I’m sure I don't know what you mean,” you finally manage with all of the composure you can muster. He cocks an eyebrow at you, then slowly takes off those infuriating glasses.

“No? Then perhaps I’m mistaken, and your heart rate hasn’t increased by approximately 20 beats per second in the past few minutes.” His eyes continue boring into you. “And maybe that smell between your legs is completely unrelated.”

An undignified splutter comes out of you as you press your thighs closer together. He takes a half step back to let you respond.

“If I am indeed mistaken, then I’ve said my peace and you’re free to go.” The seductive honey is gone from his voice, and in its place is a politely professional tone. You fully feel that he’s giving you an out, that you can both laugh on this as an embarrassing moment and neither will bring it up ever again.

But on the other hand…

“You’re not mistaken,” you choke out in a whisper. The lazy smile is back and he lifts your chin with his index finger.

“What was that? Speak up.” His command weakens your knees and you wither under his gaze.

“You’re not wrong,” you say more boldly, trying to meet his energy. His smile broadens, and for the first time you notice two pointy fangs slip out beneath his upper lip.

Fucking

vampire??

That explains how he could track your heartbeat, and even more his ridiculously keen sense of smell. Doesn’t make it any less humiliating.

“No, I don’t suppose I am,” he snarls and suddenly he’s kissing you roughly, hands twisting in your hair and one knee sliding up between your legs. He pushes you against the door and lifts you off your feet slightly. You’re desperate just to keep up as he devours you, hands weakly grasping at his hips, shoulders, neck. But he’s fully in control of the kiss, and after a moment you let him take you.

He breaks the kiss but doesn’t pull away, and you’re both breathing heavily, air cycling between your lungs. Your head feels full of a thick fog and you can’t fully see straight. His hands are still in your hair, tight but not pulling - yet. You get the sense that might not last long.

He drops to his knees and you nearly double over from the sudden lack of support. He runs his nose and lips across the hem of your black denim skirt, inhaling again. Your fingers lace into his hair, but not even remotely in the dominant way from your fantasy. At this point you’re just trying not to collapse.

He looks up at you, flashing another fang-bearing grin. His hand slips up your skirt and his thumb runs across your pussy, barricaded by your sheer tights and panties.

“Darling, you’re positively soaked,” he hums contentedly. “You’d have a hard time hiding this from anyone.” You bite your lower lip, trying to keep the needy whines at bay. But when he fiercely rips the crotch of your tights and presses the flat of his tongue against the drenched gusset, you can’t stop the cry from escaping your throat. He sucks lasciviously, the debauched slurping noise ringing in your ears. Your knees buckle and he grabs hold of your hips, hiking your skirt up to your waist to get better access to your dripping cunt.

He stands and kisses you again, the taste of you lingering on

his lips. He grabs your ass and digs his fingers into your flesh, spreading them until you gasp into his kiss. In one fluid motion he sweeps up your legs and wraps them around his waist, carrying you over to that incredible mahogany desk.

He plops you down on the hardwood and you hear books and papers tumbling onto the floor behind you. He presses his bulge into your mound, this time the sound of both of your moans mingling pleasingly. He tears at your chiffon button down, trailing hungry kisses down your chest as you throw your head back in pleasure. He makes quick work of fully removing your top, though you’re certain he sacrificed some buttons in the process. You hardly care as you paw wantonly at the back of his neck, desperate for him to get his lips onto every single inch of you. He pulls the lace cup of your bra down with his teeth and starts sucking on your nipple, pressing his hand into the small of your back. You arch into him, his hands working you like a soft clay.

So much for the pleading mess that you pictured last night. Instead, you’re the one who's been reduced to shambles, begging for satisfaction.

“Puh-please,” you stutter, and those devilish eyes lock onto yours again. He snakes his way back up your chest and bites your lower lip.

“Puh-please what?” he mocks your stammering, but makes up for it when he rolls his hips forward, dragging that delicious hardness against you. You squirm, trying to pull him closer but he’s got your arms locked in his grip. His lips leave yours and ghost over the flesh of your neck. He very gently scrapes his fangs across your jugular, eliciting a ghoulish moan from you in return. By all the gods, you hadn’t even considered that as a part of it. His movement made it clear that he won’t bite unless you want him to.

But holy hells do you want him to.

“Gods Astarion,” you gasp, and you swear you can feel his cock twitch at the sound of his own name. “Fuck me then bite me, or the other way around I don’t care, but please get in me!” The string of words almost sounds foreign to your own ears, but you’re well beyond the point of trying to sound clever. In an instant, he’s undone his belt buckle and his erection springs forth, bouncing and already dripping precum. He roughly shoves your panties to the side and sinks his cock and teeth into you simultaneously, drawing out your cry of both pain and pleasure. You wrap your legs and arms around him, trying to pull him in deeper. You can feel his mouth filling up with your hot blood just as your cunt fills up with his dick.

You’re panting as you grow more lightheaded, clinging to his neck. Unthinkingly, your fingers stroke his ears, playing with those tiny silver hoops. He lurches and pulls away from your neck, looking absolutely feral with your blood dripping down his chin, which only sets you off more. You angle your hips toward him, trying to get him to start thrusting into you. He pushes your back down onto the desk and hooks his elbows beneath your knee high boots. Then he starts pounding into you properly, and you feel like you’re close to losing it. You grab onto the edge of the desk as he revs up his pace, his cock stretching you out as he keeps your legs close to your ears. You can feel the heat mounting in your core and you know it won’t be long before you come. But at this point you’re just trying to hold on for dear life.

“Fuck, gods, Astarion, I’m-” You finish before your sentence does. He doesn’t relent as the orgasm wracks your body, if anything, he fucks you harder. Just as you’ve barely come down off your climax, he pulls out and yanks you off the desk, spins you around and pushes your face down into the smooth mahogany, warmed from where you had just been. He enters you again, this time from behind, and already you’re working your way up to a second one. Your bare tits squish against the polished surface and he grabs your hair, pulling your head up and arching your back into him.

For the first time you notice the mirror on the opposite wall across from his desk. But rather than both of you, you only see yourself, disheveled and well-fucked, lips swollen from his abuse. Your hair is pulled up by an invisible force behind you. Another unexpected aspect of vampire fucking.

You desperately wish you could see his face because you can feel his thrusts getting more uneven and erratic. You try to turn to get a glimpse of him, but his grip on your hair remains tight. But even if you can’t see him, you can hear him, his grunts and the low string of incoherent swears pouring out of his mouth. The sound of him getting lost in you is enough, and your own moans start building and mixing with his, an utter symphony of epicurism.

His hips give a few more broken thrusts and you can feel his climax, setting off yours. The throbs of his cock match those wracking your cunt, and you hold onto the edge of the desk as the waves wash over you. Once they’ve come to an end he pulls out, and you can feel his semen dripping out of the sudden emptiness and running down your leg. You quietly say a thankful prayer for your IUD.

You’re both panting as he collapses onto your back, planting a half-hearted kiss on your spine. You weakly push yourself up off the desk and see the devastation of papers, smears and fluids. You turn yourself around and relish in his appearance. Your blood is splattered on his fine cream sweater, his usually perfectly coiffed curls damp and sticking to his forehead. You reach up and wipe the remainder of your blood off his chin. He smirks and kisses you, significantly more gently this time.

“That was good,” you murmur through steadying breaths, “but next time, keep the fucking glasses on.”

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